The Girl Who Chose

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The Girl Who Chose Page 17

by Violet Grace


  The guard steps aside immediately and I stare at the scene of organised chaos in the cavernous foyer. It’s a hive of noise and movement. Victor is barking orders to a room full of guards and officials. Guards are talking into what looks like comms devices on their wrists, presumably relaying Victor’s orders.

  Silence descends when I enter, the conversations dying away as twenty sets of eyes turn to me. It takes me a moment to remember to stand like a queen rather than shrink like a self-conscious teenager.

  ‘Bella!’ Victor pushes through the crowd, a look of relief and joy on his face as he approaches. He skids to a halt before he reaches me, the warmth and concern suddenly vanishing.

  ‘Leave us,’ he snaps to his people, who scurry out as fast as they can. ‘You left the island without informing me. I told you never to do that,’ he says coolly. A vein pulses at his temple.

  ‘You did. And I did not agree.’

  ‘Francesca, be reasonable. You were hurt once and I was not there to protect you. How can I look after you if I don’t know where you are?’

  ‘I never asked you to look after me.’

  He glares at me. I glare back, unflinching, refusing to give in this time.

  Victor plants a hand on his hip and shakes his head. I sense his anger defusing. After a moment he lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

  ‘You don’t always have to be the strong one,’ he says quietly. He leans closer, inspecting the scratches on my face from the dock. I can feel his finger on my cheek, soft and gentle.

  ‘It breaks my heart that you are so restless, so sad, Bella. I want to make you happy. What must I do for you to allow me? To let me in?’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ I say, thinking about how alone I am, how I’ve managed to hurt every person in my life who’s mattered. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do.’

  I don’t know if I’m too worn down to refuse or I actually want the comfort, but I let him take both my hands in his, warm and firm. I find myself looking at his long and thick eyelashes, which curl all the way around to touch his skin.

  ‘It is lonely to lead, it is true,’ he says. He’s so close to me I can feel his breath on my cheek. ‘We have hard decisions to make and we will not always get it right. We will disappoint people we care about. We will disappoint ourselves. That is the burden you and I must carry because of who we are. But we do not have to carry it alone.’

  His words make me think. Maybe I should have confided in Victor. If he’d been with us tonight fighting the Agency, perhaps things might have ended differently. He said before that we could make a great team. But this time his words feel different, as if they are now a real possibility rather than just something charming to say.

  Maybe I really don’t have to be alone anymore.

  Morning light streams through the windows and bathes us in our own golden, private moment. My heart races as I find myself wondering what it would feel like to be touched by him, if his hands caressed me the way his eyes so often do. If he unleashed the hunger that I sense building inside him.

  I lick my lips, which are suddenly dry. He watches the little movement of my tongue. An instant later, his hands are on my shoulders. He’s backing me up, pushing me against the wall, my body colliding with brick.

  ‘You’re irresistible,’ he says, planting his hands on either side of my head.

  My head is spinning and I’m frozen by the unexpected intensity of his desire. It’s flattering, it’s validating, it feels wrong.

  He leans in to kiss me but just before contact, I turn my head so his lips land on my cheek instead of my mouth. He withdraws quickly when he realises I have slighted him.

  My legs feel so weak, I need the wall to hold me up. I feel like I’m going to vomit.

  ‘You’re killing me, Bella. Why do you toy with me like this?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, even though I’m not entirely sure what I’m apologising for.

  ‘Do you not know how much I want you – how much I need you?’ He steps back, shaking his head. ‘And I thought you wanted me too. Why else would you come to me at this hour?’

  ‘I… I… came to ask about going to your museum. Your page from the Veritas … I wanted to see it, that’s all.’

  As I say the words, I feel him tense. Part of me wants to laugh. He wants to kiss me and I want to look at a page from a book.

  ‘That’s all? The page from the Veritas,’ he says, acid in his voice. ‘That is the only value I hold for you, is it?’

  ‘Victor, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t think.’

  ‘No, that’s the problem, isn’t it,’ he says icily. ‘You never think about the consequences of your actions.’

  He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Alone and trembling, I slide my back down the wall until I’m seated on the cold marble tiles. My hands are shaking as I wrap my arms around my body.

  Is Victor right? Is this my fault? Why did I allow things to go that far? Why didn’t I stop it before I embarrassed and frustrated him with my rejection?

  Furious with myself, I slink back to my apartment and crawl into bed. I went to see Victor because I wanted his help. I need the Veritas, but after the horrible aborted kiss he may never want to speak to me again.

  All my thoughts and emotions about what happened, what I did and didn’t do, what I should have done and shouldn’t have done, swirl around my head until they’re just one big, bruised vortex of shame.

  The dark maelstrom of my thoughts is interrupted by the sound of feet pounding toward the room. The door flies open and Abby barges in.

  Relief washes over me. ‘You’re back.’

  ‘Apparently.’

  I’m used to Abby’s disapproving glare, but the unadulterated loathing on her face takes things to a whole new level. But that’s not the worst bit. She also looks tired and worried. Even her blonde curls look less bouncy than usual.

  ‘Where’s Jules?’

  ‘Somewhere safe. Recovering.’

  ‘Her Art?’

  ‘It’s coming back. Slowly.’

  ‘And how is she …?’

  ‘Devastated.’

  I’m not surprised. For someone as dutiful as Jules, this really would be her worst nightmare. It’s bad enough that her mother is a gawd-awful woman who has tried to kill her, but her father, Damius, is the arch enemy of the Protectorate, which has been the only family Jules has ever known.

  ‘I’ve come here to ask you for one thing. Cover for her,’ Abby says. ‘No one can know she’s missing. If the truth about her parents gets out, it could destroy her – more than it already has. It’s the least you can do. Literally.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, trying not to be offended that she even had to ask. ‘But why don’t we just say that she’s sick and needs some time off?’

  ‘Because unlike you, your Royalness, Protectorate officers do not have the luxury of getting sick – not when they have access to healers and apothecaries. I can deal with the Protectorate but we need you to keep her absence quiet from the Order and your Prince Charming and his people.’

  ‘I’ll keep her secret,’ I vow. ‘There must be something else I can do.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’ She shakes her head as if she can’t even comprehend the magnitude of my stupidity.

  ‘I did it to save us. I had to do something.’

  ‘The only way you could save yourself was by destroying your bodyguard? Your friend?’

  ‘I didn’t think …’ I say, instantly realising that I’m repeating myself.

  ‘Jules would follow you anywhere. That’s who she is, someone who understands loyalty and sacrifice. And you took advantage of that. You care more about a stupid scroll that may not even exist than you do about the people who serve you, the people who risk their lives for you every day.’

  Abby turns on her heel and storms out.

  I sit back onto my bed and cradle my head in my hands, consumed with emptiness. The closest a
lly I have now is the Luminaress and the nearest thing I have to a friend is Prince Victor Grigio of Serenissima. Who now probably hates me too.

  A breakfast tray sits untouched on my bed. My mouth is a desert. I can’t remember ever feeling this lost, this alone. Shame, anger and fear are cycling through me when Maria comes to my door with a note from Victor. I have no idea what to expect after what happened this morning. Fingers trembling, I open it.

  Meet me at the pier in an hour.

  My stomach tightens, not from what he’s written on the note, but from what he hasn’t. There is no ‘my love’, not even a ‘Bella’. And no charming bordering-on-flirting sign-off. He hasn’t even bothered to sign his name.

  ‘The pier! I’ll bet he’s taking you on his boat,’ Callie swoons. ‘So romantic.’

  ‘Lucky you don’t have plans of your own today,’ Brina says, then catches herself. ‘I apologise, Your Majesty, I spoke too freely.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ I assure her, wondering if this is the moment when Brina’s professional mask finally slips. ‘Tell me, what do you think of Prince Victor? Honestly.’

  Brina eyes go wide. ‘It is not my place to say.’

  ‘I’m making it your place,’ I push.

  ‘The more appropriate question, Your Majesty, is what do you think of Prince Victor?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  Clearly relieved that the breach in protocol is over, Brina says, ‘I suggest the cherry blossom gown, Your Majesty.’

  As I leave my apartment I’m feeling even more exposed. It’s Jules. Ever since I first came to Iridesca she’s been my anchor, and without her I feel as though I have been cut adrift. And it kills me to know that I was the one who ruined our bond. I did this, to her and to me.

  When I reach the dock, Victor is waiting, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as usual. I notice how the bright sun colours his skin in a golden hue as he talks to Roberto. Victor stops mid-sentence when he sees me. He looks at me, transfixed, as though I am the centre of his universe. It does things to my insides and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or terror.

  His eyes linger on me as I descend the staircase to the dock. The intensity of his attention makes my cheeks burn so I feign a sudden interest in the nearby hedge sculpted into the shape of a swan.

  Courtiers pass each other on outdoor staircases and lean on balconies. Several of my court are playing croquet on the lawn. They stop their game to bow at me. When they realise I am on my way to meet Victor there is nothing but approval and satisfaction on their faces.

  By the time I reach the dock Victor is briefing his security team. It’s not until I overhear the security planning that I think through the possible consequences of leaving the safety of the island in broad daylight without the ability to defend myself.

  ‘I need to speak to my Protectorate,’ I say to Victor.

  ‘And good morning to you too, Your Majesty.’ He brushes the back of my hand with a kiss but it feels different from usual. Colder, rougher even. But I can’t tell if it’s real or my perception.

  ‘My guards will provide adequate protection,’ he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘They have already proven themselves to be far superior to yours, have they not?’

  ‘It’s protocol,’ I say.

  A muscle twitches in his jaw. ‘Still you do not trust me?’

  My stomach twists. ‘You know I do.’

  ‘Well then, do not concern yourself with matters that are well in hand.’

  ‘At least tell me where we are going,’ I push.

  ‘A surprise,’ he says with a glint in his eye.

  ‘Victor.’ I say it as calmly as I can. ‘I’d like to know.’

  ‘It is not necessary to be so controlling, my love. How about, just for one day, you try to be a little spontaneous?’ He smiles like it’s a dare.

  After what happened in his apartment, I figure I need to give a little.

  ‘Lead the way,’ I say, hoping my smile doesn’t seem forced.

  A wood-panelled speedboat with a soft white leather interior is moored to one of the posts of the castle pier. A flag with the Grigio crest at the back of the boat catches the light breeze.

  An image of the mermaid’s decapitated finger flashes into my mind. Damius and the Protectorate defectors are out there somewhere. I wish Jules was with me.

  ‘Let’s just transfer to wherever we’re going,’ I say.

  ‘Oh no, this way I will show you more of Serenissima,’ he says, smiling. I listen for an edge in his voice, but he seems to be nothing but good humoured. ‘You are, as we know, eager to leave the castle and explore.’

  I ignore his little dig.

  Victor leaps down onto the boat and then turns to help me. But I don’t need it. My wings instinctively unfurl through the slit in the back of my gown and I flutter onto the deck.

  Roberto steps into the boat and I look around for the driver. Discovering that it’s Victor only adds to my growing anxiety.

  ‘Do you know how to drive this thing?’

  ‘Yes, my love.’

  Roberto signals to the Grigio guards. Some transfer, presumably to agreed locations along our route. Twenty unicorns, dressed and bridled with the Grigio crest, flare their wings ready for take-off.

  Victor revs the engine, his face bright. I’m looking at a boy playing with a favourite toy.

  ‘Hold on tight,’ is all the warning his gives as he speeds away from the pier and out into the lagoon. The momentum has me toppling back into one of the seats. I white-knuckle the edge of the boat. The unicorn guards launch off the pier and follow us, their magnificent feathered wings slicing through the air with the grace of angels.

  Victor cruises through the lagoon, weaving expertly around ferries and private boats. On one side of us is the main group of islands of Serenissima, on the other is open water. I make my way to the front of the boat and stand next to Victor. He points out landmarks as we circle the islands. There’s pride in his voice, a future king surveying his kingdom.

  The warm morning sun on my skin begins to soothe my nervous energy, and the fresh briny air in my lungs and wind rushing through my hair remind me that I’m alive. I feel a little lighter, freer. I’m surprised to find myself smiling.

  Victor glances over at me. ‘Be careful, my love. You don’t want to enjoy yourself.’ Laughter sparkles in his brown eyes, the lingering tension vanishing.

  I start to give him some shade but my heart’s not in it.

  ‘Take the helm,’ he says, lifting his hands off the wheel and stepping back.

  I move in front of him, meeting his eyes, and grip the leather, the power from the engine vibrating though my hands and up my arms. Victor comes up behind me, explaining all the controls on the dash. I sense that he’s as close to me as he can possibly be without touching. His breath tickles the back of my ear.

  ‘I asked my parents about the scroll,’ he says after a beat.

  I stiffen.

  ‘Relax,’ Victor says. ‘Always so uptight.’ He gently runs his hands down my forearms, stroking out the tension.

  ‘How did they feel about you helping a foreign queen look for an artefact that could topple their dynasty?’

  ‘My father is energised by the archaeological puzzle, and my mother is just happy that we’re getting along so well.’

  ‘They don’t believe the scroll exists, do they?’ I say. I wonder again if I’m chasing a myth after all.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  I steady myself before I speak. Victor seems to have moved on from our little incident this morning and I’m about to risk a regression.

  ‘I think the Veritas and the scroll are connected,’ I say gingerly, unsure what reaction I’m going to get.

  ‘We’ll see,’ he says. ‘I am taking you there now. This is my surprise for you.’

  I spin around and go to hug him. Then I realise what I’m doing and my face flushes. I step out of his half-embrace and move over to the side of the boat.

  Victor
is smiling as he takes the wheel.

  Our speed slows and he navigates the boat into a ferry terminal at the mouth of the Grand Canal. Two sleek black gondolas are waiting for us, with high-backed leather seats and the Grigio crest mounted in gold above the headrests. They’re more luxurious than the one Massimo commandeers and the ones I saw at the boatyard. A gondolier, built like an ox, stands ready, awaiting our arrival. He pours two glasses of champagne as we board.

  ‘You may leave,’ Victor says to the gondolier, who reluctantly leaves his boat, handing his pole to Victor. Roberto sits in the other gondola, which is being piloted by a gondolier with a silver ponytail poking out from his straw hat.

  Grey clouds sweep across the sky as we enter the Grand Canal. I shiver as the warm sun disappears and the wind picks up, buffeting the gondolas passing on either side of us. The unicorn guard circles above us like a flock of birds beneath the cloud cover.

  I keep spying navy uniforms amongst the crowds on the banks of the canal and standing over bridges. The extent of the security detail should make me feel safer, but it has the opposite effect. It worries me that I need so much protection in the first place.

  Victor paddles the gondola against the wind in long, deep strokes, his biceps flexing beneath his shirt.

  ‘You could use the Art for that,’ I say, wrapping my arms around my body.

  ‘I like to use my hands,’ he replies. After a moment, he turns back to me. ‘Would you like to conjure a motion spell?’

  My breath catches in my throat. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose,’ I say too quickly.

  He looks at me for a moment, trying to read me.

  ‘I have heard stories of the great Queen Francesca who can channel the Art without an instrument, so powerful that she can decimate an army of pycts in an instant. And I am yet to witness a single incantation.’

  The hairs on my arms rise. ‘I don’t do party tricks,’ I retort, hoping that my voice sounds natural.

  He gives a short laugh, as though he finds my recalcitrance cute, and to my relief, doesn’t pursue it. For now, at least.

  Victor brings the gondola to the side of the canal, mooring it alongside shiny black doors of the museum that open right onto the canal, two House Grigio flags flying on either side.

 

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