Page 96 of Beast and Remedy (The Last of the Heirs #2)

With Open Arms

F igures blur and flash between my dreams and my reality. Some comfort me while the others haunt me.

The steady rhythm of two pulses periodically distracts me throughout sleep.

My vision stirs as the darkness of my mind ebbs, a solitude of peace cocooning me as I brace my grin to meet Beau’s—

Sniff.

My eyes jolt open, my happiness yanked away by Letum as I take in the faded, red-bearded man before me.

Wrinkles blend in with sunspots, and my father’s face softens as he presses his lips together. He squeezes my hand twice.

I swallow the thickness building in my throat, hating to feel as if his emotions are from anger, betrayal, and resentment. He must be at a total loss for how to deal with me and Marian.

“P-P- Papa .”

My voice wobbles.

A choked sob leaves him. He tries to stifle it with a clamped fist covering his mouth, but he drops his head, his body shaking as he kisses my knuckles.

“Thank the Makers,” he rasps, pain straining his voice, and my heart crumbles. “My sweet girl, I thought I had lost you.”

“You didn’t. I’m here.”

He flicks his gaze up, his features grief-stricken and overwhelmed, undoubtedly from the plethora of questions he seeks answers to.

But the biggest thing clawing from my chest is more of a confession than an answer. “It’s my fault. And I’m so sorry.” The words tumble from my mouth.

I explain everything about the infection, about agreeing to marry in order for Jean and Pierre to help me, about Beau healing Marian. All the events leading up to the present.

But I consciously mask my true feelings for Beau, still uncertain it’s safe to share just yet.

Papa’s chest rises and falls at a normal level compared to his earlier tremors. But his silence is its own torturous punishment as I finish.

“And he—he didn’t do it, though, Papa. Beau didn’t kill Mama.”

My father watches me, still silent, still processing.

It is agony .

“I-I-I spoke to Mama.” I shudder, and his eyes widen. “She has been watching over me this entire time, helping me with my magic, and she’s part of the forest—an esprit.” I sniff, shaking as my heart twists with the acceptance of the truth. “And Marian all but confirmed it when she attacked me.”

I close my eyes, trying to separate the love I’ve had for my sister from the reality of her true self.

Yet I cannot help but feel like it was the infection taking hold of her. Taking hold of herself in a figment of shadows and whispers like she admitted before.

The profound words hiss and drift in circles around my mind.

Be careful of the shadows.

I shudder.

My lip quivers, and I push down the stinging betrayal of my sister.

I glance at Papa, his head downcast, his body forlorn. Exhausted. Pained .

“I’m sorry for deceiving you and using everyone to go behind your back and lying about the infection.

For lying about my whereabouts and relying on others to conceal my deception.

I’m sorry for disobeying you and writing and warning Torgem.

I’m sorry for turning to them for help. I’m sorry. I am so, so—”

“If you apologize for one more thing, Vi, I swear—”

“You swear what? To disown me? To execute me?” I choke on the last word, my worst fears, for once, voiced.

He flinches, shock flashing across his expression.

But I know what he’s thinking. I can tell how he truly feels with not only one but two of his daughters creating an endless problem for a kingdom he is fighting to keep together despite the magic flowing through my veins and not his own.

Could that be something that upsets him like it had Marian?

My heart breaks even more, and a souring tension unsettles in my gut, worse than being stabbed by my twin.

I glance away, trying to brace for my father’s punishment.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice low.

I almost deny him but slowly turn to him. Warmth spreads along my palm as Papa brings our foreheads together.

“Don’t you ever—and I mean ever —assume I would execute you. I would never. I could never.”

“Because I have the magic for our kingdom?” I ask carefully, wondering if his love has always been true or too was a lie like Marian’s.

“Because you are my daughter,” he answers with conviction.

“You are parts of me and parts of your mother. You are my family. You are my world. I could never —” His voice cracks and takes a deep breath.

“I would never do any of those things. I love you as much as I love your mother. And that’ll never change. No matter what.”

“What about Marian?” I ask, unable to acknowledge his words without mentioning the other part of me.

My twin.

My sister.

My betrayer.

Papa slackens, and we sit in the pain-filled silence. My question is thick and laced with grief, heartbreak, deception, and the unknown of her well-being.

“She is in the dungeons still,” he says. “And I haven’t seen her.”

“Why?”

I fuss with the bedsheets as Papa’s lips thin. “Because I’m still putting everything together on my own terms, and your health was more pressing than hers.”

“But her infection—”

“ He gave her the cure you both made.”

I blanch. “But… the tonic isn’t made properly.”

“He knows, but he gave her the alternative to keep the infection at bay. I had Tove ask him to keep Marian stable until you were better, but there was not much left after she ruined it. And now she’s asking for you and me.”

My brows furrow. “I-I-I don’t understand. I thought Beau would have issued a sentence on her already.”

Papa sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Vi,” he says, squeezing my hand. “He passed her punishment to us, and I need you to come with me to see her.”

I scan my father’s tattered and exhausted body, understanding he is struggling with this new knowledge of Marian as much as I am.

Tackling one problem at a time, I swallow thickly and concede. “Let’s go.”

Papa bends forward to help me up, my limbs straining with each movement. I hiss when he touches one of my bandages, and he instinctively scoots back in apology.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just sore.”

He helps me once more, more cautious of where to support me. “The king insisted he help heal you.”

I tighten my grip as I rise from the bed, surprised by my strength. But my heart sinks at the mention of Beau, and I solemnly ask, “H-how is he?”

My father works his jaw as if saying something nice about Beau will kill him.

“ Papa .”

He rolls his eyes, muttering. “His injuries were not as bad as yours. I don’t want to—”

“ He wasn’t behind Mama’s death. He never was. Why are you still mad?”

“Because!”

I recoil from his outburst, frustrated by his stubbornness. Will he ever accept it?

He scratches his beard, resentment still pushing to the surface. “He… he—”

“He what ?”

He sighs. “He dotes on you.”

My eyes bulge, and bile swims up my throat.

Does… does Papa know? Has he known this entire time? No, he couldn’t.

He continues. “And he almost refused to let me see you when he came to heal you.”

“But he did let you, though, or else you wouldn’t be here right now.”

He glares before replying through a clenched jaw. “ Yes .”

“Papa, don’t you remember Beau and I being friends?” I play off our closeness as friendship rather than affection, but the words are dry and brittle, painful to get out. I don’t even know if we could be friends after this.

“What I remember is you dotted on him when you were young, always dragging him with you to play games, read you stories, and write ridiculous letters. But I guess I never paid attention to seeing it the other way around.”

My lips lift at the memory, knowing all too well the countless occasions Beau and I spent time together. “We dote on one another because we grew and became so close. It’s just like how I grew close to Jules.”

“Oh, Jules,” he remarks with fondness. “That girl is something.”

“She really is.” I laugh. “And so is Beau.” I try to cushion the potential for more with Beau.

“I… I know he is. And he… he did heal you, for the most part. But I still can’t believe he openly wrote out what his abilities were to me. I can’t believe he used them so openly in front of everyone.”

“He did that because he cares,” I explain, trying to ease him into deepening this conversation. “He did that because he has always been close with me. He’s always been an ally to us. He even helped even after you banished him from our lands.”

Papa drags a hand over his face. “I know, I know. And that’s something I’m grateful for and trying to be at peace with as I grapple with everything coming down to Marian.

I hear everything you’re saying. And… I want to thank him.

I plan to. It’s just… I’m still processing the real truth, still coming to terms with everything—”

The door bursts open, startling me and Papa.

Leo and Marcel fill the doorway, their smiles broad as Beau yanks them back. His golden eyes, more beautiful than life itself, take me in.

My breath catches at him whole and alive . I assess Beau’s crooked posture, his weight more on his left, and the bandage on his arm. Pieces of my heart and soul mend back together as he crosses the room, grabbing my cheeks without any regard for anyone but me.

“Rosebud.”

My heart stops completely as Beau kisses me.

Kisses me like he never would have had the chance to again.

Kisses me like he never would have seen me again.

Kisses me like there is no one else in the world but me and him.

Kisses me in front of— Papa .

I immediately break away, stunned at Beau’s carelessness in my father’s very presence. Not to mention Leo and Marcel, gawking with open mouths before sharing a toothy grin with each other.

Beau does not share my sentiments because he smiles, still clasping my cheeks. “You’re here,” he breathes.

My mind scatters from his relief and the pure fear crawling up my spine. I blink twice, words failing to form anything cohesive, and my mouth only gapes.

“B-B-B,” I stutter after a long moment, trying to get him to realize what he did.

But I… I can’t move, terrified of the immediate anger from Papa.

No, not anger— wrath .

I dart my attention to my father, but I can’t discern anything. There’s no joy, no rage—no nothing in his expression.

I didn’t tell him Beau and I were more than friends yet. I barely scratched the surface of that. Did I just undo the sliver of trust and acceptance of Beau that he barely gave me?

Dread snakes across the bedchamber, pulling apart my flesh to yank my heart from my chest. And in that small kernel of time, my life flashes by.

Papa punches Beau in the face.