Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,68

it was easier than confessing to the want, and the craving, and the dark ribbon of desire that winds itself around my chest, my heart, and squeezes the air from my lungs.

I am not Young Rowena.

Rolling my shoulders back, I push away from the desk and pass a hand over my shorn hair. The welts from the fire have made way for peach fuzz. It’s a far cry from the thick hair that once swung freely down my back. Dwelling on it, though, won’t miraculously lengthen the strands.

For better or worse, this is who I am for the foreseeable future: powerful in a way that has nothing to do with the beauty of my face and everything to do with the steel in my spine.

Broken, but never defeated.

I knot the sash of my silk robe with my head held high.

My bare feet slip over the soft rug.

The bronze doorknob is chilly against my palm.

A warm draft from the ceiling ventilator heats my shoulders when I step into the hallway and turn left, toward the floor’s landing. Powerful or not, I pray that Hugh won’t leave his bedroom to find me fumbling my way down the hall. Pray even harder that none of the others will decide on an impromptu visit to my room, only to find it empty.

They were all horrified by Damien’s terms.

And disgusted.

It goes without saying that the Mad Priest hasn’t made friends in this house.

I stop outside Damien’s room and touch my fingers to the doorknob. It’s warm from the overhead ventilator, or maybe it only feels that way because I’m burning up inside. Nerves gnaw at my stomach and sweat pools in my palms. I should be just as horrified, just as disgusted, as Hugh and Sara and Gregory. Hell, it wouldn’t be hard to dredge up a sliver of self-loathing. Not when I’ve basked in it for years, smothering myself in hate and desolation and the never-ending frustration of despising what I once allowed to be done to my mind, body, and soul.

With my hand still on the doorknob, I wait for those long-ago emotions to surge again, prepared to turn my arse back around at the slightest hesitation. Only, all there is more heat, more want, more—

“The house isn’t a secret, brother.”

Damien.

Releasing the knob, I press my cheek to the door.

“How long have I known?” There’s the squeak of coil springs like he’s sat down on the bed inside his room. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? I never would have said anything if not for what . . .”

A drawn-out pause has me white-knuckling the doorframe.

Which brother is he talking to? And, for his sake, he better not be discussing this house. God only knows what might happen if Holyrood catches wind of Holly Village on the same night that we laid siege to the Palace.

Unmitigated disaster seems like a gross understatement.

“Holyrood is in your blood,” Damien goes on, his voice slightly muffled. “It’s who we are . . . Don’t you think I know that? It’s not like . . . Saxon, she was shot. I had no idea what I’d be up against coming here, so I rang Guy . . . Then say nothing. For once in your goddamn life, don’t do the honorable thing . . . She’ll never even know.”

Who won’t know what?

Like the cat that ate the canary, I shove my ear flat against the door.

“Paul will keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him. As for Hamish and Matthews, they respect you. They won’t turn around and backstab . . . I know. I know. Jesus, I’ve never heard you so worked up . . . Listen, the queen can stay there and still be fucking blissful in her ignorance that Isla killed John. No one—”

The gasp slides out unbidden.

Loud enough for Damien to stop talking and the bed to creak with the release of his weight. Loud enough for me to estimate that I have only seconds before he finds me eavesdropping outside his door, and . . . oh, fuck me.

I run.

Without thought, without a plan.

Vertigo turns my limbs weightless, uncoordinated, and I careen into the wall with a pained grunt. Don’t stop. Don’t stop! The world around me spins and spins and spins like a swirling fog that won’t dissipate. Desperate, I thrust out my arms to grope my way along the hallway.

A door cracks open.

Footsteps enter the corridor.

And then we’re both running, him chasing me, as he promised he