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A Scene
The infirmary was the one place in the entire castle that felt completely foreign to me. Until the birth of my brother, I'd never once had the need to step foot in the cold rooms with their smell of cleaning chemicals and strange, beeping machines.
Angelo's unmoving form on the bed before me was even more foreign, still. There was no hint of a teasing smile pulling at his lips. They were parted slightly, the soft sound of his breathing nowhere near as sweet as his mischievous snickers, but I was happy for it all the same. The two of us were alone in the private room he had been assigned, though I was certain that guards were posted just outside the door.
I had to refrain from brushing the golden curls from his brow. I had done it countless times over the long hours, restless fingers smoothing the hair back, just for it to fall again within minutes. He said he loves me. I hadn't had the chance to say it back.
The door creaked open behind me, but I didn't lift my gaze, not even when the servant spoke, repeating the same line I had heard before, "Your Highness, your father, The King, asks that you join him in his office at once."
"I have already informed my father many times that I will not be leaving this room until my mate is awake." I had been assured over and over that that he would be perfectly fine, given time to heal. Only a little bit of the wolfsbane had made its way into his bloodstream. With assistance from the Healers, he was on his way to a full recovery. But I needed to see it for myself that he was alright, to look into his eyes and feel his touch. There was so much blood... I saw it fresh each time I closed my eyes.
The servant cleared his throat in discomfort, "I was told that I'm not to accept that answer."
Finally, I dragged my gaze from Angelo, twisting in my seat to glare daggers at the man. Man seemed the wrong word for him, he was barely more than a boy and, as he met my stare, I could hear the poor child's heart rate accelerate. He turned scarlet, from freckled cheeks to the tip of his ears. I arched a brow, "Will you be the one to force me out, then?"
He choked on a startled intake of air. "I– well, no," he stuttered, "it's just– your father, he– "
I silenced him with a raised hand. "You have my answer. You'll need to take me out by force, or I'm not leaving until he wakes." I spun back to study Angelo, looking for any sign of change. I wanted to be there when he woke, to ease any fear or confusion he might feel. A friendly face among so many who had once been his enemies. I wasn't sure what they were to him now, or where he stood with our people. That would probably be discussed in the meeting that my father was trying so hard to have with me.
I just need a little more time...
He would wake soon, I was sure of it. Then, when I knew for certain that he really was alright, I would face my fate. Be glad, even, to plead my case and be done with it, for better or worse. I was so tired of the lies and sneaking around. So very tired... My eyes nearly drifted closed of their own will before the door slammed open once again.
I was still sitting in the same position beside the bed. This time, multiple sets of footsteps rushed in. I shot to my feet and evaded the hand that grabbed for my arm.
I cursed under my breath. My father had chosen to take me by force. I knew it was coming, but some part of me had hoped that he would choose to allow me this one small mercy before I would have to face the consequences of my deceit.
The next man to reach for me received a punch to the jaw, and the one after that was kicked clear across the room, sending him flying into the wall. I knew they were only following orders from my father, but my desperation saw no reason. They were attempting to pull me from Angelo– from my wounded mate. It was unthinkably cruel.
I was a flurry of movement, kicking and punching at anyone in range, but they just kept coming. I counted eight of them, eight men sent by my father to retrieve me, and every time I beat one back, another would fall upon me. I tried not to let the odds get to my head. I couldn't give up, not when giving up meant abandoning Angelo's side.
I did not hold back, a fact that I was bound to regret later. There was the unmistakable sound of breaking bone, then another man filled the spot he vacated. Someone tackled me from behind, all of the air gushing out of my lungs at the impact with the hard ground. Before I could recover, rough hands yanked me to my feet. I thrashed against their hold.
"No!" I yelled as they began tugging me toward the door, "I can't leave him! No, stop!" I propped my feet on either side of the doorway, leveraging all of my remaining strength against them. I had never felt more powerless. "I can't go yet! Stop this at once!" A kick severed my hold on the doorframe. They were not gentle with me, likely still bitter over the broken arm.
They dragged me, kicking and screaming, down the corridors and up flights of stairs. It wasn't dignified, but I was past caring about the scene I was causing, the marks piling up on a reputation that had once been unmarred by scandal, sparkling clean. I was dumped unceremoniously before my father, and the men ducked out before I could repay them for the escort.
I straightened my crumpled clothes, huffing in indignation. They were the same torn, bloodstained remnants of what I'd donned the night before. I had taken a wet washcloth when offered by the medical staff, using it to wipe the blood from my face and arms, but had accepted no further attention from them. The cut on my arm had scabbed, but showed no sign of healing any more than that. I hadn't allowed them to clean the poison from the wound and tend it as they had with Angelo's neck. I couldn't justify receiving treatment for such a minor gash, not with so many wounded flooding through their doors. It would heal on its own, albeit slower than I was accustomed to. It would leave behind a scar, a line of angry, puckered skin as Ambrose Amato had. I cleared my throat to break the silence of the room. "You sent eight men for me?" I asked, bypassing a greeting. I was too angry to be polite. "I must say, I'm flattered."
"You are in no position for snide remarks, Giuliana," The King replied, unamused. "Do you understand the position you are in?"
His words should have sent a bolt of fear down my spine, sobered my thoughts. It was confirmation that my future, what I had worked so hard for, hung in the balance. But my tired mind could hardly focus, it remained several floors away, in that uncomfortable, sterile room. That's no place to wake up alone. Even worse with armed guards looming over, or whoever else had been sent to take my place as watchful sentinel of the chamber. I was sure that he had not been left unsupervised. Someone would be expected to stay with him, just not me.
When my father realized my jutted chin was all the response he would receive, his annoyance doubled. He leaned forward in his seat, "By now, rumor of your little love affair has likely reached all corners of this estate, if not farther. The council is in uproar. I want to be able to take your side, but I'm struggling to make sense of it all. I can't help you, or him," the way the word fell from his mouth, it was clear he wanted to do anything but, "unless you sit down, drop your attitude, and talk to me."
All of the anger deflated from me, leaving behind an empty shell. I let out a deep breath and did as he bid, plopping into the chair opposite him.
He looked mildly pleased at my change of heart. "All morning, the council has been demanding a meeting to discuss this issue, as well as the future of our country, and the impending war. I've done my best to postpone it, but we can't keep them waiting forever. I need you to talk to me. Prior to last night, who else knew about you and the Blood Fang?"
"He has a name."
"Answer me."
"Only Franco, he discovered us together two nights ago. I convinced him to give me a chance to explain." Except, we never got to finish that conversation before the attack.
My father nodded, processing the information, "Now it's time for you to give me that same explanation. Tell me everything, starting from the beginning." I obeyed after only a moment's hesitation.
I told him all that he wanted to know, leaving out only a few pieces here and there. Some moments were meant to remain just between Angelo and I– that afternoon in the meadow, the night he'd held me after the museum attack, our passionate kiss in the enchanted garden. All moments that meant the world to me, but would do nothing to assist him in building my case. He listened intently, though the glower never fully left his face. Every so often he would lift his pen to jot something down on a piece of paper before him.
I had nearly finished my tale, unable to tell if it had been enough to make my father understand, when there was a knock on the study door.
My father held up a hand to halt my story, "Come in."
The same young servant from earlier came bustling in, leaning down to whisper something to my father. The King's expression hardened.
"Ah," he said to me, dismissing the boy with a nod, "it seems we've delayed all we can. It's time." He stood to leave.
"Time?" I asked, rising to follow him. "Time for what?"
"Time for you to plead your case to the council and pray that it is enough."
~*~*~
There you have it, Angelo isn't dead!
As always, I'd love to hear any feedback, thoughts, or predictions you might have!
See you next time