A Court This Cruel & Lovely (Kingdom of Lies, #1) (107)

If we had married one day, and my corrupt status had become known, would Thol have turned on me?

My stomach churned. I knew that answer. More importantly, if we’d had children who were hybrids, would he have allowed them to be taken to the city? Or would he have fought for them?

Lorian’s dark scowl drifted into my mind. The mercenary didn’t get involved unnecessarily. But now, I suspected it wasn’t because he was cold and unfeeling like I’d once assumed. Now, I wondered if it was because he felt too much. If it was because he knew that once someone was under his protection, he would die for them.

I knew Lorian well enough to know that if such a thing ever happened to his family, he would slaughter every guard who attempted to take his wife from him. And he would never allow anyone to harm his children.

The idea of him with children should be almost amusing—but instead, it made me…sad. Because it was unlikely Lorian would ever accept the weakness that children would represent. The hole in his defenses. It was possible to keep a spouse at arm’s length, but children had a way of burrowing into your heart.

“You’re quiet,” Erea said cheerfully.

“Sorry. Just thinking.” I glanced up to find my hair almost finished. She’d used one of the many magical tools the courtiers had access to, drying my curls while ensuring they kept their shape. She’d left some of them free to tumble over my shoulders, braiding the rest back from my face.

Daselis nodded at Erea. “Nice work. I’ll finish here.”

Erea smiled at the compliment and stepped aside, moving toward the dress lying on the bed.

“Close your eyes,” Daselis ordered.

I complied, keeping them closed as she swept brushes over my face. By the time she was finished, I’d almost been lulled into a doze.

“There,” she said, and I heard satisfaction in her voice.

I opened my eyes. Wow.

With the curls falling over my shoulders, I could have looked almost innocent. But Daselis had darkened and lengthened my lashes, adding something shadowy and purple to my eyes so they looked bigger. She’d also applied some color to my cheeks, and my lips were poutier, shimmering in the light.

I was losing track of the different versions of myself I’d discovered so far. But I was no longer that girl stuck in her village, desperate for an answer to her problems.

Now, I found those answers myself.

“Thank you,” I said. She merely nodded, gesturing for Erea to bring the dress to me.

They held it for me while I stepped into it, and Daselis handled the row of lavender buttons at the back.

“You look beautiful,” Erea sighed.

“Would you…would you like this dress?”

She gaped at me. Even Daselis went still.

“I’m not— What—”

“You said the queen’s ladies weren’t supposed to wear the same dress to more than one formal occasion.” A stupid rule. “That means it’s unlikely I’ll wear it again.”

“It was a gift from the queen.”

“And now it’s a gift from me. Please. It would make me happy for you to take it.”

Erea’s eyes met mine. That crooked tooth glinted as she smiled. “Thank you, Setella.”

I just gazed at myself in the mirror, at the armor these women had helped me don. Armor that would ensure I could pass unnoticed as I listened to drunken conversations and plotted just how I would make these people pay.

“No,” I said. “Thank you.”





I was in a dark mood that night when I watched Prisca walk into the ballroom. The seamstress…her aunt—and wasn’t that a strange thought?—had dressed her in lavender. The gown fell to her feet in layers, each panel almost translucent, offering teasing glimpses of her legs when those layers parted as she walked.

It was daring and different, most of the court wearing dark colors and their best jewels.

Thol watched her, a puzzled look on his face. Did he recognize her? With a frown, he looked away, clearly dismissing the resemblance.

Idiot.

What did it say about me that I’d recognized her across a dining hall the moment I’d seen her again?

She nodded at something one of the other women said, and then she was turning to that fucking blond courtier. Peiter.

He took her into his arms, and she smiled up at him.

She looked beautiful—even with her darkened hair and eyes. She also looked tired, almost fragile, and I clamped down on the urge to haul her over my shoulder, dump her on my bed, and order her to sleep.

She would likely attempt to gut me.

My mouth curved.

“I’ve been thinking,” Marth said.

He was watching Prisca in a way that made me want to tear out his throat. I somehow managed not to snarl at him.

“You’ve been thinking?” I prompted.

His face paled at whatever he saw in my eyes, but he stuck out his chin, turning his attention back to Prisca.

“I think you’re afraid.”

Insult flashed through me, but I kept my voice neutral. “Afraid?”

His skin was almost bloodless now, but he continued talking. “She’s the first woman you’ve felt anything for since—”

“Careful.”

He took a deep breath. “And she’s the same woman you left to die. Now you’re pushing her away because, deep down, you know it will be worse when she eventually sees who you really are. And hates you still.”