Page 22 of Crowned In Sin

“I think you must give them a chance, Cora. Talk to them. Get to know them. Perhaps you will find someone you wish to spend more time with, and that is the first step. But you cannot do that if you will not speak to them.”

“Isabel,” I say, my control over my voice finally beginning to break. “I hear what you are saying. I hear that you care for me, and you want me to be happy.”

“Then why not take my advice? Prince Jasper will not see you until tea tomorrow, so you have time to gather yourself. You have time to get used to the idea of speaking with him, and showing him the best of what you can be, and if there is no spark⁠—”

“You don’t understand,” I hiss, unable to control my frustration. “You don’t understand anything.”

She gasps, a hand to her heart, and I apologize. Slowly, she clasps her hands in front of her. I can see in her eyes that she is surprised and hurt that I would speak this way to her, but I cannot help it.

“You’re different today,” she says, after a silence.

“Yes,” I say, my voice much calmer and with a saddened note. I am almost as astonished as she is. I’m not in the habit of speaking to people like this. I am not in the habit of feeling like this. “I am different. I will not subject you to any more of my…difference.”

It’s then that I realize, she’ll judge me too. I know she will and that very fact pulls me from the moment.

I storm out of my own rooms, moving quickly down the halls, tears stinging in my eyes. They are from fury and sadness and even—I am horrified to realize—some regret. I’ve made everyone frustrated and angry, including my father. I have been rude to many suitors because I hoped they had come sooner, though they couldn’t have known that.

But most of all, I’m angry with myself. I took a lover who did not speak to me, who did not let me see his face. I have permanently ruined my reputation, and I think the only way to repair it—the only possibility—would be to find the man from the shadows, who does not want to be found.

Chapter 9

Cora

That night, I stand at the doors to my balcony and let the warm, summer air blow my thin silk nightgown around my legs. It falls to the floor and yet it still seems that it does not cover me nearly enough.

I think about closing the balcony doors. I think about giving the man in the shadows a clear signal that he is no longer wanted here. It would feel good to slam them, but the sound would bring the guards running, and I would have to explain to them that I only shut them too hard. I would have to explain that it was an accident.

I would be lying. I don’t wish to lie any longer.

None of this has been an accident. I am the one who sought out the man in the shadows. I am the one who took his silence for an invitation and told him—in the most flippant manner—what I wanted.

I didn’t protest when he came to me.

And now I am standing here, in full view of whoever might be out in the night. This is all my doing. And I don’t know how to find my way out. The only thought that consumes me is to find my way into his arms.

It will not be any kind of signal if I shut the doors. I have not felt him watching, and I have not felt him near, so it is possible he is not in the castle at all, and then the only person I will be closing the doors to is myself.

In the end, I leave them open and take myself to bed, feeling quite sorry for myself.

Because if he is here, and if he plans to come to me, I want to see him. I want to scream at him. I have many questions to ask of him, and I will have answers.

If he doesn’t, my rooms will be more comfortable with the outside air moving freely in.

It is not easy to fall asleep, with my mind so full of conflicted thoughts and feelings. I find myself listening for any sign that someone is approaching. The only footsteps I hear are the occasional crossings of the guards outside my bedroom doors. They patrol more often in the early part of the night, when an audience is more likely to be up and about in the castle, though not so often that I could not slip out unnoticed.

There is a longer gap, signaling the later hours of the night, and that’s when my mind finally begins to drift.

I do what I can to help sleep along. I breathe evenly and do not try to rush it. I think of the stream near the pavilion and imagine following it at a slow, stately pace, taking time to notice the plants growing along the stream bed and the curves in the water.

I’m very close to sleep pulling me in—so close that I can hear the stream trickling in my dream—when someone moves on the balcony. With a deep inhale, I refuse to breathe until I hear it again.

Creak. My eyes close in a relief that I’ve never felt before. One of being found. One of being wanted.

He takes only a few soft steps, but my whole body becomes alert at once. My heart pounds and yet I stay as still as can be. Until he steps again and I can no longer play these games. After all, I am no little girl. I have a kingdom I will inherit. The bed dips as I sit up and prepare myself to turn to him.

“I have—” I start, but he covers my mouth with his broad hand, silencing me and stopping me from turning at the same time. I slightly struggle in his embrace and find his hard chest to my back. His hand hot on my skin and my pulse rages. I writhe slightly for him to unhand me but he doesn’t.

“Shh,” he attempts to hush me. The bastard!