“Only like,” he paused, trying to remember. With a shrug, he said, “I don’t know. It’s still fine.”
“I love you, Auggie, but you’re disgusting.”
“Fine, I didn’t want to share, anyway.” He popped a grape in his mouth, which he promptly spat out into his hand. Apparently, thosehadbeen under his pillow a bit too long.
Lottie shook her head, and when she turned back to the wardrobe, he discarded the mushy fruit into a vase beside his bed.
August’s gaze drifted involuntarily to the window. It had been a month since he’d snuck out with Lottie. A month since he met Felix. A month buried back underground with nothing but stale air.
Same time next week?
I’ll see you then.
He’d known it was a lie. So why was he still obsessing over it?
Had Felix even noticed when he didn’t show?
How he wished he could make good on that promise. The idea was a dangerous temptation, growing stronger every day. The castle had always felt like a prison, like August was biding his time, stuck in his cell awaiting execution, and that had only intensified since his night of freedom.
His life didn’t belong to him. It never had.
Lottie pulled a few items from the wardrobe and dropped them onto the bed. “This should be acceptable.”
August had no idea what passed as fashion outside his prison.
“Thanks for helping.”
“We mustalwaysbe at our best,” Lottie stated as she turned back to the wardrobe, a mocking imitation of their mother’s stern diction.
He cringed at the accuracy of it. “Don’t do that.”
Lottie snorted a laugh—the uninhibited kind she only had when it was just them. He liked having a version of her that no one else knew existed.
August changed quickly, studying himself in the tall mirror as he fastened the last of the burnished silver buttons.
“You know, I actually don’t hate it.”
The double-breasted waistcoat was a rich black velvet with a subtle ornate pattern of acanthus leaves that reminded him of the wallpaper in the castle’s foyer. The shirt beneath was a soft white with a high collar. Elegant without ostentation.
“I didn’t even know this was in there.” His mouth tipped into a half-smile as he smoothed his wild curls and placed his silver diadem on top. Like the clothing, it was a subtle sort of elegant, a modest silver circlet. For a moment, he felt a little less out of place.
Then he found his eyes in his reflection, and the usual frown settled back in.
Lottie and their father shared the same brown eyes. Their mother’s were emerald green. And yet August had somehow ended up with charcoal grey, like someone had forgotten to colour them in. The silver rings around his pupils served as a constant reminder of what made him different. The thing he persistently fought against being.
“Do you ever actuallylookin here?” Lottie asked, standing on her tiptoes to see the top shelf of the wardrobe. “There’s so much junk. I mean, what is this?” She gasped and flinched back. “Seriously, Auggie. Whatisthis?”
He moved to her side as she gingerly retrieved a small object, holding it warily between her thumb and forefinger, as if it might scald her.
It was a plain, unremarkable black ring.
“No idea,” August answered. He’d accumulated plenty of items over the years; shiny rocks and lost jewelry, currency from all over the world left behind by visiting leaders. The ring was hardly a surprising find. Though, he usually kept his collected items in the chest beneath his bed, not in his wardrobe.
Her expression tightened as she studied it. “It’s cold.”
“It’s metal,” he said dryly. “Metal’s cold.”
“No, I mean, it’scold. Like, freezing.”
