Page 36 of The Silent Princess

I would fight for her.

There is not a thing in the world she could not take from me.

“Ella,” I murmur, caressing her lip, a thread uniting us in this moment of silence, a shared language becoming clear as day. And the sudden urge to ask again, to plead to know who dared hurt her, overtakes me as she cuts off my attempt and signs, “My stepmother. It’s my stepmother.” My shoulders relax, the culprit clear and designated, already becoming my number one target, the destination of my wrath. “She couldn’t find her jewels. It’s…” She blinks hard, signing as I am forced to look at her hands, leaving her breathtaking face for an instant. “She thought I had stolen them, but then she found them, and… that’s why.” I remain silent, weighing the result of confiding in her what I will do to her stepmother—threat, blackmail, intimidation. There is a spectrum to retaliation. Only, I am neither calm nor serene about this specific situation. And so my natural inclination tends to reach for a much more radical approach.

I’m not a violent man; I’m not like Father.

But it doesn’t mean I couldn’t.

For Ella, I could be…different. Cruel, perhaps.

“How much do you like her?”

“I…I don’t understand your question.”

“If…” I pause, the angel before me so different from the dark world I usually converse with. “If she were drowning, would you save her?” She lets out a sharp sigh, as if understanding the weight of my power.

“Of course. There isn’t one person I wouldn’t save. Even my worst enemy. No one deserves to die.” She signs fast, her movements urgent, as if trying to prevent me from hurting another being, even if this person is a monster, who, from my point of view, very much deserves to die. If she had wings, I would not be surprised.

“Where have you been?” I mutter to myself. She sighs, her eyes glassy, her confidence and facade crumbling at her feet, revealing her vulnerability. At last, without suits and titles and functions and roots, she is a woman, and I am a man. Two entities made of flesh and thoughts and anger and grief and occasional stolen moments of joy.

“I have to go,” she signs, stepping back. Hell, no. Catching her forearm, I come closer, cupping her chin, forcing her into contact with my chest, her breath falling against my collarbone, my mouth a centimeter above her temple, inhaling her essence.

“Don’t.” A featherlight touch falls on my elbow as her fingers hesitantly touch the fabric, her acceptance of our closeness shy and nervous. I am too close for her to sign. Time holds its breath as we remain standing, unmoving, my hand on her arm, the other cupping her face, fearing that another movement from me could make her flee like an animal caught in the woods.

“I’m sorry I hired someone else,” I murmur, forcing her to listen to me without being able to answer. “I did not want you to feel as if we were not equal if I found you here.” The side of her face falls slowly against my chest, hesitant and shy, as I run my fingers over her hair. Skyscrapers glow behind us, a technicolor ocean of lights witnessing us. “You are making me…” I pause, inhaling her hair. “You are making me feel.” Her hands close around my biceps, as if she is accepting this, the inevitable collision of us. Angling her face to look at me, I search in her pools for the reciprocating pain, the flicker of hope I could hold on to. She grants me the slightest nod, the one that says, I too ache like a sword is aimed at my heart, without knowing how to stop it. Reluctantly, she pushes herself off me, enough to sign and for me to see.

“Tristan, I can’t. You’re you, and I’m… Let’s not pretend this is a fair game.”

“You’re right. It is never a fair game. You have been holding my attention and my thoughts hostage since the moment I saw you. I am just a man trying to forget that, Ella, but how does one forget an angel when granted the gift of meeting one?” Her eyes drop to my lips, a shake of her head betraying her torment.

“But…you don’t even know me.”

“I did my research.” She frowns, but her anger does not last, shame keeping us company as she hides her eyes behind her palms.

“Hey, what are you hiding from?”

She signs, “What…what do you know?”

“Is there anything you would not want someone to know?”

“My life isn’t pretty, Tristan. It isn’t like yours.”

“You say so, and somehow you have managed to outrank every woman I have ever met.”

“I lost my mom when I was six, and my father is ill, stuck in a bed while my stepmother acts like he doesn’t exist. My stepsisters aren’t any better, the three of them living as if I were invisible. All I do is clean and do their chores, from sunrise to sunset. That is all I do, and then I come here.”

“Didn’t your father own Brooks Residential Group and sell it for millions?” She nods.

“Yes, but ever since he married my stepmother, it seems like it has vanished. She grants him the bare minimum of care and cut me off from studying. I thought I could, since she let me study for a year, but I guess once she saw how much they needed me at home, with my father’s state getting worse by the day…” She pauses, her eyes glistening. “She must have thought it was not worth the expense. Now I work at night, here, saving it all to pay for better care for my dad, better nurses and equipment, and enough to study next year.” Her signs sink into me like venom, and I get the urge to steal her away into a world where she would never have to worry about all of this.

“Let me fix this,” I tell her, even if it sounds more like a vow.

“It isn’t yours to fix,” she signs.

“You can work here if your dignity demands it, but as of tonight, I will transfer enough money into your bank account for you to study next year and pay for whatever your father needs.”

“Tristan, don’t. This isn’t why I told you.”