Chapter 39: Scarred: Chapter 37

This has been my first official event––besides the ball––as the king’s betrothed, and I’ve been instructed that there’s certain decorum I’m expected to maintain.

Do not stop and talk to people.

Do not leave the guards.

Do nothing other than smile and wave, cut the ribbon for the grand opening of the new medical center, allow photos to be taken, and then straight back to the castle.

And I do all of that. I follow the rules spectacularly. It isn’t until later, Timothy and all three of my ladies surrounding me, that my good intentions turn to dust. Because there’s a boy standing at the edge of the street, in torn and dirt-ridden clothes, his hair buzzed close to his head as he stares directly at me.

There’s something off about his face, although from this distance it’s difficult to see. But either way, his gaze slams into the center of my gut, and I’m turning before I can help myself.

“Timothy,” I say, keeping my eyes on the child. “Do you see that boy?”

He moves to stand next to me, looking to where I point and nodding.

“Bring him here.”

“No,” Marisol cuts in. “In and out, milady.”

My insides spit fire like a dragon, and I pull my shoulders back, walking over to her until we’re nose to nose. “You are not my master. And you do not get to tell me what I may or may not do. I’ve been very nice to you up to this point, Marisol. Don’t make me show you how cruel I can be.”

“Milady.” Ophelia steps next to us. “What Marisol means is we need to tread carefully. That boy… he… well, he doesn’t look like one of us.”

Sheina snaps her head to Ophelia at the same time as I do. “And what does he look like, Ophelia?” I hiss.

Her cheeks blossom a deep red and she turns her face toward the ground until the brim of her hat hides her eyes from my view.

“He’s deformed,” one of the guards spits. “It’s easy to see from here. Most of them are—if not physically, then mentally.”

I close my eyes to calm the raging storm brewing in my gut. “Most of who are?”

He waves his arm toward the child. “The hyenas, of course. Rebels. Whatever you want to call them.”

“He’s most likely a trap, milady,” Marisol adds, her eyes squinting as she stares at the boy.

“I’d like to speak with him.”

Nobody moves, and the longer they stand stagnant, the heavier the disappointment gets, like bricks being dropped in the center of my chest.

My heart twists. How can they be so callous?

“Fine.” I force a smile, my eyes meeting Sheina’s. A small grin breaks across her face, her gaze sparkling with mischief. It reminds me of when we were girls, figuring out ways to break the rules so we could sneak out past our bedtime. She moves until she’s standing between Timothy and me, allowing easier access for me to escape down the road.

I spin, racing down the street, the material of my shoes rubbing the sides of my feet raw.

“Milady!”

“Sara!”

Glancing behind me as I run, I laugh at Sheina trying to block their paths. She won’t be successful for long, seconds at most, but it fuels me, allowing me to ignore the burn of my legs or the way my lungs ache for deeper breaths of air.

Finally, I reach him. He hasn’t moved this entire time, and as I kneel, my knees dusting along the dirt road, I admit to myself that maybe this wasn’t the smartest choice. He looks to be in need, but it’s odd for him to stand and stare the way he is, especially with the spectacle I just put on.

“Hi,” I say, staring up at him.

This close, I can confirm the guard was correct. He has a cleft lip, the center of his mouth missing. His dark eyes are big and round, and bones protrude from his skin.

The injustice of it all makes me want to scream. It isn’t fair that he stands here on a road lined with thriving businesses and groundbreaking technology, yet this is how he lives. And everyone ignores him, cringing away when they see him, assuming that because he’s different, he’s somehow less than.

Anger bubbles like a cauldron deep in my chest, reigniting the fire that burned while I was in Silva, when my father and I used to sneak rations of food and any money we could find to the people. How I used to sneak money even after his death, stealing it from my uncle’s safe and slipping it into Dalia’s hands.

“What’s your name?” I try again.

The boy’s gaze shifts behind me. “A royal guard,” he whispers.

A grin pulls at his face, stretching from ear to ear, and it makes every single hair stand on end, a shiver racing through me.

And then he runs.

“Wait!” I yell, standing up.

“Sara!” Timothy’s voice is loud, and the sound of it is so jarring—so different from what I’m used to—that I stop in place, my palm shooting to my chest as I spin around to meet his stare.

“I’m fine, Timothy. Everything is—” A blast sounds, and my ears ring with a high-pitched noise, dulling everything around me. I curl in on myself, bending over as my hands fly to cover my ears.

I glance up. Timothy’s eyes are wide, his mouth dropped open as he stares at me, less than two feet away, his hand cupping his chest.

All three of my ladies stand shell-shocked behind him, many people running outside to line the streets.

Timothy falls to his knees.

“No!” I cry out, my chest seizing as I rush forward, feet stumbling as tears burst from my eyes and streak down my face. “No,” I plead again, dropping to the ground in front of him.

His eyes are frantic as they watch me break apart, my heart shattering, the sharp edges splicing through my middle until my insides spill onto the ground.

My hands fly to his chest, my jaw tensing as I push down with my body, applying as much pressure as possible, digging my fingertips into the wound to try and plug the bleeding.

But it’s too much.

It’s too fast.

His palm wraps around my wrist loosely, and it’s enough to give me hope. Random curls fall from my updo, sticking to the wet trail of tears that stain my cheeks, and I whip my head around, looking at the dozens of people who stand by—their hands covering their mouths in horror—and do nothing.

Dozens.

“Do something!” I scream, all of them gawking as if they don’t have feet and hands to help. “Don’t just stand there!” My voice breaks, my breathing coming in small pants until I feel as though I’ll suffocate from the lack of air.

“Hold on, Timothy.” I focus on him, but his gaze is growing milky and I can feel his presence slipping away. “You are not allowed to die,” I demand, my teeth gritting. “Do you hear me? We’re supposed to become best friends.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, his blinks growing further apart.

“Long talks by the fire, you know?” I hiccup, trying to ignore the way my fingers are slipping from all the blood. “Your favorite thing to do.”

His hand falls from my wrist, splashing as it lands on the puddle growing beneath him.

“Please,” I murmur, my mind screaming and my chest caving in. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

But it’s too late, and no one hears my pleas.

I feel the moment his soul leaves his body. A giant exhale, and then he’s just gone.

Sobs rack through me until my entire body shakes, and I collapse on top of him, my arms stained red, and my fingers drenched. I drop my head in my hands, anyway.

“I tried to tell you,” Marisol whispers, wiping a tear from her cheek. “It was you they were after.”

My stomach rolls, an icy chill skating through me until my entire body feels numb. I snap my face up and meet her gaze. “Then I will make sure they pay.”