Lauren Hawkeye - My Royal Sin / Playing Dirty

I set my jaw. “I am not my brother.”

“No, you aren’t.” X appraises me with a shrewd eye. “You have too much of your mother in you.”

My throat constricts. Perhaps if she’d lived, none of what has occurred in my family would have ever happened. Damien wouldn’t have grown reckless and self-destructive from carrying the crushing burden of guilt for her death. Nikolai would have been saved earlier from his wanton bad-boy behavior. Perhaps she’d have even softened Father to my existence, encouraged me to walk a different life path despite my duty to serve the church.

But daydreaming about what-ifs is a luxury not afforded a member of the royal family. “You knew my mother?” I ask.

“She was a wonderful and kindhearted woman who loved her children more than life itself.”

“How about my father?” I don’t know where this rush of anger comes from, but it hits me with a tidal-wave force. “Tell me. Did you happen to be acquainted with the Captain of the Guard?”

X rises to his feet, the ancient book clattering from his lap. “Is that truly what you think of your mother? That she was unfaithful to her husband and king?”

Shame circulates in my veins.

“It’s what everyone whispers,” I challenge. “They say that my mother played the whore while my father the king was away on diplomatic duty. That I am the living, breathing testament to her transgression. Isn’t that why my cuckolded father insists that I walk this lonely path, destined never to love or be loved, only to atone for the sins of a woman that I barely remember and a man that I have never met? My duty is atonement.”

There it is, the bitter truth, out at last.

“Benedict...” X winces. “Is this what you truly believe?”

“It is what I know,” I say with quiet resignation. “It is my life and has been since I was old enough to understand the burden I bear.”

He looks as if he means to say more, but as he opens his mouth, a muffled but bloodcurdling scream pierces through the ceiling.

Ruby. Evangeline.

We race to the stairs and fly to my bedchamber.

Evangeline

I don’t recognize the room or the bed, not even the thin silk gown that covers my otherwise naked form. But she stares at me from where I clutch the pillow to my body. The angel stares, and I can do nothing but scream.

“Ruby!” a rough voice cries, but I do not know this name. I do not know the man who speaks it. “Go to her, Benedict. I will search for intruders.”

A strong hand grips my shoulder, and I thrash against it, crying out until my throat is raw.

“Evangeline!” He is stronger than I am, pulling me to him even as I let go of the pillow and beat against his chest. “Evangeline!” he cries again, and something deep within awakens as recognition blooms, as the warmth of his touch breaks through the icy fear.

I stop fighting, and my shoulders droop as I sink into him, my arms wrapping tight around his neck.

“Benedict,” I say, trembling, my senses returning.

“Shh, angel. You’re safe now.” He strokes my hair and cradles me in his arms as I try to catch my breath, the screams and sobs finally subsiding. “X,” he says over my shoulder. “A glass of water, please.”

“Yes, Highness,” I hear, now recognizing the other male voice as that of Benedict’s bodyguard. “All windows are secure, as is the door. I suspect it was only a dream.”

Seconds later X returns, handing Benedict the water, which he gingerly brings to my lips.

“Drink,” he says, and I do. My throat burns and my vision is still blurry from the tears, but I know where I am now, that I am safe, if only for the moment.

But the angel in the painting is still here—staring, judging. She knows I will betray my prince. And dream or no dream, I know I’m right. It’s all too coincidental—what has happened to my family and now this portrait the Madam wants, a portrait so clearly of me.

“They will come for me,” I say softly after a few sips. “They came for my father, my brother. Soon I will be next.”

Benedict sets the water on the night table next to the bed, and I cling to him even tighter.

“This is not the first time you’ve had such a dream,” he says, a statement rather than a question.

I shake my head. “It has been some time, though. I thought I’d rid myself of the nightmares years ago after Jasper found a wonderful doctor who helped me find peace with my father’s death. He is a good big brother, you know. He’s taken care of me since I was a young teen.”

I bury my head in Benedict’s chest, taking in his soothing woodsy scent, cedar and fresh-cut pine.

“His imprisonment has been difficult on you,” he says, and I nod against him. Then I look up, my eyes meeting his. “You can tell me more,” he adds. “If you want.”

And because no man has ever looked at me as he does—with such protectiveness, such care—I want to tell him everything. Instead, I settle for the dream.

“When I was younger, it was always me standing on the side of the road where my father crashed. I would have to watch him slamming on the brakes while the car kept speeding toward its violent end. Toward his end. And every time, just before I’d wake up, the whole scenario would slow down. As his car would wrap around the tree, I’d hear his voice telling me, ‘Find the map, Eva. Find the map and save us all.’” I let out a nervous laugh. “That sounds ridiculous, right? The doctor who helped put the dream to rest convinced me that it was my own subconscious wanting to find a way to save my father.”

Benedict tilts my chin up and brushes a soft kiss over each of my tear-soaked eyes.

“And now, angel?”

I steady myself. “Now it is almost the same dream, but it is Jasper behind the wheel and not my father. Yet the message has not changed, only the voice that makes the plea.” I straighten in my prince’s lap, more sure of myself than I’ve been for quite some time. “I think that doctor was wrong, or that maybe he didn’t want me searching for whatever map this might be. Because I know my father was murdered. And I know my brother was set up. And if I don’t figure this all out before they do—whoever they are—they will come for me next.”

X clears his throat, and we both turn to where he stands in the doorway. X’s jaw tightens. “Let me return to the library to continue my studies. I assure you that you and Miss Rub—Evangeline Vernazza—are safe. I should have more concrete information for you by morning. For now, I think it best you stay with your guest.”

Benedict opens his mouth to argue, but I interrupt.

“Please don’t leave,” I say to him. “If X can help, let him, but don’t leave me alone here tonight.”

He sighs and nods toward the doorway. “I will see you after my morning benediction, X. Meet me in the prayer room at ten. With answers.”

X bows. “Yes, Your Highness.” Then he dips his head toward me. “Rest well, Evangeline.” And before I can thank him, he is out the door so quickly it’s as if he was never there to begin with.

“How does he do that?” I ask. “It’s like a magic trick.”

Benedict laughs. “Just wait,” he says. “I have seen him bypass doors altogether. Perhaps one day you will, too.”

His tone is wistful, as if he speaks of a time in the future when our lives will still overlap, but I know this cannot be true as sure as I know that the way he holds me now is out of necessity, to wake me from the terror that threatens my sleep.

I swing my legs off his, but he does not let go of me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “This is most inappropriate. I should go clean myself up.”

His only response is to dip his head toward mine and kiss me again. This time, though, there is nothing of the hunger from before. Just a sweet, gentle yearning as his tongue slips past my parted lips, as we both taste the lingering salt of my tears.