Chapter 1
I was born into a world that wanted me to drown in my own blood from biting my tongue and swallowing my disdain.
For years, my teeth gnashed against the injustices and expectations thrust upon me at the behest of my mother.
I was marked as “defiant,” shunned by people who never held my admiration or respect.
I stopped fighting against what was demanded of me for the sake of my daughter, nearly choking on the pieces of who I was as a sacrifice to become who I was told I must be.
Not anymore.
Cora was six when we left Alwine Manor. My mother began her persistent need to control her, as she had done with me.
Her hair. Her clothes. Her mannerisms. Cora became withdrawn and anxious.
It hit me all at once that my mother was in the beginning stages of trying to turn her into the perfection that I could not meet.
So, I left with Cora in the middle of the night on a stolen horse with nothing but a small satchel of clothes and personal items that wouldn’t slow us down in our escape.
Our departure was a desperate attempt to run from the clawing grasp of inherited trauma, so I could become the type of mother to my child that I had always coveted for myself.
Once I had found the stability and quiet solace I craved in the village of Olinbury, a place that allowed me and my daughter to shed the expectations of nobility, we thrived and grew into the people we were meant to be.
The wounds I suffered still lingered like a specter, being haunted by people who were still alive.
But with each passing quiet year away from my old life and its binds, the ghosts of my past faded and were now mere wisps of passing memories.
“Have a good day at school, sweet girl!” I called to Cora as she smiled and waved, slipping out the front door of the apothecary, schoolbooks in tow.
Her dimpled smile, one of the few contributions I made to her beauty, was my favorite thing to look at.
I used to hate my own dimples, but watching her perfectly wear the same ones made me love my own, too.
Cora skipped down the street to her schooling, as my attention was drawn to an out-of-place figure walking toward the same door that Cora had just left through. I stiffened, drawing in a breath.
Shit. She found me.
My stomach lurched, and a weight pressed against my chest as I watched Terren’s distressing figure through the shop window stalk toward the apothecary.
My mother’s favorite aristocratic messenger was here to either collect me or deliver a message, neither of which was going to be pleasant.
He was vindictive and cruel—the exact reasons my mother favored him.
I scanned the shop, quickly calculating my chances of escape, but my daughter was too far out of my reach, and I resigned myself to accept what fate was in store for me.
I shifted back and forth on my feet and wrung my fingers, the floorboards creaking beneath me, as Terren opened the front door of the apothecary.
No amount of calming herbs wafting through the air would be able to soothe what he was about to inflict upon me.
A venomous smile slithered across his face as he stepped through the threshold onto our dark, wooden floor.
A place of healing infiltrated by a man who administered pain in various forms.
Terren’s dark brown eyes sparkled at the sight of me.
His clothes exemplified wealth and status, finely made and nary a wrinkle on them.
Clothes of nobility, so unlike what most men in the village would wear, made him stand out, delivering an expertly crafted message: He was better than everyone else who lived here.
I could only hope a pickpocket lifted his coin purse off him due to his arrogance.
He let out a huff. “Well, well. I shouldn’t be surprised to find you working as some lowly clerk in a rustic shop, but I am.
” His hubris was ever-present in his biting words.
“I thought I would find you selling yourself for scraps of bread in a brothel. Your mother will be pleased you haven’t fully lowered yourself to that level… yet.”
I narrowed my eyes at his repulsive insinuation. “You would know all about brothels, wouldn’t you, Terren? The only reason a woman would want anything to do with you is if you pay her.”
He rounded the counter, snatching my arm and pulling me toward him. His lip curled, and his brow pulled together as his hold tightened in a bruising grip. “You bitch!” Flecks of spit landed on my cheek as I winced in his grasp.
I should have known better than to provoke him.
He was a hornet’s nest on a good day, vibrating with unchecked resentment and an inflated sense of importance.
I bruised his ego well over a decade ago when I turned down his advances and refused the courtship my mother arranged between us in front of the society’s wealthiest and most elite.
He came from one of the most prestigious families in the region, which crafted his gilded self-image with the delusion that a woman should be fawning over a chance to be with him.
After my perceived slight, he consistently went out of his way to be wretched toward me.
Terren couldn’t commit to anything other than a grudge, and he had enthusiastically made the one he held against me a lifetime obligation.
“Riveting conversation as always. I see time has not stopped you from maintaining the decorum expected of a noble,” I spat, forcing my voice to remain steady.
He liked timid women, and cowering to him would only bring him some sort of twisted pleasure.
I refused to be the reason he had an ounce of joy.
Calm yourself, Rory.
I yanked my arm from his grip and gently straightened the sleeve of my blouse. “Now… what do you want, Terren?”
He gathered his sense of propriety and straightened, keeping a subtle smirk on his face. One which I had fantasized slapping off him on numerous occasions. “Your mother entrusted me to find you, bring you her letter, and ensure you and that child come back with me to your parents’ manor.”
I had hoped that my mother would get bored with trying to track me down and bring me to heel.
That she would realize it wasn’t worth the effort to force me into the daughter she expected but never got.
Especially since I walked in defiance from the moment I could put one foot in front of the other.
Pretending her embarrassment of a daughter didn’t exist would have been better for both of us.
I foolishly let myself believe, since we had years of no contact, that she would let me live my life the way I wanted in peace.
He reached into his coat pocket and thrust an envelope adorned with a golden seal into my hand.
My family’s crest, a stag with a leaf between its horns, was boldly embossed in the wax.
I looked from the letter to him and opened my mouth to speak.
My impending protest was stifled by the back door swinging open and hitting the wall with a thud.
A small figure was silhouetted in the doorframe.
Greta. Impeccable timing.
She was a short, lithe woman with sky-blue eyes that always radiated warmth and had the demeanor of a crackling fire. Steady but not to be messed with. The age lines on her face told a story of a life well lived.
“Oh, Rory, dear!” Greta exclaimed. “Can you come grab this crate? It is heavier than I thought it would be.” She waddled slowly toward me, taking care not to run into our display of medicinal tinctures freshly poured into glass bottles of various colors.
I ran to her, leaving Terren to seethe by the front counter. “I told you I would have gone to pick up this shipment for you.”
“Thanks.” Her breathless voice blew the silvery wisps of loose hair from her face as I took the crate from her arms. “I sometimes forget that I am not a young lady anymore, but I like to lie to myself and think that I can still do things that I did thirty years ago—to my detriment.” She laughed and looked up at my face with a fading smile.
“What’s wrong, dear? You look crestfallen. ”
I nervously eyed Terren, standing, arms folded, and an eyebrow arched above glaring eyes. Greta tracked my line of sight.
“Can I help you?” she asked him in a clipped tone as she walked toward him with a straight face and confidence, casually picking up a letter opener off the counter and arming herself.
With the number of crimes happening around the continent, she likely assumed Terren had come to add the apothecary to the countless other businesses in the village that had fallen victim to theft as of late.
The uptick in unrest had everyone on edge.
His eyes wandered the apothecary with a sneer. I doubted any of the herbs we used could cure him of his lifelong ailment of being an asshole. “No. I have business with Aurora.”
I crinkled my nose, hating how my full name rolled off his tongue.
Greta kept herself between us, palming the letter opener. “Oh, I see. Well, Rory, are you done with whatever business needs to be addressed with this…” she looked him up and down, “gentleman?”
I nodded, fending off the impending panic attack. “Yes. We are done here. Please leave.”
“You know I can’t do that, Rory,” he mocked and stepped around Greta.
She gripped her makeshift weapon tighter, but Terren didn’t even spare it a glance as he approached me. Greta tracked his steady steps through narrowed eyes. The one thing that would make him behave was a scrutinizing audience. Hopefully.
“It’s fine, Greta,” I said, and she lowered the letter opener. If I didn’t reassure her of my safety, she might stab him on principle.