She wanted me to give an answer right now?
Struggling to take in breath, my mind raced. If I chose Rolf, Kai would die. If I chose Sebastian, Rolf and Jarrod would both die. If I chose Kai, Rolf would still die.
“Wait!” I cried. “Once I choose, will I still remember what I’ve seen?”
If so, I could alter events.
The woman shook her head. “The mirror offers a gift to you, not to others. You must make this choice for your own sake, and your sake alone. Once you have chosen, all the memories you have seen will be gone.”
I closed my eyes in pain. I would remember nothing. I could save no one.
“Choose for yourself,” she said. “This is a gift. Which of the paths do you most desire?”
Soon enough, even without her prompting, I would have to make a choice.
On my knees, I let the images from the mirror wash over me.
Rolf . . . he was so much more than he let most people see. With him, I would have deep respect. I would be valued. He would give me confidence and a belief in myself. I’d have power and influence over matters of state, and I could use this to help the people of our nation.
These things mattered to me.
Sebastian . . . with him I would know a much-needed feeling of safety and intimacy at first. I would depend on him and love him. This would dissolve into loneliness, sorrow, and self-doubt, but at the end of such pain, I’d receive a great gift: independence. I’d be able to live my life exactly as I pleased, with a home and money of my own. My thoughts flowed over the life that I’d carve out for myself, answering to no one. How long had I dreamed of this?
This mattered to me.
Kai . . . moody, prickly, passionate, unpredictable Kai. Life with him would often move between the heights of joy and the depths of despair. It would be messy and confusing and satisfying. Even here, in this cold storage room, I could still feel the pressure of his mouth on mine and the urgency of his touch. With him, I would have my children, my own family.
These things mattered to me.
In the end, the choice was really not so difficult, not as it had seemed at first.
“Kai.”
The woman nodded. “The third choice.”
The air before me wavered and the mirror vanished.
Startled, I found myself on the floor of the storage room where I’d taken refuge. How long had I been in here? Had I fallen asleep?
Quickly, I rose, fearful that my mother would come looking for me at any moment, and I hurried from the storage room back to our dining hall, dreading what awaited me.
As I walked back in, I saw my mother conversing with Sebastian while my father spoke with Jarrod and Rolf.
Kai stood off by himself, uncomfortable and awkward, his long hair hiding half his face.
Suddenly I knew. Something inside me spoke his name, and just like that, I made up my mind.
“Kai,” I whispered.
Read on for a preview of the next Dark Glass novel from New York Times bestselling author Barb Hendee…
A CHOICE OF CROWNS
Olivia Geroux knew her king was reluctant to marry her, whatever the negotiations had arranged. But she never expected to find handsome, arrogant King Rowan obsessed with his stepsister instead. Before she can determine what course to take, she overhears her greatest ally plotting to murder the princess. Olivia must act quickly—and live with whatever chaos results.
As the assassin hunts his prey, a magic mirror appears to show Olivia the three paths that open before her: ~ If she hesitates only a moment, the princess will die—and she will become queen.
~ If she calls for help, she will gain great power—but she must also thrust away her own happiness.
~ If she runs to stop the murder herself, she will know love and contentment—but her whole country will suffer.
As she lives out each path, her wits and courage will be tested as she fights to protect her people, her friends, and her heart. And deciding which to follow will be far from easy.
A CHOICE OF CROWNS
New York Times bestselling author Barb Hendee reveals a world of ruthless desire, courtly intrigue, and compassion as one woman shapes the fate of a nation.
Available in February 2018
Chapter 1
I’ve heard it said the most important moments in one’s life pass more swiftly than others. Perhaps it’s true.
I only know that all my senses were on alert as soon as my father sent for me, asking me to come to his private rooms. At the age of eighteen, I’d never once been invited to his rooms. In the past several weeks, he’d been closeted away much of his time, sending and receiving messages, but I had no idea what this was about—as he didn’t see fit to share such intelligence with me.
Now . . . he wanted to see me, in his rooms?
I could hardly refuse, nor in fact did I want to. I was curious.
Gathering my long green skirt, I nodded curtly to the servant who’d delivered the message and made my way to the base of the east tower of our family keep. I knew exactly where his rooms were located, even if I never been inside.
Upon arriving, I stood with my back straight and knocked on the door.
“Father? You sent for me.”
“Come,” he said from the other side.
With my hand shaking only slightly, I opened the door. Inside, I found a somewhat austere main room that appeared to be a study, with a large desk and chair. There were tapestries of forest scenes on the walls, and an interior door led to a bedroom.
My father, Hugh Géroux, sat behind his desk working on what appeared to be a letter, but he stood as I entered. In his early fifties, he still cut a striking figure, with a smooth-shaven face, dark peppered hair, and dark eyes.
“Olivia,” he said, as if meeting me for the first time.
We didn’t know each other well, as I was the fifth and youngest of his children. I had two older brothers and two older sisters, and my father had used all four of them carefully to enhance his own wealth and prestige. My mother died of a fever when I was only seven, so my father raised us alone in a manner that was both distant and overbearing at the same time.
My family, the line of Géroux, was among the old nobility of the kingdom. While past famines and civil wars had destroyed several of the ancient families, ours survived. We were survivors. My father respected strength and nothing else.
His eyes moved dispassionately from my feet to my face, as if assessing me.
I knew only too well what he saw. I was tall for a woman. He was tall, and I could almost look him directly in the eyes. Unfortunately, the current fashion for women was petite and fragile. My hair was long and thick, but it was a shade of burnished red, and again, red hair was not currently in fashion.
Still, I’d been raised to remain sharply aware of everything going on around me, and it was no secret that most men found me desirable. My face had often been called pretty, with clear skin and slanted eyes of green.
I looked best in green velvet.