Page 53 of The Silent Princess

“It’s not safe. Cole’s intel could be anywhere, hidden among the guests. If they see her, they could…” I stop, fist above my mouth. “I cannot allow such a risk.” I have already been reckless enough by walking with her outside, then to the library. If it were up to me, the whole world would know that she is…mine, and she could get a bullet in the heart for it. Cole will aim at the heart. He said it, word for word.

“You said she was a maid, living a life of work and chores. Couldn’t you offer her a night of wonders? Tristan, love, every young woman dreams of going to a ball, even just once in her life.” She purses her lips. “It is a masquerade ball, no one could recognize her.” Would Ella want that? If she were to disguise herself, then perhaps things could be safer than I thought. Only she can tell me. If I have learned anything so far, it is not to make decisions for her without her consent.

“We’ll see,” I offer. “I need to go. Thank you for…” I wave in the air. The advice? Her acceptance of Ella? Tonight brought us closer together than we had ever been, and I have a feeling that was quite enough for both of us.

“I’ll…”

“Yes, of course. Just see yourself out, love.”

“Goodnight, Mother.” Kissing her fast on the cheek, she pats my shoulder.

“Off you go,” she mutters. And despite the awkwardness as I pass the tall gray stone threshold, I hold back a smile. Ten p.m. Two more hours, and I will climb on the side of her house. Until then, I am going to blow off some much-needed steam on the treadmill.

Ella

“Are you sure?” Valeria whispers in the kitchen as I stop mid-stairs, hearing them hushing behind the wall. What are they saying? I better not be caught eavesdropping, or Mara will have me locked up in my room like last time.

“Ella wouldn’t say any…” I’m about to go up when I hear my name on Emily’s lips. Gently, I tiptoe my way down, waiting on the last stair. Are they plotting against me like the time they covered my bedsheets in shaving cream? The hours it took me to clean. It is eleven, and I am already in my pajamas. I mean, if a large white T-shirt from Dad and a pair of black leggings count as pajamas, it is hard to tell when the girls only have matching silky pastel sets.

“Nothing has been decided yet… Leverage… If either of you talk…” Mara’s voice gets louder, hushing like a middle schooler. “Do not befriend…for long…” Small gasps come out, echoing against the wall. If only I could get closer. “Not…to be trusted…making myself clear?”

“Yes, Mom,” they answer in chorus as I hear their steps moving fast on the checkered floor. I climb back up fast. Phew. At least no one saw me. What was that?

They are definitely planning something, and the fact that Mara is involved sends a trail of sweat down my spine. Should I pack my clothes and run off now? What about Dad? Earlier, when I came back, between chores, I went to see him while he was sleeping, his face was paler than yesterday. Has he lost more weight? I will need to ask his doctor. I thought his state was stabilizing, and still…if I had not checked his pulse, I would not have been able to swear that he was alive. And why has he been sleeping so much more lately?

Coming back to my room, wishing I had grabbed an apple to sustain the lack of dinner since Mara shushed me out of the kitchen before I could swallow anything, I lie under my bed. In my space, big enough to fit me, between the mattress and the floor, where I have laid a blanket so I would not be completely on the ground. When life does not make sense anymore and the sudden urge to disappear takes me, I go there. Hiding beneath furniture, like a child who had a nightmare and with no one to console her. It is embarrassing, but at least here, no one can find me. There is just enough room for my arms to wrap around my torso, giving myself crumbs of comfort, closing my eyes as if they were his around me. What were they doing downstairs? Am I imagining this? I doubt they would plan any sort of surprise for me, so…could they want to get rid of me? No. This is madness. She spent time with me today, even if it was not what I was expecting. Still, she tried…right?

So much is happening without giving me any time to process anything. And with Tristan’s kiss today, I am struggling to swim in a ragged ocean. Waves keep crushing me each time I get my head out of the water, inhaling him, seeing him on the shore, calling my name, telling me that I can swim, that I can do this. But how could we ever be more, with him being him and me being a maid, invisible and silent, a shadow of myself?

Only a spark of light comes to me. Perhaps I could find a way out. Perhaps accepting help is not so bad. But I would never want Tristan to think that this is all I am here for. How could I show him that he can trust me? That being near him is becoming as vital as oxygen?

“Tris… Tris… Tristan,” I try to say, silence mocking me, the syllables echoing into a void. What were the odds of finding a man who would see me for me? Not only accepting my mutism, but embracing it by signing every chance he gets. In one hour, he will be there, knocking at my window like Romeo for Juliet.

Only they didn’t have a happy ending.

And I hope, I hope our story will turn in a different direction.

Chapter Fourteen

Tristan

If you had told me I would be climbing a ladder to knock at a damsel’s window on the top floor of a mansion in Crestwood Heights at midnight, well, I would have hardly believed it.

Still, here I am, after trading my navy suits for dark trousers and a long-sleeved polo covered by a jacket of the same color. I have left my helmet on the seat of my black Kawasaki, hidden two houses down, where the forest begins and the street ends. My black balaclava is still on, though, because I would hate getting caught by one of those nosy neighbors expensive communities always have. At least if I do get seen, no one will be able to tell it was me. Tristan Ashford. A billionaire, heir of a multigenerational legacy, alone at night, climbing the side of a house like a desperate Romeo calling his Juliet. Oh, the irony of having it all when the only thing I will ever truly want is up there, as I put two feet down on the lawn, catching the small, faint orange light from the window of her room. What is having it all when I cannot have her by my side? I’m trying to ignore the expansion of her presence, bleeding ink on my heart, but one can only ignore it for so long. Ella, sweetheart, you shouldn't be here. Not here, alone, waiting. I see you in every room of my house, in every taste of my coffee, in every cloud, in every knock on my office door that disappoints me because it is not you. I sense you under my skin, deciding my mood; your pain and silence mine to repair; your struggles mine to take care of. I see you like a painter recognizes his muse after looking for it for a lifetime, an infinite source of inspiration, yet also humbling, granting me your looks and your signs like gifts and rewards. I may rule the city, but Ella, Ella is the only one who could rule me.

A car passes by as I evaporate into the side of the house, dark and silent. The streetlights are too dim for anyone to see me, and I am thankful for the high ladder that hopefully will be strong enough for me to climb. Resting both hands on the wooden piece, black gloves preventing rose thorns from blistering my palms, I hold on tight and test its toughness. The synthetic smell of my hood distracts me, and I hear myself breathe, counting back from ten, hoping I will not fuck this up for both our sakes. Without overthinking it again, I start climbing, reaching higher by the second, hurrying since-

A piece of wood cracks beneath my sole, breaking into pieces on the ground.

Has anyone heard me? I glance at the street. Ella told me it was the only way up, and that, according to her signs, it was “crazy” to do so. I suppose my ego got carried away, because there is nothing I would have let stand between her and me tonight. I would have waited for all of them to fall asleep and entered by the main door if needed. I am almost there as I slide one leg over her small balcony, focused on every single one of my movements. Second leg over. Relief washes over me as I turn, a translucent curtain of light behind the window making her silhouette ethereal, unreal.

Ella is there, but she has not seen me yet. And what a gift. My hand forms a fist as I stand behind the window, observing the miracle I have been offered from the heavens. A large white shirt and black leggins hugs her skin, as she sits on the floor, back against her bed, legs folded to the side, her long jet-black hair down, holding a book in her hand, her focus pulled into the story so deeply she does not seem to feel the strand of hair falling from her ear and caressing her cheek. Heat takes possession of my body despite the cold of the night and the harsh whistling around me. I would give all the money in the world if I could make this woman mine. Not because I would have chosen her, but because she would have chosen me too.

Like a prey sensing a predator watching her, she raises her face, dropping the book open on the bed. Gently, her face turns, eyes widening as she takes in the masked man standing outside her window, rising slowly as if I cannot see her. Fear dances on her shoulders until she tilts her head ever so slightly, biting her lips.

Hi, sweetheart.

Index above my mouth, I tell her not to make a sound as she comes closer, hand above the handle, twisting the wooden balcony door delicately. Eyes on her and her shirt that ripples on her chest like water, I stand still, fists folded, jaw clenched. A tension, thick and heavy, fills the air as she opens the door. Stepping back, she lets me in, the room small and intimate, stripped of any luxury the outside of the house could lead us to believe. My wet shoes and her bare feet only heighten the contrast. Despite being stripped of any eccentricities, her room feels very much like…hers. Bed, desk, dresser and book, because of course, where Ella is, there’s always books too. There is a small lamp on the desk, drawing a candle-light glow on the wall and illuminating her face in sensual shadows. Ella stands in the middle as I take her in, drinking every inch of her, her perfume branding me irreversibly.