Page 35

Betrayal comes from those you trust; that’s why it burns so.

Mother was surprised when we both returned to the cottage. “Oh?” she began. “But Everard was so stern in his refusal.” She plucked a leaf from my hair. “I wonder, how did you persuade him to dine with us?”

Seeing me squirm, Rook leapt in. “Is there anything I might do to help?”

“No.” My mother pursed her lips. “Liliwen and I can handle it. Please, sit.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“Sit,” my mother ordered. “Liliwen, help me with dinner.”

Tucked in the kitchen, Mother stood over the butcher’s block. She chopped potatoes while I gathered dishes. “You went into the Hollow to find the Hound,” she said, her voice hushed. “This might seem like a silly question, but did you ever find him?”

Startled by my mother’s words, I dropped the cutlery set I’d retrieved. You see, if she were indeed referring to the beast that stalked the Hollow, she likely would have used the word it . But she did not. She used the word him .

Him, as simply as one might refer to a guest sitting in their own den.

“Liliwen,” my mother cautioned, setting the knife down, “I was young once, and I know nothing encourages a foolish decision quite like infatuation. My family disowned me for choosing your father—” She choked, and her throat bobbed as she cleared it.

“ Your father. My husband, whom I cherished…” My mother’s stoic face cracked.

For the first time since my father passed, I was going to see my mother cry.

The front door opened and closed with a slam.

Abandoning my mother, I peered out. Lottie was in the den, glaring at Rook. Mother approached from behind me, her veneer of stoicism returned. She set glasses and a bottle of wine on the table.

“Where were you?” Mother asked.

Lottie scowled at the wine. “What are you doing?”

“Celebrating,” Mother replied evenly. “Liliwen’s… friend , Everard, has cured your brother.”

Lottie straightened. “He what?”

“Mhm.” Mother nodded. “Will you sit now?”

Lottie tore down the hall to Lysander’s room. Silence settled on the cottage. When she returned, Lottie looked rather ill.

“Lil,” Lottie said, “I must tell you something.”

A knock came at the door.

Every year, Lottie grew more arrogant, more unshakeable. And yet, this was the second time today she’d looked at me, panic in her eyes.

“I didn’t know, Lil,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Resisting the urge to shake her, I muttered, “What did you do, Lottie?”

Mother answered the door, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Pushing my mother aside, three cloaked guards entered.

Horrified, I turned to Rook—but he wasn’t on the sofa.

Rook stood in the corner, wearing such a pleasant expression, one might think he was greeting old friends.

There was little conviction in the guard’s voice when they said, “We’ve come to take you, beast.” Grinning, Rook tilted his head.

My worry shifted from Rook to the guards.

They spread out, surrounding him. Rook watched them as a cat might observe a stray mouse.

The guards fell on Rook.

Grabbing the sleeve of the first, Rook yanked them forward.

They collided with the stone fireplace as Rook’s fist connected with the second guard’s jaw—which was only a moment before Rook snatched the final guard’s collar and slammed his forehead into their nose.

In seconds, all three were on the floor, two seemingly unconscious, and a geyser of blood spewing from the third guard’s nostrils.

I grabbed Lottie’s collar and snapped, “How many more are coming?”

As if in a trance, Lottie wiped a drop of blood from her cheek. Examining the blood, she murmured, “All of them.”

Leaping over the dazed and unconscious guards, I shoved Rook toward the door. “Go!” Rook left, and I grabbed my crossbow. Heading out back, I bumped into Rook and peered around him.

Four more guards blocked the path to the Hollow.

An indifferent Rook strode forward. I started after him, but my mother yanked me back.

She and Lottie held me, pulling me toward the cottage.

I raised my crossbow, though I dared not fire it, lest I strike Rook in the chaos.

Though Rook didn’t need my help. He disarmed the guards as if they were children and not the queen’s most skilled.

Rather than use the mace he’d just taken from a guard, Rook tossed it over the fence.

Despite the attempts to harm Rook, he was trying not to kill anyone.

He headed for the back gate, but the tallest of the guards fell on him, holding him back.

While Rook wrestled with the woman, I wondered, why doesn’t he change and flee?

Rook tossed the guard over the fence, but two more grabbed him.

As he fought them off, I noticed Rook kept glancing my way.

He did it again. No—not me. My mother. He didn’t want her to see.

He didn’t want her to know the beast who’d slayed her beloved.

A guard recovered their sword and swung for Rook, who dodged and planted a boot on their chest. The force sent the guard shuffling back, the sword swinging wild. I leapt away but was too slow.

“Agh!”

The blade slit the front of my dress, stinging my belly as it sliced. I grabbed my stomach, where blood oozed through the fabric.

Rook’s nostrils flared.

My mother dropped to examine the wound while Lottie grabbed my arms, pulling me from danger. “It’s fine,” I hissed, batting them away. “Only a scratch.” I shoved them aside, keeping Rook in my sight.

For the most part, Rook looked human. But every so often, there were glimpses—cracks.

Rook climbed on the guard, straddling them so they might not escape.

Almost tenderly, Rook’s hands wrapped their throat.

Rook grimaced, and his canines, sharp knives behind his lips, were on full display.

Leaning forward, Rook whispered, “Scream for help.” The guard choked, unable to speak.

Rook squeezed harder. Beneath him, foam pooled at the corners of the guard’s mouth.

Rook’s cheek pulled into a crooked smile.

A stark reminder that Rook was a monster wearing human skin.

To Rook, the world seemed to disappear. He focused only on his victim, suffocating below him…

Clank! A collar snapped around Rook’s throat. Confusion muddled his face, and his hand darted to the collar. Shuffling and grunts filled the yard. Iron cuffs were slipped around Rook’s wrists, and his arms wrenched behind his back.

I watched in stunned horror as Rook was subdued.

Standing behind Rook, the tall guard produced a cloth. She shoved sweat-streaked hair from her face and muttered, “The captain told us to gag the mutt.”

“Careful! The beast bites,” joked a second, burlier guard, who gripped Rook’s arms. The first took the joke as a warning.

Curling her fingers in Rook’s hair, she wrenched his head back and shoved a gag in his mouth.

Rook grunted as she tied it roughly at the back of his head.

Only when Rook was gagged, bound, and surrounded by guards, did the back door open.

Marek’s dark frame stood in the doorway.

He joined us, pausing to caress my mother’s elbow. He noted my crossbow, pointed at Rook. Tapping his nose, Marek said, “Good girl.” Chest puffed, Marek looked remarkably like a proud rooster as he paraded toward Rook.

Rook’s nose scrunched, as if he’d caught a familiar but revolting stench.

Above the gag, Rook’s eyes widened. “Nnng!” His scream muffled against the fabric. He tore himself free, but the tall guard kicked his knees. Rook smashed into the dirt, where he was kept on his knees. Rook’s terrified, pleading eyes locked on mine.

They darted toward Marek.

Marek, who was made captain after the previous was slaughtered by the Hound. Marek, who had always loved my mother, and was rejected by her time after time because she already had a family.

‘I have my children; my heart is full.’ That’s what my mother said the last time Marek propositioned her. When it wasn’t enough that he’d ordered my father killed, Marek came after us, one-by-one. The attack on Lysander, on Lottie. Marek wanted us gone, so he might have my mother all to himself.

How long until Marek commanded the Hound to come for me?

Marek lifted Rook’s shackled hands, examining the silver bracelet.

“This is remarkable. Stolen from a victim, I imagine?” Rook’s eyes yellowed, and he snarled against the gag.

Bones snapped as he began to change. “Ah ah ah,” Marek said, backing away and slipping an arm around me.

“Wouldn’t want to risk anyone here getting hurt, would you?

” Rook’s eyes righted themselves. After a powerless groan, he slumped in the shackles.

Marek beamed, and I considered pulling the crossbow trigger, the crosshairs of which were pointed directly at Marek’s boot.

Unfortunately, I didn’t maim him. Instead, I considered the dreadful scenario facing us.

I possessed only one bolt. Even if I shot one of the guards holding Rook, another would replace them.

And what then? Risk my family being slain right here in the back garden for conspiring with the Hound?

Lysander would come running when he heard our screams. Finally healed, only to be cut down with the rest of us.

His last moments spent watching the blood of his mother and sisters watering his father’s beloved peonies.

When I woke this morning, I couldn’t possibly have anticipated standing here, calculating how many lives I might lose if I made the wrong decision.

If it were just Rook and me, this would be different, but here, surrounded by my family, the risk was far too great.

Though it destroyed me, I remained silent.