enjoyebooks CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 50
POV: Rosemary
William stands before me like a frightened deer—wide eyes, tense shoulders, feet poised between running and listening. I keep my hands raised slightly, palms open, showing I am no threat. The orchard is quiet, save for our ragged breathing and the wind moving through the branches.
“Thank you for stopping,” I say softly. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
He looks at me with suspicion. “Why did you run after me?”
“Because,” I answer honestly, “I needed to talk to you. And I didn’t want you to disappear before I had the chance.”
He swallows, gaze flicking toward the palace as if expecting Adrian to reappear. “You’ll tell the Queen I met him again. She’ll punish him.”
“I’m not here to punish anyone,” I reply. “Least of all you.”
His brows draw together. “Why? You work for the King. You’re supposed to chase me away.”
A faint ache pulls in my chest. “I’m a knight. I protect people. Sometimes that means stopping battles before they start. Sometimes…” I pause, letting the words settle. “Sometimes it means trying to understand someone who is hurting.”
William stiffens. “I’m not hurting.”
“You are,” I say gently. “You’re a boy who lost everything. Anyone would hurt.”
His jaw tightens in defiance. “I’m not a boy. Father says I’m stronger than that.”
I nod carefully. “You’re strong. But strong people can still feel pain.”
He looks away, fists clenching at his sides.
I take a slow step closer—not enough to threaten, just enough that he can hear the softness in my voice. “William, I know you miss her.”
His breath catches. “Don’t.”
“I know you think you have to be what everyone expects you to be,” I continue quietly. “A weapon. A symbol. Someone worthy of your father’s approval.”
“I said don’t!” he snaps, louder this time.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” I tell him, hands still raised. “But you deserve to hear it from someone who doesn’t want to use you: you are allowed to be a child, William. You are allowed to miss your mother.”
He looks at me sharply, eyes brightening—too bright. His lower lip trembles though he tries to hide it.
I take a breath. “Cordelia—”
The reaction is instant.
William’s entire body goes rigid. His eyes widen with a surge of fury so sharp it steals the air around him. “DON’T SAY HER NAME!”
Leaves flutter with the force of his shout. The orchard seems to hold its breath.
I freeze. Not out of fear, but out of caution. He’s shaking—anger and grief bleeding together. Tears gather in his eyes, and when he blinks, they fall, streaking down cheeks twisted with rage.
“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HER!” he cries. “You don’t know how good she was! How she loved me—how she—” His voice breaks. “How she died!”
“I know you loved her,” I say quietly.
His breath rushes out in a shudder. “She didn’t deserve what happened. Father says Sebastian killed her. He says the King took everything from us. He says… he says it’s my fault she’s gone because I wasn’t strong enough to save her.”
My heart cracks.
“William,” I whisper, “none of that is true.”
“It IS true!” he screams. Light flickers around his hands—black, whipping like smoke caught in a storm. “I’m supposed to make things right! I’m supposed to avenge her! I have to be strong! Father says—”
He steps toward me.
Just one step.
But in that single moment, my instincts roar—magic radiates off him in a thick, pulsing wave. It presses against the earth beneath us, against the air, against my skin. The sheer weight of it steals my breath.
If he takes one more step—If his emotions spike one more degree—Something terrible will happen.
“William,” I warn gently, “stop. You’re hurting. You don’t want to—”
He takes that second step.
Before the magic can erupt. Before the air can snap—A hand shoots out of nowhere and grabs William’s shoulder.
“Enough.”
Lord Henry stands behind him, materializing as though the shadows themselves decided to form a man. His grip on William is firm but not unkind, pulling the boy back before the power swallows him.
William gasps, the swirling magic collapsing instantly like a dying flame. He clings to Henry’s arm, breathing hard, tears still falling.
Henry crouches slightly, lowering himself to the boy’s level. His voice is sharp, but it carries a note of something fiercely protective.
“I told you,” he says, “never to lose control like that.”
William sniffles, trying to steady his breath. “She—she said Mother’s name. She said—”
Henry’s gaze flicks to me, but his tone remains measured as he speaks to the boy. “She doesn’t deserve your anger.”
William blinks, confused. “But—”
“She is innocent,” Henry says firmly. “She has done nothing to you. She has not harmed your mother. She has not harmed you.” He squeezes William’s shoulder gently. “You will not touch her. Do you understand?”
William glances at me again, eyes softer now, more shaken than furious. He nods.
Henry straightens slowly, and when he turns his full attention to me, his expression is unreadable—dark, distant, almost tired.
“I warned you,” he says quietly, “to stay away.”
I swallow, forcing myself to remain steady. “I wasn’t trying to fight him.”
“No,” Henry agrees. “But you touched a wound that has not healed. And he is a child who has been taught only how to bleed.”
My chest tightens. “He needs help. Real help. Not vengeance. Not manipulation. Help.”
Henry’s jaw flexes. “You speak as though you understand him.”
“I do,” I say softly. “Because I understand grief.”
For one brief moment—one impossible second—something flickers in Henry’s eyes. Pain. Regret. Memories he cannot bury.
Then it’s gone.
He places a guiding hand on William’s back. “Go on ahead, son. I’ll be right behind you.”
William nods and walks away, head down.
I call after him, desperate. “William, wait—”
But Henry steps between us, blocking the view of the boy’s retreat. His eyes are colder now. Harder.
“This was your second warning,” he says. “There will not be a third. Leave him alone. Stay out of my path.”
“Henry,” I say quickly, “please—let me talk to you.”
But before I can take a single step—
He is gone. Just like that.
The orchard falls silent around me, the air tasting of dust, magic, and heartbreak.
And I stand alone beneath the apple trees, stunned, breathless, and shaken by everything I have just learned—and everything I still don’t understand.