enough that you insist on staying in Bavia until the rebels run you to the ground and kill you? Are you so bent on sacrificing yourself that you’ll do murder under your own roof, just so you can hang for it?”
Rafael muttered something, and his gaze skimmed over Annie and then came back to her face. In that instant, she saw in his eyes the depths of his suffering, and the sight nearly brought her to her knees.
He was in agony.
“Annie,” he whispered. The name sounded ragged, broken.
She took a step toward him and stopped. Rafael was determined to die. She covered her mouth with one hand, to stifle a sob, and fled. In the doorway, she nearly collided with none other than Miss Felicia Covington.
Miss Covington’s pretty forehead was crumpled into a concerned frown, and her dark eyes were full of kindly concern. Up close, she was as beautiful as a Botticelli angel and apparently as compassionate. She gripped Annie’s shoulders for a moment, in a distracted effort to steady her, before proceeding into the chamber.
Annie lingered in the shadows just beyond the threshold, wanting to be elsewhere and yet too stricken to move.
“Rafael,” Miss Covington cried, hurrying over to the prince and taking his upper arms into her hands. “What did you do to Lucian?”
Rafael moved to twist free of her, but she held on in a way only an intimate friend would dare to do. “It’s nothing,” he spat. “Leave me alone, Felicia. Please.”
She smoothed his hair and, oddly, the gentle gesture tore at Annie’s heart, causing her to shrink deeper into the shadows and hold her breath while she struggled for self-control.
Felicia nodded to Barrett, who reluctantly left the room, passing Annie without seeing her. “Why, Rafael?” Miss Covington whispered, slipping her arm around his lean waist. “Why do you hate Lucian so much? He is your half brother.”
Rafael sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. Although some of his fury had dissipated, Annie could see that there was still tension coiled within him. “I don’t hate Lucian,” he responded. “He hates me. And sometimes I share his opinion.”
Felicia smiled up at Rafael, smoothed his tousled hair and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Annie, still looking on, wanted to despise the woman, but she found it impossible.
“Was it your poor brother you wanted to kill,” Felicia asked gently, “or was it yourself?”
Rafael sighed again, and slipped his arm around Felicia’s slender waist. Miss Rendennon would never call her fleshy, Annie thought, in despair, slipping behind a suit of armor as the two of them passed by.
“I’m ten kinds of a bastard,” Rafael confided.
Annie watched through tears of envy and despair as Felicia linked her arm with Rafael’s and smiled up at him.
“And why is that, Your Highness?” she teased.
Even though they were retreating rapidly along the passageway, Annie heard Rafael’s reply with brutal clarity. “Lucian accused me of using someone,” he said. “And he was right.”
The admission struck Annie with all the force of a battle-ax. She sagged against the wall, unseen, feeling the cold stone at her back, and breathed deeply until the worst of the pain had passed. When she’d recovered a little, and was certain Rafael and Felicia were in another part of the keep, she made her way back to her room.
There, she splashed her face with tepid water, took her hair down from its pins, brushed it fiercely, and then put it up again. After that, she got her writing box and set out for the gardens. She meant to draft a letter to her mother and father in Nice and tell them to expect her soon. She could not stay in Bavia; she realized that now. It would be unbearable to remain, even for something as important as Phaedra’s wedding, knowing that Rafael pitied her, that he had indeed used her.
She was striding resolutely through the great hall when it struck her that she was hungry, in spite of all that had happened that awful
Rafael muttered something, and his gaze skimmed over Annie and then came back to her face. In that instant, she saw in his eyes the depths of his suffering, and the sight nearly brought her to her knees.
He was in agony.
“Annie,” he whispered. The name sounded ragged, broken.
She took a step toward him and stopped. Rafael was determined to die. She covered her mouth with one hand, to stifle a sob, and fled. In the doorway, she nearly collided with none other than Miss Felicia Covington.
Miss Covington’s pretty forehead was crumpled into a concerned frown, and her dark eyes were full of kindly concern. Up close, she was as beautiful as a Botticelli angel and apparently as compassionate. She gripped Annie’s shoulders for a moment, in a distracted effort to steady her, before proceeding into the chamber.
Annie lingered in the shadows just beyond the threshold, wanting to be elsewhere and yet too stricken to move.
“Rafael,” Miss Covington cried, hurrying over to the prince and taking his upper arms into her hands. “What did you do to Lucian?”
Rafael moved to twist free of her, but she held on in a way only an intimate friend would dare to do. “It’s nothing,” he spat. “Leave me alone, Felicia. Please.”
She smoothed his hair and, oddly, the gentle gesture tore at Annie’s heart, causing her to shrink deeper into the shadows and hold her breath while she struggled for self-control.
Felicia nodded to Barrett, who reluctantly left the room, passing Annie without seeing her. “Why, Rafael?” Miss Covington whispered, slipping her arm around his lean waist. “Why do you hate Lucian so much? He is your half brother.”
Rafael sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. Although some of his fury had dissipated, Annie could see that there was still tension coiled within him. “I don’t hate Lucian,” he responded. “He hates me. And sometimes I share his opinion.”
Felicia smiled up at Rafael, smoothed his tousled hair and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Annie, still looking on, wanted to despise the woman, but she found it impossible.
“Was it your poor brother you wanted to kill,” Felicia asked gently, “or was it yourself?”
Rafael sighed again, and slipped his arm around Felicia’s slender waist. Miss Rendennon would never call her fleshy, Annie thought, in despair, slipping behind a suit of armor as the two of them passed by.
“I’m ten kinds of a bastard,” Rafael confided.
Annie watched through tears of envy and despair as Felicia linked her arm with Rafael’s and smiled up at him.
“And why is that, Your Highness?” she teased.
Even though they were retreating rapidly along the passageway, Annie heard Rafael’s reply with brutal clarity. “Lucian accused me of using someone,” he said. “And he was right.”
The admission struck Annie with all the force of a battle-ax. She sagged against the wall, unseen, feeling the cold stone at her back, and breathed deeply until the worst of the pain had passed. When she’d recovered a little, and was certain Rafael and Felicia were in another part of the keep, she made her way back to her room.
There, she splashed her face with tepid water, took her hair down from its pins, brushed it fiercely, and then put it up again. After that, she got her writing box and set out for the gardens. She meant to draft a letter to her mother and father in Nice and tell them to expect her soon. She could not stay in Bavia; she realized that now. It would be unbearable to remain, even for something as important as Phaedra’s wedding, knowing that Rafael pitied her, that he had indeed used her.
She was striding resolutely through the great hall when it struck her that she was hungry, in spite of all that had happened that awful
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