Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
A chill runs down my spine as I finally understand. The man I've fallen in love with doesn't just want to survive—he wants to become the ruler of Empire's greatest enemy.
"The war," I say, the question I can't not ask. "If you took the throne, would you continue the war with Empire?"
"The war is not what you've been taught, Nessa. The history your scribes record is carefully curated to support Empire's narrative."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I've seen atrocities committed by Empire that rival anything the Red Kingdom has done," he says carefully. "I've seen it from both sides now. Neither is innocent."
"But would you end it?" I press, needing to know.
Before he can answer, the deep toll of a bell cuts through the slowly brightening morning air—a single, solemn note that makes my blood run cold.
The Crucible is beginning. Earlier than planned. Much earlier. It’s the middle of the night, not morning like we were told.
Raith is already moving, gathering his clothes with swift efficiency. "It's starting early," he says, pulling on his pants.
"The sun hasn't even risen," I protest, even as I scramble for my own clothes. "They can't possibly expect—"
"They can expect whatever they want," he cuts in, his voice hard again, all traces of tenderness gone. "They want us caught off guard. Sleepy. It's all part of the trial."
Our conversation is left hanging as we dress hurriedly in the darkness. I want to ask him more, to finish what we've started, but I know what he'll say. He'll want my mind on the Crucible, not on the complicated mess of whatever just happened between us. Love. Betrayal. Confusion. Conflicting loyalties.
"Raith," I say, catching his arm as he moves toward the door. "Promise me we'll finish talking about this after."
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the conflict there—the man who loves me warring with the prince who has a kingdom to reclaim.
"Later," he promises, though whether he'll actually tell me the truth remains to be seen. "For now, all that matters is getting you through today alive."
He presses a swift, hard kiss to my lips, then helps me fix a place where I've missed a button on my tunic. The rushed, tender moment threatens to break me as the bell continues to ring, signaling we're all about to fight for our lives in the Crucible.
36
The bell's deep toll is persistent and impatient. I give myself one last look in the mirror while Raith checks the edge of his sword with a calloused thumb. Satisfied, he sheathes it with a click.
The door to my room bursts open. Two upper-year legacies stride in, their expressions cold and impassive.
"Time to go," the tallest says, his air elemental—an eagle twice the size of Ambrose's water hawk—hovering above his shoulder. "With us."
Raith moves instinctively, positioning himself in front of me. "She's not going anywhere with you."
"You'll both follow us, or you'll both be disqualified before the Crucible even starts." His eyes narrow. "Your choice."
"What's happening?" I ask, grabbing my rapier and strapping it to my hip.
"We're going to the courtyard. That's all you need to know," the other legacy says, this one a water affinity with a serpent elemental—similar to Serena's but somehow more refined, more controlled.
Raith and I exchange glances. I feel his suspicion, his anger, and beneath it all, a cold determination that matches my own.
My mind is a war of emotions. Fear for the coming Crucible, but there's also hurt. I understand his reasons for keeping secrets from me, but I still can't believe he's Raith Aurenciel. He's the heir to the entire fucking Red Kingdom. The man I've sworn an oath to and tethered with wants to reclaim his throne and presumably continue fighting against Empire and everyone I've ever known or cared about.
But there's no time to talk. No time to process everything properly.
I'm escorted out of my room and led through a hallway where the same scene is playing out everywhere I look. Raith is dragged ahead of me, led down the stairs and out of view.
Upper-year students are everywhere we go. They’re hauling more first-years from their rooms, confusion and fear etched on the faces of my peers. Most are half-dressed, fumbling with uniforms and boots as they stumble into the predawn darkness.
A masked figure wearing Empire black and gold moves through the crowd, pressing small discs into trembling hands. When they reach me, they place one in my palm—cold metal carved with pulsing blue runes.
"Stasis token," they explain tersely. "Activates if you're about to die... usually. Don't lose it."
I study the token with awe. If it really does what they say, maybe there's a chance we'll make it through this thing alive. I’m reminded of my bargain with Voss. He agreed to help tip the scales in favor of survival, but not without cost.