Page 122 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

I’m not—

I’m not fully human.

I’m demi-fae.

“And Acantha?” I ask at last, feeling like a shell of myself.

“She’s ours,” Father murmurs. “Nira was already pregnant with her when you were born.”

I turn my face away.

“Make no mistake,” Father says, tightening his hands around mine. I’m compelled to look at him when he does. “It might not be my blood running through your veins, but I am your father. Nira was your mother. You are ours.” He reaches out to cup my face. “And you always will be.”

I nod, tightening my mouth to rein in my raging emotions.

“I should let you rest.” I gather my skirts to stand.

Father watches me through sad eyes. “I love you, Cryssa. More than anything.”

“I love you, too.” I give Father’s hand a squeeze. “This doesn’t change that. I just…” Swallowing, I find my words. “I just need time.”

Father smiles weakly. “I understand.”

I bend down and press a kiss to his cheek. Father closes his eyes, and I slip from the room.

Downstairs, Acantha stands by the hearth, stirring a pot that hangs over the fire.

“Stew will be ready in a moment,” she says, glancing over her shoulder.

Food.

My stomach rumbles with hunger. It’s been nearly two days since I’ve eaten.

“Wonderful.” I hesitate and look down at my wedding dress, dirty and tattered from the journey here. “Is there…”

“Your other dress is still in your closet,” Acantha tells me. Her stirring motions slow.

“Thank you,” I say. Then I head upstairs to my room.

I step into the hall slowly, careful not to disturb Father. Opening the door, I peek inside. Emotions I can’t seem to place grip me from the inside while my eyes roam the space. Taking it all in.

Everything is exactly how I left it.

Acantha’s and my twin beds sit in the center of the room, separated by a small, wooden nightstand. My old sketchbook sits on my bed, which has been neatly made—likely thanks to Acantha. The only thing missing is my cloak, which I know still hangs inside of my wardrobe back at High Keep.

I move farther into the compact room and approach the rickety wardrobe. I run my fingers along the worn wood before opening the door.

Acantha’s spare dress hangs on the far-right side. Mine waits to the far-left.

I pull it from the wardrobe and raise it to my nose. Breathing in, a familiar scent washes over me, even though I can tell it’s been washed in the time I’ve been gone.

Slowly, I cross the room and approach the window. Wrapping my arms around myself, still holding my dress, I stare through the glass. I look at the tree just outside. The one I used to climb down to go see Loren at night.

Some of its branches are cracked, still bare from the cold season. I yearn to open the window. To reach out and touch it.

But I don’t.

This time, I stay inside, remembering all that’s happened since the last time I snuck out. This time, I leave the window closed.

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