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.

informs me sternly. “A few hours

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

something akin to disbelief. “Goddess, Cora was

As soon as I do I turn on him, understanding slamming into me. “You called Cora? You told

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

reach and clutching the garment to my chest. “You should have talked to me before calling Cora. It wasn’t

of you is

you?” I demand, feeling my annoyance devolve into outrage. “Why are you being like

but you’re pretending like nothing happened!” Sinclair bursts. I feel a familiar rush of disappointment to be reduced

I correct him simply. “But it wasn’t a big deal. You’re fine, I’m fine. It

“Ella nothing about this situation is okay!” He asserts firmly, searching my face for signs that his words are sinking in and becoming even more upset when they don’t. “And I don’t believe for one second that you are as unaffected by all this as

not pretending.” I insist. “I know you think

wits end. “It isn’t fragile or weak to be affected

inform him stubbornly, “That isn’t what I meant, just that you want me to behave according to your

what method you chose.” Sinclair grumbles. “What bothers

I inquire, aghast. “Why, so you

I also don’t want you hurting yourself by repressing

to process what happened, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the Prince win this campaign. Don’t you think he wants us to stay home and lick our wounds?” I demand, surprising myself with

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

explodes, pacing in front of me and looking as though he can’t decide whether to be annoyed or impressed with my defiance. “And your wellbeing is more