Page 21 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

“Why?” she asks without looking at me.

“Because I’d like to know the name of the person insulting me,” I snap.

She looks over her shoulder again, and this time our eyes meet. For a second time, I feel the need to take a step back as my breath catches in my throat.

This girl is more than just pretty—she’s stunning. Breathtakingly beautiful, in a way that’s almost unsettling.

Her eyes, which I initially thought were blue, are actually a striking violet, like the orchids that grow around our castle.

Her cheeks are flushed, and her cupid’s bow lips look pink and swollen, as if she was just kissed.

My eyes wander over her heart-shaped face, down her throat, and over her soft curves beneath a criminally tight dress.

My stomach does another strange flip. It’s like I missed a step walking down stairs and for a fraction of a second I feel wildly out of control. I tear my eyes away and clear my throat, running one hand over the back of my neck.

“I’m Kastian,” I blurt out, the words sounding foreign as if I’ve forgotten my own name.

The girl rolls her eyes. “I know.”

I clear my throat again. “And you are?”

“Not any of your concern.”

A growl of frustration bubbles up in my chest, and it takes a monumental effort to push it back down. I take a breath through my nose and let it out slowly, willing myself to stay in control.

“Clearly I offended you,” I start again. “I apologize. I thought you were someone else, and?—”

“Yes, so you said,” she interrupts. “Apology accepted. Now, do you mind? I’m occupied at the moment.”

I look from her out to the ocean beyond the castle and back, my brow furrowing. “Occupied by what?”

She lets out a sharp, annoyed breath, and answers without turning to look at me. “I wanted to see the ships.”

I glance in the direction she’s looking. There are at least two dozen tall masts on the horizon, but the harbor is too far away to make them out clearly. “I still don’t understand.”

“Do you have to?” she asks.

“I simply want to know.”

She rounds on me again. “Right, but do you have to? You have every right to ask a question, but you don’t have the right to hear the answer if I don’t want to give it.

Unless you believe you’re so important that you can compel me to answer you.

Do you think that? Do you believe that your curiosity is worth more than my privacy? ”

I grind my teeth. I’ve been speaking to this girl for less than five minutes and already I have a thousand questions. I’ve never met anyone who seemed to dislike me from the moment I opened my mouth. I’m moving past annoyed and toward angry. This girl is infuriating…and oddly fascinating.

Before I can think of what to say, the door to the hall opens again. The red-headed girl doesn’t move, but I look over my shoulder already knowing that it will be Lyra coming to find me just as Magnus promised.

Sure enough, Lyra walks toward us, back straight and holding her pink gown off the floor. She stops in front of me with her head bowed. “Your Highness.”

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. This is why I don’t feel any draw to my betrothed—she’s never even used my first name. Lyra is always, always polite and controlled. Just like the rest of the court.

…and nothing like the rude, beautiful girl from Vernallis.

My gaze darts back to the red-haired girl, suddenly compelled to know what she thinks of this. She’s looking at Lyra with a bitter expression in her violet eyes.

Maybe it’s not specifically me she hates, just nobility?

But that makes no sense either.

She must be a Vernalli noblewoman, or why else would she be here?

As the crown prince of Hydratta, only someone of equal rank would dare turn their back on me or call Prince Thorne by his first name.

Yet she can’t be a princess, as the king and queen of Vernallis have no daughters.

Perhaps she’s a duke’s daughter with a high opinion of herself?

I suppose any woman who looked like that would have reason to think highly of herself. Maybe?—

“Your Highness?” Lyra asks again.

Shit.

I shake my head, realizing that I’m staring again—and not at my betrothed. I almost feel guilty. Almost.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice sounding slightly choked.

“My father sent me to find you. It’s time to return to dinner.”

I run a frustrated hand over the back of my neck. “Yes. Fine, let’s go.”

I automatically hold out an arm to her, but Lyra doesn’t move. Instead, she looks curiously at the Vernalli girl. My heartbeat kicks up again, and I find myself turning to watch them with renewed interest.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two Fae women who looked less alike.

Lyra is tall and willowy with fair skin like her father and straight black hair that she must have inherited from her mother.

She’s undoubtedly beautiful in her own right, but it’s hardly her fault that the Vernalli girl looks like the paintings of sirens in my father’s study.

“Forgive me. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Lyra says, finally breaking the tense silence.

I hold my breath as I watch the girl’s eyes dart around, like she’s trying to find an exit. Finally, she turns to Lyra and curtseys, tilting her chin toward the floor. “Forgive me. It’s my fault, my lady.”

I choke.

That’s the reaction I was expecting her to give me when she first walked into the hall…so why should Lyra get the respect I was denied?

I don’t understand this at all, and I hate that I want nothing more than to figure it out. Figure her out.

“What’s your name?” Lyra asks finally.

“Odessa,” the girl says, with the tiniest hint of bitterness in her tone.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Odessa,” Lyra says tonelessly.

“Not ‘lady,’” the girl corrects.

“Duchess, then?” I guess, cocking my head.

“No,” Odessa shakes her bouncing curls. “I have no title. Now, excuse me, I’ll leave you two alone.”

She bobs a half-hearted curtsy, which I swear feels sarcastic, and walks away without a single glance back at us.

I feel Lyra’s searching eyes on me as I finally let out the breath I was holding.

I glance at my betrothed, and raise a probing eyebrow at her.

Honestly, I want her to say something about this. Not that I was doing anything inappropriate per se, but most girls would be jealous, right?

I’d take anything—a hint of a reaction. A glimmer of emotion. Anything.

“Well, shall we return to dinner?” Lyra asks flatly.

I nod, only slightly disappointed, and offer her my arm again even as my mind wanders back to Odessa.

I swear, she seemed slightly familiar.