Family.
My eyes widen. My father is dead. My mother still back in Millton.
I run the name over and over in my mind like I’m digging for something beneath the surface.
Millton. Millton. Millton.
My heart begins to race, my chest rising with each breath. I was in Millton. My brother…He was also in Millton.
In prison.
I look down at my shaking hands and grip the bedsheets to still it. Hebefriended the wrong crowd. Did some questionable things. Fell into a scheme promising to better his life.
He's been imprisoned for almost a year now. Cut off from letters for his crimes. He was a kind boy. Easily misled, but at the root of it, a good person.
That’s why I’m here. Not because of romance. Not because I want to be swept up into a lavish lifestyle, with the glitz and honor of potentially being royalty. But because this is the one, surest way I can free him.
Even if my heart is…unavailable, one thing is for certain.
I have to win the King’s hand.
Nine
- MARCELLA -
I spend the rest of my break before dinner in my room, sitting at the window bench seat and staring at the Serahaven mountains. Picking away at the layers of ice in my skull.
My name is Marcella Briarstone. My brother’s name is Connor. There are many ways to kill someone. But I have a favorite three.
Poison. Stabbing. Asphyxiation.
As we gather for dinner in the dining hall, Lady Bethany selects a woman from our group and Devin leads her off for a one-on-one dinner with Cyrus. As our meals are served, I barely listen to the chatter around us as people gush over the exquisite gardens, the library, and the castle grounds.
I can’t help but eye every place setting, searching for any hint of a knife. Even a butter knife. As I motion for one of the women to pass me the bread and butter, I tuck the butter knife down into a pocket of my dress I had stitched during my break.
With my other hand, I drop a fork to the ground with a clatter and kick it under the clothed table. “Oops, I’m afraid I dropped the butter knife,” I announce loudly.
“Not a worry,” Lady Bethany responds from further down the table and motions to one of the servers. They return with a new one, and I butter a fresh roll before passing the plate to Lyra.
When she takes the plate from me, her gaze bores into mine.
She noticed. And as she places the plate down before her, she narrows her eyes at me while everyone else continues their chatter.
Clearing my throat, I turn back to my plate and take a bite, chewing slowly and ignoring her stare.
“How’s that headache of yours?” she asks.
Incessant. Her and theheadache.
“Just fine, thank you,” I respond, taking a sip of wine.
“Interesting…” she mumbles, then finally turns back straight in her seat. “Mine seems to be getting better as well. Though, I swear I might be seeing things sometimes…”
“Like what?” Aelia asks from across the table.
“I don’t know…like…” She pats the sides of her dresses. “I could have sworn when I slipped into this dress earlier I had pockets? And then when I saw myself in the mirror, I swore something was in them. Like something sharp?—”
“What do you mean? Like a horn or something?” Aelia laughs.
