Page 137 of The Heir's Bargain

"See what?"

My mother held out her hand.

I stared at her open palm. She was not simply asking me to hold it to help calm my nerves; instead, she was asking to show me something—something I wasn’t sure I was willing to see yet, something I wasn't sure I deserved to see.

My mother tipped her head toward her hand. "Your hand, please."

I sighed and gripped the edge of the cushion for extra stability before I reached out.

On contact, the world spun.

Round.

And round.

And round.

Until the world went black.

I wavered, my body simultaneously feeling weightless and heavy.

Peeling my eyes open, the scene before me slowly came into focus. When the world stopped spinning, the colors slowly separated as the memory unfolded before me.

I recognized the back of Lance's short blond hair immediately. His steps were rushed and haphazard as he raced down the hall in the Wilton manor beside Airos.

The captain glanced back, his graying brows twisting together.

A delicate hand rose in front of my face, and I recognized it as belonging to my mother.

Airos nodded.

Before Lance pushed the door open, a crash sounded on the other side. When Lance and Airos moved, my gaze locked onto the man rushing forward, frazzled and red-faced.

The man was nearly unrecognizable, yet all the same, he was me.

I had never seen myself appear so. . .distraught. So scared.

Others in the room stood, but I couldn't pull my attention away from this version of myself as I slammed Lance against the wall, rage clouding my countenance.

"Where is she?"

Through the small space between Lance and myself, I could see my guard's gaze widen as he stumbled, saying, "Your Highness?—"

The pictures rattled on the wall as I slammed his body against it. My knuckles blanched as I gripped Lance's shirt. "Where is my?—"

My mother moved forward. She lifted a hand and placed it on my shoulder.

I faintly recalled having believed Terin had reached out as his thoughts tried to break through the rage. But in fact, it was my mother’s delicate hand falling upon my shoulder and squeezing.

When her hand fell, the floor dropped beneath me, and the room spun. Flashes of red and black and purple twisted around, melting away the scene and distorting my vision once again.

My breathing was labored as I came to.

I wished I could have blamed my mother's gift, but I couldn't. It wasn't the world spinning around me as she ripped the memory away from me and as the ground shattered beneath my feet.

No, the rapid patter of my heart was not a result of the nauseating effects of her gift.

Not at all.

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