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“Elyse?” he called tentatively. He recalled that she wasn’t a morning person, and though she was prohibited from hurting him, he still didn’t feel like getting an earful for rousing her too aggressively.
He rounded a corner and found himself in the kitchen. His first thought was that his mother would love this kitchen, with its massive butcher block counter and enormous hearth. His second thought was that there were no signs that anyone had been there recently—no kettle hanging over the fire, no dishes laid out to dry.
An archway led to another room, so Killian headed there, finding himself in a sitting room with several plush chairs and divans spread about. In the corner, Elyse lay snuggled atop one of the divans. She was fast asleep, her mouth hanging open.
Relief flooded Killian. Elyse was okay—and not entangled with Jaime. He was about to call her name to wake her when he spotted several papers littering the floor.
Stepping closer to get a better view, Killian saw that they were drawings. Faces sketched in deep charcoal stared back at him—faces he immediately recognized. The first one he noticed was Sera, her soft features unmistakable. Beside that was Manny, sporting his classic look with his hair tied back in a knot. And there, laying just beside his feet, was Killian’s own face.
There were others, too—King Cyril, Queen Andrielle, Royce, Tanner Wills, and a young girl with curly hair that Killian didn’t recognize. He furrowed his brows as he studied each one. The drawings were amateurish, the lines crude and lacking confidence, yet there was an obvious pain behind each stroke.
Elyse must have sensed his presence because she stirred, blinking awake. She looked perplexed for a moment, then seemed to realize where she was.
“Elyse,” Killian breathed, still entranced by the drawings. He’d never known her to have an artistic side, and he certainly hadn’t expected her to express herself on paper. “What are these?”
Her face paled, and for a moment Killian thought she might be ill. Then he realized she was physically incapable of lying to him, no matter how inconsequential that lie might be.
“They’re… the people I hurt,” she croaked.
Killian looked at the drawings again, studying each face. His own memories assaulted him as he recalled Queen Andrielle’s grief over losing her husband, and Tanner Will’s severed head lying in a box on his desk. Elyse might not have hurt them directly, but all the suffering and violence could be traced back to her.
When he glanced up at Elyse, he was surprised to see her staring intently at him, a cacophony of emotions in her expression.
“Why?” he asked. Perhaps it was cruel for him to pester her when she was forced to tell the truth, but he couldn’t seem to grasp what lay before him.
Anguish, pure and visceral, filled her eyes. “Because they haunt me,” she whispered.
Killian’s breath froze in his lungs. Her words were so raw that they shocked him, pinning him in place. This was not a manipulation. This was unadulterated pain, private sorrows scrawled on paper, meant for her eyes only.
She was miserable, plagued by her past just as much as Killian was. All this time, he’d thought her incapable of anything more than selfishness and cruelty, but the evidence at his feet contradicted that. Elyse lamented her actions, at least on some level.
Good, he thought. She ought to feel remorse. The drawings represented only a fraction of the lives she’d upended. And if she wished to atone by turning herself in, by avenging those lost at Prestowne, then it was the least she could do.
Even so, a trickle of sympathy slipped through his ribs, touching his heart.
Elyse looked away, her eyes trailing down to her lap. Killian followed her gaze to the sketchbook that lay open on the blanket. There was another face there, but this one was different. The eyes were black pits, as if Elyse had scribbled furiously. The lines weren’t as distinguished, drawn and redrawn again.
“Who is that?” Killian wondered aloud.
Elyse didn’t look up. “That’s my mother.”
Killian looked at the drawing again, stunned by the answer. Had she wronged her mother as well? Or was there something deeper at play? He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just stared until a voice called over his shoulder.
“Oh, there you are.”
Sera sounded relieved, at least until she sensed the tension in the room. “Is everything all right?” she asked warily.
“Yes,” Killian answered quickly. He cleared his throat and added, “Elyse was asleep.”
Elyse looked up at where Sera stood in the archway. “Sorry,” she murmured, smiling weakly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sera said lightly. “Jaime isn’t here yet, so you have time to get ready.” If she noticed the drawings on the floor, she made no mention of them.
Killian lingered for a moment. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt like he should say something to Elyse, some sort of consolation or understanding, but his mind was utterly void of words. He met her eyes once more before hurrying from the room.
He found Manny in the library, seated at the large table. “Did you find her?” Manny asked.
Killian could only nod. He was fixated on the drawings, the faces parading through his mind. Because they haunt me, Elyse had said.
