A Crown of Blood and Roses

It had been a month since Alistair Brennan left for Monaco with Kiera Byrne, the young woman who had supplanted Aurelia Rossi in his affections. In all that time, Aurelia had been silent.

Only then did Alistair realize something was wrong.

He finally carved out a moment to call his Consigliere, Finnian. "How's the wound on Aurelia's leg? Is she still angry about the skin graft for Kiera?"

A long silence stretched over the line before Finnian spoke, his voice low. "Miss Rossi was discharged a month ago. She also left the penthouse."

Alistair’s mind flashed back to the day of the ballroom explosion. As he’d clutched Kiera, he’d seen Aurelia’s eyes, and in them, a look of utter despair and finality.

It wasn’t sadness, not even close.

It was a goodbye.

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1

In the tenth year of living under Alistair’s protection, I received a job offer from a design firm in Seattle.

My friends' voices still echoed in my ears, their incredulous attempts to change my mind.

"Lia, are you serious? You’re leaving the moment your residency is finalized? Why?"

"Yeah, why? Alistair treats you like a queen. A whole decade! He’s been completely devoted!"

"We all saw those ninety-nine proposals! It was unbelievably romantic! You never said yes, but he never gave up! If that's not true love, what is?"

"Is it because of that Kiera? Come on, she's just the daughter of some associate Alistair recently took under his wing. I heard she has some tragic backstory; he's just feeling sorry for her. How could she possibly compare to you?"

"Exactly, Lia, don't be foolish. That's ten years of history! Alistair cares about you so much! There's no way some naive girl could change that."

Love?

I lifted my eyes, gazing through the one-way glass of the private club's booth to the roaring underground boxing ring below.

By the side of the ring, a familiar figure in black slowly straightened up.

He took the towel from one of his men, turned, and dabbed the sweat from the young girl's temple with an easy familiarity.

Alistair Brennan.

Kiera sat beside him, smiling up at him, her eyes curving into happy crescents. From that angle, she did look a lot like I had at her age.

Alistair wore a relaxed, even indulgent smile, one I hadn't seen in a long time. Lately, his gaze held little more than weariness and impatience when it landed on me.

My friends followed my gaze and fell silent, their voices fading as an awkward silence fell over the table.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"But Alistair, he…"

I tore my eyes away, my expression impassive. I took a sip of champagne, letting the cold bubbles fizz on my tongue.

"I'm tired," I cut in, my voice leaving no room for argument. "I'm heading back. My decision about Seattle is final."

I stood, grabbed my clutch, and managed a faint smile. Before they could say another word, I was gone.

The night air should have been warm, but it felt chilling as it blew against my skin.

Ten years…

I still remembered the day Alistair had pulled me from the ruins of what I once called home, a casualty of a firefight between rival families. I had cowered in a corner, not even daring to lift my head.

With endless patience, he taught me etiquette, showed me the splendors of the world, and gave me the best of everything. He spoiled me like a Principessa, showering me with such luxury that I almost forgot the girl I once was.

Those ninety-nine proposals, each one grand and meticulously planned, were the stuff of every girl's dream.

It wasn't that my heart was unmoved. It was just that I always felt an undercurrent of unease, as if this happiness were a fragile dream. I told myself to wait a little longer, until I was more worthy of him, until our love was indestructible.

When did it all start to change?

Perhaps it was a year ago, when he brought Kiera home. He ruffled her hair and said half-jokingly, "Lia, look! I found your little stand-in. Funny, right?"

Or maybe it was the first time Kiera deliberately broke my favorite picture frame. I got angry, but Alistair just frowned at me.

"Aurelia, she's just a child. She doesn't know any better. Let it go. It's just an old frame. If it's broken, I'll buy you a new one."

Or maybe it was when I smelled a strange perfume on his collar, or saw suspicious messages on his phone.

He never explained. He just tried to placate me with more expensive jewelry, then lost his temper.

"Can't you just be more understanding? I'm tired. I don't have the energy to coddle you every day."

Or maybe it was during the ninety-ninth proposal, when he held my hand, his eyes under the starry sky seeming so distant.

"Lia, we're almost at a hundred. You'll say yes then, right?"

But the hundredth time never came.

Instead, one night he came home drunk, slinging his arm around my shoulders with a cruel, flippant laugh.

"Aurelia, I'll be honest. I had that iris tattoo on your collarbone—the one for you—changed to a rose for Kiera. Even the best dish gets boring if you eat it for ten years. You just be a good girl and wait. After I've had my fill of this fresh little thing, we'll get married."

Boring.

The word stabbed straight into my heart.

My last hope was shattered a week ago, on my twenty-fifth birthday.

I waited all night, but he never showed up.

All I received was a series of blurry photos from an anonymous number. In them, Alistair had his arm wrapped tightly around Kiera’s waist as they disappeared into a hotel.

For the first time in ten years, Alistair had missed my birthday.

In that moment, something inside me snapped.

I stopped walking. I took a deep breath, then slowly let it out.

I looked up through the gaps between the skyscrapers. The night sky was a deep, endless dark.

I took out my phone, opened the offer email from the Seattle design firm, and typed a single word in the reply box.

Accepted.

It was time to wake up from this ten-year dream.