Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 20

The door to my study clicked shut, but I didn't turn around. I knew the soft, rhythmic step of Maria, one of the five heads of the domestic staff.She had worked with me for as long as I could remember and knew any and everyone who went in and out of my estate.“You asked to see me, Sir” Maria began.“The princess that I brought back. Do you know where she is at the moment?” I asked even though I already knew. "She’s in the garden, sir," Maria said quietly, her voice at a respectable volume as she stood behind me. "Madam Regina is with her." "How is she adjusting?" I asked. I kept my eyes on the horizon, the cigar between my fingers smoldering. "She’s quiet. She eats very little, though we try to tempt her with the things she may like. I believe that her appetite will change in time.”“And what else should I know?”“She spends most of her time at the piano or staring at the walls." Maria paused, her voice cautious. "She’s very silent and isolated, Mr. Valak." I did not expect

The girl was shaking so hard I could feel the tremors vibrating through my own bones. I kept my arm hooked firmly through hers, guiding her toward her room.Poor thing was so fragile she reminded me of a fine porcelain doll ready to shatter. "Breath, Amaya. Just breathe. You’re inside now. The walls are thick, and the locks are solid," I said, my voice pitched in that soothing tone I used when I needed to disarm someone. "He was going to hurt me," Amaya whispered. Her eyes were wide, the pupils blown out with terror. "I know. I know." I led her to her room, taking both of her cold, clammy hands in mine. "Look at me. Look at my eyes, Amaya." She lifted her gaze, her lower lip trembling. "You are a Valak guest. In this house, that makes you sacred. Do you understand? That man was an error. And I promise you, on my life, it will never happen again”“Okay” she said quietly. I signaled to the two maids hovering near the door. They moved instantly, like shadows responding

The iron door of the holding cell groaned on its hinges, a tortured sound that set the tone for the room beyond. I stepped into the dim, subterranean space. The smell of damp concrete and metallic blood hit me instantly. In the center of the room, strapped to a heavy wooden chair, was the man who had forgotten who I was. The animal that had dared to put his hands on Amaya. My Amaya. Three of my senior guards, led by the Captain, were already at work. One of them landed a heavy blow to the man’s ribs, a sickening crunch echoed off the walls. They only stop when I entered. "That’s enough," I said. The guards stepped back, breathing hard, their knuckles stained. The man in the chair whose name I did not remember and did not care to, lolloped his head forward. His face was a map of purple and red bruises, one eye swollen shut, blood dripping from his chin onto his ruined white shirt. "Boss," the Captain muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "He’s been talking. Blu

The velvet curtains of my suite were pulled back, allowing the sun to spill across the floor. It’s been a week since the incident with the guard and for the first time I had been brought to this place, I didn’t wake up with the immediate urge to vomit. The weight of everything that happened had not died. No, but it had settled into a dull, manageable ache. I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror as Maria brushed my hair. The dark circles under my eyes were fading. I looked... healthy. It felt like a betrayal of my own grief especially when I was supposed to feel anything but the way I was feeling now. That’s when the realization hit me. I am adapting to this new life. I am starting to accept it. Was that normal? It had been a while since I had cooked up an escape plan. "Will you be going to the gardens today, Miss Amaya?" Maria asked, her voice hushed. "No," I said, watching her reflection. "I think I’ve had enough of the gardens for a while. Is the librar

The fireplace in my bedroom was never allowed to go out.Which was fine by me for the most part.For some reason, even during the hot afternoons, I still felt chilly. It was probably a psychological issue but that was a different issue. I sat next to the fireplace that Bane had provided, the silk of my sleeves whispering against my thighs. In my hand was a piece of heavy, cream-colored parchment. It felt heavy, just as he had promised. It also felt like a risky secret. “Dear Little Bird,”the letter began. I traced Nathaniel’s handwritten words with my thumb. It was so neat. Almost like he had formal training on Calligraphy.We had agreed on the monikers during the second day of his absence. He was THE GHOST, and I was LITTLE BIRD. It was a childish precaution, a layer of thin glass between us and the crushing weight of the Valak name, but it was the only way we could breathe. Plus, as wonderful as having a friend felt, I knew thatIf a guard intercepted a letter from "Nath