She was too quick. Too focused. Too sure of her intent. And I was woeful y unprepared to handle her.
Despite being warned by the dream, I never stood a chance.
Never imagined she’d be the one to bring me my death.
And now, after arranging it to look like an accident, she’s gone.
Leaving me to fal deeper and deeper into a never-ending pool of blackness.
* * *
I can hear his voice drifting from miles away. The sound garbled, distorted, as though traveling from the depths of a very deep sea, as though grappling for the surface, grappling for me.
And though I want more than anything to nod vigorously, to wave my arms, to shout out loud and clear that I’ve heard him, received his message, that I’m aware that he’s near—I can’t seem to manage those things.
I can’t see. Can’t move. Can’t speak.
It’s like I’m already locked in my coffin, buried alive, aware of what goes on al around me, but unable to participate.
Struggling with al of my might to hang onto his words, his presence, to find a way to reach him before I’m gone for good.
He is frantic, mournful, despondent, and stricken when he cries, “Who has done this to her? I wil kil them!” Fol owed by a long stream of threats that spew forth from his lips, pausing every now and then to alternate between begging favors of God and demanding to know why that same God has beseeched him—robbed him of his one and only chance at true love.
“It appears to be an accident,” says a voice I instantly recognize as belonging to Rhys. And I can’t help but recoil, can’t help but hope against hope that it wasn’t his hand I just felt at my brow.
“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!” Alrik cries. “This is your fault—you and your big mouth. Damn you, brother! Look what you’ve done!”
“Me?” Rhys laughs, a deeply sarcastic sound. “How could I possibly have caused this when I’ve only just arrived?”
I strain to hear, wondering if Alrik suspects the truth, that it’s Esme, his betrothed, who left me like this.
My hopes crashing when he says, “If you hadn’t told Father, I wouldn’t have been delayed. I would have been here to save her from …
from this … fall.” He shudders, his hand quivering, breath like a sob. “This never would’ve happened, if it wasn’t for you.”
“Brother, please. Get ahold of yourself. Why would I do this when I have as much to lose as you do?” Rhys’s voice remains steady, firm, a cruel contrast to his brother’s never-ending sorrow, his deep-seated grief.
“You haven’t lost anything,” Alrik says, his words just barely audible. “You can have the crown—I don’t want it. You are free to marry Esme, as wel —I couldn’t stand to look at her now. It is I who have lost. I’ve lost everything—the only thing that’s ever meant anything to me … Adelina,” he whispers, fingers smoothing my brow, my cheek, trailing down to my neck, where they pause, linger, his voice pleading when he adds, “Adelina, why? Why has this happened? Why are you leaving me?”
Because of the dream, I try to say, but no words wil come, so I concentrate on thinking it instead. I tried to warn you, tried to prepare you, but you brushed it away …
“Oh, Adelina, you saw this, didn’t you? You tried to warn me last night when you woke from your nightmare, but I only wanted to soothe you, I refused to listen…”
For a moment, I felt myself drifting, losing my grip, but when he just spoke, his words echoing my own, something deep inside of me jerked to attention.
Did he … is it possible that he somehow heard me? Sensed the thoughts I was sending to him?
Alrik! Alrik, can you hear me? Please know that I love you. I concentrate on the words, concentrate with al of my might, al that is left.
Wondering, hoping that he’l sense those words too. I have always loved you. I always will love you. Nothing can keep us apart, not even my death.
“I love you, Adelina,” he whispers, one hand at my brow, the other entwined with mine, frantical y pushing some cool, round piece of metal, what could only be my wedding band, onto my finger. “I have always loved you, I always wil love you. You wil always live in my heart … you wil always be my bride…” His voice breaks, as a flood of fresh tears rain onto my face.
Well, how about that? I think, wil ing a smile but not quite succeeding. I’m immobile, locked in, and yet, we have this—the thoughts that stream between us.
I’m just about to attempt it again, eager to let him know that al is not lost, that I’m not gone yet, that a glimmer of me stil exists, when I hear a rush of heavy footsteps fol owed by Heath’s voice saying, “The doctor is here.”
The next few moments are spent poking, prodding, and feeling for a pulse so faint the doctor nearly misses it. His voice grave, his prognosis grim, his final pronouncement the last thing Alrik wants to hear.