The King's Eye

Chapter 16

Blood dripped over the side of the bed in rivulets, dribbling off the red stained sheets onto the floor like the ending of a storm.

From across the room it was almost impossible to tell just how still his body was amongst all that blood. My fingers had been coated in it. Dried and sticky, it clung to my face and neck.

I had never realized how much blood there could be. The metallic tang of it stuck to my lips from the splatter. From him fighting back. I could still feel his fingers grabbing at my throat, wrapping around with what strength he had left before it all ended. His chest had lifted and lowered through labored wet breaths, until it turned into choking. The silence of drowning out of water consuming him. And then nothing.

There had been so much blood.

I watched for the rise and fall of his chest. Watched and waited as if it would suddenly start moving again. Because maybe I hadn't taken his life so ruthlessly. Maybe it wasn't real.

Stumbling on shaky legs, my eyes looked at the nightmare that lay on the bed. Slit ear to ear, his throat exposed my bad aim with the dagger I grabbed from his bedside table. The shaky slash was not done in one swipe. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was slightly ajar as if he tried to curse me one last time, and yet something tethered me to him. Pulling me closer until I was kneeling on the edge of the bed. Until I was crawling closer to hear for a heartbeat on my hands and knees, the bed shifting under me.

Still. He was so still. Frozen into place by death itself. Lowering my ear to his chest, I checked for a pulse. I checked for that drumming rush I heard in my ears as I screamed at him during that final blow, but silence met me.

Looking up at his face one last time, I brushed the hair that had fallen to his forehead back into place with the tips of my fingers. The moonlight caressed the sharp angles of his face, his nose shadowing half of it. As I pulled my hand away, those green eyes flashed open. The haze of death gone as they set on their target, but I couldn't move. Stuck hovering above him, I looked in those eyes as my stomach sank. The feeling of his fingers gripping around my throat made me gasp for air.

⚹⚹⚹⚹

The dream had woken me in such a panic, I felt as if I truly couldn't breathe. Francis's hands still grabbed at my throat as my gasps came out, but he laid next to me fast asleep. The constant rise and fall of his chest only reminded me that none of it had been real, even though somewhere within me I had wished it was.

Between my fingers a cigarette was lit, the fresh tobacco smell reminiscent of a wet nurse from my childhood. In the daze of my dream I had made my way outside, snagging the cigarette from Francis's jacket as I walked out the door into the damp summer air. From a distance I could see the storm clouds rolling away over the tops of buildings, leaving sparkling stars against the navy blue sky.

Beyond the brick walls of the garden, I could hear the rats scattering along the cobblestone in search of any forgotten morsel. The sound of their nails scraping each stone with every step was almost lost to the drunken laughter and yelling further down the street. I didn't think it was possible to miss that sound while at Versailles, but I had. I had even missed the rancid smells of the city.

Taking one last drag, I blew out the smoke in one deep exhale before snuffing the cigarette out in an abandoned flower pot.

Simone appeared out of the darkness, almost making me jump up from the rope swing I had been sitting on. I found myself fanning the air to hide my smoking.

"Your Grace," she said, bowing her head. "I thought you may like some warm milk." Her hand reached out a glass. "For your nerves." Her tired eyes still managed to smile with her face.