Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, miss.”
I frowned. Of course, I was talking to the wrong person. “Thank you for the walk.”
Entering my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned on it. I wasn’t fit to give little girls hope or to lead anyone. How could someone as scared, emotional, and weak as me be anyone’s queen? I was a coward. Nothing like my mother. And no genius like my father.
So the answer was simple. I couldn’t do it anymore.
Getting back into bed, I lay down and closed my eyes. By this time tomorrow, I’d be home, and this would all feel like a dream one day.
“Is that all Balduin?” I asked, giving him the last of the briefs for the day—well, the night. Seeing as how we were once again finishing late.
“One more thing, sir.”
“Well? What is it?”
“Tomorrow, formal charges shall be filed against Mr. Am—” Balduin paused, knowing I did not want to hear that name. “Since we have been silent to the media, allowing the police to do their jobs, now would be the best time to put out an official statement.”
He set the single piece of paper, with a single paragraph, on the desk for me to read. But I did not want to see it because I immediately knew that it was inadequate. The things I wanted to say were much longer than that page—my curses and ill-wishes alone were at least two paragraphs. But I did have to boil it down. It would be simple. “I hate him, and I hope they give him the death penalty. Can that be my official statement?”
“Sir, the death penalty was prohibited as of fifty years ago.”
“Unless the action is taken against the royal. I know the law, too, Balduin. I did go to school for it.”
“Yes, sir. However—”
“Odette is not a member of the royal family?” I finished for him, and he nodded, but she was to me.
“And even if she were, sir, such a harsh statement would be—”
“Harsh?” I scoffed. “What he did was harsh. No, cruel, and I have to pay for it for the rest of my life.”
He was silent for a moment before saying. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“You did nothing wrong,” I replied, reaching for my pen again and signing the statement—who cared what it said. Handing back the paper, I rose from my chair, going to the bar in the corner of the room.
“That is all, Balduin. I wish to be alone.”
“Yes, sir, goodnight.”
“I wish.” I wished it would be a good night. But as I drank, it dawned on me that this would be the last night Odette and I would be together. No, that wasn’t the right word. This was the last night she and I would share the same night at the same time, the same sky and country.
So, it was a bad night. And bad nights were good for brandy.
“I failed, Arthur,” I said as if he were here, standing at the bookcases, listening to me. I could almost see him too. “I know—not shocking. But you failed too. Your plan to get me married and settled down. You failed too.” I drank more. “That is what you get, you know? Keeping all of these plans and thoughts to yourself. You didn’t even have the decency to write to me. Or leave some clue. Haven’t you seen the movies? Whenever an important character dies, they always leave behind some clue or a journal with the thoughts they never shared. Key to something they had been holding off to give until just the right moment. How could you leave nothing?”
Silence.
So, I drank.
“You are a horrible supporting character in my story.” I frowned, staring at my glass. “Is that karma because I was a horrible supporting character in yours too? It’s a bit petty, don’t you think? You’re the older one. You are supposed to outshine me.”
Silence.
So, I drank.
“Can you show me a sign or something? A dove? A double rainbow? I don’t know. Something? So I know. Am I going to get through this?” I hung my head, covering my face with my hand because all I heard was silence again.
There would be no sign.
No clue.
No miracle.
There was no one but me now.
Grabbing a piece of paper, I did what I felt like I hadn’t done in ages. I wrote. I didn’t even know the date, so I simply wrote.
To my dearest and most beloved Odette,
How they have slandered you.
How they have insulted and belittled and harmed you.
You who have done nothing but love me for me. You who makes me laugh and write poor poetry. You who held on to me when my brother died and let me weep before picking me off the ground.
I do not understand them—those who hate you. They explain, and still, I cannot understand them. They cannot be doing it for my sake because they have to see how happy I was and am with you.