Page 22 of The Call of Crimson
I say nothing, and he releases me, pushing me into my chambers. The door closes behind me, and I quickly strip out of my dress, leaving it forgotten on the floor.
Naked, hurting, aroused, and angry, I fall into bed. I’m met with vivid dreams of my mother’s death.
The next afternoon, I’m hiding in the private sitting room my mother favored. When I was young, I would find her here anytime she needed solitude. Even now, I swear I feel her presence in the room.
“We need to talk,” Elijah says, breaking me out of the stupor currently consuming me.
“About?” I ask, curling my feet under me to make room on the chaise.
Taking the space next to me, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his heat. “Look, B,” he starts, his tone something I don’t care for. “This is going to hurt, but there are some things your mother wanted you to see.”
“I’m not ready, Eli,” I protest, nuzzling my head into his chest.
“I know,” he whispers, “and I’m sorry. But we don’t have the liberty of waiting for you to be ready.”
I look up at him, studying the serious set of his brows. It’s an expression I rarely see on him—one I know I should heed.
“Okay.” My voice is more broken than I ever imagined it could be.
“Okay,” he agrees, laying a hand to my temple.
I close my eyes, letting the subtle warmth of his Gift wash over me as the memory unfolds.
“She’s perfect, my love,” Raynor smiles, holding a squirming baby—me—in his arms. She’s tiny and pink, a wild mess of red curls framing her face.
“I highly doubt that after what she just put me through,” my mother sighs. “Twenty-seven hours of labor would suggest she’s stubborn and headstrong, not perfect.”
She looks exhausted, sweat soaking every inch of her, blonde hair plastered to her reddened face.
With a wide grin, my father sits on the bed next to her, handing the bundle back to my mother. “She is half you, and you are perfect.”
“She is also half you,” my mother teases.
“Are you suggesting I am not perfect?”
She scoffs. “I know better.”
“Be that as it may,” Raynor smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “To me, you are both still perfect. I love you both so much.”
The scene changes.
“You’re going to refuse Lennox’s offer?” Lord Seamus asks.
“Of course I am,” my father replies.
“As your advisor, I must insist you reconsider. Having Lennox as an ally would put an end to our war with Prudia.”
My father sighs, annoyance etched in the laugh lines that bracket his mouth. “I do not care. I will not betroth Breyla to their prince at just six years old.”
Lennox had offered to aid us in exchange for my hand in marriage? This was the first I had heard about this proposal.
“We wish for Breyla to have a say in whom she marries,” my mother adds, lacing her fingers with Father’s.
“Royalty is never afforded such liberties, Your Majesty,” Lord Seamus argues. “You, yourself, were promised at twelve,” he says, this time to Mother.
“Yes, and while we were blessed in that match… we find the practice barbaric and will not subject our daughter to the same.” My father’s tone leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.
A new memory.
