“The gods warned of no such thing,” I said. “And you know that.”
“What, my dear, do you think a prophecy spoken by a god to be, other than a warning spoken by a god?” Isbeth countered.
My nostrils flared. “I’m not the Harbinger.”
She smiled as her gaze swept over my face. “My sweet child, I see one thing hasn’t changed.”
“My rampant dislike of you?”
Isbeth laughed softly. “You still haven’t accepted who and what you are.”
“I know exactly who and what I am,” I said, ignoring the sudden burst of dread—of unease. “And soon, all those you have lied to will know the truth. I will make sure of it.”
“Again, what do you expect of the people, Your Highness?” Malik asked. “For them to turn their backs on her? When she is all they know and trust? You were a Maiden they believe either dead or changed. A stranger from a kingdom they fear.”
“Shut up,” Kieran growled.
“I’m only speaking the truth,” Malik responded. “They will fear her.”
“Instead of fearing the false god in front of them? A demis who has stolen the essence of a long-forgotten Primal and used it to kill the King of Gods’ guards? Who sanctioned the slaughter of countless children in the so-called, honorable Rite?” I arched a brow at Isbeth. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I wonder how they will feel to learn that not even your name is real.” I laughed softly. “Fake, just like the Blessing. Just like the Rite and everything that makes up the Blood Crown. False, just like the god you believe you are.”
“Careful,” Isbeth warned.
“What about the other Ascended?” I pushed. “Those who aren’t favored by you? What do you think they will do if they learn you’re not one of them? Should we find out?”
She stared at me, her glass forgotten in her hand as Malik edged into our space. “I wouldn’t suggest doing anything so reckless, Your Highness,” he said to me, placing his hand on the Blood Queen’s arm. “You may be the one to walk out of whatever catastrophe you create, but many of those in this room and beyond won’t. Is that what you want?”
I stared at his hand, momentarily stunned. Disgust built inside me, joining the cold anger. “How can you even touch her?”
Malik lifted a shoulder. “How can I not?”
“You fucking bastard,” Kieran snarled, stepping forward.
I grabbed Kieran’s arm, stopping him, somehow becoming the rational one.
The Prince eyed Kieran. “It’s been a while since we were around each other for any amount of time, so I’ll let that slide. You’ve apparently forgotten I can kick your ass from here to Atlantia without breaking a sweat.”
Kieran’s wintry eyes brightened. “I haven’t forgotten shit.”
“Good.” Malik smiled. “Now you know that hasn’t changed.”
My eyes cut to Malik, to that bored, indifferent smile, and I let my senses reach out to him again. I brushed against those thick shields, and this time, I didn’t pull back. I didn’t stop the dark urge to find those vulnerable spots. I let the essence follow my senses, let the power gently wash over those walls, discovering the cracks.
Malik’s gaze snapped to mine, and that lazy smile of his froze. I didn’t stop myself. I sank the eather into those mental walls, digging in with claws, into those tiny slivers of weakness. Blood drained rapidly from the Prince’s face as I tore those fissures wide. The glass slipped from his fingers as I shattered his shields.
Emotions poured out, raw and unfettered, as Malik stumbled to the side—a wild, spiraling mix that was almost too fast and too chaotic to make sense of. Almost. I caught the sugary residue of fleeting amusement and pooling, acidic anger. Malik shuddered, bending at the waist as his fingers dug into his hair. The Handmaidens stepped in, blocking him from the view of others as I continued to pull his emotions from him. I tasted hints of sourness and tart tanginess. Equal parts shame and sorrow, but it was the dagger-sharp bitterness that overpowered everything else. Fear that had grown into an ever-present panic.
I pulled back then, recoiling from the holes now left in his shields. He lifted his head. Blood trickled from his nose. His stinging pain eased off, becoming a dull, throbbing ache as he stared at me.
“Get him out of here,” Isbeth ordered in a clipped voice. Two guards stepped forward. One of them took hold of his arm.
Malik shook them off. “I’m fine,” he rasped, but he didn’t fight them when they turned him. When he walked off, his steps were shaky.