Page 61 of Bloody Black

I t’s a very long while before I can bring myself to leave, and the only reason I can manage it at all is because I know the rest of the team is still inside. They’ll be waiting on my signal, wondering what to do.

Thankfully, the key is still hidden in the same place, under a centaur-shaped planter. Even though it’s been three years, no one has discovered it, and I heave a sigh of relief once I have it in my palm.

All that being said, the door into the castle is frozen solid, and when I put my injured shoulder to it and push, I nearly faint from the pain. Clearly, when Rokhur said, ‘ You’ll handle this alone’, she meant it.

My superior healing skills are all but gone, and every wound from Venka is evident.

I shut the door behind me, wincing, and then take the eastern corridor.

It’s the fastest way to the chapel, and the best way to avoid being seen.

Lucky for me, most of the interior locks are undone, and where they aren’t, the keys are helpfully located on the ledge next to the door.

Immensely grateful for the negligence of William’s staff, I limp toward the wedding hall.

Repeatedly, I have to stop, evaluating where I am. For even though I used to play hide-and-seek in these corridors, now it’s as if I’ve never been here. I can’t remember which way to go. With a grimace, I take a guess and turn left.

Wait. No. I double back and go right.

As I pass by rooms unseen, men’s voices drift out to me. Casual chit-chat. The clang of cutlery. There’s no shouting and no screaming.

As I walk, I press a hand to my side, trying to hold the blood inside.

It leaks through my fingers, and every now and then, I bite down a cry.

Several times, I have to stop, resting my palm against the cold stone wall.

For one terrifying moment, I think I might throw up from the effort of staying upright.

Like a slug, I leave a trail of wetness behind me. Each step aches, and I have bruises and scrapes that I don’t have time to inventory. Everything hurts. Even the places that shouldn’t.

Four guards round the corner, mid-conversation, swords slung casually at their hips. They stop when they see me. My hands are covered in blood. The wounds on my shoulder and stomach are dripping. I am limping down the corridor.

“Madam! What’s happened! Who did this?!”

“An attacker. He came through the window at me and the general. A…” I swallow ha rd. “A man was killed.”

I don’t have to fake my breathlessness, and I’m certainly not faking my tears. The fact that I’m injured and female makes it credible, and they take off at a run, drawing their swords.

As soon as they’re out of sight, my face falls. I continue on until I arrive at my destination.

My bedroom.

I’ve made it to the right place, thankfully.

I let myself in, somewhat surprised to find the door unlocked.

And take a deep breath, letting memories flood in.

I stroll around the room, trailing my fingers around the furniture, absorbing it.

The bed with a blue-velvet duvet, the large paned windows overlooking the sea…

My rabbit fur slippers. My books. My rose-scented candles and charcoal drawings.

It hasn’t changed much.

Spies told me William ordered that it should be kept clean, always waiting, just in case I ever returned. All part of his lie, to make the kingdom believe that he missed me, that he had continued to search for me.

Other than all that, there’s something deeply unsettling about the fact that William has slept in my bed.

Out of the 32 bedrooms in the castle he could choose, after my death, he moved into this one, and of course, it wasn’t the view that attracted him.

Every night, he snuggled down into my pillow, wrapped himself in my sheets. Bathed in my tub, sat on my balcony.

Glorying in my defeat.

What a horrible human being.

Once I’m queen, I’ll have to burn all that bedding.

Perhaps I’ll do that after I have sex with Robb on every surface of the room, just to cleanse it of the bad energy.

With a determined huff, I cross the room to my armoire and open it.

It’s a relief to see my dresses still hanging there, along with their matching jewelry.

My hand drifts past each hanger, silently assessing, until I finally find the right one.

A crimson jacquard, long-sleeved, with a high collar.

It comes with a pair of ruby earrings and a matching ruby crown.

Red as a beating heart.

I have to bite my lip to keep my eyes from getting teary.

“Alright, Teach,” I mutter. “Red it is.”

Moving as if I’m in slow motion, I peel off my bloody clothing, leaving it in a heap on the floor. I dress myself, something I’m now accustomed to doing, my eyes glued to the snow falling outside. It’s all so very surreal… being in my room, putting on my clothes.

The last time I was here was the morning of my wedding day, and it doesn’t feel like three years ago.

It feels like a lifetime.

I’m ashamed to admit I’d actually forgotten this view, the black boulders in the sea, the dark sand beach.

Forgotten that once, I attempted to climb down the tiled rooftop.

I hadn’t really thought about it in all this time; I hadn’t missed it.

There’d been too much activity, between learning to sail and learning to fish, and then learning how to light various things on fire…

I’d been too busy drinking rum and being with my friends that I just hadn’t thought of it .

Once I’m dressed, I go to my desk and open the drawer. Stationery, quills, ink, hairpins, and other small things. And a shark tooth necklace.

My father had it made for my twelfth birthday.

After years of searching, it was the first I’d ever found.

On every walk, I looked for them, but because the sand was so dark, they were nigh impossible to see.

Robb having an entire jar had been nothing short of shocking, but it was also the first hint that he was the man for me.

I tuck the necklace into a pocket of the gown, wishing I could wear it. But just having it to hold gives me a small measure of certainty.

I take the hair combs too, using them to quickly do my hair.

Nothing too elegant, of course, just something serviceable.

Something that will make me look as if I fit in.

Every now and then I have to pause, shifting in the dress.

It’s a bit too tight in the shoulders, too snug around my neck.

The fabric is scratchy and stiff, its lace smells strongly of dust.

When I’m done, I have the gown, the crown, the earrings, the hair… and I stoop and shove the bloody clothing under the bed. I’m pretty sure no one will be looking there.

William and Genevieve’s wedding agenda should be well underway at this point, and the rest of my crew will likely be watching in horror. Waiting for me to walk in. Wondering where the hell I’ve been.

Unhurried, head back, shoulders straight, I make my way down the empty halls.

If someone stumbles upon me now, dressed how a princess would be, it will be immediately apparent who I am.

There are portraits of me and my parents all over the castle, even a maid who started work yesterday would recognize me as Princess Anne, the royal who went missing.

I swallow and tug at the collar of the red gown, so tight it feels like a noose.

What if Genevieve showed him my letter? What if he knows I’m coming, and this is all a trap? What if I’m outnumbered, and what if I’m outgunned?

Turn back. Teach’s voice chastises me softly, a figment of my own twisted imagination. The racing beat of my heart doubles, triples. One breath in, one breath out. I scratch at the gown again. When all this is done, it will be another thing for the burning bin.

When I stroll past a mirror, I halt and take two steps back.

I take a long, hard look at myself. Superficially, I am the same.

Long dark hair, sad eyes, skin that tans unevenly.

My hair may not be braided as neatly as the maids used to do it, but I still look like a royal headed to a dinner party.

It’s only the inside of me that’s changed.

Well. That and my scent. Even with my perfume on, I still smell faintly of the sea. Like sweat, like hard work, like polished wood decking.

Thanks to the gown, I smell like a grave. Old dirt, dust, or other things that shouldn’t be saved… this elaborate thing doesn’t even suit me, and I yank at the collar obstinately.

Angrily, I pull until the buttons break free—rip it open, exposing my entire throat. All the bargains, for everyone to see. It’s a bit of an accident, but once it’s done, I heave a breath of relief.

Why not, I think. Why not let them see what this throne cost me?

I take out the earrings. Then take down my hair and shake it, letting it fall free.

“If I’m going to rule, I will at least do it as I am. As me.”

Feeling much better, I press my palm to the door. This one leads to the throne room. Gold inlays gleam faintly in the morning sun, emblazoned with a lion swallowing an arrow. My symbol. My house. My crown. I’m going in there, because I won’t let William keep it.