The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,6

tale is repeating because the child tainted my perfect ending.”

How could he say such a thing? “Perhaps you are not the marriage-minded prince but the evil king who despises his daughter.”

“You know as well as I that the tales are symbolic rather than literal. The obvious is never the answer. What seems to be right is always wrong. What seems to go this way always veers that way. But I would take care, were I you.” His voice turned menacing. “The king who despises his daughter has a queen who dies far too soon.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched. The threat both terrified and thrilled her. The queen’s untimely death marked the beginning of the tale for Cinder.

Ashleigh could be its end, loved beyond imagining.

Charlotte almost laughed then, deciding she adored the prophecies, after all.

“You know it doesn’t matter what role Ashleigh plays, Philipp,” she said, smug. “Fate has plans for her. Ruin those plans, and fate will ruin you right back.”

1

Our tale begins with love and light.

Take care, my dears, lest it end with fright.

Ashleigh

The Provence of Fleur

Fourteen years later

Hot tears poured down my cheeks, burning twin tracks of sadness into my skin. The salty droplets trickled onto my tongue, letting me taste my own misery.

The worst had happened. My mother was dead, killed inside our home mere days ago. I’d been right there, at her side, but I’d been unconscious. There to help but unable to do so, thanks to my malformed heart; I’d passed out right before the murder occurred.

A sob mounted an escape, but I bit my tongue, remaining silent. Father expected me to be stoic in times of distress. Mother would want me to be. Never let them know they’ve hurt you, my darling. You’ll only show them where to strike next.

I tried to be stoic. For Momma’s sake, I tried so hard, but I felt like a broken vase glued together with wishes.

Today was her funeral. Queen Charlotte Charmaine-Anskelisa. The greatest person ever to live. Mother extraordinaire. A small handful of family and friends had gathered in the royal gardens to say goodbye.

How could I ever say goodbye? I’d adored her, and she’d adored me, too. Momma might have been the only one. I’d spent most of my days in bed, forgotten by my father and ignored by servants.

Now I watched, helpless, as flames spread from my mother’s gown to her lovely bronze skin. In the Provence of Fleur, my home, we held tradition sacred. When someone died, their body was placed atop a bed of rose petals and sealed inside a glass coffin. One piece of glass acted as a magnifier and, as beams of sunlight passed through it, the body would catch fire and burn to ash.

I whimpered and shifted my gaze to the marble statues that formed a circle around us, creating a hidden clearing in the heart of the garden. Momma’s favorite place. Each statue depicted the likenesses of a past king or queen, with roses of every color twined at the base. I used to watch her from my window as she tended those roses, with birds perched on her shoulders.

I wiped my cheeks with the back of a shaky hand and moved my gaze to my uncle, King Challen, ruler of Sevón, and his children, sixteen-year-old Prince Roth Charmaine and fourteen-year-old Princess Farrah Charmaine.

King Challen was a big man, one of the strongest I’d ever seen, with dark hair and green eyes. He and his family rarely traveled here, and I couldn’t blame them. How many times had my father made a play to take over their kingdom? Only recently had the two realms reached an accord.

The king evinced no emotion, but he kept his head down to show his respect.

The royal siblings did, too, their ability to stand still impressive. They’d brought a friend and bodyguard along with them. Sixteen-year-old Saxon Skylair, a winged avian prince who’d been exiled from the Avian Mountains for reasons unknown.

The moment my gaze landed on him, my damaged heart pounded a little too hard, a silky whisper drifting through my mind. Go to him. Take comfort.

Um...what? Take comfort from a boy? A stranger? Besides, I doubted I could be comforted by anyone. Though I was fascinated by him. I’d always been fascinated by the avian.

So little was known about them. The details found in history books were always contradictory; I never knew what was truth or fabrication.

This exiled prince had hair the color of jet, flawless brown skin, and eyes like a moonlit sky: