Who could blame her? He looked like a total hideous freak. How could anyone ever love someone so ugly?
Zarya gasped at what they’d done to him. Even with the thick auburn beard that covered most of his face, she could see the deep, awful scars all over it. From the depth and number, it was obvious that each one had been intentional. Done for no other reason than to ruin his looks and make him suffer. There was a scar along the length of his left nostril where someone had sliced it open. The one on his right was even longer. Two more jagged scars ran from the corner of his right eye, causing it to droop. Another thick one ran over his upper lip, causing it to arch up at a peculiar angle. Both corners of his mouth held definitive scars from the muzzle they’d forced on him.
And there, in his right cheek, through the beard, she saw where Pip had carved his name in giant letters.
How could they have done this to him?
She wanted to cry over the cold brutality that had disfigured his face. Damn them all for it!
Darling took the mask from her hand and gave her a harsh, condemning stare. “Just so you know, this changes nothing between us.” He withdrew from her and fastened his pants. The coldness of that action made her eyes water.
Then he returned the mask to his face and left her there.
Her heart shattering, she scooted off his desk and retrieved her gown from the floor. Normally, she would have insulted him back for the verbal slap he’d given her, but not this time.
He’d been put through a far worse hell.
What would you do? She couldn’t imagine having her face destroyed the way his was.
Yes, Darling was part of the ruling class they’d all hated, but he wasn’t evil. He didn’t hurt other people. Not unless they came at him first.
Sick about it, she’d just pulled her gown back on when three guards entered the study in military formation. Her heart stopped beating.
They looked like they’d come to arrest her.
Without a single word, the largest of them crossed the room to stand beside her before he picked her up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
His features impassive, he spoke in a low, unemotional tone. “What the governor told me to do.”
Terror consumed her. Was this really what Darling wanted done? “I’m being arrested?”
He didn’t answer as he carried her out of the study. But instead of taking her outside to where she would assume the jail to be, he turned and headed up the elegant staircase while the other two guards followed closely behind them.
Completely baffled, she didn’t say a word until he took her into the largest, most elaborate bedroom she’d ever seen. There was a heavily carved canopy bed against the far wall. To her left was a huge marble hearth with chairs and a fur rug set before it. A small dining table and two chairs were set on her right. The table was topped with two ornate silver candelabras and an impressive bouquet of freshly cut flowers.
The top of the extremely high walls had carved and gilded crown molding. But the strangest part was the ceiling, which appeared to be a dark brown smoked mirror. One that clearly reflected whatever was going on in the room.
Was this Darling’s bedroom? With all the lace and pastels, it seemed more feminine than masculine. But it was a pale blue…
The guard carried her to one of the white chairs in front of the hearth and placed her in it.
An older woman came forward with a frown. Tiny and frail, she had her light gray hair pulled up in an elegant chignon and she was dressed in a somber brown dress. “This is the royal mistress?” she asked the guard.
“Yes, ma’am.”
His answer only seemed to confuse her more. “But she’s a woman.” She turned her scowl to Zarya. “You are a woman, correct?”
“Last time I checked.”
The guard shrugged, then went to the door where the other two guards waited. He stepped back and held it open for Maris before he took his leave.
Sweeping into the room with a flourish, Maris grinned like a criminal who’d just made a record score. He laughed giddily. “I knew he’d go back for you. I knew it.”
“Do you mind, my lord?” the older woman snapped. “I have duties to attend.”
Maris waved a hand at her. “Relax, Gera. I’m here to help.” He frowned as he saw the bandage on Zarya’s ankle. “What happened?”
“I fell in the kitchen and I’m supposed to…” Her words broke off as the door opened and a servant came in with a cold pack. Without pausing, the servant came straight to Zarya and lifted her foot to the ottoman, then placed the cold pack over her ankle.
“Let me guess,” Maris said with a proud smile. “Keep it iced?”
“Yes.”
Gera excused the other servant before she approached Zarya’s chair. “Then I take it you’re not supposed to be walking on it, either?”
“Not for a week.”
Gera sighed wearily. “How am I supposed to get you into the tub then?”