Rejected

Chapter 24

He felt weightless as he let his body float half submerged in the water. Tendrils of his hair floated around him weaving a halo circling his head. The light from his window refracted through the water dreamily and he wondered if he could be buoyant and numb like this forever.

He dared not close his eyes though. Flashes of her angry, hateful face would circle his vision making him feel like there was an iron anvil laid upon his chest. Never had the sight of her made him so physically ill in such a negative manner.

The only noise he could hear under the water was the silent bubbling in the pipes. That is until he heard the door open and frantic footsteps coming towards him.

His short reprieve was coming to an end.

"Prince Damian!" The voice above him exhaled and panicking hands grabbed his shirt and pulled him out. The Prince was instantly assailed with frenzied slaps on the back as if he had truly been drowning.

"Vincent," Damian groaned, hoping his valet noticed he was not indeed dead.

His short statured head valet who was half wet from pulling the Prince out from the bathing tub wiped tears from his eyes and gave his master a kiss on both cheeks.

"There, there, Vincent. I was not killing myself, I assure you. My mental state is not so broken. I do remember my responsibilities in this world," The Prince patted the older man's back with far less aggression than he had.

"You cannot linger in this state, Sire. It is not seemly to see a man of your position and physical attributes look so downtrodden. You must at least change your attire."

Damian looked down at his sodden state and nodded. He let himself be hauled up by his valet. They walked back to his bedroom leaving wet foot prints behind and once the Royal was dumped on the bed the valet went back to the closet room to find more appropriate clothing.

Damian's let himself rest flat on his back wondering whether it was acceptable to never walk out of his room again. His hands traced the stitched pattern on his bed sheet. It stopped as soon as he found a piece of rolled parchment resting serenely in the middle. He pulled it open wondering if there were more words his mother had left him or some sort of apology from Bea but it was neither of the two.

The words he read mutely made his world tilt off its axis.

It felt like a feather was resting on the edge of a sharp blade. It could either fall on the sides or be cut up messily in the middle. Neither option was acceptable because the feather was worth a hundredfold more than any precious jewel.

The note that brought the news was plain, unadorned and the handwriting carved on it was painfully familiar. He picked up the small bit of black ribbon and its presence did not impact him as much as the faint powder wrapped in a small piece of muslin. He sniffed and he knew it was a smelling salt. One of the salts she always smelt faintly off.

He crushed a note in his palm as he remembered her assumptions about his character. Was he a saint or the cruel man Delilah had always seen when she had looked at him?

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"I would appreciate it if you would cease your blatant staring," Delilah murmured flatly, her eyes firmly on her cousin who was still unconscious even though a considerable time had passed. She didn't need to look up because his eyes were gouging through her being as if he were a carpenter and she an untamed piece of wood. She did not want to show how anxious she was but he left her with no choice.

"I am merely curious," The man replied from his chair. Delilah was unaware for how long the man had sat and observed them. The only indicator of the passage of time was the large candle that had melted to about the fourth of its previous size. His eyes glittered against the stark shadows the candle light provided.