Cyrus interjects, “Devin, that’s enough. Her memory hasn’t fully returned yet.”
I swivel back to Cyrus, and walk toward the hearth, not comfortable being sandwiched between the two of them. They know something I don’t. And I don’t like being the only one out of the loop. At least from here, I have both of them in my sights. And only the fire at my back.
“My king, she lies already,” Devin whispers. “I told you we shouldn’t have let her in. She can’t be trusted.”
If I could burn him with my glare, I would. But as Cyrus rises from his chair, towering at nearly six feet tall…no, more than that, my anger at Devin melts away. Into terror. Fear.
I shouldn’t be so easily shaken, but as Cyrus takes step after thunderous step toward me, his shadow crawling across the floor as if it too fears him, I can’t help but shudder. My shoulder blades hit the marbled hearth behind me, the fire warming me to an uncomfortable, sweltering level. I scramble for my pocket, slipping my hand inside as I grip the butter knife tightly.
He stops a few steps away, my neck bent to look up at those unforgiving white eyes that reflect the flames behind me.
“Not a step further,” I warn in a whisper, holding his gaze without flinching. Maybe he knows I’m only here to get the power to pardon my brother. That I’m here to use him. To set my brother free. Or at the very least, be able to send a letter for the Gods’ sake.
My betrayal might mean time in the dungeons. Maybe worse, depending on what kind of king he is and if he wants to make an example of me.
Swift as a blink, he snatches my wrist and rips me away from the hearth. I slash out at him with the butter knife, the metal bending as it slams into his gloved hand. He growls and lets go of my wrist, dropping down into a crouch. Slipping his jacket off himself, I rear back and kick his solid wall of a chest hard enough that he falls back onto his hands.
“Your dress, Marcella!” he barks.
Smoke fills my nostrils, and as I follow it, I find the back edge of my dress smoldering. I drop to the floor, miserably trying to cut the edge off with the bent knife before Cyrus slams his jacket down and snuffs out the flames.
I slowly drag my gaze off the floor to Cyrus. “I didn’t realize you were trying to?—”
“You thought I was trying to hurt you,” he interrupts. “Marcella, I’ve told you many times before this. Asked you thousands of times over if you wanted to be here. You came of your own volition. I may be the King, but I cannot force your hand. And evenifI could, I wouldn’t.”
“Perhaps I remind you again she is not the best fit for this,” Devin calls from behind him.
But Cyrus only retrieves his smoky jacket and rises. “I trust her. Even if she does not remember it.”
My eyes widen. He…trusts me? How would he know to trust someone he’s never met? Unless we have met before. “You do know me? You know who I am?” I ask on a breath.
Cyrus tosses his jacket on the ottoman. “Yes. You are Marcella Briarstone from Millton. Your mother is Catherine, and your brother is Connor.”
“My brother?” My voice pitches higher. “So, you?—”
“Yes.” He dips his head. “Yes, Connor is in Millton serving out his life sentence. And in exchange for his pardon, you’re here to spy.”
Devin’s cunning smile catches my attention before he crosses his arms over his chest and leans into the door.
I flick my gaze back to Cyrus. “I’m not here to compete for your hand?”
“No, Marcella,” he says gently. “You would never marry me. You have been hired as an insider to find the traitors within the group. To befriend them. To keep a watchful eye. Our intel informed us there may be assassins within the group, tasked with killing me. We only found out after all of you women were brought here. That’s why your memories were all wiped.”
My heart gallops in my chest. “Then why did you wipe my memory? Why did you not allow me to keep mine?”
Cyrus searches my eyes like he might find the reason there before I can. “Because you asked me to.”
Ten
- LYRA -
Just as the night before, I have a vivid dream of a rainy day. I walk inside of a large building, the majority of its roof caved in. I shiver, edging around murky puddles scattered throughout the space. Though, mud still seeps into the thin material of my flats. As I round the corner of a familiar room, in the darkness are a pair of eyes that flash open. Reflections from the light behind me shining like that of a cat. But when the eyes narrow into something sinister and race toward me, I spring up in bed with a scream.
Sweat sticks my hair to my forehead and neck. I slide my hands into my damp hair, pull it off my skin, and braid it back.
Why was I screaming?
The longer I try to recall the nightmare, the more it fades. Like an evasive animal, fading back into the shadows. I glance over at the window and the starlight spilling into the room.
