Chapter 57 Queen and Prince

Chapter 57 Queen and Prince


Lily's POV:

Elliott stood at the top of the steps leading into the palace, his hands clasped behind his back, his face frozen in shock. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, and behind the shock I saw it. The hatred. The pure, unbridled hatred he was directing at us...at me ..at Atlas. His eyes twitched when he further inspected the way I was sitting on his horse, pressed against him, arriving back like I hadn't been missing for days.

The guards parted around us, servants whispered behind their hands and the whole courtyard was watching.

And all I wanted, sitting there on Atlas's horse with his arms still around me, was to watch Elliott's face twist even more. To make him so angry he couldn't see straight. To make him fall from whatever high horse he had been sitting on for far too long.

A rush of footsteps echoed across the courtyard and I turned toward the noise. Queen Rhoda was striding toward us with Miriam right behind her, her skirts gathered in her hands, her face pale in the grey morning light. She looked like she had aged over the days I was gone. There were new lines around her mouth, shadows under her eyes that even the powder couldn't hide. But she was still put together. She was always put together.

Atlas's fingers dug into my waist. I felt the squeeze, felt the way his whole body went rigid behind me, heard the grinding of his teeth.

"I need to get down." I kept my voice low, trying to pull his attention away from his mother.

"No." The word came out a growl.

Queen Rhoda's face was a mask of relief when her eyes landed on me. Her lips parted, her shoulders dropped, and for one brief moment she looked like a woman who had been worried sick. Then her gaze traveled up to Atlas sitting stiff behind me, his arms around my waist, his body pressed against mine, and her eyes narrowed into slits. The warmth drained from her face. The relief curdled into something else entirely.

This was going to turn ugly. It always did when they were in the same space. Queen Rhoda with her unabashed tongue and her endless cruelty whenever it came to Atlas. Atlas with his relentless need to push her, to provoke her, to shove her right up against that wall where her control cracked and her fury spilled out.

Did she see the resemblance between them? Did she look at him and see something of herself reflected back? Was that what drove her hatred? The reminder that he came from her, that he was hers, that she could never fully wash her hands of him?

After all this, after everything that had happened and everything that was still to come, I would find out the cause of this strong hatred. The thought settled in my chest cold and heavy.

I signaled one of the guards standing nearby. A simple wave of my hand, a flick of my fingers that meant help me down.

Atlas's fingers immediately tightened. I dug my nails into the back of his hand, hard, and he let go all at once. But the guard didn't move to help me. He stood frozen where he was, his face pale, his eyes fixed on something behind me.

I tilted my head to see Atlas glaring at the man. The guard looked like he wanted to piss himself.

"I'm getting down by myself." I threatened, forcing my words to come out sharp.

I had no plan of going through with it. Not really. Not unless I wanted to break my ankle on the cobblestones. But he didn't need to know that.

My bluff worked. Atlas swung down from the horse in one smooth motion, landing light as a feather floating through the wind, and his hands found my waist again. He lifted me down like I weighed nothing and the gasping started. The murmuring and The whispers blooming like flowers in the crowd.

Why couldn't I do anything without attention swarming around me like bees attracted to honey? Why couldn't I breathe without someone watching?

Queen Rhoda grabbed me before I could steady myself, pulling me to her side, her hands running over my arms, my shoulders, my face. Checking for injuries, Her fingers pressed into the wounds on my arms, the ones turning shades of purple and different shades of black, and I tried to pull away.

"I'm filthy, Your Majesty." My voice came out weak.

She didn't hear me. Her eyes were fixed on the bruises blooming under her fingers. "Did he hurt you?" Her voice rose. "Did he do this to you? He kidnapped you, didn't he? That evil boy took you and_"

"No."

The word came out but I think there were more. I think I tried to explain. But my head was too heavy on my body, my feet too light, my eyes swimming in my skull.

I felt a hand touch my arm. Solid and Warm.

"You can fuss over her later, Your Majesty." Atlas's voice was flat. "She needs to rest."

Queen Rhoda's hand flew out and slapped his arm away. The sound cracked through the courtyard, hard and violent, and I felt it vibrate through my bones. His hands fell off me. I wavered, my knees buckling, and the world tilted sideways until his arms caught me again. He pulled me against him, holding me steady.

"Stop touching her like she belongs to you." The Queen's face was twisted, her voice dripping with venom. "She is your brother's wife. Or are you planning to take that as well?"

The words hit me like a slap.

Planning to take me as well.

He already had. He had set his eyes on me, his claws in me, like I belonged to him. I didn't know when it started. Was it at the supper that night? At the ritual ceremony when we sat together in that closet and listened to them chant curses on his name? Or was it earlier, some moment I had missed, some crack where he slipped in and made himself at home inside my life?

Atlas didn't respond to his mother. He didn't even look at her. His attention was on me, his eyes scanning my face, my arms, the way I was leaning all my weight against him.

"I will fetch the Royal Physician after I take you to your chambers." His voice was soft. Gentle. He started moving, dragging me along, and I let him.

"You evil brat!"

Her hand came up. I saw it in my peripheral, the flash of her palm, the arc of her arm, the rage twisting her features into something uglier.

"Rhoda!"

Atlas's voice echoed through the courtyard. He stopped then turned with his expression of a stone.

"Do you plan on pushing Lily over to the other side because of your hatred for me?"

The word hung in the air. Hatred was what she was displaying. Not love for me, not worry, but hatred coursing through her veins. Hatred that he had taken something she considered precious to her favourite son, Elliott. Hatred that he was touching me, holding me, standing in the middle of her courtyard with her son's wife in his arms.

Her hand stayed raised, chest heaving and her face was purple with fury.

And I stood there, leaning on Atlas, watching the woman who should have been his mother, and wondering what it must feel like to be hated so deeply by the person who gave you life.