“Lyra?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to answer my damn question.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, my words fragile, breakable.
“Why not?”
“Because…” How pathetic I sound.
Grandfather is right. I am weak in mind.
“Because?” Jasce’s eyebrow arches as he steps toward me, and I stumble back again, still desperately needing distance from him.
He’s Jasce, son of Jerrod.
He’s a murderer!
“Why are you afraid of me?” he asks.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
A sudden idea strikes me, and I say the words in a rush. “I have my moonblood. So, we cannot share a bed.”
“That’s just an excuse to keep me from bedding you. That doesn’t explain why you keep cowering every time I get close to you.”
How could I explain any of this? I’m not used to men—especially, men like him.
“I’m not lying.” The lie scalds my tongue.
“What do you want?” he asks, clearly not believing I have my moonblood.
“I don’t want anything from you.”
He rolls his eyes. “I know you. You always want something. So, tell me what you want.”
I clench my hands together, trying to think of something to ask for that would make him go away.
“Do you want a new necklace?”
“I don’t wear a lot of jewelry,” I say before I realize he’s talking about Lyra and not me.
“If you wear anymore jewels, you would fall over from the weight,” he says, his voice thick with sarcasm. He jerks his gaze over me as he continues. “You must have left your rubies in your bedchamber.”
“I have a bedchamber?”
A muscle tics in his jaw. “Is that a rhetorical question?”
“No.” I cannot do this—pretend I’m someone I’m not. Especially, when I’m this bad at it. A hen would have better success convincing a rooster she’s a peacock.
“So, tell me?” Jasce asks, his voice thick with frustration. “What do you want?”
“Freedom,” I say, the truth ringing in my ears. “Let me leave this place.” The audacity of my request hangs in the air. Still, the very thought is intoxicating—the possibility of leaving without causing a fuss and reuniting with my family.
Especially Asha.
