Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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It was dead silent in the dining room but for my father's harsh breathing.
Tension strummed through the air. My father's expectations, his demand for unquestioning familial loyalty and marriage for advantage—despite whether we wanted it or not—had been etched upon us from birth. And from the swift warning my sister silently gave me, an almost imperceptive shake of the head, it was stupid of me to even try to fight it.
Sander and Valarie, whose attention was now focused on my father, shared the same expression that dragged through my limbs: resignation. Addie was the only one who simply didn't give a shit. She was too young and caught too deep in her loss of Gratian to care.
Beads of beeswax melted from fat candles and dripped down the bronze candelabras to pool on the table. Addie shifted her weight and the soles of her shoes wisped against the stone. Candlelight shimmered over the short black dress she wore, and the gray and white striped leggings that were tucked into soft calf-high boots. She had her head ducked to the side, and she wasn't staring back at our father, she was still glaring up at me beneath drawn eyebrows. Contempt simmered in her slitted eyes.
I had nothing, absolutely nothing with which to defend myself against that blatant loathing.
Jeroen jerked up from the table and the sudden movement drew my attention away. He straightened his posture and kept his steel-eyed gaze on me as he smoothed his shirt with a flattened palm. His deep voice, rough and gritty, lacked remorse. "It is done, Varen. The negotiations with the Szarvases will be concluded within the month. Then we'll decide upon a wedding date."
I briefly closed my eyes as my breath quietly left my lungs, my shoulders falling.
We'll decide, in truth meant he'd decide.
The shock of silver hair and eyebrows contrasted against Jeroen's tanned weathered skin and severe features. He radiated coldness and authority. He didn't exude power—he was power.
He jabbed a forefinger toward us all and hissed, "Now, sit down, all of you!"
There was a rustling of noise as we moved to obey him.
I definitely had a thing for wallowing in pain, because I couldn't help but greet my kid sister as she stalked around the table. "Hey, Addie..."
She stared back at me, her face expressionless but for those hateful eyes.
Nothing. Not even a blink to acknowledge I'd spoken to her.
It stung. But I also couldn't blame her.
Sander brushed past with a holy-shit-you-so-pissed-off-Dad look. Casually dressed, as much as our father allowed it, in tan slacks and a button-down shirt, he pulled out a chair at the end of the table and sat down at the position our mother once preferred. She'd sit directly across from Jeroen, Gratian would flop down in a chair beside her, and Addie then would claim the seat next to his.
