My whole body trembled.
The maid hurried to my side and helped me up, gentle hands steadying me as if she was afraid I’d break.
“I don’t understand you, Lyra,” she whispered, voice thick with pity. “I really don’t. Why do you let them treat you like this?”
I forced a small smile, weak and tired, as she guided me back to my room.
She opened a small jar and pressed it into my palm. “This will help with the burn. It’s angry, but it’s not too deep. Put it on every day and you won’t scar badly.”
“Thank you,” I muttered, my throat raw.
After she left, I went to the bathroom and washed the frosting off my face. In the mirror, my eyes were red and swollen, my lip split where I’d bitten down from the shock.
I stared at myself for a long time.
Then I spread the ointment over my arm, hissing when it touched the raw skin.
“What a damn idiot,” I whispered.
Eleven years ago, I was supposed to marry Magnus Caldwin.
The wedding was set. The families were aligned. The power shift was planned down to the last detail.
And then everything went wrong.
An “accident,” they called it.
I nearly died.