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“You’ve been busy, Mys. I do not expect you to take note of everything I eat. Especially not when there are more pressing matters to take care of, such as the wedding.”
“That is not an excuse,” Myra said.
Kallie sighed. It was not Myra’s fault, yet Kallie knew her friend would still bear the weight of it. “Myra, I am my own person.”
Myra bit her lip. “I know, but you’re hurting, Kals. It’s my job to—“
“What are you talking about?” Kallie interrupted, peering over her shoulder.
Myra motioned to Kallie with a tip of her head. With a heavy sigh, Kallie turned around and inhaled. Myra secured the corset with a neat bow before walking around to face Kallie. She grabbed Kallie’s hands, and a flood of emotion swept over Myra’s countenance. So many emotions and so fast that Kallie could only recognize one: remorse.
“Kals, we haven’t talked about what happened.”
Kallie’s hand slipped from Myra’s grasp as she stepped down from the pedestal. Myra followed her.
“What is there to talk about?” Kallie asked.
Myra released a disbelieving chuckle. Sadness peppered her sweet hazel eyes. “You are allowed to grieve, Kals. You are allowed to miss them.”
Even at the mere thought of the Pontian family whom Kallie had barely gotten to know, water burned behind Kallie’s eyes. She turned away, her finger running along the rim of the crystal water glass.
She didn’t want to shed the tears. She couldn’t.
Grieving was one thing, but missing them? Missing the Pontians was a betrayal to her father, and she could not afford for her father to question her loyalty right now.
Myra spun her around. “Kals.”
Kallie bit down on her tongue, wishing for the tears to evaporate. With a strained voice, Kallie whispered, “If my father finds out . . .”
Biting the bottom of her lip, Myra shook their joined hands. “It’s just you and me, Kals. You can trust me.”
Kallie sighed, and her head dropped. “I know.” Kallie trusted Myra with her whole heart. Her friend had never betrayed her, misled her, or told Domitius about any of her midnight rendezvous outside the marble castle walls. Myra was faithful, loyal. She was the one person Kallie could always count on.
So, through tear-filled eyes, Kallie finally admitted the truth that she had been harboring inside for too long. “I’m so confused, Myra.”
Myra squeezed her hands. “Confused about what?”
Staring up at the ceiling, Kallie tried to force the tears away. But no matter how long she studied the ceiling, the tears refused to roll back inside her head. “Part of me knows that my father is not to blame, that he didn’t kill Fynn . . .” Kallie bit down on her tongue.
Myra’s brows furrowed. “But?”
Kallie took a deep breath in. “But I cannot help but feel shameful because it was his actions that brought Sebastian there.”
To herself, Kallie thought,and it was by my command that the soldier had stepped in and that the other soldiers felt the need to join in.
Myra offered her a sad smile. With her thumb, she wiped away the tear that had slipped free.
For once, her friend’s touch provided Kallie with no comfort.
“I know my father did what he had to do to ensure that I was safe. But how am I supposed to live here, Mys? How am I supposed to dine with Sebastian when he was the one who killed Fynn?” With every word, her voice shook even more. “He killed Fynn, and I can’t even—”
“Shh, it’s going to be all right, Kals.” Myra dropped Kallie’s hands and wrapped her arms around her.
The two women stood like that for several minutes. Neither one of them spoke. Myra didn’t draw attention to Kallie’s quiet sobs, nor did Kallie point out how Myra was shaking.
Or was that Kallie who was shaking Myra?
The embrace was meant to be a comfort, yet it only forced the guilt to swallow Kallie whole. And then, before she could stop them, the rest of the tears streamed down her face. Because what Kallie wanted to say, what she finally let herself admit to herself, was that she, too, was to blame for her brother’s death. It was by Kallie’s command, her actions, her betrayal that Fynn had met his death.
