Avery forced a rigid, hollow smile toward Victoria.

“Do I have your grace, Avery?” Victoria asked, her voice honeyed with a false desire for closure.

Avery met the Matriarch’s gaze but refused to incline her head. True forgiveness was a scent she could no longer catch.

She remembered the winter when Victoria had forced her to scrub the freezing stone floors of the Great Hall, deliberately crushing Avery’s fingers under her fur-lined boots as she "accidentally" strode past. When Avery had let out a silent, pained gasp, Victoria had spun a web of lies to the Sentinels, claiming the mute girl had bared her teeth in a curse, ordering the...