ONYX

Chapter Seventeen

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                   Seventeen
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We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the reaponsibility of our future.

George Bernard Shaw
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Three days.

It had been three days since she’d found her mother’s body in the infirmary quarters and it’d been three days since the funeral, which was small and quick. Only Alessandra and Greer were the immediate family that attended. Townspeople paid their respects, but the nobility refused to attend the funeral of a murderer.

Elizabeth wasn’t even allowed to be buried in the family tomb where the former King James now rested. She was buried in the church tombs with many other queens before her, they were Alessandra’s ancestors and one day, she hoped to be buried there too.

It’d been harder to cope with the loss now that she saw the body. She still remembered the look on her mother’s pallid face; there was no expression, only the look of emptiness within her unfocused gaze.

Alessandra’s eyes were swollen from the amount of tears she’d spilt in those three days and she declined the company of anyone that’d come knocking on her door. One of the people that tried to reach out to her the most was Greer, her cousin and best friend. She’d sometimes disobey Alessandra and bring her food without so much as saying a word as she left.

The food that Greer brought was set upon Alessandra’s vanity, untouched and cold. Later in the day, she’d come back to collect the tray. Alessandra couldn’t eat, neither could she sleep. She couldn’t move.

She was broken.

Thunder crackled in the distance, Evyon had yet to be hit by the storm that surrounded its walls, but it was coming. The clouds rolled in with wild winds and the rain began to whip across the land. Priscilla stood at the stained glass window watching the darkness fade behind a sheer blanket of fuzzy water drops. 

She hadn’t left the safe confines of her bedroom since her father had a stranger slash her face. Morton had sewn the laceration across her face together to heal, but it would leave a scar.

Her face.

Her beautiful, gorgeous face was now ugly. She had no value anymore because she looked like a monster, now who will love her? Who will give her the time of day? That had been her father’s purpose. He wanted to make her worthless and that’s exactly how she felt.

Those she’d come in contact with would cringe or look the other way. She’d lost respect for herself because word had quickly spread about what she’d done with the King’s true mistress, Lucille.

The only upside was that her father let her keep her bedchambers because she knew he wanted her to be stuck in her own shame.

But she would never let him win.

And they would all be wrong about her. She was worthy of love because she’d found true love with the King. He’d loved her, but she was hesitant. She was fearful at first of the backlash that’d follow her if she publically became the King’s Mistress. She didn’t believe that the King was using her or muttered hurtful words about her to her father.

Maybe the Duke was purposely saying that to hurt her feelings. King James did love her and she loved him. She was going to be with him. She had to be with him. There was no life without her one true love.

She wanted to be with the King.

So, she was going to be with him—forever.

“Alessandra! Alessandra! Alessandra!”