The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  The scent of roses and vanilla wafted from her, filling my nose, clouding my thoughts, and I stiffened. Roses—a garden. Vanilla—a kitchen. The two combined? Home.

  Not my home. Never my home.

  My time with Leonora never ended well.

  In our first life, I’d found her by chance. She’d been twenty-one, and I’d been a bit older. We’d loved each other...at first. She slaughtered my people and stabbed me in the heart years later, then burned my kingdom for good measure. During our second life, she was the one who found me. Again, she’d been twenty-one, and I’d been a few years older.

  At my first sighting the second time around, I’d begun to recall the best moments in our first life together. I’d quickly fallen in love with her all over again. Then I’d begun to dream about our worst moments together—every atrocity she’d ever committed against me and my people.

  The fact that I’d found her at an earlier age during this third life, the fact that I’d already remembered the worst moments of our past lives...

  No, I would not fall for her a third time. In this life, there would be no Craven–Leonora love affair. She would not be able to reincarnate when I finished with her, and I would enjoy a hard-won peace. I would rule my people the way I should have ruled them before. Their safety would come before my desire for a murderous witch.

  Ashleigh stopped at my side and clasped the ring she still wore around her neck. I stifled a growl. Craven had gifted that ring to Leonora as a symbol of his love.

  “What?” she grumbled.

  I nudged her fingers aside to lift the hated ring for my inspection. Had she just stifled a moan?

  The ring was exactly the same, as if time had taken drastic measures to preserve it. How the small metal band mocked me.

  I wanted to rip it from her neck, but I knew I couldn’t. No one could. Craven had paid a witch to bespell it, ensuring the abomination remained in her possession.

  Once, in the midst of our war, I’d asked her, Why do you keep the ring? We are enemies.

  She’d replied, We won’t always be enemies, my love. One day, we will have our happily-ever-after. That is what I’m fighting for, and I always win.

  “Why do you wear this?” I asked her now. Had she remembered me yet? “How did you find it?”

  “It was a gift from my mother.” With a huff, she yanked the piece of jewelry from my grip and stepped out of range.

  How had her mother found it, then? Magic? And why was Leonora born to humans, rather than witches and warlocks like before? Why did she have a heart condition? Or was she faking as a way to deceive her enemies? Why had her name changed?

  So many questions. I was Craven, then Tyron, and now Saxon. I’d always possessed the same face and form. She had remained Leonora in the second life, but had possessed a different face and form, with the same ice-blue eyes as before. Why become Ashleigh this time? Why did she possess green eyes that only flashed ice blue when her temper erupted?

  Despite the inconsistencies, I knew she was Leonora. The knowledge screamed within me. And yet the questions remained an itch in my brain. Now more than ever I wanted to scratch.

  When Noel informed me about the need to compete in the tournament, she also offered scattered advice about Ashleigh. Do nothing permanent—know everything is final. Ashleigh is exactly like you, but vastly different. Make sure she is definitely, for sure Leonora. During the tournament, she and the eggs must be protected. Let the next three weeks serve as a test. When time is up, there’ll be no more. There’ll be no going back. I see... I see... I don’t know. What, what? My powers have been wonky since our battle with Farrah, but the truth is so murky.

  As a young girl, Ashleigh had thrown balls of fire at me, an ability only Leonora possessed. She must be Leonora. But...yes. I would use the three-week time frame and restitution tasks to test her as well as weaken her, without harming her. I would prove her true identity beyond any doubt.

  I think fate wanted me to expose her for the evil witch she was. Otherwise, why bring us back a third time, ensuring I remembered the worst of my memories first? Why put Ashleigh’s father in my crosshairs, allowing me to aid Roth and Everly at the same time that I dealt with my past and future?

  “You will come to my tent at sunrise.” I purred the words, hoping to make her shudder with fury, as Leonora used to do.

  I wasn’t disappointed. “I will not serve you,” she snapped. “Not now, not ever.”

  Murmurs whisked through the crowd at lightning speed.

  King Philipp banged his royal scepter on the floor, a demand for silence. He prepared to deliver a scathing retort, I was sure. The man certainly enjoyed exerting his authority over others.

  So did I. I lifted my fist to silence him. I might be his junior, but I had half a foot of height and a hundred pounds of muscle on him. On a battlefield, I would mop the floor with his face.

  As expected, he glowered at my daring, yet he didn’t naysay me. I think he feared me a little, and my Craven side reveled in it.

  “The princess is mine now,” I reminded him, my tone uncompromising. “My...” What had he called her? “Palace liaison. I will see to her chastisement.”

  A pause. Then, he worked his jaw and offered with deceptive ease, “Yes, of course.”

  Ashleigh jerked her chin in my direction. “You can liaison yourself.”

  I stepped closer. Torchlight glinted off her flawless skin, and her long sable waves shimmered. Why did she have to be so lovely in this incarnation, as if she’d been made from a checklist of my deepest desires?

  In our first life, she’d been a redhead. In the second, a blonde. Now she was a dark-haired goddess with flawless bronze skin. Her most exquisite form yet. Those wide, emerald eyes were framed by long, spiky black lashes. Mesmerizing. She had a perfect nose and elegant cheekbones.

  By the holy stars, I had the wildest urge to caress every inch of her and luxuriate in her softness, the way I’d once done with Leonora.

  I will not give in. Not this time.

  “Why are you doing this?” She peered at me unblinking. “I promise I do not remember harming you.”

  Truth or lie? Craven and I were separate, but still one, still indistinguishable from each other. “Whether you recall it or not,” I told her, “you attacked an avian prince without provocation. If there is to be an accord between our people, you will pay your debt to me.”

  “I have paid my debt to you,” she cried. “I have paid for three years. So I ask again. Why are you doing this?”

  I told her simply, “Because I can.” Because, despite the atrocities Ashleigh had committed, despite my reputation as a merciless tyrant—mine, not just Craven’s, for few people knew I was a reincarnate—I couldn’t bring myself to harm her physically. I hadn’t needed Noel’s warning in that regard. My instincts wouldn’t let me harm her. Even now they shouted, Protect. Cherish.

  Protect? Cherish? Never.

  “I’m sorry for whatever I did to you, Prince Saxon,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for the pain you suffered. I am. I assure you that I meant you no harm then, and I mean you no harm now. I—”

  “Enough!” Anger burned hot in my veins. I might have questions about her past lives compared to this one, but I knew what she’d done as a little girl. “Words without actions are meaningless. So, you will prove you are as repentant as you claim. You will come to my tent today. You will begin now. I have tasks for you. Four, to be exact. One for each of the wounds you inflicted in the garden. Perform these tasks, and restitution will be achieved.”

  Restitution could never be achieved.

  As she peered up at me, searching my gaze, the rosy flush drained from her cheeks, leaving her ashen. She reminded me of the girl I’d met at her mother’s funeral, with eyes like living wounds.

  I would not soften.

  “Willingly enter your tent, so that you c
an torture me in private? Is that what it will take to soothe your bruised ego?” She lifted her chin and slipped her hand into mine, a willing sacrifice. “All right, then. Let’s go. Let’s get this done.”

  I stood shocked, immobile. Not just because of her acquiescence. Her palm felt roughened by calluses. When I lifted her hand into the light, I saw a wealth of scars, too.

  She tried to jerk her hand free, but I held tight. Our gazes met, and she stilled, too proud to keep struggling. I’d always imagined her lounging atop tree branches at the Temple. The most Leonora thing anyone could do. But, she must have been working these past three years.

  How...not Leonora.

  Murky, Noel? That was like saying a single grain of sand represented every beach in the island paradise of Azul.

  I reminded myself of Leonora’s crimes.

  Murdered my family. Twice.

  Burned my village. Twice.

  Stabbed me in the heart. Twice.

  Sneering, I said, “Aw, did the dryads force the privileged princess to do real labor?”

  That pride... She squared her shoulders, every bit a queen standing before peasants, refusing to back down. “Yes. They did.”

  Good for them. “Soon you’ll remember your Temple days with fondness.”

  “Soon you’ll wish we’d never met.”

  “I assure you. That is already my fondest wish, Princess.” Done with this conversation, I nodded to King Philipp and stomped from the room, dragging Ashleigh behind me.

  Every courtling watched us, rapt. Some muttered the standard hello and goodbye: “May you find gold.”

  I spared Ophelia a glance, and only Ophelia, inclining my chin in greeting. The witch was best friends with Noel and another longtime ally of mine. I trusted her. She was an apple baby, just like Noel and Everly, their fates tied to Enchantia. They would always fight for the good of the land.

  Philipp and Leonora were not good for the land.

  The energy witch arched a brow, all, Are you sure you want to travel this path?

  Did she mean turning Ashleigh/Leonora into a brand-new cautionary tale? I’m sure.

  “By tent I hope you mean a room in this palace,” my liaison said, already panting.

  She cannot be so weak. “Like every combatant in the tournament, I’m staying near the battlefield.”

  A mewl left her. “Well, I’d like to bathe and change before we go. As you can see, I desperately need to do both.”

  I took great pleasure in telling her, “Change into what? You own nothing but what I choose to give you.”

  With her free hand, she clutched her satchel close to her chest. “Try to take my things and I’ll... I’ll...”

  I repeated, “You. Own. Nothing. If you want something, you’ll have to earn it.”

  She would never be able to earn it.

  A tremor rocked her, vibrating into me. I. Didn’t. Care. My hardened heart remained unaffected. I wasn’t softening. I wasn’t.

  We strode through the hall, the foyer, and exited the castle. I fortified my resolve to end this girl with a single reminder: Leonora.

  “Look. I want you to know—” Either Ashleigh tripped or her knees gave out. She fell, her hand slipping free of mine.

  I turned without thought, catching her before she hit the ground. We froze, my arms banded around her. My gaze searched hers as her roses and vanilla scent muddled my thoughts. How perfect she felt against me. How—

  I growled. “You want me to know what, exactly?”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip, solemn. “You don’t have to hurt me. I’m going to do the tasks you give me.”

  “When have I ever hurt you?” I snarled, my temper pricked.

  Her pants came faster. Soon, she was wheezing. No, she wasn’t faking her illness. She was the Glass Princess, easily breakable and humiliatingly weak.

  The avian despised weakness, and I was no different. But it wasn’t hate that I experienced as I released my bundle and straightened. I felt sympathy despite myself. This girl had decided to willingly accompany someone she expected to deliver great pain, just to prove her remorse. That wasn’t something Leonora would do.

  This had to be a trick, then. She planned to confuse and manipulate me, but she wouldn’t succeed.

  I’d rather die than lose to her again.

  Sympathy wasn’t allowed. Determined, I pulled a thin rope from my pocket. With a reincarnate of Leonora, one must always be prepared. I bound her wrists together. Delicate wrists. Fragile.

  Concern wasn’t allowed.

  “You’re restraining me?” she squeaked.

  “Most people manifest magic at the age of sixteen. You wielded it expertly at fourteen. You’ve even had three years to practice.” The power at her disposal... “While we’re together, I will take every precaution to ensure you cannot summon your flames.”

  “I don’t know how I started the fires, okay? I have no magic. My father never paid a witch to infuse me with power.”

  The fires, plural. How many had she set over the years? “I watched you do it. You held out your hands, flames flickering from your fingertips, a ball of fire forming.”

  Her eyes widened. “An illusion, perhaps, cast by the real fire starter,” she replied, her voice frayed at the edges. “There could have been a witch or warlock present. Actually, there was a warlock present. Milo.”

  “What would be his motivation for burning an entire section of the royal Fleuridian garden, hmm? Try again.” I forced her bound arms around my neck, cradling her against me. Mistake. Soft curves molded to my harder body, sending streams of heat through me.

  It was a sensation I feared I would forever crave.

  Scowling, I flared my wings.

  “You’re going to fly me?” Euphoria tinged her voice, her features brightening. Rather than fight me, she held on tighter. “What if I inadvertently touch your wings?”

  I will love it, and hate myself. Remaining silent, I leaped into the air. The wind whipped through her hair, the strands blustering around my face.

  As she peered down, awe filled her emerald eyes.

  Very well. This would be the last time I took her to the sky.

  “I’ve always wondered what the world looked like from up here.” With a breathy sigh, she rested her head on my shoulder, as if she couldn’t help but share the moment with me, despite our mutual dislike. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I quickened my pace, wings flapping faster, before I broke down and started performing tricks, just to hear any other noises she might make.

  Halfway down the mountain, the battlegrounds appeared. Combatants and their entourages crowded the area, many in the process of setting up their tents. Others were busy training. Multiple firepits blazed, the scent of roasting meat sailing on a cool breeze.

  Ashleigh’s stomach rumbled. I stiffened. How long since she’d last eaten?

  Never mind. The answer didn’t matter. “Over a hundred warriors signed up to compete for your stepsister’s hand. She is greatly desired. Tales of her beauty abound.” But she is not half as stunning as you. And really, few of the fighters wanted the princess for her pretty face. They wanted her magical ability: the golden touch.

  “I’m sure she’s nice,” Ashleigh said, her eyes darting sharply. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  An attempt at innocence, while her tone dripped with disdain? I snorted. “I saw the way you looked at her. You’re jealous of her.” Another trait of Leonora’s; she’d been envious of everyone, wanting what they had. “Admit it.”

  “I...you...what I feel for her is none of your concern.”

  Having gotten the reaction I wanted, I changed the subject. “You’ll be pleased to know my tent is already set up.” I gestured to the largest one, currently surrounded by a dozen avian warriors. Once I’d agreed to become king upon the tourn
ament’s end, my mother had remembered my existence and sent her personal guards to oversee my protection.

  As usual, the soldiers regarded me warily. They didn’t know why I’d been exiled from the Avian Mountains, or that an oracle had visited our palace, or that she’d told my parents I would rule the avian before my twentieth year, that I was a reincarnate of Craven the Destroyer, the most vile avian ever to live, seconded only by Tyron, and that I would wed a reincarnate of Leonora the Burner of Worlds, the ruin of our people.

  Back then, I’d had none of Craven’s memories. And, because reincarnation required vast amounts of magic not even Leonora possessed, I’d dismissed the oracle’s claim. My parents had not. They had believed her, and they had been horrified.

  Hoping to avoid a third replay of the past, my father had stabbed me while I slept. My mother had watched. Crying, yes. The first time she’d ever shed a tear, and yet she’d offered me no aid as my father chased me through the halls. I’d managed to stumble onto a balcony and take flight. But avian had excellent night vision, and my father had followed. At some point, I’d spotted Roth and Farrah and crash landed nearby. They’d bravely fought off the avian king, then summoned healers, saving my life.

  My people had no idea how many battles I’d won in Roth’s name, or how many times I’d saved Farrah from certain disaster. Now I had to earn their admiration to prove I was the ruler they needed. And I had to do it without appearing as, well, craven as Craven, who had killed anyone who’d disagreed with him, upset him, or even looked at him wrong. They would expect me to be the fool who fell in love with a wicked witch thrice over.

  The pressure...

  As the soldiers spotted Ashleigh, their wariness faded. Each one grinned with pride, pleased to see I would gain much deserved reparation from the Glass Princess. They didn’t know she was a reincarnation of Leonora, either, only that she had insulted and injured me as a teenager, during a funeral no less, and then denied any wrongdoing. A fact as humiliating as it was correct.

  “Take me back.” Trembling anew, she attempted to scramble up and behind me. “Take me back to the palace right now.”