The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,39
kind.”
That almost-grin... My knees quaked. I hadn’t imagined the connection. He had experienced it, too.
I wouldn’t kill him, after all. But I might keep him for a while.
“Tell me your name, lovely. I assume you are Lady Leonora, daughter of Great Lord Titus, ruler of the magic folk?”
I nearly closed my eyes and melted into him. Even his voice appealed to me, low and rough, like smoke and gravel.
I licked my lips, suddenly as nervous as a schoolgirl. “I am.” Now...
He searched my face, as if he were memorizing a treasure map. The way I’d seen other men look at their beloved wives. Or mistresses.
The way I wanted to be looked at for the rest of forever.
As he reached out to shift a lock of my red hair between his fingers, my heart raced faster.
“Y-Your Majesty—” Titus began.
“Silence,” Craven snapped without glancing away from me.
This intensity... I couldn’t get enough of it. He needed taming, though.
“I think you are the one I’ve been searching for, Lady Leonora.” Gentle, tender, Craven caressed two knuckles over my cheekbone. Goose bumps spread over me. When he noticed them, he offered the barest smile, his lids hooding his eyes. “I will allow you to continue ruling your people,” he told my father, still not looking away. “I will even allow your people to remain at the bottom of my mountain. But the girl comes with me.”
* * *
Cheers resounded in the distance, waking me as if I’d been stung with a cattle prod. With a gasp, I jolted upright, dragging a blanket with me. Disoriented... Where was I? Why—
Vestiges of the dream hovered at the edge of my mind, reminding me about what I’d witnessed. Had a dream ever seemed so real? I could almost believe I’d been there.
I moaned. I had not relived one of Leonora’s memories, and that was that. Because I wasn’t her reincarnate. I wasn’t a murderess.
Possessed...refortify the barrier...phantom...
I swallowed. No, I wasn’t a reincarnate. But I might be possessed.
New cheers sounded, drowning out my manic laugh.
Trying to breathe, I cast my gaze about. Bright morning sunlight streamed through little holes in the tent. I lay in Saxon’s tent, atop the pallet of furs, alone, and oh, sweet goodness, I was naked.
The last thing I remembered was stepping into the bath then...what? What!
Had I passed out? Had Saxon carried me to bed and allowed me to sleep all night? Naked? Had I mentioned the fact that I wore only flesh and panic?
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. All right. Forget Saxon and my nakedness. For now. I would get dressed, return to the palace, and research phantoms. If my dream was real, if Leonora was indeed a phantom who’d stolen moments of my life, I’d... I didn’t know.
I just... I wanted to be wrong. I wanted another explanation.
While I did my phantom research, I would also search for an eyewitness account of the day Leonora and Craven met. Perhaps her parents—who had, in fact, borne the names Titus and Hexelle—or maybe a soldier had jotted down a few notes about the meeting in an ancestral journal. What had Milo’s father written about Leonora in his journal? Surely Milo had that journal in his possession. At the very least, a scribe might have an outline of Craven and Leonora’s relationship in the Annals of Enchantia. Or, maybe I could convince Saxon to finally spill all.
Whatever I had to do, I would compare reality to dream. I’d have to be careful, though. No telling how Saxon would react to a possible phantom possession.
No, that wasn’t true. He would kill first and ask questions later.
The fact that the first Leonora might have been part of “The Little Cinder Girl” prophecy, well, that part almost broke my brain.
Did fairy tales truly get worse as they repeated?
So many questions, so few answers.
When another round of cheers rang out, realization struck. The tournament! Eager to check out the weapons, I jumped to unsteady legs, intending to wear whatever clothes I could find.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to search. I spotted a dress neatly folded and stacked beside my pillow, alongside a basket that contained two pieces of bread, two pieces of cheese, a carafe of water, toiletries, hair ribbons, and a note.
Though my stomach churned with anxiety—did I really want to know what Saxon had said?—I stuffed cheese into a bread roll, took a bite, and read the note.
Dress. As promised, I have provided clean clothing. Instead of attending the tournament, you will do your chores.