Dreamer of Briarfell - Lucy Tempest Page 0,3

situation. Again.

Our mother had always been viciously vocal about her hatred of anything magical, especially fairies, and she hadn’t been holding her tongue around Bonnibel. Not that I could blame her. It was a sentiment she had every right to hold, when a fairy had cursed her eldest children—even if in response to her own inadvisable threats. Before I’d gone to Cahraman, I would have no doubt reacted the same way to Leander bringing one home.

But what I’d been through there, along with seeing my brother whole and happy, not to mention my fast-approaching demise, had changed things for me. Not my feelings towards fairies, but it had certainly tempered my reactions.

“And how do you know things happened the way you think they did?” our mother hissed, setting her teacup on its saucer with a menacing clink. “You expect me to believe this half-breed came to you by sheer coincidence? This might have been that wretched fairy queen’s plan all along, to manipulate you into marrying one of her kind. That’s what she said she wanted the day she cursed you and your sister!”

I didn’t need to waste any more of my dwindling time listening to this circular argument.

But the moment I decided to retreat, she caught sight of me.

“Fairuza, come here,” she boomed, pointing imperiously to the armchair beside her. “Tell your brother how you really feel about this!”

Leander snapped his head around, swishing his ponytail over his shoulder, his eyes clouding with the sad look reserved just for me.

It was still strange to see him fully human again. I was used to him being smaller, clean-shaven, with ear-length hair, and the beginnings of his curse warping his features. But that was almost four years ago, before his state had devolved, and he’d been boarded up in that castle in Rosemead.

Now he stood taller than our father, with a dark, trim beard and thick brows that made his profile reminiscent of our uncle Darius. The one thing he had retained from his time as the fabled Beast of Rosemead was his thick mane of long hair. Ultimately, in appearance, he had become a stranger to me.

The only things recognizable about him were the features we shared, our pale-gold skin and turquoise eyes. Those were the result of our parents’ cross-cultural marriage, the political match made to unite the westernmost and easternmost kingdoms of the Folkshore.

I flopped down on the gilded chair adjacent to Mother’s claw-foot couch, dreading being forced to voice any opinion of Bonnibel. From our limited conversations, I found her nice enough, and I was endlessly grateful for her saving my brother. But I still couldn’t overlook what she was, the daughter of a human peasant and a minor fairy princess. Not to mention that she’d turned out to be the best friend of Ada Al-Berlanti, the girl who’d soon wed Cyaxares, and become the Queen of Cahraman, instead of me.

In short, I was quite conflicted about her.

But my opinion didn’t matter, just as it never did about anything, all my life. Only Leander’s mattered here, anyway.

“Maman, must we rehash this?” I said tersely. “You’re not changing his mind about marrying her.”

“I’m not talking about her,” she said “her” the way one would reference a broken sewer pipe. “I’m talking about your brother’s plans for you!”

I blinked at her. “Plans? What plans?”

Mother’s artfully drawn brows shot up as she snapped her enraged gaze to Leander. “You didn’t tell her?”

My heart roused from the sluggish rhythm of despondency into a gallop of alarm. “Tell me what?”

Leander glared down at Mother. “I was about to, in private, in a way that wouldn’t scare her, like you’re so intent on doing.”

“Go ahead!” she sneered, her dark, glossy hair threatening to unfurl from its updo as she aggressively wagged a finger between us. “Tell her how you want to throw her to the wolves, in a way that won’t scare her!”

“I actually said werewolves,” Leander said in heavy sarcasm. “You must understand I feel a certain kinship with them, considering until recently, I basically was one.”

I let out a tremulous exhalation. “Can you two just tell me what you’re talking about, so I can get on with my day? I have very few of those left.”

Leander grimaced as if I’d punched him.

Avoiding his pained gaze, I poured myself a cup of tea in lieu of the one I’d sacrificed to rid myself of that awful prince.

After an awkward sip, I raised my eyes again, trying not to sound sorry for myself,

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