Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“I’m good.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I just woke up half an hour ago. Good as new.”
He nods, but I can tell this doesn’t surprise him. He knew I was okay, or he wouldn’t have let me out of his sight. That’s not why he’s here this morning. “What we talked about last night—do you really want to do this?”
I hold my breath and nod. Please don’t send me home. Please don’t make me fail Jas.
He rolls his shoulders back. “Okay then. You’ll have to go before my mother and me this afternoon and state your wish to . . .” He clears his throat but doesn’t finish.
“Marry you?” I ask.
He nods. “I know how you truly feel, of course, but my mother cannot.”
“I understand.”
He turns to the day lilies and adjusts them in the vase, avoiding my gaze. “I need to ask you a favor.”
“What’s that?”
He’s quiet for so long, I begin to fidget with my silverware. When he does speak, his voice is lower than before. “Keep our history a secret. I don’t want my mother knowing that we met before today. It would . . . skew her judgment of you.”
There is no future for me and Sebastian, so this shouldn’t hurt. But I can’t deny the sharp twisting in my chest. “You don’t want her to know where I came from. That I cleaned fancy houses instead of living in one?” That aside from thievery and hiding in the dark, I don’t have any skills or talents to speak of.
“I don’t want her to know anything that might make her question why you’re really here.” He swallows and turns back to me. There’s a storm of worry brewing in those sea-green eyes. “Despite my better judgment, I don’t want you to leave, Brie. I like the idea of having you around.”
I wish you’d stop saying sweet things. “Do you think your mother will allow me to stay?”
“I’ll insist. It’ll be fine.” He takes my hand and skims his thumb across my pulse point. Awareness shivers through me, but when I look down, my scar is gone. “What—did you . . .”
“It’s a glamour,” he says quickly.
I stare at that smooth skin on the inside of my wrist and frown. I like my scar. It’s a reminder of who I am, where I came from, and what I will sacrifice for the people I love. It represents the only truly good things about me. “Is that necessary?”
“I’m afraid so.” I hear the regret hanging on his soft words.
What kind of mother is she that she won’t allow her son to marry a girl with so much as a small scar? “Okay. I understand.”
“I have to go, but I will see you soon. Remember not to let on that you knew me before you arrived at the castle, and don’t tell anyone details of your life. They can know your name and that you’re from Fairscape, but that’s enough.”
I nod, and as I watch him go, my stomach clenches uncomfortably.
How can feeling unworthy of a position I never wanted make me feel so small?
* * *
I play my part. A human girl excited over the prospect of marrying a faerie prince.
I’m bathed, scrubbed, plucked, and moisturized to within an inch of my life. Tess and Emmaline ask me questions about home, about what I think of Sebastian, about what it’s like to have his eye. I try to act like a regular human girl who’s known luxuries rather than having provided them for others. I pretend I don’t know more than I should about their prince—like the way he gravitates toward the outdoors when the sun is out, or the way the muscles in his back ripple when he swings a sword. For them, I pretend I don’t know what it’s like to feel those soft lips meet mine, and for myself I pretend I don’t want to feel that again.
The entire morning is surreal. My maids treat me like I’m some beautiful princess from a foreign land, not the penniless human thief who lived in a cellar for the last nine years. If I’m honest, their doting is . . . nice. I’ve spent all my time going unnoticed, being unremarkable, and I’m surprised to find that there’s some part of me that likes having them coo over the blazing red of my hair and the hazel eyes I’ve always found too plain.
They present me with half a dozen dresses of different shades and styles, each more lovely than the last. Jas would have swooned over the gowns as if they were priceless works of art, but all I can think is how much I’d rather wear pants. If I’d been in pants last night, I might’ve stood a chance when running from the Barghest. Now isn’t the time, though. I need to dress in something the queen will find appropriate for her son’s potential bride.