Page 86 of Monsters in Love

Simple and elegant and exactly what she’d have chosen.

“Oh, Thomas!” She threw her arms around his neck. “It’s perfect. I love it. I’ll wear it around my neck until our union is approved. I’ll count the minutes. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The bell rang again.

“Damnation,” she muttered.

“Go.” He nudged her toward the village. “Get ready. I’ll see you at the ball!”

His laugh followed her all the way home and up the stairs. She dressed as if in a dream, barely aware of her gown—grateful that she’d hung the garment out the night before. It was green—Thomas’ favorite color—and she couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw her.

“Belle?” Her sister opened the door. “Mama says—”

“Emmi! Isn’t it gorgeous?” Belle spun in a circle, then admired how the ring shone from its place on the thin gold chain her father had given her for her twelfth birthday.

Even in her simple mirror, a square of polished tin, the silver band glowed.

“Soon I’ll be able to wear his ring on my finger and…” Her words dried as she took in her sister’s stark expression. Her sister’s mouth was a flat line, her eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. It was an all too adult expression for one so young. “Emmi? What’s wrong?”

“Mama wants to see you,” her sister whispered. “Right now.”

Belle swallowed hard.

She held her sister’s gaze, silently asking what it was that had upset their mother—normally Mama loved the harvest tyne ball. But all Emmi could do was lift her hands. If the problem wasn’t Emmi’s latest hijinks, then Belle shuddered to think what was the matter.

Whatever it was, she’d face it. Take the brunt of any disapproval and do what she could to spare Emmi.

Giving her sister a nod, Belle hurried down the stairs.

Her mother was waiting at the bottom, her brows drawn together so tightly they nearly formed a single line of disapproval. “Isabelle,” she snapped. “What are you doing with that cheap ring around your neck? Take it off immediately.”

“What?” Eyes wide, Belle stepped back and stared at her mother. “No. This is Thomas’ ring and—”

“Don’t test me, girl.” The crack of her mother’s boot-heel against the wooden floorboard struck with the force of lightning. She pointed a shaking finger at Belle. “You’re not to throw your life away on a farm boy. You will put that ring away and pay attention to Captain Jaston at the ball—”

“No!” Fingers tight around her ring, Belle retreated another step. “Mama. You know Thomas and I are sweethearts. We’ve made promises. We’re going to be married at the spring—”

“No,” her mother bit out. “You won’t.”

Belle gaped at her mother.

Behind her, she heard Emmi suck in a breath.

She held a hand out, low at her side, a silent plea for her sister to hold her tongue. Whatever demon had possessed her mother to say such things, she wouldn’t let that ire be turned on her sister. There had to be some kind of mistake, some strange mischief afoot. “W-why are you saying this, Mama? I know you wanted a life at the Keep, but you know Thomas is a good man—”

“Not anymore.” Her mother’s mouth was hooked with distaste. “Thomas’ father has sinned. The family will be shamed. To protect your sister and this house, you must return that ring and deny any promises.”

Sinned?

Oh, Gods.

Her heart hammered against her chest, and a rushing sound filled her ears, so loudly she wondered if the mountain wind had gotten trapped there. She held the ring so tightly she felt the woven pattern imprinting itself on her palm. “Mama…” Her voice cracked. “Tell me. Please. What has happened? The Marrs are good farmers who tend our fields. They’regoodpeople.”

“They have sinned, Isabelle.” A glacial wind had more warmth than her mother’s expression. “They will be punished.”

Punished?

The earth trembled beneath Belle’s feet, and for once she couldn’t tell if it was demons or her bones quaking in terror. It was frowned upon to talk about leaving the town, but it wasn’t a sin. Or, it hadn’t been. Surely the bishop wouldn’t hold Thomas’ father to blame if he’d broken a new creed? The Marrs had served Windhaven for generations.

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