Rowena's Wing

By T.E. Shanan

It's still the winners who write history, although it looks as though Felix is on the losing side. She must figure out how to escape isolation while in the machine that is Seven Towers and meet Rowena and convince her to take her under her wing. As hard as finding Rowena may be, getting to the Pardon Games may be even more challenging.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.E. Shanan
• Release date: May 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301217281

T.E. Shanan

T.E. Shanan graduated Columbia College, Columbia University in May 2007 with a Bachelors of Arts in Economics and Latino Studies. Shanan resides in New York with a green-eyed cat, Treyon, and works in finance. Shanan’s number one priority in life is family and firmly believes that writing allows flexibility to show appreciation for family members and their unique characteristics more. As an avid reader, Shanan appreciates a good story.Currently, Shanan works in finance in New York City and is proud to claim New York as home. Damned is Shanan’s first novel and the first of many more, including the remaining Empire Saga books.

Book preview

Part 1: Rowena’s Wing - Part 1

* * * * *

Prologue

Remember it is the winners who write history. I heard the hollow echo throughout my dreams as the words repeated and strung together, moving faster and faster until a vortex of fog formed around me. I lay on metal veins once again, encased in a cage, only this time I heard something shatter instead of keys. It must have been my courage. I was in a dark room with nowhere to stand or stretch. Once again, time was disorienting and the darkness all consuming. My hands, arms, and legs were beginning to be embossed by the metal. The imprints were so deep they would mark me forever. The sensory torture and complete nothingness was overwhelming in the muted darkness. There was nothing to hear; so I heard silence. There was nothing to see; so I saw pitch.

Darkness gave way to light and my tired, crusty eyes fluttered open. A thin, hollow, feathery stream of light passed through the tiniest sliver of a window I had ever seen. Shadows were cast everywhere. Slowly, I began to shift and stir, rising on my elbows. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I sat up partially on my cot in my tiny cell within Seven Towers. I could almost forget the blind fog that circled me like a vulture in my dreams. I could almost forget the feel of the veiny cage I was trapped within. Shivers ran through me.

Covering myself with comforting Mummie’s blanket, I smiled remembering my dear, quiet grandmother. She had crocheted it for me when I was a small child. Never one to care for pink, I had been so ungrateful when she had made it pink with purple and white trim. Wistfully, I remembered her telling me, You’ll appreciate this when you’re older, Felix. You will, once you’re a big girl, as I moaned and went on about the horror that was pink. How I appreciated it now.

Hugging the blanket to me I took inventory of the cell. It was bigger than I would have thought. Just the right size for pacing, I thought. If I had a mind to pace, I could walk back and forth from the sink to the bed. My pack, my worn leather pack was on the cot nearby. I fetched it and began to look through the contents. I pulled out my book. I don’t know how many times I read the story. Old Genobly said he liked Wickham best. No wonder Soel turned out the way he did. I could not place myself in Pride and Prejudice, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. After all, it was the only book I had in print, thanks to my dear, wacky grandfather. Old Genobly could have spared a few books from his library had I not been so keen to keep everything digital and on my tablet, which I could not have here.

I pulled out the photos in the sleeve and gazed upon them fondly. They were almost ethereal in the single ray of soft light slithering through the window above me. I could see my former self with Mother and Dab. How I missed my parents, already. My parents and grandparents smiling faces and the memories I associated with the picture gave me joy. Old Genobly had taken the photo of me on Dab’s back while standing next to Mother on one of the beaches in Beta. My parents later had a jogger take a picture with us and my grandparents. I gazed at that picture fondly too. That was a happy time. It was before everything, before my life changed faster than the wind. I had been so happy then. Having graduated high school, I had been promoted to Historian’s Apprentice, not to last a year.

Putting the photos back in the sleeve I noticed the other sheet of paper. The one that showed up in the scan. It was heavy paper, the kind of paper that was rare in the empire, splotched and yellow. Unfolding it, I realized I had forgotten about it and never looked at the sheet since I acquired it in Babylon last year. The sheet was full of inked hieroglyphs that meant nothing to me. After staring at the symbols for a while, I folded it and put it away again.

The wall to my cell shattered and disintegrated into smoke before my eyes. I shook my head knowing I would never get used to walls shattering and disappearing into nothing. After I adjusted to the open wall, I saw Brody was not one of the two guards appear and I felt disappointed.

Just as quickly, a tall shabbily dressed man (I suppose I should not have anything to say in that regard given my current wild state) walked through my door carrying the first meal I’d had since I left home. I was not sold from the odor wafting through the room to my nose; however, my stomach instantly recognized the smell for what it was and jumped up and down flipping for joy.

Then I screamed. I screamed and scrambled back on the cot to the wall. I screamed from shock and from horror when I saw his face. To his credit he did not drop the tray although it did wobble. He had been good looking once, I could tell. But his mouth had been sewn shut with embroidery stitches around the top and bottom lip which must have been welded together with a hot iron. Grotesque was a kind way to describe it. I had never seen such in my life.

He had a feeding tube that hung out of the side of his torn shirt. The tip was loose, free to dangle, and the residual was dripping out as he walked. My wide eyes followed him as he put the tray down, startled by his eyes which caught mine. Ice blue irises outlined in black met my eyes. His face was too distorted to sneer or scowl. But there he was, the Orphling who gave me that paper that I had with me, the Orphling who called Gretchin those terrible names. His steady eyes recognized me.

I screamed again.

Shut it girl! said a guard. You can quit your caterwauling. No one’s going to rescue you.

The Orphling stared at me in his hunched position before the guards called him away. When they left, I curled my legs up to my chest, and stared up into the thin sliver of a window where I could only see the clouds. The hall outside my cell dematerialized.

Chapter 1: Purgatory

Nearly a week had passed and I was pretzelling into knots from hunger. I refused to eat that foul concoction they served me once a day. And then the Orphling! What had they done to him? He had been beautiful the last time I had seen him. How had they had turn him into a horrid, disfigured monster? They had probably done it to disrupt my meals, I thought. No, that was assuredly not the case. Those wounds were healed, and he was a bit thinner now, so I conjectured that he had been on the feeding tube for several months at least, before my predicament had been leaked to the press.

Each day I asked to make a phone call, knowing that from time to time Aunt Evelin had been able to call mother. Each day I received a laugh from the guards in reply or no response at all. I was starting to notice a pattern as well. Showers were provided every other day. The heaviness that kept me immobile was more familiar now. I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to bathe normally again. It felt like it was too much to ask for, and the prodders... How I hated them! During the second bath I had firmly refused to move until someone answered my questions. No one else was around, so I could not imagine that answering my questions would create any great malarkey; however, in answer, the stinging prodders reached back toward the stall space and smacked my arms, thighs and chest. The prodders between the stall behind me joined the party as well, forcing me to move toward the frosted glass panel at the end of the row, in order to avoid their stinging strikes. Apparently the guards had derived as much pleasure from my predicament as I felt humiliation.

I still could not understand what sealed my cell. It was the oddest thing. I knew any guards, if they were out there at all could see me at all times. But I could not see them. The gateway to freedom was iridescent compared to the flat, dull stone. If I hovered close enough I could hear the noise of pulsing electricity and felt the radiant heat that pulsed from the seal. But that was all.

I was entranced by thoughts, which processed slower these days. While unable to focus on anything and prone to shaking, I was calm. The funny thing about hunger is that you feel it constantly and the pains that were originally sharp become dull after a while allowing you to continue for a short duration until they become sharper. I had recently dulled some of the ache with the water at my sink, gulping it down like the lifeline it was. Soon I would not have the strength to refuse the meals offered. Matter of fact, I could no longer tell the time of day by reading the light or read the time above the iridescent doorway. My vision was blurring from the overwhelming weakness. At this point, I would feed on whatever was offered, even if it was the same concoctions I haughtily refused every day this week. I had always has a hearty appetite. I enjoyed food. Hunger wounded my pride, which now lay on it’s deathbed.

Brody, the fatherly security guard who escorted me to my present tower room, came by after I finished the last of the slop in front of me. I could not refuse it today. I wolfed it down in as much an effort to avoid putting too much thought into the taste and what I was eating, as to fill my body quickly. Foul stuff that it was, I did feel a small amount of relief from ingesting it. It was good to see him. I had not seen a friendly face since he sealed the cell door last week. How you be doing Miss? he asked kindly.

I languidly rested my head against stone, drifting drunkenly. My breathing was shallow, but improved compared to my earlier state. Today’s the first time I’ve eaten since being here, I told him calmly.

So completely unprepared for Brody’s outburst demanding explanations about the abuse, I was taken aback by his response. It had not occurred to me that he or anyone besides family or friends would be upset by this information. Smiling calmly I listened as he demanded answers I was too weak to give despite the recent nourishment. My food had grown cold while I ate because I barely had the strength to lift the spork, only the determination during those initial mouthfuls. I had nothing to give Brody Beverton and after several minutes he came to the same conclusion.

I didn’t flinch when he sat on the cot and began feeling the pasty skin around my wrists or my forehead. I hadn’t the strength yet to go to the sink to drink more water. That had ultimately broken the resolve of my fast. Brody, seeing the glass that I had emptied earlier, picked it up and filled it at the sink and forced me to drink slowly, coaxing the water down my throat. Why can’t you be here every day? I mused after the second glass.

I had not expected an answer, not really, but he answered anyway. Unfortunately, I’m only assigned to your sector on Sundays, Ma’am. It r’quires a special clearance and the codes change daily. It’s the only time I can pass the plasma gates.

Plasma gates?

Like your cell. The seal is plasma.

How?

A process called plasmosis. I don’t understand it all m’self. Just some scientific stuff that don’t make no sense to me. But I know it’s slightly concave creating the two-way nature and extremely hot to the touch. A few years ago, a nutty inmate burned off his fingers to nubs one by one on it. The heat sealed the wounds and prevented infection, but I wonder how he was able to do it.

Hmm, I hummed, listening, while hovering on the cusp of reality. How do they get it to crystalize and break open?

"Dry ice, actually defeats plasma. They pump it onto the plasma and it shatters.

They use the stuff on them pressure baths to block you in, only you get complete privacy on those. They’re double blocked, so they use heat sensors which are nearly as revealin.

That explains a lot. How do you get here when you are allowed?

Well, there’s only one way, Miss. Gotta take the magnetivator. There’s no other way. It’s the lift that brought you here.

I thought they used magnets.

Yes, ma’am. Saves on electricity. Most of the power generated by the dam goes back to the region. Only a small, bit stays here. They harnessed the power of magnets and the energy of plasma to run the place and make it pretty self-sustaining.

Sounds complicated, I hummed, waking a bit now that my body was beginning to make use of my earlier meal.

"It is. They even use the plasma for the electroborders at the edge of the grounds. Keeps the convicts on the teams for the Games from escapin, I understand.

But now that you seem to be in a better state, he continued. Can you tell me what happened? I wasn’t informed bout no one having plans to stave you. It’s worse than I thought, then.

No, Brody, I said. I did that to myself. Slowly, I told him what happened and the condition of the food and my refusal to eat seven days running. Surprisingly, Brody was sympathetic. I picked up that he was more than a little bit biased toward Orphlings from his responses. He would not have had a problem with Gretchin, few would, but the protesting Orphling rankled him. At the moment, however, he had more issues with the fact that they sent the mangled creature to serve my meals commenting on the fact that it was no wonder I had been unable to eat for so long before unhooking his lunch from a compact bag attached to his belt. Promptly I refused, not want to deprive him, but he overcame my protests easily.

Ma’am, I gotta wife at home and a family nearby who will feed me in a few hours. It ain’t nothin, not real sufferin. When’s your next meal? Based on what you told me it’ll be tomorrow. The amount won’t be enough to feed a bird and it’ll be too foul for a pig. Do this old man a favor, so he won’t have to worry and eat this meal. I’ll see what I’m able to do for you. Won’t be much most likely, but it’ll be something.

Seven Towers ran like a machine. Having finally learned what the two-way barrier to my cell and pressure bath was–plasma , I understood everything in this godforsaken dam was magnetized or made of steel, stone, or plasma. The plasma field was disrupted by dry ice. The lifts that passed under the water turbines for the dam were magnetized by the steel and plasma fields were nothing short of nerve wracking. Passing through that tunnel made me feel as though I were floating within a whirlpool. On one of the few occasions when I was transported with company, a man fell off. There was nothing to catch him but the platform or the water in the giant turbine.

Before weeks had passed, I had been full of resolve to change my situation. I had gone to bed determined that tomorrow would be another day and I would rise above it all. But for the vacuum effect within the walls in the steely grey room I could now call home, I might still have that hope. Seven Towers sucked all my hope and courage away, emptying the contents down a drain. In the isolation, I could only think of the worst and the end was obscured somewhere in a deep foggy mist.

I sat on my cot against the steel wall looking out the tiny rectangular window to my left. I could not see anything aside from clouds. Only a small sliver of light passed through, haunting the room rather than providing any form of visual stimulus. I smiled at that thought. It made me think of Apple and her deadpan honesty. I had not known her long, but she had become a dear friend who offered advice on subjects for which she had no experience. She pretended to crush on Ethan at times, but they were longtime family friends. Besides, she loved Reese, had always loved him. Fortunately she had always known that they would be together thanks to their betrothal. I did not understand such dynamics, although I had known they existed.

Thinking on Apple and Reese made me remember all those times we had together during my short tenure in Tarf. Those days were fun and foreboding. Ethan and I explored shafts, with the others and I remembered the tunnel adventure fondly. Ethan, I smiled, he was terrible to me, but a dear, nonetheless. Reese was quiet but strong, honorable, and he adored Apple in his own way. It was for the best that they were betrothed. I could imagine his face turning purple trying to ask her. She’d finish his request for him anyway. Running around with the SPYs during my first term as a Historian’s Apprentice had been colorful.

Something kept ticking, reminding me I had nothing but time to think here. I had no visitors, no mail, and I was never given any way to communicate with the outside world. I had no association with the other inmates and had only been taken down from my tower to the grounds to stretch my legs for an odd half hour every day. I never saw anyone besides Brody when he kindly stopped in on Sundays to drop off some of his wife’s home cooking, helping me track the passing of time.

Speaking of the devil, the gateway to my cell crystallized, shattering, and Brody walked in by himself and pressed a button to close the door. He had a kind round face and a good heart. His youngest child was my age and a surprise. The last of his three sons had gone to college when she was born. He adored Bonnie almost as must as he adored his wife Bridie.

How are ya holding up Little Miss? I smiled at him. At least he had stopped calling me ma’am. Although technically I was an Upper, I saw no need to be pretentious, particularly since I was dammed.

Better than I expected, thanks to you and Bridie. Please send her my thanks. I received a large amount of food from Brody and Bridie on Sundays with food like mashed potatoes cheesy macaroni, gravy, cornish hens or turkey. It was always more than I could eat at once, but I would nibble on it the remainder of the day. Today’s package was quite a bit bigger than I expected.

No thanks necessary, ma’am. There goes the ma’am again. We’re happy to do it. Why you’ve lost so much weight in the little time you’ve been ‘ere, I told Bridie so m’self. The kids and the grandkids takin’ to pitchin’ in. That’s why this week we brought you a double portion. Ben’s wife Angel made chicken pot pie and collards. Bryce does all the cookin’ ‘imself since his wife can only make poison. But he put together turkey and dumplings and veggie soup. Bridie made meatloaf, baked potatoes and carrots. And the youngest, Basil...he and his wife can’t cook none but they helped too. Plus, Bonnie made cookies and cherry pie. Even brought in some foodstuffs to help supplement them rations that they give once a day. Oh my!

Cryin’ shame it is. Ev’ry body else, even them murderers get three meals a day in the mess hall. Ain’t no one else goin’ ‘ungry, and they starvin’ a little girl, he shook his head obviously disgruntled as his drawl became more prominent.

Well I appreciate it. Maybe one day, they’ll let me write home and I can have my parents send something to repay you for the kindness.

Oh no ma’am! As I said, Bridie and I, we’re happy to do it. We wouldn’t take no money for it no way.

I teared a little. Aww, don’t cry ma’am.

I’m not, I said as he passed a handkerchief. I dabbed my eyes with it. If I survive this, you’ll be the reason why.

Quite true ma’am. Certainly no thanks to the administration, he huffed. You’d think they didn’t want you to survive, sending you rations once a day and serving gruel and slops to an Upper. I think even the Wildlings eat better than this. Then they top it off with that...that ... that Orphling! Uh oh. Brody always wound himself up when talking about Orphlings, particularly the one serving me. "You’d think they wanted you to waste away.

"And that Orphling is the worst of them all! Besides them nasty vitties they be serving you, I bet you lose your appetite everatime you see that sideshow freak. If there’s one thing I hate more than mistreating a lady, it’s them protesting Orphlings.

"What they got to complain fo? Someone gives them everything, even jewelry. Now I ain’t got nothing like some of them. Just the plain bare rings, alls inabody needs really. They spend their life being taken care of, then they complain about putting in their fair share. Now, I ain’t ne’er had no Orphlings, barely even dreamed of one, but that ain’t the point. I paid taxes like everabody else and I raised my own kids. Way I see it, they take and don’t contribute nothin’ no way.

Think about it. Taxes payers, like m’self, pay for their upbringing. Wife and I been saving for a cheap Orphling. It don’t have to be no pretty one. In about five years more, we’ll be able to pay for a hatchet face Orphling. Heard they go for about fifty thousand Empires, sometimes a little less. But them lazy ones, they oughtta ‘ave some shame ‘bout themselves. Demanding rights and freedoms like they decent. Ain’t ne’er ‘eard of such. It ain’t natural. Things is the way they supposed ta be. Wouldn’t they be different if it wasn’t meant to be this way? If’n a self-respectin’, hard workin’ man like m’self can save ‘nough money to buy an Orphling, they ain’t got no business complaining ‘bout being bought in my humble opinion.

Brody went on for several minutes and I let him like I would Mrs. Piles. After all, who was I to say anything to him when he was making a difference in my ability to survive. I mentally sent an apology to Gretchin, Al, Roger, Holly, Orry, Mip, and Katsy. Now was not the time to defend them. No one could help being an orphan, and what about me? I had come within a couple of minutes of becoming an Orphling, albeit Ethan’s Orphling, which would have protected me from the worst of it, but an Orphling nonetheless. Would Brody have been sympathetic to my desire to regain my freedom had I become an Orphling instead?

I ‘eard that Orphling in particular was stirrin’ up trouble. He done got what he was askin’ fo’ I think. I’m just sorry they’d sick such an animal on you. I bet he turns your stomach, making you lose more weight than you would ‘ave even on them victuals. I had to nod in agreement here, but, I was ashamed of my own disgust. I thought so. You almost look like you got consumption! Brody ranted a few more minutes before wishing me well and leaving. I unpacked the food, placing the non-perishables underneath my cot and dug in like a starved stray cat. The food was delicious, especially given the fact I was acquiring a taste for paper compared to the chow served to me.

I would have to remember to ask him for some conditioner and moisturizer next time. I completely forgot. Semi-daily pressure baths did nothing for my hair save dry it out. I would find a way, somehow to repay the kindness. I knew they did not have much. They couldn’t afford an Orphling, and although nothing rivaled Gretchin’s meals, it beat the pabulum, farm slop rations served to me throughout the day by the quieted Orphling I had met over a year ago in Babylon.

He was grotesque to look at when he had been rather handsome. His burned together lips with crude uneven puss-ridden, embroidery stitches turned my stomach. After the initial recognition, I never looked at him when he served my meals–I could not bear to. Had Dab done this to him? Had he known this would happen? Some days I could not eat my own food after seeing the leak from his feeding tube residual. I had never known his name.

Another day and night passed while time ticked by so slowly. I could do nothing. It was part of the torture–not doing anything or being able to. Inaction had landed me here. I knew it. I had only fought Dyer initially until I realized what would happen. When it dawned on me that nothing I did would change what was going to happen, I’d stopped fighting altogether. Then I was left in that frozen stupor for months, practically mentally and emotionally immobile. It happened throughout the pregnancy and the interrogatories and judgment. At most, I had sabotaged myself again. It made me wonder if some secret part of me had planned my own demise.

Here, in this utterly monochromatic steel monstrosity where I was unlikely to redeem myself and likely to waste away in oblivion, I waited. I waited for the combination jabs, uppercuts, whips, chains and knives to strike my subconscious as I relived every day and moment that had led to my being here. Whether or not I deserved my fate was irrelevant although I had not done anything. From the beginning, I had waited on my fate, and others to fix the situation.

I could not help but wonder how I would get to the Pardon Games from here. I had no contact with anyone and I knew that was not normal. How would I find Rowena, my Aunt Evelin who I had always idolized who captured the nation when she changed her name and won the games nearly two years ago? Would she find me? Would she want to?

I thought of the child I had and I had never seen it. I didn’t know its name, its gender. I had never thought to ask. In my foggy dreams sometimes I saw a hazel-eyed, curly-haired little boy. He would have more of my coloring than Dyer’s and he cried for me. I could reach him, but I could not bring myself to go to him.

There were so many questions running around in my head and no answers forthcoming. My time here was only creating more. I focused on my hands. Plucking the tiny hairs hurt, but it reminded me that this was real, for better or for worse.

Dry ice crystallized over the wall to my cell. I was now able to imagine how people felt walking on the arctic ice caps when the season changed to summer. I felt like I was stuck floating on one of the dissolving ice floats adrift in the middle of a cold ocean. Almost as soon as the dry ice shattered the plasma, the ice and plasma dissolved and two guards who I was beginning to recognize as the weekday guards stepped through. It was how I kept track of the days. Then Dyer walked through and the world stopped in my little metallic cell. If the world did not stop, my heart certainly did.

Chapter 2: The Devil Comes to Call

You look good, he said. No I did not. My hair looked like a haystack from all the pressure baths and lack of moisturizer and conditioner. I really needed to ask Brody about that. It was dry, brittle and messy. I could only comb it or brush it when I wet it in the sink. I was wearing a thin scrap that passed for a blue shift and I had lost weight, lots of it. If the mirror above my sink was to be trusted, I had winnowed down to nothing and was weak and weary; it showed in my face.

He looked good, however. He was a classic looking Empire boy, sophisticated, tall, and lean. He was not muscular like Ethan and from appearances, life was at his leisure. It was as though everything bent to his will as though life was at his beck and call because he commanded it to be so. The scars Soel had mentioned, the ones I had created against his jawline before his ears, had faded significantly. I guess most wounds did heal with time. I was not convinced about all yet. I had a few internal ones that were festering.

My eyes were wide. I stared like a cornered cat and I was just as frazzled. Only I think the fight had left me long ago and I was completely frozen. I was not expecting visitors. I would not have thought I would see Dyer again; yet, here he was. He began to approach me. One hand was in his suit pants’ pocket and he moved slowly with swagger. Had I not known any better, I’d mistake him for a dashing secret agent. Maybe he was, just the wrong kind.

Don’t look so scared. I won’t hurt you. He must have forgotten how we last met. I certainly had not. He sat down on the cot and I pulled the blanket up to my chin and squeezed myself against the wall away from him.

Hey? he asked reaching out. His placed his hand on my knee and I hollered. Before I could do anything, he pulled me against him and wrapped me in his arms. I shivered like I was out in the middle of a blizzard without a coat. My teeth even chattered. Shhhh...I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened. He petted my face and back as if that would calm me. It only made me more agitated.

Felix, I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt. I...I...I just, I don’t know. I misread you and you led me on... I tried to pull away, but his gangly arms squeezed me like iron. "You did, and you relaxed into me after a while. Felix, I made it so you don’t have to pretend anymore. You obviously don’t want to be confined to the rules of society. Any opportunity to break the mold, you jump at.

You’re so pretty. You and your cat eyes. I think you know it because you toy with men left and right, like prey. You make boys and men trip all over themselves, sweetie. It’s not okay. This is what happens. My god, you made me obsessed with you.

I wanted to run away. But I could not go anywhere. Ethan and I were rivals. You had to have known that. What were you doing with me if you were planning on kissing him?

I didn’t mean to. I told you that, I replied weakly. I didn’t realize...

I loved you, you know that?

No. I did not believe him.

I did. It’s so hard seeing you like this. How many times had I told you, you should be wearing diamonds and sapphires? He shook his head. I used to love your pearls.

Ethan told me about your deal to marry Penelope. You had to marry her to become party leader. You were never going to be with me.

Is that why you kissed him? he looked so concerned. "This was all such a big misunderstanding, then. I was given the choice to marry her, yes...

"But, I was so taken with you, and you are a Noble. I could have been a natural successor through you. Sure, I might have competition from a party member if Penelope married someone, but that was the only area Ethan was not my competition. You were good enough...

You were good enough...honestly, you were better than Penny.

I don’t believe that.

Given that I’m married to your cousin and I’ve been with you both, I would know. I cringed when he raised his hand to my face, flashing the ring. For once in my life, I felt sorry for Penelope. We were not fond of each other on principle. She had always been a sneaky, pretty princess, who drummed up sympathy and manipulated people around her. She toyed with people for the sake of doing it, although I suppose she gave them what they wanted if it suited her. The few times we had met, she had been offended by my rambunctious desires to play Pitz, and when I realized no courts were available, I decided to