Page 82 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

Declan’s jaw tenses, his features contorting with something that looks like anger and disgust. He reaches out, his finger tracing the path of a single scar. Unlike Odhran’s touch, there’s no surge of heat. No tingling. No butterflies in my stomach. Instead, a cold shiver runs down my spine, urging me to pull the strap back into place.

Looking into his eyes, as green as the meadows in spring, I witness his anger dissipate. Sympathy replaces the hostility, but what I don’t see is surprise.

“You knew?” The words barely escape my lips. My heart pounds in my chest, its rhythmic thumping echoing in my ears.

“You fucking knew?” I gasp, taking a step back. The air is heavy, making it difficult to breathe as I confront my best friend. The friend who knew about my mistreatment and did nothing.

“What was I supposed to do, Bryn?” he responds, his voice heavy with regret. He runs his hand down his face, his fingers rough against his skin, as if trying to wipe away the weight of his inaction.

“You could have helped me leave,” I say bitterly as I gaze into his eyes. Our shared dream of a cottage in the woods flickers to life in my mind. He’d abandoned that dream without a word, leaving me with no choice but to abandon it too. His reaction is nothing but a vacant stare, his silence deafening.

“I am not compelled.” I clutch the pendant around my neck, its cool metal and the salt at its core offering a comforting shield against compulsion. I hold on to it.

“You need to get out of here. Retrieve the mirror and leave!” The mark of our bargain aches with Aed’s demand for the mirror, but I don’t see it here.

I turn my attention back to the door, an escape from this suffocating room. Outside those walls, magic flows freely, and there, I can warn Odhran. I need to warn him, even if he’ll hate me for what I’ve done.

“We still need to talk,” he tells me, but I can’t focus on him. I can’t think about his needs and feelings, not when Aed’s warning rings down to my bones. I need to leave.

My hand reaches for the golden doorknob. But before I open the door, Declan leans against it, blocking my path, sealing me in.

“Let me go!” I demand.

He leans in closer, his voice dripping with disdain. “Not until I know it’s truly you making decisions for yourself, Bryn. Not some puppet controlled by that bastard prince. You think I don’t know there’s something going on between you? You’re not this thing he’s made you. You’re not his whore.” His lip curls in disgust as he gazes down at me, his eyes raking down my dress. “He even has you dressed like one.”

Aed’s snarl reverberates through the room, adding fuel to the fire that courses through me. My nostrils flare, and I lock eyes with him, barely recognising the once awkward boy who used to pick flowers for my bedroom.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way. Duskrun,” I seethe. He stands so close I can feel his body heat against my exposed skin.

“I said no, Bryndis. We aren’t done,” he retorts, leaning back in self-righteousness. The taste of ash is faint in my mouth. His pupils dilate as he looks into my eyes. “Your prince won’t survive the night. Tomorrow, you’ll be free to do as you please. Now calm down and stop fighting.”

My pulse quickens, pounding in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. Panic tightens its grip around my neck. I struggle to find my voice. “Are you trying to glamour me?” The words catch in my throat, choking me.

He doesn’t answer, his gaze fixed on something behind me. I turn, following his line of sight, but all I see is an empty room. Frustration boils within me. “WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE INFORMATION I GAVE YOU, DECLAN?” I shout. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

I grab his arm, pulling with all my might, but he stands firm, immovable. “Let me go, Declan!” Every muscle in my body strains in protest.

“I am sorry, young one. Whichever route you choose, it won’t be without pain.”

A scream tears its way from deep within me. My muscles quiver, and tears blur my vision. His hands clamp down on my shoulders, restraining me, imprisoning me. “Get your hands off me!” I snap, but my words fall on deaf ears.

I reach for the hilt of my blade concealed at my thigh. My grip tightens around the cold iron dagger. “Let me go, now!” I glare up at him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He laughs. He actually laughs, like I’m nothing but a helpless girl delivering unrealistic threats.

I unsheathe my blade and drive it into his side. Declan’s mouth opens, but no sound escapes. His eyes widen in disbelief as he doubles over, releasing his hold on me. A stain of crimson seeps through his crisp white shirt.

“Bryn,” he groans, staring up at me. His pain is more than physical. My blade sliced deeper than flesh, severing the respect and reverence I once held for him.

“Don’t worry. You won’t die.” I look at the door as I speak. His fingertips brush against my ankle, but I move out of his reach. I feel no remorse as I gaze down at my blood-stained hand, sheathing the wet blade at my thigh. I feel no guilt, but I do feel the heavy beat of my heart spurring me on.

“Goodbye, Declan,” I whisper, watching him lie on the floor, clutching his side.

I exit the tearoom as a servant enters through the secret passage and rushes to him. The door closes behind me, muffling a scream. Our friendship is bleeding out on the floor behind me. My grief is a lump in my throat that can’t be swallowed.

Racing down the passage as fast as my feet can carry me, I remember the map of the castle Declan once shared. I run past the doors to the great hall, past the stairs towards the king’s private wing, past the kitchen’s entrance, and past the secret door behind the queen’s portrait, concealing the treasury where the mirror is hidden. I have its key—the true name of a dead king, the one used to take his life, the one used to unlock the door. Carrig Cathal Delaney. Only a handful of the living know this name, the queen to whom it was given in confidence, the king who wielded it as a weapon, the courtier who is the king’s mistress, Declan who became the shoulder she cries upon, and me. My heart lurches, and my bargain mark burns, but I don’t stop to search for the mirror. Freeing Aed can wait a little longer. I need to find Laoise. Straight ahead of me, one flight of stairs, then left, there I’ll find her room. My lungs burn, but I try to ignore them, even as tears streak my cheeks. I’m not leaving without my sister.

Finding her door, I burst through it, startling Laoise as she sits at her dresser, powdering her nose. “Bryn! Heavens!” she gasps, placing a gloved hand over her heart. “What’s going on?”