Never Let Go

Chapter 6

A man's face pushes through the fog in my nightmares. A face as familiar to me as my own—despite the grief and pain that comes with it. It jolts through my body like lightning as his eyes meet mine. "You asked me why I was doing this. Here's the answer: because I have to. Because I have nothing left. I lost everything that day: my wife, my daughters, and my life.

"All this time, you thought the king had killed me. No, Laur—he saved me. He gave me everything I needed to invent a new life, a new persona. I tried to make Eliza understand, but she couldn't. All she could think about was you and your sisters."

He takes a breath, exhaling deeply. "When I heard about 'the servant who'd married a prince', I knew I had to return to Maliwen if only to see it for myself. Do you want to know why the king hates you? Because you survived everything he threw at you. All those years of anguish, torment, misery—it was the king's best attempt to break you. He resents you and your mother, if only for that reason."

Tears have gathered in my eyes, despite my best attempts to blink them away. "You may have married a prince and become a princess, but you can't escape your past, Lauren. No matter your title, no matter the love you and the prince have for each other. If you let it, it'll destroy you.

"The way I see it, you're already halfway there. Does Ethan know about your sleepless nights or the nights you wake up soaked in sweat, a scream trapped in your throat? Does he know about the panic attacks, the terror that eats at you daily? Does anyone know?"

I don't answer. I can't. His words are like daggers, hitting my heart with perfect accuracy. My deepest fears, my deepest insecurities, are out in the open for all to see. "The attack on the castle was my first attempt to break you. But after you married the prince, I realized I didn't have to do anything. You're already on the path to destruction—your anxiety, depression, and PTSD are doing what I couldn't. Pretty soon, there'll be nothing left."

I don't want to respond—that will only encourage him—but I can't help myself. "The letter—that was you?" My voice hitches, but I swallow past the lump in my throat.

A wicked gleam surfaces in his eyes as he nods. "I knew your love for Juliette would be strong enough to make you leave—despite your misgivings. All I had to do was wait. You did the rest. I told you, Laur: you can't escape your past. Sooner or later, it'll catch up to you."

With that, the dream dissolves, my surroundings melting away. When I open my eyes again, I jerk upright, breathing shallowly and unevenly. I don't even realize I've used my arm until the pain hits me a moment later. I bite down on a scream so hard I taste blood. The tears flow down my cheeks in torrents of shame, guilt, and regret. As much as I want to be able to deny any of his claims, I know I can't.

I'd been fooling myself, playing the part of a loving wife and grateful princess, trying to bury who I once was. But no matter what, some part of me is still—and will always be—that girl. The king's servant—the king's mistress. I cover my face, my chest heaving as I breathe through the pain.

The worst part of it all is that he's right. No matter what I do, I'll always have that invisible title hanging over me, barely overshadowed by my new title of Princess. My heart is broken clean in half. In one nightmare, the king has done what no one else—even my thoughts—has been able to do. Suddenly, the bedroom that had, until this moment, been my solace becomes stifling. Confining.

Blindly, I stumble out of bed, rushing into my closet and throwing on a dress. Ethan doesn't so much as stir at my movements. It takes me longer than it should to pull on my flats, thanks to the violent shivers wracking my body.

Despite the early hour, I hear the faint sounds of servants moving throughout the castle. Grabbing my cloak, I slip out the suite door, taking a back hallway to the servant's exit.

Thankfully, I'm alone as I rush outside to the stables. Fleetfire whinnies as I approach, tossing her mane and snorting. Forgoing tack altogether, I swing atop her back quickly. Wrapping strands of mane around my fingers to act as makeshift reins, I cluck softly to her, squeezing my knees against her sides.

Whether she can feel the raging emotions inside me or we're just that connected, she leaps into a gallop without me saying a word. Everything—the shame, guilt, regret, and shock—comes out in the form of gut-wrenching sobs. We ride hard and fast for hours, only slowing when sheets of rain come down to obstruct my view.

I begin to shiver again, this time because of the cold. My dress and cloak quickly become drenched and heavy, Fleetfire's coat slick with rain as we slowly and carefully return to the castle. When the castle's spires come into view, my shivers become shakes.

One of the guards stationed at the front—in my grief-addled state, I can't recall his name—shouts when he sees me, alerting the stable hand (whose name I also can't remember). They rush towards me, alert eyes scanning my body despite the harsh conditions.

I don't even notice when the guard speaks, his voice muffled. "Lady Lauren? Can you hear me?" When that gets no response, he turns his head towards the stable hand, speaking quietly. "Alert the prince. She's gone into shock."

The stable hand nods, taking off toward the castle. My hands, still wrapped in Fleetfire's mane, are white-knuckled. Gently, the guard untangles my fingers from her mane, lifting me off the horse. I'm only aware of my breathing—rapid and shallow—and my heartbeat—hammering wildly in my chest.

My head lolls on the guard's shoulder as we slowly, painfully make our way to the castle. When we cross the threshold, muted voices reach my ears. "Lady Lauren? What happened?" "Where's the prince? Where's Prince Ethan?"

He appears seconds later, eyes wide as he surveys the scene before him. "Lauren!" His fingers are warm against my frozen skin as he gently touches my cheek. "Can you hear me?" When his question goes unanswered, he turns to the guard. "Is she okay? What happened?"

The guard shakes his head. "We don't know, Your Highness. I saw her horse ride up to the front, and then I noticed she'd gone into shock. As far as I could tell, she was not injured." He casts one last worried glance at me as he finishes speaking.

Ethan thanks the guard, then wraps my arm around his shoulder. My gaze is blank, my eyes glassy. My father's words repeat in my head, over and over, until another voice replaces his—my own.

"'You can't escape your past, Lauren. No matter your title, no matter the love you and the prince have for each other. If you let it, it'll destroy you. The way I see it, you're already halfway there. Does Ethan know about your sleepless nights or the nights you wake up soaked in sweat, a scream trapped in your throat? Does he know about the panic attacks, the terror that eats at you daily? Does anyone know?'"

"No," I whimper, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Please." A sob follows the word, and I bury my head in Ethan's chest to muffle the sound.

Ethan tightens his grip on me, misunderstanding my words. "I've got you, Laur. I'm not going anywhere."

When we finally reach our suite, my tears have transformed into sniffles. Only when he's shut the door behind us does Ethan speak, his voice low. "Is there anything I can do?" I can hear the concern and worry in his voice, and that triggers a new wave of tears.

I hear Gwen's voice, muffled by my sobs. "My lady?" I have my head buried in his chest, so I don't see the worry on her face, nor do I see Ethan meet her eyes, subtly shaking his head.

Later that night—my head throbbing—I lay awake in bed, listening to Ethan's steady, even breathing. He didn't press me about what had happened—not that I volunteered any information. He just held me as I cried.

I'm not sure when—if ever—I'll be ready to talk about what I saw in my nightmare. Whatever progress I'd made in conquering the demons of my past was wiped away in a single conversation. The ugly truth stares me down daily, a shadow I can't escape.

He doesn't know. No one does. He knows I have nightmares, but he doesn't know their extent. I'm hanging by a thread daily, pretending everything is fine. I'm trying my hardest not to let my past catch up with me. But maybe my father was right. Maybe you can't ever really escape your past.

Exhaustion finally claims me hours later, just as the first sun rays stream through the windows. Nightmares come to life as soon as I close my eyes.

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