AMBER EYES, DEADLY LIES

THE GIRL WITH AMBER EYES

DAISY'S POV

The champagne glass shatters before I even see it fall.

I'm on my knees instantly, muscle memory kicking in before conscious thought, my hands already reaching for the shards scattered across the marble floor. The party continues around me like I'm invisible, which is exactly how I prefer it. Invisible means safe. Invisible means I might make it through tonight without incident.

The music swells, something classical and expensive that I don't know the name of because Uncle Raymond never bothered with my education beyond teaching me to read well enough to follow his instructions. The guests are dressed in clothes that probably cost more than most people make in a year, laughing and drinking and celebrating Connor's engagement to some council member's daughter.

I'm wearing a plain gray dress that used to belong to Raymond's eldest daughter before she decided it was too dull for her taste. It hangs loose on my frame because I'm smaller than she is, smaller than most people really. At twenty-two, I still get mistaken for a teenager, my body never quite recovering from the years of eating whatever scraps the kitchen staff felt generous enough to give me.

My fingers close around a particularly large piece of glass, and I carefully place it in my palm with the others. I need to find something to wrap them in before I cut myself. Blood on the marble would be noticed, and nothing good ever comes from being noticed in this house.

"Pathetic."

The voice comes from above me, and I don't need to look up to know it's Connor. My cousin has a particular tone he uses when he's talking to me, like I'm something he found on the bottom of his shoe. I keep my eyes down, focused on gathering the glass.

"Did you hear me, freak?"

I did, but answering seems like a trap. Not answering is probably also a trap. Everything with Connor is a trap these days. He's been worse since the engagement was announced, like having a fiancée has somehow made him even more entitled than he already was.

A polished black shoe comes into my field of vision, and before I can react, Connor's foot connects with my hand. The glass pieces scatter again, and a sharp edge slices across my palm. Pain blooms hot and immediate, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.

"Clean it up properly this time," Connor says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He enjoys this, has always enjoyed this. When we were kids, it was pulling my hair or tripping me in the hallway. As we got older, it became crueler, more calculated. "And try not to bleed everywhere. Father's guests don't need to see what a disaster you are."

He walks away, and I finally let myself breathe. My hand is bleeding, a thin line of red across my palm, but it's not too bad. I've had worse. I press the hem of my dress against the cut, applying pressure, and continue gathering the glass with my other hand.

That's when the music stops.

The silence is sudden and complete, like someone has pressed pause on the entire world. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The tinkling of glasses ceases. Even the catering staff freezes in place, trays balanced on their hands.

I'm still on the floor, my hand pressed against my dress, when I hear footsteps. They're different from the usual sounds of party guests moving around. These are purposeful, deliberate, heading toward the center of the room with the kind of confidence that doesn't ask permission.

"Raymond Matty." The voice is deep, male, younger than most of the men at this party. There's something in it that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, some quality I can't quite name. "We need to talk."

From my position on the floor, I can only see shoes and the lower half of legs as people shift and move, creating space for whoever just walked in. I should leave. Whatever is happening, it's not my business, and I don't want to be anywhere near it.

But before I can gather the glass and slip away, Uncle Raymond's voice cuts through the room like a knife.

"Sebastian Kindre." There's shock in his tone, and something else. Fear, maybe, though I've never heard Raymond sound afraid of anything. "This is quite a surprise. We weren't expecting you."

Sebastian. The name means nothing to me, but the way everyone is reacting suggests it should. I risk a glance up, careful to keep my head angled so my hair falls forward, creating a curtain between me and the rest of the room.

I can't see much from this angle. Dark pants, a plain black jacket, the kind of casual clothing that looks completely out of place among the formal wear everyone else is sporting. Whoever this Sebastian Kindre is, he didn't dress for a party.

"I've come to collect on an old debt," Sebastian says, and his voice carries across the room without him having to raise it. There's an authority there, a sense that he's used to being listened to. "I believe you remember the treaty your family made with mine twenty years ago."

"That treaty was with your father," Raymond says, and now I can definitely hear the edge in his voice. "And your father is dead."

"Which makes me the inheritor of all agreements he made. Including the clause about unifying our families if circumstances required it."

Someone gasps. Multiple someones, actually, and the whispers start immediately. I don't understand what's happening, but I know it's bad. Anything that puts that tone in Raymond's voice is bad for everyone in this house.

"You can't be serious," Raymond says, and for the first time in my life, I hear him sound uncertain.

"I'm completely serious. The clause was clear. A union between our families to secure lasting peace. I'm here to claim my bride."

The whispers get louder, urgent conversations happening all around me. I should really leave now, should take advantage of the distraction to slip away, but I'm frozen in place, my hand still pressed against my bleeding palm, glass pieces scattered around my knees.

"And which bride exactly do you think you're entitled to?" Raymond asks, and there's a dangerous calm in his voice now. "My son is engaged to Melissa Hartwell. That's the only upcoming union in this family."

"I'm not interested in Melissa Hartwell," Sebastian says. "I'm here for the girl with amber eyes."

The world tilts sideways.

No.

No, no, no.

It takes me a second to process what he said, to understand that he's talking about me. Because I'm the only one in this house, possibly the only one in this entire city, with eyes the color of amber. It's the thing that's marked me as different my entire life, the feature that makes people stare and whisper and treat me like I'm contaminated.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. I press myself smaller, trying to disappear into the floor, but it's too late.

"Her?" Raymond's laugh is sharp and cruel. "You want the violet-eyed mutant? The bastard orphan? Be my guest, your majesty. Take her with my blessing."

And just like that, my entire world shifts again. Not toward safety or freedom, but toward something unknown and possibly worse.

I don't dare look up as footsteps approach my position. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, on the blood seeping through the gray fabric of my dress, on the scattered pieces of glass that suddenly feel like a metaphor for my entire life.

The footsteps stop right in front of me.

"Look at me."

It's not a request.