I step forward. Her sharp senses don’t miss the movement, her eyes flying to me over Elle’s shoulder.
“Mae! What are you doing here?” she asks, a smile gracing her face. She motions for us to come inside. Willa and I exchange hugs while Elle moves quickly and silently through the rest of the house. She returns and gives a quick nod to Luca. He disappears from the doorway, returning to his post outside.
“Willa, can we sit somewhere? Do you have any wine or anything to drink?” I ask.
She eyes Elle for another moment, then flits her gaze back to me. “Yes, yes, of course. Let’s go to the living room. You two go sit. I’ll grab drinks.” She disappears into the kitchen, and I lead Elle to the living room, offering her a seat on the well-worn fabric couch.
I glance at Elle, now feeling nervous about having this conversation with Willa. I want to ask Elle to leave so I can have this moment alone with my aunt, but I don’t think she would leave if I asked. She’s right not to; I have no idea how to defend myself if I need to. Even though Iknow Willa won’t hurt me, Elle doesn’t.
Willa returns with three wine glasses and a bottle of rosé. She pours a glass for each of us, then sits down on the matching fabric loveseat across from Elle and me. I take a big sip of my wine, loving the way it slips down my throat and goes straight to my head.
“What’s going on?” Willa says. “Is everything okay?”
I study her for a moment, hating the apprehension I feel toward her. I’ve always lovedWilla. But right now, all I feel when I look at her is distrust and anger. I take another sip of the wine and gulp it down, steeling myself for this conversation.
“I’m the High Princess,” I blurt. I watch her carefully. She just stares at me, frozen as she seems to search for the right words.
Finally, she says quietly, “Yes, I know.”
Even though I know she knew, her confirmation feels like another blow. Hot anger floods my senses. “What do you mean, you ‘know?’” My voice is deathly quiet.
Her body seems like it deflates. Her shoulders drop, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mae. I was going to. I thought I had more time. I thought—”
“No. I am twenty-five years old, Willa. I might, with a heavy emphasis on ‘might,’ accept that line if I were younger, but I’mtwenty-five. I know my mother is dead, but I could have at least gotten to know my father. I could have known him for the lasttwenty-five years,” I say, hot tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
“I know,” she says quietly. “You’re right. I’m so sorry.” She refuses to meet my eyes, her gaze stuck on the plush carpet at our feet.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice laced with desperation. Desperation for a life I could have had. Desperation for the life I once knew, now tainted by her betrayal.
She hesitates, then looks up at me with pleading blue eyes. “Mae, you have to understand. Your mother asked me not to. When she found out she was pregnant with you, she knew there was a risk she might not survive the pregnancy. Fae pregnancies are dangerous. She knew she likely wouldn’t live to see you grow up, but she wanted you to have a real childhood free of the prison that comes with a royal title. We both grew up in the court. It was not a childhood. I tried so hard to honor her wishes and to give you that.”
I’ve never felt so upset with her, with anyone. Willa was my protector, my mother, my best friend, and my only friend for most of my life. This…this feels unforgivable.
“What aboutmywishes?” I ask, staring at her. There’s nothing she can say to fix this, but a small piece of my heart yearns for her to say something that tells me she’s not to blame for this, that she’s not to blame for hiding me from my family.
She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at the damn rug on the floor.
“You know I was always curious about my parents,” I continue. “Why not give me the choice to know my father? My sister?” Every word sounds like a desperate plea. I hate it.
Her voice is small as she says, “I wanted to protect you. You were just a child.”
I scoff. “I haven’t been a child for over a decade. You’ve had so much time to tell me. I have no idea what I’m doing. You could have prepared me for this.”
Her hands twist in her lap. “You were never supposed to be in this position. I never imagined this scenario. If I knew, I would have changed the way I raised you. I was going to tell you about your father in a year or so and give you the option of getting to know him. Well, I kept telling myself I’d tell you in a year, then that year would pass by, then another. I was so scared to tell you.”
As much as I want to yell at her, I swallow the words. Instead, I grit my teeth and ask the only question that I can, “Why?”
She’s quiet when she finally answers. “I don’t know. I guess I was scared of how you’d react.” She seems ashamed. She should be. She might have raised me, which I’ll always be grateful for, but she also stole a life and a family from me.
I put as much steel behind my voice as I can muster and say, “That’s still not an acceptable answer.”
“You’re right,” is all she says, her eyes trained on the floor, refusing to look at me.
I’m not interested in hearing any more of this. I stand and leave the room, then storm from the place, the person, that was home for so long. Willa calls my name behind me, but I don’t turn back.
The walk back to the portal is silent as I will myself not to cry. The portal spits us out directly into my front yard, and I immediately head to the front door, desperate to be alone, to let loose the tears that have been threatening to spill for the last several minutes.
I burst through my front door, stopping myself from heading straight to my bathroom drawer. The cool kiss of my razorblade calls to me. My veins itch for the sting, for the bite of the blade against my skin.
