Of Heirs and Havoc ✔️ | Of Crimes and Crowns Book 2

two: of nectar and news

Victoria peeled off her white gloves, reaching with a half-frozen hand to pluck the flower from the shrub. Its petals were a deep blue-green—shocking against the blanket of snow surrounding the glasshouse and the pale sky above it—and the blue rose was the only one able to survive in the harsh Arlean winter. Rather than withering under the elements or frosting over and crumbling into brittle pieces, it managed to thrive.

Victoria felt inanely jealous of the flora. Once, she had thought herself capable of such strength, with the ability not to fall apart in times of adversity. Now, with the state had been left in after Harold—God, she could not even bear to say his name in her head, let alone aloud—she doubted she had ever been so strong. She could not stand to wear bracelets—the coldness of the metal against her skin, especially at her wrists, was a torment to her. The sound of a firearm going off made her feel as though something were trapped beneath her skin, begging to break free. Nightmares haunted her from her sleep well into her waking. She was weak. Breaking, if not already broken.

"The flowers are beautiful, aren't they, sister?" Blake asked.

Her brother had been accompanying her often to the royal gardens lately, though she had often wanted to be alone during her visits. She suspected it was her insistence on being by herself that made him even more determined to join her. He was worried about her. Tori herself was anxious over her own well-being, yet could do nothing to improve it.

"Yes," she forced the words out. "It was very gracious of the queen to extend to us an open invitation for visiting the palace grounds."

They were lucky. They had survived. There was no reason for the turmoil that brewed inside of her every time she thought of the trial, the kidnapping. She had been part of putting the man behind bars—rationally she was safe. But her heart had yet to know that.

"It was, Vicki." Blake stopped her with a hand on her arm. If it had been eighteen months ago, she might have shaken it off, insisted that there was no reason to stop or for him to worry—but this was not eighteen months ago. "But that is not what you are pondering, is it?"

She froze. Not wanting to lie to her brother, which was what had gotten her into this mess to begin with, but not wanting to admit her weakness either. "It's cold," she stated. Not a lie, not the truth. "I'm cold. Should we turn back?"

"Victoria," he said, and Blake's voice was begging. Her prideful, masculine brother was begging. "Victoria, please. It has been a year. It has been a year, and I have tried to help you, but—"

"But what?" She felt tears spring to her eyes. More unreasonable emotion. "But, I should toughen up and act as though nothing ever happened simply because time has passed? Everyone has forgotten about Harold, so I ought to do the same? Are those things along the lines of what you meant to say?"

"No." His face crumpled, and she was put out with herself for being so short with him. "No, Vicki, it's not that at all. I only—it is as though you have become someone else in the past year. Someone worse, someone more forlorn. And I only wish to see you restored to your former self."

"I am not—this is not a mask I can put on and take off, Blake. It is not a persona. It is who I have become. And I don't..." she shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. "It is not that I do not want to get better. It is that I don't know how to change."

"Oh, Tori." His voice was gentle, not pitying, but breaking with sorrow at her own. "Vicki. You are my dear sister—whom I greatly care for. I would never wish to suggest that you are responsible for your own state. I know—I know that is the fault of a greater evil at work. But, to see you in such a state upsets me. It more than upsets me, it makes me feel... useless. And perhaps that is an awful thing to say, because you are the one who is fighting this battle, but you are my little sister. Whatever battles you fight, I wish to be at your side, defending you. And in this... I cannot be."

Her heart broke at his words. Had she been responsible for his upset as well as her own? "Blake, I—"

"Lady Victoria!" She saw the queen dismount from a bay mare, her ebony skirts billowing in the wind. Behind her was a man in livery she did not recognize, and Connor, Natasha's husband, holding their child. Victoria was at least proud of think that without a hint of jealousy.   "We are about to receive important news, and all royal advisers must be there. If you would be so kind as to spare your brother—?"

"Victoria will come with me," Blake said, putting a hand on her back. "Won't you?"

"I—" she saw Natasha nod in approval. "If you insist."

"I do," interjected Connor. "The two of you are rather like family by now, and ought to be here for this news, whatever it is."

Victoria nodded. Like family. Once, she had thought that Connor would be her husband, not her family, but a great deal could happen in eighteen months. And he seemed far happier with Natasha than she had ever seen him whilst they were together. She could not begrudge him—or anyone else—joy, simply because she did not have it.

"Then let us away to the palace."