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Back Find Me Their Bones Save as PDF
Chapters (32)
  1. Copyright
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. Acknowledgments
  29. About the Author
  30. Crave
  31. Malice
  32. Glow of the Fireflies

Someone in the crowd faints, and people cluster around to help them. Even the banquet guards and servants seem shocked, their eyes riveted on each step of Varia’s velvet-booted feet. Varia is supposed to be dead—killed by witches and Heartless while she was touring the countryside when she was sixteen. All they found were pieces of her. Five years have passed.

And now she stands before them as their new crown princess.

When she draws even with her family, Varia embraces Lucien first. His gaze grows feather soft, his arms around her back careful and his smile into her hair tender. Queen Kolissa embraces the both of them, laying her milky arms over them, the telltale twinkle of tears in her eyes as she draws her children close. Even for royals, trained to never show their true feelings and instead keep them behind masks, restraining the emotions of such a longtime reunion stretches the limits of possibility.

“They are d’Malvanes,” I hear someone whisper. “But they are human, too.”

I shouldn’t, but I watch Lucien’s smile for as long as it lasts, letting myself get lost in the fantasy one last time that such a smile could ever be aimed at me.

The royal family parts quickly, as if sensing the court’s eyes on them. If Varia’s Crown Princess now, that means Lucien isn’t. Which means he isn’t next in line for the throne. Which means getting married, all that pressure of leading a country—it’s been lifted from him. So why doesn’t he look any less burdened?

Our eyes meet again, one last time before he walks into the banquet hall with his family. His lips are a terse line, his eyes fogged mirrors.

It’s me. It’s me, isn’t it? I’m the source of his sorrow.

This isn’t right. I’m living in a different timeline, the wrong one, where I’ve failed. I should be gone. I should not be standing here, in a dress, pining after him. I should be gone and he should be smiling. He can rebuild now, his family reunited at his side. He can start to heal. He is trying to heal.

But I am the needle, ripping open the stitching on his wounds.

5

5

The Mask
Made Twice

The rest of the nobles and I file nearer to the banquet hall, seating ourselves in the same way Y’shennria taught me—eldest to youngest, highest blood rank to lowest. Fione sits before me, of course, and the royal family sits before anyone else.