“The marks chose her.”
“The marks are wrong.” My corruption flared, shadows gathering without conscious thought. “Twenty years, Auradelle. Twenty years I prepared. I bled. I carved these failures into my skin because the real marks wouldn’t come. And now they choose her?”
“Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.”
“It’s not jealousy. It’s rage.”
He smiled that perfect smile, taking another step toward Elle. “Evenuglier.”
The girl—Elle—finally managed to stand, swaying like a newborn colt. When she saw us, her eyes went wide with the appropriate amount of terror. Good. She should be terrified.
“What—who are you?” she gasped.
“Your executioner, if I had my way,” I said, and meant it.
Auradelle laughed. “Kaelren, always so dramatic. Ignore him, dear. He’s having a bit of a crisis. You see, those marks you’re wearing? They were meant for him.”
Elle looked between us, then down at her skin where gilded vines spread from her collarbone. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” I snarled. “You understand nothing. You ARE nothing. A mistake. A cosmic joke at my expense.”
“Kaelren—” Peeble started, materializing on the girl’s shoulder.
“Don’t.” My voice could have frozen flame. “For years you whispered prophecies in my ear. Years of ‘chosen one’ and ‘destiny’ and ‘patience.’ And this is what you were waiting for?”
“The Root chooses—”
“The Root is senile.” I moved closer, and Elle stumbled backward. Smart girl. “Or cruel. Or both.”
“Now, now,” Auradelle said, power gathering around him like silk. “We can’t have you killing her before we understand what she represents.”
“She represents nothing but theft.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps she represents opportunity.” His crown writhed faster. “She needs training. Guidance. Protection.”
“Then protect her yourself.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
That’s when I understood. Auradelle didn’t just want her for her marks—he wanted her to hurt me. To parade my replacement, my failure, in front of the entire realm. The girl would be his trophy, proof that the great Kaelren had been found wanting.
No.
I’d sworn to protect what came through the door. I hadn’t sworn to do itnicely.
“She’s mine,” I said, the words tasting like ash.
“Yours?” Auradelle’s amusement was nauseating. “You just said you wanted to kill her.”
“I do. But Josephine asked me to protect her, and unlike you, I keep my word.”
“Josephine is dead.”
“And yet her debts remain.” I grabbed Elle’s arm, none too gently. She made a sound of protest that I ignored. “The girl comes with me.”
“I think not.”
Auradelle moved, faster than thought, and suddenly his hand was around my throat. Not squeezing—not yet—but present. A reminder of power disparities.
