Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
I don’t want to imagine the depths of grief my mother feels for Clare, because I don’t want to imagine that it could happen to me.
“Why did you hold Clare responsible for this?” Tara asks. It’s not the first time she’s asked. She begged me, just before Nathan and I got into the car to go to the ceremonial grounds, to reconsider Clare’s part in it. To see that it wasn’t truly my sister behind the attack. She tries again, as if it will somehow change everything that’s passed. “It was Julian who orchestrated all of it.”
But even though Clare hadn’t planned the assassination, she never thought to warn me. “You’re right. It wasn’t Clare who planned it. But she went along with it. She chose to side with her mate over her sister.”
“Like you did.”
The accusation crumples something inside me. I did allow Nathan to put Clare to death. Worse, I let him sentence her to Lycaon’s Banquet. I never intervened. Maybe I could have saved her.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
“You’re right,” I say, drawing myself up straight. “I did stand by Nathan’s decision to execute Clare. Because that’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? We’re supposed to obey our mates. It’s been driven into our heads since we were little girls. So, if what Clare was doing was right, what I did was right, too. And you can’t blame me for it.”
“I can blame you for it all I want,” Tara shoots back, and it’s such a childish retort I almost laugh.
“How can you forgive her for trying to kill me?” I demand. “Yeah, she’s your sister. But I’m your sister, too. Why is it okay for her and not for me?”
“Because she’s the one who’s actually dead, Bailey!” Tara shouts, standing so abruptly, her stool tips over.
From the corner of my eye, I see Xiao’s hand move to the taser at her hip. I gesture sharply to her to stand down, and she does, but slowly.
“She’s the one who’s dead,” Tara repeats. “And you’re the one who was too good for this life, and for this pack. You’re the one who left. And now, you think you deserve some kind of understanding from me? Clare was there! She didn’t blow off her whole life and run away on an adventure, then come back and suddenly start chopping people’s heads off!”
“Stop it!” I shout at her. I hate that Tara’s grief has changed the way she feels about me. Or maybe it hasn’t; maybe it’s just revealed her true feelings about me. It’s unfair for me to demand that she forgive me, but my heart is a greedy, wounded thing in my chest. I want her to be on my side. I want to have something, at least, from before my life became a game of politics that I have to win or risk being murdered.
“Stop it,” I repeat, softer. “She tried to have me killed, Tara. My fucking hand got bitten off.”
“I see.” Tara nods, her face twisted in a spiteful scowl. “It’s different for you. It’s always different for you. You don’t have to conform to rules and tradition. You’re special. And because you’re so fucking special, I don’t have a right to grieve our sister.”
“I never said that—”
“Tell it to your mate, oh perfect wife,” she spits, and turns to leave the room.
Xiao steps in front of her to prevent her leaving; no one just walks out on the queen.
“Let her go,” I say, barely a whisper, and Xiao moves aside.
When Tara’s gone, I repeat, “Let her go,” and add, “back to our parents, for all I care. Back to her stupid mate.”
“Your Majesty,” Xiao begins, soft and hesitant. I make a noise of acknowledgment and she continues, “May I speak frankly?”
I nod, but I’m so tired, I’m not sure I’ll even register what she has to say.
“Your sister might not understand the difference, but I do. Clare had a choice. She could have defied her mate. But you can’t.”
I understand that, and I’m trying to think of a nice way to tell her that I’m stupid, when she adds:
“Because of the binding.”
That perks up my interest. “What are you talking about?”
“The binding,” she says again, blinking her dark eyes in confusion. “The spell that’s on you and His Majesty the King.”
I stare at her blankly, but my brain works frantically inside my skull.
“You… didn’t know about the binding?” she asks. “I thought you’d be able to feel it.”
“Is it a weird connection that constantly makes me want to jump on his dick no matter what else is going on or how I’m feeling about him as a person at the time?” The words roll out on a numb tide of disbelief.
“That’s the one,” she confirms.
I get to my feet a little too quickly. It’s that, I assume, and not the cluster bomb of totally bananas news I just got, that totally blacks the room out as I fall to the floor.