The Sculpture And The Sculpted

Chapter 42

Hannibal thought he had been prepared for all of the questions and conversations that came at him with a vengeance, but he was regretfully wrong. By the time the night had worn down and it was politically polite enough to end everything, Hannibal's throat was sore from talking. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken so much and for it to be all about him was punishing. He felt like he had written his memoir in a matter of hours and he was exhausted.

Hannibal's feet were aching as he left the dining hall with Will and he apologized to Brian and James, promising that they would speak the next morning. Neither of them seemed happy with the situation, but they also didn't seem angry either and Hannibal was relieved by the fact that he would still have friends in the morning.

The sting came out of nowhere.

One moment he was laughing, listening to Will talk, and the next, a sharp crack split the air. His head snapped to the side, the impact radiating through his cheek and jaw. It felt as if a hot iron had seared his skin, leaving a burning imprint of the hand that struck him.

Time seemed to slow. His thoughts scrambled, trying to catch up with the sudden jolt of pain. A ringing sound filled his ears, drowning out everything else. He could taste the metallic tang of blood where his teeth had cut into his cheek. His vision blurred for a second, then refocused, the world seeming just a bit off-kilter.

His face throbbed, the sensation pulsing in time with his heartbeat as his hand went to the hot skin to check for damage. He forced himself to take a breath. The physical pain was intense, but it was the emotional shock that truly left him reeling. It wasn't just the slap; it was the raw, unfiltered emotion behind it. It was the silent message that words couldn't convey.

A strange mixture of shock and something else he couldn't quite name flooded through him as he was hugged tightly. His mind raced, questions without answers spinning in his head. He could only stand there, suspended in the aftermath of the slap and looked down at the dark haired woman who had delivered it.

"You're a bastard," Alana said into his chest. "Making me think the worst of you and then admitting something like that. I took care of you!"

Hannibal met Will's gaze, finding bitten back anger. Brian and James looked just as shocked as Hannibal felt. He wasn't exactly sure what to do, but he slowly wrapped his arms around the woman who had cared for him all those years ago.

It had never occurred to him that others would be so affected by his short presence here. He had been a spectacle, sure, but he had never dreamt just how large of an extravaganza his life had become. He had never thought that random servants would remember him. Perhaps just a passing thought or a long forgotten memory. Had they all held onto that question of his whereabouts for this many years?

The surprise he had felt when Will realized who he was was nothing compared to this. Had that event shaped all of them so soundly? How could some random little orphaned boy have done so much lasting damage to a kingdom he had been in barely a fortnight?

But perhaps he had. Alana had been there every night until he faked being asleep or had actually found sleep. She read to him, held his hand, comforted him when he cried, though he never spoke to her. She bathed him and changed his bandages. She made sure he ate and had enough water to drink. She had been there, every step of the way, hidden in the background and it only now occurred to him how incredibly unfair it had been to keep this woman in the dark.

"Forgive me," Hannibal whispered, tightening his grip on her. "Thank you for being a mother to me for that time. I never did get to properly express my appreciation for your kindness."