(Tilly Ann)
I must have sat in that corner for a very long time. I must have dozed off there too. Because when I opened my eyes, it was the next day and sunlight was bleeding through the window.
I watched it happen—the slow climb of light over the horizon—as I folded myself like my father's old blanket and cried myself to stillness.
It was strange, crying over a broken engagement. Over Chase Dubois of all men.
I should have been jumping and laughing and celebrating my freedom. Instead, I was curled in a corner like a piece of discarded laundry.
A knock made me wipe my eyes and scramble to my feet.
Not a hesitant knock. Urgent. My mother or father, probably, come to demand answers for the words I'd hurled at them last night before locking myself away.
"Tilly."
My brother's voice.
Great. Maybe Father had sent Kessington to drag me to the war council. Show me what my selfishness was costing our kingdom. Or maybe my pig-headed brother had volunteered for the pleasure.
