He chuckles, shaking his head. “Some things never change, do they? I suppose I can arrange something for you. If you keep it a secret between us.”
“Something tells me it wouldn’t be the first.”
For the first time, he smiles wide, revealing white teeth and canines that elongate. I shudder, taking a few steps back before his face falls.
He whips away from me, shoulders arching as he brushes his hair back from his face. “My apologies.”
“What was that?” I hiss, backing up until I bump up against a tree.
Shaking his head, he remains turned away. A heavy sigh lifting and dropping his broad shoulders.
“What was that, Cyrus?” I demand again, cursing myself for not having a blade but still patting my hips like one might appear.
“You should have killed me a long time ago,” he whispers, sounding strangely defeated before he hurries away between the trees.
“Wait!” I call. When he doesn’t return, I gather my skirts and jog down the path he took.
But he’s nowhere in sight.
Sixteen
- LYRA -
I woke maybe an hour ago in the infirmary. The pain lacing my hands a distant echo as I glance down at them, wrapped in soft bandages. Lady’s maids helped me back to my room, where they bathed me and then dressed me in a gown for the evening.
Whatever concoction they used to heal me and dull my pain is a welcomed one. There’s a softness to my thoughts. Like looking through a blurred glass. Oddly enough, despite everything that happened today, my mind has a pleasurable buzz to it.
Opium poppies, I imagine. Maybe even dragonblood to accelerate the healing in my hands. I can move them, slowly, but refrain from doing so too often for fear of aggravating the wounds.
“That can’t have been good,” Aelia whispers next to me.
The two of us, along with seven other girls we found squealing and fawning over the window overlooking the gardens, are frozen as we wait for Marcella to exit the courtyard.
We watched Cyrus and Marcella, linked arm and arm, stroll into the gardens. Not even five minutes later and Cyrus walked out quickly. Alone. His head down, hair obscuring his expression.
“Do you think he’s disqualified her? Let her know she’s to be sent home?” Willow asks as we all press in tighter to see if we can spot Marcella in the lush, overgrown gardens. “I wouldn’t blame him. She’s quite stunning, but her attitude is atrocious.”
“Shhh,” I warn, tossing her a look. Even if Marcella isn’t my favorite…it feels wrong to talk about her behind her back. Especially after the fact she helped us during the trial. Though, not likely the others saw it since we were the last ones to finish.
“Her mannerisms should have had her disqualified on the second day,” one woman mutters.
Another chimes in, “The King would never entertain marrying someone as rough as her.”
“Do not talk about her that way!” Aelia snaps, and we all turn to her. “We are women. We do not talk down to each other. Whomever marries Cyrus, it will be because he’s in love with her. Not because she’s the best dressed or has the quickest wit. Speaking lowly of someone will not lift your own position.”
I smile at Aelia, then a movement catches all of our attention. Marcella stalks out of the gardens, her expression as poised and collected as ever. She tosses glances left and right, no doubt looking for Cyrus, but disappears from view as she gets closer to the castle.
We all rush away from the window as Lady Bethany calls from down the hallway, “Ladies! Need I remind you dinner shall be served in less than ten minutes? Please, if you have already refreshed yourselves, go to the dining room. You should always be early if you can.”
We all dip our heads and in scattered unison, say, “Yes, Lady Bethany.”
But as we all move down the hallway for the dining room, I glance over my shoulder to see a shadow creeping across the floor. Marcella turns the corner, and her brown eyes meet mine.
Hesitantly, I slip away from the back of the group and head to her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her in the opposite direction toward my room.
“What are you doing!” she hisses.
“Be quiet!” I snap back and pull her into my room, shutting the door before turning to her. “Is Cyrus sending you home?”
