Chapter 8
Eight
Daphne
Ialways knew Brooks was fucking insane.
But this? Dangling me over a cliff? This was unhinged.
Even for him.
The worst part?
I couldn’t tell if he was bluffing.
I’d known Brooks for years. I knew his moods. His threats. Every little warning sign that came before he did something insane.
But right now?
I couldn’t read him at all.
Fireworks boomed behind me, and I cried out. Gold exploded across the sky, reflecting off the water below.
Great.
Calira was celebrating while its princess was seconds away from becoming fish food.
Brooks might’ve removed his mask and shoved it into his pocket during our walk up the cliffs, but he still looked like the damn Grim Reaper. I searched the half of his face still visible for one of his usual tells.
A twitch. A smirk. Anything.
But nothing.
All he wanted was my word, but I knew better.
That was all he wanted from me right now.
My stomach twisted every time another piece of rock broke loose under me and vanished into the dark.
Lie to him, Daphne.
“Fine!” I screamed.
His grip loosened another inch, and I slipped lower.
The bastard didn’t say a word. Just waited.
Fine wasn’t good enough for him.
“I swear to you!” I yelled.
He cocked his head to the side. “Swear to me what?”
I was going to punch this motherfucker as soon as I made it to solid ground.
My lungs already felt shredded. There was no way I was reciting his entire psychotic speech about no other man touching me.
“Everything you said!”
“What was everything I said?”
Is he fucking serious?
“That no other man will touch me!”
“That works.”
The asshole actually laughed as he pulled me up.
My dress snagged and ripped as I scrambled up before he changed his mind.
I almost—al-freaking-most—wrapped my arms around him for safety, but stopped myself.
Absolutely the fuck not. We’re not hugging Brooks Byron.
I reached up to make sure my headpiece was still there, grateful Elodie had practically sewn the damn thing into my scalp with hairpins.
I’d be in serious trouble if I lost my tiara. It’d been passed down through generations of Caliran royals.
“I could barely hear you swear it,” Brooks said, stalking closer.
He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Meanwhile, my lungs felt like they were ready to burst.
I sidestepped him, putting as much distance between me and the edge as possible.
I’m not giving him a second opportunity to play cliff-dangle.
He crowded me against the stone wall, as if he wanted to bury me inside it. The jagged rock cut through my dress.
“Let that be your warning, Princess. You belong to me until I tire of you.”
I turned toward the sea and sucked in my first breath in five minutes that didn’t taste like pure panic. That lasted all of two seconds.
Brooks delved a hand into my hair and tugged the tiara free.
My headpiece tore loose with it, raining hairpins across the stone. He let the headpiece fall but slipped my tiara into his pocket like he’d just found a lucky penny.
Great.
It could survive a near-death experience, but not Brooks Byron.
“Until next time, Princess.”
He left me there shivering in my torn dress as the wind bit into my skin without looking back once.
I didn’t run after him.
Didn’t ask him to wait for me.
I grabbed my headpiece and counted to ninety to make sure I was far behind him before starting back toward the castle. Barefoot.
Every step over the jagged rock hurt like hell. I cursed Brooks with every one.
Tonight made one thing clear: there was no way I was becoming Cory’s Fawn.
Now on to plan B: Make Brooks fall in love with me.
If that was what it took to survive being his Fawn, fine.
Then I’d ruin him before he ruined me.