Stars Above: A Lunar Chronicles Collection (The Lunar Chronicles)(55)

She blinked rapidly, dispelling any tears before they could betray her, and met her stepmother’s hardened glare.

“Well?” Levana said through her teeth. “Would you like to try again before your beauty is marred further?”

Beauty, thought Winter. Of course. It meant so much to the queen, and so very little to her. The pain she could tolerate. The scar she could accept.

A new resolve straightened her spine. She would not allow the queen to win this battle. She refused to lose herself to the queen’s mind games.

“I cannot,” she said again.

The knife came to her face again, drawing another parallel line beside the first. This time, she kept her eyes open. She was no longer afraid of crying, though the blood felt like warm, thick tears on her cheek.

“And now?” Levana said. “Go on, Winter. A simple manipulation. Prove your worth to this court.”

Winter held her gaze. Her stepmother’s face had lost its calm facade. She was openly livid. Even her shoulders were trembling with restrained rage.

They both knew this was no longer about a princess making a mockery of the royal family. Levana must have sensed the quiet defiance brewing inside her.

The queen could make anyone do anything. She had only to think it, and her will was done.

But not this. She could not force Winter to do this.

It was a struggle for Winter to keep a proud smile from her face as she said firmly, “I will not.”

Levana snarled and the knife rose again.

*

When the queen released her, Winter refused to run back to her chambers. She walked like royalty, head high and feet clipping steadily on the marble. She didn’t even consider using her glamour to hide the three gashes and the blood that dripped down her neck, staining her dress. She was proud. Her wound was proof that she had been to battle and survived.

People stopped to stare, but no one asked about the three cuts in her flesh. No one stopped her. Her guards, sworn to defend their princess at all costs, said nothing.

The queen would be proven wrong. Winter’s skin would be permanently marred, but she would not let the scars bully her into submission. The wounds would become her armor, and a constant reminder of her victory.

She might be broken. She might be crazy. But she would not be defeated.

When she reached the wing to her private quarters, she drew up short.

Jacin was waiting for her outside her chamber doors. Beside him stood Head Thaumaturge Sybil Mira in her pristine white coat.

Jacin was staring at the ground, his face tense.

Sybil was smiling, a hand on Jacin’s shoulder. And when they both looked at Winter—

Jacin appeared shocked, first, though it fast turned to horror, while Sybil …

Winter shuddered.

Sybil Mira looked not surprised at all, and not the tiniest bit sympathetic. Levana must have told her what she was planning. Maybe it had even been Sybil’s idea—Winter knew that the head thaumaturge had a great amount of influence over the queen.

“What happened?” Jacin said, shrugging off Sybil’s hand and rushing toward her. He went to place his palm over her bloodied cheek but hesitated. He covered his hand with his sleeve first before pressing the material against her.

“Shall I call for a medic, Your Highness?” said Sybil, folding her hands into her own sleeves.

“I’m fine, thank you. You can step aside so that I might retire to my quarters.”

“If you are sure I cannot be of service.” Sybil did step aside, even bowed her head, but an amused smile lingered on her lips as Winter brushed past her. Jacin stayed with her, step for step, applying pressure to the cheek that she had not dared touch. It hadn’t stopped stinging, and the pain was a persistent reminder of what she had endured and the choices she had made. She would never regret those choices, scars or no.

“Who did this?” Jacin demanded as Winter shoved through her bedroom door, leaving her personal guard outside.

“I did, of course,” she said, to which he stared, aghast. She snorted bitterly. “My hand did.”

His eyes blazed, full of murder. “The queen?”

She had only to stay silent to confirm it.

Rage cascaded over his face, but he turned away too fast for Winter to appreciate the depth of it. He pulled her into the powder room and set her on the edge of the tub. Within minutes, he had cleaned the wounds and applied a generous amount of healing salve.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he muttered through gnashed teeth as he applied a makeshift bandage of cotton strips. Winter was impressed that he was able to keep his hands so calm, while his expression was so furious.

He would make a great doctor.

“You had no choice,” she said. “Neither of us did.”

“Why would she do this to you? Is she jealous?”

She met his flashing gaze. “Why would the queen be jealous of me?”

His anger sizzled. “How does this benefit her?”

“She said that she wanted me to learn to use my gift, so that I would stop making a mockery of the crown. She thought that if I … she thought this would motivate me to learn to use my glamour.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “To hide the scars.”

She nodded. “I also think she wanted to remind me that I’m … that I belong to her. That I’m nothing but a pawn in her game, to be used as she sees fit.” She slumped, letting go of the composure she’d fought so hard for. “But I am not her pawn. I refuse to be.”