But her answer wasn’t enough for Circe, not even close. She finally released Thalora’s hand and sat up straighter in her seat, her posture rigid.
"I was there with you when you were ill and bedridden while pregnant with Rowen. I held him for you after the birth when you couldn’t. I was always by your side, reading to you to keep you company, praying for your full recovery when your health worsened, because there was nothing more terrifying to than losing my mother," Circe said, her voice full of accusation. "You must have known toward the end that you weren’t going to make it, and yet even then, you still chose to keep the truth from ."
Thalora made it seem as though Circe had benefited more from the lies than she ever would have from knowing the truth.
"Everything I did, I did for you."
Those words annoyed Circe the most. Maybe one day, when she had children of her own, she would understand why her mother had done what she did and the kind of pressure that had been weighing on her at the ti. But right now, all she felt was her anger rising.
"Had I known what I was back then, I would have been able to save you sooner. Do you know what it was like without you? All those years, Rowen could have had his mother by his side, but all he got was . I was sixteen, and half the ti, I barely knew what I was doing when it ca to caring for him." She gestured around her, her movents sharp with frustration. "Look around. Have you ever wondered why we aren’t in Westeria right now? We lost that right when Father started a war he couldn’t win with the vampires. Rowen and I were taken from our castle, torn away from everything we knew. My marriage to the prince was the only thing that kept from being locked in the dungeons and executed as a prisoner of war."
After learning of her mother’s deception, Circe often wondered how differently the war might have ended if she had been in full control of her magic at the ti, how much better she might have defended her ho instead of standing by helplessly and watching it fall apart around her.
"And as for Dena, was her anger toward you ever truly unfounded?" Circe continued, her voice cutting deeper now. She knew she had gone too far when the atmosphere in the room shifted, thickening with tension, but she pushed on regardless. "If I had two sisters and one was selfish enough to abandon us just to run off and marry a king, I would be angry as well."
Thalora’s hands trembled visibly, and Circe couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or sorrow. Thalora opened her mouth and closed it several tis, as though searching for the right words, but none ca.
Circe expected regret, perhaps even to be chastised the way she had been as a child but she didn’t expect what her mother said next.
"I would do it all again if it ant I got to have you and your two brothers with ."
A unexpected wave of emotion surged through Circe. It was overwhelming and she couldn’t handle it, not right now. A lump the size of her fist ford in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. She pushed herself up from the chair too quickly and was imdiately assaulted by a sudden bout of dizziness. She gritted her teeth and forced herself through it, hiding the discomfort as best as she could.
"I only have one brother now. Torben is dead," Circe spat, then winced at the harshness of her own words. She tried, albeit weakly, to soften the sting. "I will send Nieah with your breakfast soon. Do try to eat more than just a few bites."
And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, her steps quick and unsteady, as though she feared that if she lingered any longer, she might break.
***
"I told you that there was no need for you to do that anymore. I will be making Her Highness’s tea from now on," Nieah said when she spotted Mirelle in the kitchen early that morning, brewing a pot of herbal tea. The faint aroma of steeping leaves filled the air between them. "She doesn’t seem to like the taste when you brew it. She has complained about it being too bitter."
Mirelle lowered her gaze, looking chastened, her cheeks flushing with embarrassnt. Her voice was small when she spoke.
"Her Highness only seems to like the ones you make. But I have seen the way you work tirelessly, with so little ti to yourself, and I want to take sothing off your plate... to be of help."
Nieah let out a quiet sigh. "Fine. But let have a taste of it first before you send it up to Her Highness," she said, gesturing for Mirelle to step aside.
Mirelle did as she was told, watching closely as Nieah poured herself a small amount of the tea into a cup. Steam curled gently into the air as she lifted it, blowing across the surface before taking a careful sip.
Nieah’s brows furrowed. She humd softly, her gaze lingering on the cup in her hands.
"It tastes fine to ," she said at last, sounding almost confused. She had expected it to be as horrid as Circe had described, but it was quite the opposite. "You did well with this one. Her Highness is already awake and will be expecting her tea, don’t make her wait."
Mirelle nodded, waiting patiently for Nieah to step out of the kitchen. The mont she was alone, she glanced around, her eyes darting to every corner to ensure no one was watching. Satisfied that she was in the clear, she slipped a small bundle wrapped in cloth from the pocket of her maid’s attire.
She hesitated only long enough to glance over her shoulder once more. Then, with careful fingers, she unfolded the cloth to reveal its contents. Dried, crushed leaves of so kind, dark and brittle. Without a second thought, she dumped the entire contents into the brewing tea.
She quickly closed the lid but she stiffened at the sound of a voice behind her.
"What are you doing?" the voice asked.
Mirelle spun around, her heart lurching into her throat as she ca face to face with one of the kitchen staff. The woman regarded her with narrowed eyes, suspicion flickering across her expression.
"I—I was just about to take the tea Mistress Nieah brewed up to Her Highness," Mirelle said quickly. Too quickly. The words tumbled out in a rush, lacking the calmness she had hoped for.
Knowing she hadn’t sounded convincing, she turned away at once, busying herself as she hurried to arrange everything neatly onto a serving tray.
When she moved to clean up the small ss she had made, the maid stopped her with a gentle smile.
"Leave it. I will clean up," she said softly. "My job here and yours is to serve the princess." The suspicion in her eyes had faded, replaced by sothing far more neutral.
Mirelle nodded. She knew that arguing further might only draw unwanted attention. So, without another word, she lifted the tray and made her way out of the kitchen.
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