Dirty Halo

by Julie Johnson

  Shame? Pity? Fear? Hope? Need? Sorrow?

  I sit there in the pitch black, my body paralyzed as my mind tumbles in circles, and allow every lyric to embed itself in my heart like a piece of shrapnel.

  I’m torn from the truth that holds my soul…

  Vaguely, I realize there are tears tracking down my cheeks. I can’t summon the will to even wipe them away. Every ounce of my attention is fixed firmly on the music… and the man playing it for me.

  For four full minutes, I listen.

  I weep.

  I wait.

  Searching for answers; coming up empty.

  The song fades out.

  The bluetooth chimes again as he disconnects.

  And then there is only silence in the room. But my mind — oh, my mind is roaring so loud with questions, I know there’s not a chance in hell I’ll be sleeping tonight.

  What game are you playing, Carter?

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’m going to throw up.

  Coronation Day has officially arrived and, with it, nausea like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I stand in my bedroom, strapped into a corset. It’s cinched so tight I can hardly breathe, let alone eat.

  Probably for the best. I’d hate to vomit in front of dignitaries from twelve neighboring countries, plus everyone with a title in all of Germanian society.

  The buzzing of my phone is a welcome distraction. I walk over to the nightstand and feel my face go pale when the screen flashes the word HOME. Someone is calling from my landline, at the house in Hawthorne. The house no one except me has a key for.

  My fingers shake as I press a button to accept the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Ems — please don’t hang up.”

  I sigh. “Owen, I asked for space…”

  “Please!” He sounds desperate. “If you never speak to me again after this, that’s fine. But I need you to hear me out right now. Can you do that?”

  “Did you break into my house to call me?”

  There’s a pause.

  “Oh my god, you did! What the fuck, Owen?”

  “You wouldn’t take my calls,” he snaps. “I had no choice.”

  “The choice was to give me space, like I asked for. You know, after you told the entire world about my identity and ruined my life. Remember that?”

  “Ems…” The sadness in his voice claws at the steel wall I erected around my heart the day he betrayed me. “I know it’s not an excuse, but that day… Look, I’m not proud of it. I’d been drinking. I was upset. God, you’re the most important person in my life and I could feel you slipping away, and… it fucking terrified me. I lost it.”

  “That doesn’t justify what you did.” My voice gets small. “You say I’m the most important person in your life, that I’m your best friend… but those are just words. If you don’t have the actions to back them up…”

  “I’m sorry, Ems. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t understand—”

  “I do understand! I do.” My throat feels clogged. “But you’re supposed to be the one who protects me. Instead, you hurt me worse than anyone.”

  “If you’ll just hear me out, I swear I’ll make it right—”

  “I’m hanging up, now, Owen.”

  “NO!” His roar is so loud, I flinch back from the phone. “I need you to listen. I don’t have a lot of time. Look, things may already be in motion and I’m not sure if I can stop them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He curses lowly. “After you left, these past few weeks… I’ve started taking a more active role in the anti-monarchy groups on campus.”

  My heart pangs painfully. “Why are you telling me this? To hurt me even more? To dig the knife in deeper? It wasn’t enough to tell the world who I am — now you’re going to tell them how much you hate me?”

  “No! You’ve got it all wrong, Ems. I only joined the group because I thought they might have answers about…” His voice drops low, as if he’s scared to say the next words too loudly. “About the fire.”

  The whole world stops turning.

  “What? You mean the fire here at the palace?”

  “Yes,” he murmurs. “Ems… Not everyone in these anti-royalist groups is content to keep marching peacefully, holding signs and staging walk-outs. Some of them want to take things further.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last year, at one of the meetings, I heard some of the guys saying that the simplest way to solve our problem was to eliminate the source: no more Lancasters, no more line of succession… no more monarchy.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” My voice is a whisper. “Owen…”

  “I’m saying that I re-joined the group after you were pulled into this life, because if there’s even a chance those guys weren’t just blowing hot air…” He expels a breath. “I couldn’t let you walk around with a target on your back. Not if I knew there was something I could do to protect you.”

  My chest aches. I don’t know what to say. I hardly know which way is up, right now. Everything feels skewed, as though the world has tilted on its axis.

  “Ems? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.” I force myself to take a deep breath — not an easy feat, in this corset. “Do you think… do you think there’s really a chance they could be responsible for the fire?”

  “I haven’t found out anything definitive, yet. They trust me to some degree — especially after they saw me on the news, getting detained by the King’s Guard outside Windsor Abbey for outing you to the press. I’m not privy to everything, though. I need more time, plain and simple. But with the coronation tonight…”

  “You think something is going to happen.”

  “Everyone in Germania with even a drop of Lancaster blood will be in that castle. Plus, elite members from countless other monarchies. It would be a perfect target.”

  Horror fills me. He’s right.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do with this information. Linus will never cancel — not without a credible threat. And there’s no way I’ll be able to skip it.”

  “I know.” He pauses. “Just… please be careful. If anything ever happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

  A tear slips from the corner of my eye and falls to the hardwood with a small splat. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Good,” he says, voice gruff. I know he’s holding his emotions tightly in check. “Could you… do you think you could call me afterward? So I can hear your voice and know you’re okay?”

  “Sure,” I whisper. “And Owen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. For having my back, even when things are so messed up between us.”

  “Don’t thank me, Ems. Just stay safe.”

  As predicted, my warnings about security fall on deaf ears.

  Linus is evidently far too busy to speak to me, so it’s Simms who receives my frantic stream of worries. He stands in the small sitting room of my suite, arms crossed over a too-tight tuxedo, double chin jiggling pompously.

  “Your Highness, I assure you, you will be perfectly safe. The King’s Guard is fully prepared for all contingencies. The castle is secure.” His eyes scan me up and down, clearly disapproving of my bathrobe and bare feet. “Now, I must attend to our royal guests and you must get ready — unless you are planning to wear that to the ceremony.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, Simms.”

  “Very good, Princess. Then I will send in your hair and makeup team to assist you with final preparations. Please do not dally — guests are beginning to arrive and you are expected down in the throne room within the hour.”

  He leaves in a huff, a cloud of self-inflated ego lingering in his wake like bad cologne.

  Forty minutes later, I study myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back at me. The ballgown is truly a work of art — champagne satin and tulle with intricately embroidered lace appliqué that covers both sleeves and extends downward in s
himmering whirls of gold. The bodice is tight fitted, showing off my curves like never before with the help of the stiff corset boning. The back dips low to reveal most of my spine before flowing out into a full skirt, complete with a two foot train.

  In this dress, I actually look like a princess.

  In this dress… I almost feel like a princess.

  I’m thoroughly convinced the hair and makeup ladies have magical powers, because no fairy godmother could’ve done any better — even with a wand. My eyes are lined with black and gold, making the green of my irises pop. My lips are stained a deep berry tone that’s somehow glossy without being sticky. And my wild curls have been tamed into sleek mahogany coils — an up-do specifically designed to suit a crown.

  Just the thought of what’s to come makes my mouth press into a solemn line and my hands shake with nerves.

  “The look lovely, Your Highness,” the hairstylist says, smiling proudly. “Are you ready to go?”

  No.

  “Yes,” I murmur, turning my back on the stranger in the mirror. “Let’s go.”

  My heart is thudding out of my chest as I float down the hall toward the throne room, four members of the King’s Guard in full uniform accompanying my every step. I can hear the swell of voices as I approach the grand staircase. The hall below comes into view and I fight to keep fear from showing on my face.

  At the bottom of the polished stone stairs, at least five hundred subjects are seated, awaiting their new king in elegant gowns and tuxedoes. I spot Carter and Chloe sitting in the aisle closest to the raised throne platform. A few rows back, the Sterling family is gathered, all four platinum blond heads easy enough to spot in the sea of people.

  The presence of friends should be reassuring. Instead, it increases my anxiety tenfold. When Lady Morrell and I walked through the ceremony yesterday in the empty throne room, I felt confident enough. That confidence has fled now that I’m standing here in a ballgown, about to be a spectacle for the whole world to judge. The aisle seems so much longer from here, an endless strip of navy and gold carpet cutting straight through the middle of the crowd. I shiver at the idea of traversing it, all those eyes fixed upon me as I glide toward the throne.

  Twenty-five steps down.

  One hundred yards dead ahead.

  Take your place on the stage.

  Stop.

  Smile.

  Breathe.

  Simms is staring pointedly at me from the other side of the landing, fully prepared to make my introduction to the crowd… but my feet are frozen. I can’t move. I stand in the shadows, just out of sight, trying and failing to make myself take my first steps down those stairs. Visions of me tripping on the train of my dress and cartwheeling head over heels down twenty-five stone steps in front of the entire court play on a continuous loop inside my head.

  “Are you nervous?”

  The whispered words make my head whip around. I startle when I see Linus standing several feet from me, dressed in the ornate gold cloak of a king. His expression is grave, his eyes intent as they move over my face.

  I jerk my chin higher and shake my head. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how scared I am. After what he did, I’ll never let my guard down around him again.

  “You look lovely, Emilia.” His green eyes, so like mine, seem to gleam in the dark. “Every inch the princess I always knew you were.”

  “A fancy dress doesn’t make me a princess,” I snap back. “By your standards, any noblewoman down in that room could hire a seamstress and call herself a queen.”

  “You’re wrong, my dear. Nobility is not equivalent to royalty. One is a social class; the other a destiny. Nobles can be elevated in rank through money or marriage, opportunity or favor… but no one on earth can alter the blood running through your veins, Emilia Lancaster.” Linus sounds more serious than I’ve ever heard him. “You bow to no one, Your Royal Highness.”

  We look at each other — father to daughter, king to heir — and before I can stop myself, I ask a question I’ve been mulling over since the minute I learned he existed.

  “Why did you leave her?” My hands curl into tight fists. “Why did you leave us?”

  He flinches almost imperceptibly, but doesn’t balk. “Because… she asked me to.”

  “What?”

  “Your mother asked me to leave.”

  No. He’s lying.

  “That’s not what she told me.”

  “No, I wouldn’t imagine so. I’m sure she told you I was a scoundrel and a rake, a middle-aged man with a wandering eye who seduced a woman too young for him by about twenty years.” He sighs. “And that is all true. However, it is not the full story. And it is not the reason I did not raise you as my daughter.”

  “Then why?”

  “Your mother wanted nothing to do with this life. Not me or my familial obligations, not the pretension or the pomp, not the strict rules and restrictions that come along with the crown. None of it.” He pauses. “She was a free spirit. An artist. She would’ve been utterly miserable, confined within the role of Duchess of Hightower. I’m sure you can see that.”

  “But, you could’ve left her and still…”

  “Still claimed you,” he finishes for me. “You’re correct. I could have. But your mother asked for complete separation. A clean cut, she called it. A chance for you to have a totally normal life, without any of this to bog you down.”

  “And you agreed? Just like that?”

  “Regardless of what you might think of me… I loved your mother very much. I would’ve done anything she asked of me. Even cut myself out of her life. Even walk away from my chance to raise my own child.”

  “And I suppose you never regretted that choice, seeing as you married Octavia a few short years later and got two brand new step-kids to fill that father-shaped void in your life.”

  He sighs deeply, regret twisting his features. “I wish, daily, that I had chosen to do things differently. These past few weeks… to see the fine woman you have grown into, to witness the way you have handled an unprecedented situation with grace and poise, when a lesser person might’ve crumbled beneath the pressure… it has been a source of both great pride and deep remorse.”

  I pull in a stunned breath. Much as I’d love to pretend his words have no effect on me, I can’t. My father is standing there saying things I’ve waited my whole life to hear. And maybe it makes me weak for even listening, maybe it makes me a fool for believing a word he says, after the things he’s done in the past…

  But it’s no use.

  You’re such an idiot, I scold myself, even as my heart clenches and my eyes begin to sting. Not everyone deserves a second chance.

  “Emilia.” Linus takes a step forward, so we’re chest to chest, and reaches down to gather my limp hands within his own. It’s the closest we’ve ever come to an embrace. “I know you never would’ve chosen this path for yourself. But I truly believe that is why you are meant to take it.” He pauses a beat. “A very wise woman once told me, ‘Those who actively seek out power are those who least deserve to wield it.’”

  “Mom,” I whisper, voice breaking. “Mom said that.”

  He nods. “I’ve never forgotten.”

  “Give a crown to a king, he will treat the world as commoners. Give a crown to a common man, he will treat the world like kings,” I recite from memory, smiling even though I want to cry.

  “I vow to you, Emilia…” Linus breaks off, a painful cough rattling through his chest, but manages to gather himself again. “I will try to be the kind of king she would be proud of. However short my reign.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek. I hear Mom’s voice in my head, mingling with his.

  I love you, pure heart.

  Stay bold.

  My chin lifts. Eyes glossy, I hold his stare for a long moment. There’s so much to say to him and yet, not a single word materializes on my tongue.

  What do you say to the man whose absence has defined your whole life, when he’s
finally standing before you, seeking forgiveness?

  He smiles softly at me, his own eyes perilously wet, and I know he understands the meaning buried beneath my silence. In truth, I’m still not ready to forgive him for the choices he’s made… even if I’m beginning to understand his justifications in making them.

  Our road thus far has been rocky. Fraught with thorny bushes and false turns. But perhaps someday… there’s a chance we can move forward. On a new path, forged by circumstance, with cautious respect from both sides.

  Not today.

  But someday.

  “Linus!” a cold, female voice snaps from the shadows, shattering the moment. “What on earth are you doing over here? I’ve been waiting with Gerald for five minutes.”

  We both turn to watch as Octavia strides toward us, her fitted blue dress stunning against the fiery shade of her hair. Her eyes slide to mine.

  “You are supposed to be on the stairs already, girl.”

  A week ago, I might’ve dropped my eyes to the floor. Avoided her stare, shied away from confrontation. But no more. Lifting my chin, I stare cooly into her eyes.

  “My name is not you or girl. It is Emilia Victoria Lancaster. I suggest you start using it.”

  Ignoring the stunned look on her face, I set my shoulders proudly and brush past her with every ounce of grace and poise I can muster.

  Lady Morrell would be so freaking proud.

  My heart thunders as I come to a stop at the edge of the landing. The stairs spill in front of me, a waterfall of stone. I pull in a shallow breath that strains the confines of my corset before giving Simms a small nod.

  I’m ready.

  He announces my arrival in a booming voice that barely registers in my ringing ears. A hush falls over the crowd below. Every head in the audience turns to look at me. There’s a collective gasp as they take in the sight of my resplendent gold gown drifting down the stairs, one careful step at a time.

  I keep my eyes dead ahead and attempt to maintain a stately pace. A hint of relief stirs inside me when I make it to the bottom without tripping on the massive train or stumbling on my high heels… at least, until I look forward at the gauntlet remaining before me.