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Grandmère gives us a questioning look, and I turn to Remy.
“Francis, I know you’re anxious to get back to the rooms,” I chide, forcing a blush to my cheeks. “But I really would like to see my new home.”
I manage not to choke on that last word, but something in his expression tells me he knows how hard it was for me to force out.
He nods, though, gesturing for his grandmother to go on. She does, but not without another speculative glance.
We walk through another hallway into a room with vaulted, painted ceilings and clean, clear windows that stretch up several stories.
Where Madame’s estate is all pointed arches, dark stained-glass windows, and asymmetrical design, the palace is open, with rounded archways and soft, sloping fixtures and staircases.
The halls here are wide and bright with windows and balconies that line the sides of the palace and allow light to stream in, illuminating every nook and cranny. In spite of its size, there is a homey feel to the space that makes me feel like even more of an outsider than I already am.
It’s too open, compared to Delmara Estate.
Here, there are no shadows to hide in.
Grandmère pulls me from my assessment when we pass yet another grand staircase.
“And here’s where Louis broke his arm sliding down the banister on what I have suspected was a dare, though he never would admit it.” She gives a playful chastising look at Remy, who I can surmise was the darer in that instance.
He doesn’t return her expression, though. Instead, he flinches, almost imperceptibly.
If it weren’t for the way my entire side is pressed against his, I might not have noticed it at all.
Grandmère turns back around, still prattling on. “Of course, that was always the way with them. Louis was the overprotective sort, like his mother.”
Like Zaina.Louis was to Remy what Zaina is to me. And Madame took him away.
I swallow hard.
It’s an unwanted reminder that the people who find themselves caught in her web are real. They had lives and families and futures before she robbed them of it all.
BeforeIrobbed them of it all.
Though some of them had undoubtedly deserved it, others, like Louis…
I steal a glance at Remy, his usually stoic features drawn in grief, and feel a rare stab of guilt in my abdomen. No wonder he can’t get past my involvement with Madame.
If it weren’t for my grip on his arm and the constant attention of his grandmother, I have a feeling he would run as far from these stories as possible. Even now, his cinnamon gaze flickers past every exit and down every hall as if he’s looking for an escape.
In all the time I knew him as Remy the guard, or Remy the gambler, that’s what he did. Escape.
He told me nothing about his life outside of the small bubble we created for ourselves at the tavern. He never spoke of his family except to say that they lived nearby. He avoided mentioning them, claiming that he felt the pressure of responsibility, something being a guard allowed him to escape from.
In hindsight, he was probably trying to avoid telling me unnecessary lies.
I wonder, not for the first time, if that’s all I was to him.
Another escape.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
REMY
Aika’s nimble fingers flex around my arm in a movement so subtle I wonder if she’s even aware she’s doing it. I am, though. Her constant presence and the pressure of her touch, the smell of her soap, all of it grates on the fraying edges of my sanity.
It’s difficult enough with the strain of everything between us, but Grandmère’s insistence on opening the gaping wounds that are the memories of my brother—in front of her, no less—only makes it worse.
