Crown Of Blood And Lies

Chapter 14: Free To Go?

{Avina}

Morning light crept through the heavy curtains, pale and hesitant. I hadn’t slept. Not really. Maybe an hour, maybe two, in fragmented pieces that left me feeling worse than if I’d stayed awake.

I sat up, my body aching, my eyes gritty and dry. My hair was a tangled mess over my shoulder. I looked like hell.

A soft knock at the door made me jump.

“Miss Sinclair?” A female’s voice, muffled through the wood. “I have some deliveries for you.”

I stood, crossed to the door, and opened it. A young woman in servants clothes stood there, holding a silver tray. On it sat a sealed letter, a small ornate box, both bearing the Blood King’s seal in crimson wax, and my phone.

"From His Majesty," she said, offering the tray. "He apologizes for the necessity of confiscating your phone. He hopes you understand it was a precaution. These other items are for you as well."

I took the tray, my hands unsteady. "Thank you."

I closed the door and carried the tray to the bed, setting it down carefully. My heart was pounding again, but this time it was different. Anticipation. Dread. I wasn't sure which. I picked up the letter first, broke the seal, and unfolded the paper.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Miss Sinclair,

I hope this letter finds you rested, though I suspect the circumstances of your stay have made that difficult. Please know that my investigators have spent the night examining every detail of yesterday's events. They found no evidence—none—that links you to the attack on my brother. Your presence in the forest was coincidental, and your actions saved his life.

You are free to leave the estate and return home to your family. I imagine they are worried, and for that, I apologize. You should never have been detained.

I will not forget what you’ve done. My gates are open to you, always. Should you ever need sanctuary, protection, or simply a place to rest, you need only ask.

Until we meet again,

The Blood King

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I read it twice. Then a third time.

The words were warm. Genuine. Nothing like the cold authority he’d wielded in the medical wing. This felt… personal. Like he was speaking to me, not at me.

“That kind of courage is rare. That kind of compassion is rarer still.”

I turned my attention to the box and opened it carefully.

Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a hairpin.

I couldn't help but stare.

What was inside was breathtaking. A hairpin shaped like a peacock in full display, every feather rendered in polished steel that caught the light like liquid silver. The craftsmanship was flawless—delicate, intricate, impossibly detailed. And there, clasped in the bird’s talons, was the Blood King’s seal.

I lifted it carefully, turning it in the light. It had to be worth a fortune. More than my parents’ cottage. More than the shop. More than anything I’d ever owned.

I wasn’t important. I was a shopkeeper’s daughter from the east side of the capital. I’d saved his brother, yes, but that didn’t warrant this.

Unless…

"I will not forget what you've done."

I set the hairpin down, my hands shaking again. The King knew something. Something about me. Something I didn't understand.

I picked up my phone with trembling fingers. The screen was dark. I pressed the power button and it lit up immediately—fully charged, like someone had been taking care of it.

Mom: “Baby please call me”

Mom: "Avina where are you???"

Dad: "Avina. Call home. Now."

Mom: "Are you hurt? Are you safe?"

Dad: "We're coming to find you"

Mom: "AVINA"

The messages spanned from last night through early this morning, each one more frantic than the last. My chest tightened. They'd been losing their minds.

And I'd been here the whole time, isolated, unable to reach them.

I scrolled through the messages, my throat tight. There were dozens. Dozens of desperate pleas from the two people who'd sacrificed everything to raise me.

But here's what struck me: the King had returned the phone. He'd had it all night. He could have kept it. Could have continued the isolation, the control. Instead, he'd given it back.

The rumors about the Blood King painted him as a tyrant. A bloodthirsty monster who ruled through fear and brutality. But a monster wouldn’t return a phone. A monster wouldn’t send a letter explaining his investigation. A monster wouldn’t give a gift like this hairpin—something so personal, so deliberately chosen.

Unless he was playing a game. Unless this was all part of some larger manipulation.

But my gut said no. My gut said the King was far more complex than the whispers suggested. Far more knowing. Far more… intentional.

I needed to get home. I needed to call my parents and tell them I was alive. I needed to explain everything—or at least, as much as I could without sounding insane.

I took a breath and dialed.

My mom answered on the first ring.

“Avina?!” Her voice was raw, panicked. “Oh my goddess, baby, where are you? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Mom, I’m okay,” I said quickly, my own voice shaking. “I’m safe. I’m at—” I paused. How much should I tell her? “I’m at the royal estate. I got caught up in something last night, but I’m fine. I’m coming home.”

“The royal estate?” My dad’s voice came through in the background, confused and alarmed. “What the hell were you doing at the estate?”

“I’ll explain everything when I get home,” I said. “I promise. I just need to get there. I’m okay, I swear.”

My mom was crying now, relief and residual terror mixing in her voice. “Don’t you ever do that to us again. Do you understand me? Never.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

We talked for a few more minutes—them asking rapid-fire questions I couldn’t fully answer, me reassuring them over and over that I was alive and unharmed. Finally, I promised I’d be home within the hour and hung up.

I forced myself to move. I crossed to the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it run hot. I stripped out of the sleepwear the servants had given me and stepped under the spray.

The heat was a relief. I stood there for a long moment, letting the water wash over me, trying to scrub away the residue of the last twenty-four hours. The rogue’s touch. The interrogation. The fear.

I washed my hair, watching the dirt and grime swirl down the drain. My hair slowly returned to its usual brightness, clean and smooth again.

When I finally stepped out, I dried off quickly and dressed in my own clothes—cleaned overnight by the staff. My boots. My jeans. My shirt. Familiar. Grounding.

I braided my hair over my shoulder, the way I always did, starting from my jawline and working down. Then I picked up the hairpin, hesitated, and slid it carefully into the elastic band at the end of the braid.

I took a breath. Steadied myself.

You can do this. Just get home. Just get to Mom and Dad.

And opened the door.