Page 91

Brenn’s hands trembled, but her face remained stoic.

Moloch’s voice cut through the moment, his fury barely leashed. “Get on with it then. Let’s see if this will help her understand the metaphor.” Peri’s stomach twisted. For years, she had pushed down the anger, forced it into the farthest corners of herself, burying it beneath obedience. Beneath submission.

But this time…

This time, she could stop it.

Something within her snapped into place. Before she could reconsider, before she could think—

She shoved the chocolate bar into her own mouth.

Brenn gasped, reaching for her in horror. “No—”

Too late.

The taste of waxy, melted filth coated Peri’s tongue. She chewed furiously, stomach twisting, nausea rising—but she didn’t stop.

A collective gasp rippled through the cathedral.

Peri’s jaw worked, her mouth moving through the revulsion. The act itself was disgusting, but in a way, that was freeing. She was disgusting. She was revolting.

And she was free.

Brenn stared at her, glassy-eyed. A whisper slipped from her lips. “Oh, Peri…”

Peri’s vision blurred, the world tilting dangerously. Don’t vomit. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

She reached out blindly, fingers finding Brenn’s and squeezing tight. Then, she turned. Moloch’s face was a mask of rage. His hand moved faster than thought—

CRACK.

White-hot pain exploded across Peri’s face. She staggered back, the sound of the slap ricocheting through the silent hall. Before she could recover, her grandfather’s hands closed around her shoulders, yanking her toward the podium.

Her ears rang. Blood dripped from the cut his ring had left on her cheek. He forced her down, shoving her back onto her knees.

Peri obeyed.

Slowly, she wiped her mouth.

Then she lifted her face, turning toward him, chin high.

The blood remained.

She let it stay.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

OLEANDER BRIGHTMORE

Muted moonlight filtered softly through the large kitchen window as Oleander steeped a pot of lemon verbena tea for himself. He waited patiently, his thoughts a muddle of dreams and yearnings he couldn’t push down.

In another life, Perine would be across from him, chatting about her day, her life. Oleander had never been one to enjoy incessant chatter, but when Perine spoke to him, it was different. He liked listening to her—watching her full lips move, the soft curve of her cheeks when she smiled. He wished he could tell her that making her favourite tea while sitting alone made him feel a deep melancholy, a longing for a kind of life he’d never have.

He wanted to see Perine’s gemstone eyes shine up at him, her expression filled with concern and understanding. Oleander imagined that she would hug him then, and the ghost of her arms around him only deepened the ache in his chest.

He sighed deeply, realising the futility of imagining such a life with her. She would never choose him over her family. She couldn’t even choose herself over them.