one made the trip to come see me. Beckett included.
If I’m completely honest, I might have pushed them away. Maybe I told them one too many times that I didn’t want them to see me like I was, broken and immobile, and they finally listened.
Now, there’s an undercurrent of animosity between us all, and I don’t exactly know why.
Beckett nods to my head, where the stark white bandage leaves a streak against my dark hair. “You never told me what happened to your head.”
“I fell over and hit my head in Margot’s kitchen.”
Beckett arches an eyebrow. “I won’t ask what you were doing in the kitchen.”
“Eating cinnamon buns, actually,” I grin, raising the pastry up. I don’t mention Margot’s sister—it’s too much fun to see Beckett squirm.
My brother glances to the wall behind me, and I can see him gathering the courage to say something. I wait patiently until he starts, munching on my breakfast. It feels like Ivy made it especially for me.
Beckett finally swings his eyes over to me. “Theo wants me to take you and your girlfriend out on Farcliff Lake today. Something about a yacht and a photo opportunity.”
“Maybe Theo should worry less about our public image, and more about actually ruling Argyle. Why are we here, anyway? We should be home, taking care of our people.”
Beckett shrugs. “We need to improve trade relations with Farcliff. Dante is in Argyle running things while he’s here.”
Our other brother, Dante, decided not to make the trip to Farcliff. I don’t blame him. He’s always shied away from the public eye.
“It’s a farce,” I grunt.
“You should worry less about Argyle’s image, and more about your own.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. Be ready in two hours.” Beckett opens his mouth as if to say something, then shakes his head and stands up. He throws one more glance my way and leaves without another word.
I finish my breakfast, mulling over the conversation. The way Beckett looks at me feels like he’s suspicious of me for some reason.
My family should be doting on me. They should be showering me with love and affection, and congratulating me on my recovery.
Instead, I feel like a stranger.
An intruder.
A reject.
Downing the rest of my coffee, I lick the sticky cinnamon off my fingers and stand up. The burning feeling in my extremities has faded, and the familiar, soothing numbness is starting to take hold. I stretch my neck from side to side, closing my eyes to clear my head.
When I open my eyes back up again, my vision seems sharper. I pull some clothes on, making sure to slip my hard case containing my weed into my back pocket, and a few backup painkillers into my breast pocket. I pat them with my hand, letting out a breath.
Knowing that I have the drugs in my pocket calms me down. It’s not that I want to take them right now, it’s just that I need to know they’re on hand.
When I walk out of my room, my steps feel light. A soft smile drifts over my lips as the drugs take hold of my body. My spine feels good as new. The tingling and burning in my extremities is gone, and the ache in my marrow fades to nothing.
For the next hour or so, I’ll be pain free. I’ll be normal. Healthy. Whole.
I let my feet take me down a wide staircase and around to a servant’s hallway. I already know where I’m going. It’s as if an invisible tether is dragging me down to the kitchens, pulling me toward Ivy. My Poison.
Well, one of them, at least.
When I get downstairs, Ivy is pushing the exterior door open, carrying a bag of garbage. Two big, floury handprints mark her ass.
I grin, following her outside.
“How was your first day?”
Ivy flings the trash bag into a dumpster before turning to face me. She has another mark of flour across her forehead. Strands of black hair try their best to escape the bun on top of her head, framing her in a fuzzy black halo.
“George is a slave driver,” she huffs.
“Will he notice if you’re gone for a few minutes?”
Ivy’s eyebrow arches.
I nod down the path. “I need your help with something.”
Ivy glances at the closed door leading back to the kitchens. Her eyes flash, and a grin tugs at the corner of her lips.
She shrugs. “Why not? Lead the way, Your Highness.”
11
Ivy
I wipe my hands on my apron and glance one last time at the kitchen door. Prince