Page 55 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
I shiver, aware of the pain that awaits me. There’s no way to avoid it, not with the full force of Gabriel’s will upon me. Selfish, that’s what he called himself. Though maybe I’m selfish for wanting to stay like this, safe and blanketed.
“I know you’re afraid. You should be, after what happened to you. Your father betrayed you. He sold you. He definitely didn’t deserve you for a daughter.”
The realization sinks in as warm and welcome as this water—that he didn’t deserve me. And the corollary: that I didn’t deserve what he did to me.”
“And then what Jonathan Scott did…” Gabriel swears. “You’re worried you’re crazy, but what that motherfucker did is certifiable. This? This is a sane reaction to that kind of abuse. This is normal.”
Can that be true? I was sure that I was insane—whether I was born that way or was driven to the brink by the voices in the walls. Either way the result was the same. Except Gabriel doesn’t seem to think I’m insane. Neither did Anders. It’s like a sickness. Temporary. Like the beating my father took after his downfall, but this one bruised my soul. And Gabriel’s nursing me back to health with emotional chicken soup.
I blink at him, drops of water heavy on my lashes.
“There you are,” he murmurs.
My lips move but no sound comes out.
“That’s right. You won, little virgin.” He laughs, rough and dark. “I’m not humble, so I can admit it hasn’t happened often. But I can’t deny it anymore. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. Even the thought of you being hurt is enough to paralyze me.”
I know what it feels like for a body to brace for pain. It’s what I’ve been doing ever since Jonathan Scott confessed what he did. So I recognize the tension that enters Gabriel’s body.
“You own the board now.”
Checkmate.
Part of me wonders what he means by that. The other part of me is distracted by the way his hands slide down my stomach. Down, down, to the thatch of hair grown wild in the time I’ve been bedridden. A daily wash doesn’t include a daily shave, and I’m suddenly very aware of the natural state of my body. He doesn’t seem put off. If anything, his cock hardens beneath my ass as he runs his fingers through the curls.
He strokes me without urgency, almost petting me, as if he could do this for hours, for days. Every touch of his fingers, gentle, with water swirling against my sex, sends me deeper into the dream space.
It isn’t the nightmare with fire and voices. This is cleansing. Purifying, as if he took me apart only to put me back together. When his fingers nudge my clit, it feels both inevitable and yet entirely new. He draws gentle strokes, writing letters across my sensitive skin, leaving his mark, indelible. I sigh, pressing my face to his neck, breathing deeply of his musk.
When I come, it isn’t with explosions or rainbows. There’s only the glint of gold, the slightest spark of life, as I murmur, “Gabriel.”
His expression turns tender. “There you are.”
Have I returned from somewhere? It feels like I’ve been asleep a thousand years instead of a week. Like I’ve dreamed my entire life, only to come awake this moment. “Please.”
“Tell me what you need,” he says, grave and sure.
There’s only one answer I can give, only one thing a pawn truly wants. And that’s all I’ve ever been. To my father. To Gabriel. The whole world sees me as a piece to be played. And I can never really be safe as long as I’m being moved around the board against my will.
“Set me free,” I whisper.
His eyes blaze with emotion. “Say it again, little virgin.”
“Freedom.”
And whatever happens next, I know that I am changed. I can no longer defend a king who doesn’t value me, the pawn who faces the enemy front lines. I can no longer fight for my own virtue, a knight who wields her sword in service. And I can no longer hide behind the walls of Gabriel’s castle. I’m a queen in my own right, whether I fall or fight another day, whatever my next move, wherever I land. I have the whole board to consider, every direction available. My fate may not decide the game, but I can go anywhere I want.
The queen has freedom the king does not. She decides her own fate.Chapter Thirty-OneI wake up alone in the bed, blinking into the darkness. Shadows tell me it’s early morning, before I would normally expect breakfast. My body hums pleasantly from the bath the night before. The bed smells like Gabriel, but he’s not here. The sheets on either side of me are cool beneath my fingertips.
For a moment I wonder in silence—and then I remember.
My mouth works. I swallow. “Gabriel?”
