The Glass Queen Read online

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I still hadn’t figured out a place to live, but I had accepted that my father would never see worth in me, no matter what I did or said.

  At the reminder, a damn broke, and years of hurt coursed within me in a rush. Why was I devastated by a truth I should have admitted ages ago? Why had I clung to hope? What had my father ever given me but rejection and toil? Today was the first day he’d ever smiled at me. He’d done it because he’d known what I hadn’t. He’d arranged what he considered an advantageous marriage for me. A powerful warlock had chosen his sickly daughter and when we wed—we wouldn’t wed—that warlock could aid the kingdom free of charge.

  To King Philipp, I was nothing. Less than nothing. A thing to be used for gain.

  He didn’t deserve my pain.

  “Asha? Sweetheart?” Saxon rearranged his arms, slinging one around my lower back to rest his palm on the flare of my hip. He used the other to pin one of my hands to his chest. “Tell me what’s going on. If you are worried for Milo’s safety—”

  “I’m not. I don’t like him. He’s sneaky and underhanded.”

  Saxon visibly relaxed. “He’s dangerous. Far more so than I realized.”

  Yes, far more so than I had realized, too. Milo knew my secret. The thing I both did and didn’t want Saxon to know. Had he guessed or not?

  I needed to tell him. Surely I was wrong before. Surely he wouldn’t want to use me to kill Leonora.

  His family would, though. I tossed a glance over my shoulder. Saxon’s family trailed us, both females glaring at me. In that moment, their identities clicked.

  Hello, evil stepsisters.

  I knew I was right, and glared right back. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of intimidating me.

  Behind the duo, Milo escorted Dior, who looked horrified to be with the boy who’d chosen to wed another.

  Undeniable guilt flared. “You should be escorting Dior,” I whispered to Saxon. While fate had seemed to strive to keep Saxon and me apart, it seemed to thrust Saxon and Dior together.

  “Why?” he asked. “I don’t want her.”

  “That’s...” I began to smile, but caught myself. “Terrible. She’s a good person and...” The emotional upheaval of the day was beginning to take its toll, this line of conversation suddenly too much for me. I finished with, “You’d be lucky to have her, that’s all.”

  He vibrated with incredulity. “You want me to be with her?”

  Not even a little. But what I wanted didn’t matter. I could only have what I could have.

  “Ashleigh?” Saxon prompted.

  “I want you happy,” I replied, and maybe I could have that.

  Gaze softening, he reached out to stroke my ring, hanging between my breasts. “You make me happy.”

  I gulped. “What does it mean? The ring, I mean.”

  “Craven gave it to Leonora as a pledge of his eternal love.”

  After so many other blows today, the information exploded like a bomb inside my head. The ring I’d cherished, the ring I’d derived so much comfort from, had first belonged to the phantom I hated. Not to the original Leonora—me—but the phantom Leonora. Craven had given it to her; and she hadn’t even been his fated.

  Leonora might not have been what he’d needed, but he’d liked something about her. She’d been something he’d wanted. Excitement, perhaps. A challenge. Things I might not have been in the beginning.

  I might not have been enough back then.

  I might not be enough now. Was that why fate seemed to want Saxon and Dior together?

  Growing queasy, I pressed a hand against my belly. Would I ever be enough for anyone?

  I should fling the ring in the trash and never look back.

  My eyes burned, a lone tear sliding down my cheek.

  Shadows of guilt and shame whisked through Saxon’s irises. “Why has this information upset you?”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. “It’s been a trying day,” I said, and left it at that.

  We reached the dining hall, a spacious room with ivory pillars, marble floors, and mirrored walls. A long table occupied the center, displaying a wealth of fine china. Noel and Ophelia were already seated in the center on the left. The oracle grinned and waved, while the witch saluted us with an open bottle of wine. They must have been there awhile because the bottle was half-empty.

  My father claimed his seat at the head of the table and frowned. “Must you behave so crassly, witch?”

  “Yes, Majesty, I must.” Ophelia took a swig straight from the bottle.

  Name cards rested on each plate. Dior and I were to sit at the king’s right and left, respectively, with Saxon beside my stepsister and Milo beside me.

  Eat, next to the warlock? Make conversation with him? My queasiness intensified, what little bravado I’d managed to spackle onto my expression thinning.

  Queen Raven was to have the seat at Saxon’s other side, followed by his elder sister, Tempest, and one of the combatants. Beside Milo was another combatant, with the final six at the foot of the table.

  Saxon pulled out my chair, and I eased down, unsure if my breath hitched due to his incredible intensity or my incredible weakness for him.

  With a smooth push, he edged me forward, then leaned down to grip the chair arms, his lips hovering near my ear. For me alone, he whispered, “Just know, Asha. Every time our eyes meet, I’m thinking about kissing you.”

  Breath escaped me, heat sizzling under the surface of my skin. He flirts with me so blatantly? Here? Now? “How can you know for certain that’s where your thoughts will be?”

  “My thoughts are always centered around kissing you.” He straightened and walked away then, leaving me reeling.

  Milo helped Dior into the chair across from me and strode around the table. As he and Saxon passed each other, the rest of the assembly went quiet, tension thickening the air. But neither boy threw a punch and everyone claimed their seats.

  My father clinked a knife against a glass, signaling the servants. “We are having dishes from all of Enchantia. Delicacies from each of the kingdoms, sure to delight. Eat, eat.”

  Bowls of soup were passed out, different conversations blending together. I stole a glance at Saxon, curious where he’d directed his attention—our gazes met. I shifted in my chair as he slowly lifted his wineglass, took a sip, then licked his lips. Because he was imagining kissing me. Right. This. Second.

  I wouldn’t moan. I wouldn’t crawl atop the table and claim that imaginary kiss for real, if only to subvert reality for a little while.

  The amazing scent of crab, butter, and cream saturated the air. My stomach rumbled, and my mouth watered. I’d returned to the stable today and played with the dragons, so I hadn’t had a chance to eat.

  As I ate, I had to forcibly keep my eyes away from Saxon.

  —Look at Saxon... Look.—

  Leonora whispered temptation in the back of my mind.

  I strengthened my resolve to never, ever give the phantom what she wanted. I can’t wait to kill you, Leonora.

  She laughed softly, as if she knew a secret I did not.

  I focused on Dior before the top of my head blew off. The poor princess. She did her best to engage Saxon in conversation. Even though I refused to let my attention veer to him, I witnessed him bark his responses at her from the corner of my eye. Eventually she bowed her head and focused on her food, exuding misery.

  She’d taken more than one blow today, too. Before, she’d expressed interest in Milo; today he’d made it clear he didn’t want her.

  And Saxon was still staring at me.

  Oh! I’d let my attention veer. And now I couldn’t look away. In his mind, were we standing up or lying down while we kissed? Were we clothed or unclothed?

  I dropped my spoon, the silverware clattering. Multiple eyes zoomed to me
, and my cheeks blazed.

  “You are a vision tonight,” Milo told me.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, even though I knew he didn’t mean it. I wasn’t a fool; I knew he only wanted Leonora’s power.

  I swallowed a spoonful of soup, unable to enjoy its rich flavor. How could I convince this man to end our engagement and give me any details he remembered about the potion’s recipe?

  “Why do you want to wed me?” I asked. Would he admit the truth?

  My boldness surprised him. “You already know the answer. Unlike everyone else, including the avian prince, I comprehend and appreciate who you are and what you can do. We will rule this kingdom together.”

  “Is that what Leonora promised you? A seat on the throne, at her side?”

  “Yes,” he replied, unabashed as he enjoyed a bite of soup.

  “She’s lying to you. She wants Saxon, and no other.” A desire we shared.

  “You’re wrong,” he snapped, drawing the notice of others. He slinked down in his seat, his cheeks reddening. Keeping his voice at a lower volume, he said, “She’s helping me take my rightful place.”

  He’d used present tense, not future. What have you done, Leonora? “Why do you think a throne is your rightful place?”

  “I’m the most powerful warlock in all of Enchantia. Why should bloodline matter?” He smirked, then flicked me a pointed glance and took another bite of soup. “A weak bloodline puts a weak royal on a throne.”

  I took no insult, not this time. I was too wrung out already. More than that, I knew what I’d survived. And now, I could even add the taming of a fierce avian crown prince to my tally of feats. Does he still imagine our kiss? Don’t look. Don’t you dare.

  “What does Leonora expect in return?” I asked.

  “She will be my wife, and I will help her conquer the Avian Mountains.”

  They would destroy two kingdoms. Milo, for the good of himself alone. Leonora, for vengeance. “This isn’t going to turn out well for you, warlock. She isn’t—”

  “Shut up,” he hissed. “You don’t understand the ways of war.”

  War, he’d said. Not love. And he was very, very wrong about me. I understood war in ways he never would. My mind had been a war zone since the day of my birth. “You think you’re guaranteed to win.”

  He smirked. “Wrong. I have already won.”

  “Then I have already lost, and nothing I learn will change that. So tell me. Do you remember your father’s recipe? His barrier spell?” Did he and Leonora hope to use them against me?

  The smirk deepened. “I remember enough.”

  Oh, yes. They would use them against me.

  For the rest of the six courses, we sat in silence. I accepted that I couldn’t convince this boy to betray the phantom. I’d find help another way. I’d played with the idea of visiting the Evil Queen. Everly. So why not do it? Dying was the worst that could happen. But if you were dead anyway...

  As servants passed out toffee pudding for dessert, my father gave his glass another clink. The guests grew quiet.

  “As you know,” he announced, “the tournament is close to its end. A mere ten combatants remain. Tonight, one of you will advance to the final, without having to participate in the semifinals.”

  Twitters of excitement sprang from all but two of the combatants. Milo lifted his chin, ready to win. Saxon stared at me, making me shiver. What did my father have planned?

  “All you have to do,” the king continued, “is be the one to convince me to give you this coin, using twenty words or less. A good negotiator can do much with little.” He held up a small golden disc, his hand shaking. “We’ll start at the foot of the table. Know that if you win, I will expect to receive what is offered.”

  As selfish as Milo.

  The snake-shifter said, “Give me the coin, and I will bring you the head of Roth Charmaine, your greatessst enemy.” His forked tongue turned the s into a hiss.

  “Give me the coin,” the goblin piped up next, “and you will have my eternal devotion.” A wild pledge for a goblin to make. For the rest of his life, he would be bound to my father’s will, his word his literal bond.

  Six others shouted their response, one after the other. “I will give you a chest of bigger coins.”

  “The princess and I will name our firstborn after you.”

  “I will have my scribe write incredible tales in your honor.”

  “I will give you my prized Pegasus. A true rarity.”

  “I will find a fine husband for your youngest daughter, Princess Marabella.”

  “I will fortify your defenses against any enemy.”

  Milo’s turn arrived. “Give me the coin, and I will bespell you to live forever.”

  My father perked up at that. Could the warlock do such a thing? Surely not. He would have bespelled himself to live forever.

  Had he?

  Saxon ran his tongue over his teeth. Still peering at me, more intense by the second, he said, “Give me the coin, or lose what you value most.” His harsh tone turned the words into a threat. Give me the coin, or I will take it from you.

  Everyone else had offered gain. Saxon offered loss. I didn’t think he referenced the coin, though, and I quaked.

  My father pulled at his collar and cleared his throat. “All excellent answers, but I must choose Milo the warlock. Who doesn’t wish to live forever?” He tossed the coin Milo’s way.

  Um... Saxon rolled his eyes, not the least bit worried about this supposed immortality spell, which calmed my nerves about it. Milo must have lied. And it was a good one to tell. When he was proven wrong, King Philipp would be too busy being dead to punish him. But by rose petals and sunshine, this put Milo one step closer to victory.

  The warlock held the coin up and bowed his head in thanks. As the others clapped, Saxon made a crude gesture with his hand, and I had to press a hand over my mouth to silence a sudden giggle.

  A giggle. Amusement. At a time like this.

  But the king wasn’t done. “The semifinals will be different from the other battles. The first round won’t be physical. In the coming days, each combatant will plan a half-day with Princess Dior. Afterward, she will pick her favorite. The least favorite will be eliminated from the competition.”

  A thick, heavy silence fell over the room, everyone digesting my father’s words. Saxon would be creating a romantic outing with Dior. The girl fate might want him to have. Would he kiss her the way he’d kissed me?

  I white-knuckled the arms of my chair.

  —I’ll burn the girl alive before I allow her lips near his.—

  A tremor rolled through my limbs. Would I be able to stop the phantom from following through with her threat? The insidious way she’d taken ownership of my mouth earlier... I’d had no warning, and no way to fight her.

  —He is mine.—

  The tips of my fingers heated, and I shot to my feet. I needed to get Leonora away from my stepsister. Now. “P-please excuse me.” Just like Cinder, I ran away from a gathering as fast as my feet would carry me, blazing out of the dining hall.

  I raced down a hallway and up a winding staircase. I would lock myself in my room. And burn the palace down?

  New plan. I would pack a bag, collect my dragons, and head to the forest tonight. We would camp out until Queen Everly made herself known.

  The faster I ran, the faster I shed the fragile facsimile of control I’d wielded. All the pain I’d experienced over my father’s rejection returned and redoubled, and I choked on a sob.

  Footsteps sounded behind me, but I only sobbed harder. Who had given chase? I didn’t want to speak with anyone. Not even Saxon. Especially not Saxon. I wasn’t going to say goodbye. I wouldn’t give Leonora an opportunity to interact with him.

  —You will remain in this kingdom. Disobey me, and I’ll kill someone you love every day tha
t you are gone.—

  I whimpered. Would she? Could she? Finally, I flew into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. I’d made it two steps forward when the door swung open behind me.

  I spun, my knees knocking as Saxon stormed inside the room, sealed the door shut, and turned the lock.

  Leonora quieted without prompting. I felt her curiosity, though, what little remained of our barrier continuing to weaken. She wanted to know what he’d do. So did I.

  Holding my gaze, he marched toward me. Too vulnerable already, I couldn’t stand my ground. I backed into the wall, but he just kept coming, not stopping until he stood only a breath away.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.” He braced one hand at my temple, then the other, each motion slow and precise. “Why did you leave?”

  “It’s all too much,” I croaked, the truth slipping free. “I’m supposed to marry a stranger. A warlock who doesn’t really want me. You’re going to romance Dior. Leonora wants Dior dead. What if she attacks, and I can’t stop her? I will never win my father’s love. I’m a burden to be passed off to the next man. I just...why can’t he see my worth? Why can’t anyone?” I’d asked myself those questions countless times. This was the first time I’d ever voiced them, and they just sounded...wrong.

  Saxon lightly pinched my chin to tilt my head back and lift my gaze to his. Those whiskey-rich irises shimmered with pain, as if my hurt had seeped into him. “You shouldn’t have to win anyone’s love. If it’s not freely given, it has no worth.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Logically, I knew it. My emotions needed more convincing. “Why couldn’t he love me? Just a little? What’s so awful about me?” A hot tear streamed down my cheek, and I gave a manic laugh. I’d asked the wrong person that question. Saxon had plenty of reasons to despise me.

  “There is nothing awful about you,” he responded anyway. “You are kind, witty, and strong.”

  “Strong? Now I know you’re lying.” I sniffled as I swiped at my damp cheek.

  “I’ve watched you endure trial after trial, yet you always excel. If you fall, you fight to rise again. That is a strength few possess. Your father certainly doesn’t have it, and that is why he seeks to belittle you. If he admits the truth, that you are stronger than he is, he’ll be forced to acknowledge his own weakness. He would have to admit he finds worth in perception instead of reality. And I know this, because I once did the same.”