“You would have done the same for me,” I respond rather hastily, before I realize it’s more so out of habit than truth.
She scoffs. “Are you sure about that? You know…Briarstone, and all.”
“I wasn’t going to let you or anyone else die if I could help it.”
“Because you’d feel guilty?” she presses, leaning forward.
“You act like guilt is such a bad thing,” I whisper. “It’s aconscience.”
Her dark eyes narrow, inspecting me. “That kind of thinking might get you killed.”
I take another step toward her, closing the space between us. “Then explain to me why you helped so many other women during the trials. If you’re a typical Briarstone—some stone-cold killer?” When she doesn’t speak, I add, “Because you know I’m right. And you know something isn’t what it seems, here. Something that, if you let it get too far, will become a guilt that haunts forever.”
She lifts her chin to assess me. “What aren’t you saying, Lyra?”
I shake my head, finally letting it out. “Weeks ago, when I went to turn you in for stealing that knife, I saw something. We were walking down a hall I hadn’t been down before. There were lady’s maids in a room stockpiling jars of blood.Ourblood.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes at the wild reveal. “Perhaps it was…what did you call it weeks ago…Your ‘wild imagination’?”
I snap forward, grabbing her forearm until my fingers dig into her skin. “I’m serious. That’s why I never turned you in—something else is going on. And I think you know that. That’s why you’re not wrapped up in the competition for Cyrus’ heart.”
Her gaze holds mine, unflinching but not unkind. “You’re scared.”
“But you’re not, right?” I challenge with a bite. “Lie to me again, and tell me you’re not.”
Her body is still for a few heartbeats, then she rips her arm out of my grasp.
I drop my voice into a more demanding tone I don’t normally use. “Why did you really want to meet with me, Marcella?”
“Because you know who I am.” She slowly walks closer, and I swear her shadow in the mirror behind her seems wrong.
Swallowing, I nod. “Yes. Your brother?—”
“And so does Cyrus. I don’t wish to marry him, Lyra.”
I bump up against the bathroom wall. My shoulders relax, slightly, at her final admission. “And why not?”
Her eyes scan mine before she blows out a long sigh. “You were right. I stole that knife the first night we were here because I was…admittedly a bit frightened. I couldn’t put my finger on why. The truth is, I was raised as a warrior. I find comfort in my weapons. Being here in lavish gowns, learning etiquette…It is outside of my nature. And when the sharpest thing I can hold is a dinner fork? I swiped that knife the moment I had an opportunity.”
I don’t remind her that silverware would be no match for a dagger. Even more so for a sword, axe, or arrow. Instead, I ask slowly, “You’re here to request a pardon for your brother, aren’t you? But how do you plan on doing that by not marrying Cyrus? Surely, even if you last to the six-month mark, it won’t be enough coin to buy your brother out of prison.”
“That’s why I need you, Lyra.”
Twisting my head to look at her sideways, I respond slowly, “What is it you want from me?”
“I want you to win the hand of the King. And when you do, I want you, as Queen, to pardon my brother for his transgressions. To set him free.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And respectfully, why would I do something like that?”
“Because I can protect you.”
I lower my voice. “From what exactly?”
“From the other women, the trials. If the castle comes under a siege. But you’re going to have to trust me, just as I’m putting my neck out to trust you.”
We both stand staring at each other.
“Have you offered this proposition to any of the other women?” I ask.
