Hail

Thirty-one

My side aches from running and I have to stop and press a hand to my side to ease the pain as I walk back to my chambers. While all of the wounds I suffered in the wood have long since healed, yet still, sometimes when I am short of breath I can feel a slight pain that pushes against my side and causes me to slow. Today I am short of breath from running and not running from fear or panic but running because I wished to feel the wind on my face. Running just to feel the freedom that comes from it. Running to clear my thoughts and give me a feeling, if just for a little while, of being completely alone. I had wished to stay out longer. I had hoped to pick some flowers, but the guards reminded me that there was business at the castle that still needed my attention.

I look down at my dress as I reach the door of my chambers and notice the dirt along the hem. I grimace as I realize I will have to change my dress before I speak to any of those waiting for me. Men may have mud on their boots as it gives the impression of a hard worker, but a girl with mud on her dress is seen as slovenly. Yet another example of why life would have been easier for me if I had been born a boy.

I open the door to my chambers and stop short as I notice Broderick standing near my window, his eyes focused on the outdoors. I feel a smile come to my face at his presence, but it quickly fades as I realize something is wrong. I can tell it from the tension I can see in his shoulders, from the fact that he doesn't turn to face me when I know he heard the door open. Something is troubling him. I turn and shut the door behind me. "Broderick?" My voice comes out a scared whisper.

He turns to face me. The smile that usually lights up his face when we are together, is missing replaced by an expression I do not understand. His eyes are darker than usual, his mouth set in a grim line. I am instantly filled with dread. I do not know what has occurred, but I fear to hear what he has to tell me. I take a breath to brace myself for whatever news he is about to impart. "What is it?"

His voice is calm and even. "I do not like to listen to gossip. I find it pointless to worry about other's affairs or to pass judgement on others whose choices were not mine. I do not seek out information passed from others that I feel I can use for my own benefit. I do not wish to blackmail others or manipulate them when they made unwise choices. I do not listen when others try to share whatever rumor is in fashion at any given moment. I find all of it silly and petty and childish and unworthy of the attention it garners from so many."

I am filled with confusion as my mind scrambles to figure out what he is saying. What it is he means, but I find no conclusion.

"When I returned to my chambers last night after dinner, there was a letter waiting for me. The servants did not know who had left it, there were no guards waiting at the door as I was with you, and whoever wrote it did not feel it necessary to sign." My eyes go to the paper I see now clasped in his hand. My eyes go to the wax, but I cannot tell the seal at this distance. I can tell from the look of the creases that this paper has been opened many times. "The man who wrote it claims you have been lying about any feelings you may have for me. He claims he is your lover." The hurt is clear in Broderick's voice and my heart falls at the words. "He claims that the two of you have been in a relationship for over a year."

I step forward the shock of his words radiating through my body and making it hard to breathe, "Broderick, you cannot believe,"

He interrupts me. "He mentions the mole near your right ear, the one typically covered by your hair and how it tickled you when he kissed it. Tell me how I am not to believe something I have seen happen myself? A reaction I have achieved with my own lips. A secret I have told no one. Tell me how anyone else would know that if they had not experienced it themselves?"

I cannot look at him. To see the change in the way he looks at me; I cannot bear it. "He was not my lover."

"The letter is not signed so therefore, I do not know who it is, but you know who the man is without even hearing his name." It sounds like an accusation hurled at me, as if I have just proven the claims.