Page 25

Everything paused.

Marcellus leaned in close, forcing her gaze to meet his. “I told you this once and I will tell you only one more time. You are not allowed to fall apart. So what if your Aneuma is gone? So what if people are judgmental assholes? So what? You escaped the bullies of the Dream World just to fall victim to more?”

She remembered their conversation at the ball when she’d finally opened up about what she had been through. When she had realized she no longer cared about Linda or Jett or any of the people who made her feel less than simply for being different.

He was right. She was falling back into old habits. Letting herself break just because she wasn’t accepted.

Marcellus took in an exasperated breath. He shifted his attention away from her face to her hand, still embedded with shards of glass. With precise fingers, he plucked them out one by one.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start getting angry. If they don’t think you are capable, then prove them wrong. You don’t need their permission or their acceptance. You are their princess. Whether they like it or not, they are stuck with you.”

Once all the shards had been extracted, Marcellus said, “Gayrir.” Slowly, the cuts on her hand started to seal.

Her lips parted in surprise. “I thought you didn’t rely on magic?”

“Acceptance doesn’t mean ignoring your flaws, Princess. It means being okay with the imperfections.” He let go.

Thicket examined her hand. Blood hid most of her wounds, but she could still make out the jagged lines of the scabs. He had healed her, just not fully.

Marcellus rose to his feet. “Now get cleaned up. By some miracle, you’ve managed to become dirtier than you were before.”

Thicket scowled after his retreating frame. “Jerk!” she mumbled under her breath.

It was only after he left that she realized some of the weight that had slowly been crushing her had lifted.

Chapter Ten

Lavender didn’t plague Thicket’s dreams last night. Instead, it was the memories of yesterday that had her tossing throughout the night.

She had overreacted. Had let herself break.

Worst of all, Marcellus had been there to witness it.

Thicket dug her face deeper into her blanket, letting out a muffled groan and wished she could disappear within its folds. The familiar scent of stone and leather filled her lungs, startling her eyes open. It wasn’t a blanket she had curled up in—but Marcellus’ cloak.

She lurched upward, the bed beneath her creaking loud enough to make her tense. An unfamiliar room surrounded her. It was old—incredibly old, like one of those abandoned houses kids liked to dare others to venture into. It was vacant but for the ancient bed beneath her and the furniture draped with white cloths stained by time and mildew. One of the covers lay crumpled in the corner, as if had been hastily thrown off. She whipped her head back to the mattress, horror crawling along her skin as she inspected it. Fresh sheets had been draped across, but by the chalky sensation coating her tongue she knew it must have been coated with a thousand pounds of dust. Other than that, it looked relatively clean.

Her eyes caught on a brown speck laying at the foot of the bed frame.

Thicket shrieked, vaulting off the mattress, her feet disturbing the old floorboards and dust bunnies as she backed away, body curling in on itself.

It was a bug. A dead bug. And they were everywhere. Dangling from the walls, stuffed in corners, they probably even infested the furniture. The thought had her shuddering all over again as she recalled her awful encounter with the spider and the way its web had clung to her face.

Her gratitude towards Marcellus was diminishing by the second.

Thicket stalked from the bedroom, determined to give him an earful. Pale morning light trickled in from the windows lining the hall. The glass was splotchy with old water stains, but she could still make out the scenery beyond. She expected barren fields but instead found a sea of green. Tall grass and wildflowers grew alongside wooden fences, sectioning off bits of farmland and sprawling orchards. She wouldn’t call the grass well nourished. The land still looked dry and in dire need of some rain, but it was lively and peaceful and open.

It was the closest she had gotten to freedom while trapped within the wall of thorns.

She spotted Marcellus just beyond the porch and quickly made her way outside. He stood in the center of the front yard, outlined by a faded, broken fence. Sweat slid down his bare back as he swung his sword with sure, sharp movements, careful not to disturb the many flowers sprinkled amongst the shriveled weeds.

Her mouth parted, unable to tear her gaze away. She had never seen him train before. The way he moved was like a kind of magic in and of itself. The footwork, the gentle yet fierce arc of his blade... Thicket felt something stir deep inside her chest, a kind of longing she didn’t quite know how to explain. It was as though some long forgotten part of her was starting to come to life.

Marcellus must have sensed her presence because he thrust out one last time with his sword before heaving it across his shoulder. “You know, the proper way of saying good morning usually doesn’t involve this much staring.”

“Staring? I wasn’t—” she cut off, realizing too late that while she had been enraptured by his swordsmanship she had neglected to notice he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Heat immediately bloomed across her cheeks. She averted her gaze. “W-what are you doing up so early?”

She swore he smirked before grabbing his tunic from where it lay draped across the fence and pulled it over his head, well trained muscles bunching with each movement. “That question implies that I slept.”