Page 17 of Serpent In White
Drake’s place setting stays empty, as usual, and Darian’s eyes, black as coal, linger on it for most of the meal. The wives converse with one another, but Head Priest is quiet; tense. I can almost feel it every time I pass by him. His shoulders appear bunched, and he might even be clenching his jaw. I don’t enjoy seeing him like this, but with my sympathy, restlessness is also building.
There’sno wayhe won’t be having solitude tonight. I think this is the longest he’s ever gone without it. By my calculations, it’s been at least five days.
He needs it. And as strange as it sounds, I need it, too.
The wives are barely finished with dessert when Darian excuses himself. And I can’t help but notice he doesn’t go upstairs…
I’m practically shaking with the urge to follow him. It’s never been this strong before, and it takes every ounce of my strength to get through clearing the table and clean-up duty without darting across the Den to find out if he’s in his lounge.
My mind is alive with thoughts as we finish up for the night. Eventually, just as everyone is leaving, I’m able to sneak off for just a moment, only to find the door to the lounge is closed.He’s in there, I just know it.
Desperation claws at my throat while I leave the Den. I’m buzzing with adrenaline, and I can’t go home right now. I justcan’tgo back to another night of fantasies without first finding out what he does in there.
What gives his eyes return from black to the colors of the sky.
My face pivots left, then right as I check to make sure no one’s around. The coast is clear in the quiet of the evening.
I tiptoe around the outside corner of the Den, in the opposite direction of Domestic housing, toward the lake. There’s a group of trees off to the side, and I slink between them, keeping myself hidden in the shadows of the night as I creep to the windows on this side of the cabin. I pass the sitting room first, then the study, then the library, ducking to ensure no one sees me.
Finally, I arrive at the farthest window, the last on this side of the house. It’s the lounge, and Ineedto see inside.
It’s a bit higher than I can reach on my feet, so I make a quick, probably pretty stupid decision to climb up onto a shrub, resting my weight on the house to get a clear view into the room.
The curtains are drawn just enough for me to see inside.
My heart lodges in my throat.There he is.
Darian’s in the room, just as I’d expected. He’s alone, sitting on the bed. He looks stressed; I can see it from here. His knee is bouncing, and he keeps checking his watch over and over.
What is he waiting for?
My curiosity has taken a turn for the creepy at this point. I fully acknowledge that peeping into people’s windows is wrong—and super weird—but I can’t help it. This need to know has grown like a weed inside me, strangling the life out of my rational thought process.
I must lift the cover. I must know what’s underneath.
A minute passes of nothing but my blood rushing in my ears, sweaty palms trying to grip the branches and the wood of the siding while I peer inside, suspended in time. Until eventually the door to the lounge opens slowly.
Darian’s head springs up, and something like relief sweeps over his face. My mouth falls in surprise.
It’s Drake. I didn’t expect him.Don’t tell me solitude isn’t happening tonight…
Disappointment sweeps through me for a moment as Drake steps into the room, then closes the door behind him. And he locks it.
My forehead creases while I watch, confused and hopeful. I can hear them vaguely through the window, muffled, though I’m still able to make out what they’re saying. I’m so nervous, I have to hold my breath to ensure I can listen.
“I’m here for yoursolitude, your highness.” Drake’s tone is a bit sarcastic, yet he’s giving Darian a knowing smirk.
I hear Head Priest sigh, “Thank God.”
And my stomach clenches with my heart in uneasy expectation.
I’m frantic as I unlock the nightstand drawer and take out my kit.
Drake wanders over slowly and has a seat next to me on the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small vial. My mouth actually waters at the sight of it.God, it’s been too long. How many days? Six?
My fingers shake as I remove the rubber strap, then hand Drake the plastic pouch containing a fresh syringe. He takes his time opening it, sticking the needle into the vial and filling the syringe with clear liquid.
Attempting to steady my breathing, I wrap the thick elastic around my right bicep, just above the elbow. It quickly cuts off some circulation, the normally visible veins in my forearm popping.
