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I’m instantly drawn to the vanity of perfumes, jewelry, and creams. My fingers glide through the thick layer of dust, and I nearly flinch at the woman staring back at me in the grimy old mirror. Matted, tangled golden hair, sunken eyes and cheeks, and lacking the usual tan shade of my skin. I’m as white as a ghost. I look ill, close to death. It’s exactly how I feel on the inside.
I snag the round glass perfume bottle filled with light-purple liquid.
“Hello, Sophia,” I whisper, unscrewing the lid and bringing the small vial to my nose. One whiff of roses and pears, and I’m sucked into that dark river, falling through a void that fills my head with delirium. I hold my stomach as I gasp loudly. And it throws me into a tunnel until I’m standing again, staring at a clean, fairly new vanity mirror, no longer holding the bottle of perfume.
A woman stands next to me, staring at her own beautiful reflection. She’s an inch shorter than me, with soft brown hair tied in a loose bun on her head. She’s wearing a white lace nightgown and robe, dabbing the contents of the perfume on her wrists, then gingerly spreading it to her neck. Her sad caramel eyes blink emptily, trapped in her own thoughts.
“You’re breaking my heart, Wyatt,” the woman utters, a collection of tears gathering in her warm eyes.
It’s one thing to hear about his mother. It’s another to stare into her eyes, see her face up close. She was stunning. Devastatingly gorgeous. I find myself fidgeting with the laces on my archer’s dress, inferior to her delicate beauty.
Wait…Wyatt.
I turn around to see Kane’s father leaning against the doorway. He’s tall, maybe the same height, but not as strong. Sure, his shoulders are broad, and his hands are large. But he’s thinner, lacking the muscle Kane has.Had. He wears a solid black tuxedo, loosening the tie around his neck.
“I’m loyal to country before family. You knew that when you married me.” His deep, monotone voice is both calming and patronizing.
I gawk at him in horror. The man that betrayed his family and led them to slaughter.
“Don’t trust him, Sophia,” I find myself saying to her as though she can hear me.
Wyatt removes his hands from his pockets, rubbing a hand over his face the way Dessin did when he was irritated. His eyes are dark and cold, like the endless void I fell through to get here. And yet, he is unnervingly handsome. He has Kane’s strong jaw and full lips.
“If I’m to have twins… could you really go through with it? Just to please Vlademur? You’d really harm your family?” Sophia fights to keep her voice even, but the emotion of his future betrayal tightens her face.
Vlademur. Aurick’s father. The head of this operation. The leader of Demechnef.
“You’re getting worked up over nothing, wife. The probability of you having twins is one in a million. Why trouble yourself worrying about something that will never be?” Wyatt takes a step closer to his wife. But she flinches away as though he might hit her.
My gut twists with protective instincts.
“Fine. I’ll let it go for now. But if we find out we’re having twins, hear me now… I will go to the ends of the earth to protect them,husband. Even if that means stepping on you to do it.”
Surprise flashes over Wyatt’s stone-cold face, but it’s quickly replaced with an arrogant smirk. “You’re a woman in the world of Demechnef.” He removes his cuff links slowly, keeping his cold dark eyes plastered on her. “Which means—your threat holds no weight.”
The last thing I see is the look on Sophia’s face as she holds her pregnant belly. The look of a woman that is ready to go to war.
And win.
After falling back into my reality, I search Sophia’s room frantically. Desperate to find something that will pull me under again. I need to know what he knew. I need to be brought back out from the darkness that Dessin kept me in.
Maybe then I can accept his death.
I rummage through her drawers, wardrobe, and nightstand without being triggered. My brow becomes moist with sweat, and I get desperate.
There has to be something else.
Like a wild woman looting the place, I turn over the mattress, pull out her wardrobe, and yank the drawers of her nightstand free.
Something rattles as the last drawer gets stuck. I pull harder, jerking it around until it slides free. I pat around on the inside, and the act reminds me of the time I went looking for a clue from the abandoned Demechnef building.
My hand traces over what feels like leather. I tug it free from the back of the nightstand.
It’s a leather journal, aged parchment on the inside, bound with a single string to hold her thoughts together. I flip through the pages, mostly blank or torn out, but one jagged edge rubs against my finger until I’m back again. Sitting on the bed next to Sophia, no longer pregnant, writing frantically in the leather journal.
She sniffs, rubbing the tears away before they have a chance to trail down her cheeks. I rush to her side, eager to see what she jots down.
The first words at the top smeared ink from a trembling hand, causing my blood to freeze in my veins.
