Page 22
Granted, I’m referring to the years that my coven enslaved me, playacting as a docile witch, biting my tongue, and losing myself whenever our coven matron and her most loyal acolytes forced me to do truly horrendous things.
Because the one time I spoke up, I was punished.
I’ll never forget the weight of steel against my neck.
My fingers flutter to the ribbon tied tightly around my throat.
Riven watches me, and there’s a familiar question in his eyes he’ll never ask aloud: What’s beneath the ribbon?
A terrible scar.
Perhaps Riven is telling the truth when he says my face is easily readable because he nods, more to himself than me, and says, “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“This once, yes.” He unsheathes his dagger and pricks his finger. Dear Dagny. There’s no way he’s going to make a supreme’s vow to me. None. Never in a million years would he— “Consider this vow a way to correct the imbalance between us through the duration of our bargain and thereafter. I promise not to punish you in any way for speaking freely, and if I’m being honest, I quite enjoy it.”
“Even if I insult you?” I clarify.
His lips quirk at the corner. “Especially if you insult me.”
“Good, because you are such an asshole.”
“Twice, then.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve been right twice now.”
“You should probably get used to that,” I sing, feeling a little bit lighter. Maybe this bargain won’t be so bad; maybe there is room for friendship to grow between me and Riven. “I’m the smartest person I know.”
“You’ve been in exile for centuries, little witch. Besides Avaline, you’re basically the only person you know.”
He isn’t wrong that Avaline is the only person I deeply know these days. Sure, there are still some of my sister witches who probably haven’t changed much over the centuries, but I don’t know them anymore.
And I’m all the better for it.
He starts walking again, this time signaling for the guards on horseback on either side of a heavy wooden gate to let him in. Once through, we approach a set of gilded doors leading straight into the palace. Wisteria drapes in a delicate arch above them, coloring the shadowed alcove in shades of purple and blanketing the already sweet-smelling air with the sultry scent of jasmine and the spiciness of freesia.
We breeze through the palace, my gaze catching on polished marble floors, painted ceilings, and startled faces—just flashes of color and surprise as we pass.
Riven leads me up a spiral staircase. Much to my embarrassment, I’m panting by the time we reach the top. If he notices, he politely doesn’t comment on how I’m clearly out of shape.
Life in exile will do that to you.
We stride down the hallway and slip through a door left cracked open.
My breath catches.
Bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, the suite is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. From its vaulted ceilings crowned in intricate molding to the towering arched windows—framed by cascading silk drapes—I’m mesmerized by every opulent inch.
Riven watches me, his face carefully blank, as I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in.
At the heart of the room, where Arkyn and an indigo-haired female whisper to one another, is a magnificent canopy bed, draped with sheer lilac curtains. The four posts are twined with delicate flowered vines, their blossoms perfuming the air with the scent of honeyed sweetness.
There’s a touch of added coziness from the plush, floral-print rugs spread across the marble floor and the velvet, ornately carved chaise that’s tucked by one of the open windows, a perfect spot for reading, dreaming, or gazing out onto the lush gardens beyond.
Through the terrace doors, I spot Achlys lying on the balcony, alternating between sniffing at the ivy curling around the stone balustrades and licking his paws.
