Page 131 of The Faceless Queen

“Afraid of the truth I’ll see in your eyes when I do. Afraid of the lies that will spill from your tongue.” His throat bobbed, and he was silent for a long moment before he asked, “Who are you?”

“Brennan, you know who I am.” My chest felt hollow, my limbs trembling, not with cold, but fear. “I’m your betrothed. I’m Princess Olivay.”

He huffed out a breath, but finally turned to face me, his green eyes blazing with intensity. Slowly, he shook his head, and his gaze bore into mine, just as it had that first night at the tourney. I felt it again, like he was looking through me, like he was seeing inside of me in a way that could not be explained. Then he looked away, back to the flames, and unsheathed the dagger at his waist. The steel glinted with red in the firelight as he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “You’re not.”

PART THREE: SAMARA

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Brennan turned the blade again, pointing it toward the fire, his entire body facing it, refusing to look my way.

My chest tightened, and for a second, I absolutely could not breathe. All the mistakes I’d made, all the ways I’d accidentally left him clues, forgotten myself, forgotten who I was … The moments I’d forgotten to be Olivay, when I referenced dialogue between us that hadn’t happened—because they’d happened when I was in another body—when I was another person with another face, another name … They all came rushing back to me in one horrifying, overwhelming wave, making me sick to my stomach.

“Brennan, what are you doing?” I asked, my voice shaking, my eyes on the dagger in his hand. I sounded pathetic, and worse, I sounded like a liar, but the blood oath was pulsing, and I had no choice but to keep lying, to keep hiding the monster I was deep down inside. The thing that could fly, the beast whose skin exploded into red scales, whose wings ended in claws.

The thing that killed my mother, that stole her last breath–that was doing it all over again. The thing that was killing the very person I cared for most in this world.

He will die.

By the fucking Gods. By Orsete, Kavrir and Batrir. It wasn’t enough that there was a part of me destined to ruin and destroy everything and everyone good in my life. It wasn’t enough for me to come to terms with the fact that I was nothing more than a wild, scaly beast. That this thing that roared and flew and hunted inside my skin was what my mother’s love had turned me into. It wasn’t enough that that was what the witch at the caves saw when she looked at me. That I was completely unworthy of love

No. All of those truths couldn’t be fucking enough. Because my failure also had to be prophesized. It had to be written in the Book of Orsete.

I’d been a fool. A fool who’d allowed herself to forget. Who’d convinced herself that she was actually a princess, that when she kissed Brennan, it was real. That when we talked and shared secrets and hopes and dreams, I was somebody worthy of him. That Brennan and I were, that we were … My stomach twisted, my heart thumping … I’d convinced myself we were falling in love.

He raised his dagger higher, his eyes blazing. “Who are you?”

“It’s me,” I said, my voice rasping. I blinked, contorting my face into one that was all innocence and confusion. Her face. “It’s always been me. Princess Olivay of Spartva, House Kanos, daughter of King⁠—”

“Stop. Stop! Please,” he seethed, practically lunging forward. “Just stop. Okay? I know.” He sucked in a breath, his voice shaking, his body trembling. “I fucking know.”

“What are you going to do with the knife? Brennan, you’re scaring me.”

He laughed incredulously. “I’m scaring you? With this?” He pointed the tip right at my neck. “You’re not scared. Not of me. Not of this dagger.” He shook the blade. “I’ve seen what you can do. What you’re capable of—what you can turn into.” His nostrils flared. “I probably need it more than you do.”

“You don’t,” I said.

“Because you’d never hurt me⁠—”

“I wouldn’t⁠—”

“Or lie to me,” he snarled.

“I—”

“Gods!” he roared. “If you’re going to tell me anything, at least, tell me the fucking truth.”

“I have.”

He took a step forward, and pointed the edge of the blade right at my heart. “No. You haven’t.”

My teeth chattered, my entire body shivering with the cold and the rain. Brennan’s fury and heartbreak were washing over me. He was angry and hurt and betrayed and scared, and I could feel all of it. Worse, I was feeding off of it. And the scar across my wrist was on fire, the blood oath pounding and pulsing, warning me of danger.

He stepped forward again, and my heart thundered as I stepped back.

“Do you know,” he said, “I’m not surprised by the narrative my father chose tonight. The story he’s using to deal with those thugs. Nor am I surprised by the punishment it will offer them.” His voice darkened, his lips twisting. “They fucking deserve everything that’s coming.” Brennan seethed. “Even now, I’m fucking fighting to stop myself from tearing out of here, from finding the bastards and ripping them apart, limb from limb, just for daring to lay a hand on you.” He held the hilt so tightly, his fingers were turning white. “But, what’s killing me is I know those men who took you, who hurt you, who wanted to—” He exhaled sharply. “I grew up with them at court, I know their character, and I can tell you—I’ve never once seen them act honorably, or tell the truth about anything in their entire fucking lives.” He stepped forward again, and I stepped back. “Not once. Not until tonight.”