ian

tavern. That smell, mixed with the frigid air, slammed ano

r me in my past life, after I refuse

ith candlelight. My father, Carroll, raised his g

ly manicured fingers brushed the rim of the cup as she smiled at me, her

ratitude. I thought they had finally accepted me

without h

ent the wine went down, spreading quickly to my

ed by an icy disgust. "Take her to th

vants hauled me from my chair and dragged me toward the cold, d

athan was already waiting. He wa

ing my chin. "A woman, playing with swords and making the Joseph name a joke

e damp stone floor. "This is for your own good, Gillian. You can't wield

e forced my right hand onto a stone bloc

ought

ac

n went black for a second. Cold sweat drenched my back. The hand that had wi

kept my muscles from coiling. I was pinn

He did the same

fe's work-it was all destroyed i

nes poking through the skin. I looked up at my cold-eyed

ring shame to the family. The

ter Amara fully took over the identity of the "sister of the deceased hero" did they

s? M

pulled me fro

tightly my nails had broken the skin of

ld breath to steady myself. That pain was

m a battlefield raid, the only person in the worl

ieving a heavy, cloth-wrapped bun

tained with dark, dried blood, and a tattered, deep-r

death." I was supposed to have burn

Griffin Joseph. I am her grieving twin sister Gillian Joseph, who has trave

e iron resolve in my eyes and nodded

dge in the distance. I knew that at this time of day, the carr

th's" staunchest supporters, arguing in court for more

and for the identity that had been stol

uniform to my chest as if I w

w behind me, holding that banner. No

. In its place, I summoned an endless, weary grief. I became a broken orphan, h

st effects, and facing int

y knees on the c

move had