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You were warned.
that I should have the ugliest bell in Lavender House when I am by far the ugliest creature living inside it.
I think it makes them feel less the villain. Like they didn’t come here specifically to do harm to someone they’ve convinced themselves deserves it.
I am reviled and despised for the very reasons I’m sought out. A figure of dark, evil magic. A member of a race all but stamped out. A Vila. A monster.
a nuisance someone else has to clean up.
“All magic has a purpose.”
Surely that’s worth something.
It isn’t.
And I decide that the Dark Grace—no, Alyce—is going to make her first appearance at a royal ball.
pink or blue?”
I am half Vila. And everyone in Briar wishes I were dead.
I’ll never be a heroine like Leythana. In Briar, I’ll only ever be a villain.
Was it a victory Leythana won, when they put the Briar crown on her head? Or a curse?”
“There’s a reason you’re drawn to the first queen,” she says. “I know a bit of history, too. Enough to guess that there’s power in you, girl. More than you realize. I look forward to the day when you wake up and start using it.”
A terrifying part of my soul whispers that I can do far more than spoil a jug of cream. That I want to.
Though she’s the heir of the most powerful woman in the world, Mariel is hardly more than a figurehead. A mere dragon on a bowsprit—hollow on the inside. What would Leythana think now, if she could glimpse the future her efforts had wrought? I think she would burn it all down.
I’ve never heard my name spoken that way before, with compassion, and it almost hurts.
It’s strange to hear such things uttered about someone who isn’t me. But undeniably satisfying.
Suitors for the crown princess are always male, even though couples of the same gender are common in Briar.
This close, the princess is breathtaking.
It’s absolutely my favorite thing in this entire palace.”
And as I burrow into the safety of my coverlet, I begin to devise how, exactly, I will return the favor.
The thought is so sweet it dissolves like spun sugar on my tongue.
I will not forget. I will not be humiliated like I was last night. Never again.
“You resemble Lynnore so much it hurts.”
A tremor at the base of my skull tells me this is too good to be true. But I want to believe. So very badly.
vow to show Briar exactly what the Dark Grace can do.
I’m better than this. More than the villain they’ve created.
“Aurora.” The syllables are full and bright on my tongue, tasting of summer berries and fizzy wine. My heart stutters.
“History is written by victors.” He cups my face in his ice-cold hands. Frost tickles my nose. “Embrace your gift. Your heritage. Such wild, untapped power. You are perfect.”
To Mistress Targen, whose dark power fuels the hearts of so many.
“And so your parents would rather you die than have a woman break your curse?”
She lowers her hand and it brushes against mine. Sparks shoot up my wrist.
Or coat a needle with it and prick them, if you’re feeling bold.”
“If there is someone, I hope they deserve you.”
I’m so relieved I’m nearly dizzy, scolding myself for thinking the worst of her. And then, more than that, for even caring what Aurora thought. I’m letting her get too close. But I have no idea how to push her away.
I dislike him immediately.
Dislike sharpens to hatred.
But Aurora. My skin tingles, recalling the smoothness of her palm. The apple-blossom scent of her hair. The soft curve of her neck as it meets her shoulder.
That which is given oft cannot be regained.
She needn’t be concerned. I have much bigger secrets.
“It’s not that I particularly mind dying,” she continues. “But I think I will very much miss living.
But Aurora is my anchor.
Her eyes are more blue than violet today, like forget-me-nots in a morning sun.
It had been as if she was seeing me for the first time.
Her name on my lips is a tenuous, fragile thing.
Of how those kisses felt elsewhere.
“You have nothing to worry about.” “We have everything to worry about.” She snaps the curtain closed. “And if you don’t understand that, we’re in more trouble than I thought.”
I don’t want to choose between you.” His next words, laced with misery, hurt worse than any torture the king could have devised. “Oh, Alyce. You already have.”
There will be no convincing him to stay—no more than I can be convinced to leave.
