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)
Passed. That’s what they’re calling it now—even though his own son murdered him in cold blood.
I grit my teeth.
“What’s going on in the Court?”
Tanzy sighs.
“Everything’s draped in black. Mourning silks on every pillar, black banners hanging in the halls. But no one’s truly sad—not for the King. He hasn’t ruled in years. Everyone’s just pretending—waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” I ask, frowning.
“Why, for the coronation of course,” she whispers, eyes darting toward the door. “They’re planning it now. Within a fortnight, Dorian will wear the Crown.”
My stomach turns to ice.
“Goddess of Mercy,” I murmur. “What will happen then?”
Tanzy leans in.
“I don’t know, my Lady but word has it, the Queen… she’s not happy. Not like you’d expect. I heard her yelling at the steward yesterday. She says Dorian is too young to rule—too hot-headed, she said.” She shrugs. “But of course, there’s nothing she can do about it—the line of succession is unbreakable. She has no choice.”
I press a hand to my mouth, my thoughts racing.
Of course she doesn’t. A Prince inherits before a Queen reigns.
Which means Queen Virelda will be displaced—stripped of power. And Dorian… he’ll be free to do anything he wants.
And what he wants most is to destroy me.
“Tanzy…” My voice trembles. “The Crown Prince hates me. He won’t care if I’m pregnant or not. If anything, he’ll see the baby as a threat. A way for Xaren to regain influence.”
Tanzy nods grimly.
“That’s what I fear too, my Lady. And if he means to keep you locked away—or worse…”
I wrap my arms around myself. No. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him kill me—or Xaren. Or the baby, if I carry one at all.
A lump rises in my throat at the thought. I still don’t know if I conceived. But something in me feels different. A soft thrumming warmth at the very core of me—like a seed curled in the earth, waiting.
Tanzy grips my hand.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “I’m trapped here and Xaren is dying down in the dungeons because of that awful collar. I can feel him fading. I don’t know if it’s real or just madness setting in but—”
“It’s real,” Tanzy says fiercely. “If your heart tells you so, it’s real, my Lady!” Her eyes fill with tears. “You have to hold on—please. I’ll do everything I can to help, but if the Crown Prince suspects me—”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I don’t want you to get hurt helping me. Just… come when you can. Let me know what’s happening.”
Tanzy nods and rises, brushing dust off her skirts.
“I’ll do that, my Lady—I swear I will.” She pauses by the door. “And my Lady, if you can find a way to break free, take it. Don’t wait—don’t trust anyone—just go. And don’t look back.”
Then she’s gone, my cell door closing with a hollow boom behind her.
And I’m alone again with nothing but shadows and silence… and the slow, pulsing fear that I’m running out of time.
47
ELAINA
The morning of Dorian’s coronation dawns gray and heavy, as though even the sky mourns what’s to come.
They wake me before sunrise. Two maids I’ve never seen before—stiff-backed and silent—enter my cell carrying a gown draped over their arms and jewelry glittering in a silver casket.
“The Queen requests that the Princess be properly attired for the coronation,” one says, her tone flat, her eyes carefully averted.
I’m surprised—I can’t imagine why I’m being invited since I’ve been branded as a traitor to the Kingdom and a King-killer. And now they want me “properly attired.”
Properly attired. As though I’m still welcome at Court. As though I’m not the disgraced woman locked in a cell, blamed for a crime I didn’t commit, I think bitterly.
Still, I let them dress me. What choice do I have? And what other chance will I have to get out of this cell?
The gown they bring is crimson—so deep and rich it almost looks black in the dim torchlight. The bodice clings tightly to my ribs, the neckline scandalously low. The sleeves fall away at my shoulders, leaving my arms bare except for thin golden chains that loop around my biceps and wrists. My hair, unwashed for days, is brushed until it shines, then twisted into a high knot. A heavy circlet of gold and garnet is placed atop my head. Truly, I am dressed like the Princess I once was—what can be the meaning of this?
When I catch my reflection in the small mirror they hold up, I hardly recognize myself. My cheeks are pale and my eyes shadowed—but the gown makes me look like a queen from one of the old tragic ballads.
Beautiful, doomed, and dressed for execution.
I try to push the awful thought away. Despite my fancy dress, they don’t allow me slippers. The stone floor is cold beneath my bare feet as the guards come to escort me out of my cell. They march two in front of me and two behind, boxing me in. Their swords are drawn and their expressions hard. I know what they must think of me—not that I care, or so I tell myself.