Page 77 of This Cruel Fate

Xolia’s eyes burned. Was that apprehension hiding in Krista’s eyes? “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

Everything. “It has to be me. I have to fix things,” Xolia said instead. “Have you seen how little has changed? If I don’t do something, it’s not going to get better.”

“Silas put a lot of pressure on you,” Krista said. “But you are not in charge of everyone, and it isn’t your job to be in charge of everyone.”

Not her job? It was the only thing she knew how to do. It was what Silas had taught her every time he’d singled her out or put her in charge of dangerous missions and battles. She’d given her childhood to be better. She would never have the childhood of those kids outside, laughing despite the cold. It was why Peter needed her; if he was ever going to recover, he needed a VC he could rely on. This was the reason she had Adonis. If she lost it, she’d lose him.

Krista didn’t understand. She would never understand.

“Change is coming. I’m going to be a part of it.” A glass water bottle on Krista’s desk shattered, and the water sprayed everywhere. Xolia tried to rein in her emotions and the part of her that was always searching for water or blood.

“I need to call someone,” Krista said, her skin becoming pale. “We’re going to get you the help you need, Xolia.” Slowly, so slowly, Krista moved up from the chair and leaned over her desk where her cellphone lay.

“No.” Xolia reached out, literally and mentally, to latch onto Krista’s blood stream. The older woman stumbled to the ground. “Shit.” Xolia released her but couldn’t say sorry. She should be able to keep better control over her emotions than this. Krista was still on the floor, she turned to look at Xolia. Hurt, betrayal. Xolia ran from the office.

She slammed the door behind her, trying—and failing—to take steadying breaths. Emily jumped from the folding chair. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Xolia shook her head to punctuate her point. “Let’s just go to the palace.”

Emily didn’t look sure but acquiesced. Xolia kept glancing back at the door to Krista’s office until the elevator door closed behind them. Xolia held her head in her hands. It had been stupid of her to assume any part of her old life would fit in her new one.

Xolia was fortunate that no one else got into the elevator. She had just composed herself enough by the time it reached the ground floor and dinged to signal the end of their trip. Emily left the elevator first, and Xolia followed close behind. The car would be waiting outside for them to get her to the Presidential Palace.

She didn’t wait for the driver to get out of the car to open the door for her, Xolia got in, Emily slid in behind her. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

The car pulled out into the street, driving away from the kids and the people that didn’t care about Xolia or her problems. “I’m fine.” Xolia tugged her coat closer to herself. Krista was supposed to have made the burden easier to bear, not to have added to it. No matter how desperately she wanted to talk to Peter, she refused to do anything that would make his condition worse. He needed to get better, and Xolia would make sure that happened.

When they reached the street of the Presidential Palace, Xolia was surprised at how many news vans and people were clustered around the closed gates of the property. “What’s going on?” Xolia asked.

Emily furrowed her brows. “I’m not sure.”

The driver twisted in his seat to look back at the two women. “It might be a minute before we get inside the gates. They’re sending out extra guards to make sure no one follows us through.”

Anxiety twisted Xolia’s insides. She couldn’t wait in the car. Unbuckling her seat belt as quietly as she could, Xolia kept her focus on Emily to make sure she didn’t suspect a thing, then Xolia shot over her to the passenger-side door and fled the car.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Immediately, the masses turned to Xolia and swarmed her. It wasn’t solely reporters like the night of the charity event had been. Regular pedestrians were standing, interspersed with the perfectly coiffed and made-up journalists. Questions were lobbed at her from every conceivable angle.

It would have been easy to get swept up in the chaos of it all, but she was too pumped up on adrenaline and the worry that something had happened to Peter to care about herself. She had a responsibility to him, and it made Xolia straighten her shoulders and attempt to single out questions rather than letting them bleed together.

Everyone was looking at her—to her—for answers to unintelligible questions. She was trying to figure out what a reporter from the Atalian Herald was asking when someone broke through the invisible barrier around Xolia.

“Did you do anything to him?” the man asked.

“What are you talking about?” Xolia asked, unease rolling through her at the use of ‘him.’ Sel, it really was Peter. Her stomach lurched.

“The chancellor is in the hospital, and now you’re coming to the palace? You and the vice chancellor are fucking freaks.” Without any hesitation, he landed a solid punch across Xolia’s jaw.

She snapped.

Xolia spit out blood and a tooth onto the cold sidewalk and grabbed him by the neck. He was human; small pockmarked scars covered his face. Shrapnel scars. He had most likely been in the army during the rebellion. “I didn’t do anything to Chancellor Bellevue, but you just assaulted someone.”

The man scoffed. “As if you’re a person.”

Someone touched Xolia’s shoulder. “Let go of him, Xolia. Let me handle him,” Emily whispered. Her bodyguard. Let him go. She didn’t want to let him go, though. Xolia wanted to hurt him. She wanted to make him scream and beg forgiveness.

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