Chapter seven

Lythera’s pov

“Lythera?”

I recognize that voice.

Edward.

I want to turn toward him, to ask him why everything hurts, but my body refuses to cooperate. My cheek rests against something cold, and when I try to move, a sharp pain tears through my skull.

“What happened to her?” Edward demands, his voice suddenly clearer. “Amelia, what have you done?”

A sob follows his question.

“Oh, Edward, I didn’t mean to!”

Amelia.

I try to move my fingers, but they feel numb.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Amelia cries. “She was coming toward me, and I thought she was going to attack me. I panicked, Edward. I picked up the vase, and I hit her before I could think. I never meant to hurt her this badly. You have to believe me.”

Her voice breaks beautifully, each sob carefully placed, and I almost laugh at the familiarity of it. Even through the haze clouding my mind, I know my sister well enough to recognize the performance.

“Oh, Amelia.” Edward’s voice softens. “It’s all right. Calm down.”

There is a pause, followed by the faint sound of her moving into his arms.

I cannot see them clearly, but I can imagine the scene with painful precision.

“Should we take Lythera to a healer?” he asks after a moment. “Look at the amount of blood. She doesn’t seem to be conscious, and the blow may have been worse than we thought.”

For one foolish second, relief stirs in my chest.

Perhaps he will finally do something for me.

Then Amelia speaks again.

“We cannot waste time, Edward.”

“But she is bleeding.”

“And what happens if we delay the journey?” Amelia asks, her voice trembling with what sounds like concern. “You know how much is at stake. If the Shadow King hears that we have failed to send his bride on time, what do you think he will do? We cannot risk offending him over something like this.”

“She needs treatment.”

“She is a healer.”

The words strike me more sharply than they should.

Amelia continues, “You know that our family has healing abilities. Lythera has always been good at it. She can take care of herself once she wakes up. Besides, you know how she behaves when she doesn’t get what she wants. What if she is pretending? What if she is waiting for us to let our guard down so she can escape or run to the Queen and twist everything against you?”

“She would not—”

“Edward, please.” Amelia’s voice becomes smaller, more fragile. “I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me. I know how much you are trying to protect the kingdom. If we take her to a healer, she might escape, and then what? The Queen will hear about this, and everyone will blame you. I couldn’t bear it if you were punished because I made a mistake.”

For several moments, Edward says nothing.

Then I hear him exhale.

“You’re right,” he says at last. “She is a healer. She should be able to manage until she reaches the Shadow Kingdom.”

The hope inside me dies so quietly that I almost fail to notice it.

“Take her to the carriage,” he orders his men. “We have no more time to waste.”

Hands seize me.

Pain flashes through my head as someone lifts me from the floor, and a strangled cry escapes my throat before I can suppress it. My body feels distant and uncooperative, my limbs heavy as the men carry me toward the stable entrance.

“Be careful with her,” Edward says.

“I’m sorry this had to happen, Lythera,” Edward says, approaching as the men carry me outside. “But you must understand that this is for the good of the kingdom. Once everything is settled, I will find a way to make it up to you.”

I slip back into darkness.

The next time I become aware of my surroundings, I am lying across the back seat of a carriage, my head resting against a folded cloak. The carriage rocks beneath me as someone climbs onto the driver’s seat, and the sound of horses shifting in their harnesses reaches my ears. My entire body aches, but the pain in my head is the worst of it, a relentless throbbing that grows sharper whenever the carriage jolts over an uneven patch of road.

A bitter laugh escapes my mouth, startling even me. It turns into a cough, and I wince as the movement sends pain through my skull.

Of course.

Of course, this is how my life ends up. Not because I have committed some terrible crime but because I have spent too many years loving people who have never thought twice about what that love cost me.

I turn onto my side, curling around myself as the carriage begins to move.

The first time I healed Edward, he had only recently returned from the war.

I remember the night with a clarity that almost makes me believe I am there again. The palace had been in chaos, filled with servants rushing through corridors and healers carrying baskets of herbs and bottles of medicine. News of Edward’s injury had spread through the court before his carriage even reached the gates. He had been badly wounded in the chest, and the physicians feared the damage might leave him with lasting complications.

I had been young enough to believe that love meant being useful, that if I could ease his suffering, perhaps I might one day earn a place in his heart.

When I found him, he was barely conscious.

His face was pale, his breathing shallow, and his eyes moved restlessly beneath half-closed lids as he struggled against the pain. He did not recognize me. He could barely focus on anything at all. I remember kneeling beside his bed while the others argued over what to do, my hands trembling as I reached for him.

I knew what healing would cost me.

In our family, healing was never as simple as placing a hand over a wound and watching it disappear. To draw pain from another person, the healer had to take a portion of that suffering into their own body before they could begin to relieve it. The stronger the pain, the heavier the burden. Sometimes it left temporary marks beneath the skin, bruises and dark lines that faded only after the healer had recovered.

I had been warned never to take on more than I could bear.

But Edward had been suffering, and I had loved him.

So I placed my hands against his chest and drew the pain into myself.

I remember how violently my body reacted. The sudden pressure in my chest, the breathless agony that seemed to tear through my ribs, the way my vision blurred as his suffering became mine. I nearly collapsed, but I held on until his breathing steadied and the tension in his face eased.

When I finally withdrew my hands, I could barely stand.

No one noticed.

Edward was resting, the physicians were celebrating his improvement, and the people around his bed were too relieved to question how his condition had changed so quickly. I slipped away before anyone could see the marks appearing beneath my sleeves.

Later, when Amelia spoke about how frightened she had been for him, everyone praised her devotion. She had been nearby when his condition improved, and somehow, the credit settled around her as naturally as if it had always belonged there.

I never corrected them.

I told myself that it did not matter who received the praise, as long as Edward recovered. I told myself that he would eventually discover the truth, that one day he would understand what I had done and perhaps look at me with a little more tenderness.

That day never came.

Instead, I continued helping him whenever his old injury troubled him. I endured the pain, hid the marks, and watched him turn toward Amelia whenever he needed comfort. I convinced myself that my suffering was a small price to pay for the possibility of being loved.

Now, lying in a carriage on the way to a kingdom I have never seen, I finally understand how foolish that belief was.

I have given Edward pieces of myself he never even knew existed, and he has repaid me by handing me over to another man.

What a stupid girl I have been.

The thought brings fresh tears to my eyes. I press the heel of my hand against my mouth, trying to smother the sob that rises in my throat, but it escapes anyway, trembling and ugly. I have cried for Edward more times than I can count. I have cried because he ignored me, because he chose Amelia, because he looked at me with disgust when all I wanted was to be seen.

I never imagined I would cry because he had decided my life was worth so little that he could give it away.

I drag myself upright, leaning against the carriage wall. My head spins, and I have to pause until the nausea subsides. Then I place my trembling palm against the wound and try to summon the healing magic I have used so many times before.

This time, the sensation is weak and unsteady. I concentrate harder, trying to guide the magic toward the damage, but the pain overwhelms me. My head throbs, my hands shake, and the warmth flickers out before it can do anything meaningful.

A tear slips down my cheek.

I have taken too much pain into myself over the years, and my body is still burdened by the remnants of what I absorbed from Edward’s injuries. I have never allowed myself enough time to recover properly. Whenever he needed me, I went to him. Whenever he suffered, I made room for his pain inside my own body.

And now, when I need that same strength for myself, I can barely summon it.

I lower my hand and stare at the blood smeared across my palm.

“I’m done,” I whisper into the empty carriage.

The words sound unfamiliar.

If he wants Amelia so desperately, he can have her. He can spend the rest of his life protecting her, comforting her, and telling her how precious she is. He can give her every kindness he has denied me.

I no longer wish to stand between them.

I no longer wish to compete for a place in a heart that has never made room for me.

But even as I make these promises to myself, the tears keep falling, because knowing that I deserve better does not make it hurt any less to discover how little I have meant to someone who meant so much to me.

I wipe my face with my sleeve and lean back, trying to steady my breathing.

Then the carriage slows.

I lift my head at the change in movement, listening as the horses come to a halt.

Outside, I hear the murmur of men speaking, followed by the sound of a door opening and boots striking the ground.

I recognize Edward’s voice.

“Has she regained consciousness?”

One of the guards answers, but I cannot make out the words.

“Good. I need to speak with her.”

The carriage door opens, allowing a wash of cool air to enter. Edward stands outside, his face partially shadowed by the fading light. For a moment, he simply looks at me. His gaze moves over my disheveled hair, my bloodstained sleeve, and the cloth pressed against my head.

Something like guilt crosses his expression.

“You’re awake,” he says quietly.

I stare at him without answering.

He clears his throat, shifting his weight. “We have reached the border. I have to return to the capital now, but the guards will continue the journey and ensure you arrive safely.”

Safely.

The word almost makes me smile.

“I know this is difficult,” he continues. “And I am sorry things happened the way they did. But I need you to understand that I had no other choice. The kingdom depends on this alliance, and I could not allow it to fall apart.”

I watch his mouth move, listening to the familiar excuses tumble from his lips. He speaks as though the kingdom personally asked him to have his men drag me from my home.

“I promise I will come for you,” he says. “Once everything is settled, I will make this right. Just be patient a little longer, Lythera. I know you can endure this.”

I lift my head, ignoring the sharp pain that follows.

“I have one question.”

He pauses. “What is it?”

I look directly into his eyes. “If this were Amelia, would you have done the same thing to her?”

The question hangs between us.

Edward’s expression changes, but he does not answer immediately. His gaze shifts away from mine, toward the guards waiting beside the carriage.

Finally, he looks back at me.

“Lythera, you have to understand—”

“No.” My voice is weak, but the word comes out clearly. “I asked you a question.”

He presses his lips together.

“The circumstances are different,” he says at last. “Amelia is not—”

He stops himself.

I almost laugh.

There is my answer.

I look down at my hands.

For years, I have wondered what I needed to do to make Edward love me. I have examined every interaction, every rejection, every moment of distance, searching for the flaw that kept me from being the woman he wanted. I have blamed my appearance, my temper, my inability to charm a room the way Amelia can. I have thought that perhaps if I were softer, prettier, quieter, or more agreeable, he might finally choose me.

But the answer has been in front of me all along.

He does not need me to become a better woman. He needs me to remain the woman who will sacrifice everything without asking him to sacrifice anything in return.

And I have done that for far too long.

“Go home, Edward,” I whisper.

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Go back to the woman you love. Stop making promises to me that you have no intention of keeping.”

“That isn’t fair.”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

For a moment, I simply stare at him. Then I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“Fair?”

He looks uncomfortable, but I no longer care enough to spare him the discomfort.

“You took me from my home against my will. You allowed your men to drag me away while I was bleeding. You are sending me to marry a man I have never met because you cannot bear to let Amelia suffer. And you think I am the one being unfair?”

His face tightens. “I am trying to protect the kingdom.”

“And I am trying to understand when my life became yours to give away.”

He has no answer.

I turn my face toward the opposite window, refusing to look at him any longer. I will not give him the satisfaction of watching me cry. I will not beg him to stay, nor will I ask him to reconsider.

I have spent enough of my life waiting for him.

For several seconds, Edward remains beside the open carriage door. I can feel his gaze on me, heavy with the things he cannot say. Then he exhales.

“I will come for you, Lythera.”

I close my eyes.

“Goodbye, Edward.”

The words seem to startle him. He waits as though expecting me to say something more, perhaps to call his name or ask him to reconsider. But I remain silent, my face turned away from him.

Eventually, the carriage door closes and the carriage begins moving, carrying me farther from everything I know.