Chapter 4

Cassius

Before even opening my eyes, I reach beneath my pillow out of habit, fingers searching for the familiar scrap of fabric.

Nothing.

My eyes snap open.

I sit up quickly and lift the pillow.

Nothing.

My hand goes beneath it again, searching more slowly this time- as though my fingers might have somehow missed it.

Still nothing.

Where the hell is it?!

Something cold settles in my chest. Then heat begins to creep up the back of my neck.

No.

My jaw tightens.

I throw the blanket off and search frantically.- tearing through the sheets. My hands move faster than my thoughts. I check beneath the pillows, between the matress and the bedframe and then beneath the cover again.

Nothing.

I drop to the floor and look beneath the bed.

Empty.

My heart gives one hard, violent thud.

It isn’t here.

Someone too it.

Who?

My breathing grows heavier. Each breath comes out shorter than the last. Heat spreads across my skin, while my fingers curt into fists so tightly my nails bite into my palms.

Who?

Someone touch it.

Someone touched her.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Was it you?”

Sam freezes.

“What did I tell you about touching it?” My voice comes out a low snarl. “No one is allowed to touch it.”

His seeming confusion only makes the heat inside me burn hotter.

“You will taint it.” my voice a menacing whisper.

He blinks at me, “What are you looking for, Your Majesty?”

“The handkerchief, Samuel!”

I roar the words so loudly my power radiates and the room shakes.

“Where is it?!”

Sam jumps.

“Which…which handkerchief, Your Majesty?” his voice trembles.

Something snaps.

For a second, the room seems to narrow to a single point.

My vision tunnels. The edges of everything blur, leaving only Sam in front of me. I can hear my own heartbeat roaring in my ears, drowning out everything else. My skin feels tight and my muscles wound so tightly they ache.

Beneath the rage is something colder.

Fear.

Fear of losing it.

Fear of losing her.

Again.

My thoughts become jumbled fragments crashing into each other.

He took it.

He touched it.

He is keeping her from me.

“Sam.”

He goes pale.

“You touched it.”

His head shakes vehemently. “I-I didn’t, Your Majesty-”

“You did!” I insist.

Sam knees buckle and he drops to the floor.

“Your-Your Majesty…”

I cross the room in three strides and take him by the collar, hauling him up until he’s dangling on his toes.

He touched it.

He dared to touch it.

It must have been him.

Perhaps this is another attempt to keep her from me.

Death.

He deserves to die…

The thought is not accompanied by anger anymore.

It is simply a fact.

My fingers tighten around his collar as I imagine the fragile bones beneath my hands giving way.

Then-

“Your Majesty-“ Percival’s voice cuts through from outside the door.

“Forgive the interruption. Last night, after you retired, we received word that the Queen fell into the pond.”

I go completely still.

Pond… fell into the pond…

“The pond?”

“Who did you say fell into the pond?” Confusion in my voice.

“The Queen, Your Majesty.” My grip loosens.

Sam sucks in a raggedy breath.

The words barely register.

“According to the guard, she was hurrying to find you… about Lady Fiona…”

“Lady Fiona?” The name is familiar yet distant. Meaningless.

“Who’s that?”

“Viscount Belisha’s daughter, Your Majesty. She was brought in as a Companion yesterday.” Sam takes over. He hesitates then adds. “You-you gave the order yourself, Your Majesty.” His voice trembling.

I release Sam, and he staggers back, putting distance between us and rubbing at his throat.

I barely notice him.

My lips part but I can’t seem to make my voice work properly.

“The Queen…” My voice breaks. “My Queen…”

Still alive.

I don’t finish the thought aloud.

I rush to the table and grab the previous day’s reports and pick one up, my eyes finding the date at the top of the page.

She’s alive.

Serena is still alive, and she loves me like crazy.

The laugh that escapes me starts low, almost disbelieving, and then it grows- louder and uncontrolled. I throw my head back and laugh harder. I can feel tears on my face, and I can only imagine what I look like right now.

I catch a reflection of myself in a small ornamental mirror on the wall. My eyes are wild. Tears streak my face, and my smile is wide. I look utterly unhinged.

No.

This won’t do.

She can’t see me like this.

I rush towards the washroom.

I bathe with care and shave my face meticulously clean. I scrub every trace of sleep and disarray from myself.

I go to the wardrobe myself. Sam comes over to help, but I wave him away.

“No.”

I pull out one coat.

No.

Another.

Too ordinary.

Another.

After combing through all my clothes, considering each one with utmost care, I finally decide on a deep blue coat with silver clasps, every button aligned perfectly.

“Shine my boots,” I order.

“I did that this morning-“

“Shine them again!” my voice sharpens.

“Yes, yes, yes, Your Majesty”, Sam bows and hurries out.

With a happy grin on my face, I go to the mirror and comb a little oil through my hair, working it through until every strand sits the way I want it to.

Sam rushes back holding my shoes, and the polish catches the light. I nod approvingly and take them from him and put them on myself.

He stands several feet away, watching me with wary eyes.

I pay him no mind.

I turn back to the mirror one more time.

The epaulette on my left shoulder is slightly crooked.

I fix it.

There.

Perfect.

Satisfied, I turn to Sam.

He studies my face, and then the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders.

“Forgive me for earlier, Sam,” my voice is gentle. I smooth an invisible crease from my sleeve. “I had a bad dream. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He stares at me.

“There’s no need to speak of it further,” I add.

Sam shakes his head quickly, then seems to catch himself and nods instead, bowing low. “Of course, Your Majesty. I saw nothing worth speaking of.”

My smile disappears, and he stiffens.

“That is-” he swallows. “-nothing happened, Your Majesty. Nothing at all.”

The smile returns even brighter. I clap him gently on the shoulder.

“Good.”

Then I walk out.