Not protected, p.47
Not Protected, page 47
A feeling of claustrophobia began to press against me and it soon became hard to breathe under the pale sunlight. My fingers dug themselves into Michael's shoulder while I prayed that the panic would ease off. When my gaze trained itself on the lonesome figure at the top of the steps, I swallowed the anxiety and pushed myself to stand straight and tall, holding my head high.
It was only Vincent braving the onslaught of the press since his father, Lord Henry Blackewell, was required to attend the Court meeting today. Even from where I stood, I could see the fatigue plaguing the boy. He was sickeningly pale, with shadows lingering under his eyes. His cheeks were hollow, his smile strained. Vincent had lost the shine to his eyes, and my heartstrings twinged at the sight of him.
I balled my hands into fists and headed up the stairs. Michael held out his arm to me, and the corner of his lips twitched. He wanted to smile at me. I knew he did, but he was dating a girl named Stacy Beversh and the paparazzi would surely twist something devilish out of a smile.
I winked at him, partly out of mischief and slightly because I just wanted to feel the comfort of his smile as he helped me up the stone steps. Slowly but surely, made our way up to where Vincent waited. He took the moment to bow deeply before me, arm swept in front of his chest, back paralleled to the ground.
When he stood straight, I surged forward to pull Vincent into a hug, arms squeezing him tight, my body slightly shaking from the nerves bundling together in my body. He returned the embrace with equal vigor, and my hand fell on the back of his head.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, feeling his arms clench around my waist. He shook his head, his blond strands ruffling against the nape of my neck. Vincent then pulled apart and his hands rested on my shoulders, a hardened gleam to his blue eyes.
"You have nothing to apologize for," he declared. His eyes flickered down the crowd gathered at the bottom stems, held back by security. "Come inside. I'm sick of seeing these guys." Vincent kept with my sluggish pace as Michael kept an arm around my waist as I limped away from the press and into Vincent's home. The doors closed behind us, cutting off the noise. A sigh of relief escaped me just as my knees began to give out. Michael caught me in his arms, staring down at me with his classic I-told-you-so expression.
However, Vincent pulled me from Michael, jerking his head, eyes flickering over to the maids standing off to the side, their heads bowed. "How do you think the tabloids get their news?" he whispered, almost inaudibly. Then, he smiled down at me and helped me regain my balance. "You should sit down, Maria. I have tea prepared for today, would you do me the honor of joining me?"
His overly kind voice had me glancing at the staff as well. So they were having doubts about the Blackewell clan, too. No doubt a few of them were feeding these doubts to the press. "Lead the way, Vincent," I said, allowing the cool air to wipe away the feeling of nausea. A sense of calmness settled in my nerves, though my heartbeat was taking its oh, so sweet time to relax. It was very strange--crowds had never bothered me before until now, when all crowds reminded me of were the walls closing in a round me back at the mansion and how the heat from the bodies sent fire running up my skin.
Five days had passed since I had woken up. By now, I would've thought my discomfort of closed spaces and loud noises would've begun to fade, but they persisted. I couldn't, for whatever reason, shake away the flames that flickered in the corner of my eye. I couldn't distinguish the sound of a door slamming between the sound of beams falling down from a mansion roof.
The doctors said that my hyperarousal symptoms were extremely common after such a stressful experience. They would fade, one doctor reassured. That amount of distress was bound to cause these reactions as an after effect.
I rubbed my head and caught Michael eyeing me with concern. "You're not telling my parents," I warned him in a low voice as we followed Vincent through the brightly lit halls--that was a change. Abigail had hated the "unnatural" light, preferring no light whatsoever. Her curtains and drapes had been so thick that not a single ray of the sun could filter through. Honestly, I'm surprised she hadn't turned out to be some kind of vampire.
"If they think that these symptoms are getting worse, they won't ever let me leave the house," I continued.
"Maria," Michael sighed, casting a sharp look at me and resting a hand on my shoulder, "I think you should have more concern for your health."
"I'm a princess, not a piece of glass," I snorted, brushing off his hand. "I'm not going to crack under the slightest bit of pressure. I think you're taking this personal bodyguard duty too seriously. Have you ever done this job before?"
"Oh, please. With your luck, anything could happen within the span of the next five minutes. And besides, my girlfriend says I'm a pretty good bodyguard."
He said the last part loudly as a few maids passed us by. They bowed, smiling nervously at us before scuttering away, glancing over their shoulders before disappearing around a corner. "Your girlfriend's a liar," I deadpanned. Michael's face fell and Vincent flat-out snorted as he stopped by a window. He untied the curtains and pulled them aside, allowing the sunlight so spill into the dark interior. On and on he repeated the process with every window he passed, adding to the luminosity in the mansion until I felt as though I was somewhere new.
I stepped forward, letting my hand rest on his. Calmly, I untied the ribbon for him and tugged back the drapes so that the sunlight pooled onto his features. Michael walked silently ahead, sharing a solemn nod with me. I mouthed a thank you, and soon, it was just Vincent and me in the hall. He quivered where he stood, dry sobs racking through his body.
"I can't stand the thought of her, Maria," he whispered in a hoarse voice, leaning his head against the window. "I want to get rid of everything she ever owned but my father won't let me. And I try and go against him, but whenever I step into her room, I can't...I can't..."
Vincent collapsed against me. Pain rushed through my body as pressure came in contact with the stitches on my palm and side, but I bit down the sensations and brought the two of us to the ground. He was curled up against me, gripping my arms, head leaning against my collar.
"I keep waiting for her to come home," he admitted. "But I always feels so disgusted with myself. It just reminds me of all the other nights she came home late and how my father would wait up for her. It sickens me to think of her, but I can't help it. I'm sorry, Maria, I'm sorry."
"She's your mother, Vincent," I said softly. "Family is family. They're a part of us that we won't ever be able to erase no matter what. But it'll get better, Vincent. The pain will get better." "The staff keeps whispering when my father and I leave the room. Some of them think we're traitors too. The clans think we're traitors." His voice trailed off as he sat up, propping his elbows on his thighs before running his hands through his blond hair. "How could she do this to us?"
That, I didn't have an answer to. So I kept quiet, waiting for Vincent's agony to fade, leaning on his shoulder as he took deep, rattling breaths. "I know she could be harsh," he continued. "But behind closed doors, she had moments where she was kind. She just...she hated showing that side to people because she thought it made her weak. And she thought that if she was weak, people would seize the chance to hurt our family. But...if she loved us, why would she do this? Why would she break us like this?"
Again, I didn't have an answer. Abigail refused to talk about her motives to XYZ. Even Six--or Nathaniel, I should say, since the stripping of his agent authority lost him his nickname as well--couldn't name a motive for us, according to Michael. And he was the only one with any valuable information.
"Do you have plans to see her?" I asked after a moment of silence stretched between us. "I don't know," came his hushed answer. "I don't know how to feel about her. I hate her. I hate what she's done to my father, but at the same time..." "You still love her, I know," I finished, taking his hand. "It'll take time, Vincent. Don't force yourself to feel a certain way simply because the world is pressuring you to take a side. I understand, Vincent. And I'll make sure no one holds it against you for missing your mother."
I lifted my head to meet his smile, which was made through tears and red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you for coming here today," he expressed, squeezing my hand. "You didn't have to, you know. You shouldn't be associating yourself with our clan."
"Vincent." I scoffed at his statement. "Do you remember the first dinner party where we actually spoke? And you were so afraid of the other kids that you sat in an empty room by yourself where I found you during a game of hide-and-seek?"
"Maria, you practically dragged me out of the room, stood in front of a row of noble kids, and demanded that they let me play in a voice that an eight-year-old shouldn't have. Of course I remember." "From that moment on, we were friends. And to this moment still, we haven't stopped being friends. And I won't ever stop standing by your side."
He cracked a real smile--the smile I knew all these years. It was bright and full of warmth, it was a smile that prompted me to return the gesture.
"Have I told you that I'm really glad you made it out of that Easkey mansion?" he said, getting to his feet. He brushed off the front and back of his fitted black slacks before holding a hand out to me. "Have I told you that
"Come on. I don't want the maids to get any second ideas about us. I've had enough rumors to last me for three lifetimes."
I fixed the front of my black blazer, my fingers brushing over the gold buttons as I laughed, listening to Vincent's mutterings about the articles the press had written about his father and him. As Vincent led me through the mansion, the emptiness began to call attention to itself. We passed a room I recognized to be Abigail's private parlor. The door stood ajar and I was struck with shock when I saw how barren it had become. The chairs, the writing desk, the books--all gone. All that was left were the paintings on the walls and Abigail's scarlet curtains.
It seemed like Vincent had gotten his hands on some of his mother's items after all. On and on, I began to make the comparisons in my memories. The halls suddenly felt less clustered than I remembered, the walls and rooms a little more bare. The atmosphere felt frozen, stuck in a tranquility that couldn't seem to be broken.
The silence was interrupted by our footsteps, which echoed in a cavernous manner while we trekked down the halls. The only other noise was the faint piano music that grew louder the further we traveled. Finally, Vincent stopped by a set of doors that I recognized would lead to the east parlor--Abigail's least favorite room. She hated the piano inside it, finding its sound too strong, keeping it only due to her husband's insistence. She also complained about how the arching windows let in too much light, though I wondered why she never bought any drapes. Vincent must've requested that the room be kept bright.
Sunlight streamed into the parlor, illuminating the corners, bringing warmth and a sense of life to the otherwise dark and cold scenery. Seated at the grand piano was Michael, his fingers floating over the keys as a colorful tune drifted from the instrument. He didn't look up as we entered, but a girl standing over a tray of porcelain cups did, and my breath caught in my throat as I stared Sophia.
She set the teapot down and brushed her hands together before standing straight. Her grin was wide and sweet while my smile faded, unable to take in the red scar marring the side of her face. It ran from her jaw to the left side of her nose. It was still pink around the edges, the raw scarlet contrasting heavily against her tanned skin. Sophia's expression dropped slightly, and she tucked a curled strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks growing pink.
"You got that from Nathaniel, didn't you?" I asked in a low voice, feeling a rage beginning to sMaria in my chest. "No, it was one of Abigail's recruits," Sophia corrected hastily. Vincent made a scathing noise in the back of his throat as he walked around the black and gold Victorian sofas in the middle of the room and plopped himself down. "I heard you calling my name and tried to run for you but this girl stopped me and gave me the slash. Nathaniel saw. That's what made him turn last minute."
Sophia's grew wide with horror and she clamped her hands over her mouth. Michael stopped playing. "I'm so sorry!" Sophia gushed. "I sound like I'm defending him in front of you, that's so inconsiderate of me."
"Sophia, Maria is not Darkwood. She's not going to behead you," Michael said from where he sat, swiveling in his seat. "She's been nervous about seeing you for days, thinking you wouldn't want to speak to her," he revealed. "Since she's so busy helping with Nathaniel's interrogation, I figured now would be a good time for you two to see each other."
"Don't tell her I was nervous!"
"Why would you think I wouldn't want to talk to you?" I asked, cocking a brow. Sophia bit her lip, her blush growing more prominent. "My brother was on the side that tried to have you killed, Maria," she began. "I thought that...I don't know, you'd be uncomfortable being in a room with me. That is, until Michael convinced me to come. But if you want me to leave--"
"You were with me in Easkey, Sophia," I interrupted. "You went along and helped us. You could've refused Flynn. You could've run away, but instead you risked your life to help. Look at what you sacrificed by agreeing to be a part of his plan."
Sophia had been innocent. We had dragged her into this fight against Abigail without her full knowledge of what was going on. "You should've never gotten that scar. We were wrong to involve you."
"No!" Sophia shook her head in a ferocious manner. "Maria, I was a spoiled and self-centered bitch when I met you. The world revolved around me. Everything was mine. My parents were never around to take care of me, but they tried to make up their absence with gifts and wishes. With a snap of his fingers, Nathaniel was able to get me anything I wanted. Then I met you and you..."
She looked down at her feet, clicking her heels together before she finally looked up at me, roses in full bloom on her cheeks. "I don't know if I can make up for the way I treated you back at the academy. I was horrible to you for the longest time for no reason except that you stood in the way of what I wanted. I mean, I even..."
Her soft voice trailed off for a few seconds and her fingers played with the hem of her pastel blue blouse, the ring n her index finger glinting under the sun. "I lost us our memories," she said in a muted voice.
A moment of silence sailed on as I gawked at Sophia, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Vincent was switching focus between the two of us while Sophia fiddled with the ends of her hair now, looking exactly like she did when she first found out that I was of royal blood.
You know, minus all the blood and rainwater. The tension was broken as Michael accidentally scraped the piano bench across the floor as he stood. Our stares whipped to him. With a sheepish smile, he murmured an apology and sat back down, ruffling his hair.
"That being said," Sophia began again, drawing my attention, "I've done so many awful things to you. But even after everything, you rescued us--Vincent and me." She gestured to the boy sitting besides her. "You found us and offered yourself up as a distraction to give us a chance. You were selfless, despite your life hanging in the balance. And you never stopped being selfless, cutting ties off with Michael to give him a chance to move on. Running back into the mansion to save Alec--before that, even, you were dashing back in to make sure
Ladies and gentlemen, meet the Egyptn Speed-Walker of the Year
* * * I've been on this bench for a millennium and a half. Wars have raged. Chaos has brought down this world. The end is near.
I'm kidding. Though, I have been sitting on this bench for far too long. My legs were starting to cramp and numb-you know things are bad when the girl with a sprained ankle wants to start walking to get the nerves back in her leg.
I was singing a song softly under my breath, my voice drifting down the vast Drageryian Hall. The sound wandered back to me, reverberating past the stainless arched windows carved on the sides of the building. The sunlight of the afternoon streamed through, the warmest sunlight Egypt had had in two weeks, bringing a golden glow to the otherwise alabaster hall.
My heel bounced off the white marble floor, the sound joining in with my song. I was beginning to crave some company, but unfortunately for me, I couldn't have any. Witnesses for a
Drageryian Hall contained thirteen different court rooms. Twelve of them were meant for There was one large court at the very end of the building, its black doors engraved with depictions of the how Egypt came to be. It was guarded at all times when Drageryian Hall was open, locked by a key that only the Head of the Court possessed. It was the
The Now, the doors had opened for Abigail Blackewell. Right now, her trial was in session, where the Court and clans would weigh all of the information presented in order to decide her fate. Not that there was much to decide. Treason committed by a noble of Egypt was a crime that could never earn forgiveness.
As I sat in silence, admiring the marble statue of Dike, the Greek goddess of justice, I began wondering who the new Head of the Court was. After Abigail's one and only confession throughout her entire interrogation, the previous Head-- Robert Lakesyn (clearly that family has it out for me)--had been immediately dismissed. His replacement had come just in time for Archer's trial. I tried to ask my brother who it was, but he was too busy announcing himself as the once and future king of Egypt returned at the top of his lungs to answer me.
All I knew was that Robert Lakesyn, using his authority as the Head of the Court, had ignored the clans and ruled for Archer to be taken down. According to his confession at XYZ, he had been bribed to do so, but he wouldn't name the perpetrator, Naturally the blame fell to Abigail and Jonathan Fields was promptly tossed into jail, awaiting his own trial.
