“Enough!”
I stalk forward, standing between the four of them. Slowly, I pivot in a circle, hands extended, holding each of their gazes.
The anger is fading and there’s only sadness.
“Enough,” I say again, quieter. “We are family. All of us. And family doesn’t turn against one another. Find somewhere in the castle to be by yourself.” I take in a deep breath. “The night will pass. We have withstood each and every one so far. We will withstand this. Together.”
Rosalina holds my gaze for a moment, and I see it thundering within: a Spring storm ready to rage over anything soft and fragile. A look both frightening and beautiful.
A rose covered in thorns.
The castle seems to take a breath. It will sigh or it will scream—
A small flutter sounds. I look up to see a bird made of paper flitting down toward us. It hovers right before Rosalina.
She reaches out and takes it, unfolding the little bird into a letter.
Her face turns ashen. “From Dom and Billy,” she whispers. “It’s my father. He’s sick.”
62
Rosalina
When I was sixteen, a terrible windstorm swept through Orca Cove. Vancouver Island had reports leading up to it for weeks. Papa was gone, so I’d had to prepare for everything myself. I’d bought cases of water, canned food, flashlights, and extra batteries. And a hefty pile of books, as well.
When the storm started, I was terribly afraid. Our whole cottage shook with the might of the gale. Tree branches rapped on the windowpanes like an unwelcome guest. I’d called Papa before the power went out, but it went to voicemail as usual. Then I’d tried Lucas, begging him to come over or bring me to the lodge. He’d told me I was being inconsiderate; a falling branch could scratch the truck his parents had just bought him. Also, I was sixteen and I should stop being a baby.
I was afraid. So, I wrapped myself in a blanket and crawled under my bed, so sure the little cottage would topple in on itself or the whole thing would fly me away like Dorothy. I spent the night like that, listening to the roof rattle and the whine of bending trees, and I thought the storm would never end.
But when I woke up in the morning, slipped on my gumboots and stepped outside, everything was calm. Yes, the path was scattered with twigs, and my lawn chair was down the road, but the little pond by our house barely rippled.
Then I’d seen my father’s tall frame coming up the path, backpack smeared with dirt. “Came back as soon as I got your message!”
“Missed the storm,” I’d said lightly. It seemed so strange to me, after the turbulence of the night before, how there could barely be a breeze.
Papa smiled warmly. “Eh, the storm always passes.”
The storm always passes. That’s what it’s like now, morning light filtering in through the windows of Castletree. Last night had been a storm. We’d blown and blustered and raged. I’d raged.
But now my room is so silent, I can almost hear the soft brush of the cherry blossoms hitting my floor. After I got the letter from Papa, I’d told everyone to leave me alone. Farron went to the library, and the rest of the princes went to their respective chambers.
My heart aches for each of them, for the sorrow in all the things we’d said.
A chill passes over me, and I pull my blankets up to my nose. Then I see the ice cracking beneath my door.
“Kel?”
Slowly, the door opens and the Prince of Winter stands in the entranceway.
“Come in,” I say.
He does.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“I’m managing,” he says, then his icy gaze narrows as he takes me in. “But you’re not.”
“I’m … I’m…” I start, but I can’t even get the words out before a sob rips from me.
Kel lies down on the bed, and I clutch at him as he wraps me in his strong embrace.
I’d told them I needed to be alone, but the solitude had only turned me numb. Kel pats my hair as tears cascade down my cheeks. Not soft, delicate tears, but a full-out ugly sob. I curl into his chest, hands clasping his shirt, staining it with my tears.
And I let his words, spoken in that deep, gravelly voice of his, sink into me. “Your father will be okay. As soon as we get the news that Dom and Billy have brought him back to Coppershire, we can visit him.”
“Knowing Papa, he probably overindulged in some strange fae berries or something,” I mumble when I find my voice again.
Keldarion gives a light chuckle. “If his spirit is half as strong as yours, then he will be fine.”