Royal Pain (Book One)***Complete***

15. Nothing's Ever Fair

"Deva last night you told me you hadn't always drank that much. What happened? What's wrong? What is making you drink so much to forget?"

"Nothing," she stepped back to get out of his grip. "It's none of your concern."

Darius closed the gap between them. "You are my concern." He lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. "I care about you a lot, and I don't want to see you in any pain."

"You shouldn't worry about me. I'm tougher than I look. I promise."

"I know you are, but all tough things crack eventually." His pleading eyes were filled with compassion. "Deva please just tell me. Is it us, this place?"

"Yes."

But he saw through her lie. "You can't lie to a prince of deceivers sweetheart." He leaned in placing his forehead against hers. "Please, tell me Deva. I want to help you."

"No one can help me now," her soft whisper was so broken and helpless that Darius was forced to pull away to look into her eyes.

"Deva-"

She cut him off. "Just drop it Dar, please. I don't want to talk about it." She pulled away making him drop his hands. "Not to you or anyone else."

It was killing him not knowing what it was she was trying so hard to hide, but he didn't want to force it out of her in her current state. She was too upset and hurting her now wouldn't do any good. He convinced himself he would get it out of her eventually.

"Did you paint this?" She asked staring at his painting of a waterfall landscape.

"Yes."

"It's beautiful. I knew you had to have some kind of artistic-ness from all the creative imagination you have to do in order to fabricate a dream."

"I want to show you something." He took her hand and led her to his closet towards the very back. There she noticed a secret door and he pushed it open. Inside was a rather large studio room filled with all sorts of paintings and sketch drawings covering the walls. The center table was filled will all types of brushes, paints, and chalks.

"Wow this room is incredible."

One painting in particular drew her attention. She crossed the room to get a better look. It showed a girl with no face standing by a window looking out. Outside the window was painted a huge tree with a dark figure leaning against it. Darius wasn't done with the painting; the girl and boy did not have faces yet.

"Why haven't you finished yet?"

"I just couldn't imagine the right faces for them."

"It reminds me of a story my dad used to tell me."

"Will you tell me how it went?" He asked hoping to distract her mind from their previous conversation. He didn't want her mad at him. She walked to the small couch in the corner and sat down, waiting for him to do the same.

Darius sat right next to her, their legs touching. She pulled her legs up and hugged them to her chest. He wondered if she pulled away because of his touch.

"When I was seven, my dad would tell me a story about this girl who would always receive a white rose on her birthday. The white rose was supposed to be magical and glow in the dark. It was also a symbol of promise and love. But she didn't know who it was from; so she asked her father. He told her it was from her prince who was waiting for her.

Waiting for her to grow up, waiting for her to understand that he was always there for her, waiting for her to love him just as much as he loved her. So the girl, on every birthday, would wait by the window, but he would never show. Even so, her white roses kept coming; they would never die. So by her nineteenth birthday, she had a collection of eighteen white roses. She waited by the window, and to her surprise, there he was. Her prince was standing by a tree with a white rose in his hand."