Chapter 57
"You will. But first, go to your rooms. I will have a maid prepare a bath for you, as well as a fresh change of clothes. Lunch will be sent up too so you can eat something." His voice softened when he saw the distress in her face. "She is in capable hands. The physicians are with her. I will send word if there is any change."
Cassandra wanted to argue.
She wanted to tell him that he did not understand, that she had already watched something similar happen once, that she could not simply sit somewhere else while the queen lay unconscious behind those doors.
But the words would not come.
Her mind felt strangely distant from her body.
She nodded absently.
Theodore gave her arm a gentle squeeze before calling for one of the maids.
The woman approached almost immediately and began guiding Cassandra toward her chambers.
Cassandra went with her because she could not seem to find the strength to do anything else.
The rest happened around her in a blur.
She remembered entering her room and the maid preparing a bath.
She remembered removing the borrowed clothes and lowering herself into the warm water, but even the comfort of it barely registered. Her thoughts remained fixed upon the same image, returning to it again and again until she could no longer tell whether she was remembering the past or imagining the future.
Cassandra closed her eyes.
No. She could not think that way.
She refused to, especially when there was still a chance that she was wrong. She hoped she was wrong, else she would be forced to watch the past repeat itself and be powerless to stop it.
When she emerged from the bath, a fresh gown had been laid out for her. Someone brushed and arranged her hair. A tray of food waited on the small table by the window.
She sat before it because the maid insisted.
She picked up the spoon. Her stomach was empty, but she had no appetite for the food laid out in front of her.
She forced herself to have a few bites before giving up and returning to the queen’s wing.
The guards stationed outside spotted her coming and stepped aside without requiring an explanation.
Cassandra entered the queen’s private chambers, quietly closing the door behind her.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn close.
It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light and when they did, the first thing that drew her attention was the large bed. More importantly, the figure laying atop it, perfectly still.
Cassandra’s breath caught.
She had known what to expect. But knowing did not make seeing it any easier.
She approached slowly, each step harder than the last. The closer she came, the more familiar the scene became, and with that familiarity came a terrible sense of déjà vu.
Cassandra lowered herself into the chair beside the bed.
The queen looked so peaceful, chest moving with each breath.
That should have comforted Cassandra, but it only made the memories worse. They morphed and contorted until revisiting it became too painful.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the queen’s.
She wrapped her fingers around it and held her hand firmly.
"Please." Cassandra’s voice was barely audible.
She squeezed the queen’s hand again, almost childishly hoping that this time she would feel the answering pressure of her fingers and squeeze back.
Nothing happened.
An odd feeling gripped her, a type of panic that caused the gradual tightening of her chest and the growing awareness that she could not draw enough air into her lungs.
Don’t leave me.
She stared at their joined hands.
Don’t leave me.
Her eyes burned.
Don’t leave me again.
Cassandra lowered her head until her forehead rested against the queen’s hand.
She tried to breathe.
Once.
Twice.
Again. Until the room stopped spinning.
"Why can’t they leave us alone?" Her voice trembled. She swallowed hard and pressed the queen’s hand against her cheek. "Why do they always want to hurt us?"
Cassandra spent so much of her previous life believing that being useful to the crown would keep her safe. She had believed that the queen’s trust, the influence she had accumulated, and the position she held were enough to protect her.
They were not.
Her family still had power over her, even in the eyes of the law.
Men like John and Lawrence Whitmore believed they had the right to possess her like an object.
And in her previous life, all the influence she possessed had not saved her from being executed.
Cassandra slowly lifted her head with a dawning realization.
She had been thinking about survival all wrong.
This was a war she was fighting, one that was waged the moment the people involved in the conspiracy thought about harming queen Delphine. And to win, Cassandra needed to become more untouched.
Her position could protect her only so far. Kindness, loyalty, reputation, Ashford family connections—all of them had limits, and Cassandra had discovered exactly how dangerous those limits could be.
It reminded her that at the end of the day, she was only just the daughter of a Count. One that had been willing to pawn her off to the devil.
She needed power that was separate from the queen, power that could not be taken away so easily.
She needed great wealth of her own, influence that did not depend entirely upon her place beside the queen.
Connections that reached beyond the palace, beyond Arden and protection that did not disappear the moment she stepped outside the queen’s shadow.
Perhaps she had once been content to be the woman standing beside power without ever reaching for it but she wasn’t content with that anymore.
"I will protect you," she whispered. Her thumb moved slowly over the back of the queen’s hand. "And I will never be powerless again."
The vow hung between them before settling somewhere deep inside her.
She paid for her weakness with her own life once before and she nearly paid for it again this time around.
Never again.
If the world demanded that she become ruthless to survive, then she would become ruthless. If it demanded ambition, she would give it ambition and so much more.