Storm Reawakened

Trust Exercise

Every vein in me freezes with cold blood. The image of the bodies; pale, twisted, and horrifyingly silent has me fisting my hands and digging my nails into my palms. This can't be real, but it is.

I swallow hard, shifting my gaze to the grass a few feet away and only look up when the sound of hurried footsteps pound against the pathway.

Hawthorne's personal guards have materialized, their normally intimidating forms now dressed in uniforms of military attire, dark blue coats blending into the night. Gone are the dresses and gentlemen's evening wear.

They flank the Duke on either side, carefully assessing the situation before each of them turn and look at me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I force down a hysterical laugh that's dying to choke out of me. Because I can feel it. The accusation that lies in their glances when they eye the vial and then look at me.

They all think I did it.

Hawthorne is too busy examining the bodies to notice, so I stagger back and quickly leave—fleeing the garden to rid myself of the feel of incrimination that's prescribed to Evara Storm, the villainess.

Everything around me is a blur as I hurry to the library that's been my sanctuary for weeks in order to avoid Hawthorne. I push the doors open and adjust my eyesight to the dark, taking in the familiar scent of old books and wooden shelves.

Passing the settee that's acted as a bed, I hole myself in a quiet corner, finally sliding to the floor and release the sob that's been itching the back of my throat—I need to unleash the water works because if those stares have unsettled me, then I can only imagine what everyone else in the manor might think.

Bringing up my knees, I wrap my arms around my legs and drop my head. The tears—thankfully—end and I shut my eyes and wish I had a binge-worthy Netflix show playing in the background to drown out the silence and the child-like loneliness that creeps inside of me.

*****************

"Duchess!"

"Duchess! Please wake up!"

Groaning, the searing pain in my back and creak in my neck are enough to make me remorseful—I should have slept on the too pretty settee.

"What?" I groaned, yanking my eyes open and rubbing them.

"The Duke is looking for you!" Arin cried, crinkling the apron of her uniform with nervous hands.

"I see," I replied tiredly.

"Has something happened?" Ellis asked, stepping closer to observe my tear stained face.

She doesn't know? A sideways glance at Arin is enough to surmise that she doesn't know either. Shouldn't the entire household be in an uproar by now? They should all know about the bodies.

"Nothing. But I'd like to freshen up and change, please. I don't want to be seen like this," I said, gesturing towards my face.

They quietly nod, following me out the door and lead me into a separate room of the Duchess' quarters to go through the notions of a toilette and steep myself in a quick, warm bath before fixing my hair into a simple fish-braid and fasten the tiny, almost invisible buttons of an early 20th century pale blue dress that blessedly covers me up.

I didn't want to be exposed—every inch of skin would crawl with the accusations I'm in store for. And the last thing I want to do is rub my bare arms and let the rumours and stares seep deep into my pores.

"There. Finished, although..." Ellis began, trailing when I give her a frail look.

Sighing, I smooth the satin fabric at my waist. "What?"