Page 58

Despite the stuccowalls and clay terracotta tiles tidily lined up on the roof, there’s no mistaking that this is a hospital. No matter how much synthetic lavender they pump through the vents there’s always the unmistakable scent of antiseptic and bleach. The halls are too bright, too polished. It’s always this way, clean enough to pretend the sickness isn't rotting the bones of this place.

It hits me the moment I step through the automatic glass doors. I nod once at the young woman at the front desk. She’s new. She doesn’t know me by sight yet, but it won’t take long. The Maddox name still means something here–money, power, an unspoken warning not to ask questions.

For years I had Amber secured abroad. I wanted her as far away from Remington as possible.Awayfrom all children. But now he’s a man, as is Whitaker, and it felt wrong to have her so far away. Here, at least, I can visit, keep a closer eye on her therapies, and most of all, ensure she’s secure even if the views are less pleasing than those in Europe.

Not that it isn’t nice here. Saint Mary’s Solarium Conservatory for Wellbeing is a top-notch facility. I donated extensively when Remy was admitted, ensuring that the program is equipped with highly trained staff and comfortable, humane residential care.

I move down the long corridor, my shoes making no sound on the thick carpet. Through the wide windows I can see the gardens -- neatly trimmed hedges, a white fountain sprayingwater that glitters in the late afternoon sun. I spot her immediately, sitting under a shaded canopy, her chair turned slightly toward the light. A book rests open in her lap, though her eyes are vacant, staring somewhere beyond the horizon.

She’s still beautiful. Her hair, once wild gold, is paler now, and her skin, nearly translucent, looks paper-thin. A silk robe that I sent her hangs loose over her frame. She looks breakable.

I hate how soft my heart still goes when I first see her.

A nurse spots me and murmurs something into a radio, unlocking the French doors. I step outside and take a deep breath of fresh cut grass and roses. The river is in the distance, cutting its course through Forsyth like a snake. It’s said that fresh air and water are good for the soul. I can only hope.

Amber blinks slowly when she hears my approach on the stone path and I brace myself, wondering who I’ll be visiting with today: the sweet, fun girl I married all those years ago? The doting mother? The cheating wife? Or the delusional lunatic, willing to throw it all away?

"Timothy," she says, voice thick, syrupy from the medication. She tries to smile. "You came."

"I always come," I answer, seating myself in the wrought iron chair across from her. I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “New book?”

Her fingers twitch over the spine. From here I can read the cover:Modern Masters. Amber had a way with just about any medium: oils, acrylics, pastels, clay… Remy inherited her artistic skills, among other, less desirable, traits.

Today, though, I can tell the book is nothing but a prop. She’s too far under today. Too medicated to be dangerous.

“I have something to tell you.”

I don’t know if she hears me, but it doesn’t matter. I need to say it. For me.

Her chin tilts, and from this angle she looks so much like Remy, but even more… Whitaker. That gives me a sense of resolution.

"There’s going to be a wedding" I tell her, voice flat. "A Black Wedding."

For a moment, something flashes behind her eyes–something slippery and sharp.

The old Amber. The one who knew the weight of those words.

“You may remember the Hexleys.” The family goes way back in Forsyth history. Early settlers and founders of the university. Their focus has always been on academics and philanthropy. Owen isn’t the first dean in the Hexley family, and their name is associated with many programs, but they’ve always been disconnected from the Royals. The difference is that Owen Hexley has aspirations. He’s not content to simply wear the title of Dean, he wants power that reaches farther than the boundaries of the campus. “Owen was in school when we were there. He’s the Dean of Students now and he has a niece, Arianette.”

If Amber remembers any of this it doesn’t show on her expression. I continue, “Years ago… after the scandal. He came to me with a proposition: a joining of our families. Remington would marry Arianette in a Black Wedding, binding our families together.”

Her eyes shift, connecting with mine. “And in return?”

Ah, sheislistening. I continue, “There’s no dowry, just the opportunity for two families, one marked by tragedy, the other untarnished by suspicion and shame, but lacking connections.” The tight feeling in my chest appears, the one that accompanies any talk about what she did to us. “The goal was to have Remy and Arianette marry, for him to be linked to a reputable family and her, and therefore her family, to finally gain Royal status.”

“Remy is getting married?”

“No,” I stretch my neck, feeling the tight coil of muscle. “Unfortunately, our son has decided to take another path, leaving his obligations to me.”

Her eyes narrow. “What path?”

I laugh, knowing the truth will hurt, wanting it to hurt her as much as it’s hurt me. “He’s a Duke, Amber. Through and through. First hand to the King.”

From an outsider's perspective, they would think I’d just struck the woman in front of me. Her jaw drops and her hand moves protectively in front of her face. “How?” she asks. “How could you let this happen?”

I shake my head. “Don’t you dare act surprised that this has happened. It’s the result of your treachery and deceit. And now I will continue to carry the mantle of the Barons, sacrificing once again for your failures.”

Her teeth bare, the first sign of true life I’ve seen in her for years. “Don’t blame me for your weakness, Timothy. You’re the one that doesn’t believe in the old ways. The truth. You poisoned the ground the Barons walk on for eternity.Iwas the one willing to make the sacrifice.” She leans forward, the book sliding off her lap with a thud. “Iwas the one who took the legacy’s seed, bore him a son, and prepared him for the altar. You destroyed us with your lack of faith, and now we’re all paying the consequences.”