“Um, this kind.” I stood up and lifted my top. “I already know it’s a Mark of Betrayal,” I said, and Arthur’s eyes met mine. “I just can’t. . .” I motioned to the books behind me. “I can’t figure out why.”
He looked away, slowly exhaling. “I may know why.”
“Why?” I stepped closer. “What have I done?”
“It’s. . .” He seemed to be considering his words very carefully, looking from the books to me, and back again. “Eventually, you will figure it out. Eventually, it will not be a secret I can keep but, for now—” He bowed once. “I must ask you not to seek the answer.”
“Why?”
“Because I fear the truth could bring you more harm than a little rash on your flesh.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but took a second and let the words simmer through me instead, considering them, taking them for every ounce of meaning I could hear in his undertone and thinking long and hard in that second whether or not I wanted to challenge him. “Okay, so, maybe don’t tell me the truth right now, but at least tell me how it could bring me harm.”
“You’re going to lose your husband in a few short months, Amara. Any time you have with him is precious, and any memories you have from your past should only be happy ones.”
“And what’s that got to do with my rash?”
“That fact that it has anything to do with your rash is exactly why you should leave it alone. And I’ve told David the same.”
“What does he know about it?”
“He knows it’s not a rash, my dear. He wasn’t born yesterday.”
“But he doesn’t know what kind of Mark it is, does he?”
“No. Which is why he’s been looking for that book.” He nodded to the table.
“The Journal of the Auress?”
“Yes, and you must keep it from him at all costs, Amara.” He used a tone of ‘grave warning’, but it only made me laugh. He might have known the full weight of what he said but, to me, I couldn't piece anything together based on that statement, and it just wasn’t going to be enough to quash my curiosity—not for this version of me, anyway.
“I don’t understand.”
“The truth he will find in that journal will be too much for him to bear.”
“What if we want the truth, even if it has something to do with destroying happy memories?”
“Then, I guess you have a lot of reading to do, my dear.” He nodded to my books then turned on his heel. “Because you’ll not be hearing it from me.”
I huffed, dropping my hands to my hips as Arthur walked away. “How rude.”
“He means well,” Eve said, suddenly beside me. “He just doesn’t want to be the one that hurts you.”
“Hurts me?” I looked sideways at her then back at the empty library. “How would he hurt me?”
“When you figure out the puzzle, you’ll understand why.”
“Puzzle. What puzzle?” I frowned. “And, hey, why did you push me out the window the other day?”
She smiled, her young face looking innocent. “To free your soul.”
“Free my. . .? How would that free my soul? Eve?” I called, circling on the spot a few times, but the ghost was gone.
I always loved the manor kitchen, with its warm, country feel, wood counter tops crowning rustic-looking cupboards, and a giant old dining table that centred the space—its washed, fading green colour stylishly unmatched by the white chairs pushed in under it. The whole room had that ‘grandmother’s kitchen’ kind of feel, with a collection of herbs and spices grown fresh in the garden then hung inside over the windows or the stove, and a pot rack suspended from thick black chains over an island counter. But my favourite thing about this place was that, in the morning, the soft scent of fresh bread, toasted slowly over an open flame, would accompany the rich aroma of Italian Roast, drawing me gently awake the closer I got.
I wandered in and sat down, swinging my legs under the table as the carbon copy of Mike placed a mug and a pitcher of cream in front of me. “Hey, Falcon.”
“Morning, My Queen. Sleep well?”
“Knowing I had Quaid outside my door all night?” I grinned. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry.” He sat down. “I sleep better when I have a guard on you. I just. . .”
“Just?”
“You know I don’t usually order it every night. But, last night, I had a hunch.”
“A hunch?” My brow arched, the scepticism hidden behind my coffee mug as I took a sip. It was no creamy, sugary delight, like David’s coffee, but it was nice to have someone make it for me. “What kind of hunch?”
He exhaled loudly, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. “Whenever I get those . . . feelings, you usually end up in some kind of trouble.”
“But I didn’t last night.” I flashed a cheesy grin, cocking my head like an innocent puppy.
“No. But we did pick up a suspicious scent around the border of the manor this morning. Whoever it was, they may have been on their way to see you.”
“Ooh, creepy.” I dusted myself off jokingly. “Anyway, I wasn’t in my room for most of last night. I was reading in the library.”
“I know.” He sipped his coffee. “What were you looking for? Anything I can help with?”
“Hopefully. That’s why I asked you here this morning.”
“Okay, so what is it?”
“I need to show you something,” I said, feeling a little awkward.
He sat back, folding his arms as if waiting for me to tell him I’d gotten myself into some kind of mess. “Need to show me what, exactly?”
“It’s nothing bad. I mean, I hope.” I stood and lifted my shirt, scooping my jeans down an inch to show where the black rash snuck down below my pubic line.
“The Mark of Betrayal,” he said, clearing his throat after.
“You know what it is?” I twisted at the waist a little to look all the way around at the back of my hip.
“I happen to have extensively studied anything to do with you, your body, your past, and your bloodline, Ara. Of course I know what it is.”
“You’ve studied me?” I lowered my top and pulled my jeans up again.
“Your Majesty, I am Head of the Queen’s Guard. That role comes with certain expectations.” He walked over to the sink and dumped his cup in there. “I should be the number-one most educated man in this manor when it comes to you.”