“I’m going to kill the Prince.” I look up at her suddenly, and those thin black painted lips carve up in a pleased smile.
“Good.” That smile widens until vicious, inky teeth reveal her happiness. “And I’ll help you.”
A revelation blooms in my chest, and I too smile quietly back at her.
Good.
Good indeed.
Thirteen
Then There Were Three
It takesno more than three days for me to go from eating greasy pork/beef/human meat among the others to dining at the Prince’s side, sipping from his glass still held intimately in his hand, and finally, being invited to a private evening.
My stomach turns sickly the moment Avian tells me the good news.
“He wants to see you,” he repeats as we linger on the sidelines of the arena. Two men fling their weapons in violent blows at one another while I imagine the violent blows the Prince might have in mind for the two of us tonight.
This is what I worked for. This is what I wanted.
I should be happy.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” My palm falls to the exposed skin between my pants and tight shirt, and Roman’s attention follows that move.
The concern is there in his bright brooding eyes. Zilo seems oblivious or simply caught within the darkness of his own mind. And yet, we all hold our silence.
We let these thoughts fester until they’re bleeding out and drowning us in the darkness of what’s to come. I hate it. I hate pretending, and I hate feeling nauseated by what all my pretending is leading to.
But I can’t stop.
Not until that man is dead and the rightful ruler is crowned.
I don’t realize I’m still staring at Roman until he clears his throat harshly and quickly looks away… He was staring at me just like I was staring at him.
Maybe both of us feel that pressing dagger that’s stuck through my throat and heart.
I swallow down the pain of it all, and I don’t say another word before I’m storming back to the safety of our little bedroom. That’s all I do anymore: dig myself further into the hole of flirting and leading on the Prince and then pout about my day’s deeds in the bedchambers.
But after tonight, the pouting might be real tears. Real torment and real pain.
My boots pound over the black-bricked sidewalk, through the side entrance of the castle, and the echo of my anxious steps follows after me as I stride down the dark hall and slip into the safe haven of the last door hidden in the corner of the castle.
My bedroom—I mean,theirbedroom.
A pressing breath shoves out at that thought too. This isn’t my home. Someday I’ll find my place in the world, but first I have to help these men.
No matter what it costs.
I tell myself that over and over again as I slip beneath the blankets. I snuggle down so deep the warm blanket covers my head, and I just soak in the comfort of the silence.
“Cersia,” someone says, stomping all over that sweet silence.
My lashes lift slowly to the darkness beneath my den of covers.
“Yes?” I have to put real effort into not growling out that little word.
The bed dips. My weight jostles. A hard chest presses against my private cocoon. I don’t dare move though.
