Page 31 of Felix and the Spy

“Kiss me too, mummy!” The queen pressed a kiss to her cheek too, caressing her hair. Pride shone in her eyes.

Suddenly, everything grew blurry. Amara’s heart contracted, squeezing the emotions she’d buried.

This was bad. She had been doing so well. But Queen Xara’s tenderness seemed to trigger a sorrow buried deep in her heart. As she continued to watch Queen Xara gaze lovingly at the twins, she felt tears threaten to spill. It reminded her of her mother. Of all the times her mother had said those things to her.

“Nobody can get in your way, Amara. Only you can.”

How she missed that unshakeable confidence that mothers had in their children; to know that there was someone who saw and believed in the best version of you, even when you were drowning in your own negativity.

It hurt to look at other people receiving the love she craved so much. It hurt to see others be praised and encouraged, when the only voices in her head were those of censure.

“I’m going to be the best king ever!” Princess Blanche touched the crown on her head.

“Let’s hope you get there before your father and I lose all our hair worrying.” The queen stood, one twin holding onto each hand. Amara wanted to hold her mother’s hand, too. She wanted to feel the warmth, the love seep through her skin and incinerate her doubts.

The moisture in her eyes transformed into fat tears that rolled down her cheek. Her throat burned.

“You can be anything you want. Don’t let your circumstances define who you are.”

Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears. She longed for that baseless confidence that all mothers had in their children, that sense of grounding that tethered you to your own power. Because these days, she couldn’t even get through a simple greeting without breaking down.

She had to stop this sudden outburst. She had to remind herself that she could be anything.

Except happy. Whole. Unbroken.

Amara only realized what was going on when King Delton stared at her.

“Are you all right?” Queen Xara’s husky voice filled her ears. Princess Blanche let go of her hand. Queen Xara brought it toward her, but Amara stepped back instinctively.

“I—” Felix watched her through eyes filled with concern. This couldn’t be happening again. When had she become so weak that she couldn’t hold back her emotions? “I’m sorry. Excuse me.”

Amara ran out of the ballroom. Everything around her turned into a patchwork of fuzzy colors. The brightly lit palace hallway gave way to the greenery of the palace gardens. Cool air hit her face when she emerged outside. Melting into the shadow of a pillar, she sighed out shaky breaths. Hot tears streamed down her face.

“Stop!” she instructed herself to no avail. “Stop crying!”

Her sobs grew louder and more violent. The hollowness in her heart pulsed and grew.

She shouldn’t have come here. She’d embarrassed the whole Sapphire Serpents by crying in front of the king, of all people. Why couldn’t she have held it in a little longer?

Amara wanted to go back home and lick her wounds. She wanted to drown in her sorrow and never ever return to the world of the living. Maybe that’s what she should do. Amara took a step out of the shadows, deciding to return home. She’d apologize to Felix tomorrow. Tonight, she was too weary.

Before she could leave, however, an arm caught her.

She knew who it instinctively.

Felix.

He was panting, his silver eyes glazed with concern. His touch was as steady as his eyes. His lips were parted.

“Felix, I—”

He pulled her close, burying her in a hug. His lips moved against her silky hair. “Just cry it out. Cry as much as you want. When you’re done, I’ll still be here holding you.”

The words made her even more emotional. Amara put her arms around him and hugged him closer. Rubbing her cheek against his slightly stubbled one, she inhaled his scent—a light musk, ink, and male—and felt it calm her. It didn’t matter that they were right outside the palace, within the view of several guards and people who might recognize them. His arms anchored her, providing her a safe haven to fall apart in.

She sobbed into his shoulder, drenching his coat with salty tears, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He didn’t tell her it was all right, like her mother would. He didn’t tell her to stop crying. Instead, when she’d soaked his coat, he offered her his handkerchief. Amara blotted her endless tears.

It had been another one of her stupid emotional outbursts. Just when she thought she’d gotten over her mother’s death, something would come up and trigger her memories. She’d give anything to stop these turbulent emotions from resurfacing. But she was coming to realize that there was no getting rid of them.

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