The priest stands close enough to touch. Close enough to destroy me with his blood magic. I know he won’t. I’m here to marry his king. I control my breath, and my heart slowly stops thumping painfully in my chest. The daggers go back into my boots. Sofía’s sword is collected off the ground by one of the guards, the blade soaked with her blood. Her vacant expression will haunt me forever. I press my hand tight to my mouth. That weapon belonged to Ana, and I’ll be damned if I allow a Llacsan to wield it. Slowly, I let my hand drop to my side in a tight fist.
“I want that back,” I say to the priest.
His gaze flickers to the sword clutched in the guard’s meaty paw. “Are you done showing off?”
I hiss. Showing off? Is that what I was doing? Sajra regards me with his lifted chin and ugly smirk. I clench my jaw and nod once.
“Then come with me, and maybe I’ll make sure it’s not lost.”
It’s a lie. I’ll never see Ana’s sword again. It’s gone like Sofía, and my heart feels as if it’s been ripped away, leaving a jagged hole in its place.
The priest turns on his heel. As if by their own accord, my feet follow the evil Llacsan. They follow because of Catalina—my future queen, my best friend, the sister I never had, and the only person left living who knows therealme.
The guards keep their pointed arrows trained on me. Not once do any of them lower their weapons.
I know, because I watch.
The castillo doesn’t look at all like I remember it from the time I visited as a child. Gone are the calming white stones I trailed my fingers along. Gone are the empty spaces. Instead the Llacsans have painted everything in vivid colors that make my head spin: One hallway, the bright yellow of the maracuya fruit lashes out; another, it’s a raw meat red that threatens to overwhelm me. If the castillo’s exterior is sober, then the interior is drunk on cerveza.
Nearly every inch of space displays paintings of Llacsans, tropical flowers, parrots, or llamas. Potted plants in every corner, candles burning vanilla and orange and eucalyptus blend together and attack my nose. Dogs and cats and a mule cross my path.
I want the white back.
It gives space to breathe.
The guards press into my sides. The priest snaps his fingers and motions toward a hunched boy leaning against a door frame just inside a massive foyer.
A guard yanks my elbow, pulling me to an abrupt stop, and I let out a sharp hiss.
“Get the condesa ready for court,” Sajra says to the boy, then heads off to wherever priests go in this forsaken place. Half the guards follow him. Three remain, their arrows notched and aimed at my heart.
The boy’s eyes flicker to mine. His dark heavy-lidded gaze betrays a careful alertness, instantly replaced by a flash of contempt. He straightens, assuming responsibility as easily as if he’s donned a shirt.
I study the face of my jailor.
He’s not handsome. All sharp angles and lines. A blade-like nose, thin lips, and a razor-edged jaw. His rich brown skin, a blend of copper and the tawny rock from a mountain cliff, sets off his shoulder-length black hair. It curls slightly and softens his pronounced cheekbones. He’s wearing beige trousers, a black shirt opened at the collar, and the common Llacsan leather sandals that leave the wearer with dirty feet.
“Do us both a favor and hand over the daggers in your boots,” the boy says, his arms crossed. He asks me to give up my weapons the same way an attentive host might ask if I’d like something to drink.
The guards shift uneasily on their feet, waiting for me to obey—or not.
Without taking my attention off the boy, I bend and pull out two of my four daggers, throwing them at his feet. He doesn’t bother to retrieve them.
“What else?”
“That’s it,” I say. “I’m not an armory.”
The boy lifts an eyebrow.
Images of Sofía fill my vision, and angry retorts burn on my tongue. My temper wants release. “I hate what you’ve done with the castillo. Just because there’s a lot of colors to choose from doesn’t mean you actually have to use them all.”
He blinks. “I don’t have time to talk about paint, Condesa. His Radiance is waiting.”
The way he saysHis Radiancewith such devotion turns my stomach.
“I think you have more,” he presses.
I splay my hands. “I’m all out.”
