I pressed my palms against my temples. “Why is this happening? Why can I suddenly remember?”
He hesitated—just for a heartbeat—then drew me into his arms.
I should have pulled away. He was my captor. The man who had accused me of being a spy.
But his hand rubbed slow circles on my back, and the flames in my head began to fade. The screams grew quieter. I buried my face against his chest and breathed him in.
Pine and something wild. Like a forest after rain.
I didn’t want to let go.
"The hat,” he murmured in my ear.
I stiffened then lifted my head. Pressed my hands against his broad chest and pushed back. “I know. Your hat. This is your fault.”
"It doesn't just pull out secrets. It unlocks what's buried."
I swallowed hard. I’d spent my whole life not remembering that night. Now I couldn’t unsee it.
He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from my face. His expression gave nothing away. “The nightmares... they dredge up memories you’ve forgotten. Or tried to forget.”
I edged away from him, my stomach churning. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”
“I told you there would be... side effects.”
“Side effects?” I dragged my fingers through my hair. “That’s what you call watching my mother burn alive?”
The color drained from his face.
“No.” His voice was rough. “That came out wrong. I didn’t—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
Two words. They weren’t enough. They would never be enough.
But the way he looked at me—like he’d give anything to take it back.
I don’t know why, but I believed him.
I thought of that horrible dream again. My mother on the floor. The flames. The blood. It couldn't be real. It had to be something the hat invented—some twisted nightmare it pulled from nowhere. “Does the hat ever lie?”
He looked at me curiously. “No. Why?”
I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “Because in the dream, there was an assassin that came to my house. He’s the one that murdered my mother.” My throattightened. “My mother said King Cormac sent him and he said he was there for me. That was eighteen years ago. How could that be? The war was only four to five years ago.”
His expression darkened, and I saw something flicker there—anger, maybe. Or recognition. “Cormac didn’t start with the war. He spent years planning, eliminating threats before anyone knew what he was doing.” He studied me. “If he sent someone after your family that long ago... he must have seen you as a threat even then.”
My stomach turned. They’d killed my mother. Burned my home. Because of me. Because of what I was.
Goosebumps broke out all over me and I shivered. “A threat? I was three years old.”
“Then it wasn’t about who you were.” His silver eyes held mine. “It was about who you could become.”
“A witch that can’t control her powers?” I rubbed my arms that were covered with goosebumps. “But no one has come after me since then.”
Hatter reached for a lap blanket at the end of the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. His hands lingered, his face inches from mine.
Our eyes met.
He shouldn’t kiss me. I shouldn’t want him to.
