Crowned by Fire
one before. Then the witch's half-sister was patting her back.
    The iron in her spine melted and she want limp, as though against her will. It just felt so good to be touched—firmly, but not so firmly that she couldn't shove the other girl away if she chose. Because that was what it all came down to in the end: choice .
    Freedom.
    Catherine drew in a deep breath, and then paused, confused. The male musk she had detected earlier was coming from Cassandra. She didn't just smell male, she was male.
    Catherine blinked dazedly, thrown. Could Cassandra be biologically male? She didn't look masculine at all, but it explained the scent around the house, and also Cassandra's confusion when Catherine had thoughtlessly asked whether she had a brother.
    And then Cassandra took hold of Catherine's hand and she tensed, remembering what had happened earlier. She had seen death . “Don't,” she pleaded, but all that happened was a brief, uncomfortable buzz of sensation, like a static shock.
    “ I look into your future,” said Cassandra, “and all I can see is pain.”
    Catherine closed her eyes. Great , she thought. Real fucking reassuring.
    “ Don't let it turn you cruel—or worse, let it turn you numb.” Cassandra pulled away. “Apathy is worse than cruelty. One person may perform an unforgivable act, but the five hundred silent spectators who watch him commit it are no less to blame. It's a poison, and it's seeping into the world, infecting one heart at a time. Don't ever grow immune to another's suffering.”
    “ I won't,” said Catherine, not sure if she meant it. Sometimes it was easier not to know, not to ask. But Cassandra's words had had their effect, she was starting to feel calmer—until something hit her in the back. It was her shirt.
    “ You left that on my floor,” said the witch—the prince—from his post in the bathroom doorway. He was still shirtless, and his coppery hair was mussed. Catherine's breath hitched. Her fingers dug into her palms, leaving tender crescents.
    What is he doing?
    He glanced at Cassandra, as if only just realizing she was there. As if he weren't putting on this show for her benefit with the intention to humiliate.
    “ I'll be taking dinner in my room tonight,” he said. “Leave the tray outside the door.”
    “ What did you do?” Cassandra snapped, looking furious—furious, and a little afraid.
    “ Ask her.” He glanced at the two of them a final time, shook his head, and left.
    Catherine wrung her shirt in her hands. It was good the witch had said those things; he had saved her from making a terrible mistake.
    “Do you want a different room?” Cassandra asked. “We have lots of rooms.”
    “ No.” Catherine punched her arms through the plaid shirtsleeves. That would be weak. Letting him win. She would not let him know that he'd gotten to her. She would not let him know just how much he frightened her.
    “ Do you want to talk about it?”
    “ No.” Catherine closed her eyes. “Thank you.” The effort of being polite rendered her lips stiff and immobile. “Right now, I just need to be alone.”
    “ All right. There's about twenty minutes until dinner,” said Cassandra. “I'll come back in nineteen.” She offered a tentative smile before letting the door click shut behind her.
    Catherine leaned back against the bed, touching her lower lip with two fingers. She half-expected to see fine crystals of frost melting on her fingertips. Never in her life had she felt so impossibly cold.
     
      Cassandra followed through on her promise and came to collect her nineteen minutes later. They walked past the impressive chandelier, down the stairs, through the living room, into an elaborately decorated dining room. The table was set for four, which made Catherine flick an eye towards the main hall. Was the witch joining them after all?
    The door on the other side of the room opened, and a man entered the room, pushing in a wheelchair-bound older woman. Catherine let out her

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