Vivienne forced herself to stand tall. "And if we refuse?" she asked, pushing the limits of her dwindling luck.
The King’s expression turned to stone. "Then I will find you immediately guilty of treason," he declared as if their deaths were a mundane administrative matter. "And your only remaining choice will be between hanging or firing squad."
Vivienne’s blood ran ice cold. The way he said it, the absolute certainty in his voice, left no room for doubt. Her stomach contorted violently.
A throat cleared behind them.
Vivienne had forgotten Captain Enyo was still in the room.
The shadowy advisor peeled himself from where he had been lounging against the stone wall. His gravelly voice scraped the air, rough as weathered rope.
"Your Majesty, I live to serve at the pleasure of the Crown," he said, placing a theatrical hand over his heart. He offered a pained smile, his silver tooth flashing in the light. "But it appears the library brat and I have been given the same assignment."
Vivienne bristled at the nickname but bit her tongue. She had far bigger problems to deal with than an unclever moniker.
The King tapped his fingers against the throne’s armrest, idly stroking the carved owl’s head. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "A competition, perhaps."
He turned his gaze back to Vivienne and Lewis, eyes gleaming. "The crew that succeeds in retrieving the artifacts and breaking the curse will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams." His voice lowered, thick with temptation. "Noble titles. Land grants. High-ranking positions in my court. More riches than you could spend in multiple lifetimes."
Chancellor Montaghue leaned in, murmuring something into the King’s ear. The King’s lips twitched.
"Ah, yes. Thank you for the reminder," he said in a smooth voice. "Captain Enyo and his crew, of course, would also receive full pardons for their crimes—and avoid life imprisonment or execution."
Vivienne’s breathing paused.Crimes?She felt the question reverberate between her and Lewis without needing to ask it aloud.
"Miss Banner, if you win," he said, his voice mockingly sweet, "you will keep your home. You and the plant boy will be elevated in your Crown roles. And you…" He let the pause drag, savoring the moment. "… will be named the primary steward of the Library of Metis."
A competition? One I’m forced to participate in or face execution.Vivienne stood frozen, eyes wide and unblinking as the King’s words burrowed into her skull.This competition could kill me or give me everything I’ve ever wanted. I might end up dead if I go and he’ll kill me if I stay.
"You set sail this Sunday," King Berius announced, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. “You’re dismissed.”
Vivienne’s insides flipped.The day after tomorrow?The weight of reality slammed into her.
Lewis’ voice was tight with disbelief. "Your Majesty, we need more than two days to prepare for such a journey?—"
"I SAID DISMISSED!" The King’s roar shattered the air, spit flying from his lips with each syllable.
The world around Vivienne blurred as she was ushered from the throne room. By the time they stepped into the courtyard, she could barely breathe. She placed a hand to her chest, her heart beat thundered at record speed as she felt a vise grip her lungs.
"Get me out of here," she gasped, her voice cracking with panic.
Lewis gripped her hand, squeezing tight. "I’ve got you, Viv."
8
Lewis gripped Vivienne’s hand, guiding her down the winding path to the greenhouse. As he opened the door and led her through, her panic shattered the fragile silence. The moment she stepped inside, it rushed out of her in gasping, uneven breaths. She paced wildly, hands clutching at her tear-streaked cheeks.
A storm of frantic thoughts battered her mind, each one louder, more frenzied than the last. Her chest constricted, her heartbeat pounding in a desperate, erratic rhythm. The air refused to reach her lungs.Am I dying?
"I can’t breathe," she panted.
Her fingers tore at the bodice, nails digging into the laces as if she could rip the air back into her lungs.
"I can’t breathe!" She yanked at the fabric, desperation turning to blind panic. "Lewis, get this thing off me!" Her voice cracked, raw and terrified.
Lewis rushed forward, hands fumbling at the ties, but the knots were too tight—it would take too long to unlace. He hesitated only a second before grabbing the pruning shears from the worktable. With one expert slice, he cut through the laces. The bodice slackened instantly, falling to the ground in a heap.
Vivienne collapsed against the table, her arms braced against the wood as she sucked in great, shuddering breaths. Tears continued their slow descent, streaking her flushed skin. Then, her knees gave way. She slid down against the table’s edge, slumping to the cool stone floor, grateful the ground had finally stopped spinning.
