AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This was not a room for a queen. This was a room for a prisoner.
Anger ignited within her, the hurt of an old wound with a fresh cut. It was easier to remember how much competing with Ophelia had consumed her life for so long. Always fighting for attention from her parents, from friends, and from boys.
Ophelia had always been better at smooth talking, thus becoming triumphant in almost any affair. It pushed Ambrose to come out of her shell, to stop getting lost in her thoughts, or from putting her nose in a book for too long. Underneath the show she put on, Ambrose had always cared.
Ophelia’s approval was almost as rewarding as it was from her parents. And Ophelia saw much to be gained from popularity.
The aching crack in Ambrose’s chest throbbed. Part of her was missing. Farah was gone.
Exhaling, she sprawled out on the mattress, her arms and legs stretching till she looked like a starfish. Only then, when her eyes fluttered closed, her body melted against the mattress, and her thoughts suddenly quiet, did the lock on her door slide out of place.
Ambrose laid still even as the door opened and two heavy boots stepped within the threshold. She was certain if she just pretended to be asleep that there would be a higher chance of them leaving her alone.
“You’ve always been a terrible liar.” Burke sighed.
Ambrose begrudgingly opened her eyes and sat herself up with a groan. The sheet hung from her body, gathering in her lap with the pull of gravity. The slender strap of the nightgown slipped from her shoulder, an otherwise indecent look for a queen, but she made no move to adjust it.
She gave Burke her best deadpan expression. He’d leaned himself in the doorway, and arched a thick brow at her. His eyes sparkled with a mischief that looked an awful lot like remembrance as his gaze slid down her body before he found himself busy with some dirt under his nails.
“I’ve come to fetch you for breakfast. I brought you flowers.”
“Oh, I’m being released from my jail cell now?” Ambrose huffed as she pushed the blankets off, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and ignored the vase he’d set out.
“That was for your own protection.”
Her eyes rolled so hard she nearly got them stuck. She pulled her strap back in place, aware that the gown still stuck to the sweat that glistened on her body and dampened the back of her hair. With her long fingers, she combed her curls down, though the only thing that might tame them would be to wash them completely again.
“Is that what she told you?”
He took his time, stretching his neck from side to side, the motion pulling at his thin scars. When he finished, he made a show of rolling his shoulders before leaning back into the doorway.
“No. That is whatIam telling you.”
“Did she tell you to say it, Burke?”
Those bright blue eyes narrowed. Ambrose expected a wave of remembrance, something that still existed in her that wanted to be looked at with that beautiful gaze, but nothing stirred. A new confidence was born as she realized it. She loved Ephram more than she wanted Burke.
“I am not some puppet on a string as you seem to think. I have my freedoms.” His hands slipped into his pockets. “Iam suggesting the lock was for your own good. Your sister can become something quite wicked after a few drinks and after your uninvited appearance, she became quite the drunkard. As would be expected.”
“Is it?” She let her attention skim the lines of his broad form. He was admirable yet the yearning that had once burned in her still did not readily ignite.
“Is what?”
“Is it expected for one’s family member to be so surprised by a visit that they waste the night away with alcohol? I’m assuming she was not drinking in celebration as I was not invited.”
“You were invited…at first.”
“Hmmm.” Ambrose hummed and folded her arms under her bust, aware of the excess of cleavage the stance created.
Burke’s eyes flicked down then back up. He locked his gaze on hers, unwilling to look again. Such a good little pet for Queen Ophelia. Ambrose wondered if he’d get a treat when he returned.
“Please,” Burke waved a hand toward the wardrobe, “get dressed.”
Ambrose looked around for a lady’s maid to scuttle into the room but when no one entered and Burke sighed impatiently, she planted her hands on her hips. “And who will help me dress?”
It was his turn to roll his eyes at her, though she knew he would never dare do that in Ophelia’s presence.
“You dressed yourself most of your life. You can’t do so now?”
