Page 132 of Disillusioned
“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” crooned Garin. “Tell me the truth of how you feel.”
Lilac’s body came alive under his power. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you here.” Her breath and the words upon it were ripped from a place deep within. “With me.”
The sadness and profound relief etched in his features were almost too much to bear. She tried to look away, tried to divert her eyes.
“Eleanor.”
She shook her head and looked to the ceiling, lips pursed.What kind of freak did this in public?
“Eleanor, please.”
His eyes were soft, his command was anything but pleading. Lilac had no choice but to look. He was reaching with his other hand into his cloak.
“Eleanor of Brittany, will you enter this marriage—” Garin pulled out not a box or ring, but a thick, very official-looking scroll tied in red ribbon.
She stared at him, her bottom lip quivering in utmost hatred, trying her best to swallow the rage that rose. The tears brimming her eyes began to spill.
“With my liege, Maximillian I of Austria, Emperor of The Holy Roman Empire?”
There was an uproar around them, sounds of relief and cries of happiness from her mother and father. The crowd began to clap.
The tears could stall no longer. Blurry-eyed, Lilac took one look at him. With hands shaking in heartbreak, she raised her flute up high.
“A toast, yes!” Henri shouted, holding his own glass up. “To Lilac and the emperor!”
The crowd followed suit, tilting their glasses toward her and Garin. “To Lilac! And the emperor!”
Lilac tipped the flute and emptied it onto Garin’s head, abruptly jarring the crowd from cheers of merriment to panicked distress. She ripped her hand from his and slinked through the crowd, slamming the empty flute upon a most unfortunate flattened pastry. Hot tears blinding her, the queen marched past a shrieking Marguerite, past the boisterous giggling of Agnes and the wide, encouraging smile of the woman in the chartreuse dress, pastthe scullery filled with staff prepping birds and pies for the night’s feast—and up her tower stairs.
23
Lilac had paced in front of her flickering hearth since she’d slammed the door in Piper’s face, hoping her frustrated footfall would stomp out the memory of the forlorn look she’d given her—as if she were a hungry animal Lilac had left in the cold. She’d lost count of how many times she walked the length of the fireplace.
Maybe the pacing thing was something that came with a vampire type of restlessness.
When a knock finally came, she shouted that she wanted to be left alone. Seconds later, rushed footsteps echoed back down the stairwell. Piper had obliged. For that, Lilac was grateful. And yet, she found herself harshly judging the pace of Piper’s descent. She’d done what Lilac had asked; she had barked her wishes rather forcefully. What else was Piper supposed to do?
But did she have to honor the request so…readily? She slowed her pacing, another heavy sob forming in her chest. She wasn’t used to the help, wasn’t used to the company or—-or friendship.
Deep down, she felt terrible.
Calming her breathing, impossibly willing that pretty-eyed, fanged sod out of her mind, Lilac perched at the edge of her bed, staring at her sunlit balcony. Escaping again sounded tempting. She could lower herself downonce more; on second thought, she could probably climb down with her newfound strength if that’s how Piper had made it into her room last night. Maybe she’d spook everyone and jump—she’d probably survive since Garin had all but thrown them both off the second floor of the brothel last night. She’d survived that landing.
No, she thought begrudgingly.That wouldn’t work.
However she got down, she’d then run into the woods and this time trail the path to the inn. Maybe she’d take Loïg and hope for the best. She could always round up the ever-helpful Giles and her horses, but her parents and guard would be at the gates faster than they could prepare the carriage.
So would Garin.
This time, the monsters she ran from no longer lurked in the shadows of Brocéliande, but sat in high places. The one roaming the castle, for instance—he was touring her domain on a pleasant afternoon stroll with her parents. Her willpower could easily be negated with but a flick of his fingers. A simple, whispered command. And he was terrifyingly fast. Lilac ground her teeth at the thought of Garin dragging her and Loïg back to the bailey, knowing better than to test him.
He would do it. He would ensure she married Maximilian if it was the last thing he did.
There was another knock at the door, this time accompanied by muffled voices. Tempted to yell again, Lilac dragged herself off the bed and went to answer. It was Piper with the cloth-wrapped stake tucked under her arm, balancing a large tray of bonbons, several filled flutes, and a bottle of champagne. Behind her was Yanna and Isabel, the latter with a basket on one arm and an oddly shaped tapered bundle tucked under the other. They hovered in the doorway this time instead of eyeing the corners of the room and lingering outside like usual.
“Sorry I took so long,” Piper muttered, urgently ushering Lilac aside. Relief washed over Piper’s face as she set the precarious arrangement she’d been carrying down safely on Lilac’s bed. “I left to find Hedwig for the rest of the bottle and fresh bonbons for you, and on the way to your tower I discovered Ga—” She coughed. “Albrecht had cornered these two at the stairwell.”
Lilac’s heart fluttered. “What did he do? Are you both all right?”
