Princess of Candor (#1 PRINCESS series-part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE)✔

•T W E N T Y - E I G H T•

♪ Nobody wants to be the one to walk away, nobody wants to see
Nobody wants to see the truth, then let it in, run away ♪
{Lykke Li—Better alone}

Cordelia never felt Helen enter the bed that night. Not that she was angry about this, but a minuscule piece of her worried Helen had stayed outside, pacing by the fountain, and had fallen asleep on the bench.

But to Cordelia's relief, when she woke the next morning, she discovered Helen snuggled on the floor, gripping one of their blankets tight between her legs. Her right calf was exposed, as the hem of her nightgown had climbed up to her mid-thigh, and her back was rounded, turning her away from Cordelia.

The Princess hadn't heard her come in, nor had she sensed her taking one of the covers from the bed, or her pillow. Said pillow rested beneath Helen's silky tresses, that dangled off the fabric and over the hardwood floors.

It was odd that Helen hadn't yet woken. She was usually up first, to gather the breakfast tray from the hallway. Then she'd place Cordelia's cup of tea on the nightstand, and draw the curtains open to let in the gray morning sky. But today, though the curtains were open—creepy—Helen hadn't budged from her spot, and didn't stir when Cordelia took a few steps onto the creaky floor.

Cordelia fetched their breakfast—a runny, bumpy porridge with burnt toast and hard-boiled eggs, along with fruity teas. She wondered if the food's aroma, no matter how displeasing, would wake Helen.

But even as Cordelia had drained half her porridge—which didn't taste so bad, despite its questionable appearance—and slurped her tea, the English lady didn't move a muscle, her breaths soft and subtle as she slept.

Maybe Cordelia's outright refusal to acknowledge what had happened between them had been too abrupt? Had it settled something of a hesitation in Helen's heart? Or had the discussion, no matter how brutal, helped lift a weight from her shoulders? And she now could shut her mind off, to rest in peace without thoughts of Cordelia plaguing her dreams?

Cordelia couldn't say the same for herself. She'd tossed and turned all night, and while she already had ominous visions in her slumber—about Antoine, the Baroness, and Helen—the ones from this sleep cycle were more troubled than usual.

Helen had screamed for her in one dream, her arms extended as one of Antoine's guards hauled her off to prison for their deceitful, sinful behaviors. In another dream, Cordelia found Helen in bed with Lady Geneviève. The two were canoodling, talking about their beloved Napoléon and how excited he'd be to find not one, but two ladies under his sheets when he got home. And then there was the vision of Thomas, getting down on one knee to slip a ring of rubies over Cordelia's finger. And he was shot square in the chest by a jealous Helen, who brandished her polished pistol after accomplishing the deed.

Without waiting for Helen to awaken, Cordelia dressed and meandered out into the manor's halls, exploring the depths of the areas she was authorized to visit. A guard loomed in her shadow, but he never stopped her from admiring the paintings, swiping a finger over the sculptures to trace the outline of a muscle or the shape of a pair of lips. He never barred her from slipping into a parlor, a music room, a neglected bedroom. Even a dusty office where she sat in a massive chair, spun around a few times, and grew bored as she peered out the large window over-viewing the gardens.