“Look at me,” Nymiria pleaded. “Please.Look at me.” Her hands were now on his face, stroking carefully over his cheeks.
He saw her worried expression, tears like pools of liquid starlight in her eyes as she looked down at him. Every ounce of murderous rage faded to fear. He looked down at her wrists,beggingthat he hadn’t left a mark on her. When he saw perfectly pale skin, he brushed his thumb over the vines that curled around them and sighed. “I’m so sorry.” It sounded so pathetic. Words couldn’t possibly convey just how horrible he felt. Not just for being under Everand’s enchantment, but for not being strong enough to see the desperation in her eyes when she tried telling him the truth in the best way she knew how. “I’m so sorry.” He said it again. And again, and again.
Clutching her to him, burying his face into her chest, he repeated it. Nymiria pushed him back just enough to get a good look at him, her lips pulling back into a smile. “I love you.” She said quietly. “Iloveyou.”
All he could do was stare up at her. He never would have thought that hearing three simple words could bring him such relief. He never would have imagined what hearing them from the person you loved would feel like, at all. A part of him believed that it would never happen. But there she was…
Looking at him.
Holdinghim.
Lovinghim.
The next few hours were spent with Nymiria explaining everything she’d experienced to him in great detail. Some of the information made that murderous rage return to his eyes. Majority of it, actually. And though Nymiria couldn’t blame him and knew that it was just within his nature to want to get justice, it took some convincing to get him not to act.
She had a plan. One that Aziel agreed to go through with, if only for the safety of Thorn and the others.
They fell asleep whispering declarations of love to one another. Nymiria had never felt so at ease saying those words to someone—had neverwantedto say them so frequently or repeatedly, but she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want Aziel to stop saying them, either.
Fourteen Years Ago
Nymiria wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong. All she knew was that her mother was upset. And when Inasha was not happy, no one was.
It was a lot of pressure to put on a child. She’d barely learned that she had powers, but Inasha expected for her to perform. She did everything that her instructors taught her to do—she took each step carefully and created something beautiful. But instead of a proud smile or any sort of praise, Inasha just scowled down at her daughter while the rest of the room clapped.
She’d forgotten something, probably.
No, no… she was certain that she did exactly what was asked of her. A bouquet of roses—
Red roses.
Nymiria looked up at the large bouquet, her insides churning when she saw the brilliant pink roses sparkling in front ofher. Her hands tightened into fists, her smile wavering as she turned and bowed to her people.
She could not show fear. She could not show sadness or anger or anything other than pride. But pride was not something she had at the moment. Nor could she recall a single moment when she’d truly felt proud of herself. It was all fear. Every moment of every day, it was fear.
Her mother’s voice was a hum in her ears when she began speaking. Nymiria stood terribly still, being sure to keep her chin lifted and her brows arched. Being sure to keep a firm hold on her shaking hands.
Inasha approached her with careful and deliberate steps, the brushing of her arm as it looped through her own was far too gentle.
Fake.
Fake. Fake. Fake.
Nymiria wondered if anyone in the audience saw her mother’s act for what it truly was, but it was highly unlikely. Inasha was known and revered for her power and her beauty, there was hardly a creature in Nym that didn’t rise at the chance to deliver her praises. She wondered what it must have been like to have such blind faith in someone. Nymiria oftentimes wished that she had just as much faith in her mother as their people did.
But fear and faith were two sides to the same coin. Nymiria’s fear of her mother was driven by promise—having learned that if she did not perform to her mother’s standards, there would be consequences. The subjects of Nym must have been terrified, as well, but they’d deluded themselves enough to believe that their terror was devotion. Loyalty.
There would come a day when Nymiria took that throne. But she did not hope for their devotion. She hoped that they were brave enough to speak for themselves—that they would notblindly follow her to whatever end she led them to. Nymiria did not want them to fear her. She did not wish to be perceived at all, let alone by them.
She did not want the scrutiny. She did not want them.
She just wanted to go home.
And home, to her, was not in the palace she was raised in. Home was a small cabin on the edge of Nym. It was Thorn’s mother, her Nan, baking her sweet treats for her birthday. It was Thorn cradling her in front of a fire, reading her and Ilona scary stories and both of them laughing when Nan would slap his shoulder, urging him to stop so they wouldn’t be too scared for bed.
Nymiria allowed her mother to parade her around the ballroom, pretending to be thankful as people handed her various sorts of gifts that Inasha would take from her as soon as the crowd dispersed. She greeted her people kindly, kissing hands and the foreheads of babies before being ushered out of the room and up the stairs.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Nymiria was being jerked towards the washroom. “You are an embarrassment.” Inasha hissed. “I specifically asked you for red flowers. Red, as in our family colors. Was it truly so hard for you to do or did you do it on purpose?” It was a rhetorical question. Answering anything her mother asked at this point would only make things worse. Inasha scoffed in the silence, already plucking at the strings of Nymiria’s dress. “Lovenia will be in shortly to deliver punishment. Bend.”
