Free Web NovelChapter 256: The Duke Who Was An Anchor
Chapter 255: The Duke Who Was An Anchor
Lyria’s POV
Duke Valenridge did not say anything.
He did not speak. He did not shush me. He simply held me, his arms steady and firm around my shaking shoulders, his chest warm against my cheek.
I cried into his coat.
I clutched at it, my fingers curling into the dark fabric as the tears fell freely.
They soaked into the cloth.
They soaked into my skin.
They soaked into the space between us.
And as I sobbed, I spoke, the words broken, my stammer more pronounced than it had been in weeks.
"I m-m-miss her," I said. "S-s-she wasn’t s-s-supposed to g-go. S-s-she shouldn’t have g-gone."
I hit his chest.
Though the moment was weak, given the fact that I had only just recovered and my limbs felt unfamiliar, as if still learning how to be used.
"W-w-what am I s-s-supposed to d-do now?" I asked. "You t-told me to use a-a-anchors. P-p-people to support m-me, p-p-people w-w-who m-matter t-to me. But one of th-th-them is g-gone. She’s g-gone."
I hit him again.
"How c-can I survive n-now? I only have one l-left. And if th-the last one g-goes, I’ll—"
"Stop, princess," he said softly.
He took my chin in his hand, his fingers gentle but firm, and tilted my face up toward his. His other hand came up to my cheek, and he wiped at the tears with his thumb.
But no matter what he did, they kept falling.
"You still have me," he told me.
"I told you," he continued, "that you should add me to the list. I meant it then. I mean it now."
He held my gaze as he spoke.
"I will stay strong for you. I will stay beside you. I will stay with you. So do not give up. You have two remaining. Even though one is gone, there are still two. Me and the other person you have."
I wanted to tell him that he did not understand. That the second anchor was my mother, and she was unconscious, lying in a bed not so different from this one, unable to speak, unable to smile, unable to tell me that everything would be all right.
I wanted to tell him that I could not talk to her, could not hear her voice, could not feel her hand squeeze mine in return.
I wanted to tell him everything. How I wished she was awake now so I could bask in her warmth. How I wished she had recovered sooner so we would no longer be in the palace. I wanted to tell him everything.
But I did not.
The words caught in my throat, tangled with the tears, and I could not force them out.
So I said nothing.
The tears just kept pouring down my face.
I knew deep down I should not be crying like this.
I should not be showing him this side of me. This vulnerable, broken side. I still did not trust him fully. I could not. Trust was not something that could be given lightly, especially after all I endured.
But I could not help it.
The tears would not stop.
And for some reason I could not place, he did not seem to mind.
He did not pull away. He did not look at me with disgust or pity or impatience. He simply held me in place, resting my head against his chest again.
I had no idea how long I cried.
Minutes, perhaps. Hours. Time had lost its meaning somewhere between the sobs and the silence.
Duke Valenridge had said he did not have much time.
But he stayed.
He rubbed soothing circles down my back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of my shift, and he encouraged me to let it all out.
I cried until my throat was raw and my eyes were swollen and my chest ached from the effort of breathing.
When was the last time I had cried like this?
When was the last time I had sobbed openly, without restraint, without fear of who might hear?
Ah.
It had been with Patricia.
Years ago, when I had broken down in her room and told her how much I hated this place. How much I wanted to escape. How much I wanted to take my mother and her and leave, never looking back.
She had held me, just like this.
She had rubbed my back, just like this.
She had told me to let it all out, just like this.
And I had.
I would never forget Patricia.
I would never forget her patience, her kindness, the way she had taught me to read and write with nothing but patience. The way she had smiled at me, even without a tongue. The way she had believed in me, even when I did not believe in myself.
But it hurt.
It hurt that she was gone.
Gone before I could free her. Gone before I could take her out of this palace. Gone before I could show her the sky I had drawn for her birthday, the one she would never see.
Minutes passed and the tears slowed, and soon they stopped.
Nothing came out anymore.
My eyes were dry, my throat raw, my body limp with exhaustion.
Duke Valenridge held me for a moment longer. Then he lowered me gently onto the bed, arranging the pillows behind my head, pulling the blanket up to my chin. His movements were careful, as though I were something fragile that might break if handled too roughly.
"Get some rest, princess," he said softly.
I did not have the strength to speak.
He looked down at me, his eyes soft in the firelight.
"I will be your anchor," he said, "for as long as I can."
I wanted to ask him why he spoke as though he were going to leave. Why he said "for as long as I can" instead of "forever" or "always" or any of the other words people used when they made promises.
But exhaustion pulled at me, heavy and insistent, and I could not form the words.
Sleep came, and my last sight was Duke Valenridge watching over me.
