Page 59 of Blood Heir

My body feels like a cage—skin stretched over old wounds I can’t see but feel. I grip handfuls of my hair, digging my nails into my scalp, and I scream. A long, guttural scream that rips straight from my chest. My head throbs violently. My vision blurs as I fall to the floor, curling into myself.

The pain pulls more memories free. I’m running. The long hallway stretches endlessly before me. My bare feet slap against the floor. My nightdress clings to my skin, damp with tears. I see him—Serevin.

He’s ahead of me, his back turned, walking away. He’s in his nightclothes, moving steadily, coldly. He doesn’t turn around.

I catch up, fall to my knees, clutching at the fabric of his pants like a drowning woman. My voice cracks as I beg.

“Please…please, love me. Forgive me. Don’t leave me.”

His body stiffens, but he doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t speak. His hand brushes mine off his leg. He steps away from me like I’m nothing but air. Like I don’t exist.

I crumble, collapsing fully onto the floor of that hallway, sobbing as his shadow disappears into the dark.

The memory fades, but the pain remains. My entire body convulses on the cold floor of my bedroom now. Sweat drenches my skin. My hair sticks to my face. My ribs burn. My chest heaves. I gasp for breath, gripping the edge of the nightstand for support.

I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts.

I don’t remember everything. Not yet.

But I remember enough to know—

It hurt.

It still hurts.

^^^^^

The light slips into the room like a thief—reluctant, filtering through the heavy curtains. My eyes crack open, swollen from crying. My body aches, stiff and weak from spending hours on the floor. My skin feels cold and tight against my bones.

I move slowly, pulling myself up with both hands braced against the nightstand. My joints protest, my legs trembling slightly beneath me. The ache in my ribs is dull but constant, a steady pulse of pain as I stand upright. I breathe through my nose, forcing my muscles to obey.

The bathroom feels too far, but I cross the room anyway, the chill of the floor crawling up my bare feet.

I strip off my clothes carefully. The oversized T-shirt peels away from my damp skin, sticking to my back before I finally pull it over my head and toss it onto the floor. My shorts follow, pooling around my ankles. I catch my reflection in the mirror and freeze for a moment.

The tattoo on my inner wrist stares back at me—a rose coiled around a dagger, the ink dark and sharp against my pale skin. The crescent birthmark on my shoulder remains where it always has, familiar and foreign all at once.

My fingertips trace the half-healed scars along my ribs and hips. Thin lines, barely raised, but visible reminders of battles Ican’t fully recall. The ache inside my head sharpens again. My lips press into a thin line.

I step into the bath, twisting the handle. Water fills the tub, steaming gently. The moment I lower myself in, the heat wraps around my body like a blanket, and I sink deeper, letting it swallow me. My hair floats like ribbons on the surface as I rest my head against the cool porcelain edge.

Numb.

That’s the only word for it.

I wash slowly, my hands running over my own skin like a stranger’s. There’s no comfort in it. No softness. Just mechanical motion. Soap gliding over skin. Fingers through hair. My mind floats somewhere between present and past, not quite anchored to either.

When I’m done, I dry myself, tugging the towel around me, and return to the room. The dress I pick is simple—black, soft fabric hugging my body, sleeves long and modest. I comb through my damp hair, each stroke rhythmic, calming. The pull of the brush through the tangles keeps me grounded.

A knock on the door.

It opens before I answer. One of the guards steps inside, stiff, his voice neutral. “Mrs. Accardi, he wants you.”

I don’t reply. My body moves before my mind does. I place the brush down, smooth my dress, and follow him silently into the hallway. The mansion is still quiet, but heavy with a strange tension that hums beneath the surface like an electric current.

At the end of the hallway, Cassian waits. There’s a fresh graze on his cheek, the skin scraped raw. His lip is slightlyswollen. His eyes flick to mine for a second before dismissing the guard with a wave. I say nothing.

Cassian turns and starts walking. I trail behind him, my footsteps light, my heart growing heavier with each turn of the corridor.

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