She pulled me into her arms and held me close. “Did he hurt you?”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
She inched away and inspected me, her gaze dropping to my cheek where Thayden had struck me. “He did.”
She brought her hands up to her cheeks as a tears streamed down her face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you. He’s changed. I never believed he was capable of being such a monster. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing we can do. Marrying him protects us.”
She cupped my face with gentle hands. “I fear not for myself my dear daughter. Your grandmother doesn’t fear for her life, either. But you. We fear for you. I can’t lose you to death. I already lost your father. I…” He voice broke. “Losing you would kill me.”
“It’s okay, Mother. It’ll all be okay.” I tried to sound positive. Gods, I tried, but the shiver in my voice betrayed me.
She pulled me back in for a hug. “I don’t think so, my dear. This feels like the beginning of the end.”
She wasn’t wrong.
It felt that way to me, too.
Chapter 33
Elariya
“The Enemy at My Side”
Isat before the same mirror, in the same chair, staring at the same reflection. But everything had changed.
The bruise across my left cheek had bloomed like a dark flower. Not grotesque but every inch unmistakable. The purple-black mark the size of Thayden's palm, with finger-shaped shadows, spoke of exactly what had happened in this room not even an hour ago.
I had almost that amount of time left before the brunch began.
Mother had dismissed the handmaidens who’d returned to finish getting me ready. She’d called Emabelle and used the excuse of wanting family to do the finishing touches for such an important day. The truth was simpler: we didn’t want to risk servants seeing what Thayden had done to me.
While Mother had gone to play nice with the nobles—and keep an eye on Thayden—Emabelle worked behind me on concealing my bruise.
We had to wait for the swelling to go down before we tried.
"Hold still," she murmured, her voice thick with barely-contained emotion. She reached into her travel bag, retrievedher pearl powder, and dabbed it on my cheek with a soft cloth. The powder was ground so fine it felt like silk against my skin.
It was expensive, imported from the Southern Seas, where pearl divers risked their lives for the perfect shells. It had a luminous quality that would help mask the worst of the discoloration, but it wouldn't be enough on its own.
"This might sting a little," she warned, reaching for a small pot of tinted balm. The salve was made from crushed rose petals and beeswax, with just enough red ochre to match my natural skin tone. Emabelle applied it with the tip of her finger, working in careful circles to blend the edges.
I watched her work in the mirror, noting the way her jaw clenched with every touch.
She’d come prepared with her finest cosmetics, the expensive kind she usually saved for the most important occasions. She'd probably never dreamed these beautiful preparations would be used to hide bruises instead of enhance beauty.
Emabelle had always been the fierce one among us—quick to anger, quicker to defend those she loved. Having to cover up evidence of my abuse rather than march downstairs and confront Thayden had to be eating her alive.
"Almost done," she whispered, reaching for the final component: crushed moonstone dust. When mixed with a few drops of rosewater, it created an opalescent shimmer that would catch the light and draw attention away from any remaining shadows.
She applied it with an artist's precision, building up the coverage layer by careful layer until the bruise became nothing more than a faint discoloration that could be mistaken for natural shadow.
She did a good job. I looked like myself again.
During those final touches, silence strained between us like a taut string, filled with everything we wanted to say. Emabelle'shands had stilled, but she didn't step back. In the mirror, I caught her jaw working, words building behind her lips that she was afraid to release.
Finally, she broke.
