The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,117

the very thought, but she didn’t defend herself, per my order.

Where was—

Ashleigh padded into the room carrying a unique dagger and sword. Two of her best designs. I recognized the grooves for spring-loaded spikes in both. An engraved rose decorated the hilts. Her call sign.

She stopped in front of me to thrust the pieces in my direction, her usually expressive features blank. “For your mother.”

I experienced a pang worse than any other. Though I wanted to accept both pieces for myself, I held up my hands, palms out. “You owe the avian nothing, Princess Ashleigh, and you never did. What happened when we were younger wasn’t your fault. I was mistaken, and for that, I’m the one who owes you restitution.”

Slowly the emotionless mask fell away, revealing crushing disappointment. I swallowed, wanting only to hold her close and hold the rest of the world at bay.

With a rough voice, she asked, “So you don’t want the weapons, either?”

“I want them badly,” I assured her.

“Saxon—Prince Saxon,” she amended with a tremble, her gaze sliding to and from her father. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I’m sure you can find a better designer.”

No longer caring about our audience, I tucked two knuckles underneath her chin and gently urged her eyes to mine. “When have I ever been nice to anyone? And I have never come across a better designer or more progressive pieces. But I don’t want the weapons given to me—” my mother would not be getting them “—for an apology that isn’t owed.”

Wonder sparked, burning off some of the disappointment. I almost beat my chest with pride. I’d done that. Me. “I give the pieces in thanks, then,” she said softly. “Do you accept?”

“Nothing could stop me.” I claimed both of Ashleigh’s weapons with the reverence they deserved. After I’d looked them over, admiring every facet of their design, I sheathed them both in their proper places, next to my other weapons. “Thank you, Princess. I will cherish them always.” I cupped her fingers, lifted her hand to my lips, and kissed. I turned her palm up to give her a second kiss, flicking my tongue against her throbbing pulse.

A gasp escaped her, one of surprise and excitement, and I reveled in it.

“Ah,” the king said, peering beyond us. He brightened. “Our final guest has arrived. The winner of the boon.”

I pivoted, every muscle in my body tensing as Milo strode into the foyer.

“Has everyone met Milo, my royal warlock?” the king asked. “He is Ashleigh’s betrothed.”

21

Down, down goes the hourglass sand.

But when will something go as planned?

Ashleigh

I stood in place, utterly shocked, my ability to reason gone. Still, I gave it my best shot.

First, Saxon had entered the palace the way he liked to enter any room—the master of all he surveyed. In that moment, I’d been a live wire of energy, my entire being charged to full power. My prince had only had eyes for me. He’d projected no animosity. Instead, he’d looked almost...tender.

Now, in a split second, I entertained a thousand thoughts all at once. I wondered if we could make a relationship work, after all. I wondered about the evil stepmother’s defeat, replaying everything I’d studied today. How her pride had been her downfall, how she’d thought herself better than Cinder, how she’d never viewed the girl as an equal and it had cost her. I considered the difficulties and the rewards of being with Saxon. I replayed my father’s summons to his side, how he’d wrapped his arm around me and called me his daughter, I remembered how it had felt as if I were living in a dream. I relived his rejection of my gifts in front of everyone. I heard him tell the boy I’d kissed—the boy I wanted to kiss again—that I would be wedding the warlock. The words continued to echo.

My betrothed?

Betrothed? Mine?

The question tolled, a last rite bell, and I shuddered. I had never agreed to marry anyone, much less a boy who’d burned his father’s journals just to keep a girl bound to a phantom’s whims.

“Her betrothed?” Saxon roared.

“For his boon, Milo requested Ashleigh’s hand in marriage rather than Princess Dior’s,” the king explained. “If he wins the tournament, of course.”

Though my head spun, I snuck a peek at everyone else to gauge their reaction to this news. Raven evinced satisfaction while Tempest projected relish. Dior looked worried on my behalf. Fury blazed in Saxon’s whiskey eyes.

Why had fate picked this prince for me, only to