The Royalty

Chapter 43

"Mom," I started. "Go find Alex and Lucy. Tell Lucy what happened, but do not tell Alex. Have her take him down to the hospital wing. Tell him that I'll explain everything when I go down there. Make sure he's not scared, keep him calm. I'll only be a few minutes. I just have to clean up."
Mom nodded, gave my hand a squeeze, and went off in search of my son. I turned to Dad, Kota, and Kenna.

"Can you three go down to the hospital wing, just in case there is any news? Also, call Clarkson and Amberly. They are away traveling, but I'm sure they will catch the first flight back to Illéa ."

"Of course, sweetie," Kenna agreed. Dad offered me a small smile of concurrence. Kota nodded his head. They walked off in the direction the medics had taken Maxon, stepping carefully around the blood.

I was left standing in front of my two youngest siblings, though they had grown up so much. May was already twenty-three and Gerad was approaching his sixteenth birthday.

"I'll help you clean up," May said softly, treating me like a piece of glass.

"And I'll wait outside, in case you need me," Gerad offered.

"Okay," I murmured. May looped her arm through mine because I was still shaking and unsteady, in need of support.

We walked to my room. I was in a daze, my mind drifting to someplace else, to where Maxon was. My heart was heavy from the way he had said goodbye. It had sounded so final, as if they were the last words of a desperate man. He was so sure that this was his last day on Earth. I couldn't accept that. I didn't even want to think about a life without him.

The three of us finally reached my room. I thought back to when I'd been in here earlier today. I wished with all of my heart that I could go back to that memory and relive it over and over again. I had been so happy to be home, to be back with Maxon and Alex.

We went inside. Gerad waited outside the closed door to give me privacy as I went into the bathroom. May headed for my closet to pick out some new clothes.

I shut the door behind me, needing to be alone for a minute. For the first time since I'd been separated from Maxon, I took a good look at my hands. I looked as if I was wearing a pair of blood-red gloves. With a burning passion, I knew I had to get it off my skin, to get rid of that awful ruddy shade. I grabbed a washcloth, ran it under some water, and began to scrub away the stain.

I was hit by how unfair this all was. It wasn't fair that I had to worry about losing my husband or that my son had only four years with him or that he could die when I just got back to him. It wasn't fair that my heart was breaking into thousands of little pieces over some damn hunk of glass. It wasn't fair that Maxon might not live to reach his thirtieth birthday.

I rubbed the washcloth even harder against my skin. The blood wouldn't go away. I couldn't stand the thoughts it evoked from inside of me, thoughts of death and pain and loss.

I hated everything about this situation. I hated the rebels for planting the bomb. I hated the guards for letting it happen and not sending for help fast enough. I hated that Maxon had given up so easily, that he had not been trying harder. Most of all, I hated myself for not doing more. I should have done more.

Anger bubbled inside of me. I internally cursed the world for dealing me this rotten, awful, horrible nightmare of a hand in my life. I kicked the cabinets under the sink in a fit of frustration. Why me? I thought to myself. Why did it have to be me?

And why wasn't this stupid blood coming off? No matter how hard I abraded it with the washcloth, it never seemed to get rid of much. The small bits of clean, exposed skin were rosy from how tough I'd been on them. It felt like the blood was acid, scorching my skin. I just needed it to go away.