Beauty

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Bronwyn Finn looked down at the hole in her stomach and wondered how long it would take to die. She stumbled into her mother’s room, pushing back the ornate double doors. She held her hand to her gut, trying to stem the tide. Smoke and tears seemed to be her world now, obliterating her home. She’d grown up in the White Palace, the marbled floors always beneath her feet. Her father’s room had been off-limits to all but Beck, but her mother’s room had been a sanctuary.

It was why she’d run here when the world had exploded around her.

But her mother was nowhere to be found.

Her hands shook. She was losing control. Of course you are, Bron. You took a knife to the gut. Not much coming back from that.

Her uncle’s men. Torin had turned on them all. She made it to her mother’s big bed, pushing past the filmy curtains. As a child, she would pull them closed and pretend she was in a whole other world. A world where the friends from her dreams were real. Tears blurred her eyes. Her Dark Ones. They’d been with her for as long as she could remember, but she’d stopped speaking of them long ago. Her father had called her crazy when she spoke of their nightly visitations. Her mother had called in healers. Only Cian had listened without prejudice. Beck couldn’t listen. He didn’t have time, and he was almost never allowed out of their father’s sight. Still, he would catch her eyes and wink or ruffle her hair as he walked past. He was a king.

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