Accidental Surrogate

Ella

I woke up in a thick haze of confusion, feeling as though I’ve been run over by a truck, but not remembering why. Muscles I didn’t even know I possessed are screaming at me, demanding ice packs and pain killers, and I have a thumping headache. For a moment I wonder if I somehow have a hangover, recalling the groggy morning afters I used to experience following nights out on the town.

Slowly the memories trickled in: the wild hunt taking a horrible turn; the rogue wolves chasing me in the forest; my near scrape with hypothermia; and fighting for my life while knowing it will all be over once they catch me. When I reach the point where I’m reliving being trapped in the boulders, feeling their claws ripping into my skin as I try to hold them off, I rush to the bathroom.

Emptying my stomach into the toilet for reasons that have nothing to do with my pregnancy and everything to do with the sheer terror I feel, I collapse on the tiles and try to force the horrible memories from my brain.

Other unwelcome images crowd into my thoughts even as I struggle to bury this most recent horror, ghosts from my past seeing an opportunity to rear their terrible heads. Breathing deeply, I force them back into the iron safe in the back of my mind, shoving the memories of last night inside with them. It isn’t easy, but I’m well practiced at stowing unpleasant things away like this, protecting myself from their torment. When the work is done, I feel dazed and numb, but that’s better than wallowing in agony.

Pulling myself up off the floor, I study my bandaged arms in the mirror, realizing they’ll clash with my ball gown’s off-the-shoulder cut. I call the dressmaker first thing, asking her to hurry to my side. The morning papers tell me that the bloody events of my first wild hunt went undetected from the media and the general public, but today is the Solstice itself – it’s more important than ever that Sinclair and I make a strong showing.

The dressmaker arrives shortly, surprising my guards – who apparently didn’t realize I was awake. She suggests tight-fitted sleeves the same color as my flesh, to disguise my bandages without compromising the gown’s design, and also offers to sew me a pair of matching gloves to help hide my injuries. I agree and she quickly makes the adjustments. By early afternoon the gown is complete, and I’m standing in front of the mirror studying the effect.

When Sinclair barges in halfway through the fitting, I’m expecting him to compliment my quick thinking. I smile at him, feeling proud of my efforts, but he only glares. “What in the Goddess’s name do you think you’re doing?

His growling voice sends a shiver down my spine, but I summon a soft chuckle. “Well I can’t very well go to the ball looking like a mummy.” I answer, nodding towards my white bandages.

Sinclair stalks forward, dismissing the dressmaker with a curt “Leave us.” Once the door closes behind her, he bears down on me, towering above me with a foreboding expression on his handsome face. “Ella you’re not going to the ball.”

“I’m sorry, are you auditioning to be my evil step mother?” I quip, astonished by his apparent anger.

me sternly.

mirror and pretending I don’t see his thunderstruck expression. “I felt a bit

head, muttering in something akin to disbelief. “Goddess, Cora was

late. As soon as I do I turn on him, understanding slamming into

you and she had a right to know you were hurt.” He declares, turning me back towards the mirror and

I insist, backing out of his reach and clutching the garment to my chest. “You should have talked to me before

least one of you is upset!” He exclaims, baffling

my annoyance devolve into outrage. “Why are

of my pup was almost killed last night but you’re pretending like nothing happened!” Sinclair bursts. I feel a familiar rush of disappointment to be

it happened,” I correct him simply. “But it wasn’t a big deal. You’re fine, I’m fine. It was scary in the moment but it all turned

big body. “Ella nothing about this situation is

think I’m this fragile

wearing the beleaguered expression of someone at his wits end. “It isn’t fragile or

know that.” I inform him stubbornly, “That isn’t what I meant, just that you want me to

thought you were handling it, I wouldn’t care what method you

what, you want me to be upset?” I inquire, aghast. “Why, so you can rush in and play

“But I also don’t want you hurting yourself by repressing your feelings. These things don’t just go away, Ella, if you don’t let them out they fester and grow toxic

blood beginning to boil now. “I have the rest of my life to process what happened, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the Prince win this campaign. Don’t

trying to harm my unborn child. “He shouldn’t get away with what he did last night! I don’t care what

should care what he does to you!” Sinclair explodes, pacing in front of me and looking as though he can’t decide whether to