Page 42 of Not Another Happily Ever After

“They are us,” I say as I pull my people to their feet.

There comes a time

in every story

where the heroine calls upon her people

to rise.

But this is not that story.

And Sunday? She never lies.

As she looks out upon her people

she sees past the dirt and grim.

She sees the lives lost to ruin.

The hearts corrupted by time.

But hope is not hers to offer.

A truth far sharper than any knife.

So instead of promising relief

she joins them in their strife.

Chapter

17

Let them in.

Let them see you.

“Fetch me the biscuits,” I call over my shoulder as I sink my knees into the silty gravel.

A current of whispers ripple through a sea of twisted faces at my back.

“Princess?” Myrrdin is the first to protest, stepping between me and the growing body of people.

“Did she just ask forbiscuits?” At least Merrek sounds more agreeable—if not anything else, definitely amused.

I wave them both off with atsk.

“Do you like biscuits?” I turn to the young boy, whose cold hand is still wrapped in mine.

With his free hand, he rubs away the snot dribbling from his nose and looks to his mother. Her smile is small. Her teeth are worn and brown. Her son’s tired eyes don’t see the way the world has pressed upon her shoulders. All they see is love. And it’s enough to give him courage.

He nods, pulling his lips in to hide his smile.

I don’t bother concealing mine. “You heard the boy. We’d like those biscuits, please.”

Rhidland comes to stand beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder the way a father would a son when they’ve gotten themselves into far more trouble than they are capable of getting out of.

I look up, already knowing exactly what he is going to say. That we can’t share the biscuits.