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“Carmen—“
I made a sound at the use of my name.
“Renata,” he tried again, and it made me angrier.
He touched my arm gently just as I stared up the stairs. I whipped around.
“What?” I demanded.
His expression clouded. “You’re still angry over yesterday.”
I clenched my fists. “Antonio, have you given me any reason to stop being angry? You were rude after the interview.”
The silence that followed was answer enough. “Look, I’m tired, and this was a lot. I’m mad over my alliance with Isaac. I killed his mother out of self defense. Do you know how sick it is that I have to rely on him for my safety?”
He opened his mouth, but I wasn’t done. “Everywhere I turn, there’s a new story about my marriage, or my Key Bearer scowling at me, or someone studying me like a pretty doll instead of a person. And you,”—I thrust my finger in his face, my chest heaving—“you tell me nothing. You chastise me for not knowing enough, but you don’t tell me. One of the last things Martina told me was that I was a royal. Damn you, Antonio. You knew all along and never told me.”
He straightened, his face freezing over as he set his book down. “Alvaro is working on the stories, and Joaquín—“
I threw my hands in the air. “You assuring me that everything is under control doesn’t help me! In fact, I’m wondering if this is all a part of a plan I’m just not aware of. If the stories were supposed to stop, you have enough power to make it happen.”
He shook his head, but I was angry.
So. Damned. Angry.
“I don’t need your confirmation anymore. I may as well be your queen. I should be ordering you to do something, like Reina Lucia would to her courtiers. You should bow at my feet and stumble over yourself to tell me things.” I stepped forward, and he scowled. “If you want me to trust you, then stop hiding. No more secrets.”
He took a step back, which startled me. “There are too many secrets for you to know all of them.”
I shook my head. “Well then, I shall be a pawn instead of a queen. Should I go to my room?” I mock curtsied, clearly stoking the arduous flames in his eyes.
I turned around and left him standing there. I had already made it up the stairs when my scars started to burn hot enough that I had to press my skin tightly around me.
The pain was slowly driving me insane.
Chapter15
Cicatrices
Moonlight seeped through the open curtains, casting a faint glow on the silver letter opener resting on my bed. I had been lying there for hours, unable to ignore the throbbing pain along my chest and arms.
It was in my head, so why couldn’t I overcome the phantom pain? My fingers traced the raised lines of the scars that crisscrossed my body—cruel triggers to the near past that taunted me in the present.
To make matters worse, my dress for the festival had been delivered, and it had a broad neckline which would perfectly showcase the crude lines, like cracks in my skin. I needed to get rid of them, to fix them somehow. The only option I had come up with thus far was sitting next to me on the nightstand.
The thought of cutting open every scar and drawing blood sent shivers down my spine. Disgust knotted my stomach, and I couldn't bear to pick up the letter opener.
As the night stretched on, my mind wandered to Antonio's library, and a book I'd caught a glimpse of once before. The tome all about Blood Magic. Perhaps within its pages held the answers I sought, with no self-inflicted pain. I could even get some more books for my personal study of the Familia Real.
I pushed aside the tangled sheets, my heart pounding with determination, and made my way through the dimly lit halls towards Antonio’s office. The chilly townhouse was eerily quiet, and each footstep seemed deafening. Anxiety gnawed at the edges of my thoughts as I questioned whether I should do this, but my skin was itching. I was having nightmares.
If I could rid myself of the scars, I could cure myself of the terrors lurking around me in every corner.
The door to Antonio's office creaked softly as I entered, and I tiptoed across the polished wooden floor. Moonlight illuminated the towering shelves lined with a variety of ancient texts, modern literature, and leather-bound books, but I still flicked on one of the lamps near his desk so I could see more clearly. I enjoyed the rich, golden light as I searched for the leather bound chronicle that might change everything.
"Blood Magic," I whispered to myself, my eyes scanning the spines of books written by scholars long dead. "It has to be here somewhere."
Then I spotted it out of place on a lower shelf, as if Antonio had placed it there in a hurry.
