Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel (30 page)

There was going to be no reasoning with her, so I let her babble on, wondering how I had gone without her radiance for so long.

“I have so much to tell you! You remember James Funnel from school? He lost his virginity to a . . .” She lowered her voice and glanced left and right. “A
human,
and that girl Raine is just horrible these days, she fell in with this group that think it’s cool to smoke and, get this,
drink blood
for the high it gives them! Apparently it’s some new craze people started when Violet Lee got kidnapped . . .”

Jo fell away from me as though she had stumbled over the edge of a cliff. I saw her drop with wide eyes until she steadied herself on one knee, a low curtsy that could be done without a ball gown. Hesitantly, my human friends (whom I had completely forgotten about) bobbed into shallow curtsies.

“Prince Alfred,” Jo forced out. Her voice trembled.

Alfie cocked his head to the side and winked at me as we stood, the only remaining towers in a pile of rubble. “I see Fal has delivered his surprise to you, Autumn. But I think it best if she stands up to try the champagne. It packs a punch.”

Jo nervously laughed, and, keeping a firm grip on the floating hem of her burgundy dress, tottered back up, blushing the whole time. I made a note to ask her if she had ever actually come across one of the Athenea during her summer at court. It didn’t seem like it.

“I am so grateful that you have allowed me into your home, Your Highness. Especially considering the . . . ah . . . circumstances.” Jo glanced briefly at me and that one look told all: she knew what a web we were in.

“Circumstances could well be our family name,” Fallon said, appearing behind me, omnipresent as ever. “Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

Then why tell them in the first place?
Unless it was a threat. A subtle unveiling of how deep, and how dangerous, their royal world was. The injunctions themselves were enough to make Jo quake in her shoes.

As soon as I could, I whisked Jo away to a powder room tucked in behind the ballroom. I hoisted myself up onto the counter by the sink to give my aching feet a rest.

“Oh Jo,” I breathed, reaching down and clasping her hands together in mine. “I wish we were children again!”

She stared at the floor. “I thought we might drag up memories of the professor. Your grandmother, I mean.”

I slid off the counter and spun to face the mirror, sliding a finger under each eye to catch my smudged makeup. “My grandmother is dead, Jo. I know that.” But she wasn’t dead. She was staring right back at me in the mirror. She was there in my hair, and my scars, and my breasts . . . she was in my shadow. She
was
my shadow. My ever-looming shadow. “I’m not angry with anyone for being associated with her. Not even with the Athenea anymore. I’m okay now.”

“But you’re scared. So are the Athenea. I could tell when we were invited. The security! And why did you stop telling me what’s going on in your e-mails? Have you found out whether the Athenea knew who killed her?”

Once again I was astounded by how firmly her finger was on the pulse.
Is it that obvious? Is it so clear to the outside world that we are not coping? That Violet Lee could rip us apart, limb from limb, and leave us for dead?

I did not ponder those questions aloud. I felt I had a duty to reassure her, just like when we had been children. Because in our games I had always been the mother, and she my daughter; I was the doctor and she my patient; I was queen, and she my disciple.

“They know, but it’s not important at the moment. There is so much other worry going around court now. You know that. We’re not immune, either. But it’s not worth ruining our time together.”

Jo uncrossed her legs and rose to stand a little behind me. She tried to catch my gaze in the mirror but I would not allow it. “You’re right, Autumn. But now you’ve forgiven the Athenea for not telling you about the professor—”

“I haven’t forgiven them, just accepted—”

“Now you’re so close to them, will you and Prince Fallon get together?”

I pursed my lips together. “That’s rather bold of you to say, Jo.”

“What’s bold?”

The excited squeal of Gwen clipped my next sentence, and I closed my mouth. Christy, Tammy, and Tee followed her into the bathroom, all intrigued. I watched their reflections.

“Well?”

“His Highness and Autumn going out,” Jo said, turning to my human friends with an excited plea on her face.

There was a uniform gasp of astonishment. “Since when?” Gwen demanded, planting her hands on the counter to my left like she intended to drag it toward her.

“No! I meant they
should
go out,” Jo corrected, alarmed at Gwen’s forceful nature. “It would be perfect, don’t you think? A fairy tale! Think of all the magazines she would be in!”

The joy,
I thought, summoning my foundation from upstairs into my hand and letting my magic do the work.
Has she actually been absorbing what I say in our e-mails? We don’t want the attention!

When the giggles had ceased, Gwen took up the role of spokesperson. “But seriously, you have way better chances than anyone else. So go out with him, get in his boxers, and tell us if that bulge is real or just a banana, ’kay?”

“Gwen, you idiot, Autumn wouldn’t know what to do with a cock if it slapped her in the face.” The door slammed closed and in front of it stood Valerie Danvers and her two cronies. I spun on my heel to face them, defending the sink in the massive washroom as though it were my child.

“Go away, Valerie,” came Tee’s brave reply. I felt a flutter of pride in my heart; it was Valerie I had saved Tee from, and I knew that this small, shy girl of twelve was twice as afraid of the bully as I was.

“And don’t be so gross,” Tammy elaborated.

“Just because you’re a skank doesn’t mean the rest of us are,” Gwen spat, taking three steps forward so she and Valerie were nose-to-nose.

In a mirror to my right I saw Valerie’s lip curl with a raised eyebrow. “Look who’s talking. We all know you’d shag some Sagean shit the first opportunity you got.”

Gwen scoffed but backed away in guilty retreat, just as Jo, whose eyes darted from one girl to another, silently got up off the stool and came to hold my hand. Christy came and held the other.

Valerie seemed to be sensing her impending victory and advanced on us until suddenly she was halted by the tiny figure of Tee—too young for this sparring and for the party, but glued to her cousin’s side all the same—who raised herself up to her full five feet and glowered. “Don’t swear, Valerie, and stop being so mean. Nobody cares what you think, so leave us alone!”

Her words succeeded in shutting the older girl up for a full ten seconds. Then Valerie crouched, scowling, and her dress slipped up so we could all see the shadow of her crotch.

“And I don’t care what you say, you little nig—”

“Don’t even think about it,” I hissed, and in my raised palm a ball of red energy bounced between my thumb and fingers. My blood was hot but there was no red mist. I was in control, and so long as I was, I would not let anybody hurt Tee. “Girls’ bathroom. No prince to shield you now.”

She took the hint to flee but I had no intention of leaving it at that. As I was hot on her heels, she was fearless, spewing insults about my snobbery, my grandmother, and my title, but I took no notice. I chased her all the way back into the ballroom, where she halted, yanked her skirt down, and settled on her last words.

“I hate you!” she declared with a totter on her heels.

I rounded the group until I could see her face, her seething, bloated, red face. I realized I was smirking; pleased that I could invoke such emotion in a person.
How stupid she looks at this moment . . .

“Likewise.” A quick bob of a curtsy, a spin on my right heel, and I was gone.

I passed through awed stares, weaved through crowds, skirted the mirrors and the other room beyond them; my feet had a purpose but I could not decipher it. When the end of the room was in sight, they halted. One foot crossed behind the other’s heel. My knees bent. I lowered myself.

“Your Highness.”

“Would you like me to kick Valerie out?” he asked.

I shook my head and smiled up at him. “I’ve got it.”

He looked stunned. But he was smiling. He was smiling and he took my hand in his. We came together, and I could see the throbbing vein in his neck.

“Dance with me,” he said.

The music was changing. The heart-pounding bass faded into the tinkering of a piano, and the repetitive vocals blurred with the faraway coo of a woman’s voice.

“I don’t remember how.”

“You do.” His lips were on my ear. I smiled a little and shook my head and said no, but he silenced me, not with his words, not with his hands; with his gaze. “Let me lead you. You have no worries. You have no fears. Not now. Not in this moment. Dance with me, Autumn.”

And then we were moving through the crowd I had parted and I was vaguely aware of Alfie and Lisbeth, but they looked like blurred figures through a misty lens. I only truly saw Fallon; I felt the warmth and sweat between our interlocked fingers, and I felt the tremor of his footsteps through the soles of my feet. He spoke to the faceless crowd. I did not hear him.

We broke apart and I curtsied and stepped willingly and eagerly into his hold, and he led me in a slow waltz that I knew so well I could focus totally on the light press of his unscarred cheek on mine, and close my eyes to the faceless fishbowl crowd.

“I want to say something, but I can’t; it’s as though if I were to say it, you would break.” His voice cracked on the very last word and the hand on my hip slipped around to rest on the small of my back, pulling me tightly to his torso.

“Then don’t say it,” I sighed, resting my cheek on his shoulder. “Please, spare me the pain.”

“Always, little duchess. Always.”

I felt him bear up, straightening and pushing his chest up and lifting his head so the skin tightened where I rested my head.

I knew I should be content. But it wasn’t like that. It was as though we were being pursued—by what, I didn’t know—and I had been chased right into a lake, and I was drowning. The music rose and fell, reaching my ears in slow, distorted waves. My feet did not feel the floor, and I rocked with the current in his arms. I opened my eyes. The people were now watercolor figures, extending far into the depths of the mirrors.

And I knew it would always be like this, if I never left his arms. I knew I would always live in a fishbowl, and that the only way to escape the pain was to drown in deception, and to lie to myself, and to die pretending.

I did not care.

And then we broke apart and I knew that it would always be like this. He spoke to the crowd; thanked them for coming as the music fell silent and the lights started to brighten. People began dispersing, and servants began directing, and I disappeared into the mass, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than my bed. But a hand caught mine. It was Fallon.

He squeezed my palm between his thumb and fingers. “Good night, Duchess.”

He let go and, feeling suddenly lost, I clasped both hands together across my middle. “Good night, Your Highness.”

His gaze flitted to the ground and back up, like he couldn’t bear to look away; when our eyes were level again, his lips upturned and he reached forward for my left hand. When he had it, he bowed forward and kissed the finger where a ring would be placed. Straightening, he nodded, once, slowly, and walked away, hands clasped behind his back like he was lost, too.

In a stupor I watched him leave, heart exploding as my mind screamed at what had just happened; something I had seen done in Athenea so many times, when the teenagers had seemed like adults, and the adults like giants.

He paid court to me!

A pair of arms clamped down around my shoulders and jolted me up and down. “Did that just happen? Did that just happen? You are going after him, aren’t you?” Jo screamed, pushing me toward the door.

“Do you think I should?”

“Yes!”

Cautiously, I started toward the door, glancing back over my shoulder at Jo, who nodded encouragingly. But outside, he was nowhere to be seen, and when I knocked timidly on his bedroom door, glancing nervously over my shoulder in case I was spotted trying to enter his bedroom, there was no answer. Coming back down to the gallery, I ran into Tee and a servant leading her up to one of the rooms, because she was staying the night.

“Have you seen Prince Fallon?” I asked.

“He went down that corridor there.” Tee pointed below the stairs and beamed a knowing smile that had me blushing.

“He wished to be left alone, my lady,” the servant bristled and left, forgetting to curtsy.

I stared at Tee’s back. “I bet he does.” I whirled on my tall heel and made my way down the stairs; I was back in the fishbowl and the leaving guests were staring. I did not care. In fact, I
enjoyed
it, just like I had enjoyed tormenting Valerie. My shoulders squared; my head raised.

Nobody could hurt me in that moment.

It was a moonless night beyond the glass room, and the only light and warmth came from the out-of-place stone hearth, where a fire roared, feasting on a freshly laid, tall pile of logs. On the oak coffee table stood a decanter and two glasses.

He was in the shadows, half concealed by tall potted plants with vast, waxy leaves. I waited for him in the doorway. He turned to look back over his shoulder and, after a pause, his body followed, and he trod the floor like he owned it, very deliberately but very slowly, closing the distance between us as though I were a wild animal that might startle.

He stopped about two meters short. “You understand what I meant by that.”

It wasn’t a question, more a command to answer.

Shaking, I lowered myself as gracefully as I could to the floor, coming to a rest in a bow with one knee raised, my weight resting on the other. I felt my dress ride up my thighs.

“I never thanked you, Your Highness, for inviting Jo to Burrator. She was humbled to meet you.”