*Fiona*
My father sets his jaw, looking me over and faltering before thrusting his chin up. I'm sure the urge to scold me is burning him, but he doesn't say a word because he knows he can't. He knows he’s in the wrong. He has to know that after all of this—the contract, the siege, the time that has passed since I was taken from Solara—that he has no excuse.
The same irritation from what feels like a lifetime ago boils in my veins again. The sight of my sister standing in the middle of Caldara’s great hall, dressed like some prize lamb ready to be led to slaughter, makes my stomach twist until I want to retch. Elara looks too young in the gown. She might be nineteen, but she's still soft and delicate. She looks like a child in an adult's gown, with how her nerves and discomfort are writt
