He stared at my offering for a second, and I half-expected him to reject it. Only he didn’t. Stepping forward, he laced our fingers together. “I can be upset about whatever I want to be upset about.”
Yes, Cypress liked to feel he was in control. That much I’d learned. In this world of chaos, he held onto his sense of self like it was a lifeline. The one thing he could control. He wouldn’t be silenced, even when he was obnoxious.
He lifted his eyebrows. “They shouldn’t have lost you.”
My centaur guide had enough. “You will not speak—”
He waved his hand. “Yes, I know. I will not speak badly about them. I get it. Let’s find a new refrain. All that was left was her blood. In the meantime, she was left as an infant in Nightmare Penitentiary where no one was the wiser she was there, raised by prisoners and guards, left to practically find her own way in the world while she was quasi if not totally abused the whole time. So, what is worse? What she endured or what I have to say about it?”
All conversation halted as I gasped. In the distance was a palace. A real life palace.
With Cypress’s words still stuck in my head, I took in the expansive palace. It was a bright gold color, with towering columns and a bright garden surrounding it. Deep green vines covered the exterior walls, and the trail leading up to the main doors was paved with cobblestones. The centaurs’ hooves clicked against the ground as we walked, while I was trying to ignore the flutter of emotion in my chest. I was anxious about meeting my parents, reeling from the reveal of my kidnapping, and warmed by my assassin’s protective fury.
“Princess, you must hold my hand through the wards. Only a member of the king’s guard can pass through,” Agata said while holding out her hand to me.
“Now you have it,” Cypress mumbled to himself, but his deep voice could be heard by all of us.
I peered at Agata’s outstretched hand for a moment before speaking. “Cypress first.”
The centaur rolled her eyes before nodding at another member of her guard. “Of course, Princess.”
A male centaur with deep blue skin and round yellow eyes clasped his hand along Cypress’s shoulder and shoved him forward on the path. I couldn’t see the barrier, but Cypress hissed and moaned when he walked. What couldn’t I see?
“Shall we?” Agata asked. This time, I grabbed her hand and swallowed. Her skin was tough and warm. “The border feels different for everyone. Some find crossing it to be a pleasurable experience. I’ll make it quick.”
I opened my mouth to ask her to explain, but she was already pulling me down the road.
A rush of pleasure moved through me, and the strangest words traveled through my mind, as though they’d been spoken by the wind themselves. Welcome home, Princess.
I gasped, and then we were through. Cypress rubbed the back of his neck, a scowl in place on his handsome face. Maybe he hadn’t found it quite so pleasurable. I turned toward him. “Did you hear something?”
He shook his head. “Hearing voices, Layne?” There was a tease to his voice.
“Don’t call her by her given name, assassin,” Agata hissed.
I shook my head. “I prefer it when he calls me Layne. I appreciate you’re doing your job, but maybe try minding your business.”
Respect showed in her gaze before she looked away. Who did they think I was going to be? I was raised in a prison. I knew how to tell people to fuck off. Politely or otherwise.
A hush sounded as two figures appeared in the distance. I sucked in a deep breath and braced myself. It was time to meet my parents.
Chapter Twelve
My mother was beautiful. She had neon green hair like mine and a long, willowy body. She wore a look of disbelief, with one delicate hand clasped over her mouth, and the other clinging to the king—my father.
He was a towering sort of man. His white hair was long and braided down his back, and his crystal blue eyes bore into mine. He looked delicate and feminine. His limbs were long, his fingers like thin twigs. Together they had this imposing presence that felt fragile. They moved slowly, like they spent eternity stretching seconds between their strides.
These two people were strangers. I searched for my features in their eyes. I urged my body to find familiarity in their presence. But I felt off. I didn’t know these people. My heart didn’t immediately scream, “Home!!”
As I approached, I wanted to stand near Cypress and grab his hand. I needed his presence to steady me. But I didn’t go to him. There was a distinct discontent being directed at him, and I didn’t want to make it any worse.
“Maylea, it’s really you,” the woman cried before wrapping her frail arms around me. I stiffened when our skin touched.
Maylea? I didn’t recognize that name. “My name is Layne,” I replied lamely while pulling away.
She wiped her eyes of moisture. “Of course. Layne Montgomery. That’s the name the prison gave you, yes?”
I nodded awkwardly. This reunion wasn’t going the way I thought it would. Already I had to correct my mother on my name. “That’s me.”
“Your given name was Maylea Pendilor. We shall call you whatever you wish though,” the man replied.
“Well...thank you. I...I might be able to get used to Maylea. Maybe. I don’t know.” I couldn’t be making a great impression right now, and I wasn’t sure that I cared. Could they outright reject me? I hadn’t asked that question. This was terrible, though it felt like there was a giant concrete wall between me and my feelings. One thing I had learned being in
