After I get back to my room, I shut the door behind me softly. I breathe out a single sigh of shock before sliding to the ground, my back against the door.
What did I just do?
I'm not a reckless person, generally. I like to know the consequences of my actions before I commit to them.
So why did I just, with total abandon, kiss the prince?
And, goddess, why do I want to kiss him again?
Despite my best efforts, a tipsy sort of smile erupts on my face.
He was so - soft. So much softer than I was expecting. Soft and warm. When I close my eyes, I can almost still feel his hands, tentative, touching lightly on my waist. I can see his face, his lips slightly reddened, his eyes unfocused and beautiful, the way his voice wavered when he asked me if I wanted to stay.
But when I next blink, I see Dad's face, smiling at my mother, telling her that he loved her. I see my mother's face, flushed in adoration, neck-deep in a love that destroyed her.
The heat dies in my chest. I pull my knees closer to me.
No! The idealist inside of me screams. No, he's different. He won't end up like Dad.
I'm staying, anyway, for Lucy. I've already made the decision. It will be easier on both of us if I believe his promise not to hurt us, even if it turns into a lie. I should, at least, revel in the few years of happiness that we might have, shouldn't I?
But I can't seem to get the giddy warmth started in my chest.
I'm not desirable. I'm not particularly beautiful, especially by werewolf standards. I'm too skinny. And, ever since my first shift, 8 years ago -
I shake my head.
I can give it a chance. I can be logical about this. Not everyone is my father. There are good people in the world. Maybe Orion really is one of them.
He needs full disclosure. He needs to know everything. As I pace the length of my room, anxiously waiting for the sun to brighten the horizon, I make a resolution that I'm going to tell him everything. The ball, and why I was there, and why I was working at the palace and running from him the whole time.
I can do that. It's just talking, right? Just talking about the worst aspects of my life.
As soon as it's late enough that I think Orion will be awake, I resolutely make my way towards the bedroom door.
I open the door before jumping back, slightly startled. The Prince is standing before me, his hand half-raised like he was about to knock.
"Orion!"
He blinks at me, surprised, and I can't help but notice the way his lips are parted in surprise. I shift slightly on my feet, unsure of how to begin.
"We need to talk," we both say at the same time.
-
Orion looks like he doesn't know how to begin. I shift on the chair in my room, anxiety crocheting my intestines into knots.
"My mate -" he eventually begins, but the word seems to catch in his throat. He coughs slightly and tries again.
"Being my mate - it comes with certain - obligations."
Of course it does. His mate will be the future Queen Luna. Something pops in my chest like a deflating balloon.
"So I just - I wanted to say - Goddess, this is harder than I thought it would be."
"It's okay," I tell him, softly. My hands shake slightly, and I hold them tighter to still them. The realization sinks in my lungs like a heavy stone in water: he has realized that I could never be Queen, and he's going to reject me. He's changed his mind.
I was so stupid, to think for a second that he would want me. I think about how I kissed him, just hours ago, and I feel a mortification so deep that I nearly stop breathing.
Orion sighs.
"You're looking at me like that," he says under his breath, "and it makes it hard to think."
I sit up straighter, blinking at him, blush warming my cheeks.
"What I mean to say - is that -" he takes a deep breath. Then - hesitating and soft - he places his hands over mine.
"We don't have to tell anyone. You don't have to accept those obligations. Whatever part of my life you want, you can have. I know you didn't sign up for being a royal just because you said you want to stay here."
I realize that my mouth is hanging open and I quickly shut it.
"I just - I want to know what to do. What you want to do."
I want to kiss him again. I swallow the instinct.
"I didn't." I begin, and stop. Don't speak before you know what you're saying. "I didn't think that I would have a say," I breathe, my shoulders sagging with the relief that he isn't rejecting me.
"I mean," I begin again, shaking my head slightly, like I'll be able to knock my thoughts into order. "I mean, can I have some time to think about it?"
It feels like the first decision I have ever made. I decided to go to the ball - but that was for Lucy and Elia. I decided to run from the ball - but that wasn't a choice, really. There was nothing else I could have done. Every choice I have ever made has been orchestrated by an external force. This, really, feels like the first choice I have ever had.
Orion nods. "Of course. I just wanted you to know."
His hands are still on mine, and they're so soft and perfect. I think of my own hands beneath them, how one of them puckers into a scar, how the fingers are still slightly crooked, the bones broken by my father.
"I don't care," he begins tentatively, "I don't care what everyone else thinks."
His voice is quiet and beautiful and I feel like my internal organs are melting.
"I care about what you think. I care about what you want. Lee, I want - I want you to -"
He bites his lip, cutting himself off. I drag my eyes away from his lips. But then I'm looking at his eyes, so dark that they absorb light, and I find it hard to keep my thoughts straight.
"You can tell me, Orion," I whisper, terrified of breaking the air between us.
"I want you to stay," he sighs, like a confession. "Here. With me. And I want you to be happy here. I'll pay whatever that costs."
"I want you to be happy, too," I reply, too quietly, and it seems so small in the face of his words.
"I can't say it, like you can. I can't make promises like you can. But I want to. Does that - does that mean anything?"
"Lee," he says. He pauses - but then his hand reaches up, and he presses his warm palm against my cheek.
"It means everything."
I'm not used to talking like this. I'm not used to talking about this. This is raw and open and all emotions and I've never even talked this way with Lucy - let alone with my mate, who I've only really known for a few days.
My heart skips in my chest, and, without thinking about it, I pull my hands away.
I blink, slightly surprised at myself. Orion draws his hands back quickly with a sharp breath.
"I'm forgetting myself," he says. "I'll leave you, now."
He stands suddenly, moving towards the door, before he turns back.
"Lee, there's one more thing," he says in a rush, "your father's trial is next week."
"I know," I say, "Jonah told me."
He nods slightly, licking his lower lip.
"I," he begins, but stops. His jaw tightens, and I see a ghost of fury in his expression.
"I witnessed his attack on you," he says forcefully, "so we have at least one charge against him. But it may only lock him up for a few years."
My lungs deflate in my chest.
"We talked to your mother," he continues, "and she . . . declined testifying against him."
Of course she did.
"And Lucy is too young," I finish for him. "And Jonah only has half the story."
"Yes," Orion says softly.
Jonah said that they might execute him. I just didn't realize that my testimony would make the difference.
Do I want my father to die?
"What exactly do you need from me?" I say, buying time.
"You would need to appear at the trial and tell the court everything."
I blanch. "Everything?"
"Not everything," Orion amends, "Just - some additional details. It would change his sentence."
Like a habit, a trace my hand across the jagged scar on my knuckles.
"Lee, you don't have to. I'm fighting like hell to get him locked away forever, at least. You don't have to. Think about it."
Before he goes, Orion does something I haven't seen him do in person - he smiles.
It's not a real smile. It doesn't light up his face. It is small, and slight, and it fights for survival against a mask of stoicism.
It is hopeful, I think.
As he closes the door behind him, I internally verbalize something that I've known for a long time.
I have to tell him the truth about me. Or I have to run again.
And running isn't an option any more.
-
The day stretches as I think.
Everything could stay the way it is. I could be with Orion, and it would just be us - no publicity and royalty and a life I was never prepared for. I would have Lucy, and Mom, and Jonah. I would be happier than I ever thought I would be.
Or I could be announced as the Prince's mate. My entire life would turn upside down. Mom would probably hate me for being Orion's mate, and I could flunk so entirely out of the job of Royal that Orion has no choice but to eject me from his life.
It seems like an obvious choice.
Until I think of Orion. What would he have to deal with, hiding me from all of that? How much heat would come on him because of me? I would essentially be his mistress, and he would officially be a mateless king. When I think of how much stress it would put him under, the choice changes.
I wonder if I can be a queen. I was supposed to be an upper Beta, but I was never properly trained in. Instead, I'm a skinny, pale dishwasher. I can't imagine myself on a throne, delivering commandments and edicts.
I wish I could believe in a Moon Goddess. If I believed in her, this problem would be simple: she mated me to a prince, so that means I can be a queen. Life would feel so much more orderly and pretty if she were real.
And then, testifying against my father. It could get him locked away forever. But then Mom really would hate me forever, especially if they kill him.
I should want him to be dead. But I'm not sure if I do.
I have never existed in the world without him. How will the world be different when he's gone? Will I stop being afraid, finally? Or will I become like him, cruel and hard?
And I don't know if I'm strong enough to relive everything in a court, with everyone's eyes on me.
As I think, I walk down the Palace corridors, trying to imagine them as a home. I try to find the Great Hall, with all of the portraits, but I lose myself in the anatomy of the castle. It seems too grand, too extraordinary for me.
Instead of the Royal Portraits, I find myself at the door leading to the dungeons. It's guarded by two wolves. Both of them look at me suspiciously.
"I'm Ashlee Collins," I begin, nerves shaking my voice.
"Yes," one of the guards agree lazily, glancing down my body.
I wince. It makes sense that they would recognize me. I imagine my picture, along with the rest of my family, has been in most news outlets at least once.
"I need - I need to talk to him, before the trial."
One of the guards looks at the other.
"We let his mate in," he replies with a shrug. "And she's talked to him before."
"But that was with the Prince."
"What's she going to do? Break him out?"
I flush. The guard at the left takes in my full bony form.
The doors are silent as they open. The guard's boots are quiet on the floor, making the small squeaking of my sneakers seem even louder. He stops suddenly.
"Here you are, Miss."
"Thank you."
My father's face is still slightly warped from his encounter with Orion, but there are no scars. If left to heal, I bet he would look nearly the same. It makes it much more sinister when he looks up at me.
"Ashlee."
He smiles.
I swallow a burst of fear.
"Come to gloat?" he continues, almost mocking.
I steel my nerves, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don't know, really, why my feet led me here. I shift backwards, considering just bolting.
I steady myself against the cool metal door, and it comforts me. This is not our living room. This is a prison, and I'm not the one behind bars.
"You're going to die in a few days," I say, and my voice is stronger than I thought it would be. "You could. They're discussing execution."
Dad's expression doesn't change. The scars on my back seem to tingle.
"Does it make you feel shame," I bite out, suddenly angry, "now that it's out in the open? Do you regret it?"
I try to make my eyes burn. I imagine that I am the woman in the portrait, powerful and dangerous. But my father doesn't cower. When he speaks, it is reproachfully, like he's scolding me for not using my manners.
"I made you into what you are," he says, "My only regret is that you are a failure. But my skirts are clean. I taught you right. I trained you correctly. You are simply too weak."
I stand up straighter, but I can't bring my eyes to him. I am too weak. This truth sears my veins like molten lava.
"The Prince is my mate," I say into the still air.
I know that it isn't wrong to tell him this - he is rotting alone in a prison cell, after all. Who would he tell - his guards?
But I don't know why I tell him. I don't know what I'm trying to prove. Maybe I want him to know that I will be happy.
He doesn't seem surprised so much as disgusted. His expression peels back into a grimace of nauseous revolt.
"You think you can be the Queen?" he snarls.
"I do."
I don't know if that's true.
"You can try, Ashlee. I know what you are. You'll break, like you always have."
I level my gaze. I look into his eyes.
It's been so long since I've examined his face, really. My head has been bowed, my eyes averted, for so many years. When I finally take him in, I'm happy to find that I don't look so much like him, any more.
But his eyes are still the watery, faded bluish-green the same shade as mine. They are hard, and cold, and they seem to sharpen like a knife into my mind. But they are also my own. So I understand the flicker of doubt that I read in them.
"You're afraid to die," I whisper. It was so quiet, but it seems to echo.
My father flinches.
I turn and walk away.