Storm Reawakened

A Walk In The Dark

Petering down a a stairwell of cold marble, I leave the manor entirely through double doors that loom overhead and stomp my way through a garden—Picturesque and serene. The exact opposite of me.

I guess what they say is true—All that glitters, isn't gold.

Having spent all afternoon arguing with a man whom I now call husband, a wave of regret washes over me. Another day in fantasy gone and now I have to wait for my ride home—my knight to take me home?

At least in this grand paradise behind the Duke's manor, there aren't any prying eyes and that's a small blessing all things considered.

"What am I even doing?" I cried, flailing onto the edge of a romantic water fountain—its water spraying down peacefully. If I had a phone, I'd be snapping photos for the gram but since my life is in danger, it's a hard pass even if this scene seems like a cinematic wonder.

Okay. Calm down, Blair. It's time to review the facts. Hawthorne thinks I don't know who's behind him, but I do. It's the Crown Prince.

The Hawthorne family is considered close supporters of the crown but they're actually related to the royals as well. A fact that's hidden throughout the novel until the end—when Hawthorne swoops in and does the selfless deed of saving Diana and her Prince from a conspiracy plot. His last act before he disappears into the background, submerging into the pages as a lost love interest, never Diana's true destiny.

How the author works around that logic, is beyond me. Which reveals another fact—one that terrifies me.

The more I try to recall the finer details of the novel, the less I remember. It's like all my cheat codes are suddenly being snatched and deleted from my brain—one by one. Instead, Evara's life comes blistering and bruising my head in a vividness that bleeds into lines of reality and fantasy. Our two lives colliding as Evara's demands to be dominant.

"What am I supposed to really do?" I questioned into the air. The breeze around me is warm and comforting, yet it only makes me ache for home.

Okay. So I've married Hawthorne. I'll make his life hell—easier said than done since I don't have Evara's vindictiveness or thirst for violence. But I'll try to make him miserable. And by just being plain old Blair, it seems to be working.

But what about this killer? How am I supposed to catch this elusive, shadowy figure? If I point at the wrong person, everyone will just label it as Evara Storm acting up again and isolating her latest victim.

I have to be careful. Especially if my endgame is to live quietly—invisibly.

A part of me wants to parade around the capital, showcasing how I've changed and become a better person. And the other part of me is scared. I'm not exactly courageous—unless you call deviating from a cooking recipe as living on the edge. I don't have Evara's strength or Hawthorne's calculation.

All I have—really have, are snippets of the future and character outlines, thanks to the novel. Beyond that? Nothing.

"A penny for your thoughts, my lady," came a familiar voice.

Lifting my head, I notice how much those orange eyes illuminate in the dark. Hauntingly beautiful and striking against Winston's silver hair that seems to glow.

"Winston," I offered weakly.

"Is anything the matter? I received word from a Hawthorne servant that you wished for me to escort you home."

Sighing, I begrudgingly admit that at least Hawthorne remembered my wish to go home. "Will you walk with me, Winston?"

"Of course."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, my lady."

"Why are you and I friends? Don't our stations prevent us from being this close? And I'm not trying to be mean, I promise—I um, just forgot."

Winston considers the question, a momentary silence draping over us as we walk through the garden. "I'm the son of a Baron, but life had me following a path into knighthood. And I soon found myself wanting to be a part of house Storm."

"I see. And did you also like being a guard to a horrible young lady, like myself?" I asked lightly.

"Far from it. I thought she was—and still is—the most beautiful woman in the kingdom."

Okay. Cringe.

"Beauty has nothing on behaviour," I returned grimly, wondering if the author really did write all the characters to be this romantically cringe worthy.

"You were never horrible to me."

This makes me stop dead in my tracks, a cold chill running down my spine. So long as it wasn't him, it didn't matter who got hurt?

I swallow hard and pick up my pace, Hawthorne's warning echoing in my head. Winston follows, his every step making me feel more ill at ease.

And I thought Evara had bad taste in men? Clearly, I don't know how to pick them either. It should have been a red flag the moment Winston casually proclaimed his love for me. Not that I bought it for a second, but I thought it was harmless. Nothing so deep and undying as the vibes emanating off him now.

Why does everything turn evil and sinister in the dark? His ethereal looks feel dangerous, the sword clasped to his side alarming.

For the love of McDonald's chicken nuggets, bring back the cringe! I can't let my mind wander into crime-thriller territory.

"On second thought, I think I might stay at the Hawthorne house. I have much to discuss with the Duke," I hurried breathless, raising the ends of my dress and nearly hurdle past each step to get back inside.

"Shall I keep watch then?" he offered, an eagerness to serve his mistress clearly readable.

"No, it's all right. Simply tell my father I am fine and well. And I'll see him in the morning."

"As you wish." Winston bows, kissing my hand in a grand sweep and then leaves as I return to the manor.

I've taken less than a few steps when Hawthorne cuts me off. And never, in my wildest dreams, did I think I would be glad to see my fictional husband.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his watchful eyes following a retreating Winston.

"Yes, fine. But you and I need to talk, Duke," I demanded in a breathless whisper.

"Before or after dinner?"

Gawking, I raise a brow in disbelief. "After, obviously. I'm not keeping food waiting."

"So I take it you're staying?" He inclines his head to one side, a smirk replacing the serious expression that was there mere seconds ago.

Puffing out a hot breath of embarrassment, my amethyst eyes meet his midnight ones dead on. "I guess so."

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