Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Of course.” He slips out the door quietly, leaving twin princesses studying each other before the fire.
She cocks her head to the side. I know what she sees. Everything about my form in this moment is identical to her—or at least identical to her as she was when she shed the hair I wrapped around my finger and pressed to my heart before I went to sleep last night.
She reaches for my hand, hesitating before her fingers connect with my skin. “May I?”
I draw in a sharp breath, half shocked that she’s bothering to ask permission and half miserable that I understand why she does. The princess hates being touched. I learned that the second time I took her form. In the memory I was given that time, she was sitting at a table with her sister. She sipped tea as the queen spoke, but she wasn’t really listening. She was staring into the swirling eddies of her tea and wishing her sister would take her hand from her shoulder. How is it that I cannot even tolerate my sister’s touch? she wondered in that moment, followed quickly by a fleeting thought—more impression than words—of I will never be whole again.
The memory was short, but so full of desolation that I’ve not let myself think about it much until now.
I turn my hand up for her and nod curtly.
Jasalyn’s touch is gentle as she nudges my sleeve to my elbow, exposing the gnarled circle of scars on the inside of my forearm.
“Your ankles?” she asks, nodding to the floor.
“Scarred as well,” I say.
“Show me.” Her command is still somehow gentle.
I make quick work of the laces on my boots and pull them off, followed by my stockings, until she’s staring at the scars that I already know match hers precisely.
“Before you ask,” I say, clearing my throat, “I also have them on my hips and a patchwork of scars on my stomach.”
“Always? Or only when you’re in this form?”
“Only when I’m in this form. Are they from your time in Mordeus’s dungeons?”
She swallows, and her eyes are haunted. “I don’t know where they’re from.”
“Lying to me won’t make this more successful.”
I can’t imagine what terrible things Mordeus and his cronies did to her just because they could.
“Don’t.” Her voice is hard.
“What?”
“That pity. Don’t. There is a reason I agreed to go with Kendrick. I plan to find Mordeus and kill him myself this time.”
My heart aches for her. For this broken shell of a girl. I will never be whole again. “Mordeus is dead.”
She straightens. “You haven’t heard. He’s been resurrected.”
A cold chill races up my spine, nausea following quickly after. If it’s true, I’m in trouble. Mordeus was the one who discovered that I was alive and shared the truth with my birth father. If he’s back, he will find me and use me as political leverage again. My mind is spinning with questions. And fear. Now I want nothing more than to stay in Jasalyn’s skin and run off to the Wild Fae Lands, far from the silver-eyed wicked king.
“How?” I ask.
She shrugs limply. “What do I know of the fae and their magic? But I think rather than find the answer, I’ll end him.”
My insides tremble at the thought of him even breathing. But the idea of getting close enough to kill him? “How are you so brave?” I ask, but what I want to know is how do you think you can do something so courageous when you are so very scared all the time?
She smiles. “Magic.”
“I thought you didn’t have any.”
“Not of my own. But I’ll let others’ magic help me when needed.”
I’m not sure what that means, and I want nothing more than some reassurance that this girl is capable of saving my brother from an early death, but I get the feeling she’ll only be more vague if I push.
“How do you do it?” she asks. “I know shifters. One of my sister’s advisors is a shifter, but this . . .” Her eyes scan me again, like a particularly interesting puzzle. “This is different.”
“How so?” I ask. I would always rather ask a question than tell a lie.
“I can’t put my finger on it. You . . .” She shakes her head in wonder. “Perhaps I do not know any shifters as skilled as you.”
I lift my chin. “I appreciate the compliment, Your Highness.”
Something flashes in her eyes. “Please call me Jas. The only princess in this room for the next long while is you.”
I shiver at that sobering thought.
“Do you know how to shield your mind?” she asks. “Do you have any training?”
“Of course. This task would be impossible if I didn’t.”
She lifts her chin. “Misha will try to get into your mind. He’s the one who taught me to shield, and he pokes to make sure I keep my defenses strong. You cannot be lax. Even for a moment.”