Page 27 of Lost Heir
Her contemplation hovered between us like the earlymorning fog. “But …” I ventured further, the words trailing off into the space between us, laden with an unspoken promise. “If you wish to return to the Luminar Sea, I will escort you there myself. Don’t feel pressured to stay by my side.”
Selene's response, a gentle nod accompanied by a soft, “I’ll think about it,” resonated with a gravity that hadn't been present in our previous conversations. It was a subtle shift, yet a profound one, marking the first time she’d entertained the notion of leaving. The silence that followed was poignant, filled with the unsaid fears of separation that neither of us wanted to voice.
Retreating a step, I sought to lighten the mood and brush away the somber cloud that had settled over us. “Perhaps a walk in the gardens? The weather is perfect—”
Her grin cut through my suggestion, bright yet secretive. “I just returned from there. I saw Marcellus,” she confided, her voice a whisper, a conspiratorial thread meant just for us.
Surprise flitted across my face, momentarily unguarded before I composed myself. “He was here?” The thought puzzled me; I had only just parted ways with him. “How did he—”
She waved off my confusion with an easy shrug. “It was earlier this morning. He happened to be passing by the Eastern palace. But don't worry, I kept my distance. I just hoped to see him again.”
A relieved sigh escaped me and a tension I hadn't realized I was holding dissipated. “Thank the goddess,” I murmured. “We must be careful, Selene. Any hint of you and Marcellus could stir a storm we're ill-prepared to weather.”
Her laughter, light and seemingly carefree, did little toease the knot of worry in my stomach. “I promise, Leila. I'll tread lightly.”
Her promise hung in the air, fragile and fraught with naivety. I couldn't shake the feeling that Selene grossly underestimated the depth of the court's intrigue and my mother's reach within these walls. The thought of her learning the harsh realities of palace life pained me. I wanted to protect her from the shadows that danced behind the gilded façade.
“Leila?” Her voice, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts, was a lifeline.
The worry that clouded my thoughts began to dissipate as I forced a smile, though its brightness failed to reach my eyes. “Oh, sorry,” I offered, a weak attempt to mask the undercurrent of concern that had momentarily seized me.
Selene, ever understanding, brushed off my lapse with a gentle, “It's fine. What do you plan to do now?” Her next question hung in the air, a simple inquiry loaded with the weight of newfound freedom.
The prospect of rest beckoned me, a siren’s call to the weary. “I think I'm going to try to sleep for a bit,” I confessed, the adjustment to palace life's rigorous schedule still a hurdle. “I don’t remember the last time I woke up this early.”
Her response, a soft murmur of contemplation, revealed the depth of her own adjustment. “I haven’t had this much free time in years,” she admitted, her gaze drifting. The shadows of her past, of days spent within the perfumed confines of Lomewood's pleasure house, played across her face—a stark contrast to the freedom that now lay before her.
Moved by her admission, I sought to offer comfort through familiarity. “Is there anything you'd like to do?” Iasked, remembering the solace she once found in the strokes of a brush. “You enjoyed painting. We could arrange for some canvas and paints, if you'd like.”
Her wish, however, was simpler, more primal. “Honestly, I just want to roam the grounds and breathe some fresh air. Is that okay?” she asked, her voice a whisper of longing.
Laughter broke from me, a light moment in the gravity of our conversation. “You don't have to ask, Selene. Feel free to explore. Just stay within the Eastern palace grounds, for your safety.”
Her acknowledgment was swift, her steps carrying her past me with a promise to return. “Will do! I'll wake you for lunch,” she called over her shoulder, her figure receding down the hallway with a freedom that seemed to buoy her spirit.
I lingered a moment longer and watched her disappear around the corner before retreating into the sanctuary of my room. The promise of rest, however fleeting, was a balm to the soul, a necessary pause in the whirlwind of palace life and the complexities it entailed.
The tranquilityof the Eastern palace gardens offered little solace to the tumult within me. Viktor, ever the silent guardian, kept his distance, allowing me the semblance of solitude as I roamed the gardens after lunch. The aftermath of the previous night with Ronan lingered as a tempest of emotions and sensations that refused to be stilled. His touch, his breath against my skin, had imprinted on me in a way that solitude and daylight could not erase. I roamed aimlessly, the vibrant hues of the flowers and the soft whisper of the breeze through theleaves doing little to distract me from replaying torrid memories of last night.
Restlessness consumed me, a fervent desire to escape the confines of my own thoughts. “I need to do something to keep my mind busy,” I whispered to no one, a plea for distraction. It was then, in my aimless wandering, that I knelt before a bush adorned with roses. As I reached out, captivated by their perfection, I plucked one, only to be met with the sting of a thorn. The sharp pain was a jolt, pulling me momentarily from my reverie. I sucked on the wounded finger, the taste of iron a grounding sensation.
It was this small, inconsequential moment that sparked a realization. “The infirmary!” The word burst from me like a revelation, a beacon of purpose cutting through the fog of uncertainty.
Viktor, ever attentive, closed the distance with a few strides, concern etching his features. “Is everything okay, Your Highness? Are you hurt?” His voice, laced with worry, brought a smile to my lips despite the unrest.
I nodded, reassured by his concern. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just remembered I haven’t visited the infirmary since I returned.” The thought of engaging in something familiar, something as grounding as healing, was incredibly appealing. “Who is the resident healer now?” I inquired.
“Old Man Reeves still holds the position,” he informed me, his tone carrying a note of respect for the long-serving healer. “He's been tending to the palace since your father was a child.”
The information was a comfort, a link to a past that felt both distant and intimately close. With newfound determination, I decided then that the infirmary would be my refuge, a place to channel my tumultuous emotions intosomething meaningful, a way to reconnect with the part of me that found solace in healing others.
Exiting the lush tranquility of the garden, a figure clothed in the deep hues of royalty halted my departure. My father, clad in robes that shimmered with threads of royal blue and silver, cut an imposing yet graceful image as he approached. With a simple gesture, he dismissed his aides, ensuring our meeting would be a private affair.
His presence, both commanding and warm, enveloped me as he drew near, his smile a beacon of genuine joy. Once he reached me, he pulled me into an embrace which was one of unguarded affection—the complete opposite of my mother’s touch. It wasn’t that my mother didn’t love me. No, I believed she did. But she was cold and calculative, and always put my brother’s wellbeing before anyone else’s.
“Oh, Lyanna, you have no idea how glad I am to see you again! Your disappearance was the toughest challenge I’ve ever endured,” he confessed, his voice imbued with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. As he stepped back, his hands found my upper arms and he squeezed them gently to convey both concern and reassurance. The look in his eyes was pure fatherly love, a mirror to the affection I’d missed and a reminder of the stark differences in the way my parents expressed their care.
Where my mother’s affections were measured and often overshadowed by her ambitions for my brother, my father’s warmth was immediate and all-encompassing.
