past lives compared to this one, but I knew what she’d done as a little girl. “Words without actions are meaningless. So, you will prove you are as repentant as you claim. You will come to my tent today. You will begin now. I have tasks for you. Four, to be exact. One for each of the wounds you inflicted in the garden. Perform these tasks, and restitution will be achieved.”
Restitution could never be achieved.
As she peered up at me, searching my gaze, the rosy flush drained from her cheeks, leaving her ashen. She reminded me of the girl I’d met at her mother’s funeral, with eyes like living wounds.
I would not soften.
“Willingly enter your tent, so that you can torture me in private? Is that what it will take to soothe your bruised ego?” She lifted her chin and slipped her hand into mine, a willing sacrifice. “All right, then. Let’s go. Let’s get this done.”
I stood shocked, immobile. Not just because of her acquiescence. Her palm felt roughened by calluses. When I lifted her hand into the light, I saw a wealth of scars, too.
She tried to jerk her hand free, but I held tight. Our gazes met, and she stilled, too proud to keep struggling. I’d always imagined her lounging atop tree branches at the Temple. The most Leonora thing anyone could do. But, she must have been working these past three years.
How...not Leonora.
Murky, Noel? That was like saying a single grain of sand represented every beach in the island paradise of Azul.
I reminded myself of Leonora’s crimes.
Murdered my family. Twice.
Burned my village. Twice.
Stabbed me in the heart. Twice.
Sneering, I said, “Aw, did the dryads force the privileged princess to do real labor?”
That pride... She squared her shoulders, every bit a queen standing before peasants, refusing to back down. “Yes. They did.”
Good for them. “Soon you’ll remember your Temple days with fondness.”
“Soon you’ll wish we’d never met.”
“I assure you. That is already my fondest wish, Princess.” Done with this conversation, I nodded to King Philipp and stomped from the room, dragging Ashleigh behind me.
Every courtling watched us, rapt. Some muttered the standard hello and goodbye: “May you find gold.”
I spared Ophelia a glance, and only Ophelia, inclining my chin in greeting. The witch was best friends with Noel and another longtime ally of mine. I trusted her. She was an apple baby, just like Noel and Everly, their fates tied to Enchantia. They would always fight for the good of the land.
Philipp and Leonora were not good for the land.
The energy witch arched a brow, all, Are you sure you want to travel this path?
Did she mean turning Ashleigh/Leonora into a brand-new cautionary tale? I’m sure.
“By tent I hope you mean a room in this palace,” my liaison said, already panting.
She cannot be so weak. “Like every combatant in the tournament, I’m staying near the battlefield.”
A mewl left her. “Well, I’d like to bathe and change before we go. As you can see, I desperately need to do both.”
I took great pleasure in telling her, “Change into what? You own nothing but what I choose to give you.”
With her free hand, she clutched her satchel close to her chest. “Try to take my things and I’ll... I’ll...”
I repeated, “You. Own. Nothing. If you want something, you’ll have to earn it.”
She would never be able to earn it.
A tremor rocked her, vibrating into me. I. Didn’t. Care. My hardened heart remained unaffected. I wasn’t softening. I wasn’t.
We strode through the hall, the foyer, and exited the castle. I fortified my resolve to end this girl with a single reminder: Leonora.
“Look. I want you to know—” Either Ashleigh tripped or her knees gave out. She fell, her hand slipping free of mine.
I turned without thought, catching her before she hit the ground. We froze, my arms banded around her. My gaze searched hers as her roses and vanilla scent muddled my thoughts. How perfect she felt against me. How—
I growled. “You want me to know what, exactly?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, solemn. “You don’t have to hurt me. I’m going to do the tasks you give me.”
“When have I ever hurt you?” I snarled, my temper pricked.
Her pants came faster. Soon, she was wheezing. No, she wasn’t faking her illness. She was the Glass Princess, easily breakable and humiliatingly weak.
The avian despised weakness, and I was no different. But it wasn’t hate that I experienced as I released my bundle and straightened. I felt sympathy despite myself. This