The Royalty

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Sleep was impossible because of the aching in my heart. The bed felt unusually cold and empty with America gone. Many times throughout the night, I wondered if I'd made the right choice. What if she could help? What if I was making a terrible mistake by staying away from her?

At around three o'clock in the morning, I realized that any attempt at sleep was futile. Groaning, I rolled out of my bed and went to the chest where I kept my paint supplies. There were paints in colors ranging from soft mauve to blazing orange. Multiple brushes sat in a cup along the bottom of the chest. Two blank canvases were stacked next to the paint. An easel sat beside the wooden chest. I pulled out everything I'd need to create my art and sighed as I set it up. I pulled over the chair from my desk and took a seat.

The white canvas seemed to mock me as I searched for inspiration. My mind couldn't seem to focus on painting though. Flashes of America passed through my head and my body refused to relax since I was tense from the feeling like I was being watched. Fear and heartbreak kept me from picking up the brush. This was supposed be a distraction. Keep out my thoughts by losing myself in the painting. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen.

With a deep breath, I rose from my chair. There was no point in painting right now. My thoughts were too jumbled to do even the simple task of putting paint on canvas. I put all of the supplies back in their places.

Was I doing the right thing? Keeping my distance hurt me, but it was for the best, wasn't it? How would I look America in the eye tomorrow? She would probably not even be able to stand the sight of me. There was no doubt in my mind that she would be angry. Of course she would be! I'd pushed her away.

Or, on the other hand, America would understand. She would be kind and caring and supportive. She would assure me that she was there if I needed someone to lean on. I would take her strength and make it my own. Though I doubted this would happen, I could not help but hope. I'd fallen for a compassionate and amazing woman, surely a little disagreement would not change how she acted towards me. Right?

I went to sit on my bed, a dull throb forming in my head. I massaged the bridge of my nose and laid down. Turning over and on to my side, my eyes coasted over the picture next to my bed, the frame a simple wooden square. It, of course, was of America. Her eyes sparkled and her hand was in her hair, as if to tuck loose strands behind her ear. Looking around, I noticed that quite a few of the photos in my room were of her. I hope she doesn't find that creepy, I thought. Those were the last words that came to my mind before I surprisingly fell into an exhausted slumber.

Hours later, I woke to sunlight streaming diffusely into my room. I walked around my room unfeelingly, getting prepared for the day ahead of me. I'd have to have a talk with Father that I was deeply dreading. He needed to know the information I'd gathered from Gabriel about the rebels. America would probably be keeping her distance, leaving me to be alone and drown in my thoughts. It seemed to be a gloomy and lonesome future.

After minutes of hastily dressing, I walked from my room. The guards on duty stood up a little straighter and saluted me as I entered the hallway. "At ease, gentlemen," I said, casting them wary glances. The thought that I couldn't trust the people who were supposed to defend me to not be rebels was chilling.

I went on my way through the palace, keeping my head down. As I walked, images of America's terrified face with my hand around her throat burned behind my eyes. This somehow made me sure that staying away was the best thing for both of us.

When I'd almost reached the dining room for breakfast, I stopped and leaned against a wall, looking down the hall towards the doors leading to America and I's families. Would they notice the tension that would most definitely be there? Would they ask us about it?