Page 25 of Unforgiving Queen

“Next time you break into my apartment, I’m going to break your fingers.”

But he was right, I—we—needed to get back to building our empire.

10

REINA

It was the day after Christmas.

I moved slowly through the dark castle. Everyone was asleep while ghosts that had nothing to do with this place haunted me.

The castle had been passed down through the Glasgow family for the past seven centuries.

Built in the thirteenth century, the place had gotten an upgrade, but it still had that medieval feel to it. Dark, damp hallways. Scary, dungeon-like basement. In the upper stories, like my bedroom suite, luxury was evident. Down below, whispers of torture and wrongdoing danced in the air.

It made my skin crawl.

And yet, each night I made my way down to it. Maybe it was my masochistic side coming out, or I was a glutton for punishment. Or maybe it just reflected the state of my mind and soul.

Because part of me wanted to lash out at the world. Instead, I kept it all in and released the anxiety and pain by torturing myself, hiding it from everyone. My thighs were proof of it. All the negative emotions—all the pain—seemed to get better when I cut myself. It had started with an accidental graze in the shower after Amon broke up with me, and then it morphed into a need for release. One that only came with pushing the sharp metal into my skin.

Finally, I made my way back to my drafty bedroom. Thick stone walls promised the privacy I craved with my restless, dream-filled nights featuring the man with dark hair and even darker eyes. It also helped that most of the occupied rooms were on the opposite wing of the castle.

I opened the double french doors of my private balcony in this castle without a prince. The crisp December air swept through the room. Goosebumps rose on my skin, the thin nightgown barely providing any warmth.

Sliding onto the cold stone floor, I pulled my knees to my chest and leaned against the centuries-old walls. I let my thoughts wander and memories torture. I knew I needed to move on, but I couldn’t find the will for it.

I told Grandma I needed more time. To heal. To forget. To harden.

The disapproval in her eyes told me she didn’t agree with all this wallowing. She even gave me a lecture on how to move on, just like she had from every husband of hers.

“Men are like medieval conquerors, Reina. Always searching for the next thing to drag down. You just have to ensure you’re never their conquest. You are the queen, you reign over them.”

Obviously not, since I was used and discarded so easily, but I’d kept the words to myself.

Tilting my face to the night sky, I stared at the darkness, picturing the sparkling stars that hid behind the clouds, reminding me of the man I was fiercely trying to forget.

A deep, throbbing ache spread through my chest. Would it ever go away?

The pain. The memories of him.

I was desperate to forget, but not forgive. I would never forgive.

My whole life had revolved one way or another around Amon. Like a leaf in the wind, I let life lead me to him without questioning its purpose.

Maybe I deserved everything that came my way.

A stupid, naive girl with dreams and hearts in her eyes, I was so easily swept into Amon’s arms. In return, I got my heart broken. He smashed it into irreparable pieces, leaving behind destruction and permanent damage.

My body ached when I finally stood up. The bruises from the car accident had faded, but a few scars on my thigh and shoulder blade remained. Grandma suggested cosmetic surgery, but I refused. I needed a reminder.

To never forgive.

Leaving the doors open, I headed to the bathroom. Despite all the upgrades and amenities both the current and previous Duke of Glasgow implemented, the pipes shuddered when I turned on the shower. The water splashed against the Italian tile, and I discarded my nightgown and underwear.

I caught my reflection in the mirror and stilled, staring at my body.Skin and bone, Papà had said. He wasn’t far off. I’d lost weight. The skin under my eyes looked bruised, the color darker. My lips were cracked and pale. The only unchanged physical trait was my hair.

The image of Amon twisting a curly strand around his finger flashed in my mind and my eyes fell to the scissors sitting in the basket. It took a fraction of a second for me to decide before I reached for them and brought them up to my collarbone. The sharp blades hovered in the air until—