Page 10 of Judgment Day

I straightened up, then licked my lips. “My sweet Sadie. Always so proper.” I dusted my knuckle over her cheek. With a single finger, I tipped her chin up. “Soon, this will all be over, and you’ll be back where you belong.”With me.

The door swung open, and the priest walked in, shucking the vestment off his shoulders. He stopped short the moment he noticed he wasn’t alone. His wide eyes shifted between me and Sadie as if he was trying to decide whether to stay or go back where he came from.

I made the decision for him. “Beautiful service, Father,” I said with a clap on his shoulder. I looked over my shoulder at Sadie, who was securing her hat back on her head. “I’ll see you soon, love.”

FIVE

Breathe,Sadie. Just. Breathe.

Grey Van Doren always did this. His deep blue eyes had a way of penetrating my thoughts, peeling back layers of protection I’d built around myself. He seemed so calm and in control, but there was an animalistic power beneath the surface, itching to be set free. It had always been there, ever since we were young. Even way back then, Grey was intimidating. Now he was a force. I wondered what it would be like to harness that power, to ride it, own it. I knew it was wrong. He wasn’t mine, not anymore. And I was no longer his. I hadn’t been for a long time.

It had been twelve years since that night against the tree, the night everything changed. But sometimes, when he was close enough, his familiar scent wrapped around me and carried me back to that place. Initially, that was where I would go when the darkness seeped in. I would find his face, remember his touch, and stay there. Then, just like time, those memories slipped away.

I’d waited for him to come back for me, hoped he would, prayed for it.

Eventually, he did come back.

But it wasn’t for me.

I wrapped my arms around myself—in shame or protection, I wasn’t sure. I just knew I suddenly felt cold.

A beat of silence passed, then I cleared my throat to speak.

“Forgive me, Father. I just needed a moment.” I pulled the veil over my face.

Father Doherty held his hand at the back of his neck, as though he needed to process what he’d almost walked in on. I didn’t blame him. I was still processing it myself. Then he dropped his hand and moved across the room, stopping a few feet in front of me. His eyes were kind and welcoming, the kind that offered forgiveness to fallen souls.

My lips parted. Then snapped shut as I blinked back tears.

“It’s okay, child. Give it to God. He draws us out of deep waters.”

I ran my hands down the front of my dress. “When I was twenty years old, I was thrown into those waters, and God left me to drown.” I met his eyes. “So I taught myself how to swim.” And then I walked out of the room.

The moment I stepped back into the Sanctuary, I was stopped with a strong hand at my elbow.

“Where were you?” Winston asked, his eyes narrowed. His voice was deep and steady.

“Speaking with Father Doherty.” I held a hand to my chest.Play the game, Sadie.“I didn’t want to lose my composure in front of all these people and embarrass you.”

He studied my face for any sign of a lie. Good thing I’d had years of practice. I wore the mask well.

“The procession is waiting.”

The walk from the cathedral to the burial grounds was quiet. The king didn’t say another word as we stood outside of the gothic stone mausoleum and watched as they lowered Liam’s coffin into the royal vault. The ride home was even quieter. Winston was a man who liked to talk for the sake of simply hearing his own voice. His silence spoke volumes.

The palace was cold. The staff carried on with their daily routine, robotically going through motions. But the weight of grief hung on every movement. Liam was a free spirit. His smile was contagious. These white walls might as well have been painted black in his absence.

I sent everyone home for the rest of the day, then found my husband in his study, lost in the sound of Gorecki’s Symphony No. 3. The sad strings and stately bass wrapped around a woman’s voice as she told a heart-wrenching story in a language I didn’t understand. Soft. But loud. Existential. And melancholy. I slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. Winston was sitting in a large leather chair with his suit jacket thrown over the back. His long legs were stretched out in front of him. The first few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned and one half of it was untucked. He held a glass of scotch in one hand, dangling it off the wide arm of the chair as he stared in blankness. It would have been tragic if he hadn’t done it to himself.

Winston was forty-seven years old, fifteen years older than me, but he didn’t look a day over forty. He was tall and lean with dark hair and brown eyes. His features were sharp, a sculpted jawline, smoothly-shaven, a strong nose and full lips. It was a façade. The outward beauty masked the evil within.

I kneeled before him, then looked up from between his legs. “I brought you something.” I snapped my fingers, and one of the chambermaids I’d just hired walked in. “I thought it might help ease the pain.” I trailed my hand up the inside of his thigh. “Or at least make you forget.”

Winston liked them young. I passed that threshold when I’d turned twenty-six, so for the past five and a half years, I found other ways to satisfy his hunger. Sometimes he wanted to be left alone with them. Sometimes he asked me to bring more than one. Sometimes he wanted to sit in his chair and watch me… with her—whoevershewas at the time. But all the time, he preferred them young. He said they reminded him of me when we first were married.

Tonight, he peered down at me with red-rimmed eyes. He shoved my hand off his thigh, then threw the glass across the room. It crashed against the wall, then shattered all over the floor, leaving liquid fingerprints on the medallion-designed wallpaper and cream-colored carpet.

“And this is your solution?” He lurched up, knocking me down as he plowed past me, pointing to the open door. “Get out!”

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