Page 29 of Crown of Thorns
“I know.” And I do.
We’re both tangled up in this web of secrets and lies and there’s no hope for either of us, I guess, but to cling to one another. I wonder if we could be stronger as a team than separate entities on the game board, but I’m not sure he’s entirely trustworthy either. Then again, who here is, other than me? Maybe it’s time I look out for myself first and foremost.
And then he pulls the silk pocket square from his dinner jacket and gently—sweetly, even—he begins to wipe the tears and snot from my face. After he’s done, he tucks the small cloth into his pants pocket and offers me his arm like the gentleman he most definitely is not and escorts me to dinner, all while his cum rolls down my legs.
We don’t talk as we walk down the hallway and through the corridor that leads to the more formal areas of the castle. And the butterflies in my belly have turned into the flapping wings of giant beasts, their intent to take me down. I know it seems silly, but I’m even more nervous now than I was before. Rhys might be the king, but Saoirse is definitely still calling the shots within the castle walls.
This does not bode well for me even long before we deign to enter the dining room late. She’ll never welcome me or make anything easy for me here, not when she wants me gone faster than it would take to pack my bags.
A set of identically dressed footmen bow to Rhys before pulling open the doors of the lavish dining roomto reveal everyone already seated.
“You’re late,” the queen snaps, telling us something we already know as everyone in the room rises. My uncle and Rhys tip their heads to each other as their status is equal, Dahlia curtseys to Rhys, and the queen holds still, her gaze locked on me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rhys raise an eyebrow, and she reluctantly dips into a small curtsey, clearly not excited over the fact that she now has to perform such acts in front of me, Rhys, or anyone.
“I’m aware,” Rhys says cooly as he directs me to the only open seat at the table that’s not clearly his at the head. He pulls my chair out for me, and I delicately lower myself, doing my best not to wince at the uncomfortable feel of the reminders of my lesson he dealt me in the hallway.
Unfortunately, the seat designated for me is between the queen and my uncle, who looks at me with his lip curled in disdain. I let out a small sigh at the sight, knowing that I’ll never be good enough for him to approve of me. I could argue that it’s not my fault. I wasn’t raised with the training and preparation that Rhys and his siblings were. I was raised going to small private schools, sure, but never socially elevated like this. I have no idea what I’m doing here any more than I would know how to swim in shark infested waters. And still, it would make no difference. Rhys would still insist on keeping me, Dahlia would try her best to shape me into a princess even though those shoes willnever fit, and Saoirse and my uncle would rather I be culled from the herd to prevent future embarrassments.
I keep my chin tucked down as I watch Rhys round the other end of the table and sit, his sister and my only friend, at his side. If anyone needs an ally in this room, it’s me. Maybe Dahlia’s on the outside. But Rhys and his stepmother are squared off against each other, ready for battle.
My uncle just looks weary, but… interested in the byplay and what he might get out of it. There’s a scheming look to his eye that worries me, but I guess I have to trust that Rhys has it handled. He might hate me, but a link to someone as powerful as Rhys clearly appeals to him. And just as always, I’m a prop, a pawn, and nothing more than a piece on the game board.
The soup course was being whisked away as we joined the table and now the fish course is being presented. A small plate of cold prawns and sliced tomatoes are arranged like a piece of art and placed in front of me.
“Thank you,” I whisper quietly to the servant. We both know better than to acknowledge the faux pas but I can’t help myself.
I keep my hands folded in my lap, over my napkin and watch those around the table before picking up my silverware. Dahlia looks at me from her place at the far end and winks at me. I smile and take my first full breath all day.
Dinner passes by relatively tamely because I keepmy mouth shut the entire time, leaving the talking up to Rhys, my uncle, and Saoirse. Dahlia and I are just there to be pretty and not starve. That is until the end of the main course when plates are mostly cleaned, then the real trouble begins. I realize now that I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security.
“So how are plans coming for the coronation, Rhys?” his step mother asks sweetly.
I tense because she’s anything but sweet and it makes me wonder what’s coming next.
“Fine,” he answers directly.
“I’m sure you’re much too busy to be devoting so much time to the planning,” she says. “You really should take me up on my offer to take over the task for you. You know I have plenty of experience planning state events and I wouldn’t let it be anything less than perfect.”
“I’m sure it would,” he says, and I can hear the turn in his tone of voice. He’s irritated and we’re all about to feel the sharp bite of his tongue as he lashes out at us with his words like a rattlesnake poised to strike, shaking his rattle at those who dare to step too close. “And I thank you for the offer, but I find I’m enjoying the planning. I’ve even picked out Stella’s gown.”
My heart stutter stops, and oxygen sears my lungs at his words. Why he would think drawing me into this battle is a good idea, I don’t know. We all know that I’m not strong enough to stand up to Saoirse. I’ve been exceptionally careful to avoid her but if I’m directly inher path, she’ll eviscerate me. And here he is, throwing me straight at her.
“I wouldn’t waste your time on something so trivial,” she sneers. “Maeve can have something bought from a runway line for her. Besides, she’ll hardly be seen from the balcony seats with the other non-royals.”
“I hate to interrupt,” my uncle says, clearly having decided that Saoirse is not going to be his ally. “Estrella is of royal blood.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rhys says to his stepmother, a cheshire cat smile on his face. “I’m planning on having Stella front and center for the whole thing.”
“You can’t mean to have her by your side…”
“But of course,” Rhys nods. “She’s to be crowned by my side as the next queen of the Isle of Saints.”
“You can’t do that!” she snaps. “It’s against the law to have a false royal crowned and anointed. I could have you deposed for even thinking of having her be part of the anointing alone. Think of the line of succession!”
My eyes go wide because if she’s challenging Rhys, we’re all doomed. Dahlia’s expression mirrors mine and we all look frozen as we wait to see how Rhys will react.
“So, what were you thinking?” he asks calmly. “About the anointing, I mean. As someone has to participate in the ceremony.”
“Well…” she begins, looking nervous, but still committed to her plan. “I was meaning to talk to you about that.”
