Chapter Thirty
Bram is asleep, breathing softly, tucked in the middle of his feather bed. This is the first time I’ve ever been in his room, and I take a moment to look around. Unlike Emmett’s haphazardly placed books and overcrowded desk, everything in Bram’s room has been fastidiously placed: his books, the line of crystals by the window, his rings laid out on the vanity.
I duck my head under the canopy and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Bram.”
I shake him softly. “Bram.”
He wakes with a gasp and blinks a few times. “Ivy? What are you doing here?”
It’s not hard to cue the tears; they flow freely down my cheeks the minute I let the dam break. “I just spoke to the queen,” I cry. “She told me I’ve lost.”
Bram sits up in anger. “That’s not her choice to make.”
“They tried to escort me from the palace, but I ran from them,” I gasp. “I had to see you.”
I’ll let him fill in the rest. Bram will want to be the savior here. I can’t feed it to him too easily.
“But I want you,” he says urgently. “I was going to pick you.”
It breaks my heart to hear him say it. “What do we do?”
Bram pushes himself out of bed, begins pacing the room. “I can’t let her
do this. It’s my life.”
“It’s not fair,” I say.
He crosses the room and cradles my cheek in his hand. “I’m not letting her choose for me. I already chose for myself. I chose you.”
My broken heart gives a little thump. “You said yesterday you’d do anything for me.”
I can see the moment the idea comes to him. His gray eyes flash. “We could run away, marry elsewhere. Then she’d be forced to accept you.”
I pretend to hesitate. “I’m scared.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
He takes me in his arms and kisses me passionately. I feel the ghost of
Emmett all over me, but I go soft and pliant against him. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.
He’s the first one to pull back. “Go, now, before the sun rises, and pack a bag. I’ll come for you at dawn.”
“I love you,” I say. It’s not quite a lie. I want to love him, I really do.
“I love you, too.” He can’t lie. For the second time tonight, my heart
shatters. her bed. This In a daze, I walk to Belgrave Square in my nightdress through the sleepingment to look streets of London. I’m paranoid the whole walk, constantly swiveling myrowded desk, head to make sure I’m not being followed.ooks, the line I’m reminded of the night I went out to look for Lydia so many months ago.lder. “Bram.”
The back door service entrance of my family home is unlocked, as always. It’s been months since I’ve set foot in this house, and while nothingre you doing about it has changed, I feel so different from the girl I was when I last stood in this spot.ks the minute I race up the steps to my room and throw a valise on my bed to fill withme I’ve lost.” clothes for the journey.
I change into my plainest traveling dress, braid my hair, then fling mym,” I gasp. “I wardrobe doors open and toss my few day dresses into the case. At the bottom of the wardrobe is my trusty pair of boots, still mud-caked from thehere. I can’t day I won May Queen. Mama made me leave them behind when I moved into Kensington Palace.
I place them by the door, ready to run when it’s time.
On my tippy-toes, I reach to the highest shelf and grab my summer strawcan’t let her bonnet. The ribbons are stuck under something, and I pull once, twice, then go toppling backward. All of a sudden, dozens of sheets of paper rain down on me, floating like white snowflakes as they land noiselessly on the floor.m not letting I pick up the closest one and find Bram’s face staring back at me.
He’s been rendered in waxy pastels, but the likeness is undeniable. Theay you’d do square jaw, sun-streaked hair, laughing gray eyes.
I pick up another one, a charcoal sketch of Bram sitting under a tree.s flash. “We Another: a pencil sketch of Bram astride a galloping horse.
Another: a study of his hands in agonizing detail.
His profile.
His eyes.the ghost of
e worst thingHis mouth.
There must be one hundred pictures of him here.
My door swings open, revealing Lydia, her white nightdress made darks, and pack a blue by the dim moonlight.
I freeze, on my knees, the sketches surrounding me.
Her eyes adjust to the low light, and she gets a look at the riot of papersght, my heart around me. “Oh no.” She falls to her hands and knees in a rush and gathers them against her chest.
“It’s no use. I’ve already seen them.” My voice sounds far away. I canthe sleeping hardly hear anything over my heart pounding in my ears.wiveling my “It’s not what you think,” she says softly.
“I have absolutely no idea what to think.”many months She flops down in the middle of the drawings. Her exhausted hands push through them, like she’s a child making a snow angel. “I’ve been havingunlocked, as these dreams ever since I returned.”while nothing “Dreams?”n I last stood She picks up one of the drawings gingerly, a close-up of Bram’s face, and runs her pointer finger along the line of his pointed ear. The paper crinklesd to fill with under the pressure of her fingertip. “His face is the only thing I remember.”
“You said they were dreams. That’s not the same thing as a memory.”hen fling my Maybe she truly has lost it—whatever fragile thing was holding her togethercase. At the has finally snapped.ked from the She drops her eyes, too embarrassed to look at me. “I know.”hen I moved I peer up at my sister in the moonlight, her face so much like mine. “I’m sure they’re just dreams,” I say. Bram’s face is in newspapers and statues and public houses all over this city.ummer straw “Why are you home?” she asks, as if the strangeness of my presence heree, twice, then has only just hit her.er rain down “I’m running away with Bram. We’re eloping.”
“Oh,” she says weakly. “Are you happy?”
“I will be,” I answer hopefully.deniable. The She looks to my open valise and starts helping me pack, throwing in chemises, my worn old cloak, the pearls I wore the day of the Pact Parade.
“Are you safe?” she asks, worried.
“Probably not,” I answer honestly. “But this is my only option.”
She pulls me into a tight hug.
“I love you,” I whisper. “You know that, right?”
“It’s just about the only thing I do know.”
The first light of dawn has begun to leak through the windows, painting ss made darkmy room a pale shade of pearly gray.
A banging at the front door startles us both. I snatch my valise from the bed and latch it as quickly as I can. I pull on my boots next. “Tell Mama and riot of papersPapa I’ll send word soon. Don’t worry, everything will be all right.” h and gathersI sprint down the stairs and throw open the front doors, expecting to see Bram but instead find a footman in familiar Kensington Palace blue livery. away. I can“Her Majesty requests an audience.”
My blood turns cold. We must have been found out. She’s going to kill me for this, the same way she killed Greer.
“No.” I try to slam the door, but the footman blocks it with the toe of his d hands pushpolished boot. been having“Ivy?” Lydia calls from the top of the stairs, but she’s not fast enough.
“Lydia!” I scream. “Tell Emmett—”
The footman’s arms encircle me like a vise, and he picks me up and m’s face, andcarries me to the carriage. aper crinklesLydia chases us out the front door, but she’s left choking on the dust of the carriage as we pull away. a memory.”“Please,” I beg the footman all the way to the palace. “I’ll do anything.” her togetherHe doesn’t even look at me.
It takes two of them to haul me out of the carriage and into the palace. I fight every step of the way. The footmen stay silent and stoic as I dig my e mine. “I’mnails into the flesh of their forearms. I rake a hand across the cheek of the one d statues andto my left, leaving a long, bloody scratch. I kick out the back of his knees next, and he falls to the dirt. If she’s going to kill me, I’m not going down presence herewithout a fight.
But in an endless flood, more come. It takes four of them in the end, one on each arm and leg to carry me up the grand staircase as I flail.
“Bram!” I scream. “Emmett!”
But my calls echo off the glass ceiling. No one is coming for me. inThe footmen throw me into the throne room and slam the doors behind me. I land hard on my knees, looking up through tangled hair and frustrated tears.
Golden morning light streams through the high windows, throwing rainbows from the diamonds in the queen’s tiara.
Queen Mor’s skirts are fanned around her, and she sits on the edge of her
throne, leaning forward, like she’s been waiting impatiently for me. ows, paintingShe’s smiling. Her sharp canines are fully on display. She’s got a dimple, like her son. This is the first time she’s smiled wide enough for me to see it. lise from the“Lady Ivy Benton!” she exclaims cheerfully. “Congratulations!” ell Mama and
ecting to see
going to kill
the toe of his
s me up and
n the dust of
do anything.”
the palace. I
as I dig my
ek of the one
of his knees going down
the end, one
doors behind nd frustrated
ws, throwing
e edge of her
throne, leaning forward, like she’s been waiting impatiently for me.
She’s smiling. Her sharp canines are fully on display. She’s got a dimple, like her son. This is the first time she’s smiled wide enough for me to see it.
“Lady Ivy Benton!” she exclaims cheerfully. “Congratulations!”
