AMELIA
I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling and counting the crystals on my chandelier for the tenth time since morning. Despite waking up hours ago, I lack the motivation to get out of bed, feeling utterly drained before even starting my day. Maybe it’s because what happened last night knocked some reality into me and has me pondering over them.
My hand drifts unconsciously to my neck, the memory of what transpired replaying in my mind. The bruise from Nickolas’s grip has likely faded by now, but the sting of his actions lingers. I berate myself for my foolishness, for daring to touch him despite knowing how rigid he is about personal boundaries. It was foolish of me to reach out to him to inquire about his troubles. Even if he hadn’t reacted violently, I doubt he would have confided in me. I’m such a fool at times, but I can’t entirely blame myself.
The sight of him, reeking of alcohol with a bleeding hand, stirred something within me-a desperate urge to comfort and assist him. It drove me to take bold actions last night, actions I now regret as I remember my rightful place. I’m relieved I didn’t compound my mistakes by questioning him further about why he was drinking in the dark in my room. I shudder to think what his reaction might have been had I dared.
The growl of my stomach breaks me from my reverie, a reminder that I can’t wallow in bed indefinitely. With a sigh, I throw off the covers and make my way to the bathroom, resolving to freshen up and face whatever challenges the day may bring.
I step out of my room, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I find Beatrice standing at my door, her warm smile instantly putting me at ease. Without hesitation, I rush into her open arms, embracing her tightly. She’s become the closest thing I have to a mother now, especially since mine might be dead. Despite her initial aloofness when we first met, our relationship has since evolved into one of warmth and affection.
“How are you doing, child?” Beatrice inquires, pulling away slightly to assess my well-being.
“I’m good,” I reply, returning her smile, genuinely happy to see her.
“And your wolf?” she probes further.
“Great,”
“That’s good, but you still need to shift soon. I will speak to the king about it again,”
“Don’t bother,” I interject, knowing all too well that after last night’s events, Nickolas would never allow it, even without it. Beatrice is about to respond when the door next to mine creaks open, and the devil himself emerges.
I freeze, my gaze locked on Nickolas as he surveys Beatrice and me with an unreadable expression. Dressed in a sleek black suit that accentuates his imposing figure, he exudes an air of power and authority. His eyes flicker briefly from my face to my neck, where his handprint had left its mark just hours before. But now, there’s no trace of his actions, no visible evidence of the chokehold he had on me last night. Yet, his intense scrutiny feels like he can still see the remnants of his grip.
I lift my gaze to meet Nickolas’s, my brows furrowing in confusion as I take in the bags under his eyes. It’s evident he hasn’t slept a wink last night, and I can’t help but wonder why. A pang of concern tugs at my heart, threatening to push me to ask him once more if everything is alright. But then I remember my place, the boundaries he’s set, and the consequences of crossing them.
I bite my lip, holding back the instinctive urge to voice my concern. Our relationship may be strained and fraught with tension, but he’s still my mate. And despite everything, a part of me will always care about his well-being, no matter how much I try to deny it.
Nickolas clears his throat, breaking the tense silence between us, and turns his attention to Beatrice.
“Is it possible for the Earth-binding spell to work while she’s in wolf form?” he inquires, his tone clipped and businesslike.
Beatrice’s eyes light up with excitement at the prospect, and she nods eagerly. “It’s even stronger then,” she confirms a hint of anticipation in her voice.
My heart skips a beat at their exchange, a glimmer of hope flickering to life within me. Could Nickolas be considering allowing me to shift after all? I turn to him, eyes wide with astonishment, scarcely daring to believe it.
“Once you’ve had dinner, come to my room. If you don’t see me there, check my office,” he instructs me, his words laced with a rare sense of warmth.
“Okay,” I reply, unable to contain the smile that spreads across my face. Though he doesn’t explicitly say it, I know why he’s requesting to see me later, and a surge of gratitude floods through me.
Turning to Beatrice, I envelop her in a tight hug, overcome with emotion at the possibility of finally being able to shift again after so long. Tears of joy blur my vision, and I hastily wipe them away, unable to contain my happiness.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion.
“You’re welcome, dear,” Beatrice replies, returning my smile as she interlocks our arms together and leads us towards the stairs.
We make our way downstairs to the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon greets us. As we sit down to breakfast, I can’t shake the nagging curiosity that has been gnawing at me since last night. Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I turn to Beatrice and broach the subject that has been on my mind.
“Why doesn’t Nickolas like to be touched?” I inquire, my curiosity piqued.
Beatrice pauses mid-sip, setting her coffee cup down with a thoughtful expression. “Because he doesn’t like to be touched,” she responds simply, avoiding my gaze.
I narrow my eyes at her, sensing there’s more to the story than she’s letting on. “Because he doesn’t want to be touched. Really?” I press, expecting a more substantial explanation.
“Yes,” Beatrice replies evasively, still avoiding eye contact. It’s clear she knows the reason but is reluctant to divulge it to me. I can sense there’s a deeper, more serious reason behind Nickolas’s aversion to touch.
“Can you give me a clue?” I prod further, hoping to glean some insight into why.
“If the king wanted you to know why he doesn’t like to be touched, he will tell you himself,” Beatrice asserts firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I pause, taken aback by her stern demeanor. “Wow, Beatrice, and here I thought we were friends,” I jest half-heartedly, though I know she’s serious.
“We are, and that’s why I’m going to tell you this. Never, I mean never, bring it up with the king. If you value your life, that is,” Beatrice warns, her words carrying a weight of caution.
“Whoa, I didn’t know it was such a dangerous question,” I remark, my curiosity now tinged with a sense of trepidation.
“One thing the king hates more than Jane is being asked questions about his past,” Beatrice divulges, her slip revealing more than she intended. It’s clear that whatever happened in Nickolas’s past is a sensitive subject, one that he guards fiercely.
“Why does the king hate his stepmother?” I inquire, changing the subject slightly to ease the tension. I know that Jane, the late Queen of lycans, isn’t Nickolas’s biological mother, which is why we aren’t related.
“Another story the king will tell you himself if he wishes you to know,” Beatrice replies cryptically, her tone leaving no room for further discussion.
“Hmm… alright,” I concede, though internally, my determination to uncover the truth only grows stronger. Beatrice’s warning has only fueled my curiosity further, and I’m more determined than ever to uncover the secrets of Nickolas’s past, no matter the cost