Imogen’s chest heaves, but she snaps her mouth shut.
Clara’s voice comes out small. “Couldn’t you have married one of us to him?”
Mrs. Coleman’s gaze returns to me, brimming with bitter rage. “No. He wantedher.”
Another wave of nausea strikes me. Why would a man of a fae-hating churchwantto marry me? The hidden implications are sinister, spreading panic through every inch of my body. My words come out with a choked sob. “I can’t.”
“You can and you will.” After one final squeeze of my shoulders, my stepmother pushes me away, making me stumble before I can right myself. She points a finger at me, her voice like a growl. “Youwill. Otherwise, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
A flicker of pain shoots through me, but I don’t know if it’s from the weight of our bargain or the realization that Mrs. Coleman just threatened my life. Stripped of words, all I can do is stare, my hands shaking so hard I can’t even ball them into fists.
Finally, my stepmother averts her gaze and turns to her daughters. Patting her hair, she says, “Come, girls. We shall return to the ball. Ember will remain here with her betrothed.”
My stepsisters join their mother. Imogen’s posture is tense while Clara’s is defeated.
I take an uneven step forward. “You can’t go to the ball without me,” I say in a rush. “The invitations—”
“The invitations have been accepted,” Mrs. Coleman says. “The enchantment only required you not be left behind. I wouldn’t consider you taking a brief respite in a luxurious palace apartment as beingleft behind.” With that, she opens the doors, and the three shuffle out into the hall.
I follow hard on their heels, but Mrs. Coleman is already closing the doors by the time I make it to her. My mind spins to come up with something—anything—to keep from being shut in this room with Brother Marus. “You can’t leave me with him. It’s improper. Our reputation—yourreputation—is at stake.”
She closes the doors until only a sliver of her cold, cruel smirk can be seen. “Then you better make him your husband.”
The doors snap shut in my face. I remain in place, my heart hammering so hard it makes my entire body shake. Pressing my ear to the door, I try to make out my stepfamily’s retreating footsteps, counting them, visualizing how many they’ll take before they reach the far end. If I sneak out once they round the corner—
The soft sound of the door opening behind me announces Brother Marus’ reentry to the parlor.
My heart plummets.
I whirl to face him.
14
EMBER
Brother Marus pauses just beyond the threshold of the parlor. The room he emerged from appears to be a bedroom.
“There’s no need to fear me,” he says, tone gentle. But there’s an edge to it. One I can’t place.
I consider fleeing but don’t know how he’ll respond. Would he let me go? Or catch me? Would he call for guards? Steeling my nerves, I meet his gaze with defiance. “We shouldn’t be alone together.”
Marus takes a few slow steps toward me. Thankfully the parlor is large enough that there’s still vast space between us. Even so, I press myself as close as I can to the door behind me. “It’s not improper,” he says. “I’m a man of the church.”
“Not my church.”
He halts his steps, but only for a beat. Then he walks closer. Closer. A hint of amusement dances behind his eyes. “Your stepmother said you were untamed. Is this true?”
Normally,untamedwould feel like an insult. Right now, it feels like armor. I bare my teeth. “Yes.”
He reaches the settee and lowers onto it. “Come,” he says, extending an arm toward the chairs arranged around the tea table. “Sit with me. All I ask is that we talk.”
I consider running again. The fact that he’s sitting could give me an advantage. I could dart out the door before he has the chance to rise.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, as if he can read the panic in my eyes. “Whatever wretched things you’ve heard about Saint Lazaro, I assure you they aren’t true. Not anymore. I have no disdain for the fae. Why else would I seek matrimony with a woman of fae blood?”
“Whyis the question indeed,” I bite back.
“Sit and I will answer any question you have,” he says calmly, a model of unwavering patience. As if to demonstrate his lack of threat, he settles into a more relaxed position, angling his body to the side and draping an arm along the back of the settee. He still seems stiff, but his effort to set me at ease is clear. “Take any seat you like.”
