Page 89 of Court of Secrets and Flames

The desire to flee fuels me and adds speed to my muscles. My wings catch and cup the air. All the drills Sterling has put me through have perfected my timing, even if my new wing muscles aren’t particularly strong. At the last second, I flare my wings. Heat pours up from my hands, adding additional lift and slowing my fall with brutal efficiency.

My boots slam onto the courtyard’s stone with such force that I somersault forward to reduce the momentum.

Ignoring the pain, I sprint toward the palace entrance, my body heavy with marsh water and regret as my trousers cling to my skin and inhibit the ability to move faster.

“Slow down, Lark.” Knox’s boots slap the stone as he pursues me. “Talk to me. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever it is, we’ll work through it.”

His words are like wisps of smoke, evaporating in the wind of my hastened steps. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a drumroll of panic that drowns out his calls. Somewhere inside me, I recognize that this sudden terror came out of nowhere and my reaction doesn’t fit the situation. But the stampede of fear has trampled the voice of reason.

On the way to my room, I rush past Hyde—his permanent scowl in place—along with the curvy, shiny-haired lady. In a dim recess of my mind, I notice them eyeing our muddy clothing, but the thought dissipates as I continue racing for safety.

As I near my chamber, the din of my own terror begins to recede, replaced by an aching exhaustion. The door looms before me, a barrier between the turmoil within and the calm I seek. With a shove, I send it crashing against the wall, the bang reverberating through the empty corridor.

Inside, I slam the door shut with a finality that seals me off from Knox and the rest of the world. But the pounding in my head persists, a relentless surge that propels me onward. Clothes rip and fall away in my haste to shed the weight of them, of everything.

It’s too much. Everything is just too much.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. These emotions…they’re overwhelming. I’m drowning.

The bathing chamber echoes with a cascade of running water that promises purification. I summon my magic, and the familiar flames dance across my skin. They wrap around me, trailing along my limbs as I step into the bath, and I welcoming the rising heat as it meets the coolness of the water.

Minutes stretch into an eternity. The trembling gradually subsides as the water, now heated by my own conjured fire, cocoons me. I dunk my head, letting the water muffle the pounding from outside.

Slowly, the grip of fear loosens, and I am left adrift in the gentle embrace of steam and silence.

As I step from the steamy confines of my bathing chamber, my skin still bright red from the magic-infused heat, the incessant knocking on my chamber door persists.

I dress in a simple tunic and loose trousers before padding across the room with bare feet, where I’m met with a tableau of worried faces.

Rhiann, Mother, and Leesa wait in the corridor. But there’s no sign of Sterling.

Mother scans me for injuries, and Leesa’s wide gaze brims with unspoken questions. Rhiann stands a step behind, her ever-perfect posture somehow conveying deep concern.

“Are you all right, Lark?” Mother’s voice trembles, and I find I’m too shaken to protest her presence. “The prince told Rhiann you might need us.”

An invisible hand grasps my heart.

Even when I panicked and ran, Sterling still took care of me.

I force a weak smile, my mind racing to weave a believable tale. “Just…just an attack of nerves. It’s hard to explain.” I hate the lie even as it slips free. But what is the truth? The fear I felt over the palace still lingers in my mind. “The enormity of everything hit me all at once.”

Leesa steps forward, brows knitting together. “But what brought it on? Surely there’s more to this. Do you want me to find Duchess Breann? She offered to help you before…when you got your wings.”

Mother clears her throat, her voice gentle yet firm. “If your spirit is troubled, maybe a prayer would help?”

And Rhiann, ever the diligent caretaker, suggests with grace, “Some soothing tea, perhaps? Or would you prefer scented cloths to ease your rest?”

Their intentions seem pure, but their offers tighten around my chest like bindings. I need space and time to unravel the knot of panic still lodged within me.

After I insist on being alone to rest, their hesitant retreat grants me the room my lungs have craved. Each step they take feels like another stitch releasing from a too-tight garment.

The door clicks shut. Alone at last, the silence of my chamber presses against my ears.

In bed, I pull the blanket over my head, cocooning myself in darkness.

But even in this self-imposed exile, I’m not free from the relentless pursuit of my own mind.

Is madness creeping up on me? Or is this simply the price of a life entwined with deceit and unspoken truths?

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