Page 9 of The Unbound Witch
“No need for explanation. It’s just the babe protesting a full meal after a long day of travel, I’m sure.”
Grey wrapped his arm around my shoulder, an easy smile showcasing his dimple as he looked down at me.
“Just the babe, my darling. Try the bread.”
I kicked him below the table as I reached across it for the basket. His dimple deepened, but he said nothing else. I wondered if he knew that Bastian was the only man I’d ever see when I looked at him. That every word he spoke and each look we shared was laced with remnants of guilty memories that could never be forgotten.
Setting the basket down, I waited for Victoria to finish her bite before asking, “Do you have children?”
A wave of sadness crossed both of their faces, and their hands instinctively found each other’s.
“We lost a son in childbirth in our first year of marriage. Our daughter was…” Henry cleared his throat as if it would make the words easier to say. “She was taken from us three years ago.”
“You might’ve heard the whispers in town. They love to gossip,” Victoria bit out, “But our Elizabeth wasn’t a witch. She wasn’t.”
“There, there,” Henry said, pushing out of his chair to wrap his arms around his elderly wife. “There’s no need for that on such a lovely day.”
Her sniffles faded away after a few moments. Henry moved back to his seat but never took his hand from his wife. The word ‘witch’ hung in the air as if it had been painted in blood on the wall, and I wanted nothing more than to assure Victoria that there was no shame in being one.
Grey shifted, moving slightly closer as he gripped my hand on top of the table, rubbing lazy circles with his thumb as the old woman continued.
“We were blessed with Beth late in life. We thought we wouldn’t bear children. She was such a joy, Raven. You would have loved her. Everyone did. She had the most precious blonde ringlets. She’d beg Henry for a new yellow ribbon every year to tie her hair up.”
She smiled, dabbing her brown eyes with a handkerchief as she continued. “She was a dream in the garden. Born with the purest green thumb. We’d grow pumpkins the size of wagon wheels and enough tomatoes to feed the village. She grew into that role, her knowledge of herbs and flowers growing as fast as she did. And then one day, Henry got the cough. But she knew what to brew to make it go away. Half the village got it. Most that did, died. But our Elizabeth saved her dad. He was right as rain in just a few days.”
She paused then, lost in thought. I knew that place well. The one you wished you could stay in. Pleading with the goddess to let you see how precious those moments were. Grey must have followed my trail of thought, because he squeezed my hand once more, pressing his thigh against mine.
I didn’t know how to pull away, even as the room became smaller and he became so much bigger. He meant well, I told myself. Meant to soothe my tender heart and maybe even a bit of his own.
When Victoria spoke again, I could barely hear her. “They said it was witchcraft. Said there was no way Henry could have healed that fast. Then an angry mob came and took her away. Her screams were the last sound we ever heard from her.”
“And you stayed here?” The sound of my voice startled her. She must have forgotten we were sitting here.
“Oh, heavens.” She placed over-worked hands on the beautiful table and shoved, pushing herself up. “What a sad story for a sweet couple to hear. Please forgive me.”
“There’s no forgiveness needed,” Grey said. “We’re very sorry for the loss of your daughter.”
She moved quickly from the room all the same.
Henry shook his head, taking a long drink of something that certainly wasn’t water. “Take it from me, kids. There are some deaths a person will never recover from.”
Grey wrapped his arm around the back of my chair again, his hand settling heavily onto my shoulder. It was a façade, and I knew it. A husband comforting his wife after a sad tale. It was wrong, though.
I needed him to stop touching me. Needed the panic of that lingering stroke to go away. Needed to stop pretending that I belonged to anyone but a fallen king with pitch black wings and a dangerous temper. But he was there, in the room, in the shadows of the home, watching me, hating me, gripping my throat.
Henry stood, his body slow and steady. He’d said something, but I couldn’t hear it over the ringing in my ears, the rush of panic as Grey’s careful fingers became Bastian’s firm grasp. As the room grew smaller. The shadows crept toward me. His shadows. His magic. His anger and passion and everything I’d ever wanted from him.
Fear is the darkness that calls to you.
Voices muffled as Grey moved into my blurred vision. He said my name, but it echoed off a wall somewhere far, far away. I nearly fell from my chair, scrambling through the small house and straight for the door, wrenching it open to take in the cool night air. Gasping, I tried to let that sliver of milky moonlight give me comfort as I hurtled past the garden-lined path, flinging open the little white gate to escape.
One breath. Two Breaths. I could do this. Control. Focus.
My stomach rolled, threatening to lose its contents. I sucked in short, sharp breaths. Every muscle stretched and ached with tension. Every sound from miles away pounded into my head. I was certain I could still hear the ocean, the forest we’d walked through, and even the voice of that young girl the monster in the town had stalked.
“Easy.” Grey’s voice was careful, as if approaching a wild animal. His hand slid onto my back, and I jerked away.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please don’t touch me.”