Page 54 of Sweetling
That left only herself in her head, and it was a crowded place already.
Yet again, Molly berated herself in the aftermath of another outburst. It wasn’t so bad this time around—a righteous indignation burned in her belly. At the trick Brom played on her. At the arrogance of Allarion, assuming he knew best in all things.
She couldn’t stand the thought of either of them.
Another wave of tears pricked at her eyes, but Molly held them back. She was so sick of crying—and of letting men push her about. Since the age of ten, Molly had lived her life trying to please or placate or avoid men. They grabbed at her, wanted things from her, cajoled and teased and demanded.
Well, enough was enough.
Allarion may have been fae but he was still a man. And right then, Molly hated all men.
He may have that ethereal fae beauty and all the money in the world, his words may be sweet and his promises tender, but in the end, what did they amount to? Nothing. For all his magic and money and mystery, he was just like any other man. Doing whatever he wanted for his own ends.
Molly was sick of being collateral.
What she could actually do about it was another question entirely. Despite the hours she sat up staring out the window, she hadn’t come closer to any sort of plan that would get her out of here. If the house didn’t stop her, the unicorn surely would. What hope was there?
Though her legs had long since gone numb and stiff, Molly curled into herself even tighter. Sequestered away in her room, she’d never felt smaller.
And shehatedhim for that.
Yet, she also hated herself some, too. For letting this all happen. For not seeing through her uncle’s scheme. Of course he’d tell her whatever he had to, to get her out the door with Allarion—Molly had seen the sack of money, and that was apparently only half of what’d been promised.
If she didn’t find it all so disgusting, she might’ve been flattered by the small fortune he’d paid.
Which only made her angrier with herself. She should be worth more than two sacks of coins—to her uncle, to a potential husband, toherself. The problem was…Molly wasn’t always so sure. And if she wasn’t sure herself, it was no wonder everyone around her paid that or less.
Her mind ran circles round itself all morning, a filmy sort of haze settling over her. Her eyes stung with exhaustion and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth for want of water. She’d give herself a proper headache if this went on any longer, but Molly just couldn’t summon the will to move.
She was still there when the knock came in the early afternoon.
Molly didn’t answer, but Allarion still opened the door. A brief glance revealed that he’d brought a tray laden with an eclectic variety of foods. Apples and cheeses and turnips and what looked like unsoaked oats. It might’ve been amusing, his attempt at putting together a plate when he didn’t eat himself, had she anything inside her but apathy and self-pity.
“I learned from the house that you haven’t eaten today,” he said gently.
Molly scowled at the ceiling. “Tattletale.”
“Don’t be too angry with it.” With measured steps, he walked across the room to place the tray on the lid of the trunk. “It worries for you—as do I.”
“Iworry. Do you know how scary it is, thinking the house itself spies on me? That everything here is working against me to keep me here?”
His lips pressed together with unhappiness. “I can imagine the feeling, yes. But please, don’t be afraid, sweetling. For all the magic here and the unicorn outside, it is you who are most powerful within the estate.”
Molly snorted. “Right. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“The house adores you—I think it likes you even more than me. You talk to it. Bellarand will come around. And I…there is nothing you could not ask of me.”
“There’splentyI can’t ask of you,” Molly retorted. “Or have you already forgotten your mysterious friend?”
“I have not. It isn’t my secret to share, not yet at least. But even that won’t be denied you, given time. That is the only secret I keep—all else is yours to know. You have but to ask.”
“And why should I trust that anything you tell me is the truth?”
A tendon jumped in his neck and at his temple, a sign Molly recognized from yesterday of his growing frustration. “I have worked every day to prove this to you. I have shown you who I am—if you would only stop to look.”
Biting her cheek, Molly turned away. He sounded too much like being right, and she didn’t like it.
“I don’t want to argue again,” she sighed, leaning her head against the windowpane.
