I don't know what happens to my vision as I stomp down the corridor, surrounded by heavy red curtains and gilded walls. Everything around me feels strangely fluid, shifting at the edges like I'm looking through water.
My breath comes in shallow, rapid bursts, echoing louder than the usual quiet of the palace halls. Guards stand at attention every few feet, their gazes fixed forward, and the servants lower their eyes as I pass. No one dares to speak. No one even looks up. They're used to seeing me strong, composed, even ruthless. Today, I'm anything but.
When I reach Xavier's door, his aide, Ethan, steps forward as if to open it for me, but I wave him off with a sharp gesture. My hand slaps against the heavy wood, and I push the door open, not bothering to mask the intensity of my entrance.
I come to a halt just inside the room, catching my breath as I take in the sight in front of me.
Xavier is sitting up in bed, his legs covered by a thick blanket, his shirt open at the collar to reveal fresh bandages around his torso. He looks tired and thin, but he's alive. Relief hits me in a wave, and I feel my knees almost buckle with it. Across from him, Christina lounges in a velvet armchair, poised and unbothered, a porcelain teacup balanced delicately in her hand. She looks every inch the noblewoman, her green-dyed hair cascading over her shoulder, as if she's attending a royal tea party rather than visiting a friend's sickbed.
They both freeze, staring at me, their eyes wide with surprise. Then, as usual, Xavier is the first to break the silence, his voice rising in mock outrage.
"I wrote to you, And she"—he jerks his forefinger at Christina, looking betrayed—"hid it!"
Christina rolls her eyes, her disdain sharp and practiced. "Because it was lame," she says, stretching the word out with absolute derision.
I ignore her and step closer to Xavier, willing my voice to stay steady. "How are you feeling now?"
I pretend not to see the piles of "Get Well Soon" cards, flowers, and gifts stacked up on a table in the corner. I catch sight of a few unwrapped boxes—a perfume bottle, a packet of herbal tea, and a bag of dried mushrooms, of all things. People trying to impress Xaden, no doubt, using Xavier's, the weakest's, sickbed as their opportunity.
He gives me a faint, reassuring smile as I sit on the edge of the bed beside him. "I'm fine. The healers said the poison was only meant to make me bleed."
My stomach twists, but I force myself to keep my expression neutral.
"Only to make you bleed?" Christina arches an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "How considerate of them."
Xavier shoots her a glare, but she just takes a dainty sip of her tea, completely unbothered. "Honestly, Xavier, your stupidity knows no bounds," she adds sweetly.
He ignores her and squeezes my hand, his fingers cold and thin. He looks fragile, his collarbones sharp beneath his pale skin, his hair tousled and messy against the pillows. Seeing him like this makes the guilt claw at me again.
"Well," he says, attempting a chuckle, "apparently I'm anemic now. They sent me these ridiculous 'blood-replenishing' mushrooms." He nods toward the bag near Christina's feet. "And, of course, half the gifts are from people trying to get on Xaden's good side."
So he knows.
"I'll take the mushrooms if you don't want them," Christina says with a smirk, setting her teacup down with an elegant flourish. "They're better in large quantities. You know, all at once."
"Don't you dare touch them."
I let out a sigh and fall back across the bed. His ceiling is empty blood red. "Christina, weren't you supposed to be meeting a suitor today?"
Xavier's eyebrows shoot up, and he gives me a look of pure exasperation. "What?"
Christina waves her hand dismissively. "Exactly why I'm here. My brother invited him, so naturally he'll be the one to marry him, have a lovely honeymoon, twins—the whole package."
Xavier shakes his head. "You really should stop doing that to your brother."
"He does it to himself," Christina replies, arching an eyebrow as she cuts herself a slice of cake. She takes a bite, then grimaces in disgust.
Xavier chuckles, his eyes brightening with humor. "If I ever have a child, I'll tell them their dad survived a terrorist attack," he says with a grin, clearly pleased with his own joke.
Christina snorts. "Bravely and heroically, I'm sure."
"Shut up,"
"And about his mother?" She teases.
Xavier grabs a pillow and hurls it at her, but the movement is too much, and he winces, clutching his stomach. I press my hand to his shoulder, pushing him gently back down against the pillows.
"Just stay still, will you?" I say, exasperated. But I can't help myself, so I add, "And what about the kid's mother?"
"Nothing!" he says quickly, his cheeks turning pink. "Honestly, Rosé, you look terrible. I told you—it's not your fault."
"You didn't," I reply quietly, looking away, swallowing hard. "And even if you did, it wouldn't make it true."
The room falls silent, only broken by the faint crunch of a sugar cube as Christina drops it into her tea. She picks up a newspaper from the table beside her, unfolding it with unusual interest.
My gaze catches on the headline on the front page: "King's Health in Decline; Cheshire Cat Missing." Beneath it, in smaller print: "What Will Become of Highspire?"
The Cheshire Cat. The elusive figure who maintains the delicate balance between Highspire's upper circles and the undercity. With him gone, the city could very well tip into chaos. No, it's already in chaos. I feel a pang of anxiety, but I bury it. No one needs to see my worry—not here, not now.
I listen to the ticking of the clock for a long time.
Then, Xavier reaches over to the nightstand and picks up a small, silver locket. It glints in the sunlight, the deep purple gemstone embedded in the center catching the light.
"I found this," he says, holding it out to me. "It was tangled in my blazer after…well, after the stabbing. It looked familiar. Didn't you have one like it?"
My heart skips a beat as I take the locket. The cool silver is familiar against my skin, and the gemstone—a dark, bruised shade of purple—sends a shock through me. I recognize it immediately. I had a similar locket, lighter in color, but this one…this belonged to my brother, Rhys.
I clutch it tightly, pressing my thumb over the stone. And then, faintly, I feel it—a slow, steady pulse, like a heartbeat.
A heartbeat.