𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 ✔

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mother departed with a slam of the door, and on her way out she left me to deal with an awful truth. One I could have never imagined in a million years.

Cordelia had no comforting words, for she too had been taken aback by such a revelation. She had been my personal maid for half of my life and not a single person had told her or let it slip off the tongue.

It was a wonder in itself, how I had not found out about my own greatest sin, or even had any recollection of having committed it. I could not even fathom how I could have forgotten such a thing.

That I was a murderer.

Yet, for once in my life, I finally understood her unbridled hate towards me, the motivation behind her attempts to take my life, and why she could not look at me for long periods of time before she sent me away. But now I wish I hadn't. For it was much easier believing she had been the monster between the two of us, and not I.

I, however, did not feel like a killer, nor had I ever wanted to harm another being. Yet I was. Not only had I taken the life of another, I had taken the life of my own newly born little brother. Snuffed out his light before he even had a chance to shine.

But surely, I would have remembered it? Remembered doing something so heinous, so evil. Still, I had no knowledge of even having a brother, dead or not. I had never seen a gravestone for him, no box of mementos to remember him by, or anything really to even hint at the prior existence of a brother. Though, Father must have done any and everything possible to keep such a scandal from arising.

If they had hated me as much as mother admitted, would it not have been more beneficial to send me off to a convent? To get rid of me? But instead, they kept me.

A large part of me felt relieved, however, knowing that I had forgotten the event entirely. Because I would not have been able to live with such memories constantly replaying in my mind.

Although, I started to wonder how much longer the memories would stay repressed now that I had been reminded of their existence. And the more I thought about it the more it terrified me.

Of course, there was a possibility it was all a lie, but the pain in mother's eyes screamed otherwise. The way she spoke to me with that the crazed look upon her face reminded me of the day she nearly killed me.

With just one look, I would recall the feeling of her hands around my neck, squeezing the life out of me. My mind would fill with the memories of the harsh purples, blues and blacks that enveloped my throat in the shape of each and every finger of hers. The inability to speak, the burst veins in my eyes and the horrible pain that lingered on afterwards.

But what I remembered most of all was the begging. The tears falling from both of our eyes as she screamed how much she hated me, and I croaked out how much I loved her.

And now, all of it. Every beating, every scolding, and every hate fueled glair, it all made sense to me. So much sense that I, in a way, felt I could no longer blame her for everything she had done.

. . .

Since us suitresses we in no real danger, unlike the royals, we been given the option to ride with one another if we pleased. Of course, the de Marre cousins wanted to ride together, and had also invited me since their carriage had comfortably seated four.

I, however, would have preferred to have ridden with only Cordelia after mother's surprise visit. My mind had been scattered, as I constantly went over everything she had said. Fighting with myself over whether or not it was true.

But despite my need for even more solitude, after being absent from society for nearly a week, I did not have a choice. The others had to see me or, if left to fester, their dangerous speculations could have been my ruin.