Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 90

Chapter 90: A sleeping beauty
Trace laid his wife down on the bed and lifted the coverlet over her. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and his stomach clenched.

He loved her. And he might have ruined his chances with her. If he told her that now, it would probably seem like another attempt at manipulation, so he’d stopped short of saying the words.

He loved her so much it hurt. With an ironic twist to his mouth, he wondered if another man had ever been so miserable to discover he loved his wife.

If they got out of all this—which wasn’t looking likely as he was currently under the magical command of an evil count—would Anaisa agree to stay with him? Even if she did, could he repair the trust he’d broken?

He’d learned only a short time ago that she’d been raised as a Count’s daughter, at the height of wealth and privilege. How in the world could she be happy with a simple farmer like him?

He turned away, cursing himself. He was the one who emphasized trust this entire time, and she had trusted him far more than he had expected. The betrayal in her eyes wounded him all the more deeply for how much he deserved her censure.

He’d known it was a terrible idea to sneak into her dreams. He’d berated himself often for the invasion, and yet, he’d never stopped. He’d grown numb to how bad it was, enjoying the view into her heart too much to let it go. He had no one to blame in all this but himself.

With a hollow feeling in his middle, he left Anaisa, asleep, hoping that the medicine from the doctor relieved her pain enough to spare her more nightmares.

He knew better than to try and interfere with them again.

This was a complete disaster. Not only did Anaisa suspect him of intentionally manipulating her, but he couldn’t even answer her questions because of the count’s absurdly effective commands.

Trace wanted to break something, punch something, or throttle someone.

He’d learned so much in the space of a morning and yet, couldn’t say a thing about most of it. Now he knew Anaisa’s story. Knew that she believed herself, falsely, to be a fraud. That the Count had commanded Trace’s father-in-law to say those things, incriminate himself.

His wife was a high-ranking noble. Far out of his league. If she were given her title back, she would have easy access to the means to legally divorce him.

Trace sank to one of the chairs, running his hands through his hair. By struggling to get out of the spider’s web, he’d entangled himself in it further. What a fool he was.

For many reasons, now.

Sapphira avoided him, which suited him well. He didn’t want company. There was no comfort for him, no task to distract him. Lunch was delivered, and broth for the ‘princess’.

Were they simply going to pretend for the rest of the palace’s sake that the real princess had been poisoned or fallen ill? It seemed so.

Trace wanted to know why the queen had been targeted. He would have to wait until this evening to investigate anything; going to sleep now wouldn’t accomplish much with everyone else in the palace awake.

Mentally, he made a list of things to do. It seemed, unfortunately, inevitable that he would have to plant dreams in the minds of the princess and the king tonight; the commands the Count gave him were absolute and unbreakable.

Bile rose in Trace’s throat as he remembered the wording. He could not even ‘attempt’ to thwart Oakdown’s plans or goals, nor reveal them. If only he could act recklessly and hope that he accidentally did so…

With a sigh, he turned his mind to problem solving. It seemed that thinking over it did not constitute an attempt, or that thoughts themselves were beyond the Count’s ability to command.

That was some small mercy.

__

Anaisa woke groggily as the door to her chamber opened.

“You need to drink a little broth, the doctor said,” Sapphira explained quietly as she entered, bearing a tray. Her brow was furrowed with concern.

“You’ve truly embraced your role as a servant,” Anaisa managed to tease as she rubbed her eyes. “Why not have someone else take care of this?”

She grimaced. The only other person likely to take on such a task was Trace, and she didn’t want him around right now. She had too many thoughts and feelings to sort through before she would speak to him again.

With her foot, Sapphira closed the door behind her, and Anaisa blinked in confusion.

“What is it? Did the doctor have bad news?” She tensed, but Sapphira shook her head slowly.

“I… I overheard your conversation with Trace earlier.” She admitted.

Anaisa’s sleep-addled mind took a moment to comprehend the princess’s meaning. “Which part?”

“The important part. About my dreams being manipulated. Is it true?” Sapphira whispered. “Is Trace planting thoughts in my head?”

Anaisa froze, then slowly sat up to buy herself a few seconds before answering. Her mind felt sluggish, and though her thoughts tried to race, it was as if they were running through deep mud.

“I don’t think he means you any harm,” Anaisa told the princess after a moment. “He was the one who told me to convince you not to believe your dreams. I don’t think he is willingly manipulating you.”

A wave of shame broke on the shores of Anaisa’s heart as she recalled accusing Trace of writing the blackmail letters himself. The whole premise was ridiculous. He’d been fighting against the blackmailer this whole time; she had numerous examples of it.

Though he’d invaded her mind without consent, he wasn’t wholly at fault for everything happening in the palace. It was unfair of her to act as if he were the villain in all this.

Her father was. And perhaps Barnabas as well, but not to the extent she’d thought before.

“You seem to know him much better than the rest of us,” Sapphira chewed her lip nervously as she set the tray down and sat on the edge of the bed. “Should I report all this to Father and have Trace thrown out of the palace? Or executed?”