When vengeance strikes in the form of a bullet out for the princess's blood, Princess Aleia VonAuclair must flee the heart of her country in order to protect the people she loves and take back the pieces of her soul she'd lost to the girl she once l...
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One Year Later
"Yes, the farm is quite lively these days," Mr. Ener, the local bee farmer continued.
"That's wonderful to hear, Mr. Ener."
The greying of his beard shook with every syllable and while I loved listening to stories about my people's day-to-day business affairs, I found it harder than I had the heart to admit to keep my attention on the man's less than enthusiastic face, his expression mirroring the monotone in his voice.
"The bees have been dandier than I've ever seen them. I've managed to harvest almost 20 bottles of fresh honey last week after the season's market and I-"
I wrung out my clammy palms as subtly as I could, the smile on my face as bright and welcoming as possible. So much so, I faintly heard a stretch in my facial muscles. Mr. Ener was a sweet man but I was beginning to wonder whether I was going to make it out of this conversation with my sanity intact.
Tonight was the official ceremony celebrating the opening of Belsa, Asrea's first shelter organization and one I'd dedicated in honor of Isa. Not many knew that, and I'd rather it be kept that way.
I didn't think people would be thrilled to know that the newest charity addition was in honor of the late Scarlet Slayer. Nevertheless, it was, and I couldn't be happier.
A year of board meetings, site visitations, budget plannings and hosing down the legalities of a multibranched shelter organization with Cecila and the contract was finally signed and stamped. And yet...as thrilled and grateful as I was, for some reason, I couldn't help the overwhelming sense of unease eat me alive. The knots in my stomach were being pulled tighter and tighter with every second that passed and it took every ounce of effort I had left to keep my lunch from resurfacing.
Two years had passed since the night of Nate and I's birthday ball and while time had washed away the lingering memory of the nightmares and fears that had once trailed me, the shadow of that night had never quite faded away. I couldn't attend a ball without glancing over to the mezzanine above, afraid I might catch sight of another glint of a gun. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without looking over my scars and remembering the pure terror that had paralyzed me when I realized it had been pointed at me.
The years had dulled the ache of the memory, but it would take decades before it dwindled into the distance, far enough it could no longer touch me.
And so with the hundreds of guests milling through the dwindling evening, sauntering their way through the elegant ballroom floor and the soft jazz music trickling from the band in the corner, all I wanted to do was lock myself up in the nearest bathroom and never leave.
I was a nervous wreck, and usually in situations like these, I'd either have Edrian or a stacked plate of chocolate covered strawberries to help calm me down. Today, I had neither.
