No—I’m not enjoying seeing her like this. But I won’t tell her either that I know her little secret.
The moment she said, “Her,” all the dots connected. Why she looked different in every photo. Why she wanted me never to forget the King’s daughter’s name.
Because that’s her.
Elowen.
I asked Robin to gather everything he could on her. Unsurprisingly, he found nothing. She’s never been seen in public. No one knows what Alessio’s daughter looks like. All Robin managed to dig up was an unverified rumor that she performs as a pianist under the name Ella.
I walk to Bruno’s room and stop outside. She’s lying in his bed. I watch from the doorway as she tosses and turns. Nearly an hour later, her movements finally still.
Only then do I step inside.
I lower myself to the floor beside her. Her face is swollen, the skin beneath her eyes bruised with exhaustion.
She is the daughter of the king of darkness, yet she remains untouched by it. I’m a man forged in ashes, with the cruelest of hearts. There is nota single part of me worthy of her.
Chapter 23
Elowen
Today also passed without a sight of him. It’s been a day and a half since he last came in front of me.
The sound of the food cart makes me turn. Nivi has arrived with my dinner. She’s been bringing my meals and cleaning Bruno’s room since yesterday—and I don’t miss the ugly, satisfied looks she gives me.
She sets the food on the small table by the couch.
“There’s a rumor,” she chirps. “Master was about to kill you, but Antonio saved you.”
I purse my lips. “Therumor is wrong.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think so. Everyone can see Master doesn’t even want to look at you anymore. This is karma.”
I raise a brow but decide not to waste my energy on her. She glances at my food, then at me with hatred, and leaves.
I pick up a plate of sfogliatella, break off a piece, and bite into it. It’s sweet and nutty.
I frown.
Anything nutty raises my guard. But I know the kitchen here doesn’t use them. I remember the day he called the cooks into the dining room and asked them about it in front of me.
A smile finds its way to my lips. How cold he was with me then—and how quickly that changed.
The smile slips away. The change back came just as fast. Now things are even worse than they were at the start.
I finish the two sfogliatella in a foul mood, then reach for the plate of alfredo. But then I feel it—an itch inside my mouth that spreads rapidly.
I set the plate down. My lips feel warm. Within moments, my throat tightens.
Nuts. And with how fast the symptoms are hitting, I must have consumed a lot.
I get up from the couch. My body starts shaking with anxiety and fear.
Bruno rushes to me. He sniffs me frantically. I claw at my throat—swallowing is already impossible. Coughing, heaving, I stumble out of Bruno’s room. He follows.
I make my way toward his room.God, let there be epinephrine in his first aid kit.
Dizziness engulfs me. I try to breathe through my mouth. It’s not working.
