Page 98 of Destined for the Fae King

She huffs. “There are worse things than being poor.”

I gape at her, and I’m so furious it takes a moment before I can close my mouth and make it form words. “Spoken like someone who has never had to worry about money a day in her life.”

She’s oozed money since the moment she arrived in her fancy Louboutin heels.

Cora lets out a small squeal of frustration and stomps toward me. I shift my stance, ready for her to take a swing at me, when she stops two feet away pulls up the bottom hem of her shirt.

“You see this?” she points a manicured nail at her side.

It takes a moment to make it out in the morning light, to notice the slight yellowish tint of the healing bruise on her skin. When I do, my stomach plummets.

“Yeah, that’s from my brother.” She drops her hem only to tug down part of the neckline, revealing a round mark below her collarbone. “And this, this is from my father—or rather his cigar. He’s too good to use his fists.”

“I…” I step back, blinking, lost for words. “I didn’t know.”

“No one does,” she snaps and releases her clothes. “And you better not tell. I want no one’s pity,” she spits the word like it disgusts her. “But you see, I can’t lose the crown and go back because they might just kill me.”

“You really are determined to marry him.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The ferocity, the determination in her gaze, has me taking another step back. What wouldn’t she do for the crown? To escape that kind of abuse? But to win the crown, she’d need to be the king’s pick, and she wasn’t.

I swallow the tightness in my throat. “Anything. Like find a way to kill Bailey?”

“What?” The absolute shock and horror on her face fills me with instant regret.

It was a low blow. A long shot.

And I was so, so wrong.

A tear streaks down her cheek, and she shoves it away with the base of her palm. “Think me a bitch all you want, but I would never have harmed her. Ilikedher, okay? She waskindto me.”

The confession reaches into my chest and pulls back my ribs, exposing my battered heart. Bailey was kind. To everyone.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, but she may as well have not heard me.

“She was going to help me,” Cora’s voice cracks. “She could have the king, and I’d…” She sniffles. “You think I’m that horrible, don’t you?”

I raise my hands. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

For a fleeting moment, the idea was there. If I hadn’t been sleep deprived or shocked by one revelation or another, maybe it wouldn’t have been or I’d have shut it down, but in that moment, all I could think about was her anger and desperation and what Lysandir had said about the Unseelie being unprepared and unaware.

“But you said it,” she snaps.

“I did.” I step closer, my hands still up like I’m trying to calm a spooked horse. “I’m sorry. You didn’t hurt her. You would never hurt her.”

“I really wouldn’t have.” She swipes at another tear. “Not her.” She starts to sob then, whatever dam of emotions she’s held together completely breaking free.

I stare awkwardly for a moment before wrapping an arm around her and guiding her toward a bench. We may not get along—at all—but no one deserves to cry alone, not when they’re hurting.

After a minute, she pulls herself together, stemming the tears.

“I’m sorry,” she snips, angrily swiping away the tear tracks on her face.

“Don’t be. It’s my fault.”

“At least we agree on that,” she replies but gives me a fragile smile.

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