“To my suite at Sloth.”
Alarm surges through me. “Why?”
“Because there’s something there that I need. Something that will allow us to travel quickly back to Spring.”
“Please don’t take me back,” I say, pulling on his hand to no avail. I keep my voice low to avoid being heard by passersby. And to keep on this side ofnot causing a scene. “Just hear me out. I didn’t poison my father.”
“Then tell me why you—a princess with a kitchen full of seasoned staff at her disposal—would make a pie with her own hands?”
“It was a gift. A peace offering.”
He glances over at me, a knowing look in his eyes. “Because the two of you fought, correct?”
I purse my lips. Is there anything hedoesn’tknow?
“If you want your chance to convince me you aren’t guilty, then take it now,” he says, although his tone suggests he highly doubts I’ll succeed. “You have until we arrive at my suite. Answer every question.”
“And you’ll let me go?”
He says nothing, only quickens our pace. It makes Sloth loom even closer, faster. I understand his silent message.Time is running out. It’s now or never.
The truth bursts from my lips. “We argued.”
“Over what?”
“His wife,” I say through my teeth.
“Elaborate.”
I bite my lip, my craving for my tincture growing stronger with every step, with every dip my emotions take. I run my free hand over my skirt, trying to focus on the soft texture, but it does little to soothe my nerves or take the edge off my craving. “Queen Tris threatened to kick me out of the palace after I…rejected her nephew’s marriage proposal.”
He glances over at me. “Why did you reject it?”
I lift my chin, trying not to think about Albert or the irritation that comes with the memory. For one small moment in time, I thought I’d found someone to love. Someone who’d love me in return. But I was, predictably, wrong.
What color are my eyes, Albert?
Your eyes? They…they’re beautiful. Green. Just like mine. It’s what I love most about looking at you. I can get lost in eyes like those.
My eyes are not green. They are gray. The very thing he liked most about me was a lie.
“I rejected him because he did not love me.”
“That’s not what your stepmother said. She claims you broke his heart.”
I burn him with a glare. “My stepmother doesn’t know the first thing about me.”
He assesses me from head to toe before averting his gaze. “How did your father feel about his wife wanting you out of the palace?”
My stomach sinks. I remember the argument that sprang between us after he told me he agreed with my stepmother. That he thought it would be good for me to get out of the palace and go my own way for a while. I recall the deep sense of betrayal I felt when he admitted he’d already enrolled me at university, and I would leave by the end of the week. I railed against his suggestion, but he insisted I should make something of myself. Do somethingformyself.
You don’t understand, I said to him.I don’t exist outside of your eyes. There is nomeout there.
It’s time you let someone other than me see you.
It was that last part that sent me into a rage. The way he suggested my unfortunate magic was somehowmyfault. He knew better than anyone that my magic was beyond my control. He’d seen the consequences. To hear him suggest I’d somehow brought it all upon myself—
A fresh wave of anger surges through me until I remind myself…
