Page 114 of Crossbones
The crowd falls silent.
The platform opens and the world slows—
He’s falling. Inch by inch, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
The rope slowly grows taunt and as he reaches the end, time speeds up and my heart plummets the rest of the way with him.
James.
I’m yelling. Pounding on the bars.
James.
I don’t even realize I’m sobbing until his death throes blur with my tears.
I can’t breathe. My chest hurts.
James.
There’s so much pain. Why does this hurt so bad?
Because he has my heart. And now it’s gone. Ripped from me by the one person who saw me. The one person who forced me to be real and raw, and didn’t demand anything from me but for me to be myself. Who didn’t see me as a prince or a rebel, but simply a man—a man who loved him.
I slump to the ground, head in my hands, feeling helpless—
This is all my fault.
Again.
CASPIAN
THREE WEEKS LATER
I pour myself another glass of wine, wishing it was rum. A few drops spill as the attendants poking at my clothing jostle my arm and I catch the glare of the head seamstress. I’m sure I’m stressing her out drinking red wine in my wedding clothes, but I literally couldn’t care less. Tonight is my wedding to Lady Annika and I plan to be so drunk I don’t remember it. I’m well on my way and it’s only mid morning.
We’d returned to De’Vero a week ago, and after keeping me in the dungeons for a few days, Aldric had allowed me back to my rooms under heavy guard by soldiers loyal to him. I know they’re loyal because I’ve tried everything to bribe them and anytime I ask to see Thaddeus, they ignore me. So I’m biding my time—I figure the more I prove I’m not going to cause any trouble, the more likely I will be able to cause said trouble more effectively. And I do plan on causing a whole lot of trouble for Aldric before I eventually kill him.
I haven’t been able to think about anything but James. Everyday I remember something else—a look, a touch, a moment we had together—it doesn’t matter. In my mind, he’s alive, and so I’ve been spending a lot of time there, spacing out in my room, feeling guilty and mourning the loss of him. There are times I half-expect him to barge into the room, shove me up against the wall and—
A sewing needle pokes me through the fabric, bringing me back to the present and putting an end to my memories and my patience.
“Get out,” I snap.
“But sir—”
“Do you really think I care at all what I look like tonight?” I bark. “Get out!”
They all scramble to gather up their things while I yank off the clothing and toss it to the seamstress who scowls, but thankfully leaves without another word.
Once they’re gone, I slouch down in a chair by the open double doors and glare moodily outside while gulping down yet another glass of alcohol. It’s an annoyingly beautiful day—the ocean glitters on the horizon, taunting me with its proximity while being far out of reach.
I go to take a sip and realize my cup is empty. I sigh heavily and heave myself out of the chair to meander over to my bar cart. I stumble slightly and bare my teeth in satisfaction—with any luck, I’ll be blacked-out drunk by noon.
The sound of movement behind me cuts through the pour of wine.
I turn around in annoyance. “What part ofget out, didn’t you—” My words die as I stare at the silhouette in the doorway of the balcony. “What the fuck areyoudoing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Caspian,” Harrison drawls.
