“That’s not a good idea.”
“I’ll fix my make-up. Mercy won’t berate us, I promise,” I say, with a seductive smile. “Kiss me, Ender.”
Ender’s gaze drops to my lips. His eyes are ripe with longing. My fingers curl in his thick hair, nails scraping his scalp. A tortured groan escapes him before he lifts me from the chair, forcing me to wrap my thighs around his hips. His mouth crashes into mine with a mix of fury and desperation. My back hits the wall, knocking the breath from my lungs, but Ender’s tongue slips into my mouth, soothing the discomfort.
This feels different. It’s new in a way that I can’t describe. Exhilarating and forbidden in equal measure, like weshouldn’tbe doing this, but we are despite our best efforts, which is ridiculous because we’re about to get married. There is nothing taboo about this. Ender’s hand slips into my loose hair. I wore it down for him, because he finds me irresistible like this. The thought is strange because I can’t recall him ever telling me that. I just know it, in an instinctual way, as if our minds are fused.
She’s beautiful. So beautiful. Like the sun, my sun, all mine. My sunshine. Brightens my day.
He angles my head, deepening the kiss, fingers digging into my thigh possessively.
Did he speak those words? I think I heard it in my head, but it doesn’t matter. He probably whispered it in my ear. I’m drowning in this kiss. It is the best kiss ever.
It’s not real. Not real. It’s a lie. Hates me. She hates me. She hates me. Like father, like mother. Everyone hates me.
“Ender,” I breathe. “What’s wrong?”
I can’t tell what’s going on. Why can I hear him in my mind? That can’t be right. I blink hazily at him. This dress is strange. When did I pick it? Where did Mercy go?
“Say that you belong to me,” Ender begs. “Say it now.”
I’m lost in the anguished zeal in his eyes. He dips his head to kiss my neck, teeth sinking painfully into my flesh.
“Don’t leave marks.”
Mercy will freak out if I walk towards the High Justice, looking like a wild animal. Wait, the thoughts? Something is wrong, but I can’t tell what.
“I don’t think I feel well,” I say.
“Say what I told you to say.” He pulls back. “Hurry.”
The words are stuck in my throat. I’m afraid for some reason. He’s acting odd.
“Are you going to leave me at the altar?” I ask, my words are light, but my fear is evident in my words. “Because that would really suck.”
“No,” Ender says.
“Then why are you acting like this is goodbye?” I ask. “Why do you think I hate you?”
He leans his head down, forehead resting on mine.
“Everything is good here, because it always is,” he murmurs. “Everything always goes my way. I wish we could stay here forever.”
“What are you talking about?” I lift his face to study his eyes.
“Come on,” he says. “We can’t be late for our wedding.”
I open my mouth to speak to him, but the scene vanishes.
There is blood on my white dress. The altar is in ruins. Masked figures swarm the garden. Rebels. This is an attack. The High Justice is dead. His neck is twisted at a crooked angle.
I’m disoriented. My ears are ringing. I look across from me at the white chairs trimmed in violets, where the guests sit to witness the ceremony. Mercy lies in a slump, her silver dress stained in crimson.
“No,” I scream.
I race across the pathway, collapsing beside her. Her eyes are vacant, mouth parted in fear. I press my fingers to the wound, feeling the hot drip of her blood soak my palm.
“Ender,” I call hoarsely. “Ender!”
