Page 21 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“Come in,” Daisy calls, nerves threading her voice.

I push the door open and I’m instantly greeted with her smile. It’s radiant, almost convincing, but her eyes betray her. I know Daisy, almost too well. I know the subtle tells: the stiff set of her shoulders, the too-bright curve of her lips, the tremor in her hands when she thinks no one’s looking. She wears her mask well, but I see her. I have always seen her.

“Aran,” she says warmly.

“Daisy,” I return, stepping forward and pulling her into an embrace.

She stiffens for half a heartbeat before sinking against me, exhaling a shaky breath against my chest. My poor, broken little ray of sunshine. I wish I could take her pain and carry it for her, but I can’t. All I can do is be the shoulder she leans on.

When she releases me, I hold her at arm’s length, letting myself take her in. She looks absolutely radiant. Breathtaking, even. Though, the current of her anxiety all but hums in the air around her, creating something of a nervous atmosphere that’s infectious, and causes my heart rate to spike ever so slightly.

She’s dressed in a deep crimson gown that pools like blood at her feet—the sweetheart neckline is modest, and the sleeves cuff neatly at her wrists. Her hair is tied into a long braid, with two curled strands framing her face, with subtle makeup highlighting her features. No sigils adorn her dress today. A plain canvas. But if I know Daisy—and I do—Korithax’s dagger will be sitting snug against her thigh.

“I have something for you,” I tell her, slipping a rectangular box from the inside of my jacket and pressing it into her hands. “So the poor seamstress doesn’t need to keep stitching symbols into every gown you wear.” I chuckle softly.

Her frown is slight, curious, her hands trembling just a little as she lifts the lid. I watch the moment her eyes widen, the moment tears pool against the ocean blue. “Oh, Aran.” Her voice breaks, fragile as glass. “It’s beautiful.”

A single tear escapes before she blinks the rest away, brushing it from her cheek with the back of her hand quickly, as if refusing to let me see her fragility. She beams at me through it anyway, her smile luminous. “Truly. Thank you.”

I smile back and hold out my hand. “May I?” She nods, passing me the box. She turns and I lift the chain carefully, fastening it around her throat. The circular golden pendant rests against her collarbone—Korithax’s sigil engraved on the front, hers on the back.

“Perfect,” I murmur. “Now he’s always with you. Other than the dagger strapped to your thigh, of course.”

She laughs softly, the sound easing some of the tightness in my chest as she turns back around. “Am I really that predictable?”

“Quite the opposite,” I answer with a smile. “I’ve just come to know you very well.”

She exhales, the sound trembling but steadier than before.

“Ready?” I ask.

She meets my gaze, her blue eyes shining. “Readier than I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Chapter 12

DAISY

Irun the pad of my thumb over the engraved pendant resting at my throat, tracing the twin symbols etched into the metal.

It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. Well… maybe tied with the time Ezra bought me a massive throw blanket covered in suns and daisies. Gods, I loved that blanket so much. Until Talia spilled red wine all over it, and the dry cleaner shrank it down to the size of a freaking handkerchief. I sobbed for two days straight. Talia felt so bad she tried to buy me another, but there was nothing that felt as soft as the blanket Ezra gave me.

I push the memory down before it swallows me whole. Because before I can step out of this room and into the eyes of the world, there are two things clawing at me that I can’t ignore.

“Aran?” I say softly.

“Yes, my queen?” His joking tone makes my eyes narrow instantly. He knows exactly how much I hate that title on his lips. He’s grinning at me, his emerald eyes glinting with mischief. I almost forget what I was going to say. Almost. I chew my bottom lip, trying to steady my racing heart.

“Ezra. I want to see him. Just for a moment. Before the war swallows us whole. He deserves to know I’m alive, and I—” My voice cracks, and I have to pause and suck in a breath to steady myself. “I need to see him. Please.”

Aran studies me for a long, heavy moment. I can almost see the war raging inside him. Strategist versus brother, duty versus heart. Finally, he nods once. “When the time is right, I’ll make it happen. I swear it to you.”

Relief blooms in my chest, though it’s tangled with fear. I trust him that he’ll deliver on his promise. I have to trust him. But I’m not finished. Another person flickers in my mind: Her soft, pale lavender eyes that match her hair perfectly. The way her voice trembled when admitting her dreams to me, as if it was treason saying them aloud, rattles through my head as I take a steadying breath.

“And… Lyvia,” I add quickly, before my courage fades.

Aran tilts his head. “Your maid?”

“She’s more than that,” I insist, maybe a little too firmly. “She’s my friend. She told me once she wanted to work in Sovarith, in the Spires. She’s brilliant, Aran. She’s wasted here, dressing me and bringing me meals, and cleaning the palace. I want to help her get there. If you can… if you know anyone⁠—”