Page 12 of A Reflection of Lies and Truth

Emerin rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Tahira, not everyone is as prince obsessed as you are.”

“I’m not obsessed, just admirably selective.” Tahira picks a blade of grass and tosses it from hand to hand. “Rora, tell us. Are there any real handsome princes out there?”

The question stirs up memories of Jasce’s face, with his sharp jawline softened by the slightest of smirks and his brooding eyes that could either ignite me or freeze me in an instant.

“The world,” I begin carefully, not wanting to fuel Tahira’s fantasies nor Emerin’s cynicism, “is filled with all sorts of people. Princes or not, the handsome ones can be the most dangerous. They know their appearance can disguise less noble intentions.”

A knowing look shimmers in Emerin’s eyes, suggesting she understands the subtext of my words far better than Tahira, who pouts in response.

Then, again, she is only sixteen. She has plenty of time to learn about the world.

I quickly add, “But that doesn’t mean they’re all that way. There are good men out there who are very handsome. Some might even be princes.”

“Might,” Tahira repeats, testing the word on her tongue, like it’s a foreign spice she’s not sure whether to trust or discard. “You make it sound like finding a good one is more about luck than anything else.”

I shake my head. “Not luck. More like instinct and wisdom. You have to look beyond the surface, at actions and choices. A person’s true nature is revealed not in how they appear, but in what they do when they think no one is watching.”

An edge tinges Emerin’s voice as she speaks. “If you ask me, far too many people let the glitter of a crown or the gloss of a smile blind them to the rot underneath.”

Tahira bristles at Emerin’s stark perspective, but I sense the truth in it. Like bitter medicine, it stings on its way down.

“Perhaps,” Tahira concedes after a weighted pause, “appearances can deceive. A crown does not always reveal the true nature of a prince, just as a cover may not reflect the essence of a book.”

“Exactly. The cover is just the beginning of the story. The real tale lies within the pages,” I say.

Tahira jumps up and finally catches her elusive butterfly, only to let it go moments later. She grins as it flutters away.

Emerin’s eyes follow the butterfly’s flight. “I wish I could float away like that and see the world from above.”

“Maybe you can,” Tahira chimes in, always the one to find a way to make dreams seem attainable. “You could invent some sort of flying contraption. You’re clever enough.”

Lines deepen near Emerin’s mouth as she laughs. “And what would I use for wings? Bedsheets?”

“We have plenty of those.” Tahira’s eyes sparkle as she smiles at us.

Emerin and I exchange amused glances.

As the sun rises higher in the sky, its warmth coaxes more laughter and stories from us. We speak of childhood memories, games we played, and mishaps we barely survived. But as midday approaches, our trio breaks as Tahira stretches and yawns.

“I’m famished,” she announces. “I bet they’re serving the midday meal in the Great Hall by now.”

Emerin’s attention drifts to the stone fortress looming in the distance. “I could definitely eat.” She turns to look at me, her eyes questioning. “Rora, will you join us?”

I shake my head. “You two go ahead without me. I want to enjoy the warmth of the sun a little longer.”

Tahira sprints toward the fortress and calls out over her shoulder. “Last one to the Great Hall has to tell Ashes she’s right about something.”

Emerin rolls her eyes but hurries after her sister.

I watch them go for a moment, then I lie back in the grass and stare up at the sky as my thoughts race back to last night, to the moment Jasce climbed through my window. I close my eyes and feel him again—the scorching heat of his body pressed against mine, his lips fierce and hungry as they claimed me.

A rustling sound in the nearby bushes catches my attention, and as I sit up, a paper bird floats toward me and lands on my lap. My mouth parts as I open it and read the writing scrawled across the parchment.

Go to the cellar.

I’ll be waiting for you.

Jasce. It has to be from him.

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