enjoyebooks CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 49
POV: Rosemary
A week has passed, and the palace feels like it is slowly drowning.
Every corridor whispers. Every servant glances over their shoulder before speaking. Fear hangs in the air heavier than incense, thick enough to choke on. And at the heart of it all stand two broken monarchs.
Sebastian walks the halls like a ghost wearing a crown—cold, hollow-eyed, speaking only when duty forces words out of him.
Evangeline drifts through life as if grief is the only thing keeping her upright. She avoids her husband, avoids crowds, avoids light.
I watch them both, and I feel useless.
I am a knight sworn to protect this kingdom, yet I can’t shield its rulers from the wounds tearing them apart. Henry’s curse is tightening around all of us, invisible yet deadly.
I lean my elbows on the table in my private quarters and press my palms against my temples.
Something has to change.
I whisper to myself, “We are losing this war from the inside.”
If Henry keeps William close, if he keeps feeding the boy hatred, black magic will strengthen, not weaken. William is the core of it all—the son of a cursed mother, the heart of Henry’s grief, the perfect vessel for revenge.
And yet…
He is still just a child. A child who could be saved. A child who might break Henry’s power simply by being pulled away from him.
“If I can reach him,” I murmur, “perhaps Henry will lose the only anchor holding his curse together.”
It’s reckless. Dangerous. Maybe even foolish.
But doing nothing is worse.
I stand, straighten my leather chest piece, and fasten my sword belt. Action is always easier than thinking—thinking is where doubt festers.
I leave my chambers and make my way toward the palace gates. Fresh air might help me think. Or rather, help me decide how to act.
As I cross into the courtyard, something catches my eye.
Two boys stand near the far end of the backyard—half hidden behind the rose hedges.
Adrian and William. My breath hitches.
They’re talking. Whispering. Leaning close like conspirators. I can’t hear a word, but Adrian’s posture tells me enough—hesitant, tense, pulled forward by curiosity and the aching desire to be understood. William stands stiff, guarded, but not hostile.
My stomach knots. “No. No, not again.”
Evangeline ordered Adrian to stay away. And yet here he is, reaching toward the very danger she fears will kill him.
I step closer, boots soft on the grass. I strain to hear them, but only fragments reach me—Adrian’s soft, “You didn’t have to leave last time,” and William’s barely audible, “You shouldn’t talk to me.”
Just then, William lifts his head.
His gaze snaps to mine instantly.
Adrian notices a second later. He gasps, jumps back from William as if burned, and sprints toward the palace.
“Adrian!” I call after him, but he doesn’t stop. He disappears inside, slamming the door behind him.
My eyes return to William.
He stares at me, eyes wide for a heartbeat—then turns and bolts across the field.
No. Not this time. I run.
“William!” I shout. “Stop! I just want to talk!”
He darts past the old fountain, quick and nimble. A child’s feet can fly when fear carries them. I push harder, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs.
William glances back once—just once—but it’s enough for me to see the panic in his expression.
And the loneliness.
The same loneliness I saw underground. The same loneliness Henry twists like a knife.
“Please!” I call, breath burning in my lungs. “I’m not here to hurt you!”
He sprints into the apple orchard behind the palace grounds. Branches whip past us. Fallen apples squish beneath our feet. I leap over a low stone fence, closing the distance.
He’s slowing. His breaths come in sharp gasps. He’s frightened—and tired.
I push forward.
“William!” I shout again, softer this time. “Please wait!”
My boots dig into the earth as I make one last surge forward. The boy trips on a root, stumbles, and I close the final gap.
I reach out, fingers brushing the sleeve of his tunic.
“Stop!” I plead. “Just for a moment.”
He freezes.
Chest heaving, shoulders trembling, William stands still, head bowed as though accepting an inevitable consequence. The orchard is quiet around us—only the wind rustling leaves and the faint crash of distant waves.
Slowly, cautiously, he turns to face me.
His eyes are wary, confused… but not hateful.
Not yet.
I swallow, breath trembling from the chase. “William,” I say gently, raising my hands to show I’m unarmed despite the sword at my hip. “I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to talk.”
He watches me, tense but unmoving.
This is it.
The moment everything can change—
if I choose the right words.
I step closer, slowly, so slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. His gaze flicks to my face, searching for danger, maybe searching for honesty.
“Please,” I whisper, stopping just an arm’s reach away. “Give me a chance.”
And there—
right there—
William stops running. He looks at me as though weighing every fear and every hope inside him.
He hesitates. And I catch up to him.