Aubrey
I stood before the shards of the broken mirror, feeling nothing but a cold, hollow space where my panic had been. The girl in the pieces was a stranger. A ghost. I was the one who had come back to haunt her life.
Lena crept back into the room, her hands twisting in the fabric of her apron. “My lady? Should I… should I send for someone to clean this up?”
“No,” I said, my voice flat. “Leave it. I want to remember what happens when you trust a fragile thing to hold your reflection.”
She stared at me, her eyes filled with a fearful confusion that I knew would become a permanent fixture. “But your preparations… the ball.”
“The ball is hours away. Bring me breakfast. Tea, no sugar. And toast, burned.”
Lena’s mouth opened and closed. In my old life, I loved honey cakes and sweet milk in the morning. “Burned, my lady?”
“You heard me,” I said without looking at her. “I’ve acquired a taste for it.”
She scurried away, leaving me in silence. I walked to the wardrobe and ran my hands over the fabrics. Silks, velvets, brocades. All in the pale, innocent colors my mother had insisted upon. Colors for a maiden, for a future queen of a golden prince. They felt like lies against my skin.
My fingers found the rough wool of the black gown at the very back. It was simple, severe, high-necked and long-sleeved. A dress for grieving.
“Perfect,” I whispered.
The door opened again, but it wasn’t Lena. It was her.
“Aubrey, darling!”
Celia swept into the room, a vision in spring green. Her auburn hair was already artfully styled, and her smile was as bright and false as a gilded coin.
“I heard the most awful crash yesterday evening,” she said, her voice dripping with manufactured concern. “Papa said you were just overwrought with excitement. Nerves, you know.”
I turned slowly to face her. My sister. The viper I had warmed in my own home. I felt the phantom heat of the flames on my skin, and my hands curled into fists.
“I’m perfectly calm,” I replied, my voice cool.
Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She had expected hysterics or giddy blushing. She didn’t know how to handle this version of me.
“Of course you are,” she recovered smoothly. “You were always the steady one. But tonight! The night Prince Roderick finally chooses you. You must be thrilled beyond words.”
“Must I?”
Celia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, yes. It’s all anyone has ever wanted for you. It’s all you have ever wanted.”
“People change,” I said.
She let out a light, tinkling laugh. “Oh, Aubrey. Don’t be silly. You haven’t changed. You’re just nervous.” She glided over to the bed where Lena had laid out the magnificent white silk gown before she fled. It shimmered under the morning light, embroidered with thousands of tiny seed pearls. The dress I had worn in my first life. The dress of a lamb to the slaughter.
“It’s exquisite,” Celia breathed, reaching a hand out to touch it. Her other hand held a small plate with a jam tart, its dark purple filling threatening to spill over the edge.
I remembered this moment. A memory so faint I had almost forgotten it. She had “tripped.” The jam would have ruined the delicate silk an hour before the ball. I would have wept, and she would have comforted me, the loving sister to the rescue.
“Don’t touch it,” I said. The words were sharp, like cracking ice.
Celia froze, her fingers hovering just above the silk. “What’s wrong? I was only admiring the craftsmanship.”
“Your hands are sticky,” I said, gesturing to the tart. “You should be more careful, Celia. You wouldn’t want to have an accident.”
Her face, for the first time, went blank. The mask of doting affection slipped, revealing the cold calculation beneath. She slowly withdrew her hand.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice a little tighter than before. “How clumsy of me. I’ll just put this down.”
She placed the tart on a side table, her movements stiff. The air in the room was thick with a tension only I understood. She thought I was being difficult. She had no idea I was seeing the ghost of her past sins.
Lena returned then, carrying a tray. She stopped short when she saw Celia, offering a nervous curtsy.
“Your breakfast, my lady,” Lena stammered.
Celia looked at the blackened toast and curled her lip. “Good heavens, Aubrey. What is this? Are they starving you?”
“I’m in mourning,” I said, taking the tray and sitting in a chair by the window. I took a bite of the burnt bread. It tasted like vengeance.
“Mourning?” Celia scoffed, recovering her composure and leaning against a bedpost. “Who died?”
“The girl I used to be,” I said, looking her directly in the eye.
An uncomfortable silence fell. Celia shifted her weight. She was losing control of the conversation, of me, and she didn’t like it.
“That’s not very funny, Aubrey.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“You need to stop this foolishness and get ready. The hairdresser will be here soon. You can’t greet Prince Roderick looking like you just crawled out of a tomb.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. I stood up and walked to the wardrobe. “That white dress is entirely unsuitable.”
Relief washed over Celia’s face. “Exactly! You need something that sparkles, something that shows the prince what a radiant queen you will be.”
I pulled the black mourning gown from its hiding place. I held it up against myself. The severe, dark wool seemed to absorb the light in the room.
Celia’s jaw dropped. Lena let out a tiny gasp.
“What is that?” Celia demanded, her voice shrill.
“My dress for the ball,” I stated calmly.
“Have you lost your mind?” she shrieked. “You cannot wear black to the Royal Selection! It’s an insult! People will think someone in the royal family has died!”
“Let them,” I said with a shrug. “Prophecies have a way of coming true.”
“Papa will forbid it!”
“Papa is two hundred leagues away settling a border dispute. By the time a raven reaches him, I will already be engaged.”
Celia’s eyes blazed with fury. This was a direct challenge, and she knew it. My compliance was something she had always taken for granted. My sudden rebellion was a threat to her own carefully laid plans.
“Engaged to whom?” she spat. “Roderick will not choose a madwoman dressed for a funeral.”
“Perhaps Roderick isn’t the only prince at the ball,” I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Understanding, and then horror, dawned on her face. “You wouldn’t. Aubrey, no. Not him. Prince Kaelen is a savage. A monster.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my lips. It was a cruel thing, this smile, and it felt more natural than any I had worn in my previous life. “Maybe I want a monster.”
“He will ruin you!”
“Better to be ruined by a wolf than coddled by a snake,” I retorted. I turned to my terrified handmaiden. “Lena. Help me with this dress. Now.”
Celia stared at me, her chest heaving. She was searching for a weakness, a crack in my new armor, but she found none. The sweet, pliable sister she had planned to betray was gone. In her place stood someone she did not recognize, someone with eyes that looked like they had already seen the end of the world.
“You will regret this, Aubrey,” she whispered, her voice a venomous hiss.
“No, sister,” I said, turning my back on her to face the broken mirror once more. “You will.”
In the fractured glass, I saw myself in the severe black gown. I didn’t look like a bride. I looked like a queen attending the execution of her enemies. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I thought I looked beautiful.
