Chapter 3

My voice trembles and my eyes blur when I look up.

"Caspian, please," I say, my voice cracking. "Don't let her throw everything away. I'll pack it all. I won't leave a single thing."

For a beat he doesn't move. Then his arm loosens around Aria, like something inside him finally gives.

The snakelings are still hissing — small, wounded sounds that slice through the air. They look at him with those bright, wet eyes, the same ones that used to make him come running. They want him to scoop them up the way he used to, to press their little scaly heads between his hands.

Before he can answer, Aria's face snaps shut. Her eyes go red. Her voice sharpens to a knife.

"So you feel sorry for her, then? You feel bad for her and those snakelings — admit it!" She spits the words at him. "I knew it. You say you think it's disgusting, but you can't let her go."

Caspian's jaw tightens. He starts to say something, but Aria cuts him off.

"You promised to take me home. What happened to that?" Her tears come fast and ugly. "You bid on her in front of everyone. They laughed at me for months. Said I was delusional. Said a male like you would never pick me."

She sobs into his chest. Her fists thump weakly against him. Her voice drops to something small and desperate.

"Caspian, we'll have snakelings too. I'll give you a whole nest of them.Just stop looking at other females. Please?"

He goes rigid, then slowly lets go. He looks away from me and the snakelings like turning a page. Then he reaches up and wipes her tears with the back of his hand.

"Don't cry," he tells her. "I'll do whatever you want, okay?"

The snakelings watch him. Their hisses quiet down into tiny, confused murmurs. One of them nudges my finger with his little snout. His eyes reflect my face — bright, black, and searching.

Why isn't Daddy looking at us? Their question lands in my chest like a stone.

I stand there like a statue. My face won't move. My mouth is stuck. I put my hand on the smallest one's head because the motion steadies me. Because if I stop moving, I will break.

"It's okay," I whisper, forcing a crooked smile that tastes like ash. "It's okay, little ones."

I bend down and start picking things up. I scoop a bundle into my arms. It slips. I pick it up again. It falls. Over and over. My hands are clumsy, thick with tears. The sun hits the dirt and my hot drops disappear like nothing.

Aria fusses at Caspian in that syrupy, triumphant voice she saves for winning.

"I want a brand-new bedframe," she coos, her nails raking the air. "I am not sleeping where you slept with her. Pull up those ugly plants — I want flowers. And take down that fence, is disgusting."

Caspian follows her finger out of habit. His eyes pause on the little green patch I planted — the seedlings I watered with my own hands, the ones he used to pretend to mock. He looks at me for a long, frozen moment. Then he tucks his chin against Aria's head like the choice was never really his.

"Okay," he says, voice quiet and flat. "Whatever you want."