“Speak plainly, Monty,” I say, voice quavering with suppressed rage. “What was the true purpose of this game you’ve played with me?”
“Oh, come on,” he says, lowering his voice. “You and I were never the ones playing.”
“Then who was?” I ask, though I know the answer. I have all along.
Monty is silent for a few moments. When he speaks, his tone is more careful than I’ve ever heard it. “Thorne is my best friend, Highness. I know him better than he knows himself. He thinks he’s hidden his true nature from me, but he isn’t the only one with secrets. I admit, I proposed our game merely for entertainment, but all it took was one conversation with Thorne to discover the latest secret he was hiding.”
His talk of Thorne’s secrets makes me wonder what exactly he knows. Has Thorne been hiding his identity less thoroughly than he believes? It isn’t my place to ask, though I am curious about one thing. “You say Thorne is your best friend, but he seems to hate you. And you don’t seem to care.”
“Thorne’s hate is as warm as his love. You know that by now, don’t you? I’m happy to have his hatred, for he’s hated me most loyally. Protectively. It was time I repaid him in the only way he deserved.”
“What way is that?”
His grin widens. “Torment.” With that, he strides to my door. I stare at his back, my mind burning with questions. Did he truly do all of this, annoy me and Thorne to no end, to try and get us to fall in love? Could he truly be so scheming? So…maddeningly brilliant? And how much of his devil-may-care attitude is real?
As he reaches the door, I realize I might never know. But for the first time, I consider that Monty Phillips may be more than meets the eye. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, I haven’t a clue.
“Wait,” I say, racing after him, a final question burning my tongue. “You get to choose your bride now. Who are you going to wed? Cosette?”
He pauses, turning to me with an apologetic look. “No, not Cosette. Yet I can now genuinely apologize for my behavior the other night. I know you caught us. I don’t want to explain or excuse what I did, but…I can say I’m sorry. That was repulsive of me, whether I was the object of your affection or not.”
What the hell? Who is this man? “If not Cosette, then who will you marry?”
“That’s easy. No one.”
“Won’t your father be angry?”
“Spectacularly. I meant it when I said I’ll soon be disowned and in need of a job, but fret not. Once I’m booted out of the family, the Phillips fortune is in good hands with Angela as heir. Oh, and I do hope you’ll stay friends with her, even though we won’t be marrying. Surely you’ll find it easier to befriend her without an unwanted marriage to my ugly mug souring the friendship. Am I right?”
I’m still so shocked by this turn of events I can hardly find my words. “Yes, I’ll…I’ll be her friend,” I manage to say.
“Good. Well, I must be off for the scolding of a lifetime. You, meanwhile, should talk to Thorny-boy. Go put him out of his misery. He’s baking again.” He winks and reaches for my hand. I tense, expecting him to bring it to his lips. For a moment I fear he truly has tricked me, that he’ll secure my final win with a kiss—but no. He simply grasps my palm in a firm handshake. “Goodbye, Princess. Thank you for playing.”
41
BRIONY
Istare at my bedroom door for several long minutes, unsure how to feel now that Monty is gone. Half of me is elated. Free. Exhilarated by my bold choice to refuse my unwanted engagement. But the other half of me curls into a dark pit in my stomach, wailing a chilling refrain ofwhat have I done?
I know what I’ve done. I’ve chosen myself and my wants. Yet I’ve also made it impossible for me and Thorne to fulfill our bargain. The terms were clear: I was to marry Monty—specificallyhim—and Thorne was going to help me. Now that I’ve rejected Monty…
No. I still haven’t made it impossible to break our families’ curses. Thorne has insisted from the start that there are better, easier ways. I was the one who demanded our bargain terms. Not only did it align with the timeline Nyxia gave me, but it carried the assurance that my parents would forgive me. Trust me. Be proud of me.
Thoughts of Thorne fill my mind’s eye. Of his lips pressed to mine, his hands roving over my flesh, the way we held each other after the expenditure of our passion. My chest tightens as I acknowledge how fervently my parents would disapprove of such a union. What will they do when they found out I rejected Monty for…for—
I shake my head. There’s only one thing I can do now. I have to dissolve my bargain with Thorne. It’s over, and I won’t change my mind. After that, we can figure this out together. Can’t we?
My heart leaps as I race from my room, my feet flying down the halls as I head for the kitchen. Monty said Thorne was baking, which means that’s where he’ll be. My heart warms with every step. A sense of safety, of fierce protection draws me forward, and I know I will find that with Thorne.
A smile stretches my lips by the time I push open the door to the kitchen. Unlike the last time I was here, alone with Thorne after midnight, the room swarms with a bustle of activity. A cook tends to boiling pots on the stove while servants fill plate-laden trays with pastries, fruit, and sausages. I’m surprised Minka isn’t here, for she left to fetch my breakfast. I’d be more curious, however, if my attention wasn’t stolen by the figure standing at the worktable—the very same spot he was when he tended my wound. His hair is tied back in the gorgeous style I’ve seen only once, and his spectacles are perched upon his nose. Before him sits a muffin tin, and he’s halfway through filling it when his eyes meet mine.
He freezes, batter dripping off the edge of a wooden spoon. His throat bobs and uncertainty flashes over his face. Then his expression thaws, his lips curling into a soft, almost shy smile.
I feel a similar one form on my face. It is a little awkward seeing him for the first time after our time together last night, but the feeling isn’t uncomfortable. Something inside me tells me to treasure this awkwardness, the way my heart pounds heavier as heat floods my cheeks. The way he slowly sets down the bowl of batter and takes a careful step toward me, his eyes never leaving mine.
Quiet fills the room as the kitchen staff notices us. “Five minutes, please,” Thorne says to the room at large, his tone kind. With that, the cook and servants file out, leaving us alone. The sound of boiling pots mingles with the pound of my heart, the hitch of my breathing.
“Briony,” Thorne whispers. His hands curl at his sides, and I wonder if he’s trying not to reach for me. The same instinct buzzes down my arms and through my palms. I want to pull him to me, taste his lips, feel his strong arms, but…there are things he needs to know first. Subjects to discuss.
