Not My Fairytale

Chapter 46.2

The medical staff had been kind enough to loan Angelo clothes, loose-fitting grey pants and a matching shirt. It was a far cry from the fine clothing worn by the lords of the council, but it was better than the torn, bloodied clothing he had worn the day before. His skin was still pale from the blood loss and poison, but all that was left of the cuts and bruises that had adorned his body were a scattering of thin pink lines along his skin, soon to disappear all together. His wrists were shackled at his front. My gaze caught on the white bandage across his throat, and I struggled to look away. To keep the memory, the thought of all of that blood, from my mind.

Despite the hours he had been unconscious, Angelo's face was drawn and tired as he warily took in the room, scanning each face in turn until he found me. Every eye was on him, but if he was bothered by the attention, he showed no sign. He took his time looking me over. Checking for injury, I realized a moment later and I nearly laughed from the irony of it. As if I hadn't spent the night and much of the morning in the medical wing, praying to my father's Goddess, my mother's God, even fate itself that he would survive.

The guards ushered him forward, the slow gait of his steps so different from his usual confident swagger. Angelo did as he was bid, following Jonah to the seat Franco had just vacated, but his attention never left me. Even as he took his seat, those blue eyes did not stray far, searching my gaze. There was much I wanted to say to him, the words bubbling up in my throat, but I bit them back. Now was not the time, not with such an audience. I only hoped we would have the chance for such discussion later, if we weren't both thrown behind bars.

My father cleared his throat and, slowly, Angelo tore his gaze from me to take in the meeting he had walked into. "Shall we begin?" He asked, but left no time for response. "What is your name?"

"Angelo." His voice was raspy from disuse, but he hardly winced from the pain of it. Blue eyes took in each face around the tables, "Angelo Amato, but you already knew that. Why don't you ask what you really want to know?"

Father's responding smile was tight-lipped, "In due time." He dropped the smile, straight back to business, "How did you come to this land?"

"On a ship with my father and his men."

"'His men'?" Lord Baldoni asked, "but you are not one of them?"

"I assisted my father by standing in for him in his more sensitive negotiations, I was never invited to join his attacks on your people, and never wished to."

Lord Borgese joined in from his seat beside Lord Baldoni, "You expect us to believe that all you did while you were here was negotiate for your father?"

Matteo finally joined the discussion, "I inquired about him in The Capital, it would seem he has built quite the reputation as a street performer as well."

Angelo didn't allow the snickers of the councilmen to rile him. He smirked, and for a moment, he almost looked like his usual over-confident self, "One of my finer skills."

"What were you doing here two nights ago?" My father asked, attempting to regain control of the questioning.

"I came for the ball, of course." Angelo replied coolly, seemingly oblivious to the building tension in the room. "My mate worked very hard planning it."

"And what, you just waltzed right in? Through all of the security?" Baldoni pressed.

"I told them that I was the Asaro heir." The smirk was back on Angelo's lips, "Perhaps you need better security." My panic grew. If there had been even a slim chance of this questioning ending in Angelo's favor, he was likely squandering it with his arch answers.