Chapter 62 An Apology

Chapter 62 An Apology
Beatris

I had no intention of being caught near that room again. That was why I stood outside Alexander's chambers instead of going straight there.

If he was inside, I could pretend I had come looking for him. Ask some harmless question. Say I was restless. Say I was bored. Anything that would explain why I was wandering the west wing without drawing suspicion.

If he wasn't...

Then I could go to the forbidden room without him noticing. The thought alone made my stomach tighten.

I still had not forgotten what I had seen in there. Alexander kneeling over a person like something pulled from a nightmare. And beyond that, worse still, the portraits. Eudora's face waiting for me on every wall, beautiful and impossible, like a version of myself I did not want to claim.

I did not want to see her again. But if the visions were telling the truth, then that room might have answers.

The corridor outside Alexander's chambers stood empty, still enough that I could hear my own footsteps if I let them fall too hard. I slowed as I approached his door and knocked lightly.

My pulse eased, though only a little. I rested my fingers against the handle and pushed the door open just enough to look inside.

It was Empty. Relief moved through me so quickly I almost closed my eyes.

Good.

I pulled the door shut again, trying not to make a sound, and turned toward the corridor that led deeper into the west wing. Toward the forbidden room.

"Looking for me?"

My breath caught so sharply it hurt.

I spun around too fast and the world tilted for half a second. Alexander stood several paces behind me, dark against the sunlight, one hand tucked behind his back. I had not heard him approach. Of course I hadn't.

"I..." My voice failed me at first. "You startled me."

His mouth shifted, not quite a smile.

"So I've noticed."

There was no accusation in his tone. If anything, he sounded faintly amused.

"I seem to be doing that rather often."

Heat crept into my face.

"I thought you were out."

"Hm."

His eyes rested on me for a moment too long. Not suspicious exactly. But not innocent either.
Then he brought his hidden hand forward. He was holding roses. Freshly cut. For a heartbeat, I could only stare.

"They're for you," he said.

My fingers tightened uselessly at my sides. "What?"
He crossed the space between us with that same infuriating calm he carried everywhere. The roses looked too vivid against the black of his coat.

"I owe you an apology."

The words unsettled me more than the flowers had.

"You were right to be angry," he said. "I promised to take you to town, and I didn't."

I said nothing.

"I should not have spoken to you that way, either."

There it was again, that softness in his voice that made everything worse.

"I don't like disappointing you."

The simplicity of it landed somewhere dangerous inside me. It would have been easier if he had been cold, if he had reminded me what I was here. Easier if he had looked at me like a prisoner instead of a woman whose hurt he regretted.

Instead, he stood before me with flowers in his hand and sorrow in his eyes, as though an apology could make walls disappear.

"They're beautiful," I said, and hated how honest it sounded.

He offered them to me. I hesitated. Not long enough to insult him. Just long enough to feel the question move through me. Kindness. Guilt. Manipulation. Maybe all three. Slowly, I reached out.

Our fingers brushed as the bouquet passed into my hands. His skin was cool. Mine wasn't. The contrast stayed with me longer than it should have. 

The roses smelled rich and sweet.

"Thank you," I murmured.

He inclined his head slightly, as though accepting something larger than the words. Silence settled between us.
Alexander glanced once toward the door of his chamber, then back to me.

"I was only passing by," I said too quickly.

"I see."

Nothing in his face changed. No reproach. No suspicion. Only that same unreadable calm that told me nothing and far too much at once.

Yet I could not shake the feeling that he had already reached a conclusion he had no intention of sharing.

Or that he had known where to find me long before I stepped into that corridor.

At last, he stepped aside.

"I will not keep you, then."

Then he walked past me. I stood there listening to his footsteps fade into the quiet of the hall.
Only when he was gone did I lower my eyes to the roses resting in my hands. Their petals were soft as silk. Their scent filled the corridor too easily.

They were an apology or meant to feel like one.

My gaze lifted again toward the corridor that led deeper into the west wing, silent and waiting beyond the turn.
Somewhere between the flowers, the apology, and the perfect timing, the lines had shifted.

I wanted to call it coincidence. I no longer believed in coincidence. I tightened my grip on the stems.

And standing there with roses pressed against my chest, I found myself wondering whether Alexander saw me as someone he wished to love...

or someone he had no intention of ever letting out of his sight. Perhaps, with him, there was no difference.

lifted the bouquet closer without meaning to and caught the full weight of their scent again dark, sweet, almost dizzying. For one foolish second, I could imagine how this must look from the outside. 

A woman standing in a quiet corridor with roses in her arms, flustered by a man who knew exactly how to apologize without ever surrendering control. The thought made my grip tighten. 

No. I was not some lovestruck girl melting because he had brought me flowers and spoken gently. I knew better than that. Whatever softness Alexander offered always came with edges hidden beneath it. Still, as I stood there with the stems pressed against my palms, I hated that part of me had noticed the beauty before the danger.