she was, and they were already afraid of her. She sniffled.
Sable searched her face. “Is it true, what everyone used to say? About the discovery of… the way they discovered your Darkling Tongue?”
Of all the things to bring up. Lilac shrugged away from Sable’s hand.
“Mr. Trevelyan,” Sable suddenly snapped, looking intently over the princess’s shoulder.
Garin stood in the hallway entry. Hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, he sauntered into the room, mouth ruddy and hands tinged pink, as if he’d tried his best to wipe the mess off his face in haste. At least the crater in his cheek had finally healed.
“The name’s still Garin,” he replied, eyeing Sable wearily. “Is… there something I can help you with?”
“Are you capable of entrancing properly now?”
Crossing his arms, he frowned. Probably at the woman’s astute lack of fear. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes or no,” Sable prompted sternly. She snapped her fingers when a curious noise was uttered by Jeanare. It silenced him immediately.
“I suppose so.” Garin scratched his head. “I can’t promise it’ll stick, but I should be able to do so more efficiently since I’ve…” he glanced sideways at Lilac. “Eaten.”
Large eyes flitting impatiently between Garin and her husband, Sable sighed. “That will have to do. Garin, I need you to take care of Jeanare—and by that, I mean his memory. Remove his memory of this whole affair.”
“What is the meaning of this, dear?” The old man’s voice quivered in the background.
Sable looked pointedly at Garin. “Now, please. In the other room.” She nodded to her right at the timber-lined door frame leading into the west wing. “Not to worry,” she added, when Garin glanced apprehensively at Lilac on the floor. “I merely wanted a kind word with her Highness. We’ll be here. When you’re finished, please have him head to bed.”
After a long moment, Garin nodded. He didn’t need to corner Jeanare, for the man had already done that to himself. Jeanare cowered between the wall and the kitchen counter as the vampire approached him swiftly, taking him by the wrists. Jeanare fearfully locked eyes with Garin, who whispered something ever so softly in his ear. In a matter of seconds, an odd calm swept over Jeanare. He sighed contentedly, nodded, and trailed Garin into the west wing.
Lilac shuddered, watching them retreat into the dark. She turned to Sable when they were alone.
She tried to sound polite, but defensiveness still crept into her voice. “I—we really don’t have a lot of time. What is it you want with me?”
Sable pursed her lips then sighed, as if to brace for her own question. “Did you know Freya?”
Immediately, Lilac scooted back and stumbled halfway to her feet. “Pardon? I don’t…”
“Freya,” Sable persisted. “Strawberry blond locks, messy curls.” She suddenly lurched forward, gripping Lilac’s hands. Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes “My Freya,” she whispered, fine lines in her face illuminated by the torch light. “She was a wolf woman. A shifter.”
Lilac struggled to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat. No.
No, no, no.
“Your Freya,” was all she could manage.
“Mine. My only child.” Sable produced a sigh of defeat at Lilac’s tormented grimace and released the princess’s sweating palms. “Remember the story from last night, about my first love? His name was Luzio. There was another reason my parents forbade me from continuing to see him. A reason I wasn’t so keen to reveal with Jeanare walking around.”
Hesitantly, she picked at the frilly material on her nightgown. “Barely an adult myself, I’d fallen pregnant with Luzio’s child. In her fury, my mother and father ordered me to stop seeing him. As soon as my daughter was born, I gave her up; back then shifters weren’t allowed to reside in the towns, and even if we hid her, it would soon become evident what she was—and that I was her mother. I refused to risk her getting caught only to be slaughtered, at least that’s what I told myself.”
The woman’s silent strength had faded to the picture of misery. “Your Highness, I chose a comfortable, safe life over what was most important. Over my own daughter.”
Lilac suddenly couldn’t breathe in deep enough. She swayed slightly, but Sable managed to catch her at her shoulders. “She’s dead,” Lilac uttered, wringing her hands. “Freya is dead.”
Strangely, Sable relaxed. Her grip upon Lilac’s shoulder’s lessened and firey demeanor simmered. She stroked the top of Lilac’s hand. “I figured as much when I didn’t hear from her. I only wanted confirmation, dear. Confirmation other