Page 61 of Beacon

“Marisa?” Owen’s touch moved from my hair to catch a tear sliding on my cheek. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

I brushed my fingers in an upward motion along my cheek, my sign for Father. His breath hooked.

“Did you dream about him? Are you still worried?”

I could only nod.

“I know Captain Farrell’s voyage has been longer than we anticipated, but I’m sure he’ll return soon. Until then I wish there was something more I could do. Despite my promise to help look for your father, I haven’t lived up to it as I should.”

He’d already done more than enough. Even before we’d been able to use the magical map, he’d made inquiries of the fishermen in various seaside villages and sent sailors to investigate their frequent routes…all of which had unfortunately led to nothing but dead ends.

A secret part of me was relieved he hadn’t been able to do more for fear of discovering the fate I most dreaded. Until now I’d fought to lock my fears regarding Father away, protecting them in the same place I kept my memories of Mother. But now that these emotions had escaped, they washed over me like a wave, threatening to drown me.

If I’d truly believed Father was alive, I likely wouldn’t have agreed to the prince’s scheme to fake a relationship, for Father would be able to reacquire the lighthouse the moment he returned…which meant that deep down, I believed he was lost forever. After losing Mother, I had little reason to trust that the sea would protect my last remaining parent, leaving me entirely without hope.

I spoke none of this out loud, but by Owen’s deepening concern, he’d gleaned some semblance of my dark thoughts. “Please don’t be discouraged. I don’t know whether or not your father is alive, but until we know for sure, please try to maintain hope. Even if the news is what you most fear, you won’t be forced to endure his loss alone. I’ll be here to endure it with you. I promise.”

And though his promise was nothing more than simple words that did nothing to change the circumstances, in this moment they were enough.

I tried to swallow the tears clogging my throat in order to nod, but it was difficult to completely suppress the emotions lingering with the memory of my nightmare. Without thinking, I seized Owen’s free hand and held it fast. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze in return, a touch that had a wonderful effect on my wrought emotions. With him I felt anchored, providing me with the needed strength to stay afloat, simply from holding his hand.

Silence surrounded us, absent even of my signs or my slowly growing written vocabulary. We simply sat together with my head still in his lap…a position we still found ourselves in when the library door suddenly opened and the Queen of Lyceria entered with Prince Nolan.

Their murmured conversation immediately ceased upon noticing us. While the prince smiled coyly, the Queen of Lyceria gasped at our position before hastily tucking her surprise beneath a mask of displeasure.

“Good afternoon, Prince Owen. I’d just inquired of Lavena whether you two had plans to spend time together today…but it appears you had another rendezvous in mind.” Her eyes narrowed.

I hastily tried to sit up, but Owen gently kept me in our position; he made no move to push me off his lap, neither did he let go of my hand, though it didn’t matter considering their presence had already ruined the peaceful moment. While I’d initially thought nothing of waking up from my nightmare in such a position with Owen or lingering in it while he comforted me, now I fully realized the implications of how it looked.

But wasn’t it supposed to look like this? The fact that it fit the very image our charade worked to create somehow tainted it, leaving me wondering how something that had previously felt so special could now feel so…fake.

This thought brought the usual pressure to do my part to maintain the façade. The longer this continued, the more difficult it became, especially when each interaction stoked emotions my heart had no business feeling considering our circumstances.

Yet I knew the role it required of me. I attempted something as simple as offering Owen a flirtatious smile…but the gesture felt so shallow compared to the tender moment we’d just shared, even though it’d been nothing more than Owen comforting me after a nightmare.

He leaned down to my ear. “There’s no need to pretend right now.”

I hesitated before gratefully nodding, happy to follow his lead in the scheme he’d been the one to come up with. I was more than content to recapture the moment we’d experienced without an audience, one that had almost felt…real. My hold tightened around his hand, which he returned with a reassuring squeeze. I focused on his fingers laced comfortably through mine as Owen finally turned his attention to the intruders to offer the necessary explanation.

“Marisa hasn’t been sleeping well, so we’re taking a break from her reading lesson.”

Despite it being the truth, it almost felt like a lie considering our position made my heart patter and feel anything but rested.

The queen lifted an eyebrow. “Without a chaperone?”

In response, Owen simply nodded to his attending guard standing rigidly along the wall. The queen still sniffed in disapproval but made no further comment. Despite her silence, my tension didn’t dissipate until they’d finished searching the shelves for whatever they’d come here for and departed, finally leaving us alone once more.

I relaxed against him and he smiled. “Finally, we’re alone again.” He began to stroke my hair as if nothing had happened, a touch that, though different from Mother’s, felt far more wonderful. I ached to melt back into the moment, but my prodding questions weren’t so easily dissuaded.

I picked up the slate Owen had rested on the armrest while I’d taken my nap:Why you not want to pretend?

His fingers paused. “We’re friends before anything else, and right now that friendship is far more important than any charade. I want to be here for you.”

My entire being warmed at his sweet words, but the peaceful moment didn’t last long when a rumble of thunder suddenly shook the sky. I bolted upright and faced the window. This morning’s overcast had become an ominous grey, a color forecasting a storm.

I scrambled from the settee to peer through the rain-splattered window. As I feared, the sea was already churning just as it had in my dream, but though the waves were choppy, thankfully, it wasn’t with the violent energy that preceded a storm. Though this somewhat eased my rising panic, it wasn’t fully abated, not when a single question filled my mind with worry: had Uncle lit the lighthouse, or had he neglected to do so for such a minor storm?

I couldn’t see it from the library window, so I hurried to a balcony where I could. I stepped into the growing wind and leaned against the railing, my gaze fixated on the lighthouse in the distance, unlit against the cloudy sky.

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