Then he dropped my hand, jaw hard, eyes harder. “I’ll never be able to give you anything else but this, Story.” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a golden, heart-shaped locket.

“What’s inside?” I asked as he dropped it into my palm.

He grinned a crooked, cruel smile. “My heart.”

“You were supposed to die first,” I mumbled.

I guess, in a way, our love did.

I went to open it, and he put his hand over mine, stopping me.

“Don’t open it unless I’ve been an unredeemable jackass.”

“So wait a few minutes…”

Another grin, sliding a tongue across his sharp canines. From my angle on the floor, it made his jaw sharper.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, voice hoarse. “Wait a few minutes.”

Grayson stood as if he was going to leave. Leave without another word. Leave me with a token of our love as some kind of parting gift.

I quickly scrambled to follow.

“Why are you doing this?” I grabbed his arm. “I know you’re in there. I know it.”

Grayson covered my hand with his, and urgency became heartburn.

“Either allow me to love you or leave me to hate you!” I exclaimed, chucking the locket to the ground.

He froze as it skittered along the stone, into the shadows.

“I don’t want your metal, useless heart,” I whispered. “Don’t keep doing this to me.”

Filling me with false hope and promises. Reminding me why I can’t hate you.

A month of silence. Of trying to hate him and failing.

And then this?

His blue eyes softened for a fraction of a second. Then one by one he peeled my fingers off his biceps. Without so much as another glance in my direction, Grayson walked out of the servants’ quarters.

The golden locket glimmered in the shadows.

It didn’t feel like an apology or moving forward. It felt like an ending.

Fifty-Four

STORY

All of Crowne Hall in preparation. It was early September, which meant the holidays and dreaded mass migration of Crownes were not yet upon us. I assumed they were readying for the great Crowne Labor Day party, but that was usually on the weekend, and today was a weekday.

I was walking back to Lottie from visiting Uncle, and I caught sight of Ellie. She carried a tray of fresh fish to bring to the cooks, so I grabbed her.

“Is there something going on today?”

She looked at the floor. Still no one looked me in the eyes, but I wasn’t his mistress. I was just her girl. Just a few more months—maybe even less—I had to put up with this, and then I could leave, I thought morbidly. Dismally.

“Never mind,” I uttered, letting her go.

She scurried away.

When I got back to Lottie, the sound of glass breaking met me.

“Ms. du Lac?”