Charlie takes a deep breath. “There are a few more things in the report, but I can stop now if you want.”
“No,” I say. “Tell us everything.”
What do I care? What’s another bit of horrible news to add to my growing pile? My life is already a heap of shit—I might as well know what I’m dealing with.
Gabe’s face crumples, and he nods.
Charlie takes a deep breath. “Well, obviously all we had were skeletal remains, so we weren’t able to test any of the soft tissue.”
I cringe and try to forget who he’s talking about.
“Looks like she ingested the arsenic,” Charlie continues. His voice is strained. “We were able to trace the purchase of the poison to Father’s old advisor, Talin Thorne. We’re not sure how he administered it, but we have enough evidence to prosecute.”
I don’t hear anything else he says. I already know what happened that day. I remember my father nodding to the pot of tea, saying that my mother would appreciate it. The dark look in his eyes, and the sick feeling in my stomach.
My sense of duty, and the love I had for my mother. I brought her the drink, feeling my father’s eyes on my back. My mother kissed me on the forehead, and told me what a sweet boy I was.
She’d been reading a book, and she’d finished the whole pot.
I went to bed in my room, and when I woke up, she was dead.
It was me. I killed her.
Noise is screaming in my ears. My head is pounding, and my throat is dry. I can’t speak. I try to focus on Charlie’s lips—he’s saying something, but I can’t hear it.
I suck a breath in through my nose and push myself up to my feet. I don’t know how I make it to my bed chambers, but somehow, I do.
The rest is a blur. I hyperventilate, standing in the middle of my room as it spins around me. I grab a pillow and scream into it. I punch the wall.
I hate myself.
Crumpling onto the floor, I start laughing. I thought medical school was my calling? I thought it was a way to make up for my mother’s death? A way to make sure that I could stop that from happening to someone else?
How fucking naive could I be? How fucking stupid am I?
Medical school isn’t my calling—it’s my atonement. I always knew the truth, deep down in the bottom of my heart. That’s why I am the way I am. That’s why I need pain. That’s why I know I’m not fit to be a king, or a prince, or part of this family at all.
Medical school was my penance. Giving up my royal privilege was my punishment.
Now, I know why.
I lay on the thick rug that covers my floor and I laugh. Someone pounds on the door, but the lock holds. I just laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
I choke on my laughter. Turning on my side, I cough and splutter, and then I take a painful breath. My ribs hurt, as if a giant’s hand is squeezing my bones, crushing me with the weight of my own guilt.
On my hands and knees, I take a breath and heave myself onto my feet.
I never deserved Dahlia, and I certainly don’t deserve to be the father of her child. She’s better off in a coma than she is with me.
Self-pity is ugly, but it’s addictive.
I shouldn’t be a doctor. I shouldn’t be a prince. I shouldn’t be anything. What a fool I was, to think I deserved Dahlia’s love! I thought that she completed me, that I had a right to the happiness she delivered!
All I gave her was a baby she never wanted, and a bee sting that might kill her.
I shouldn’t be in this castle. I shouldn’t be anywhere near the people that I love. I’m no good for anyone. All I bring is pain.
But I’m weak, and I know I need to see Dahlia again. I need to touch her skin one last time before I go away. I need to tell her the thing that I was too scared to utter while she was awake.
I need to tell Dahlia that I love her.
And that’s what I do. I make my way to the hospital, my hands gripping my car’s steering wheel so hard my fingers go numb. Every breath makes pins and needles pierce my lungs. I stumble to her floor and glance through the window to her room.
By some slight grace, she’s alone.
I slip inside the room and sit on the chair by her bed. She doesn’t stir. She doesn’t move. Intertwining her fingers into mine, I let the tears drop from my eyes.
My heart is rotten—it has been since I was a child. It died long ago, along with my mother.
With Dahlia, I thought I had a chance at a better life—but I was wrong. The only thing I did was bring my misery onto her.
She thought she was cursed? The only curse she had was the one that brought me into her life.
Tears drop from my face onto her arm, and I wipe them off gently.
“I love you, Dahlia,” I whisper. “If there was any way for my heart to love someone, you showed me how. I love you, and I love the child you’re carrying.”
My breath catches, and I cup her cheek. “I love you, and I’m so sorry.”
Leaning over her, I press my lips to hers one final time. My tears wet her cheeks, and I brush them away, feeling the softness of her skin once more.
Hope flutters in my heart as her eyes move under her eyelids. My breath stills and I stare at her… but nothing happens.
She doesn’t wake up, and I know there’s no hope for me.
33
Dahlia
They tease me now, telling me it was only a dream. But does it matter whether it was a dream or reality, if the dream made known to me the truth?
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man
34
Damon
I glance at the clock as I leave Dahlia’s room. She’s been in a coma for ninety-six hours.
For four days, she’s been lying in that hospital bed. For four days, I’ve prayed for her to wake up. I’ve suffered, and ached, and hoped, and died in every moment since I learned she was here.
I don’t have the heart to look at her again, so I just walk out of her hospital room and leave. I exit the hospital, and I know I won’t be coming back. I get in my car and drive to Grimdale.
There’s no resisting now—no stopping me from doing what I’ve been wanting to do since this nightmare started. I drive to the warehouse as the sun disappears over the horizon. I don’t bother locking the car—who knows if I’ll come out of here again?
When I walk inside, the first fight is happening. I see Nigel approach me out of the corner of my eye.
“Your Highness,” he says with a nod. “We haven’t seen you in a while. The royal treatment?” His lips tug into a small grin.
I shake my head. “I’m going in the ring.”
Nigel’s eyes widen. “But, sir…”
I pinch my lips and turn my head to the fight happening in the ring. One of the men has his opponent against the ropes, pummeling his ribs mercilessly. The other man’s head lolls from side to side.
The first man takes a step back and hits the other with a punishing uppercut. Blood splatters out of the other man’s mouth, and shards of teeth go flying.
He collapses into a heap as victor raises his arms in triumph. The bloodthirsty screams of the onlookers ring in my ears. They cheer as the losing man is dragged away.
This is where I belong.
I belong in a den of pain and depravity. My true self is a bloody and battered savage. My heart is black, and my soul is dead.
I step into the ring before Nigel can stop me, and a hush falls over the spectators for a fraction of an instant. They all recognize me.
Then, the shouting begins. Their faces snarl at me from the other side of the ropes, and I stare at them blankly. I don’t even care who my opponent is. I don’t care who they are.
All I care about is suffering.
And suffer, I do.
Ravi steps into the ring amidst cheers and screams. I face him, letting my arms hang loose at my sides. For the first time in my history at this warehouse, I’m going to fight back.
The first punch hits me in th
e gut and I double over in pain. Ravi hits me again in the ribs, and the agony explodes through my chest.
I groan, straightening myself up. I can hear the shouts of the crowd, and the pounding of my blood in my ears. I can smell the sweat dripping from everyone’s skin, and the dampness of the warehouse.
Ravi turns toward me, his nostrils flaring slightly as he stares me down.
He swings a meaty hand at me again, but I duck under it, landing a blow to his kidney. He shouts, more surprised than hurt. His neck reddens, and his eyes flash with anger.
I laugh.
His fist connects with my jaw. I go flying against the ropes, collapsing to my knees as I spit blood and chunks of teeth out. Ravi stands over me, waiting for me to stand up.
He knows this isn’t over.
On wobbly feet, I stand before him. Every breath hurts. Ravi grunts and lumbers toward me.
My fist connects with his ribs, then his jaw, and then he roars and flings me over to the other side of the ring. The crowd is wild around us. Photos are prohibited here, but I see a flash.
It doesn’t matter.
Ravi swings at me again. I duck, but not quite fast enough. He clips the edge of my head, sending pain shooting through my temple.
What is pain, though, when I know that I killed my own mother? What is agony, when Dahlia might die because of me? She’d never have been in my aunt’s crosshairs had I not been seeing her. She probably wouldn’t have been at the castle at all.
The big man’s punches are nothing compared to the suffering I feel inside. He hits me again, and again, and again. My arms hang limply and I trip over my own feet.
I know I’ve lost. Blood pours out of my mouth, and my ears won’t stop ringing.
It doesn’t matter, though. Why would it?
I gather my strength for one last assault. Launching myself at my opponent, I somehow dodge his first punch and land a blow to his gut. He grunts and I have a split second to punch him again.
I’m not a trained fighter—that’s Charlie’s thing.
But I have instinct. I have pain.
I have nothing to lose.
With one strong uppercut from my left hand, Ravi stumbles backward. His eyes look dazed—and I laugh. I laugh because I might actually win this fight. I laugh because in my whole miserable life, I’ve never been good for anything.
Maybe this is my calling—beating another man in a dirty warehouse, while onlookers place bets on how many of my ribs he’ll smash.
My victory is short-lived, though. A laugh is still on my lips when Ravi’s eyes snap back to me. I don’t even see the punch coming until his fist connects with the side of my head.
In the split second before I pass out, I hear a crunch. I feel the sweetest, most beautiful agony I’ve ever felt in my life, and I feel free.
I’ll never be a doctor. I’ll never atone for my sins. I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done. This, right here—this brutal, savage beating—this is the true essence of my soul.
In that instant, I receive everything I’ve been looking for. Physical pain to match the suffering in my heart, punishment for my bad deeds, and finally, freedom from my own mind.
I fall into the darkness without another thought and without any hesitation. I welcome the abyss, and I hope I never wake up.
35
Damon
Sad that our finest aspiration
Our freshest dreams and meditations,
In swift succession should decay,
Like Autumn leaves that rot away.
—Aleksandr Pushkin
36
Dahlia
I open my eyes. I’m alone.
You’d think that I would panic in this situation—that I might worry about why I’m lying in a hospital bed, with tubes sticking out of my arms and machines clicking by my bedside.
I don’t panic, though.
Taking a deep breath, I feel completely at peace.
Damon loves me. He knows about the baby, and he loves it, too. I let my hand slide over my stomach as a smile stretches my lips.
It takes great effort to move my arm. My body feels weak—so, so weak. I try to adjust myself on the bed, groaning at the effort.
My mother and three aunts come crashing through the door.
“Dahlia!” Theresa exclaims. “You’re awake!”
My mother falls on top of me, covering me in kisses. I do my best to lie there and breathe, until my aunts pull her off me. Her cheeks are wet and her eyes are shining.
“I thought we’d lost you,” she sighs.
“Well, if you smother her like that, we might lose her again,” Aunt Helen chides.
“Oh, stop.” Aunt Margie smiles at me. “Good to see you, kid.”
“You too.” My voice is raspy. I smile with great effort. It’s like my muscles are just remembering how to move again. “How long… What…” I inhale with difficulty. I can’t even think of the right words. It feels like my mind has been scooped out of my head, and there’s nothing left in my skull.
Theresa takes my hand and squeezes it. “It’s been…” She glances at the clock. “One hundred hours, almost exactly.”
“That’s…” I frown. Math is hard. “Four days?”
“Just over,” Margie says. “Four days and four hours—and don’t we know it. Worst four days and four hours of my life.” She’s got her hands on my feet, massaging them gently. My mother has my other hand in hers, and Helen is stroking my calf.
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” I groan.
“You had an anaphylactic reaction to a bee sting,” Theresa explains. “I didn’t even know there were bees out in the winter.”
“Honeybees don’t hibernate,” I say, and then frown. How do I know that? I don’t remember being stung by a bee.
“I blame that Malerie—that witch,” my mother spits. Her cheeks turn bright red and she shakes her head. “It’s her fault. She did this. She could have killed you!”
“Shh, Tabitha,” Margie says. “Dahlia has just woken up. Don’t upset her.”
“I’m fine,” I croak. I don’t sound fine, or feel fine, but I say it anyway. My mother trembles in her seat, squeezing my hand and stroking my face.
I take a deep breath and reach back into my mind to try to remember what happened. My last memory is of calling Damon from the lab and telling him I would be baby Charlie’s godmother. I frown, trying to remember anything else.
It’s a complete blank.
“Where’s Damon?”
My aunts and mother all exchange loaded looks. My chest squeezes, and the machine next to my bed starts beeping. A nurse appears in the doorway.
“Everyone out!” She motions to my aunts and mother. “Out, out, out!”
“I’m staying.” My mother’s lips sour.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say, “really.”
She hesitates, and I try to smile at her.
My mother sighs. “We’ll be right outside.”
I nod, and the four of them leave. I let out a deep breath, and the nurse smiles at me.
“Overwhelmed?”
“Very.”
“Well, you’re in Farcliff Royal Hospital. We’ve been monitoring you since you came in, and everything seems to be okay. We’d like to run some tests now that you’re awake. The doctor will come and see you in a little bit. Does that make sense?”
I nod.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Dahlia Raventhal.”
“Good. Date of birth?”
I tell her. The nurse runs through a few basic questions and is satisfied when I remember them all.
“Do you remember the bee sting?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember anything that happened before this,” I say, motioning to the bed. “I just remember being at college that day.”
“Sometimes, during severe trauma, memories are lost.”
“Will they come back?”
“Maybe,” the nurse says. “Often, they do. So
metimes, fragments come back. Sometimes, the mind just erases the trauma completely. The doctor will be able to answer your questions. For now, I want you to rest. Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I hear a bit of commotion outside the door, and I’m able to deduce that she won’t let my mom and aunts back in.
A few minutes later, the nurse returns with some water and a little cup of apple juice. “We’ve been feeding you through that tube for the last four days,” she explains. “Still, I thought you might like a drink.”
“Thanks.” I watch her wheel them to my bedside. She nods to me and starts walking away when I stop her.
“Can you tell Prince Damon that I’m okay?”
The nurse’s eyebrow arches the slightest bit.
“Please,” I beg.
She nods slightly and slips out through the door. I lay there for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. The baby’s fine. I’m fine.
I need to talk to Damon.
Turning my head to the bedside table, my eyes land on the drinks she brought. I gulp them down so fast the liquid doesn’t touch the sides of my mouth. The juice tastes like the sweetest nectar I’ve ever had and I drink it in mere seconds, and then I fall back into bed with a sigh.
My stomach hurts from drinking so fast, but I can’t bring myself to be upset about it. I’ve never enjoyed water and juice as much as I enjoyed those.
Just as I’m wiping a few stray drops of water off my hospital gown, there’s a knock on the door. A doctor comes in, and she runs through the same basic questions the nurse had. She explains what happened to me—from the bee sting, to the anaphylaxis, to the coma.
“Your tests so far have been clear, but we’d like to keep you for observation. Were you aware that you’re pregnant?”
Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection Page 36