“Armel.”
“Yes. He had come to the Walled City looking for revenge. I recognized him from my father’s description of him, and his thirst for revenge. He wanted to kill my father. I told him I too wanted my father dead, offered to let him into the heavily guarded tower, escort him personally to my father’s chambers, in exchange for one small thing.”
The bridge was filled with people, and yet all were silent. It felt like Jori and I were alone.
“It was on this bridge that I asked him to read this stone for me.” Jori’s fingers traveled from the bottom left of the stone. “It begins with a dragon called Rendicryss”—his fingers continued upward along the edge—“bringing a baby down from the night’s sky, a baby whose blue eyes would glow with gifts bestowed upon her by the moon.”
“What happened to Armel?”
Jori looked down the hole. “He fell. But not before telling me all kinds of things about you. My favorite was how his mother used to punish you. How as a baby when you would whine and cry, she would lock you in the back of the cave, sealing you in a tomb of rock, blocking you from the moon. How you would grow so weak you could barely move, but you would never die, as he wished you would.”
And just like that, events from the past four weeks made perfect sense. “The practice room you gave Xavier.”
“Yes. It was a good test. A punishment I will use again and again to my advantage. Keep that in mind.” He patted my cheek. “Armel wanted to kill you too. He would have if he found you. You had no memory of who you were or where you came from. Lost in the Hinterlands.”
“He could never have killed me whether I could remember how to wield my powers or not.”
“You may be right. He was weak, and I have seen you fight. But to end my story, not long after Armel told me what to look for, I found the dragon. And then that same afternoon, I found you. It was divine intervention.”
“Dumb luck,” I mumbled.
“Fate. Destiny. I found you and Rendicryss. It was me who was meant to rule these lands, not my father. Me. With magic by my side. With you by my side.” He picked up a pitcher beside the throne, pouring over his father’s head, coating his bald head in rose oil. King Umbert screeched and snarled. Jori reached in his pocket and pulled out three crushed wild roses. Jori shifted his father’s gag, shoving the flowers into his mouth. The king coughed, heaving breaths. “I believe my fiancée and I have heard enough, haven’t we, Maggie?”
I had nothing to say.
“Wild roses were my mother’s favorite. After her death, he had them pressed into oils, dripped in my baths. He had them stitched into my clothing, all as a way of reminding me of the power he had over me, the power to take her from me. But no longer. I have all the power now, isn’t that right, Maggie? And all that remains for us to be free is for you to kill my father.”
“If you want your father dead, why not throw him down the hole yourself. Like he did your mother?”
He laughed with mirth. “I want you to kill him because I’m telling you to.”
The prince wanted to turn me into an assassin, a murderer. A monster like him. “No.”
Jori scowled. “You don’t get to tell me no. When you do, another will pay for your impudence.” Jori’s malicious glare fell on Bradyn and Buffont. “Which one shall it be?” He scooped Bradyn over his shoulder, moving beside the hole. Buffont cried and stamped his feet, trying to get the prince’s attention. But the prince paid him no heed.
“What are you doing? Put him down!” I struggled against the cuffs, against Raleigh’s hold, to no avail.
“Do as I ask.”
Buffont inched toward the prince, his pleading sounds muzzled by his gag. A soldier latched on to his shoulder, holding him back. His frantic gaze on me, the cooker threw his weight, barreling into the king’s throne, tipping it forward.
Several things happened at once. Soldiers reached for the falling chair, but the king’s mass was too great. He went over, plummeting through the hole. Raleigh tossed me aside. He strode forward and without hesitation threw Buffont headfirst through the hole.
“No!” I screamed. “No . . . how could you? How could you?”
Jori was so baffled by what happened that when Bradyn started shrieking and wrestling in his arms, the prince nearly fell himself. Soldiers grabbed him, pulling him back.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Jori said. He called a soldier over. “As soon as we’re done here, bring Sir Griffin to my chambers. I will send our champion out to let the people know of the king’s demise. The traitor was within the castle all along. Buffont poisoned the ale. And when all that failed, he took matters into his own hands.”
Raleigh said what I was thinking. “And the witness?” He jerked his head at Bradyn.
“I’m afraid he will also have to disappear, forever.”
“No. Please.” I swallowed my pride, and it tasted like piss. “He won’t tell a soul. I swear it. And I’ll do as you ask. Just—you must spare him.”
Jori took two long steps, grabbed my face, and kissed me, hard. I held as still as possible, suppressing the urge to bite his lip. He pulled back, still holding my face with a satisfied grin. “Good. Very good.”
“You’ll let him go?”
“After we’re wed. After you’ve proven to me that you are being honest with me. After a while. For now, he will be locked away.”
“Not good enough.”
“I could take his tongue right now so he could never tell what he witnessed. Would you prefer that?”
I drove my forehead into his nose, delighting in his gasping screams. He stumbled away from me, craning this neck, covering his face. Blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers.
“Sire, we have things to deal with. I think a little cooling-off time is in order.” Raleigh yanked my arms up, straining my shoulders. It hurt but I refused to show it.
Still trying to stop his nose from bleeding, Jori waved his permission.
Raleigh hoisted me onto his shoulder. “Bring the boy.”
As he swung me around, I saw the other soldiers force Bradyn to his feet. Raleigh wanted my burden to remain in my sight. His way of telling me that Bradyn would die if I didn’t do as he asked.
“You should let me go, Raleigh. If I marry the prince, I could kill him whenever I wanted to. His very days would be numbered.”
Raleigh set me down in the hallway. He grabbed my throat, pressing me against the wall but not choking me. “Why can you not see what is right before your eyes? He offers you a crown. He offers you a home. He is a good person.”
“Who asked me to kill his father! I suspect our definition of a good person differs in extremes!”
“A few hours from now, your definition of a good person will be vastly changed.”
Raleigh scooped me up like a helpless child and started down a spiral staircase that had no visible bottom.
Minutes later we were swallowed by darkness. The dungeon. I could already feel the thick walls pressing in. The moon’s energy draining from me—our connection thinning.
A soldier lit a torch to guide us the rest of the way. I heard Bradyn’s chains clanking on the steps behind us.
“Think about this while you’re down here,” Raleigh said. “Good planning evaluates all possible outcomes. There is a plan for the best-case scenario, and the worst. Best case, you do as you’re told. Have a life with him. Play nice. He’s handsome. You could do worse. Give him heirs. Turn all that venom raging inside you on those who would seek to tear down all that has been built here. But if you can’t, the other outcome will have you blamed for his death.” He jerked his head at Bradyn. “And we’ll add a few others to the mix. Lady Sybil, maybe? Griffin’s pals, Thoma and Dres? All acts laid at your feet. Gossip will spread of your madness. And the prince will end your life and your dragon’s. Either way, he comes out king. The only question in all of this is whether you will be on the throne beside him, or in a grave.”