Dinner hadn’t even started, yet I was already ready to leave the table. I’d somehow been sandwiched between Ryelin and Ryia’s father, and Sawyer was right across from me; combined with the incessant itching of my bandages, I was certain the universe had set this up so that it could laugh at me. The only saving grace was that the food was already on the table, so everyone was too busy loading their plates to make small talk, or so I thought.

“What happened to your hand?” Duke Sommers asked as soon as I lifted my hands to grab my utensils.

“I tripped earlier today and ended up slicing my hand on the edge of a coffee table,” I lied, throwing a look toward Sawyer that said See, I can follow your rules.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How are you feeling now?”

“I am fine now, but I was furious when it first happened. I was so angry at the coffee table that I wanted to grab a sword and cut it to pieces. Luckily for the coffee table, I was capable of restraining myself.”

Across the table, Ryia kept her head down and quickly took a sip of her drink to conceal a smile that even she hadn’t been able to control. At her side, Sawyer wore a neutral expression, but his white-knuckle grip on his knife was almost comedic. As dangerous as angering him like this was proving to be, it was also effective. All the whispers I’d heard earlier while waiting outside the dining hall made it clear that he was more than capable of digging his own grave; we just needed to give him the shovel.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Duke Sommers said, eyeing me oddly. “Controlling your temper is… very important.”

“Yes, it’s very important. I don’t want to think of how embarrassed I’d be if I had done something so rash out of anger,” I added, drawing out my words.

Ryelin choked on his laugh as Sawyer’s hand slipped, his knife screeching across his plate. A few heads jerked in the direction of the noise, but Sawyer kept his eyes on his plate. His jaw clenched as he cleared his throat, murmuring an apology for the noise as his face reddened.

I wish Oliver were here to see this.

Where even was he? A quick scan of the dining hall told me that neither he nor Lawrence were there. I’d have to find him afterward; I was more than excited to go over the day's events with him. Until then, I'd be stuck dealing with some much less pleasant company.

“Yes, that would have been quite embarrassing.” The duke’s attention flipped between trying to understand my unnecessary addition and Sawyer’s overreaction, but if he realized the connection, he didn’t show it.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, golden eyes slid toward me. The embarrassment had drained from Sawyer’s face, replaced by the wily expression I’d seen this morning.

“June, your cup looks empty. Would you like more wine?” Sawyer asked as a smirk slithered across his lips, nodding toward the glass I’d drained earlier after realizing my seating arrangement. I reached out my injured hand to grab the carafe in front of him, but he picked it up and motioned for me to raise my glass. “Here, I can pour it. No need for you to strain your hand even more.”

Not wanting to push him any further, I listened and held my glass up high enough for him to pour into. At first, he poured straight into the cup, but after a few seconds, he jerked the carafe. Red wine spilled onto my hand, staining my bandages and the tablecloth below.

“I am so sorry.” The corner of his lip twitched as he tried to suppress a feral smile. “My hand must have slipped.”

I grimaced as the alcohol seeped through the stitches and into the cut. “It’s alright. Accidents happen.” I put my drink down and attempted to wipe my hand, but the napkin did nothing to stop the burning in my palm.

“You should probably go change the bandages on that. You wouldn’t want them getting infected,” Sawyer added in response to my expression.

My amusement flattened as the pain sunk in. Around me, a silent tension had settled in as everyone waited for my response. I wouldn’t give Sawyer the same satisfaction as he’d given me by snapping, so I bit back my anger, placed my napkin down, and cleared my throat. “I think you’re right, your Highness.” Wanting nothing more than to get rid of the sticky, soaked cotton that wrapped my hand, I stepped out of my seat and pushed my chair in. “Please excuse me, and I apologize for any interruptions.” There were no objections from the table as I turned to leave.

Ryia’s chair screeched, rocking as she jumped out of it.“Do you need someone to come with you?” She looked eager to leave the situation, but a side-eyed stare from Ryia’s father had me immediately rejecting her offer.

“No, I’ll be alright on my own. Please continue eating,” I said, trying to apologize with my eyes. I clutched my injured hand to my chest as I weaved through the maze of tables. The sight of the soiled bandages sparked hushed conversations at every table I passed.

❧

“Stupid crown prince,” I murmured as the dining room doors shut behind me. The alcohol had thoroughly soaked through the bandages, and the pain that had felt like a small sting at first was now searing. I cursed out Sawyer as I desperately ripped at the cotton gauze, hoping that at least loosening it would bring me some relief.

“June, is that you?” The call of an unfamiliar voice caught me by surprise, and I looked over my shoulder to see two blonde men approaching me.

“It really is you. What are you doing here?” The younger of the two asked, sporting a bright smile as he got closer. Whoever he was, he was overly excited to see me. The other man, the older of the two, was much less so. Standing with hunched shoulders and his hands behind his back, nothing about his posture said, ‘I want to be a part of this interaction.’

“Duke Sommers thought it would be a good idea to bring Ryia and me here for the experience,” I responded, taking a cautious step towards them as I tried to place them. The younger man seemed to be a carbon copy of who I assumed was his father, minus the deep-set worry lines that plagued his father’s otherwise sharp features. They both had pale blonde hair swept up in soft waves, and light blue eyes, just the same as my own.

An unsettling chill snaked down my spine.

“Well, we are glad to see you. We’ve missed you so much at home,” the older man said, his voice strained and tense.

So, this was the man Sawyer had referred to as a drowning count. This was my supposed father. After seeing his mannerisms, it made sense why my character was, well, as boring as she had been. And even though, to his knowledge, I was still his daughter, he still kept himself at a safe distance, like he was afraid that if he got too close or spoke too loudly, I’d bolt.

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The other, who I assumed was June’s brother, didn’t share the same reservations when it came to interacting with me. “Especially since you’ve stopped writing and all–”

“Samuel!” The count hissed at Samuel more out of embarrassment than anger.

Samuel’s blonde waves reflected the candlelight as he turned his head toward his father. “What? Look at her, father. She is obviously uncomfortable and angry with us. Just look at how she’s fidgeting. I figured I might as well address it rather than stand here moping.”

I swiftly released the handful of fabric I hadn’t even realized I was fidgeting with. He wasn’t totally incorrect with that. I was uncomfortable. These were two people who I was related to by blood, yet I had no memories of them. It didn't sit right with me.

“Please excuse your brother. He’s tired from the long trip here and hasn’t gotten to rest since we just arrived,” my father, no, June’s father, apologized. I had no right to think of him as my father nor Samuel as my brother.

“What reason would I have to be angry with you?” I asked more out of curiosity than anything else. I genuinely couldn’t think of a reason why June would’ve been mad at her family.

“Well, considering you stopped sending letters after just a few months of working for the Sommers, mother and father assumed you hated them for sending you away,” Samuel sassed, cutting straight to the point.

The count’s face flushed red, and he was even more hesitant to meet my eyes than he had been just seconds before. But his expression wasn’t one of anger; his eyes were wide, looking at me with a soft gaze, his mouth downturned in a loose frown.

“Is that what you thought?” I added a nervous laugh at the end, forcing myself to ignore the guilt that pricked my consciousness. The man in front of me had been living in pain, harboring the assumption that his daughter had grown to hate him. The stress it had put on him was evident in the melancholy that radiated from him. It was my fault, my presence in the world that led to his suffering.

“Your mother and I were just worried that you thought we sent you away because we didn’t want you around.” The count briefly met my eyes, then immediately looked away. “We thought that you’d be better off in another household, but never realized you would feel so abandoned that you’d refuse to write to us.”

I had to try and make it right, try to smother whatever fire I’d set. I couldn’t tell them the real reason behind my sudden lack of communication, but I could at least tell them something to put their minds at ease. Given what I'd taken from them, it was the least I could do.

“I’ve just been so busy there that I don’t have the time to write as often. I quite enjoy working there, I promise it had nothing to do with being angry.” I waved my hands in rebuttal but realized my mistake too soon. Their eyes grew wide, and they both took a hurried step toward me.

“What happened?” The count asked. His light blue eyes, so painfully similar to my own, shone with worry as they looked over the stained bandages wrapping my hand. He reached out for it, for me, but his better judgment stopped him before he touched me.

“I… I fell and hit my hand on a coffee table.” It had been such an unconvincing lie when I told the duke it at dinner and was even more so now that. Even so, their worry for me did not waiver. They had no reason to think that June would lie to them, and no clue that I wasn’t the June they trusted.

“But the cotton is soaked red. Did it reopen?” The count continued to fuss, expressing concern for someone who didn’t deserve it. I tried not to squirm as I talked to them, fighting the urge to escape them, escape from the guilt that was twisting knots in my stomach.

“I spilled some wine on it. I was just heading out to get a clean bandage, “ I stumbled through my words, trying to find a way to end the conversation without causing them further emotional pain that I already had.

The count’s expression only dropped further as he easily picked up on my not-so-subtle dismissal. “I’m sorry, please forgive me for pestering you with concern like this. I know I no longer have the right to, but I only worry because I love you.”

I love you.

The words struck me like a punch to the gut. He wore an expression that could only come from a parent who was scared for their child, an expression that wasn’t meant for me. I’d manage to overcome the guilt with Ryia, at least I’d told myself I had, as June had been little more than a worker until I had arrived. But this wasn’t some employee-employer relationship I’d managed to foster into something more. What they felt for me was love, pure, deep love.

To them, I was someone they’d known and loved for years. I was the daughter they raised, the sister they grew up with. Except I wasn’t that daughter, wasn’t that sister, not anymore. That girl was gone, effectively dead, and they had no clue.

The world rocked, and it took everything in me to stay standing. I couldn’t hold back the massive guilt that I’d worked so hard to repress with the foolish hopes that it would one day dissipate all on its own. Not anymore.

Every muscle in me tensed to the point that they shook, my body frozen yet buzzing with panic at the same time. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out everything but the thoughts pounding in my head.

“I promise, it’s fine,” I said, my face forcefully contorted into a smile. The two looked at me, then at each other. Their skepticism was obvious in their wavering expressions, but they didn’t question me. They trusted me and my words because they loved me. At least, they loved who I was supposed to be. They loved June, and I was not her. I was just some stranger who was selfishly stealing their love for someone else, and at that moment, I hated myself for that. But I had no other option.

My vision flickered in and out of focus, and blurring halos obstructed the very little light I could see.

“It’s fine,” I repeated, but not for their sake.

It was fine.

I was…fine.

❧

That’s what I kept repeating to myself as I staggered through a maze of hallways, desperately trying to ignore the pain beating in my chest. I could barely stand upright, the guilt and panic sitting like lead in my stomach and dragging me to the ground. I’d promised them I wasn’t angry and tried to assure them that everything was okay between us, but I’d watched their expressions dimming with each passing second of silence between us when they’d said their goodbyes with an added “I love you” that I couldn’t say back. I’d wanted to, I so desperately wanted to, but when it came time for me to return the sentiment, all I’d been able to manage was a small smile and nod goodnight.

I leaned up against the wall, trying to calm myself, but it didn’t work. All it did was let my mind focus even more on the thoughts that ricocheted through my mind. Nothing was fine, I was not fine.

I shouldn’t have to be wearing constricting dressing or decorative jewelry worth a fortune. I shouldn’t have to be antagonizing a prince and appeasing some backward-thinking duke. I shouldn’t have to be taking over the body of another person like some parasite while mourning the life I’d never be able to return to, the people I’d never get to see again. This whole situation was so twisted; I had no choice but to play along if I wanted to survive, and I hated myself for that.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t even cry.

Deafening footsteps padded around the corner ahead of me, announcing the arrival of someone who would almost certainly be unwelcome.

“June!” my eyes squeezed shut at the sound of Lawrence’s voice.

Dammit. I gritted my teeth and swallowed, trying to force the lump out of my throat before facing him. But when I turned to greet him, Lawrence was walking in the opposite direction, and it was Oliver who was instead heading toward me.

He took one look at my face before breaking out into a jog.

“Hey, what’s wrong,” Oliver asked. I tried to answer, but I couldn’t manage to form any words. There wasn’t enough air in my lungs for me to force them out.

Oliver looked over his shoulder, checking to see if the hall was empty before continuing. “Do you know how to get back to your room?”

I shook my head no, which prompted him to take my hand and lead me down the hallway until he stopped at the door to unlock it. He ushered me into what had to be his room and closed the door behind us.

Oliver looked me over. “I’m assuming you ran into your family. Do you want to talk about it or–”

I didn’t let him finish the question. I hugged him, digging my fingers into the soft, tan fabric of his shirt. It took a moment for him to react, but then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer to him. In the warmth and safety of his arms, I finally broke. Tears streamed down my cheeks; in his hold, I was safe enough that I didn’t feel the need to stop them.

I didn’t know how he knew, nor did I care. All I cared about was the fact that the concern that glowed in his hazel eyes was for me. Not for who this body used to belong, not for a girl that no longer existed in this world. It was for me.

I shuddered, finally gaining control of my breathing, as ragged as it was.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he whispered, brushing back the hair that had clung to my tear-stained cheeks.

I nodded. I had him, and as long as I did, I knew everything would be okay.