Steeling my nerve, I step beyond the doors and onto the garden path. The night air is cool on my skin, making me wish I’d worn a coat. I changed into clean clothing upon arriving at the palace and taking a much-needed bath. It felt odd donning attire made for a princess after spending these last months as a fugitive, so I chose a simple tartan skirt and matching short jacket. It probably would have been most sensible to wear a nightdress, considering the late hour, but I had a feeling I wasn’t getting restful sleep any time soon. Not until I knew whether I was a guest or a prisoner.
That very question rings through my mind as the garden path opens to the first courtyard and reveals the figure standing at the center. Queen Tris faces away from me, wrapped in a long pink brocade cloak trimmed in white fur. Her hair is more unkempt than I’ve ever seen it, her brambles hanging low and tangled on her head, the petals of her blossoms wilted.
I’m about to clear my throat and announce my arrival when my gaze snags on what has her attention fixed so firmly away from me. She stands before a rose quartz statue, and when I take in the smiling face carved into the figure’s head, a sob nearly breaks from my chest. It’s my father. He stands not with formidable pride nor terrifying grace like most royal statues I’ve seen, but with a calm confidence. A crown has been carved on his head, but instead of a scepter in his hand or some other regal symbol, he holds a paintbrush and palette.
My heart swells with a mixture of pain and joy at seeing him. The artist captured in art. It’s…him. Beautiful. Kind. Accepting. I’m struck by how much he’s done for me my whole life. Even when he insisted I befriend people when I only wanted to stay and help him paint, even when he encouraged me to leave the palace and do something for myself…it was always in my best interest. He knew what I still hadn’t discovered—that I had the ability to show my true face. To open my heart and trust, just like how I’d learned to do with him. Tears prick my eyes as I recall how I rebelled against such a notion. How I said wretched things to him that last time we’d argued. Even more painful is how he bore it all with a sympathetic smile.
I let out a shaky breath and return my attention to the queen. She still hasn’t noticed my arrival. I take a step closer and feel my magic hum around me, tightening, smothering, protecting. Anticipating the moment she turns around and meets my eyes.
I could keep it in place. I always have with Tris.
But this isn’t who I want to be anymore. I don’t need my magic to protect me, for I’ve faced the source of the very fear that created my dependence upon it. Now I know the truth. And I’m stronger than it.
With a slow exhale, I release my magic and approach the queen.
“Your Majesty,” I say as I reach her side and dip into an ungraceful curtsy. It seems my months away from the palace have left me rusty.
She slowly turns to face me, and when her eyes meet mine, she furrows her brow. The urge to reach for my magic strikes me hard but I don’t give in. Instead, I hold her gaze. Let her look at me.
“So this is what you truly look like,” Tris says, her voice far softer than I’ve ever heard it. She doesn’t seem surprised at all.
“Did…did you know…” I can’t find the words to finish.
“Torben told me about your magic earlier today,” she explains.
I’m surprised she called himTorbenand notHuntsman. I’ve never heard him referred to by his first name. Aside from when I say it, of course. A pinch of anxiety runs through me now that she now knows my secret—a secret that has done me little good in the past when revealed. Even telling Marybeth proved to be detrimental. She may have accepted me and my magic, but she tried to pass the information on to my enemy. Myrasa’s intervention was the only thing that kept it out of Danielle’s clutches, but she too used the information with ill intent.
My stomach lurches at the thought of Myrasa. I breathe away memories of fire, blood, and vines. Of murky water and vicious green eyes—
“This was finished just yesterday,” Tris says, freeing me from my dark thoughts. She turns her gaze to the statue.
I too study my father’s likeness, grateful for a change of subject. Despite the way my muscles tense in the queen’s presence, or how my stomach turns at the reminder of what happened earlier today, I can’t help but feel a sense of ease fall over me as I stare at the statue. It’s even more stunning up close. “The artist did a wonderful job.”
“Yes, they did.” Silence falls between us for several moments as we stand side by side, entranced by the figure we both loved. She turns to face me again. “I know you have a thousand reasons to hate me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I can’t deny it, so I stay silent.
She continues. “I can apologize for all of them but one. No matter how you might resent me, I will not apologize for killing your mother. As queen, it is my right to dole out judgment in my court as I see fit, so long as it is justified. Not only was she responsible for Edmund’s death, but she posed a threat to you. To my court. I only regret that you witnessed what I did to her. No child should have to watch a parent die, much less both parents.”
I’m taken aback. All I can do is stare, surprised by her candor. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but what she said still holds value. “I don’t blame you for her death,” I finally say, and as the words leave my lips, I know they are true. “I thank you for it, for I don’t think I could have done it myself.”
“Nor should you be forced to bear such a burden,” she says. “For everything else, Astrid, I am deeply sorry. I can’t begin to express the shame I feel at how I’ve responded to your magic. Had I known the truth about you straight away…” She trails off as if reconsidering. “No, I suppose I can’t be certain how I would have responded to that either. Knowing you could see the depths of my soul written on my face…I can’t imagine what that would have been like. All I am certain of now is that I will never hold your magic against you, nor will I use you for your power. I promise.”
I’m half in disbelief that I’ve heard her correctly. This female who I’ve considered my enemy, who I’ve hated as much as she’s hated me…just made me a promise. A fae promise, a binding one. My throat tightens. “I appreciate that.”
“Like I said before, you have a thousand reasons to hate me, and I fault you for none of them. But if you will allow me to make it up to you in the slightest way, I would be honored if you would…if you would allow me to get to know you as you truly are.”
Emotions war within me, bitter rage mingling with a warm hope. I’m not ready to forgive her for how she’s treated me, but I also can’t deny the yearning for connection that’s begun to take root in my heart. Before my hope can swell too large, I counter it with logic. “You are no longer bound to me by your marriage to my father, Your Majesty. You should know that…that he and I were never…he wasn’t the man who sired me.”
“But hewasyour father,” she says, unsurprised by the news I delivered. Had she already known? Did Father tell her without ever telling me? I’m not sure how to feel about that.
Tris speaks again. “The ties of blood matter not to me, only that Edmund loved you as his daughter. You were his world well before I came into his life. He wanted everything for you. If he knew what I tried to make Torben Davenport do, he would…”
She brings a hand to her trembling lips and casts a tear-glazed glance at the statue. “He would surely despise me, but only half as much as I currently despise myself. I will carry that burden on my shoulders for a very long time.”
“Please don’t suffer my presence over some false sense of duty,” I say, keeping my tone level despite the emotions still warring in my chest. “I won’t hold you to it.”
She turns her gaze back to me. “Astrid, I want you to remain my stepdaughter. I want to become worthy of being considered your stepmother. For Edmund, yes, but for myself as well. Perhaps even for you, if you’ll allow it. I’m not asking you to forgive me. Only to…let me try. Let me get to know you.”
