Chapter 7

Elena's POV

The banquet ended earlier than anyone expected.

The guests left one by one, and the guards cleared away the hunter's body and his weapons.

By the time the hall fell quiet again, a faint stain of blood still marked the carpet.

I couldn't tell whether it was his or mine.

Standing by the door, I suddenly felt my whole body go terribly light.

It was as if I might collapse in the next breath and never rise again.

On the way back, Adrian and I rode in the same car. The assistant had slipped away at some point.

No one spoke.

The lights beyond the window slid past, one after another.

I leaned back against the seat and did my best to keep my injured arm hidden.

The wound itself didn't really hurt anymore.

What hurt more was my chest.

I knew the medicine was wearing off.

The moment we reached the estate, I had to leave at once.

I couldn't put it off any longer.

Adrian sat beside me.

His profile stayed in shadow, his expression impossible to read.

After a long while, he spoke suddenly. “You could stay until the wound heals.”

My lashes flickered.

It was probably the closest thing to concern he'd said all night.

But I no longer wanted to guess at the intention behind his words.

“No need,” I said, watching the street outside. “It's only a scratch.”

He frowned.

“Wounds from silver get infected easily.”

“I know. But it's fine.”

I didn't have much time left anyway.

The thought settled softly inside me, and I let it stay there, unspoken.

Adrian went quiet.

It was deep into the night by the time the car stopped at the front of the estate.

A servant came out to meet us and offered to call the doctor.

I shook my head.

“Not just yet.”

Adrian stood at the foot of the steps, watching me.

I held out my hand to him.

“The agreement.”

His face darkened slightly.

After a few seconds, he still had the assistant bring the document over.

His signature was already on the divorce papers.

The black ink was calm and precise, exactly like the cold, exacting man himself.

My fingers trembled a little as I took it.

It wasn't from grief.

It was only that the blood loss and the illness had nearly worn me through.

Adrian saw.

Something in his face loosened for a moment, and he reached out to steady me.

But I'd already pressed the papers to my chest and stepped back.

“Thank you.”

The feeling in his eyes cooled again.

I didn't look at him a second time. I turned and went upstairs.

Halfway up, the world went dark in front of me again.

I gripped the banister and stood there a long while before I could keep climbing.

The room was very quiet.

I didn't take any of the jewelry or the gowns.

They had never belonged to me.

They belonged to the wife of the Prince's heir.

And I wouldn't be her much longer.

I took only a few plain clothes, a little cash and my medicine, and the diagnosis that had been folded and unfolded so many times.

Last of all, I went to the bookshelf and pulled down the album on the bottom shelf.

There were a great many photographs tucked inside.

Some from the wedding, some from banquets.

Some were anniversary portraits the assistant had taken of the two of us.

One of them was a bridal photo I had always kept for myself.

In it, Adrian looked straight at the camera, his expression proper and flawless.

But I had turned my head toward him, smiling sweetly.

The photographer had said that shot looked natural.

I loved it too.

Adrian, though, took one look and said it wouldn't do.

He said the formal bridal portrait of the Prince's heir and his wife should have them both facing forward.

So that photo was never enlarged and never hung.

I was the only one who quietly kept this one.

I had treasured it once.

Because the woman in it really did look happy.

My fingertip rested on the edge of the photo for a long time.

In the end, I didn't take it.

I turned to the earlier pages.

I turned to an old photo from before I'd ever met Adrian.

I was seventeen then, standing in front of an art museum in the human world, an art book in my arms, smiling a little foolishly.

Back then I hadn't yet married Adrian.

Hadn't yet learned how to smile with grace and poise.

Hadn't yet known that loving someone could be this exhausting.

I took that photo out and slipped it into my pocket.

As I closed the album, I heard very soft footsteps outside the door.

I knew Adrian was standing there.

He had probably seen me take a photo.

Maybe he assumed the one I'd taken was the bridal portrait.

That was just as well.

He needed some reason to believe I still couldn't let him go, so that he'd let me leave wearing the face of the victor.

I picked up my suitcase and took one last look at the place where I'd lived for ten years.

Then I pushed the door open and stepped out.

Adrian stood at the far end of the hallway.

He watched me, his gaze falling to the luggage in my hand.

“You only took that one photo?”

I didn't explain.

I only nodded faintly.

“Mm.”

His expression seemed to ease a little.

In that instant, I understood all at once.

He thought I still couldn't bear to leave.

Thought I'd carried off the one bridal photo of ours that hadn't been proper enough.

Thought that, in the end, the old feeling would bring me crawling back to beg him.

I lowered my eyes and gave a faint smile.

I didn't correct him.

“Adrian,” I said.

“Goodbye.”

He stayed where he was and didn't come after me.

I dragged my suitcase down the stairs, step by step.

The wound still hurt.

The dull ache in my chest nearly kept me from standing.

But when I pushed open the great doors of the estate, the night wind met me head-on.

And all at once, I felt lighter than I had in years.

This long marriage was finally over.