My heart twisted. Though my anger over our fight still simmered, his words gave me much-needed clarity. I couldn’t hide in this cabin forever. The world was not some prowling creature that might lose interest and wander off. I had to keep pushing forward, keep learning who I was and what it meant to wear this Crown.
Queen or not, I was still Diem Bellator—and a Bellator did not flee from a challenge merely because it scared them.
Outside, the heavy clop of hoofbeats approached. Lily must have returned on horseback.
I felt a stab of guilt that she was traipsing back and forth at night in a misguided effort to win my favor. I tugged the blanket tighter around my half-naked body and walked to the door, throwing it open before she could knock.
“Honestly Lily, you really don’t have to—”
My voice withered away as I stared into eyes so pale they were nearly silver, split by the jagged line of an angry scar.
The eyes of Prince Luther.
Lily had betrayed me.
If I thought I had seen a glimpse of Luther’s fiery temper before, it was nothing compared to the frenzied man staring at me now.
I barely recognized him. His expression was wild, eyes wide and lips bloodless. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, the muscles coating his body twitching with coiled tension. He looked closer to an animal than the eternally poised Prince I’d come to know. The jewel-encrusted sword he normally carried on his back was unsheathed and gripped in his white-knuckled fist.
He apparently had no intention of waiting for the Challenging to shed my blood.
I swore internally. My mortal weapons were useless against his Descended skin, and the one weapon that might save me—the Fortosian steel blade gifted by Henri’s friend, Brecke—was gone, fallen at Luther’s feet and forgotten amid the fervor of our stolen kiss.
My blood heated at the memory.
Bands of light and shadow, the manifestation of his Descended magic, curled around his arms like twisting vines. The scar that tore across his face looked darker than ever, a harbinger of the destruction he had the power to unleash.
Luther took a step closer, moving into the doorframe. It took every shred of my courage to resist a retreat.
Strangely, hurt tugged at my chest. Despite our wildly different worlds and my suspicions about his role in my mother’s disappearance, some naive part of me had felt a bond forming between us I couldn’t explain. Not a friendship, exactly. Something… else.
But it was clear enough from the sword in his hand and the scorching pulse of his aura that Luther hadn’t come here for anything like friendship.
I braced my shoulders and raised my chin, even as the icy fingers of fear crept along my skin. I might be terrified, but I would die—perhaps literally—before I would let Luther Corbois see me cower.
“I won’t go down without a fight,” I warned. “At least give me a blade to make it fair—if you even know the meaning of that word.”
The dark lines of his brows pulled in, his sharp features dulling slightly.
“It’s hardly my fault the Crown chose me instead of you,” I said. “As soon as I find out how to get rid of it, you can have it. I don’t want any part of you or your people.”
Surprise flashed over his face. I wondered if the possibility of someone not wanting the Crown had ever occurred to him.
My eyes darted warily to his bejeweled sword. “If you won’t give me a weapon, then kill me with magic. I refuse to die by that. It’s too embarrassing.”
His gaze followed my line of sight. He bristled, staring at his own blade like he had only just now taken note of its presence.
“How long have you known?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. “What you are. What you would become.”
My jaw clenched. “I told you before. I’m just a mortal. I didn’t expect any of this.”
“There’s no point in lying. We’re well past keeping those secrets now.”
I let the blanket fall and stormed forward to close the distance between us. “How dare you lecture me about secrets,” I hissed. “Why don’t you tell me what you did to my mother?”
He stilled and took me in, some dark thought churning in his eyes as they dragged slowly over my bare flesh.
“Eyes up here, Prince,” I snapped.
His focus shot back to mine, his pupils blown wide.
I jerked my chin at his weapon. “Now put away that garish piece of tin before I do it for you.”
He stared at me for a long, silent minute. His jaw flexed as he battled some internal decision—perhaps debating which part of me to carve up first.
“Is that why you killed the King?” he asked finally. “Because you think I hurt your mother?”
“Killed the King?” I nearly choked on the words.
“You were alone with him before he died.”
“At your request! He was barely alive as it was.”
“The guards said they heard arguing. There were signs of a struggle.”
I clamped my mouth shut. I was still trying to make sense of my bizarre final encounter with the King—his surprising strength as he’d pinned me at his side, the way his frail body had lit up with an eerie glow.
They told me you would come for me, he had said. They told me your blood would shatter our stone and lay waste to our borders. Devourer of Crowns. Ravager of Realms. Herald of Vengeance.
Best to keep that little interaction to myself.
“What happened with my uncle?” Luther demanded.
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Did he speak to you?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
“Tell me,” he growled.
I propped a hand on my hip and glared back. “Not until you tell me where my mother is.”
He noted the movement, his attention sliding down the vast expanse of skin at my waist.
His nostrils flared. “Was she involved in this? I knew you two were planning something. Your strange behavior at the palace, the way you flirted with me to distract me—”
“Flirted with you?” I shouted. “Flirted with you? As I recall, Luther Corbois, it’s always been you who can’t keep your hands off me.” He opened his mouth to respond. I silenced him with a finger jabbed into his chest, heat rising to my cheeks. “I wouldn’t flirt with you if you were the last living man on this miserable fucking continent.”
Sparks flew in his slate blue eyes.
Liar, they seemed to say.
We fell into a silent standoff. While I poured all my effort into maintaining my scowl, Luther seemed lost in my expression, as if searching for some answer buried within. His hand rose toward me. When I flinched away, he stopped, his fingers curling in and dropping back to his side.
His focus traveled up, taking in the ethereal Crown. The sight of it seemed to ease his temper. As his breathing slowed, something unreadable shifted on his face. “You and your mother had nothing to do with the King’s death? You give your word?”
“Not that I owe you any explanation,” I huffed, “but no, I did not. I swear it. And if my mother did, I know nothing of it.”
He watched me, assessing, then took a step back and sheathed his sword. “Get dressed. I’ll take you to the palace.”
“Sorry, I’ll have to decline,” I said dryly.