Page 16 of Bloody Royals

It felt like my lips were threaded together with a needle and barbed wire. “Christine, will you be staying for long?” a paparazzo asked. Cameras flashed as I marched toward the vehicle waiting for us. I felt August’s angry presence at my back.

“I’m sure Lady Abernathy will be leaving as soon as possible,” the wicked king answered for me in a sarcastic tone.

I scowled.

A camera clicked.

It was inevitable that my angry expression would appear in a tabloid tomorrow.

Queen Isabelle took a separate limo back to the castle, leaving August and me to awkwardly reconnect in the privacy of an armored town car. The moment I sat in the cool leather seat, I plucked a stray thread on my black dress and crossed my legs at the ankle. August slipped in beside me while unbuttoning the top of his shirt and loosening his black tie.

“Surprised to see you here,” August said in a low voice as the car slowly pulled away from the cathedral. Police surrounded us. Crowds of pedestrians waved excitedly from the sidewalk.

I forced my voice to stay even. “Your mother called the day it happened.”

“Of course, she did,” August replied. “You were always the favorite child, hmm?” His words made my breath stall in my chest. “The day my mother took you in, she forgot all about me,” he added bitterly. I released a sigh, then rolled my eyes. I was the favorite nothing. I was just the orphaned daughter of the queen’s best friend. Isabelle only saw my mom, her responsibility, and an endless chasm of shame when she looked at me.

Pedestrians watched our motorcade travel down the busy streets of Aldrich. My soul seemed hollow and empty as I stared out the window, but I felt August’s heavy, inquisitive eyes on me. “Why did you leave?” he asked.

I pinched my lips together. I knew this question was coming and had already practiced my snappy response in the mirror this morning. “Ask your mother.”

There. Easy enough. I wasn’t ready to rehash my trauma, and Queen Isabelle had forbidden me from breathing a word about it all. It was too risky.

After letting out a puff of breath, I felt a little relief, but it didn’t last very long. A few seconds later, August shook his head again and then reached over the seat to grab my chin with his hand. My childhood friend pressed his attention upon me, and I took in his whiskey scent while averting my eyes from the cruel gaze he cast.

I stared at his chiseled jaw.

The scruff on his chin.

His sunburned lips.

His furrowed brow.

No, no, no. It wasn’t right. It was impossible.

“I did ask my mother—asked her too many fucking times to count. You didn’t return my calls. Letters. You blocked me on social media. I would have sent a fucking pigeon if I thought it would get to you. And every time I asked Isabelle, she just said you wanted to leave. That night, you promised forever and then you disappeared.”

My heart hurt at his words, but the distance was necessary. What the queen said was an oversimplification of the truth, but I was okay with her explanation. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did.” His shoulders dropped, and for a split second, he looked like the boy I once knew. Disappointed. Alone. Desperate for the affection of parents incapable of giving it. Muscle memory demanded that I wrap him in my arms and give him the love constantly denied him. I had to pinch my thighs to keep myself from doing just that.

“I wanted to leave Aldrich,” I clarified. “Not you.”

August gripped me harder, his touch teetering on the edge of pain. I felt our past building up like a brick wall between us. My eyes watered, and memories threatened to spill over my cheeks. He let go and I immediately leaned back, putting space between us as my face bloomed with remnants of his harsh touch.

August rubbed his palms on his thighs, like he was trying to remove traces of my skin from his hands. I licked my lips. I was always attracted to August, but that intensity devoured me now that we were adults. “Do you remember when we used to sneak out and go to that club, Electric?” he asked, surprising me with the abrupt change in subject.

I blushed. How could I forget? Our sweaty bodies were practically fused together. We’d dance. We’d test the boundaries of friendship. We’d evade the paparazzi and see who would pull away first. I’d return to my room at the castle, panting and confused.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“I’m going tonight. You should come. I’m willing to put up with Atticus if it’ll tempt you enough. I’m sure you plan on disappearing the first chance you get, but one night to remember the glory days won’t kill you.”

I scoffed. “Aren’t you worried what the papers will say if you’re seen partying the night of your father’s funeral?” I asked.

August smiled, his lips framing mischief and playfulness. “They’ll think I’m celebrating—which I am. And there’s not an honest man in the entire kingdom who would blame me. The only reason my mother mourns is because she’s terrified of pissing off the lords of the court.”

August scowled. I knew all about the sexist, corrupt court. They were the reason I fled.

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