“Syren. Syren Hakan.”
Aspasia loses her smile, though only momentarily, before it grows, and her razor teeth look hungry in her wild grin.
“That sounds like the name of a Queen to me.” She closes her eyes, holding her face like it’s the only way to contain her growing smirk. Her scales ripple from teal to white to teal again. She holds out her hand, her long crooked nails clear as water should be. “May I hold your hand, Syren Hakan? May I be humbled by the pity of the Queen of the Northern Kingdom.”
“Are you attempting to ridicule me?” My nails dig into my palms, biting in a pain more comfortable than this conversation I must weather.
“No.” She states plainly.
I offer my hand. It doesn’t shake as she holds it between us. Aspasia nods and carefully takes my hand, flipping it and tracing the lines on my palm. When she looks up, her eyes are glassy.
“What?” I ask. What could the witch possibly see in my future that could make someone as heartless as her feel emotion?
“Your hands are calloused with hard work that a princess should never have ever had to face. But yet, they are still the same. Though I’ll admit, you’ve grown since the last time I held them. You’re still so perfect. So beautiful.”
I try to breathe, but the effort to do so feels too hard. Inside me, turmoil spins, and it poisons me from my mind to my racing heart.
“You’ve met before?” Miranda asks, his scowl disappearing. His attention bouncing to me, then back to the witch. “Oh, my Goddess,” he whispers, the connection, the subtle similarities.
“You—” he starts.
“Do not enlighten me with your revelations, Miranda. These were rumors I already heard and needed to confirm on my own.” I stare down at my mother, unrelenting in my scowl.
“Is that why you wanted to meet her so bad?” Miranda asks.
I sigh, pulling away from Aspasia and patting my pants until I find the pocket. “No,” I shake my head. Gently, I pull the Bloodroot out, holding it gently in my palm. “You must right your wrong.”
Aspasia glances at Miranda before she tilts her head back and laughs. “That was not my doing. I have done no wrong.”
“You lied to my entire kingdom,Mother.”
“I gave you a seat on a throne.” She seethes, her smile quickly fading to a snarl. The space between us closing.
Now it is my turn to laugh. Because all she did was give me a father who hates me and left me to fend for myself in a cruel world where I had to fight to find something that made me happy.
“Tell me, how would she have poisoned the kingdom with this? What kind of magic did she use to reach so many people?”
“Are you so determined for answers? To right a wrong that neither of us have committed?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You are as I knew you would be. A brilliant, selfless Queen. It’s just as the Stars said you would be.”
“Do not evade my questions.”
Aspasia looks from me to the flower. “Sometimes, it isn’t the magic that deceives us.”
Witches. Fucking riddles and wordplay make for terrible foreplay. And I need some sort of lubrication for how hard I’m being fucked right now. How Miranda ever came to be this infatuated is beyond me.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s poison, not a curse, Syren. I’d say magic has little to do with the plague. I think she is smart. Though not smart enough, seeing as she chose to go up against you. The girl likely delivered it in the form of something we all need. Like the air we breathe. She’s hurt a good lot of people.” Aspasia reaches for my hand, her smile straining as I pull away. “I can tell she’s hurt you.”
“She hasn’t.” I look away, not even able to confide in Miranda.
“Hasn’t she?” The witch hums. “I’d say, despite all the terrible things she’s done, you thought you might befriend her yet. You haven’t got many friends, do you?”
Ringing sounds in my ears, my head building pressure. Magic swirls through my thoughts.
