Page 40 of The Faceless Queen

She nodded, as if reading my mind. “The prince shall move forward and fulfill his contract to Spartva. He will marry the princess he is betrothed to. All will unfold according to plan. But despite what will be witnessed of the coming wedding and consummation, it will not be Princess Olivay who conceives a child with him. It will be Princess Shamhira.”

No! No! I couldn't. I wouldn’t. Not this—this was going too far.

I had worn so many faces over the years. I had changed my appearance to suit my needs, to find safety, or to seduce—but I only ever out of a need to survive, to find food and shelter. I’d never impersonated anyone before, had never taken someone’s face or body, or name.

“You will become Princess Olivay,” my aunt said. “Marry her prince,” her head cocked to the side, “and then birth their child.”

Jaron’s child.

Stop fighting. You know you like it.

I shot up to my feet. “I won’t. I refuse. You cannot ask me to do this. Nor can you force me.” Tears burned behind my eyes.

“And why not? Is it such a big thing for someone like you to marry and bed a prince? Have you not whored yourself out these last seven years?” she sneered.

I went cold. “What I did to survive is of no concern to you.”

“Oh, but it is. Because we need you, and as you can see, you need us.” Her eyes narrowed. “Refuse me on this, and I shall have no choice but to tell King Tirian you released the chimera into Eskalon yourself. I’ll send word that you confessed to using your powers, that you led them from the wilds to your little tavern in Batron. They already suspect as much. Word has reached even here of an Azete on the loose. An Azete last seen dancing at Geoffrey's Tavern.”

My entire body went still, a pit digging through my belly. They were always hunting Azete in Eskalon. A different woman every week. But now they had one in particular to seek out. And this time they had a description of my movements, of the way I spoke. Details too numerous and specific to name. Evidence.

From Brennan. His friends. Mine. And fuck—Geoffrey.

“I swear to you now,” my aunt said, “whether it is in the confines of the prince’s bed or one of their vile boxes, your fate lies with House Lafir. And if you do not agree to help us, to help yourself, you will leave me with no other choice.” She sat forward in her chair. “Now, two options lay before you, Shamhira. One ends in your death, in everyone’s, in the coming of a second Doom. But the other ends in your freedom, in the safety of all you hold dear. You may not think it, but I remember the girl you once were, the girl who cared for others, the girl who loved. Prove to me she’s still here, that your mother’s death wasn’t in vain, that you survived for a reason. You cannot tell me that she would not have wanted this. For everyone to be cared for, for our people to be protected, to survive.”

Our people. Our people who shut me out. Who hated me. Who ignored me because I was different, because my power stole from theirs.

And yet, it didn’t matter. I might never be accepted, liked, or loved by them. And yet, I would not see them harmed. Would not try to undo what my mother had fought for, had died for. My condition was not their fault.

Though neither was it mine.

I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking again of Finlay and Thomas. And Cecelia—Cecelia who moved through the world so scared, her face scarred. Cecelia who saw what I was, who no longer trusted me. There were others over the years. People who’d come in and out of Geoffrey’s Tavern. Friendships that I’d formed and lost when they moved on. There was good in Eskalon. And there was good in Azeal.

But could I really do this? Was this why I’d survived? The reason why I had been born this way? Part princess, part monster. Witch and Demonos.

Azete.

Already the thought of the deception was making me ill. The idea of merely seeing Jaron again made me feel nauseated. But having to smile like I loved him, talk to him, kiss him … Gods, fuck him ... The room began to spin.

I’d worked at Geoffrey’s for seven years. I’d lied and cheated and whored. But I’d never slept with a man I did not wish to. Being Azete had lent me that power. It wasn’t perfect. I had to take them upstairs. Many I kissed unwillingly. Many I’d touched, many more I let touch me. But I never let it go too far, not without draining them first.

But … I could. I could go all the way—if I had to.

The last night I’d been with Jaron, I’d brought him to my bed as I had done so for weeks. The sleepless nights our bodies tangled together had felt endless, his body joining with mine again and again, bringing me such pleasure as I fed from his lust, and listened as he professed the sweetest and most romantic endearments into my ear.

He used to hold me afterward, brushing sweat from my forehead as he told me how beautiful I was, how he saw my soul shining through. I’d believed him. I thought he’d seen me. The real me. And my heart had swelled in a way I’d never known. Never dreamed possible. Until I realized the harm I was causing him. Every time we slept together, every time I took him inside me, I was taking days, weeks, months of his life away. He grew more passionate with each visit, his desire for me intensifying. My feelings only grew. And so did my dread. Because I knew months would turn into years, and years into decades.

And far too soon, because of me, because of something that felt so good and so right, his life would be over.

I loved him. I loved him so, so much. And I’d feared for him. Already I was sick with guilt for all the time I’d stolen. He was so drained and exhausted the last time we’d had sex that he didn’t wake until noon the next day. I’d watched over him for hours, worried I’d gone too far. I wanted him more than anything in the world. I wanted to wake him, rouse him to make love to me again. I wanted to kiss every inch of his body and whisper the secrets of my heart into his ear.

But I also knew I’d already touched him for the last time. Because I loved him too much to hurt him. I could not bear to take even another second away from his existence.

And the moment I tried to end things, the first time I had ever said no, he changed faster than I could change my face. The warmth in his personality was gone, the tenderness of his soul vanished, leaving behind nothing but the cold, heartless man beneath the facade. He threw me onto the bed. Slapped me and strangled me as he pushed up my skirts.

My heart was breaking. I was too shocked to move. To even process what was happening.

At least at first.