1
She looks the same. It’s a little sickening to me, that my mother looks the same here.
“More tea?”
My mother offers me a wrinkled smile, warm as the tea in my cup. She nods to the maid holding the teapot, silently instructing her to continue pouring.
I put my hand up, shake my head and set my tea down, leveling my gaze at the woman who birthed me.
“No, I’m okay.”
“Is something on your mind? You seem distracted.” She whispered, leaning back against the chair she’s in.
I tap my fingertips together, fixing my gaze out at the picturesque garden. The servants hustle and bustle, carrying baskets of new flowers to be planted.
Gardenias. I hate gardenias.
“Redoing the garden again?” I murmur softly.
Sweat sticks to my back, I’m swaddled in several layers of clothes. The corset digs into my ribs, as I take a sharp breath.
“Something of the sort,” she says softly.
I tear my gaze from the loathsome blooms, and back to my mother. She’s smiling. Her long grey hair is pulled up intricately, pearls and threads of gold weaved into her hair.
It’s like a prison.
“Doesn’t it make you feel stifled,” I nod to her hair. “Having it all pinned up like that?”
My mother cocks her head, as if she had no idea what I’m talking about. I look back out the window. Looking at her is…
“I know you’re anxious.”
The sudden warmth of her hand, forces my gaze to meet hers. Deep and brown like always. Kind and loving as always. My stomach turns.
“But we have a duty,” her hand squeezes mine. “I know the journey will be long and hard. And I know arranged marriages are difficult—”
She keeps talking but my eyes are fixed on her hand. It looks the same too. The same scar on her finger. She got it from a hot pan when I was younger.
“Mom, how’d you get this again?”
Mom pauses for a moment before letting out a low chuckle. “Don’t change the subject, Zilah.”
“I’m really not,” I grin up at her, stroking my finger over the small scar.
It’s a small thing, really. If it was anyone else it probably wouldn’t matter. But a small scar on the hand of the Empress of Novignis isn’t one you forget.
It isn’t one easily made. Even less easily forgotten.
“I really can’t remember,” I murmur.
My mother heaves a sigh, her hand slipping away from mine as she presses it against her furrowed brow.
“Zilah, I know you’re worried about the threats,”
I pick up my tea and let the smell of it keep me here. I close my eyes. “I’m not worried about the death threats, mother.”
“Then Lalit? You don’t want to marry him, is that it?”
I set my tea down. My mother just sighs and waves her hand.
“I know it’s tough, Zilah. I married your father at this age.”
I zone out again. This goddamn corset. I’m not used to being so covered. I’m not used to any of this. I fold my hands under the table, primly.
“Zilah,”
My skin crawls. Between the chemise and my skin invisible fingers drag down my back, raising every hair. I shiver.
I meet her eyes. Mother softens, and reaches over to touch my face. “You don’t look well, Zilah.”
My stomach turns. “I…I do feel under the weather. I think I need to rest for a moment,”
The rest blurs. Mother stands to leave. Her dark eyes scour my face, her brow knitting in concern. She presses her forehead against mine.
I hold my breath, clench my fist to hide my shaking fingertips.
“Get some rest honey,”
My vision is swimming. I stand, shuffling toward the other end of my room thoughtlessly. Something isn’t right.
“Would you like to get into your lounge-ware, Your Highness?”
A mirror in the edge of the room glints at me. I stray toward it.
“No. Please get out.”
“But—”
“Get out!”
My scream echoes on the walls, and tears at my throat, as I breath hard, the bones of the corset piercing me as I do.
I swallow shakily and force a smile on my face, throwing her an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’ve got it. Thanks.”
She bows and shuffles out of the room.
Splinters tear at the flesh under my nails as I clench the sides of the wooden mirror tightly.
It’s me. I look deep into my own eyes. It’s me. What I’ve always looked like. I touch my face. Watch my hand follow my motions in the mirror.
Something isn’t right.
I know it and I’ve known it for a while.
I am Zilah. It’s true, I’m Zilah. I am the woman I’m looking at in the mirror: dark eyes, inky black hair, brown skin. I’m an only child.
My father is Oberion Novignis. My mother is Mela Novignis.
I am Zilah. But I am not Zilah, royal daughter of Novignis. I have no fucking clue who that even is. I cup my face and pinch my cheek.
I’m not from here. I’m not from here in every sense of the phrase. At first it was fun. I had a pretty boring life, I think. Not bad, but not exciting—not like this one.
It’s not fun anymore.
I want to go home.
“Your Highness, may I come in?”
My finger brushes over a raised scar in my eyebrow. It’s imperceptible. You can’t even see it, really. Just feel it. I got it jumping off a dresser back home.
Here, they say I got it playing with a ball.
I frown. But it’s me.
Somehow…it’s me.
“What’s your business?” I murmur.
“I’m your new personal knight, your highness. Your mother sent me.”
I frown but nod, unable to take my eyes off my own. What if I break eye contact and miss something? Miss her move?
“Come in then.”
“Pardon me, your highness,”
He enters the frame, silently encompassing every inch of the mirror’s surface. He crowds me, even at the distance he’s standing, his eyes closed. His hands are behind his back.
He carefully gets to his knees and waits.
For a moment neither of us say anything. I take him in. His red hair tied up, his broad shoulders. He’s large. I narrow my eyes.
“Are you a shifter?”
His eyes open. “Yes, Your Highness.”
I swallow roughly but I don’t turn around. I need to see myself. I need to see him. I can’t look away from her.
“I haven’t seen a shifter knight in the capitol.”
“I am the only one, your highness.”
The searing heat hasn’t dissipated.
“The only…then you must be the man I’ve heard so much about,” I whisper my eyes glued to his face.
“There are rumors around me, your highness.”
It’s an understatement. There’s no end to the rumors about him. The one truly prominent shifter—the one who never does. The one with dirty eyes.
“Let me see them.”
The corner of his lip turns down but he opens his eyes. “…my apologies for the disgusting sight, your highness.”
A grin splinters across my face. The quiet room shakes as laughter leaks from my lips. I slap my hands over my mouth, trying to contain it.
He raises his brow. “Your highness?”
“You’re new.”
I finally look away from the mirror. Every person I’ve seen in the last year has looked like someone I knew. Someone I loved.
No, not looked like.
For the past year, I was surrounded by my family. But they aren’t mine. And this body—the Zilah—she isn’t me either. Every other human I’ve encountered is some…odd mirror of someone else.
But him?
I’ve never met him.
“Stand up, Sir. What’s your name again?”
He rises to his feet, towering over me, his gaze icy and his voice just as frigid. “My name is Ender, Your Highness. I am…pleased to be of service to you.”
