Total pages in book: 201
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
“Silence!” Boaz barks, the ring of steel from his blade sliding out of its scabbard quieting the crowd immediately.
Heavy footfalls sound then as guards lead eight more mortals in at sword point.
Three are children. One is too young to comprehend what’s happening. Certainly, too young to ingest the poison on her own. Her blue eyes are wide as she takes in the people, her thumb stuck in her mouth.
She reminds me of Gracen’s daughter.
A mixture of nausea and anger hits.
What if Romeria is telling the truth? What if the poison flowing through these mortals’ veins means nothing in just days?
And what if Gracen somehow finds out that I knew?
She would see me as a monster, and she would be right to.
I gave the order to execute children the night of the royal repast, as a show of zero tolerance, and those faces have lingered in my mind ever since. I can’t make that same decision again, not if there is a chance.
And yet I find myself in an impossible position. Letting these mortals walk free will only encourage others who may have been hesitant. What’s more, the keepers will slaughter them. It’s no longer safe for them in the streets.
And what if the curse is not lifted on Hudem? What if that is a stalling tactic?
Damn you, Romeria.
Damn you and your letter.
“Long live, Princess Romeria!” the spotty old lady from the Rookery shouts. “May she reign over all—”
Her words are cut off by a dagger through her throat, earning gasps and shrieks.
I sigh. Boaz’s aim has always been true, whether it be blade or arrow. In this case, it wasn’t needed, and now the mortals are only more agitated.
“If the mortal admits to malicious intent when Wendeline is marking them, hang them outside their doors and be done with them.” There can be no mercy for them in my kingdom. “The rest, bring here, but do not execute them yet. Post guards at all arena entrances. Feed them and do not harm them.”
Boaz scowls “Your Highness, they are tainted.”
“Yes, I understand that,” I say with forced patience. “What about the children you have gathered in the ballroom? How many are there?”
“I have not counted, but many. We have targeted the areas of the city known for larger households first, to avoid a rush of dosing.”
“As always, you are strategic.” Sometimes too much. “And their keepers?”
“Most complied. A few rebelled, and I made swift examples of them. Resistance should be minimal going forward.”
“I don’t need the whole of Cirilea against me, Boaz.”
“What of the children? Who have you placed in there to care for them?” Kazimir speaks up.
Boaz shrugs. “Let the older watch the younger.”
“Babes watching babes,” Kazimir mutters. “Brilliant.”
“I am not a nursemaid,” Boaz barks. “I am tasked with bringing them here, not minding them. What of these? How long are we to keep them corralled here?”
“Until the dawn after Hudem.” When Romeria’s fantastical claims will either be real or not. I peer up at the tower and catch a flutter of black hair moving in the window before it’s gone. “And then we will have ourselves the grand execution that you are so desperate for.”
CHAPTER FORTY
ROMERIA
“Good morning, Eden,” I call out, strolling past the menacing gargoyles.
She falters in her step, alarm plastered across her face. “Good—morning?” She notes my clothes, the ones she laid out for her queen.
I smile as I push through the doors and walk along the path. The morning sunshine feels natural against my cheeks, as if there is nothing between my skin and its rays. After months of being stuck wearing someone else’s face, I can finally enjoy being back in my old one for a little while.
And it’s not only my face. The voice I recognize as Romy’s is in my ear, the reflection in the dressing mirror showed a familiar body.
Ahead, in the training ground, wooden swords crack. “Congratulations. You’ve just been gutted,” Jarek declares, stooping to collect the practice weapon and handing it back to Brawley. “Again! And this time, remember that you are not a tree. Move your damned feet!”
Brawley jumps at his bark, fumbling with his sword only to drop it.
“Don’t take it personally. He’s always extra cranky in the morning,” I call out.
Jarek has daggers within each grasp before he’s even spun around, his menacing glare leveled on me. “Who are you?”
I mock gasp. “You don’t remember me? I’m insulted. And we had so much fun that night.”
His eyes flash with shock before narrowing. He juts his chin toward Horik and together they take measured steps, approaching me from either side. “How did you get in here?”
“I walked in.”
“Into Ulysede.” He purses his lips with doubt.
“Yeah. There was no one out front. You should have better security. Who’s the commander in charge of this place, anyway? They’re doing a shitty job.”