It doesn’t matter what I want for my future—that I don’t want to stay and rule Pyra-Mortem. If I want to live, from now on, I have to fight to win.
And… if I do win… If by some miracle, I become the Demon Queen of Hell, I swear that the first thing I’ll do is banish Crone down the darkest pit I can find. The Scourge can have her.
Her intense glare steals my attention and when I look down again, Roman’s wolf is disintegrating in my arms, its fur floating up and then vanishing into the night air.
I rise slowly, tipping my head back, my power dancing around my fingertips as I contemplate the watching elites. My fight with the wolf was over more quickly than Arga’s was, but no doubt, they will all whisper that Crone gave me an easy version. Especially since I didn’t fight a conjured Reaper like the other royals did.
I take a beat now that my fight is over to scrutinize the elites, testing my power to find their fear. My demon sight floods with a rainbow of images as my gaze passes swiftly over them.
Where once I saw fear only as dust across someone’s skin, now the particles are like little mirrors, reflecting their fears back at me. Fear of losing power… Fear of being cast into the Wilds… Fear of losing Arga’s favor…
Turning away from them, I step across the bloody floor as I make my way from the cage, but instead of returning to my seat, I plant myself in front of Crone. “You thought I couldn’t do it. You don’t understand how far I’ll go to protect the ones I love.”
Crone’s silver gown flutters around the location of her hands, as if I made her twitch. It could be the darkness still curling around my fingertips, or it could be because the crowd is stirring, leaning forward to behold the spectacle of a wolf-demon facing up to Crone. Even Koda’s challenges were muttered and passive aggressive.
My challenge is open for all to see and hear.
Once again, I focus on the pulse at the base of her neck, and she doesn’t seem to miss what I’m doing. She would have watched my father use his power a thousand times.
She takes a step back and calls out, “The second trial is concluded. All elites are invited to the afterparty in the Ballroom on the third level of this building to celebrate the remaining contenders.
“The royals will be provided with rooms and new clothing to change into. They have an hour to rest before they are required to attend. Any royal who fails to appear at the afterparty will be eliminated.”
Her speech is rushed and shaky, far from the jubilance she exhibited when she was asking the royals to step up to their deaths. She seems desperate to get away from me as fast as she can right now.
I continue to scrutinize her as she glides away from me toward the atrium.
On the dais, Esta has wrapped her arms around her mother and she and Tyrus support Carys as they follow Crone’s path. Esta throws a glance back at me, tipping her chin up.
I give her a short nod, an acknowledgement of survival.
The crowd behind me hangs back, all of them watching me, and I’m not sure if the protocol is that I’m supposed to leave first.
Ignoring them, I hurry to Roman.
The moment I step into his presence, an emerald rune spirals from his wrist and encircles us—the same one he used earlier to project an illusion of us talking.
I slip into his arms, warmed when his lips crash against mine, easing the ache in my heart. Breaking the contact, I run my fingers across his jaw, pressing another kiss to his lips, knowing that the gesture can’t possibly convey all of my sorrow right now.
His thumb grazes my cheek again and I realize that he’s wiping away the final damp trails of my tears before he groans against my lips. “We need to move. The elites are supposed to wait for you, but they may not respect your status. My rune won’t convince them to stay where they are for long.”
Crone hasn’t given any indication how many more trials we’ll have to face, but she made it clear that my attendance at the afterparty is mandatory.
“And then there were four,” I whisper.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
Roman and I step quickly toward the atrium at the back of the rooftop. Its walls are opaque glass, threaded through with gold that catches the soft lighting inside. The elites are starting to rise from their seats behind us and it seems they won’t respect our space for long. I guess they’re keen to start celebrating the deaths they’ve just witnessed.
Bastards.
Once we enter the atrium, we find five elevators sitting along the opposite wall, each of them with different floor numbers etched into the wall above them. I’m not sure which one we’re supposed to take. Crone said that I would be given a room, but she didn’t say where.
Tyrus waits on the left side of the atrium, the blond demon quickly gesturing to me. “This way, Princess,” he calls, indicating the elevator closest to him. “The royal rooms are on the tenth floor. You’re in room number seven.”
I’m fixated on the bloody handprints at the side of the elevator door and the droplets of blood on the marble inside it. I picture Koda gripping the door and the railing inside the elevator, his wounds bleeding as he struggled to walk.
Gritting my teeth, I step onto the light beam that pulses across the floor of the elevator. My demon wolves seem more concerned about me than the metal box they just stepped into. They crowd in around me, their faces turned up to mine while the doors close and the elevator descends.
