“It’s all Jasce’s fault,” I grumble under my breath as I step into the corridor.
“Lyra,” a soft voice echoes through the air, and I freeze, my heart hammering inside my chest. “Come here.”
I turn to find a thin, older woman with gray hair standing only a few feet from me.
“Come here,” she repeats.
Nerves thrum at the base of my throat as I step toward her, and she grabs me, pulling me close. It’s the second time today a stranger has embraced me. It’s not any less odd, that feeling of unfamiliar arms holding me against them.
“My dear, dear Lyra,” she murmurs as she draws me even closer to her frail body.
It takes everything in me to not pull away as she yanks me into Lyra’s spacious bedchamber.
She pushes me to the mattress, but she doesn’t sit. She stands in front of me, towering over me like a taskmaster.
“Tell your mother how things have been,” she says, her tone carrying a blend of warmth and frostiness.
This woman is Lyra’s mother?
“I…”
Her brow wrinkles as she studies me. “Tell them you hit your head when you were away.”
“I d-don’t understand.”
Her expression shifts, turning hard as she kneels in front of me and grabs my arms, pinning them against my sides. “Tell them, Lyra.”
“That I hit my head?”
She nods. “Have you done your duties to your husband?”
I swallow hard.
A frown tugs at her mouth. “You must give him a child. Our position will only be strengthened here when you give House of Crimson an heir.”
“But I barely know him,” I say, needing a friendly face, someone to confide in like my sisters.
Unfortunately, I do not find it with her.
Her eyes narrow as her frown deepens. “You don’t need to know him to spread your legs for him.”
My chest tightens at those words. Mother said something similar to Asha on her wedding day. She didn’t know I was listening, but I heard every word, every hushed whisper, all the things I wasn’t supposed to hear. When Asha left with a pale face, I followed her, wanting to comfort her, but she was beyond comforting.
The next morning, I asked her if she was all right, but she didn’t answer. She had sat there stone faced, her skin still pale, her lips pressed closely together.
“Lyra, are you listening to me?”
I blink, dragging my attention back to Lyra’s mother. “Yes.”
“Good, then return to your husband’s bedchamber. Do your duty to your family.”
My heart swells with empathy for Lyra. We’re more alike than I first thought. We’re both threaded to a Fate we cannot sever. She’s expected to strengthen the House of Crimson and her family by giving them an heir. And I’m caged inside a fortress and forced to hide when Grandfather entertains.
Neither of us is given a choice. At least, that’s the way I have interpret Lyra’s life.
I stand and smooth my cotehardie as Lyra’s mother hands me a silk pouch. “You left this.”
I take it and leave the room.
