Chapter 227: Heavy lids 1

EDELINA

"The High Beta left the estate late this afternoon, Your Majesty."

The Omega spoke as she arranged the dinner tray on the small table beside my window. She was careful with the cutlery, aligning each piece with the edge of the plate, then adjusting the napkin until it sat perfectly straight. She had the particular sort of caution that came from watching someone else suffer for a mistake. This was the tall one. The replacement for now.

I had stopped looking for amber in her eyes. There was little point in searching for a ghost in every new face.

I kept my gaze on the dark window. "Where did he go?"

"To the Shelter house, Your Majesty. To see the witch family." She placed the serving spoon beside the bowl. "He took two sentinels and one of the larger cars. Apparently, they needed the space for the body."

Her voice faltered before she continued.

"Word around the kitchen is that he intends to tell them about their daughter."

Willow’s people. Of course.

Bradley, the dutiful dog, carrying the news to the grave in person because he could not bear to send a letter. Under another moon, I might have admired the gesture. Tonight, I could only count it. Another piece moving across the board while I sat stranded in my own tower, my head packed with wet sand, unable to see what game was being played.

"And my son?"

The Omega’s hands stilled over the tray.

"He is well, Your Majesty. Sentinel Raymond says he has eaten what was brought to him, and Alpha Chonto has been sharing bread with him as well. But the prince hasn’t been speaking much lately. He sits against the wall with his knees drawn up." She lowered her voice. "The guards say he shivers, though the cell isn’t cold. They’ve offered him blankets, but he won’t take them."

I closed my eyes.

Four days, Lysander had swore. Three now, technically.

The fever would start soon. I knew that much. And here was a girl reporting his shivering as though the problem were a draft beneath the cell door.

"Thank you. You may leave me."

She remained where she was.

I could feel her hesitation from across the room. When I finally turned, I found her studying me with the same expression the first Omega had worn. Before I broke her head against a bathtub.

It was not fear, but something far more offensive.

Concern.

"Your Majesty," she began, almost apologetically. "Forgive me for saying this, but you don’t look well. Your eyes..." She swallowed. "Perhaps we should take you to the infirmary. Please. It might be best to have someone examine you."

I rose so abruptly that my chair toppled behind me.

"The infirmary?"

My voice was quiet, but something in it made her retreat half a step.

"Where the witch Lysander invited blew people’s heads apart before taking her own life? That infirmary?" I took a step towards her. "That place gives me the fucking creeps."

"Oh, Your Majesty, I only meant..."

"Get out."

"I was only concerned..."

"OUT!"

She fled, leaving the door to click shut behind her.

I stood in the middle of the room, my breath whistling between my teeth. For several seconds, I could do nothing but stare at the door. Then the horrible clarity of it settled over me.

She had been right.

I had screamed at kindness because I had nowhere else to put the fear.

I bent to retrieve the chair. My hands were shaking so badly that I struggled to set it upright. When I finally managed, I noticed that I had placed it crooked. I stared at it for a moment, then abandoned the effort to straighten it.

Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and studied the carpet.

It was time to think. Properly. The way I had once been able to think through a problem, stripping away sentiment until all that remained were facts, consequences and the most advantageous course of action.

I was approaching twenty-four hours without proper sleep. It was bad enough that my body was already deteriorating under the curse. Now there were visions in the foyer, writing appearing in the glass, and things moving at the edges of my sight that vanished whenever I turned to look.

Another day like this, and I would say something to the wrong person. Another day, and I might stumble in front of a sentinel or mistake a servant for an apparition. Before long, some bright young thing would whisper that the Queen had lost her mind and many would believe.

Madness was the easiest way to take a crown from a woman. No knife was required. Only patience.

And that was not the worst part. The worst part was that Lycaon was waiting.

He had been waiting all along. I could feel him whenever my eyelids grew heavy, lurking at the edge of my consciousness with the patience of something that had never known the inconvenience of mortality.

You cannot fight a god by refusing to close your eyes.

I pressed my fingers against my temples.

Fucking Fuck. I would have to speak to the beast after all. Reason with him, if reason was something he still understood. Bargain, if there was anything left to bargain with. Beg, if it came to that.

I had begged before, though never aloud.

The thought alone made my stomach turn.

Eventually, I lay down on top of the covers, still wearing my gown and dirty shoes. I folded my hands over my stomach and turned my face towards the pillow. It was cool against my cheek, and for a moment I considered getting up to undress.

But I couldn’t bring myself to move. My body was just that tired.

My eyes closed.

The sleep that followed was not gentle. It did not ease me into darkness or offer the courtesy of a gradual surrender.

It took me all at once, like a wall collapsing over my head.