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I guess there is no point in keeping secrets, and even if my mother is listening, she won’t care. It’s something I’ve kept inside for so long, but it’s not my secret to keep. The world needs to know. The more people who do, the more chance we stand. Taking a deep breath, I look out at the lake.

“I was a curious kid, and my mother’s mate, Bodhi, and I never got on. I would spend my time thinking of petty, immature ways to make his life miserable the same way he did mine. My father was never in the picture. I don’t even know who he was, and I don’t think she does either, but anyway . . .” I laugh bitterly, sparing them a glance before hardening myself. “One day, I was hiding in a room he liked to visit to get away. I was going to jump out and scare him with a spell to turn him green when I heard it. He came there to do business, and his business was pure evil.” Even now, I remember the conversation, the bits and pieces I put together until I was frozen in horror. “He was trafficking young mages and every race of girl. They were so young, as young as I was. With the help of some other rogue mages, he was infusing them with monstrous qualities and black magic, damming their souls and changing them. He would then sell them as pets without anyone knowing, even my mother. He played the good mate, good support system, and acted weak. Everyone believed it, but the truth is, he is a monster, and who knows how many girls were hurt while I was gone? I tried to expose him. I knew I needed to. I went to my mother. She didn’t believe me, accused me of treason, and told him. He knew he couldn’t kill me, not with how powerful my mother was, so he framed me for a heinous crime, and she had no choice but to sentence me and throw me into Gehenna, so I couldn’t poison her court and she would seem impartial.”

“You are such a good storyteller.” My mother’s voice makes me stiffen. I didn’t hear her enter, but it doesn’t matter. She stops beside me, and I cut her a look.

“It’s the truth, not a story, Mother, even if you never believed me.”

“Truth is whatever I deem it to be.” She shrugs. “I taught you to be strong, to understand that⁠—”

I laugh bitterly, and her chin tilts back as she looks down at me with the same, haughty expression she would give me as a child when I disappointed her, which was always.

“A mother is supposed to teach their daughter what true love is so they never accept anything less in their lives. You only taught me how much pain I could endure,” I hiss before smacking my heart, and embarrassingly, my eyes are wet. “A mother should have chosen me, protected me, but it’s too late now. That little girl deserves for you to hear her out and believe her. Everything I said was true. What he did to those girls, what he’s probably still doing, I heard it all. It was horrible —”

“I know.” Her hand reaches out, tilting my chin up, and a cruel smile curves her perfectly painted lips. Her words sink in, and my world crumples around me. All this time, I figured she didn’t believe me, that she did what she did for what she believed was justice, but two words and I know I was wrong. She knew. She knew all along. “It was either you or my people. I chose to keep my people together and the truth buried. It would have destroyed us. One person for the sake of all⁠—”

“Your daughter!” I roar, ripping my chin away. “Get it right. You sacrificed your daughter and hid the truth,” I correct her. I guess part of me should have known. She never loved me. I knew that, but I never thought she would have done this.

I truly am the fool she called me.

Her eyebrow arches as she brushes her hand on her shirt and looks out. “To save my people, yes, and I would do it again. Stop throwing a tantrum. It is childish. You didn’t die.”

“There were days I wished I did,” I hiss before throwing my hands up. “I don’t know why I expected shame or guilt from you, but I guess some hidden part of me did. I understand now we never truly outgrow wanting our parents’ love, even if we know we’ll never get it.”

Swallowing the pain in my chest, I stare out at the land too. Everything I suffered, I did so in the hopes I could expose him one day, but knowing what I do now, she’ll never let me.

“You’re old enough to understand that sacrifice,” she murmurs, looking at me. “Stay and lead these people with me, our people⁠—”

“Keep your people. I have my own.” I turn away and head back inside, her voice calling out after me.

“The truth will stay buried, daughter, do not doubt that. You fight in vain. I will see you this evening.”

By the time I look back, she is gone, and I am unravelled.

I have put myself back together many times before, though, and I will again.

Strength is not surviving hitting rock bottom. It is when you pick yourself up time and time again despite hitting it.

I am strong, and she will see that.

They all will.

I leave them in the room and hide in the bathroom. I need some space. I can feel the bond tugging me closer, trying to yank us together, and if I concentrate hard enough, I can hear the whisper of their thoughts, so I ignore them as best as I can and I plan.

When I know what I’m going to do, I get ready. All my old stuff is here—makeup, hair, clothes—everything I perfected my look with to garner my mother’s approval. This time, I don’t want her approval. I want every eye on me so they cannot look away or unhear what I’m saying.

I don’t want to blend in. I want to stand out.

I style my hair as best as I can, in short waves so it flows away from my face with a few strands floating across my forehead, and my makeup is dark. Gone is her perfect princess. My eyes are lined black, with sharp spikes leading down from the inner corner in a wing. I paint the rest of my lids in a deep blood-red, and I make my eyebrows sharp. For my lips, I sweep a black, glossy lipstick across the plush flesh and add red in the middle so it looks like I am sucking on blood. My mother would find it distasteful.

She wants to be the ice queen, which is fine because I’ll be the fire queen and show her just how easily ice melts.

I’m grateful when I find a few hidden spells in my spot under the vanity. I made a few outfits my mother wouldn’t have approved of when I was sneaking out to party. Now, they come in extremely handy. I refuse to wear her frilly, pale gowns. I am not her puppet anymore.

Uncorking the grey vial, I dab it on my forehead then above my chest and close my eyes, speaking the spell. Soon, I feel the warmth covering my skin as it works.

It’s not particularly powerful, but it’s one I mastered when I was younger, much to my mother’s chagrin. I didn’t have much talent for other magic, and as the mage’s daughter, that was a sin.

When I reopen my eyes, I can’t help but grin at the dress it created. Gone are the icy whites and blues, and in their place are reds, oranges, and blacks, highlighting my muscles and showing off my scars—things my mother would deem imperfections.