Page 71 of Beast and Remedy
Marian offers a clipped response. “Yes, for the most part.”
Pierre’s expression remains calm as Jean looks at us with confusion. “For the most part? What happened?”
“A lot. But before we say anything, we need you both to hear us out—and not tell Papa,” I say, fidgeting with my clothes before straightening my posture to mask my anxiety.
I need to keep calm. If they sense anything is awry, our plan will crumble.
Pierre grunts, low and disapproving. “You cannot expect us to keep information affecting the kingdom from your father. Especially when it involves his children.”
Marian rears back as anger shoots up my spine.
Pierre was going to be the more difficult one to convince. I hate that I wished, for once, it was different. But we need them not to tell Papa.
I try to reiterate—
“We were ambushed,” Marian interjects.
“Youwhat?” Jean’s voice cracks and he balks.
Fury etches Pierre’s shocked expression, his wrinkles deepening with his pinching eyebrows, and his eyes promise Oblivion to anyone who would harm us.
“It was a wolf attack,” Marian says, placing her hands on her lap.
Jean’s mouth is still slackened with disbelief as he slumps into his seat.
The wolves. Riker. Alec. Bronn. Marius. The blood.
So. Much. Blood.
I dip my head, needing to remain vigilant and remove the past. But the more Marian depicts what happened, the more I shudder and clench my fists.
I failed her then, in Torgem, and I’m failing her now, unable to relay this information to Jean and Pierre.
“I was bitten when our carriage was attacked, and Vi needed to act quickly. We were in a bind, so we sought shelter, and I received aid,” Marian explains, her stature lax and calm.
Pierre’s glare melts into the side of my face, his voice grave and lethal. “Where did you go?”
I internally plead with Marian not to reveal anything more.
It’s my turn to take over this conversation. I twist to Pierre. “I-I took Marian to the only place I could think of. Especially when I had an impending shift.”
“Where. Did. You. Go?” Pierre demands, more persistent as I delay the truth.
But I am building up to it. Clearly, he doesn’t understand. But when Jean’s eyes find mine, I know he sees it for what it is.
“I had to shift”—I start again, bringing my hands forward and wringing them—“and Marian was looking out for me and didn’t want you all to worry about why we…”
Marian clears her throat. “Why weneededto—”
“I want to hear it from our next monarch,” Pierre seethes.
My sister flinches at the insult Pierre directed toward me.
Our next monarch.
A phrase meant to produce a sense of duty and obligation, but in this context, it’s a reminder of my own failures.
I bite the inside of my cheek. The reprimand these two men who I consider family will dole out creeps upon me, waiting to pounce.
