Page 75 of Unmasked

“Later, Lord Summerlyn. We found her like this. Her guards are dead.”

“Dead?”

I heaved. Realizing I was twisting. Turning in the king’s arms. He paused, shuffling me as he tried not to drop me.

“Rowan. Rowan!”

I caught Lord Summerlyn’s face, and I was reaching to him. Trying to grab the only person I could trust. One minute I was here—the next I was beginning to fade out, losing my strength. He had my hand, moving me more into his arms. But King Lawrence was pulling me back to his chest.

A gag catapulted me up. Back to the panic that was leaking out in small bouts of recognition. “Call…” I gagged again. “Theo—Call.”

“What…in the…” The King’s voice was deep. “She’s… Penelope stop,” he growled, threateningly. “There’s—She’s… bleeding.”

My body seized, and I screamed through the agonizing cramps that were taking over. The stabbing was transitioning. Spreading.

Lord Summerlyn’s stare went from King Lawrence to me as my eyes rolled. I began fading again.

Here.

There.

Nowhere.

“Are you with a child?” The Lord’s voice was an echo. It sounded menacing, but I didn’t think it was to me. It was full of fear. “You’re bleeding, Penelope. Are you pregnant?”

He was patting against my face, tapping, trying to bring me back. And then I was moving again. Running?

“Baby… Yes,” I sobbed, but everything was hollow. So far away. “Call… Theodore. Plea…se.”

Silence. Stillness. Darkness. It was as if the room and everyone in it turned to stone. No one moved. Was anyone breathing? Or maybe it was me who wasn’t breathing… But we had been moving—and then nothing—and then I was spinning.

“Get her on the bed. You!” More threats hidden in demands. “Fix her.”

The pains were coming back, and with them, I was able to hold onto the chaos. Rowan. Mark. … Dead? Blood. I was bleeding? What had happened to me? To them?”

A pinch registered in my hand. I was being moved—adjusted. My clothes were being taken off. Something in that was more about survival than pain. I sucked in air, flying forward as my limbs went wild.

At first I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t remember what words I should even be using.

“Let’s hurry.”

“D-Don’t…. D-Don’t—touch me. Don’t touch me!”

“Penelope, we have to assess you. We have to make sure you’re okay. You’re bleeding. You’re sick.”

King Lawrence’s words were hard, but I was turning to Lord Summerlyn who they were trying to remove from the room. I reached for him, feeling my arm collapse from the weight.

He stays. “Lord—” I gagged, feeling the muscles tightened and contract through the heave. The physician was holding something near my mouth, but I had to state my demands. “Lord Summerlyn. Stays. Stays! He helps me dress. No one else.”

Confusion. My eyes rolled, and my head fell back against the pillow.

“Surely, the female aids⁠—”

Lord Summerlyn cut him off.

“The Duchess is a victim of abuse of every kind. Surely, you’ve heard the stories, Your Majesty.” Lord Summerlyn’s voice was full of authority. Shuffling sounded mixed with banging. “They’re horrifying. Victims choose who they feel safe around, and she feels safe with me. Out. All of you while I dress her. She wishes for privacy.”

“I stay.” King Lawrence’s tone didn’t allow for argument.