But the reflection doesn’t change.
ChapterTwo
These aren’t my hands—thenails are perfectly shaped, and dainty rings adorn almost every finger. I look at the palms. No calluses.
What kind of magic is this?
Jasce offers me a goblet of wine, and I gladly accept it, needing to settle my nerves.
“I will stay as long as it takes to conceive an heir. Then, I will return to the north.” His words pierce through me as I sink into a chair and shake my head in disbelief.
“No?” He pours himself another goblet of wine. “You are my wife.”
Never!
I glance at the door, then at the man who now casually sits on the sofa and rests his arm on the back. If I run, I may beat him to the door.
So, I set the goblet down and bolt for freedom. Unfortunately, my feet don’t react as quickly as my thoughts.
Jasce easily catches me, wraps his arms around me, and pulls me against him. “Are you trying to make me chase you, Lyra?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“What else should I call you?”
He frees me, and I turn to face him. Well, I face his chest. I have to step back to meet his eyes. They stare coolly at me, as if I’m just another task for him to deal with before he goes off to war again. I probably am.
My gaze lowers to the sword attached to his hip. If I steal it, then maybe, I could escape this place. My insides quake as I reach for Jasce’s sword—that chance to flee—that steel that would feel so good in my hands. He stops me with a bone crushing grip.
“What are you doing?” he growls.
“You’re hurting me.”
He releases me and steps back, gaining distance. But his eyes… The glare that smolders from them is a stormy vortex, a whirlwind of emotions uniting in a singular point of focus: me.
I try to look away, but invisible threads bind my gaze to his—to the ferocity, the silent promise that if I test him, he will kill me.
“I asked you a question,” he says, his voice flat, emotionless, yet somehow sharp enough to impale me.
I rub my wrist, still not able to conjure the words he wants to hear.
Jasce folds his arms and stares at me again. “You’re acting different.”
“Different?” Frustration seizes me as I scrub my impossibly soft skin and try to think of a way out of this precarious situation. If this is a palace occupied by House of Crimson, it means I’m deep in their territory, and I’m far away from my family.
“Yes. Did your mother tell you to act like this?”
I shake my head.
There’s no way to explain this to him. Not without him locking me away and declaring me insane. He’d probably like that. He doesn’t seem to care for Lyra.
How did I get here?
My mind races as I pace away from Jasce and toward the fireplace, needing space to think. Over the last few days, I had gotten sicker, and Asha took me to see a healer named Mazaline.
I rub my temples, trying to break through the fog of my memory. That face in the looking glass. I’ve seen it before. But where?
Brush strokes.
