An ache starts at the base of my head and spreads fast, the stress mounting by the second.
I turn to the mage grasping the cage with the fairy. “Show us the evidence. And be fast about it. My patience is running out.”
“Your Highness,” Jasion insists, his voice loud and clipped. “You can’t seriously be entertaining this. She murdered King Tibout.”
I swing around and grab him by the throat, drawing him to me. I’m barely holding onto any semblance of sanity, and this asshole pushes me by counting on me not knowing he lies.
“Be very careful what you say when I know you’re lying,” I growl.
His face goes as white as snow, but then I witness his expression morph into confidence within moments, like that’s all it takes for him to reconstruct his story. I’ve always thought he was a friend, but that was a huge mistake on my part. I see that now. I release him, and he stumbles on his feet. Once this is over, I will personally interrogate him. I look over to my guards to call them over when Jasion’s voice sears across the room to ensure everyone hears.
“Your Highness,” he continues, and my fingers twitch into fists. “Surely you are aware that permitting someone to challenge the claim to the throne comes with repercussions. If this girl, this assassin, cannot prove she is the rightful heir, then she will face death in her attempt to usurp the throne.”
I swing toward him, my fists tight. His words sucker-punch me right in the gut. I glare at him, picturing how I will destroy him. “You are not—”
“Agreed,” my mother calls out from behind me. “Get this absurdity done, then everyone who disrupted this ceremony will be interrogated and face the harshest of punishments. This is enough!”
The crowd cheers in a kind of maddening approval. I look at my mother, infuriated that she’s siding with Jasion. But at the same time, I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be for her. To lose a husband she knew cheated on her, then to have his child come to claim the throne from me. To be reminded of his infidelity.
“Guards,” I bellow. “Apprehend Jasion and lock him up in the dungeons.”
The mage’s face falls as two guards from the side of the room carry out my order. Fury twists Jasion’s face, hatred pouring from him, but I can’t stand to look at him another moment. I curse him under my breath and vow that once this is over, he will be tossed to the Bloodcursed for all I care. No interrogation needed—his fate is sealed in Shadow Court.
I glance over to Guendolyn, who’s chewing on her lower lip, fear building behind her eyes. She meets my gaze, and my first instinct is to pull her into my arms, to take her out of here and get her to tell me everything. But I don’t move, because that’s not going to work. Not when hundreds of fae are invested in this scandal. The only way to douse the flames is with a public display of the truth.
My mind is foggy as I contemplate Guendolyn’s intention to take the throne as queen. I won’t deny, at the back of my mind, I ask myself if part of her motive is to make me suffer after I pushed her away. To take away the one thing I picked over her…
I shake my head. She wouldn’t do that.
My thoughts linger to when we were last together on the balcony and she healed my wings. To her torn expression when I turned her down.
Why didn’t she tell me about her ancestry before?
A loud clap draws my attention to my mother. “Perform your test up here for all to see.” She’s furious and won’t even look at me. She fears losing our home if the test proves truthful, not to mention the wolves within the crowd ready to pounce.
The mage carries the cage up the steps and stands in the middle of the stage, looking toward Mother and the council. I move to take a seat alongside her, while my brothers come to stand on either side of us.
Guendolyn climbs the stairs, holding her head high. For her sake, I pray the test proves she is who she claims to be. Not being with her is one thing, but to have her executed will end me. The ache in my gut returns, the muscles in my shoulder blades pinching with stress. It’s snowballing, and each breath comes out ragged.
I sit next to Mother, my whole body tense as shit, and I wait. Guendolyn looks so nervous. It’s difficult to watch her this way when I want to protect her from everyone—except she’s asking to be at the forefront of everything.
She hid this secret from me. It didn’t have to end up this way.
“Ramond, you may commence,” Deimos instructs.
The mage nods once and sets the cage on the floor near his feet. “I don’t carry a blade on me,” he says. “I need a few droplets of blood from…” He glances over to Guendolyn, clearly not knowing her name.
“G-Guendolyn,” she says softly, her gaze traveling to us before returning to the mage. There are gasps through the room, even my mother’s breath catches at learning who stands before her. The cursed girl from our realm.
The mage doesn’t seem to bat an eye and pulls out a small wooden bowl the size of my palm from the pocket of his robe-skirt.
I stand and draw a blade from my waist, then approach her. She gingerly offers me her hand palm side up, the mage gripping the bowl close to catch the blood.
She’s soft to the touch, and I feel her trembling. “It’s going to hurt just for a bit,” I whisper.
“It’s alright,” she reassures me. Like
