“Of course, sir.” He read Vincente’s apprehension. “But I believe the Queen—”
“Inform her I’ll be along when I can, but it will be some time.”
Xavier did as he’d promised, moving to lock each door and close all the drapes, turning on one bedside lamp as he went. Then he shook out a soft blanket from a chest and brought it to where Trella sat on the edge of the bed.
She clutched the blanket around her, back hunched, still trembling.
All he could see was a nine-year-old girl. Was this what that experience had left her with? He had a thousand questions, but heeded her sister’s advice and only said, “You’re safe, bella. This is my world. Nothing can harm you here.”
Tears tracked her cheeks and she swiped the back of her hand along her jaw, skimming away the drips.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Her voice was thin as a silk thread. “I wanted you to think I was Gili. She cries at proper things, like weddings and stubbed toes. She’s afraid of real things, not stuff she makes up in her head.”
Was it made-up? He used the satin on the corner of the blanket to dry her cheeks, not sure where the urge to comfort came from. It wasn’t taught or ingrained. Manners and platitudes got him through displays like this, not affection.
But he felt responsible for her and her attack. “I only wanted to talk to you. I didn’t expect things to go off the rails like this.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I take everything further than it needs to go.” She drew in a shaken sigh. Her eyes filled again.
“Is this what you were hiding, staying out of the spotlight all those years?”
She nodded jerkily. “It started after Papa died. We were fifteen. I was starting to feel like I might be able to go back to school and have a normal life. But we were seen as sex objects, I guess, because the most disgusting men found us online. I’d already been through an eating disorder and trolls mocking me for it. Then all these men started sending photos and telling me what they wanted to do to me. It hit a switch.”
A streak of impotent fury lodged in his chest. His entire life, he had struggled against this particular irony. He was a future monarch, charged with great power and responsibility, godlike in some eyes, but he couldn’t control how people treated each other. He couldn’t prevent the kind of harm that had Trella drawing up her knees so she was a ball of misery. His inability to help her struck at the deepest part of him.
“I’m a woman of extremes. You might as well know that about me. Give me that pillow.”
He dragged it closer and she fell onto her side and buried her face in it. She sobbed so deeply, was in the throes of an anguish so terrible, he was stricken witnessing it. How did she withstand it?
Let it run its course, her sister had said. That seemed cruel.
He settled on the bed behind her, rubbed her arm and soothed her shaking back. It took several minutes for her crying to subside. She lifted her head and breathed as though she’d been running for miles.
“I keep worrying I’ll have an attack while I’m in labor. My doctor says this won’t hurt the baby, but I’m so scared all this adrenaline is causing damage. What if we go through all of this and our child isn’t fit to reign? What if that’s my fault because I can’t control this?”
“Is there nothing you can take? Something safe during pregnancy?”
“No. I mean, maybe, but I can’t. Won’t.” She threw her arm over her eyes. “I tried drugs years ago. They made me depressed and dependent. I was close to taking a whole bottle just to end this.”
She dropped her arm and twisted to stare at him from between matted lashes.
“I shouldn’t have told you that. You’ll declare me unfit and take our baby away. Oh, God...”
She rolled around the pillow again, dragging the blanket with her and pulling it over her head.
“Trella.” He was no mental health expert, but he knew a tailspin when he heard one. He settled on the mattress behind her, propped on an elbow, letting his body heat penetrate the blanket as he gave rubs of reassurance against her shoulder and arm. He wanted to fold right around her, absorb whatever had such a terrible grip on her.
“Let’s take this one thing at a time. Hmm? The baby is well. Your doctor said so, yes? Do you know the sex?”
It took a minute, but her breathing settled to something more natural.
“I’ve been afraid to ask, thinking it would make me more attached. I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.” She shifted, pushing away the blanket to reveal her face, then peeled the blanket all the way back, piling it on him as she exposed her bump. She smoothed her shirt over the roundness. “It’s moving. Do you want to feel?”