Chapter three

Constance

I sat up on the edge of the silk-draped bed, my head spinning as the effects of the witch's potion slowly faded. My body felt bruised, my throat raw. Julian did not give me time to catch my breath. He led me out of the recovery room and down a maze of hallways to a private suite where I could rest.

Julian was the only person in this whole place who had said a kind word to me since I arrived. He fussed over the pillows, checked the lock on the door twice, and told me to rest before he left to fetch tea. I almost believed, for a moment, that I was safe.

The moment he was gone, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my own reflection with shaking hands. My skin was pale, my hair a mess, but I was breathing. I was alive.

For the first time since I left my father's house, nobody was screaming, dying, or threatening me. I let myself breathe for one whole minute, counting each breath, trying to believe it was really over.

The heavy door clicked open behind me.

"Julian?" I asked, turning around and pulling my robe tight against my collarbone.

It was not Julian.

Smooth skin, a dark coat, sharp eyes that never stopped calculating.

Elias.

The man I had loved for three years. The man I had done everything for, only to catch him in bed with my stepsister three nights ago. The man who had signed my name onto the surrogate list himself to be rid of me.

"Constance," he said, sliding the bolt shut behind him. He crossed the room slowly, his eyes crawling over my robe. "I couldn't believe it when the guards said you were still alive."

"You expected me to bleed out on the floor," I said, my voice flat.

"Don't be dramatic." Elias grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise. "The heir is a corpse. Sending you here was just business. Your family got paid, and I got leverage. But you know the rules, Constance. A surrogate has to be pure. A virgin."

My blood went cold. I pulled back, but he yanked me against his chest.

"If you're not pure, they throw you out," he said, his fingers digging into the sash at my waist. "And then you'll have nowhere to go but back to me. Where you belong."

"Get off me!" I shoved his chest, but he grabbed my wrists and pinned them behind my back, slamming me into the vanity. Perfume bottles crashed to the floor.

He pressed his face against my neck. I thrashed, my fear turning into rage, and slammed my heel down onto his foot as hard as I could.

Elias grunted and his grip loosened. I shoved him with everything I had left in me. He stumbled back into the table, his eyes flashing an ugly amber.

"You ungrateful bitch," he snarled, stepping toward me again.

Three loud bangs hit the door.

"Lady Constance!" Julian's voice cut through the wood. "Open this door! The regent's escort has arrived!"

Elias froze. The color drained out of his face. He straightened his coat, glared at me one more time, and slipped out through the balcony doors into the rain.

"This isn't over," he hissed before he vanished.

My knees gave out. I sank down among the broken glass, gasping. My hands would not stop shaking as I pulled my torn robe closed. When Julian and the guards finally got the door open, I could not even speak. Julian took one look at the mess, and at the bruise already forming on my arm, and his face went hard.

Julian knelt beside me on the floor. "Did he hurt you? " He reached for my arm, then stopped, waiting for me to nod first. When I did, he helped me up like I might break.

"I have to report this," he said.

"Report it to who?" My laugh came out broken. "The regent who brought me here in the first place?"

Julian did not answer that. He wrapped a fresh robe around my shoulders while a guard swept up the broken glass. Nobody asked for Elias's name. I got the feeling they already knew exactly who he was, and exactly how little it would change.

"Listen to me," Julian said quietly, gripping my shoulders so I would look at him. "Whatever you saw or heard tonight, you did not see it. You did not hear it. That is the only way anyone survives long in this palace."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I asked.

"No," he said. "It's supposed to keep you alive."

"It's time," Julian finally said, quiet now. "Escort her."

I kept my arms wrapped around myself the whole walk to the heir's wing, my torn sash hidden under the borrowed robe. Nobody offered to let me change first. Nobody asked if I needed a minute. In this palace, what I felt did not matter to anyone.

The guards would not look at me. Word had already spread, I realized. By tomorrow, every one here would know exactly what almost happened to me tonight, and none of them would say a word about it out loud.

The iron doors of Lord William's chamber shut behind me, locking me in the dark.

The room smelled like crushed roses. In the middle sat a huge four-poster bed. William lay there, still and pale, his chest rising and falling in that same slow rhythm.

There were no guards inside, no witch, no administrator watching my every move. For the first time since I arrived at this palace, I was completely alone. Just me, and a man the whole kingdom believed was already halfway to his grave.

I dragged myself to the bed, every muscle aching. The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, hot on my face. I sat on the edge of the mattress, hugging my knees, trying to breathe through the shaking.

"They think I'm nothing," I whispered into the silence, looking at William's still face. "Elias. My own family. They threw me away like I was garbage."

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Something cold and hard settled into my chest where the fear used to be.

I studied his face in the dim light, looking for any sign of what I had seen back in the Royal Chamber. Nothing. Just a man who looked like he was sleeping, if sleeping men had that much muscle coiled under their skin. Part of me wanted to shake him awake and demand answers. Part of me was terrified of what would happen if he actually opened his eyes.

"I'm not dying here," I whispered, reaching a shaking hand toward his chest to pull the blanket up higher. "I'm going to survive this."

My fingers brushed the linen over his heart.

For one second, everything was quiet. His skin was warm under my fingers, warmer than I expected from someone half-dead. I almost let myself relax.

Then a hand shot out from under the sheets.

Fingers closed around my wrist like a steel trap.

Before I could scream, William moved. In one motion, the "comatose" heir had me flat on the mattress, my wrist pinned above my head, his body over mine.

I stared up at him in shock.

William Blackwood's eyes were wide open, burning gold. His breath was rough and hot against my skin.

He leaned down, his grip on my wrist unyielding, and spoke low against my ear.

"You talk too much. Little Bird."