ꨄ

𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑊𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑆𝐼𝑅𝐸𝐷

𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑊𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑆𝐼𝑅𝐸𝐷
the betrayal

The house was teeming with people once again, on the night of Grace Shelby's charity ball. There were faces that I had seen before but even more that I had not, but I was practised in these such events and wore the same red dress that Amir had once told me Mr Allard had liked before the very event that had led us to England. It brought a sense of confidence that it had not previously.

Grace herself was sparkling, moving from person to person, wrapped in a fur boa and a golden dress. From her neck hung a large jewel, dark and gleaming. A blue sapphire that was so large it was the size of a fist, hanging down above her breasts. It was a sight one could not easily forget. I know that I now have not.

"We have almost reached our goal for the fundraising this evening. It has made me very happy."

"I'm sure it has," I said, smiling at the woman across from me. I remember feeling the pressure of Amir's hand on my back- something that was often always lingering there. "And I'm sure we can help you reach it too. We can arrange something. Amir?"

"Yes. Yes. Certainly," he said without really hearing me. Then he was ushering himself away, slipping from the two of us hastily. "If you'll excuse me."

I frowned, thinking of the wedding when he'd done the exact same thing. "My apologies, Mrs Shelby. He has been distracted as of late."

"Do not apologise for him, Dilara," Grace said, her hand resting on my arm gently. The champagne glass in her other hand had not been touched. "Men and their whims are something I know much about."

She left shortly to make her rounds, smiling at the same faces I couldn't recognise. It was then that I felt eyes on me. Beautiful, dark eyes that remained on my own face until the woman stepped to my side, a smirk playing on her shadowed features. No one had introduced us, as was usually proper, but she only tilted her half-empty glass at me

"I know a woman out of place when I see her."

There was an accent on her lips, though different to my own. But though the woman seemed sly in her movements, it felt comforting to find another that felt so foreign in that room. Though their personalities seemed so different, her presence there made me think of Lorita, of whom I'd met in France. It was the first and last time I would meet Tatiana Petrovna. For that, I am not sure if I was fortuitous or not.

She did not linger long, only remaining long enough to ask where I was from and raise a perfectly curved eyebrow when I answered. Tatiana seemed flitting in nature, something she would only later come to prove. Like a flighty bird, I could liken her to. A bird of prey.

It was not until before the dinner, that Amir found me again. His hand found my waist as I made my way across the edge of the room, gripping it a little too tight. There was a dark tint to his cheeks and when I looked at him, he only shook his head, dark hair falling past his shoulder.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. The loyalty toast. To the King."

Amir's arm stayed down, though back then I could not tell whether it was out of rebellion or pure distraction. There was a haze in his eyes, one that did not leave until my hand found his back in return, pushing him towards the dining room where the rest of the guests were directed to.

It was then that the voice called out across the room. It was easy to find the man. He was dressed like the others, but his dark hair was unruly and, in his hand, outstretched a gun. Amir stopped in his tracks, eyes following my lead.

"For Angel!"

Screams erupted around the room, almost as loud as the gunshot itself. Tommy Shelby stumbled backwards, his wife still held in his arms, but it was not he who'd been shot. Grace went limp, eyes wet and golden dress stained with blood. Tommy's shout of grief was enough to send his brothers racing, bodies tackling the gunman to the floor.

They were relentless with their hits, fists and heels coming down upon the man with unequalled force. It was as Tommy called for an ambulance, that Arthur reached for the large glass vase, discarding the flowers to create his sharp weapon.

The event is so clear in my memory now. It was at that moment that everything changed for me. I should have seen it- in Amir's eyes and in the way he watched their hits come down upon the gunman with such fear, but I remained ignorant for an hour or two longer. Still, I had liked Grace Shelby, admired her even, for there was something about her that I saw in myself. The picture of her death could not be erased.

"Amir. Amir." He would not budge at first, his feet glued to the floor and eyes stuck on the beaten body of the attacker. I had to tug at his arm until he turned to me again. "Come on."

No sleep came to me that night. Not with the image of Grace's crumpling body still playing in my mind. The colour of crimson was so stark that it stained the back of my eyes each time they closed. The room was pitch black, the hour close to midnight when Amir first stirred. I waited for him to roll over, kiss me on the forehead, and then leave with a mumbled explanation, but it never came. Amir snook from the room, gathering something from the room in purposeful silence.

I waited a moment before I followed him, slipping from the room still dressed in a nightgown. He made it all the way through the house and outside to the open driveway before I stopped being the only one following him.

"Arthur?"

The man turned to face me and for a moment I was taken back to the savage look on his face as he attacked the man that'd killed Grace. I wondered how long it had taken to remove the blood from his hands, his clothes, his face.

"Move aside, Dilara. The problem isn't you," Arthur said before turning his attention back onto Amir. "He brought this on himself."

"Please. What's going on? Amir?"

It was then that I noticed the gun being raised by Arthur's hand.

"Your lover man isn't as nice as you thought," he said, leering. "Did you mean for Grace to be killed? Or was that just a side effect of your shit-show plans?"

"What is he talking about? Amir?"

He was moving backwards slowly, stepping until his legs came to rest against the fountain in the middle. It looked more severe in the dark, with arches curving like knives rather than slopes, but so did Arthur Shelby. His face was hidden by shadows, but I could see clearly where his gaze lay: on Amir who then was sheltered behind me. Arthur didn't remove his eyes from Amir to look at me. I would what would have happened if he did. If he'd have been distracted enough to watch Amir run without my intervention. But for once, he was not faltered by a pretty smile nor was he made worse by whiskey.

"Leave, Dila. Tommy has no fault with you." He used his gun to point at Amir and I watched as he cowered backwards against the gravel. I threw myself forward, motioning for calm. Even then, Arthur didn't meet my eye. "Just this bastard here."

"No. No, Arthur, please. Mercy," I said, shaking my head reverently. "There must be a mistake."

Because the man I had loved so readily could not have had a hand in Grace's death. I wouldn't allow myself to believe it then and we had not known the Shelbys long enough to be so engrained within their political systems. And yet I was wrong. Amir did not need to know the family long to ruin them, just as it had been days in which he had led me onto the path of my own demise.

"Tommy Shelby doesn't make mistakes."

Arthur reared forward again, like a great bull but my desperation met him in full charge, horns locking. There seemed to be shock on his face when I met him halfway, blocking his view of Amir. I wondered what about my love had seemed so false- what had led him to believe I would do anything else but plead for his safety.

"No. No. Arthur!"

Tears flooded my eyes but I could still seem him, could still clearly see the gun held pointing behind me. There was nothing I could offer. Nothing but hollow promises.

"We could be of use to you. I could be of use to you. Please."

Arthur stilled, looking down at me with unnaturally wide eyes. I didn't understand that look. Arthur had always been shallow and easy to understand with his small range of emotions. Anger was most prevalent, but there was no rage in his eyes. Only something distant. But a gunshot came anyway and a sob wracked through my body as I crouched to the floor.

"Amir!"

He was not laying on his back, coated in blood as I expected him to be. When I turned, only a vast, dark space greeted me. Amir was gone. It was Arthur Shelby who'd been shot at, the bullet grazing his forearm, leaving only a gash in his jacket.

"Bugger almost got me with that one," he hissed after a moment, shaking his hands, the gun in his hand making small, mechanical noises.

Not dead. I'd deluded myself thinking that then. Arthur held no place in his heart for mercy. Not for traitors and double-crossers. But perhaps it was a mercy he tried to show me that night. My lover was not dead but escaped in the charade he played. But Amir had betrayed me too and Arthur Shelby would come to regret the silver that steeled my eyes from then on.