Book 9: Like a Princess

Sarah

I wake up in my bed to bright, unforgiving winter sunlight shooting directly into my retinas. I wince, covering my eyes with my forearm. 

I have very vague memories of getting back to my bedroom in Sydney’s house. I remember being lifted and carried but thought maybe I was dreaming. I’m sure I dreamt it, actually, because it was the man of the house himself who lovingly carried me to bed after I’d fallen asleep face down in the center of the atrium, surrounded by potting soil and discarded flower stems. 

I can still smell him, though. That rich, forest scent laced with musk and sandalwood. 

It wasn’t a dream. 

I blink rapidly to adjust my eyes to the blinding sunlight and squint at the clock on the bedside table. 

My scream echoes through the room as I leap out of bed and fall onto the ground, my ankle caught in the bedsheet. 

I’m still in my clothes from yesterday. Dirt smudges the sheets