Page 24

Thicket cupped her hands beneath the faucet, filling her palms with water before pressing her face against it. She stayed like that, half submerged for a long moment, before pulling away. As she looked up, her eyes collided with her reflection. She arched her neck up, trailing a finger down her scar.

A wild child, indeed. No wonder the Council was hesitant to let her rule. She had been focusing on the fact that she lost her memories, but in every recollection someone shared about her past self, she sounded rebellious and fiery—exactly what a princess shouldn’t be. Yes, people had continued to believe in her. Yes, they supported her up until they realized her memories were gone. But how much of that was truly because they believed in Thicket and how much of it was them putting their faith into the only option they had left? All it had taken to weaken the foundations of her people’s support was a single statement from Lavender. True belief, true loyalty, wouldn’t waver so easily, would it?

Movement flashed in the corner of Thicket’s eye. Long brown hair rippled across Thicket’s shoulder as a pair of smiling lips dipped to whisper into her ear.

You will never be enough.

Thicket’s body tensed, heart palpitating, pulse racing. Air was lost to her, ripped from her lungs they heaved, heaved.

Never enough.

Never enough.

Never—

Crack.

Shards of glass rained down upon her arm, still thrust out in front of her. Something warm and thick welled up around her knuckles, drip, drip, dripping into the sink. She glanced down to see her fist, stained crimson and glinting with broken shards of glass.

Thicket let out a sob as she crumpled to her knees, cradling her injured hand. Through the blur of her tears, she made out a flicker of movement. Her shattered face, reflected through the dozens of pieces of glass scattered across the floor. One by one they morphed into Lavender’s cold, brown eyes. Her too perfect lips, smirking as though she knew a secret—one that if shared could ruin Thicket forever.

For as long as she sleeps, her sister’s splintered reflection chanted, time will remain still. You will have eternity with your beloved Princess, and in that eternity, you will come to learn just how much of a pathetic ruler Thicket really is.

Each word cut into her heart, spilling blood into her hollow core, staining everything red. She choked on it. Throat too hot, too thick—too tight.

Just give in now. Even if you manage to beat me, you will still have to be queen. Do you really think you are capable of leading an entire kingdom? You can’t even take control of your own fate.

Something warm caressed her hands. She wondered if more blood had come to stain them.

She is but a broken doll, trying to use this as a way to piece herself back together again.

She had ruined so many lives. Had killed so many. Endangered others. For what? To prove she was capable? She wasn’t. She never had been.

“Princess,” a voice said, ringing dully through her ears.

She shook her head, not wanting to hear any more.

She already hated who she was. Even without their reminders, she knew she was a useless, good for nothing—

“Princess.” The voice was sharp now. She hissed in pain as the warmth on her hands pressed tightly against her scrapes. More blood oozed, but she hardly noticed, blinking blearily through swollen eyes.

Dark eyes found hers, holding her in place. “Princess,” the voice repeated, gentler. “Calm down.”

More tears welled, burning her aching eyes. She shook her head. Again and again and again. “No.” She swallowed against the burning hole in her throat. “I will not calm down. Not when it’s ruined.”

“What is ruined?”

“Everything! My Aneuma’s gone. Everyone knows I don’t have my memories and now all they see when they look at me is a stranger masquerading as their princess. Lavender is right. I am not enough. I never have and I never will be. I can’t rule. I can’t lead. And I certainly can’t beat her. Maybe they should turn me over to Lavender…” she said the last part so quietly, she wasn’t even sure Marcellus heard her.

He was quiet for a long, hard moment, those dark eyes never leaving her face. Her gaze fell into her lap, unable to withstand the intensity.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re not capable of beating your sister.”

His words bit into her, drying up her tears as shock rippled through her, easing the fire, leaving her hollow. She knew. Knew, yet to hear it so bluntly, so absolutely…

Her heart. It must have been her heart in her throat, slowly bleeding into the rest of her.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t be.”