“When do you turn eighteen?”
• • •
IN THE OTHERWORLD, it had only felt like a day. In this world, Amelia had missed seasons of leaves changing, snow falling, babies crying, the elders dying. Nine months had escaped her like dandelion seeds from her fingertips with the change of the wind’s direction.
Tonight, midnight would mark her eighteenth year.
Even as she appeared at the castle’s doorsteps that morning, shivering and coated in mud, her godmothers moved quickly to fix her into someone appropriately part of this world. The faeries swarmed around her, both efficient and hysterical, hurrying her inside the castle. They washed her hair, changed her clothes, drew her baths, scrubbed her skin raw. They sanitized her as if they could cleanse any ugly darkness she’d been a part of, covering it instead with pretty bows and sweet perfume.
The godmothers fretted over Ezran, too, but there was an innate understanding that he was a prince who could take care of himself, while Amelia was fragile glass. They were right. Even though Amelia and Ezran agreed upon a fabricated story beforehand, he maintained a straight face as the prince who rescued Amelia from Malicine. Meanwhile, her nerves made it easy to believe she was too traumatized to recall specific details or speak more about the torture she went through.
I’m sorry, Malicine.The apologies repeated in her mind. Casting blame on the demon felt like a betrayal, as if Malicine had been right about her all along. But she glanced at Ezran’s whitened knuckles every time the godmothers spoke ill about Lilith and knew that he, too, restrained himself for the greater good of their plan. The godmothers needed to believe Ezran hadn’t reciprocated Lilith’s attempts to seduce him and remained loyal to Amelia. Ezran needed to return to the castle and help Lilith escape without suspicion of collusion.
As Ezran predicted, the godmothers filled the gaps in their stories with what they wanted to believe. Lilith was a wicked woman who sought power and seduced men, just like the women she helped in the brothels, while Malicine was a demon who kidnapped innocent girls. Of course Amelia and Ezran had nothing to do with this. Handsome men and beautiful girls were always innocent. How unfair it was, Amelia thought, for something as arbitrary as looks to allow someone good faith.
In the dressing room, she drowned in silk and tulle, choked in corsets and ruffles. Her gown spun in changing colors as her godmothers argued over the perfect attire for her eighteenth birthday. Her insistence in having a celebration excited them into nonstop chatter, a background noise she realized people only made to distract from sadder topics.
Several hours later, they transformed the ballroom into a gallery of beautiful people and decadent food. Her birthday cake, painted with buttercream and handcrafted flowers, floated on a glass pedestal as the centerpiece of the crowded ballroom, its opulence matching Amelia’s champagne-hued dress. Both existed to be observed, never cut open to see the messy insides.
While the castle attended her celebration and heavily guardedthe event, Ezran used the distraction to slip into the dungeons, where he would help Lilith escape. Amelia simply needed to sit and look pretty, like any other useless thing. As she stared at the empty space where Ezran had vanished, an older nobleman talked to her.
“We were worried sick for you,” the guest said, even though they’d never met. “Thank goodness you’re safe.”
She smiled at false platitudes and brushed the moonflower crown weaved around her hair. It was the only accessory she chose without her godmothers’ input. The touch of its wrinkled petals, yet to bloom, reminded her why she needed to endure this. Lilith told her of real miracles, like kingdoms that could rebuild themselves from sand, and flowers that bloomed every hundred years.
Then a petal disintegrated between her fingers, and as Amelia stared at the crumbly bits in her palm, she remembered that if Ezran’s plan had worked, she would never see Lilith again. The queen would never witness the flowers she gifted become alive after Amelia’s birthday.
Amelia wasn’t even supposed to live after her birthday.
The realization hit her like a stab in the gut now that her curse had been revoked. She had never pictured a future for herself beyond eighteen. Without the curse, her life expanded in decades. How could life be a miracle if it sounded so terrifying? The thought made her knees buckle, and the godmothers rushed to her side to catch her.
“What’s wrong?” Clover cried.
Her breaths shortened as quickly as her mouth dried. She felt like she was choking, but it was her pounding heart, reaching up her throat, demanding to be spat out. Bumps raised against her skin like needles. They didn’t stop forming, even though her godmothers’ hands were so warm they burned against her shivers.
“I don’t want to do this,” she whispered.
“But this is your party,” Iris said, “and you’re having a wonderful time!”
Amelia shook her head but couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t explain how it wasn’t the party she was talking about. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to live.
Because this was what life was: waking up and enduring. Sleeping and escaping. Waking up and enduring all over again. She was so tired of feeling this way whenever she was conscious, exhausted from pretending she could be happy. Perhaps for another girl, these parties would be enough to fill the emptiness. But nothing would be enough for Amelia. She’d always keep wishing for another world, another life, another way to fill the void.
The corners of the ballroom spun as the godmothers tried holding her up. They wanted to piece her back together, but she was born broken. It had never been the curse that created the cracks within her. That had been all her doing. More empty platitudes scraped her ears, and she wondered how it was possible that a room could be filled with so many people, while she felt utterly alone.
She had barely steadied herself by the time the doors opened. Murmurs died to a quiet hush. The sea of people parted ways as a familiar face emerged from the crowd. It should have comforted her, seeing her family again. Her father had returned to Gyldan from his trip. Yet, even standing in his own castle, he felt like a stranger.
“I’m glad you’re back, Amelia.” King Victor spoke as if they were the only two in the ballroom. The crowd fell silent in his presence. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
CHAPTER 35
WHILE THE REAL world burned, they dreamed.
Corin learned that this was what dreaming meant: Basking in the softness of grass without worrying about running when dusk came. Letting go of the heaviness of holding everything up. Never having to be resilient again.
She spent her days with Elly making snowballs in winter, picking flowers in spring, tasting new fruits in summer. An excess of activities she once deemed too frivolous to endure the passage of time, now given to her as a second chance. The sun saw them collect wildflower bouquets while meandering along streams, and the moon watched them huddle around crackling fire and wrap themselves in thick, soft blankets.
Corin brushed her fingers through Elly’s hair, which had grown long and thick, curling past her shoulders and tied with daisy stems. The girl looked just like their mother. For so long, Corin had been afraid of their similarities, a paralyzing fear that fate would take Elly away the same way it did their mother. But they were surrounded by parsley-green fields instead of concrete and grime, sunflowers and bees instead of shadows and leering eyes.She helped press flower petals into Elly’s hair, watching the buds painted on her sister’s nails bloom. For all the wasted moments they lost, Corin could make up for them now.
