Then I drop to the floor.
“I didn’t mean to,” I wail, but only the echo responds in the lifeless room.
The doors to the throne room rip open. Chief Gerald barges inside.
He will know what to do; he always does. I raise from my feet to run to him, but he jerks back in such horror that I stay rooted where I am. Between my family.
“What’s happened…” he asks, and in a few long strides, he shortens the distance between us.
“I didn’t mean to.” I wail in heartbreak, my head pounding from crying, and ugly snot runs from my nose.
“Please fix it, please!!”
His eyes dart around the room, then jerks his head towards where Grandpa lies. The unmistakable pain of a father who has lost a child etches across his face. He grips his throat and presses his hands to his heart.
“Get the fuck out of here!” He cries out, and my power rushes to defend me; the scream of pain escapes his lips, he drops to the ground, writhing in mental agony.
“You killed him.” He chokes out the words. “You stole the throne.”
He is right.
I stole the throne. I stole the throne. I stole the throne. I stole the throne.
I need to flee. I need to run.
I take a last look at my family. Unmoving, dead on the marble. I run, tripping over Sir Nicolas.
The moment I bolt out of the room, I vomit.
Servers rush to me. “My Lady?” A young Fae touches my shoulder and bolts in fear.
I run to my room.
Jestin sits on my bed, reading something. He looks up and smiles, but this expression fades quickly.
“What’s happened?” He stands up immediately. I cry and sink to the floor. He reaches out and pulls me into his arms, but I shake him off.
“Shh,” he whispers, hugging me tighter.
I hiccup, collapsing to the floor again.
“I’m here,” he says softly.
???
“You are going to the Death Passing Ceremony. No discussion.” Grams’s voice cuts through the air like steel. There is no room to argue.
“Seleste!!!!” A scream rips through me, shaking the palace walls and dragging me awake. My own scream tears from my lungs, raw and unbidden.
My head throbs, pulse hammering in my skull.
I blink.
Slowly, my vision clears. The cold stone of my room is gone. Instead, I am in the most disgusting place I have ever seen. It feels as if the filth is alive, pressing closer with every heartbeat.
The place looks like one of the cells from the Fool’s Festival dungeon, only the scent of moisture in the air doesn’t quite fit. My eyes dart up, and I see water condensing on the ceiling. Have they finally locked me up for what I’ve done?
Bile rises in my throat. It must be the monster’s pit.
