“Yes.”
“I’m not a puppet.”
“Perhaps not, but you know how to pretend. So, pretend.”
Frustration grips me as I lift my eyes to his, staring into their dark void. “How does a spark ignite inside a thunderstorm?”
His brow lifts.
“It doesn't,” I say, answering my rhetorical question. “There’s no spark, no chance for a tiny flicker of light to grow into something more.”
Jasce leans closer to me. “I asked you to pretend to be happy, Lyra. That doesn't require a spark. It takes a cinder. So be a damn cinder.”
I hold his gaze, the challenge in his eyes igniting the dormant flame within me. “Is it fire you want?” I ask, my voice steady. “Because I can be a roaring fire. I can devour you with those flames.”
The threat may be empty, a mere play of words, but in this moment, it unlocks something inside me—something always caged and suppressed.
Jasce smirks. “There’s the temper. I was wondering when it would appear.”
I frown and look away from him. That’s not the reaction I thought I would receive. Not even close.
“Lyra,” Jasce says, pulling my attention back to him. “Despite what you may think of me, I was protecting you.”
I pull away enough to create distance between my body and his. “You killed Tristan without hesitation or remorse.”
Jasce’s mouth twists into a scowl. “Why should I have shown him remorse?”
“To prove you have some humanity inside you.”
“Oh, but you forget, I am a monster,” he says, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Remember? Monsters don’t show humanity.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I am interrupted by the start of a new dance. Jasce steps back and bows. I curtsy and move to the edges of the crowd to think and breathe without Jasce nearby.
His words still pierce my ears.“Oh, but you forget, I am a monster. Remember? Monsters don’t show humanity.”
Icy claws dig at my chest—claws slicing deeper and deeper into my soul. If I stay here, he’ll rip me to shreds. I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life.
In the corner of the room, I spot Zerah, engrossed in her reading, with Spark lying near her feet. Zerah appears completely detached from the dancing couples and her mother's presence.
A smile tugs at my lips as I observe her for several moments. She doesn’t seem to care about what is expected of her. How liberating that must be.
I leave the ballroom and navigate the complex corridors, eventually stumbling upon Lyra’s bedchamber.
I hurry inside, push the door shut with my foot, and unlace the ribbons at the front of my bodice. The moment they’re loosened, I allow the fabric to drop to my feet. I shrug out of the silk chemise next. It’s all so foreign, so Lyra.
It’s not me.
I don’t want her clothes.
Her duties.
Or her damn husband!
A sigh escapes my lips as I pour clean water into the basin and run the herbs across my skin, needing them to wash away more than the grime. If only it were that simple, using a cloth to wipe away all my frustrations.
The door creaks, and I freeze with the cloth against my breasts.
“Lyra.” Jasce’s familiar voice sends alarm flooding through me as I manage an unladylike shriek.
