By the time the sun comes up the following morning, I've been awake for hours. The times I managed to doze off last night were few and far between; I probably only got a few minutes of sleep overall. The grief and sorrow are like anchors, pulling me down further into the nothingness that is my mind until I can't see the surface. All I can see is the king's cruel face; all I can hear are the hateful words, one after another, like daggers to my heart.

"'I did everything I could, Daniel. I tried my hardest to break Lauren—mind, body, and spirit. And it would have worked had she not married that immature prince. He saw through her title and into her soul. He saw all the broken pieces, trauma, and scars, yet he sought her out anyway.'"

There is something broken inside me—a near-invisible soul wound, one that nothing or no one can ever heal. He was wrong, I realize with bone-chilling clarity. It had worked; I'd managed to hide it so well that no one noticed—until Gwen.

"'You're just as weak as your father said.'" Whether she'd known in advance how much the words would affect me or she'd taken a shot in the dark, it didn't matter. That part of me—the part that was as weak, pathetic, and meek as she'd said—would always remain like a lingering wound or bruise.

How much of my past did she know about? Had he told her about everything—starting with my imprisonment at Moonbright and ending with my and Ethan's wedding? Or did he give her information as needed, enough for her to know where and when to strike? The thought of her knowing everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly—sends chills down my spine.

What if she hadn't stopped when Wyatt had restrained her? And what about my father? How much did he know—how much had Gwen told him? All those questions swirl around in my brain until I can't stand it.

As I slowly rise from the bed, I hear a soft, near-inaudible whimper. Allie clenches her eyes tight; her eyelids are white. She thrashes on the makeshift bed, a scream slipping past her lips, yet her eyes don't open. I quietly walk over to her, bending beside the couch. "Allie," I say softly.

My heart breaks as another moment passes, and she doesn't wake up—because I know what nightmare is playing in her head. Guilt punctures me like a dagger. I'd been so trapped in my head that I failed to recognize the trauma my sisters had been going through.

"Allie," I say again, gently touching her shoulder. Another scream slips past her lips; this time, her eyes fly open, filled with fear that takes my breath away. She looks around wildly, eyes unfocused and body trembling. When they finally focus on me, she lets out a sob.

"I s-saw her, Laur," she stammers, her face red and blotchy with tears. "I keep seeing her—there was s-so much b-blood. Why would he do that—how could he—" Her words trail off as she dissolves into tears.

No words can ever heal the agony inside her—no amount of replaying the moment can ever bring closure. I can do nothing to ease her pain because I'm feeling the same. Our mother was murdered right before us; for no reason other than to make us suffer. Make me suffer. Wordlessly, I wrap my arms around my sister, letting her release all the pent-up emotions inside her.

I can feel the agony inside her; it's identical to mine. My heart has been ripped out of my chest and shredded into pieces. Her sobs are gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. My eyes feel puffy and tight, yet all I feel inside is an endless void of nothingness.

I rise from where I'm crouched beside Allie without a word, the silence in my head almost overwhelming. My hands shake as I slip on my flats, but I walk calmly to the suite door. For the first time since I woke up, I realize that Ethan is not here. He must have slipped out early this morning.

"Laur?" Allie whispers, but I don't even turn around. I'm seconds away from a full-blown panic attack and don't know if I can keep it at bay much longer. I grab my cloak before leaving the suite, finally meeting my sister's eyes. A tear escapes her eye, rolling down her cheek as I close the door without responding.

I don't even wait for the door to close before I run down the hallway, the numbness slowly chipping away to reveal layers of anger, fear, grief, and depression. My ankle is throbbing, but the pain is distant. Tears are blurring my vision to the point where I almost can't see in front of me. It starts as a soft whimper, slowly building to a cry that rips from my throat and ends in a heartbroken scream.

"My lady?" I vaguely register Wyatt's words, but I don't stop. I know that if I do stop, even just for a brief moment, I won't be able to start again. The stable hand's eyes widen as he takes in my ragged appearance, yet he doesn't say a word.

A clap of thunder suddenly booms in the distance, the sky opening up a heartbeat later. Wyatt glances outside and exchanges a glance with the stable hand before looking back at me. "My lady, I think you should—"

The sound of running footsteps suddenly cuts off his words. Ethan's eyes are wide with fear as he takes in the scene in front of him: the stable hand, now clutching Fleetfire's bridle, glancing between the two of us; Wyatt's eyes, full of concern and worry as he looks from Ethan to me; a nervous Fleetfire prancing in place, frightened by the approaching storm.

When Ethan finally meets my gaze, whatever he reads on my face has him opening his mouth. "Lauren, please," he says slowly, hands out in front of him placatingly as if approaching a skittish animal. Another loud clap of thunder booms again, the sound eliciting a sharp whinny from Fleetfire and a gasp from Wyatt. 

I take the opportunity to yank on Fleetfire's reins, steering her towards the open stable doors. Wind and rain instantly soak my hair and skin, flattening her mane against her head. "Lauren!" Ethan's voice vanishes on the wind as I press my heels sharply against her sides.

Tears and rain mingle on my face until I can't differentiate between the two. She breaks into a ground-eating gallop, her hooves churning the earth underneath her into a muddy mess. My surroundings blur as we ride, the minutes turning into hours. I'm not even crying anymore; the sadness has morphed into white-hot anger.

The wind whips at my hair, the droplets of rain like little needles as they hit my face. Only when my breaths are sharp in my chest—when my body is shaking from adrenaline and cold—do we slow, my quick gasps mingling with Fleetfire's heavy breathing.

The anger ignites in my stomach, a sharp ache that builds in intensity, travels through my chest, and finally unleashes from my mouth in an ear-piercing scream. It hurts so badly I can't even breathe. It's more than grief—it's like my heart has an invisible crack down the middle.

"What did I do to deserve this?" I scream into the wind, the storm intensifying with every breath. Unsurprisingly, no one answers, although a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye has me whirling, clutching Fleetfire's reins tightly. All I see is a flash of brown hair before he appears before me, astride a black gelding of his own.

I'm in the process of opening my mouth—to say what, I don't know—when I glimpse his face. He looks awful. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, as if he's been crying. "Lauren—" He reaches for me, my name immediately cut off as I jerk away.

I don't want his pity. Or comfort. Not now. Not after what he did. Keeping my face expressionless is an act of will as I stare at my father—the man who's done nothing in his life to earn that title. "You don't get to be sad," I hiss, the anger reigniting into a fire that burns me from head to toe. "You don't get to mourn. Where were you when she needed you? When we needed you?"

I'm all but out of the saddle now, my voice rising until I'm screaming. I certainly hadn't expected this to come out when we'd approached each other—I hadn't even thought of what I would say. But when I'd looked into his eyes—the eyes that, once upon a time, my mother had looked into and fallen in love with—all I saw was a monster.

"All those years," I whisper brokenly, my voice laced with exhaustion. "You never showed up—for any of us. You only came back into my life when we moved to Moonbright. And even then, your intentions were purely vengeful. Where's the man that held me whenever I had a nightmare, who cheered me up whenever I was upset? Where's my dad?"

His face crumples as the last word leaves my mouth. He opens his mouth, but I'm already turning away, yanking so hard on Fleetfire's reins that the mare whinnies in protest. At some point, it'd stopped raining, but I don't feel the lingering chill. I don't even feel the sun shining down on us. I can tell without even looking at him that he recalls his conversation with the king—the words he'd spat.

"'Her past haunts her present—precisely as I'd intended.'" I can all but feel his eyes on my back, but I know that if I turn around now, I'll completely unravel. The tears are already pricking at my eyes, hot and sharp, as we begin the ride home.

It's an out-of-body experience. Everything feels foreign—the breath in my lungs, the reins in my hands, the damp hair on my shoulders. When the dam finally breaks, I don't stop. The tears only spur me on, Fleetfire moving faster underneath me until the castle finally appears in the distance. I dismount slowly, my ankle buckling slightly.

Whether they can sense the tangled emotions inside me or they take note of the tears on my cheeks and keep their distance, everyone I pass merely eyes me with concern. I hand Fleetfire off to Wyatt, who takes one look at me and busies himself with her tack.

Ethan is waiting at our suite when I arrive, his face creased in worry. I open my mouth to tell him what happened, but a sob emerges instead. Some line between my father and me crumbled during our exchange—I don't think our relationship, however shaky it was, will survive this.

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