Chapter 3

As I slipfrom the parlor, a shadow detaches itself from the wall. My heart leaps at the sight of my mother. She wears a dressing gown over a nightdress, and her hair hangs in tangled strands down her back. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, like she's been crying.

"Annora," she says, and for a moment, hope flickers inside me at the thought of her wishing me happy birthday.

"I saw you tonight," she begins. "Why must you insist on parading around? You should have stayed hidden."

"I-I thought you might wish me h-happy birthday," I whisper, my voice small against her disdain.

A scoff escapes her as she steps closer to me. "What's there to celebrate with a face like that?"

Tears sting my eyes as my fingers twitch, longing to trace the scars on my face, but I resist the urge.

It's a weakness she'd only relish.

"I'm sorry," I say, the apology slipping out automatically.

It's a dance we've done countless times before. Me, apologizing out of habit. Her, not caring that she hurt me.

Lately, her verbal attacks have increased in frequency. She spares no one. My sisters. The staff. The guards.

She sways and catches herself against the stone wall, her fingers scraping against the rough edges as she struggles to stay upright. I know that unsteady gait. Recognize the glassy look in her eyes.

While I was in the ballroom celebrating with Asha, Emerin, and Tahira, she had been alone in her bedchamber, consuming more of that vile flower.

She's addicted to its poisonous nectar, and it's destroying her, rotting her from the inside out.

She doesn't even look like herself anymore. She was once a regal beauty, with flowing copper hair and lively gray eyes. Now, she's gaunt and sallow, her cheekbones protruding sharply and her collarbones jutting out.

"Mother, is everything well with you?" I ask, my voice trembling with the longing to help her, to somehow change things for her, to find a way to make her happy again.

Her eyes narrow, and her lips curl in disdain. "What concern is it of yours, girl?"

"You are my mother," I say in a fragile whisper, as if at any moment the words might fracture me, splintering my heart into jagged shards. "And I miss you."

Can't she see the pain etched in my eyes and my longing to reconnect with her?

She lets out a bitter laugh. "Your concern is as misplaced as your presence at the ball."

"Mother." I squeeze my arms around myself as I continue. "Please."

"You should leave," she says, her tone as cold and unyielding as the northern glaciers. "Before your ugliness sours my mood."

Her words pierce my heart, and I clench my jaw to keep the sob in my throat from escaping. How could she say something so cruel? So untrue? I know the scars that mar the left side of my face are hideous, but I cannot change what happened.

I open and close my mouth, grasping for the right words to break through her hostility, to find some glimmer of the mother I once knew, but there is only contempt in her eyes. No warmth, no love. Just bitterness and scorn.

I dip into a stiff curtsy. As I straighten, I catch a glimpse of my scarred reflection in the looking glass behind her. The scars taunt me, reminding me that I will never be beautiful like my sisters.

I turn away from mother and feel the weight of her stare on my back like an unwanted cloak draped over me. Somehow, I still manage to lift my chin and walk with grace through the corridor.

The moment I reach my bedchamber door, I yank it open and hurry inside. I lean against the solid oak and release a shaky breath.

I yearn to rewind time, to once again be the little girl who found comfort and affection in her mother's embrace. Those days are gone, though, lost like grains of sand slipping through my fingers.

I sag against the door and sigh. She shakes me, rattles me to my bones, and yet, I still long for her love, but she doesn't give it to any of us.

A bone aching pain settles in my chest as I turn to observe the moonlight winking at me through the open windows. Usually, this space brings me comfort, but tonight, my mother's hateful words etch into my thoughts over and over again.

I close my eyes, willing them away.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Slowly, her words fade, and I focus on the happy memories. Like Asha throwing a ball in my honor and Jasce showing up to give me a beautiful necklace. Those are things I can cling to like an anchor in a storm-tossed sea. Not my mother's hatred.

I push away from the door and move toward my bed, discarding layers as I go. Each piece of clothing that drops to the floor feels like shedding a little part of her disdain. By the time I'm down to my undergarments, my mother's hatefulness has faded completely.

A sudden noise shatters the silence—a scrape, a soft thud. My focus snaps to the window as Jasce climbs through. A wide smile spreads across his mouth, as if climbing through my window is as natural as walking through the door.

I take him in, from his short black hair, disheveled from the climb, to his eyes. They gleam with an intensity that pulls me in, holds me, captivates without even touching me.

"Jasce," I whisper as I back up a step and think about covering my face and hiding my scars from him.

His eyes rove over me, taking in the sight of me standing in only my thin chemise. "Hello, Annora. You are even more beautiful than I imagined."

"Y-you imagined me?" I lick my bottom lip as he continues to stare.

His gaze holds no pity, no scorn, only pure adoration that takes my breath away. Usually, I turn away and hide my face from others, but with Jasce, I find myself unable to look away. It's as if he sees past my scars, straight into the very heart of me, and cherishes every imperfect piece.

"Every single day," he says.

Without another word, he crosses the space between us in two long, purposeful strides and pulls me into his arms. One hand slides possessively around my waist, molding my body to his, while the other cradles the back of my head. I melt into his touch, my skin tingling where it meets his.

"I..." My voice trembles as I try to find words that can say all that I'm feeling—the fear, the joy, the sheer absurdity of this moment. "You shouldn't be here."

"Where else would I be?" he asks, his words low and earnest, as if the answer is as clear and immutable as the stars in the night sky. "Where you are...that's where I belong."

I want to argue, to insist on the danger, but then he leans back slightly to look down at me. The tenderness in his eyes undoes me. It peels away layers of doubt and self-consciousness until I am exposed—seen in ways I never thought possible.

Slowly, giving me time to move if I want, Jasce lowers his head. My lips part in anticipation as his mouth claims mine with a gentle yet insistent pressure that sends sparks racing through my veins. I grab his shoulders, feeling his hard muscles beneath my fingers flex as he pulls me tighter. My body molds to the planes of his, curves fitting against angles, as if we were made for each other.

He tightens his grip on my hair and tilts my head back as his tongue teases my bottom lip in a silent demand for more. A breathy moan escapes me as I clutch at him, wanting more, but uncertain if I should allow myself to cross this line, to surrender to the desire pulsing between us.

Every part of me knows that this is madness. That he shouldn't be here. That I shouldn't be responding to him like this, but there's something in me that wants to embrace madness. For an entire summer, I have held myself back, forced myself inside an emotionless tomb to survive missing him.

Now, he's here, kissing me with a desperate hunger that mirrors my own, and I never want him to stop. I want to lose myself in this moment, in the feel of his lips moving against mine.

I want this to be forever. For him to be mine. For our houses to set aside their hatred and allow us to be together. But I know it's nothing more than a wishful fantasy. Our families will always be enemies, forever divided by a feud that runs deeper than the blood in our veins.

I force myself to pull away first and drag in a shaky breath as I try to regain some semblance of control before I drown completely.

Jasce straightens and grazes his knuckles along my jaw. "I have missed you."

Tears prick at my eyes at those four simple words—those truths that Asha had tried to steal from me. But she couldn't. Because my time with Jasce was real.

It had to be. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here right now, risking everything just to be with me.

"It was real." I frame his face with shaking hands, feeling the rough stubble along his jawline beneath my fingertips.

A crease forms between his brow. "What was?"

"Our time together when I was Lyra."

"Of course it was real," he assures me. "Did someone tell you it wasn't?"

My heart clenches at the memory of Asha's words, the way she had tried to make me doubt everything I had experienced. "Yes."

He traces my jawline again with a feather-light caress, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. "It was very real, Annora."

Before I can respond, a sudden clattering noise erupts from the hallway outside my chamber door.

Jasce leans down, capturing my mouth in a swift, crushing kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. It's a possessive, commanding kiss, the kind that sends tingles racing through my body and heat pooling in my center.

Then, as quickly as he kissed me, he pulls away and speaks in a husky voice near my ear. "I'll be back for you."

My heart flutters as he turns and strides to the window. In one smooth, fluid motion, he slips over the sill and melts into the shadows of the night, leaving me breathless and aching in all the areas only he can ease.

I press my trembling hand against my chest, feeling the rapid thud beneath my palm as I gulp in quick, shallow breaths.

A knock against my door startles me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

Get it together, Annora.

"Annora, I want to speak to you," Asha calls out from the other side of the door.

My body still hums with the memory of Jasce's kiss as I hurry to the washing stand and splash water on my flushed skin, hoping it will lessen the heat that seems to radiate from every pore.

After a moment, I pat my face dry with a cloth and steel myself before turning to the door and whatever conversation Asha is determined to have with me.