Page 134

The house in front of me is real, I know that, and I enter through the back door. The one the housekeeper never locks, going in and out for smoke breaks.

She’s not in the kitchen, and the house is quiet, but he’s exactly where I expect him to be. Seated in his favorite chair, legs crossed at the ankle, firelight flickering across his gold signet ring. Not a king’s ring. He wishes, but one he had made on his own, an H stamped into the metal.

He looks as if he hasn’t moved since the wedding. Still dressed in his suit, although it’s rumpled now. Like the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen. His glass of whiskey is half-full. I wonder how many came before that and glance over at the bar where the bottle sits on top.

His eyes drag over me in the doorway, slow and incredulous. “Christ, girl.”

I can’t imagine what I look like. Maybe like a corpse that’s dug her way out of a grave. I feel like that, like I’ve alreadystarted rotting, like the decay eating away at my flesh has set in my bones. I’m streaked in dirt and dried blood. He takes in the bruises blooming along my collarbone, the blistered welts across my thighs, the bare feet.

He doesn’t ask if I’m hurt. He just says, “I told him you weren’t ready. He must’ve figured it out himself.”

I blink, trying to process his words.

“You weren’t good enough for him, were you?” He lifts the glass to his lips and shakes his head. “I knew you’d fall apart the second a man got a real look at you. You couldn’t even hold onto himfor a full day.”

I don’t answer. I stare at the fire. The flames crackle loudly between us. In the corner, the grandfather clock ticks. I hate this room. I hate him.

He sets the glass down. “Well?” he asks, voice cold. “Why are you here?”

I step closer. My skin tightens with heat, too much after the cold forest air. My hands twitch at my sides. The lace on the hem of the dress tears further, unraveling like I am. I lick my lips. They taste of salt and copper.

“Where are the children?”

A pause, then he sighs. “Please don’t do this.”

“Where are they?” I need to know. “Are they in their rooms? Or did you send them somewhere? Where are they?”

His answer is swift. Concise. “Thereareno other children, Arianette, you know that.”

The lie slips off his tongue as easily as rainwater down the drain. That same tense panic crawls up my spine. “Don’t lie to me. I know they’re here. Downstairs? In the attic?”

“Girl, I’ve told you time and time again, there are no children.” His expression softens, as if he’s as tired as I feel. “You are theonlychild, you werealwaysthe only child. The others were a figment of your creative, but fragile mind.”

I sway on my feet, breath catching. Mind spinning. “That’s not true,” I blink fast, “we shared a room. Classes from Mrs. Whipple. I heard them crying. I comforted them.”

My throat tightens as those memories shift and fade. Each child, each interaction, their smiles, their tears, their laughter… they vanish into smoke. I fold to my knees in front of the fire. The heat scalds my face. I don’t care. I’ve never felt so cold, inside and out.

He finally turns his head and there’s no mistaking his disgust. “You’re not worth anything to me like this,” he says, his tone flat. “The only quality you had was your pristine cunt, and now that’s wasted.”

I flinch, but I don’t cry. I deserve it. I let Hunter carve my flesh. Damon pierce my skin. The King steal the one thing of value. I let them ruin me.

“I can still be useful,” I whisper. “I’ll listen. I won’t run again. I’ll make it right.”

His jaw works. Then a sneer. “None of this would’ve happened if Armand had done his job.”

“Armand…” I lift my head, dizzy with dread. “What did you say?”

“You never should’ve made it out of those woods.” The fire crackles. “Not alive at least.”

“You wanted me dead?” I stare at him, confused but not. “But what about the arrangement? The wedding?”

He exhales like I’m stupid, taking up his precious time. “I thought maybe over the years you’d snap out of your delusions. That you’d mature and let your mind grow along with your body. But you’ve always been weak. Prone to fantasies and make-believe.” He rises slowly from the chair, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. Calm. Bored. “I had no choice but to fulfill the obligation with the Barons. A deal’s a deal, and in this town my reputation is all that I had–at least until I had you married off to a king. Ifigured that I would hand you over as planned and then tragedy would strike in the name of Armand Stein. It would be quiet.Convenient. And that idiot would be blamed and I’d be released from the deal.”

My mind staggers. “You wanted me dead…”

“Don’t take it personally.” He lifts his brows. “You’ve always been expendable. Just like your mother. Just like these stupid girls everyone is searching for.”

Something inside me rips. Slowly. Softly. Like silk splitting down the center.