Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
The Nobles cheer in agreement. Dorian waits until they quiet. He’s clearly playing the room—pausing for dramatic effect. He looks around at the crowd, his voice rising to a roar.
“You will burn for this, Princess! You will be stripped of your Royal title and burned alive before all the Court—your screams will be the music of justice!”
The Nobles roar their approval—the sound is deafening.
I feel my mouth go dry. Burned at the stake? Oh Goddess of Mercy, no—no, please! I saw a witch burned once, when I was a child. I remember how her skin crisped and her hair went up in a torch as she screamed and screamed and screamed. I had nightmares about it for years afterwards.
No. No, please. Not fire, I think, my stomach clenching like a slick fist. Anything but that. Anything!
I tremble, staring up at Dorian through the haze of panic and fear and he smirks back at me. But even as terror grips me, something else stirs inside—a spark of defiance. I won’t go to my fate easily—I’ll have one last word.
“You won’t win, Dorian,” I say, glaring up at him. “Xaren will rise again. His Drake will rise. And when he does, your fire will be nothing compared to his!”
His hateful, handsome face twists—the smirk turning into a scowl.
“Take the murderess away!” he commands, his jaw clenching. “I can’t stand the sight of her! Remove her from my Royal presence at once!”
The guards haul me to my feet. My cheek throbs where he struck me, but I keep my chin lifted as they drag me from the hall. Behind me, the Nobles are still shouting, drunk on bloodlust and spectacle.
The Queen’s voice cuts faintly through the noise—low, sharp, reprimanding—but Dorian doesn’t listen. He’s too busy basking in his own cruelty.
You think this is over, I think, as they drag me through the corridor toward whatever cell they’ve chosen for me next. But it isn’t. Not yet. I saw what you did, and I’ll make you pay for it.
Even if it kills me.
49
ELAINA
The cell is so cold tonight—colder than it’s ever been. The stones seem to leech the heat from my skin. No matter how tightly I curl into myself, I can’t stop shivering.
There’s straw in the corners, but it’s moldy and damp. The single slit of a window high above lets in a shaft of moonlight so pale it feels like a ghost, stretching across the stone floor like a long, accusing finger.
Tomorrow I die.
The thought echoes in my head, over and over, like the tolling of a funeral bell.
I don’t cry. I thought I would, but the tears won’t come. Maybe they’ve already dried up inside me. What I feel instead is a hollow ache—a silence so vast it doesn’t seem to have a bottom.
The bond I once felt with Xaren—so warm, so alive—has gone quiet. Dim. Like a fire banked too long…or a heartbeat slowing to stillness.
Is he gone? Or just slipping away from me, moment by moment, breath by breath? I don’t know. And not knowing is its own kind of torture.
Footsteps echo down the hallway—soft and hurried. I sit up, heart hammering.
The little door creaks open, and a small figure slips inside carrying a covered tray.
“Tanzy!” I whisper.
She runs to me, tears already streaking her cheeks. She sets the tray down and wraps her arms around me tightly.
“Oh, Princess—my Lady—I’m so sorry,” she sobs.
I hug her back, pressing my face into her shoulder.
“Shh. It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not!” she wails. “You’re innocent! You don’t deserve to…to die.”
The last word comes out as a whisper. She pulls back, sniffling, and uncovers the tray. Steam rises from a small bowl of stew and a piece of fresh bread. My stomach growls, but I’m not hungry. Still, I reach for the bread and tear off a corner, chewing slowly.
It’s warm and savory with a hint of sweetness—the last food I’ll ever eat.
“They’re preparing for the pyre,” Tanzy whispers, wringing her hands. “The execution square’s already being built. And they’re hanging new banners for another full coronation ceremony—deep crimson and gold. The Queen is still in mourning for the old King, but…” She shakes her head. “King Dorian wants to celebrate.”
Celebrate my death—that’s what he wants to celebrate, I think, feeling sick.
My fingers clench around the bread.
“What about Prince Xaren? Have you heard anything about him?”
She hesitates.
“No one’s seen him. But the guards say he’s still alive. Locked up and wearing the collar.”
I nod slowly. At least I can die knowing he still lives. But how much longer can he last wearing that horrible collar?
“I feel him slipping,” I murmur. “I can’t explain it, but… it’s like I can feel his Drake growing fainter. Dying.”
Tanzy sniffles again and stands.
“I have to go before they realize I’m missing. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
She leans down and hugs me tightly one more time. “I’ll be watching. And I’ll be praying—to every goddess and every star I know. You never know, my Lady—there could still be a miracle.”