Later that night, I find myself seated in the kitchen, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting a warm ambiance over the room. With my dinner on the counter and my beloved book in hand. Having whiled away
the day immersed in its pages, I’m already halfway through. Beside me, Beatrice observes with mild interest, her gaze
lingering on the book clenched in my grasp.
“For a princess, I’m surprised you had the time to take up
such a human hobby,” she remarks, her tone tinged with curiosity.
“You would be surprised,” I reply, forcing a smile as
memories of my unconventional childhood flood my mind.
“Why does it sound like you didn’t have a typical royal
upbringing?” Beatrice probes gently, her keen intuition cutting through my
facade.
“You could say that,” I murmur, turning a page in my
book before taking a bite of my dinner, attempting to deflect her inquiries.
But Beatrice isn’t easily deterred. “Amelia,” she calls
out, her voice laced with an undertone of concern. I lift my eyes from the
pages of my book to meet her gaze, a knot of unease forming in the pit of my
stomach.
“Did something happen to you when you were young?” she
asks, her words piercing through the carefully constructed walls I’ve built
around my past.
I feel my breath catch in my throat as a tidal wave of memories
threatens to overwhelm me. How could she possibly know? The tears well up in my
eyes, betraying the turmoil raging within me as I struggle to contain the flood
of emotions threatening to consume me.
“Amelia, what’s wrong?” Beatrice rushes to my side, her
expression filled with genuine concern and worry. Without warning, the dam
breaks, and I find myself crumbling in her arms, the weight of my past crashing
down upon me like a torrential downpour. With each sob that wracks my body, I
release a lifetime’s worth of pain and sorrow, allowing myself to finally
confront the demons that have haunted me for so long.
“It’s okay, dear. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Beatrice coos, her soothing voice a balm to my shattered nerves. I cling to her, finding solace in her comforting embrace as I allow myself to release the pent-up emotions that have been weighing me down for so long.
With each tear that falls, I silently reassure myself that the pain of the past is just that-the past. But the wounds still ache, the memories still haunt me, and it’s a relief to finally have someone to share the burden with.
I’m not sure how long I cry, but by the time I pull away from Beatrice, my eyes are sore, my head throbs with a dull ache, and my face is flushed and swollen from the deluge of tears.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower while I make you some tea for the headache?” Beatrice suggests, her gaze soft and concerned as she studies my weary face.
“That would be nice of you,” I sniffle, nodding gratefully as I slowly rise from the kitchen stool, clutching my book tightly in my hand.
Turning to leave, my book slips from my grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy thud just as Nickolas materializes before me, knocking the air from my lungs. His grip on my arm is tight, his expression twisted with anger as he snarls in my face.
“Who hurt you?” he demands, his gaze fixated on my face, his anger palpable with each passing moment he stares at me. I meet his intense stare with confusion, wondering why he’s so incensed about my condition. And when exactly did he arrive?
“Who, Amelia?” he repeats, shaking me roughly in an attempt to snap me out of my daze.
“Nobody, Your Majesty,” Beatrice interjects on my behalf. I turn to her, puzzled, to find her smiling as she observes Nickolas and me. My confusion deepens; why isn’t she as bewildered by Nickolas’s behavior as I am?
“Then why is she crying?” Nickolas demands, his anger still palpable.
“She spoke about her childhood,” Beatrice explains, though technically, I hadn’t explicitly shared anything about my past. But the mere mention of my upbringing had been enough to trigger a flood of emotions.
“What?” Nickolas’s grip on my arm loosens as confusion clouds his features.
“Why don’t I leave you two to discuss?” Beatrice suggests, excusing herself from the room without waiting for a response. Once she’s gone, Nickolas turns his attention back to me, his gaze piercing as he studies my face.
“What’s she talking about?” he asks, his tone softer this time.
“Nothing,” I reply hastily, wiping away the tear stains from my cheeks and forcing a smile. Nickolas raises a skeptical brow, clearly unconvinced by my feeble attempt at denial.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I murmur, dropping my gaze to the floor, hoping he won’t press me further.
To my surprise, his calloused fingers gently lift my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze once more. Confusion swirls in my mind as I stare into his eyes, seeing a depth of understanding and compassion that I’ve never witnessed before.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest, enveloping me in his warmth and the familiar scent that never fails to comfort me.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I’m here whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs softly into my hair, his words unexpected but more than welcome.
“But I just want to know something,” he continues, his voice gentle but insistent.
“What?” I mumble, my voice muffled against his chest.
He pulls me away slightly, locking eyes with me as he poses his question. “Was it a person or a terrible incident?”
The weight of revisiting my painful past settles heavily on my shoulders, and I hesitate for a moment before responding. Despite my reluctance, I can sense that my answer holds significance for him, and so I speak truthfully even if I don’t know why.
“It wasn’t just one person,” I admit, my gaze drifting downward as I wrestle with the memories that threaten to engulf me.
“Were they in the ballroom that day?” he presses, his voice tinged with a hint of urgency.
“I’m not sure,” I reply softly, my fingers fidgeting nervously as I contemplate the implications of his question.
Taking a deep breath, he moves his hands to cup my face, his touch gentle yet firm as he meets my gaze.
“I guess my torturing days aren’t over yet,” he declares, his eyes burning with resolve. Confusion clouds my thoughts as I try to understand what he meant by that statement meaning.
“I make this promise to you, Amelia. I will make them pay, and not just them. Any fucking person that dares to lay a finger on you will face my wrath.” He speaks with a conviction that sends shivers down my spine.
I freeze, my eyes widening in disbelief. Did he just say that? As I stare into his unwavering gaze, I realize with a jolt that he means every word. My heart races in my chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me as I grapple with the overwhelming sincerity of his words. At that moment, I find myself rendered speechless, utterly awestruck by the depth of his commitment to me.