Page 220 of The Poison Daughter
Icy is an understatement for Harlow’s demeanor in the morning. Whatever heat was between us last night has given way to her frigid contempt. It’s the first time I have ever seen even a hint of her parents in her.
She’s been primping in front of the vanity in her room for more than an hour. I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse to avoid looking at me. She studies her eyebrows with hawk-like focus and ignores me standing behind her in the mirror’s reflection.
Kyrin is curled up at her feet. He blinks one sleepy eye open to look at me as I set a small glass of liquid beside Harlow and back away.
“What is it?” she asks.
“It’s a blood builder. There’s a unique mix of herbs and it’s infused with some of Elvodeen’s healing magic to help with recovery.”
She lifts the glass and sips it. “This is the same thing they serve with breakfast in the morning. Have you been planning to do that to me since I got here?”
“No, I—” I run a hand over my face. “I like you.”
I have never sounded more idiotic in my life.
She scoffs, takes a long sip of the juice, and rifles through the makeup laid out on the vanity in front of her.
“I liked you right away, and you smell amazing,” I say.
“So I’m just special.” Her voice is laden with sarcasm, but she doesn’t look away from the delicate work of lining her eyes with kohl.
“I wasn’t supposed to do it.”
She arches a perfectly shaped brow. “Fuck me in front of your people a second time?”
“Claimyou. There’s something about the way you challenged me that made me want to. I’m not prone to being possessive. I’ve never had that impulse before.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she takes another sip of the drink. She’s naked except for a pair of dark lace underwear that make her ass look spectacular.
I study the scarred skin on her lower back. I was aware of it last night when I was fucking her and felt it beneath my palms, but it’s different in daylight. When I first saw it, I was so incensed by the fact that she had been branded that I didn’t take a good look. But the intricacy of the delicate design is impressive. Someone must have held a brand there for a long time to get something that detailed.
When I look up, she’s watching my reflection. “It’s not polite to stare.”
“I didn’t get to look before. Why stars?”
She pauses with the brush halfway down her hair. “Aidia used to say that stars were a nightly reminder to wish for better. Stellaria refused to be humbled, even by her father. I think Aidia related to that.”
“Is that why he branded you with them? To take that from her and you?”
I’m pushing too hard. I wait for her to remind me I’m not entitled to her past, but she sighs and sets the hairbrush down on the vanity.
“My father didn’t brand me. Aidia did.” She is so deathly calm when she says it that it takes a moment for her words to register.
I stare at her in mute shock. “But I thought?—”
I wait for her to say more, but she only offers me the silence to realize I’ve put my foot in my mouth, and there’s no way out of the awkwardness.
Harrick didn’t brand her. Ever since I first saw the scar, I’ve been constructing a specific narrative in my head about it. It’s humbling to see how wrong I’ve been.
“I can’t imagine subjecting myself to that kind of pain,” I say softly.
She turns and gives me a look that burns right through me. “Can’t you?”
I feel her picking me apart, death scar by death scar. I expected her to rage at me. To throw things. To try to escape as soon as she woke up. But she’s dressed and so eerily calm, and that is somehow worse.
“If I’ve satisfied your curiosity, I have some questions of my own,” she says.
I’m tempted to tell her she hasn’t satisfied my curiosity at all. She’s actually piqued it once again. Every answer I get breeds even more questions. I wave a hand to encourage her to continue because I am completely at a loss for words.
