I froze.
He pressed on. “We know you love her. But to break the spell, Quinn has to love you back.” Branrir pinned me with his gaze. “Can you say—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that she loves you? If there’s still a question, it would be selfish to ruin her only chance at a life because of your unrequited feelings.”
I’d prefer if he’d just kicked me in the gut. It would’ve caused less pain. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong. Doubt strangled my breaking heart. Ididn’tknow whether or not Quinn loved me.
“So, I’m supposed to let Edric force her into a marriage she doesn’t want?”
Branrir grit his teeth. “It should beher choice. If Quinn doesn’t love you, she can marry Edric and be free.”
I threw my arms wide. “That is not freedom!”
“Quinn is the only one who can decide that!” Branrirshouted, poking me in the chest. “If we do this, it’s to give her theoptionof choosing you, not for you to be some kind of hero. And if she doesn’t, we walk away. Agreed?”
My chest heaved. I bit my lip, fighting the retort on my tongue. Branrir was right. Too many choices had been taken away from Quinn. I wouldn’t take this one from her.
“Agreed,” I mumbled.
Branrir crossed the cell, dropped onto the straw, and closed his eyes. The stone floor didn’t look any more comfortable than before, but it was solid. And right now, I needed something to anchor me. I lowered myself to the floor, closed my eyes, and tried not to see her face behind my eyelids.
We would break out of the dungeons tomorrow.
We’d crash a royal wedding.
And, if Quinn chose me, we’d run far away from the mad king who thought he had any right to own her.
TWO DAYS REMAINING
39
QUINN
Early dawn caressed my skin as I sat before the vanity. I had been brushing my hair for hours with shaking hands. Hair. Bristles. Pull. Repeat.
Edric still lay on the floor in a disheveled sprawl of velvet and entitlement. He stirred, pushing upright with a slow wince, palm pressed to his forehead. “Why am I on the ground?”
“You rolled off the bed,” I explained, avoiding his gaze. “You were too heavy to lift and would not wake.”
Footsteps whispered against the carpet. His scent reached me first: bitter wormwood and pears left to rot. He came to a stop behind the chair, watching me as though he had earned the intimacy of this moment. His eyes found mine in the mirror. He smiled. I did not return it.
“I should prepare for our wedding.” He lingered with an air of expectation I refused to indulge. “I shall see you tonight,” he murmured, the words the cinching of a noose.
Firm lips pressed to the crown of my head. My breath snagged as I recoiled. I continued brushing my hair—mechanical, relentless—the sole measure keepingme from crumbling.
He crossed to the door and paused. “Oh,” he added, without looking back. “I have several deliveries planned for you.”
My hand stilled mid-stroke.
The door clicked shut.
The brush slipped from my fingers and clattered to the vanity. My lungs emptied with a trembling sigh. My hands flew to my chest, as if to cage the frantic bird of my heart before it burst free.
Edric thought himself the victor. He believed last night had ensured my obedience, that his cruelty had bridled me—unaware his memories from the night prior were magic-born forgeries. He had not touched me. He wouldnevertouch me in such a manner, even if I had to employ my Twilight every night. The thought of being beside him in bed for the rest of my life sent a wave of nausea through me.
I had until sundown to find the others and get us all out of here.
A knock startled me from thought.
“It’s time for your fitting, milady,” chirped an overly bright voice.
