Once Upon a Broken Heart (Once Upon a Broken Heart, #1)(17)

If Marisol went north with Evangeline, no one would know her as the Cursed Bride. She’d just be a girl at a ball, and Evangeline would make sure it was the best ball of her life. By the time they returned to Valenda, Luc would be a forgotten memory for both of them.

Evangeline returned the royal sisters’ smiles. “If I said yes, would it be possible for me to take my stepsister?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” said the empress.

“I should have thought of that,” muttered her sister. “But don’t worry, we’ve thought of everything else. You might have noticed the North’s seasons are different from ours. Their first day of winter is only three weeks from now, so we might have already started preparations.”

There was a great deal of talk after that about lodging, then dresses. Fashion in the North was quite different. Gentlemen wore doublets and lots of leather. Ladies wore gowns with double skirts and ornamental belts. And then the princess was oohing and aahing about jewels and pearls, and Evangeline’s insides were like curling ribbons, all giddy and excited.

Finally, she asked the last question she was curious about. “Do either of you know anything about the prince?”

“Yes!” both sisters answered enthusiastically.

“He’s—” Princess Donatella’s eyes went foggy. “Actually, I can’t remember what I’ve heard.”

“I’ve—” The empress broke off in a similar manner as she tried to recall what she had heard as well.

Evangeline wondered if information about the prince was cursed in the same way that many Northern tales were. Neither sister could remember a thing about Prince Apollo Acadian or his family.

If Evangeline wasn’t quite so familiar with the North, this might have unnerved her. But she was far more uneasy about the three broken heart scars on her wrist that had suddenly started to burn.





10


When Evangeline Fox had lived as a stone statue, her life had become stagnant. As still as a forgotten pond, untouched by rain or pebbles or time. She did not move. She did not change. But she felt. She felt so very much. Loneliness touched with hints of regret, or hope colored by impatience. It was never just one pure emotion. It was always one thing plus another. Exactly like today.

The scars on Evangeline’s wrist had stopped burning. They no longer felt as if Jacks had just bitten into them. But her insides were still a riot of butterflies as she reached the pretty door to Marisol’s room. White with a transom window, the door had once been Evangeline’s.

Evangeline knew Marisol hadn’t stolen the room; she’d moved in at her stepmother’s urging when Evangeline had been stone. As soon as Evangeline had returned, Marisol had tried to give it back. But Evangeline had felt guilty then, and she’d let her stepsister keep the room. Evangeline still felt guilty. But right now, it was a different sort of guilt, a guilt that came because she couldn’t bring herself to knock on the door that had once been hers and invite Marisol to the North.

Evangeline just kept thinking that Luc had also once been hers. And though Evangeline was more determined than ever to let go of Luc, perhaps she hadn’t completely let go of the idea of Marisol and Luc. It was one of those things she tried not to consider. She didn’t believe that Marisol had known Evangeline loved Luc—Marisol had always been so kind and timid. She didn’t seem capable of stealing a book, let alone a boy. But it was hard not to wonder.

What if Marisol had known Evangeline loved Luc? What if she’d knowingly stolen him, and what if Evangeline found love again in the North and Marisol took it once more?

Evangeline’s hand hovered in between knocking and lowering. When …

“Mother, please—” Marisol’s words weren’t particularly loud, but the narrow hall was so quiet, Evangeline could hear them through the door. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, my little girl.” Agnes’s voice was like treacle. Too sweet to actually be palatable. “You have let yourself go these past few months. Look at you. Your complexion. Your hair. Your posture is like a damp ribbon, and those circles beneath your eyes are hideous. A man might be able to overlook your little cursed reputation if you were something to look at, but I can barely tolerate the sight—”

Evangeline opened the door, unable to hear another cruel word.

Poor Marisol was sitting on her pale pink bed, and she did look like a wilted ribbon, though it was probably because Agnes had trampled all over her. Whatever Marisol was or wasn’t, she was also a victim of Agnes. But unlike Evangeline, Marisol had been living with this awful woman her entire life.

“Do you have any manners?” Agnes shrieked.

Evangeline desperately wanted to say that Agnes was the one lacking in manners and kindness, as well as a few other things. But angering her further was probably not the wisest idea right now.

Evangeline forced herself to say, “I’m sorry,” instead. “I have news I thought you’d both like to hear right away.”

Agnes immediately narrowed her eyes.

Marisol covertly wiped at hers.

And Evangeline felt further convinced that going north for Nocte Neverending was exactly what she and Marisol both needed. Marisol might have needed it even more. Evangeline couldn’t believe she’d considered not asking her. Looking at her now, Evangeline couldn’t imagine her stepsister even thinking about stealing Luc from her, and even if she had, wasn’t Luc the one Evangeline should have really been blaming?