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As soon as he was gone, I exhaled. There was something about Atticus that made you hold your breath.
I searched the ornate room and found my clothes quickly. Nothing had changed about the space. August had a large four-poster bed draped with rich fabric and painted dusty gold. The tall sun-blocking curtains made it hard to tell what time it was, but I could smell the bacon on the breakfast cart left outside his door.
My funeral dress was neatly folded in a pile on the oversized dresser. There was no doubt in my mind that Leo had picked it up off the floor and carefully set it aside for me. He was always the most disciplined member of the group. Disorganization was a grave concern for the stoic bodyguard. Last night, I’d been in such a hurry to help August that I stripped and left each piece of my dress on the floor. It did not matter to me that both Atticus and Leo were standing just a few feet away from me.
Last night, like I used to do when I was a teenager, I shuffled through August’s drawers to find something comfortable to sleep in. After finding a sleep shirt, I slipped it on. Only after lifting the goose feather duvet did I realize that both boys had seen me stripped bare. Fortunately, August was too out of his mind to give me a hard time.
Or at least, the old August would have.
Last night had felt painfully familiar but beautifully normal. For so long, I’d only associated this kingdom with the terrible things King Frederick forced me to do. I forgot all the other little moments that molded me into a woman here. The rebellious antics I did as a teen weren’t revolved around murders and blood.
“What are you doing in my room?” August asked with a groan. I jumped, dropping my pile of clothes. “Get out.” He sounded so much like his father just then.
“Do you remember last night?” I asked before bending down to grab my slip. Once I was upright, I found myself staring at August. His eyes widened when he saw what I was wearing. I was sure my blonde hair was a mess of waves, and his shirt was wrinkled. I didn’t need a mirror to know that my eyes had dark circles beneath them.
Our silent staring match lasted for an entire minute. “I don’t hand out participation trophies to my one-night stands,” he finally said while sitting up. August scratched his scalp. I stripped out of his shirt then stepped into my black satin slip and pulled the thin straps over my shoulders. His assumption hurt, but the way he didn’t care hurt more.
Perhaps I should have mentioned how much he cried last night and how he begged me to stay, but I didn’t need the validation. “We didn’t fuck. I just stayed to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit.”
August blanched at my vulgar choice of words. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he said before rolling his eyes.
“And I don’t need to waste my time on someone who hates me. I heard you loud and clear last night, August.”
“I don’t even remember what I said. I’m tired, okay? Can we just do this later?”
“I’m leaving this afternoon,” I replied with a shrug. Grabbing my long dress, I put it on and cursed the long line of buttons up my back. I hated the traditional clothes of Aldrich. I’d gotten used to wearing linen pants and flowy blouses back in Harvington. The clothes here were just as oppressive as the king. Vintage fashion never faded into history, it just evolved.
It suddenly seemed to dawn on August that I wasn’t a permanent fixture in his life. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening.
This reunion was temporary.
“I forgot. Wait, why did you come last night?” August squeezed his eyes shut, likely trying to piece together the broken shards of his memory.
“I thought maybe we could spend time together before I left. But you went supernova self-destructive. You said some pretty awful things, and I stayed up all night to make sure whatever drugs you took weren’t going to kill you.”
August looked like a little kid for a moment, his expression bleeding with remorse. “Shit, Christine. I’m sorry. I asked you to come out last night, and I fucked it all to hell.”
I didn’t offer him forgiveness. “I better get going. See you…at the next funeral.”
And with that morbid statement, I gathered my shoes and started walking toward the door.
“Christine! Wait.” I paused, one hand on the doorknob, one hovering over my chest. “I’m sorry. Let me try this again. I’m not ready for you to leave. I’m sorry for the participation trophy shit, too. It just sort of freaked me out, seeing you in my clothes. I couldn’t remember what happened and you’re…you.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? I twisted the knob. “Maybe Atticus is right,” I said in a low voice. “Things are better when I’m gone.”
I walked out and shut the door.
Goodbye, August.
Chapter Six
CHRISTINE
At the prospect of meeting the queen, my stomach churned with anxiety. The last time I saw her, I was coated in a dead man’s blood, my wild eyes seeking comfort from a woman who wouldn’t give it. She efficiently ordered a team to clean up my mess and informed me that I’d leave the kingdom at once.
I knew she was saving me, but I still resented the way she seemed exasperated by it all. As if I hadn’t endured the greatest trauma of my life but created an annoyance for her to overcome.
The papers said Lord Geralt died peacefully in his sleep seven days after I’d left. The funeral was a closed casket. The Pope attended.
