Not that I’m trying all that hard.

There’s something about not caring that works. It’s not nearly as ideal as happiness, but if there’s anything I’ve learned in the past year, it’s that happiness is not for girls whose fathers are dead and whose lovers have left them and whose babies are gone.

Girls like me have limited options, and if I have to pick between a despair so encompassing it makes me feel as though I’ll never take another breath, or a quiet numbness that feels nothing, neither good nor ill, I know what I’ll choose every time.

Silly servant girl, only princesses get happy endings.

Well, that might be true, but it doesn’t mean I have to have a depressing ending either.

I’ll just exist, and that’s enough for me.

I’m as resolved as I suppose a twelve-year-old can be.

That is, until I hear my name.

“Blaise?”

I can’t recall the last time I heard my name uttered aloud. Perhaps it was my father, but he went such a long stretch where all his words were incoherent, I wouldn’t have been able to decipher between my name and a curse. Derek had said my name often, but the last time he’d spoken it, he’d been furious, so I’m not sure I want that one to count. Besides, that was almost a year ago, and I don’t want to think that no one has called me by name in a year.

Maybe Clarissa has used my name, but if she has, it doesn’t feel like my name when it’s said with such scorn.

If I were to dwell on that fact, it would certainly make me sad.

And I am done being sad.

“Andy?” I recognize his voice instantly. I haven’t seen him in a year, but that means nothing. He’s fae, and while his face will age over time, I’ll likely not live to see it by the time it happens.

He rounds the corner and steps into the foyer, and Clarissa practically swoons. In fact, she places the back of her hand against her forehead as if she’s suddenly come down with a fever.

I’ll never understand why she does this around men she finds handsome. I gather it’s to garner their attentions, but it seems to me that, were I a male, I would want to stay far away from anyone showing blatant signs of illness.

Fae don’t become ill often, but I’m sure they don’t find it pleasant on the rare occasion it does happen.

Still, Andy does look handsome, and I can’t blame my stepmother for hoping. He’s grown out his copper-brown hair since I’ve seen him last, though that doesn’t stop his pointed ears from poking through.

I used to be fascinated with Andy’s ears when I was a little girl. I still am, but I’ll wash my mouth out with curdled milk before I admit such a thing. Still, they twitch when he sees me, and I steal a quick glance at them, hoping he won’t notice.

If he does, he doesn’t show it, and the smile that bursts across his face breaks through my every resolve. Every resolve not to feel, to recede into a shadow of the life I once wanted.

One smile, his sea-green eyes crinkling, and every vow I swore to myself goes up in flames.

He crosses the hall in the span of a second, and then he’s picking me up, engulfing me in a hug so tall and tight that my feet dangle off the ground and I can hardly breathe.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he says.

He doesn’t know that actually, I do.

When he sets me down, it’s too soon for my fluttering heart, but it’s worth it to get to see his tanned face again, especially the way he looks at me like I hung the moon.

“Well?” he asks, scrunching up his nose in a way that always had me giggling as a child, and hasn’t failed yet. “Are you happy to see me?”

Happy.

I like how when Andy says it, it doesn’t seem so far out of reach.

And besides, if happy is what Andy wants from me, then happy is what I’ll be.

CHAPTER 53

BLAISE

The discussion of how the Queen of Mystral fooled everyone into thinking she was of noble birth soon devolves into an argument between Asha and Kiran over whether the Old Magic should have recognized her at the council meeting. Eventually, Ellie speaks up and suggests that perhaps I might benefit from some rest if they moved the conversation elsewhere.

Part of me is relieved, thankful to my friend for noticing my needing a break to think, but the other part of me fears being left on my own. Of what will be left of me once the noise is gone.

As it turns out, I don’t have to find out just yet. After exchanging the slightest of nods with Ellie, Evander stays behind as the rest of the group files out of the room.

He perches himself on the end of the bed, resting his back against the post and bringing his knees to his chest. It gives him a boyish look that’s almost humorous, and I wonder if he’s aware of it. I have a feeling he does; one thing Evander does best is making himself the fool so others feel more comfortable.

I can’t help but love him for it.

We sit in silence for a moment, and Evander clears his throat. I can’t stand it, the awkwardness between us, so I say, “So I died. Pretty sure you haven’t done that yet, in your attempt to master all the experiences the world has to offer.”

He doesn’t laugh, and I cringe inwardly.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and I can’t bear to hear him apologize, not when the mess I’ve gotten myself into isn’t his fault.

“Please don’t be. Remorse isn’t all that flattering on you,” I say, nudging him with my leg underneath the blanket.

But Evander isn’t joking.

“Fates, Blaise. That awful woman…she kept you locked up. All that time, I thought you were mourning your father.” He squints and grits his teeth. “No, I knew.” His fist goes to his gut. “I knew here that something wasn’t right. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. So I wrote you those stupid letters, like that was at all helpful.”

I find myself reaching across the bed. I can’t reach very far, so my hand lands on his shin, but I hope it’s comforting just the same. “Your letters were the only thing that got me through. They were the only ray of light in a world of darkness. So don’t you dare apologize for them.”

Evander swallows, and his tanned throat bobs, like something’s stuck inside it. “I should have helped you. I should have known something was wrong.” His gaze dips to my belly, and I realize I’ve rested my other hand upon it subconsciously.

Immense sadness plagues his face. “You were twelve,” he whispers.

My throat is burning, and it’s the best I can do to nod.

“Was it…the father…” Evander clears his throat. “Was he… Was he your age, too?”

Something in my heart goes very, very numb as I shake my head.

Evander buries his face in his hands and takes a deep breath. “Just give me a name, and I’ll hunt him down.”

“It wouldn’t be much use. I never knew his surname,” I realize, numbly, for the first time.