AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She’s out cold. My fingers on her forehead don’t even make her stir. I’ve been trying—and failing—to fall asleep ever since we got back from our trip into town. Sleep came easy for her, which I’m grateful for considering the circumstances. Today’s been stressful, so it makes me happy that she’s able to relax enough to get some rest.
I don’t know if I’ll be sleeping tonight.
I keep replaying my interactions with my father. I feel the sting of betrayal and the warm kiss of anger every single time I think of the situation he’s forced me into and his sudden engagement. It’s unfair to say the least, but he’s never been a man to listen to reason. No, everything is about his wants, his needs, his desires.
He would rather me be unhappy but married to someone he approves of. His rejection of Alize, of me, stings more than I would admit to anyone in the light of day. But here, in the darkness of this room, the frosty wind caressing the glass panes of the windows like a hymn, it’s much simpler to acknowledge the fact I resent my father for how he’s treated the woman I love.
He hasn’t even taken the time to get to know her, to even give her a chance. It’s fucking pathetic of him, and it only makes me hate him more. Now, more than ever, I understand why Graham made the decision to run away. He knew that was the only way he could marry Ivy.
It’s too late for Alize and I to run away, though. There’s too much on the line. I’ve set my mind on the future that I want and taking control of the Empire is part of it now.
I’m still stewing about the whole situation when I slip out of bed and pull on a shirt. Growing up, I always wandered through the house when I couldn’t sleep. Tonight will be no different. I take one last look at Alize, grab my gun and stuff my phone in the pocket of my sleep pants in case she calls me or something.
The floorboards creak under my weight, almost echoing in the stillness of the night. I close the door behind me with a soft thud and step into the expansive hallways. It’s been years since I’ve done this—probably close to a decade if I did the maths—but I still know the house well enough to navigate it in the darkness.
Moonlight spills through the huge windows on either end of the hall, but it does little to cut through the dense cloak of black that seems to gather in every corner. It’s colder out here than it was in our room. I drag my hand along the wooden bannister as I descend the stairs.
I follow where my feet lead, stopping to ghost a finger over the brass frames of the pictures in the hallway. I almost stumble into the sculpture on one of the landings but recover before I stub my toe on the thick marble. As odd as it is, the house feels less imposing.
It makes me realise that the things I hate about it are the details—the little things I can pick out in the light. Like the rips in the wallpaper, a testament to the family we were when we lived here. Or the gold-inlaid cracks in the delicate, blown glass wall art hanging in the foyer. In the dark, you can’t tell that this huge, impersonal house used to be someone’s home, a place where children played, where laughter wafted through the walls.
I turn into a hallway with a single door at the end, and I realise where my feet have taken me. Sure enough, a shadow moves at the end of the hallway. It steps out into a pool of moonlight a few inches away, revealing Ben. He’s standing guard outside my father’s door.
“What are you doing here?” Ben asks me, a hard edge to his voice. His eyes are sunken in his face from tiredness, and there’s a frown on his lips. “Your father’s asleep.”
This was the room my father and my mum shared, before she eventually moved into her own room elsewhere in the house. It makes my stomach churn that my father still uses it. I get even more sick thinking of the fact that he probably has Sarah in there with him.
Ben is still approaching me and stops short just a few feet away.
I haven’t answered him, partly because I want him to understand he has no authority over me, no matter what his proximity to my father has led him to believe. This is the man who almost killed me at my father’s behest—twice, if we’re counting that night in the safe house when my father thought I helped Graham defect.
Maybe he doesn’t agree with everything the dragon has him do, but he ends up doing it nonetheless, so he can never be a friend of mine.
“Look, just leave,” Ben asks. “Whatever you came here to do, you can’t do it tonight.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. Does he think I came here to kill my father? Creeping up on him the middle of the night while he’s asleep? No, that’s a coward’s way to kill a man.
But Ben’s point does remind me of something I’ve been meaning to tell him.
“You should think about what side you want to be on,” I say to him, raising my chin so that we’re making eye contact. “You might have to choose one of these days.”
He doesn’t ask me to elaborate. Not that I would have.
There’s silence for a few seconds.
“Good night, Alexander,” he says, then turns and walks back to his post at my father’s door. I’m rooted in my spot, watching him, trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. But he gives me no clues.
I leave soon after.
This time, my feet don’t have to lead me, because I know where I’m heading.
I slink through the house, my footsteps echoing at intermittent intervals as I move from the hardwood floors to the hallways lined with wool runners. My heart is in my throat with each step, but as much anxiety as I feel about visiting this room for the first time in a decade, there’s also an inexplicable pull. Iwantto be there, to see if it’s still the same.
Much like the room my father was in, these heavy wooden double doors are the only set in this section of the floor. When I wasmuch, muchyounger, this room was for when my father’s parents visited us. After they died, it lay empty until it became my mum’s a few years before she died.
I run a hand along the brass handle of the doors. They’re cool to the touch. There’s a moment of indecision when I feel the coolness against my fingertips. Do I really want to see this now? I have to, though. Sometimes, it feels like my mum’s ghost runs rampant in my thoughts—tormenting me because deep down I know I haven’t settled my grouse with the person who killed her.
Maybe this room will have some sort of clue, or even just a bit of her aura that can give me solace. Enough to go back to sleep, at least. I push the doors open. They wail a scratchy, creaky protest, opening on a room that doesn’t look as uninhabited as I thought it would.
