Nothing can make you feel as helpless and crazy as not being able to trust your own memory and perception of your life.
And right now, I want to stand up in this carriage and scream at him in front of his royal family and all the onlookers under their reign and insist that he tell me exactly what I did.
Because I wouldn’t…
There’s no way I could possibly have…
But then again… I killed a man, and I don’t have any recollection of that.
And even though—truthfully and as terrible of a person it might make me—betraying Malachi in the way he insists I did is way worse in my mind… even I can admit that it’s possible that I did.
In fact, the sharp contrast of who he is now compared with who he’d always been is practically glaring evidence that I am guilty.
I’ve known since he reappeared—hell, since he disappeared—that something unfathomably awful happened to him to have caused such a cataclysmic shift in him.
And it appears that unfathomably awful thing was something I did, which I apparently admitted to and bragged about.
I cast my gaze discreetly toward his face, and it’s obvious there behind the deep pools of silvery pewter.
Hate expertly masking deep, soulish brokenness.
I destroyed the person I loved more than anything in the world. And I don’t even remember doing it.
No wonder he’s like this. No wonder he treats me like poison, and toxins, and pure evil personified. No wonder he hates me. No wonder, no wonder, no wonder…
“I’m sorry, Malachi,” I whisper against his cheek. “It’s true, I don’t remember what I did, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Your apology is both eleven years too late and also inconsequential,” he mumbles, then places a very princely kiss on my cheek and turns his faux-pleasant expression back to the crowds.
Hot tears are forming on my eye rims as a boulder-sized lump grows in my throat, but I manage to swallow both, and then turn back to the onlookers and wave happily.
Just like the sick and twisted fairy tale this is. Only now, I realize I’m the villain.
AFTER REACHING THE END of the parade route, the four of us exit the carriage to mingle amongst the people in a traditional Christmas market. Vendors offer delectable desserts and fine chocolate creations, handcrafted ornaments, and ornate tapestries that feature everything from Baby Jesus to Saint Nicholas. At the center square, the Celtic band has set up next to a wooden dance floor where children and couples twirl and sway and stomp their feet in time to the lively music. Across from that is a puppet show with vintage marionettes, and children sit in small, brightly colored wooden chairs in front of it, pealing with giggles at the antics.
We stand to pose for official photographs next to the carriage for a few minutes, and then Malachi turns to me with the faux look of an adoring husband. He brushes my hair away from my face before holding the sides of my arms and leaning in to kiss my cheek.
“You will walk with Cordelia,” he growls. “You will be charming and poised, and you will use her as your perfect example. She behaves the way a woman of this family is supposed to. So mimic her flawlessly.”
If she’s so great, why didn’t you both marry her? I want to snap, but the still-fresh realization that I’m the villain in this royal nightmare causes me to merely nod compliantly and address him the way he told me to at the very beginning.
“Yes, Duke, of course.”
Right before we had sex two weeks ago, Malachi vowed that the only thing that would rectify what I did was him breaking my defiant spirit. The realization has instantly caused me to break it myself. And maybe if I can carry that penance long enough, it’ll be enough for us to coexist in some semblance of peace.
I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, but I don’t want to look up and see the reality of what I did and can’t even remember in his eyes.
“Duchess.”
In this situation, penance requires compliance, and I look up.
“I can see that you’re suddenly feeling very badly about what you did. But I can assure you that whatever it is you’re feeling…” A muscle in his slightly stubbled jaw pulses. “I have felt far worse. And I hope the weight of your guilt crushes you to the point that it kills you before your thirtieth birthday so I can live the rest of my life in peace without you.”
I swallow discreetly. “Yes, sir.”
The corner of Malachi’s mouth quirks in unprecedented pleasure at my compliant response, his eyes glinting smugly, and he leans forward to kiss my forehead. “Very good. Enjoy the festivities, and Philipp and I will rejoin you and Cordelia at the end of the afternoon.”
He turns me with a hand on my shoulder, and I step away to join Cordelia.
She and I stroll through the market, stopping to speak to the vendors and ask about their offerings. The people of Corwick are very respectful of us, not clamoring and merely greeting us with lit-up smiles and curtseys and bows. Some ask if they can take a photo with us, and we oblige them. It’s all very charming, not overwhelming in the least, but I feel dead inside.
A florist has hands us both small, yet stunning bouquets of red and white roses with holly leaves and pine sprigs, and after thanking him, we continue our stroll.
“I don’t think you’re all bad, Isla,” Cordelia says out of nowhere as we pause in front of a glassblowing demonstration.
I glance at her. “I beg your pardon.”
“When your engagement was announced, Philipp explained to me your history with Malachi,” she clarifies, casting a brief, pleasant glance at the glassblower. “I disagree that one mistake should overshadow the goodness of the relationship you’ve had with the family your whole life.”
Intrigue widens my eyes at her. “Philipp told you what happened?”
She smiles and flits her fingers at a few people waving on the other side of the demonstration. “Yes, he needed to make sure I understood who you are.”
I step intimately close to her and lower my voice. “What did he say I did?”
She cuts a glance at me before waving again, and then turns her face all the way toward mine to whisper, “Just that you cheated on Malachi while you were both in college.” She hitches one shoulder and pulls slightly away. “You were young. It was college. It happens sometimes. Especially if you’ve only ever been with one person.”
Bile creeps up into my throat.
You cheated on Malachi while you were in college.
There is a lot missing from my time in college. For a lot of different reasons.
Terrible things happened to me, and I did terrible things. Things that I don’t even remember, and that only my parents know about, but even their knowledge of those things is someone else’s hearsay.
And that’s when I know for sure that Malachi has been telling the truth this whole time, and that I did actually do the unthinkable.
I could vomit right here in the middle of the cheery, chipper Christmas festival.
“Anyway, I don’t think it’s that awful,” Cordelia goes on as she offers one last wave before nudging us on to the next group of vendors. “The two of them are way too critical. They have too much pride.” She tsks lightly and then chortles. “Male ego. Their precious honor hinges explicitly on loyalty, and I’m sure it’s quite a blow if their woman dares make a purely human mistake.”