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Prologue
Alex
The chill of winter threatens to pass with each new day, yet the grief of losing those I love remains as frigid as snow clinging stubbornly to the drifts of the mountains. I’m stuck between a row of mourners and a priest, the ground gaping open beneath the soot-black casket. Sniffles cut through the strange silence of the morning behind me as I glare at the gleaming wood, so gorgeously polished to perfection that I can practically see my reflection.
Instead of a wedding, I’m burying my mother.
As the realization strikes me, I become increasingly aware of the hushed whispers, the sound of designer shoes swishing through moist grass, the growing sympathy that wafts in slow waves around my shoulders. Bowing my head toward the casket provides a moment of privacy behind a screen of long, dark hair.
This is my life now.
Despite the conflict between my mother and me, I’m torn by her sudden departure. Sharp ice picks lodge in my heart as images scroll through my brain—my mother with blood decorating her pale lips, that ugly green dress, the way she looked at me like she loved me—and I hear her voice as if I was still holding her in my arms.
I’m so scared for you.
Heat flushes my cheeks when I feel the breeze dust my cheek. It’s a strange reminder of how cold her fingertips felt once she touched me. Her nails had been so lovely that day. She had just gotten them done at her favorite salon, and she had even offered to take me with her.
Why the hell did I say no?
The weight of loss on my shoulders pushes me toward the casket. I know that people are watching my every move. Maybe they will see something other than an incapable little girl if I allow my forehead to touch her casket, if I cry to the heavens, or if I mash my fingers into the dirt that will soon house her.
Does anything matter anymore?
That’s fucking stupid, I think while forcing myself to lift my head. Of course it fucking matters. Everything I do is for my empire.
Memories of Lev bubble to the surface as the priest smiles sympathetically at the crowd, his lips moving to the rhythm of a speech that he undoubtedly has used a hundred times or more for such occasions: God rest her soul. She was treasured among her community. May God welcome her into His kingdom.
And so on.
It’s nauseating to think the same things were spoken over Lev’s casket. My fingers curl into my palms as I recall how Anatoly denied us entry to his funeral.
I didn’t even get to say one last goodbye, I reflect as I observe the priest lift a handful of dirt from the ground. I’ve lost too much. This isn’t fair.
Only family members were allowed to mourn Lev. Such an exclusive ceremony made me suspicious, wondering how much Anatoly knew about the Persian and the dreadful war that was brimming on the horizon.
My eyes flicker to the Pershings, seated just across from me. Maryanne appears oblivious this morning, her eyes roaming the trees on the other side of the cemetery rather than focusing on the idiotic priest gesturing over the casket. He’s still talking. And I’m still not listening.
The smell of bourbon sparks in my nostrils, and I hear the chair to my right creak. Amos clears his throat and leans toward me, whispering, “I’m terribly sorry about your mother.”
“Don’t fucking talk to me.”
I slide two chairs over, publicly snubbing him. Silent triumph rings through my system when I notice a few curious stares and the whispers that erupt as a result. When I cross my arms over my chest and turn my back to Amos, it seals the deal, showing Macedon exactly what I think of my mother’s ex-boyfriend.
A useless sack of shit who I can easily throw away.
That’s power move number one. The second will be much more difficult.
The chairs behind me wheeze, and I glance over my shoulder to see Evelyn and Demetra right behind me. They reach for my shoulders, a hand on each one in solidarity. I touch their hands lightly and close my eyes, trying to draw strength from them. They’re the only women I know who aren’t attempting to chop off my head.
When I open my eyes, I notice Parker, Soren, and Tomas lingering around the edge of the ceremony. Their eyes sweep the area, imbibing every detail in the vicinity without missing a beat. I’ve already done the same thing, so I don’t blame them, but I can’t help noticing how they intentionally avoid looking at me.
Osmond is still missing. It’s hard to say what happened to him or what will happen as a result, but Parker has shown no emotional response to the incident. If his behavior directly after my mother’s death is any indication of his capability to cope with such chaos, then I’m in trouble if I marry him.
Which is why I have to do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.
The way Soren and Tomas left me unprotected—the way Parker took advantage of me after my mother died in my arms—will forever live in my mind. I’ll always remember their betrayal. It makes me ache now, the sharpest edges of that incident embedded in my skin like tiny pieces of glass.
My mind wanders during the rest of the service. Without my mother’s commentary or her sharp criticism of how I’m not taking proper control of my destiny, I feel utterly lost. Even with Demetra and Evelyn still holding me, I don’t know if it’ll be enough.
