Page 83 of Solstice

Hope sparked in my chest before I could tamper it down. “Who is it?”

“Reginald, of course.” She grinned and went to my dressing room, opening the doors while two attendants followed closely behind her.

“Oh.” Disappointment dripping into my gut, I went back to staring at my cellphone, wishing I had the courage to do the things I wanted. It was a strange feeling to describe. I knew I needed to keep fighting, I knew I should escape and find my way on the first flight home, to my real home, not this antiquated prison. But something in my gut told me I needed to stay away to keep my spouses safe.

I thought again to the memory of that night in Monaco and the morning after, when I’d woken and hobbled to the bathroom like I’d spent all night at an orgy. But I hadn’t. I’d gone to sleep and dreamed of…Well, I wasn’t sure of that, either.

Remember,the trees said.Remember. Remember.

Remember what, I had no idea. When I asked, they bristled and shivered and refused to say more.

Gran draped a few dresses over her arms before returning to me so she could help me to stand and get me out of my nightgown.

“Oh, do try to cheer up, love.” Gran grabbed my chin and held my face up so I had to stare her in the eyes. “He’s not all bad.”

I forced a smile but didn’t truly feel happy about anything.

Once I was presentable, we walked down the hallway to the pink sitting room where the guard waiting outside announced our arrival to our guests before stepping aside so we could enter. Reginald stood, his salt-and-pepper hair even grayer than the last time I’d seen him. He wore an expensive, well-tailored suit, his dark eyes creasing as he stared down his aristocratic nose at me.

“Miriam, it is so lovely to see you again.” He bowed, and we exchanged pleasantries. “And on incomparable terms.”

“A wedding,” Gran piped in. “Such bliss.”

Yes, a wedding. I should have been thrilled. In exchange for keeping my dowry and titles after the photo leak, I’d finally agreed to be sold to the prince. We’d be married sometime next year, but it was difficult to feel anything about even that.

I missed Ivy. I missed Lex. The small amounts I talked to Carter weren’t enough to sate me, not really. Something had been fundamentally shattered deep down inside, and I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Reginald and Gran talked about politics and the upcoming Grand Prix, but I focused on the swirling haze forming in my mind’s eye. The last time I’d seen Reginald at his palace in Monaco, he’d kissed me on the cheek and offered me a good night. But that shimmer around the memory had me forcing my energy harder at it, knowing whatever was wrong with me had to do with what happened after that.

“Miriam,” Reginald whispered, turning to face me with a small grin. “I admit, it took me far too long to reach out.”

I gave him a small smile, unwilling to meet his gaze. The thought of touching him, of being near him, rankled my nerves. What happened between us? What was it I was missing?

“I left so early in the morning, but I wanted to check in on you…regarding yournightmares.” He said the word like it was a euphemism for something haughty.

I furrowed my brows and forced a grin, not understanding what he meant. “Nightmares?”

“Yes, the staff said they heard you making noises in your sleep, tossing and turning, bumping the bed about, moaning about Carter Scott. The next morning, there were…fluids on the sheets.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll let you know that once we’re married, I won’t tolerate a public affair, no matter how far back your affiliation goes.”

Carter?

I racked my memory about that night and the morning after. Undoubtedly, I had woken up feeling sore between the legs, but I’d gotten my period, so I attributed it to that. Had I been dreaming about Carter that night? Had the king found me and done something more?

Reginald cleared his throat and wiped at his mouth. “Especially after all that’s happened.”

I should have reacted to the dig about my recent indiscretion, but the glimmering distracted me, as if the entire night had been put in a vintage filter, making it seem warmer and more surreal than it should have been.

There could be only one explanation.

The king.

A deep, sinister laugh rose up from the depths of my subconscious, villainous and outrageous, freezing the disgust at the center of my sternum. A piece of the memory had broken free, a piece designed to taunt me into compliance.

“Oh, Little Thistle. Are we having fun yet?”It was his voice, his raspy, sinister snarl.

I jolted out of my seat, the chair flinging onto its back behind me.

“Miriam?” Reginald said, rising to put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “Are you?—”

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