Chapter 38

Ruby

I wait at the end of Nancy’s driveway in the cold for Atwood to come and get me. When the car pulls up, I’m both disappointed and relieved to see that he sent a driver; disappointed because I really could have used his comfort right now, but also relieved because I know that he would probably yell at me for what I did at Nancy’s party.

I don’t know whether Nancy will forgive me this time. To be honest, I don’t even know if I can forgive myself after what I did. If I don’t get my anger under control, there’s no telling what I’ll do the next time someone makes me mad.

As Atwood’s driver takes me home, I can’t stop thinking about my vision of Beck. Sure, she’s been a bitch to me, but that doesn’t mean that I want her to get hurt. Now that I know that I can change the outcome of my visions, I know that I have to find a way to stop Earl from hurting her. But how?

The castle is quiet when I return. As I pass by Atwood’s study, I can see a light coming from underneath the door. Part of me wants to stop and talk to him, but I feel as though it might be better to just leave him be for now and talk about it later, so I quietly pass by and slip into the bedroom before anyone sees me.

I fall asleep still wearing Nancy’s pajamas.

I’m awoken first thing in the morning by none other than Alice.

She performs her usual morning routine of unceremoniously ripping me out of bed, ordering me to wash myself, and dressing me in the ugliest outfit she can find before whisking me away to my etiquette lesson without any breakfast.

The Queen must have gotten wind of my outburst at the sleepover, because she’s exceptionally strict today. She punishes me for every little thing, and within an hour I’m sore all over from being hit with the switch. Even my knuckles are bloody from her beatings.

Still, part of me feels as though I deserve it. Even when Alice and the Queen keep bringing up Luna, I don’t say anything. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’ll never be as good as this Luna person. Maybe Luna wouldn’t attack her classmate at a sleepover.

Since we have an extended weekend from school due to homecoming, Alice and the Queen make me stay in my lesson until much later than usual. It’s not until the sun goes down and I’m practically collapsing from hunger and exhaustion that they let me go.

When I pass by Atwood’s study again on my way to the kitchen, I still see the same light coming from beneath his door. I pause, raising my hand to knock, but then I hear him talking to someone else and drop my hand. Maybe now isn’t a good time.

After making myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the kitchen, I start to sneak off to my room to eat it in peace. As I’m walking, however, I find myself coming across that same narrow corridor that led to the locked room.

I look around. No one is nearby to see me slip into the corridor. After my dream the other night, I’m curious to see the room again. Maybe if I just take a peek in the window, my curiosity will be quelled and I can move on. Just a peek…

I tiptoe to the door, still munching on my sandwich as I walk, and look around one more time before cupping my hands around my face and peering through the glass.

Unsurprisingly, the room looks exactly the same as before.

Except… the curtain is open. Had it been like that before, or has someone been in here recently? Now that the open curtain is letting some light in, I think I can see that some of the items in the room have been moved around. One of the chairs no longer has a sheet on it, and there’s an open book on the table next to it.

I jiggle the handle. It’s still locked.

As I’m about to walk away, I suddenly remember a lesson that Cayden once taught me on picking locks. He used a hair pin. I reach up and pull one of my hair pins out, stick my sandwich in my mouth so that my hands are free, and crouch down to the lock.

Thankfully, Cayden’s lesson stuck in my mind because the lock clicks and the door swings open after just a few seconds of trying. A cold gust of wind blows out of the room and into my face. It smells musty, causing me to wrinkle my nose in disgust.

I stand and, after looking around one last time, tiptoe into the room. It feels several degrees colder in here, as though a fog hangs over it, and is even dustier than I previously thought.

Now that I can get a better look at the room, I can see that the belongings scattered around must have belonged to a woman at some point. There is a silver hand mirror, an ornate comb, and a music box that plays a melancholy tune when I open it. I quickly snap the music box shut again and bite my lip, hoping that no one heard it.

I make my way over to the chair and pick up the open book that sits on the side table. Its pages are dusty and wrinkled after years of sitting in the damp air, but when I look closer I can see that it’s a diary.

June 24th

We are to be wed today. I’ve never been so happy. He is the love of my life, and I swear I’ll do anything to make him the happiest man in the world. His mother speaks of a curse, but I don’t believe her; I never do. I think she just wants to keep him for herself.

Is she talking about Atwood? I turn the page.

August 1st

It’s only been a little over a month, and I’m starting to believe his mother. My body feels weak… With each passing day, I’m losing strength. I wasn’t able to join him on the hunt today, and watching him run off with the rest of the pack as I sat in the window killed me a little bit inside. My body feels like a prison.

This is the first I’ve heard about a curse. If this is real, why wouldn’t Atwood have mentioned it to me sooner? Is it possible that I’m just reading the ramblings of a madwoman, or something more sinister at work here?

There is a series of blank pages. I assume that the diary was never finished and am about to set the book back down when more writing on the last page catches my eye.

I’m going to do it. I can’t take it anymore. Atwood, my love, if you read this: it’s not your fault. Don’t trust your mother.

So all of this is about Atwood. I quietly set the book back down, but then the very thing that I dreaded catches my eye.

The painting.

I feel drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

Without thinking, I step up to it and grasp the sheet. With one tug, the sheet cascades to the floor. I drop my sandwich.

The dark haired woman stares back at me. The painting that’s been hiding behind the sheet this whole time is a portrait of her. Of Luna. She’s beautifully poised, sitting in the very chair that is uncovered now. She wears a beautiful blue, silky gown with long bell sleeves; the same one that Alice tried to stuff me in during my first week at the castle.

No wonder Alice and the Queen can’t stop talking about Luna. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than I’ll ever be. Her silky black hair cascades around her shoulders, and even in the painting, her silver eyes are piercing.

“Ahem.”

I spin around to see Atwood standing in the doorway.