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)
“Where are we going?” I whisper, though I already know.
“To the Great Hall,” the head guard says curtly. “You will attend His Majesty’s coronation.”
His Majesty. The words make bile rise in my throat. And what ever happened to the trial, I was supposed to undergo? I wonder if Dorian has decided to cancel that—doubtless he doesn’t want me shouting out the truth in the middle of Court again.
The halls are draped in black silk and crimson banners—the colors of mourning and blood. Hundreds of candles flicker in golden sconces, casting long, trembling shadows across the carved marble walls. Every surface gleams, scrubbed spotless for the occasion, but beneath the polish lies the same rot as always. The Citadel has a black heart—I know that now. I don’t know why I didn’t see it from the very first.
The guards march me through the massive double doors into the Great Hall, and the noise hits me like a wave.
A sea of Nobles fills the space—waves of velvet gowns, jeweled collars, powdered wigs, and perfumed fans rise and fall as they all whisper together. The air reeks of cloying rose oil and sweat. Everyone is wearing black but me. All of them turn to stare as I enter in my red dress, their whispers darting like arrows.
“There she is…”
“The poisoner…”
“Look at her, dressed like a queen—how dare she come dressed all in red?”
“I know—not a speck of mourning black on her. Disgusting.”
“The filthy murderess!”
They think I killed the King—of course they do. That’s what Dorian’s been telling them and all this time I’ve been locked away with no way to defend myself or clear my name.
At the far end of the hall, the throne platform has been draped in mourning silk. The Queen sits stiffly on the lower seat, her face carved from stone. Behind her, Dorian stands on the dais, resplendent in black and gold. A crown of dragonfire rubies gleams in his pale hair.
When he sees me, his lips curve in a smile that chills me to the bone.
“Ah,” he says softly, his voice carrying even over the murmuring crowd. “Our honored guest.”
The guards lead me to a place near the front, behind a cordon of silk rope meant to separate the Royal family from the rest of the Court. I stand there, trembling, the Queen’s cold gaze burning into me.
The ceremony begins and passes in a blur. I’m barely aware of the solemn chanting from the priests of the Flame…the low hum of the temple choir…the rustle of silk as everyone kneels, then stands, then kneels again.
I should be watching. I should be praying. But all I can think about is Xaren, no doubt left unattended since everyone in the Citadel is here, attending the coronation.
Is he still alive down there? Can he feel what’s happening above? Does he know that his brother now wears the crown that should have been his?
I have no answers to my questions. My stomach twists and my chest aches for my Dark Prince—for my husband.
When I glance toward the doors, I see that the guards near the main entrance have turned, distracted by some commotion outside—a servant dropping a tray of ceremonial cups, perhaps, or a messenger arriving late. After a moment, everyone is staring. The Nobles crane their necks to see what’s happening…the choir falters in their latest hymn. And meanwhile, I can see a small door that’s unattended, not thirty feet from where I’m standing. A door that leads into the bowels of the palace, no doubt—a place to run…a place to hide.
No one’s looking at me. For the first time in weeks, I see an opening in the gloom—a faint glimmer of hope.
My heart hammers so hard I’m afraid the distracted guards will hear it.
If I can just get to that little door…if I can reach the eastern stairs, I can find the tunnels—get down to the dungeons—get to Xaren.
Without letting myself think, I start to move. Slowly, casually at first—slipping along the edge of the crowd, head bowed as though in reverence.
One step…another. And then another. No one’s looking at me—they’re all still attending to the commotion outside the Great Hall.
Don’t look up. Don’t draw attention. Just keep walking, I tell myself.
I’m almost there. The small wooden door is only a few paces away. I reach for it and my fingers brush the cold iron latch—
“There—the murderess! She’s escaping!”
The voice rings out like a trumpet. I freeze, my blood turning to ice.
A Nobleman points a jeweled finger straight at me. All heads whip in my direction.
For one wild heartbeat, I consider running anyway—trying to get through the door. But before I can move, the guards are already on me. Hands seize my arms, twisting them painfully behind my back. Someone yanks the crown from my head—it clatters to the floor, scattering garnets across the marble.