Page 39 of Mostly Shattered

“In the moments before the first light kissed rose upon the ashen sky, trolls labored deep inside the belly of,”blah, blah, blah, ten highly detailed paragraphs later, “coaxing stones upward to create the cradle of the mountains,”more blah, three pages later,“burrowing the ancient ones deeper into the depths,”something about titans and magical creatures, skim ahead,“giving home to goblins and other magic dwellers.”

I want to take the prophecy seriously. I get that it’s important, but damn, it made for a long night. Now, as I sit at the bar next to the kitchen, I’m tired and grouchy. Plus, my fingers hurt from cutting them all night.

No part of me wants to save the world.

Heat from the coffee mug warms my hands as I stare into the creamy liquid. I tap my bare toes on the marble floor as they dangle from the stool. At one point in the night, I showered and traded my jeans for blue pajama pants but kept the fuck you t-shirt. It’s a small rebellion, but it’s mine.

At least my period ended, and the cramps are gone. That’s a positive in my sea of negative.

I finally fell asleep around six in the morning, but the four hours before Astrid had a housekeeper wake me were fitful and filled with nightmares. The kitchen is empty except forme and the current personal chef placing a bowl of sliced fruit in front of me for breakfast.

“What? No bacon?” I ask, partly because I’d rather have bacon and partly just to see the worry on his face as he tries to tell me Astrid forbids it. Yeah, it’s childish, but I’ve been doing it to the staff since I could talk.

There is no distress as he shakes his head. “I have your dietary restrictions, Miss Devine. It’s not on the approved menu. I can make you a bowl of oatmeal or a kale smoothie if you prefer.”

I curl my lip at him and reach for a sliced strawberry. “This coffee better not be decaf, or I’m going on a rampage.”

Seriously, a girl can only take so much.

He leans toward me and winks. “Of course not. I’m not a complete monster. Want me to sneak you an espresso shot?”

“You’re all right, uh…” I look at his uniform for a name. It would have been on the staff memo Astrid left in my room, but I rarely read them. She goes through a lot of changeovers in the penthouse.

He points at his chest, “Howard.”

“You’re all right, Howard,” I say, pointing into my cup for that shot.

Howard sets to work at the espresso machine. He’s a lanky man in his forties with inky black hair vainly clinging to the top of his balding head. Inotice calluses and scars on his hands. There are peeks of full-sleeve tattoos on his arms from beneath his uniform. I watch him return with the shot to dump it into my coffee.

“Bless you, sir,” I mutter instantly, sipping the stronger liquid.

“So, are you nervous?” Howard asks conversationally as he makes a show of wiping down the clean counter.

I blink, confused. How does he know about the prophecy? “I’m sorry?”

“The wedding.”

I choke a little on my coffee and clear my throat.

“Lady Astrid mentioned you’re getting officially engaged tonight.” He looks at his smartwatch. “I promise the menu will be worthy of such an event. I’m expecting a delivery of fresh shellfish in the next hour. It’s being flown in. How about I sneak a little bacon into the recipe for the bride-to-be? Don’t worry. We’ll still make sure you fit into your wedding dress.”

I resist the urge to answer. Nothing I say will be appropriate. I hide my expression in my coffee mug and force out a strange sound that’s supposed to double as a response.

“Don’t be worried. Tonight is for celebrating,” he chuckles. “Cold feet are for the wedding day.”

“Thanks for the coffee.” I push up from my stooland take the mug with me. Trying to say something polite, I add, “I have so much planning to… yeah.”

I hurry from the kitchen as fast as I can. Nowhere in this house feels safe, but my bedroom is the best option. I don’t make it very far.

“Hold it right there,” Astrid orders. The snap of her fingers follows her voice as she beckons me to her.

Years of childhood training kick in, and I instantly obey. I turn toward the foyer, where Astrid stands by the front door, holding a blue silk gown draped over her arm. As always, she looks immaculate, with perfect hair and makeup. Her dress is the height of New York fashion. Just once, I want to see her with a ponytail and pajama pants, eating ice cream out of a tub.

She crosses to me and holds the dress material against my face.

“This color is much better suited.” Astrid drapes the gown over my arm, careful to miss my coffee mug. “Is that decaf?”

I nod and lie, “Uh-huh.”

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