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“Confront it,” she told herself, the mantra of her recent conversations with the psychologist echoing in her mind. “Face the canvas as you would face them.”
But for all her resolve, Nicole knew that the real confrontation lay not with the blank canvas before her, nor with the people below, but with the shadows of fear that lingered.
Nicole’s hand trembled as the brush touched the canvas, a quivering culprit betraying her inner turmoil. She dipped the bristles into a hue of midnight blue, attempting to capture the serenity of the night sky, but the stars she painted were blurred smudges, their light dimmed by her frustration.
“Compose yourself,” she whispered, the brushstrokes growing more frantic, “you are a princess now.”
The vast emptiness of the canvas mirrored the hollow feeling in her chest. With each attempt to add depth, to breathe life into her art, it seemed to recede further from her grasp.
“Where is the passion you once held at your fingertips?” she chastised herself, watching as the colors muddled into an indistinct mess on the palette.
Her thoughts swirled like the paints before her. She dabbed at the canvas, trying to correct a clumsy stroke, but it only served to distort the image further.
“Damn it,” she murmured, her voice rising in pitch, a crescendo of despair. “Why can’t I make it right?”
The door creaked open, and Theodore stepped in. His silhouette, framed by the doorway, was both a beacon of comfort and a reminder of the expectations upon her. “Nicole?” he called softly, the concern evident in his tone.
She didn’t turn to face him. Instead, Nicole stared at the abomination that was her painting, a testament to her unraveling composure.
“Everything is fine,” she lied, a single tear streaking down her face.
“Nicole...” Theodore’s voice was closer now, imbued with tenderness and worry as he approached her. He set his hand gently on her shoulder, an anchor in the storm of her emotions.
“Look at it, Theo,” she gestured hopelessly toward the canvas. “I’ve lost it. I can’t even paint anymore.”
“Shh.” He turned her to face him, his thumb catching a tear as it fell. “This isn’t about the painting, is it? Talk to me.”
She clutched the paintbrush like a lifeline, the tool that had once been a source of pride now a symbol of her self-doubt. “I’m afraid,” she confessed. “Afraid that I’ll never belong here, in your world. That I’ll always be... less.”
“Never,” Theodore assured her, his gaze steady and full of unwavering conviction. “You are everything this kingdom—and I—need. More than you can imagine.”
As he drew her into his embrace, Nicole allowed herself a moment of surrender.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Theodore let an idea he’d had run through his mind yet again. He hated the idea, and yet, if it would help Nicole, he was willing to do most anything. He traced the curve of Nicole’s jaw, guiding her gaze to meet his. His eyes held a question that seemed to weigh heavily on his heart. “Nicole,” he began, “do you believe facing Christopher would help you heal?”
Nicole’s breath hitched at the mention of the name that haunted her dreams. Her pulse quickened, and for a moment, she was back in captivity, wondering if she would ever see those she loved again.
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice quivering, “it might let me reclaim a part of myself I thought lost.”
Theodore studied her, his brow furrowed with concern. “If it is your wish,” he said, “I will arrange it. You need not face him alone.”
Nicole nodded. “I’ll do it,” she affirmed, feeling as if just saying the words made her braver.
“Then we’ll go together,” he murmured.
Chapter Twenty
Nicole stood on the terrace of the palace, looking out over the capital city of Theron, enjoying the beauty of the city.
“Do you feel better?” Theodore asked, joining her there.
They had gone to the prison that day, and she had faced Christopher, telling him that she wouldn’t let him take her peace away from her.
“I do,” Nicole said softly, turning to wrap her arms around her husband.
“Then it was worth it to see that odious man again.”
“Odious,” she repeated. “I like that word. He is everything vile and ugly about the world, and I do believe I never want to speak of him again.”
