King Dimetreus let out a soft wail as his eyes landed on his wife. His hand flew to his chest as he halted in the doorway. “What have you done?”
Morkai whispered to the king, “You recall what she said to the queen earlier.”
“No,” Cora said, rounding on them. She shuddered as the word left her mouth. There was something wrong about the way it failed to echo through the room. As if her voice didn’t belong there. “I didn’t mean it.”
King Dimetreus gave no indication that he’d heard her. Instead, he rushed to her, anger replacing his anguish. “You did this.You. What have you done?”
Cora trembled before the king’s rage. She knew what would happen next. Knew a dark cell awaited her. A demand for her death.
“No.” The word was louder this time. She pinned the king with a glare. “No. This time, you will listen to me. I didn’t do this. It was him.” She pointed a finger at Duke Morkai. Her gaze shot to him, meeting his eyes. They shifted from an all-encompassing black to a blue so pale it was almost silver. His lips slid into a lazy smirk.
Returning her gaze back to the king, she was startled to find him frozen. Not just unmoving, but unbreathing, unblinking.
Morkai stepped up beside King Dimetreus. “You can’t change the past by altering your dreams.”
She clenched her jaw. A strange sense of duality washed over her as her hands balled into fists—fists that felt too small and too large at once, as if she were both the twelve-year-old version of herself that existed in her nightmares and her current self. The one who slept. Who dreamed. Who raged against this scene from the confines of her mind.
“You never fought against your sentence in the past,” Morkai said.
“I was too shocked,” she replied, her older voice mingling with her younger.
“It’s useless. Besides, regardless of what you think, thiswasyour fault.”
“It wasn’t. You did this.”
Morkai waved his hand and the bedroom disappeared. Like an inkblot spreading over parchment, a new scene began to appear. Little by little, the colors grew brighter, her surroundings sharper. Her blood went cold when she realized where she was.
The dining hall at Ridine Castle formed around her. Its stone walls were decorated in intricate tapestries. The light from half a dozen candle-studded chandeliers cast everything in a warm, cheery glow. The tables were overflowing with courtiers dining, chatting, and drinking. Cora strode straight to the head table at the far wall. She knew she was late. It had been intentional. Her headaches had been coming on harder recently, and whenever she was forced to be around so many people, they became nearly crippling. No physician seemed to know what was wrong with her. There was no visible ailment. No disease of the body to treat. When she’d speak of feeling like she was being invaded by the hearts and minds of everyone around, she’d receive only unsettled stares. She’d hoped she could wait out the course of tonight’s dinner, but Master Benedict had found her curled up beneath a staircase. Now she had no choice.
Master Benedict kept his hand on Cora’s shoulder as she approached the table, his grip a reminder that there was no running away. She owed the king and queen an explanation, he’d said. Wincing at the pounding in her head, she lowered into a curtsy. She returned her eyes to the king and queen, bracing herself for the scolding. There wasn’t one. Dimetreus was deep in conversation with Duke Morkai while Linette stared pointedly at her husband, her distaste in being ignored made clear by her pursed lips. Finally, Dimetreus turned from Morkai and gestured Cora closer to the table. Before he could say a word to her, Linette interrupted. “When shall we have a ball, my love? You promised me a ball this month.”
The king claimed his wife’s lips with a kiss. “You shall have a ball, darling, but not until our son is born. You are in no condition to dance. After he’s made his appearance in the world, we’ll celebrate. We’ll have balls night after night until he’s a year old. Then we’ll host the finest party anyone this side of the Balma Sea has ever witnessed.”
Linette’s expression faltered as she shifted awkwardly in her seat.
“What is it?” the king asked.
“It’s…oh, it’s nothing.” She batted her lashes and infused her tone with nonchalance. “It’s just…I’m not very far along. Surely I can dance. I’d hate to let my newest gown go to waste before I grow too large to wear it.”
The pounding in Cora’s head increased, but the invasive energies shifted. They were no longer coming from the rows and rows of tables behind her but the one she stood before. Against her will, her attention focused on one person alone. Queen Linette. Cora felt a rippling anxiety turn in her stomach, a feeling that was not her own. With it came a sinking weight of guilt. Then something darker. Heavier.
“You aren’t with child.” The words left Cora’s mouth before she could swallow them back. She hadn’t yet learned which of her observations were better left unsaid. Had yet to understand why everyone else seemed blind to the things she gleaned so easily. So unwillingly.
Queen Linette’s head whipped toward Cora. “How dare you say such a thing.”
“It’s true.” Her voice came out tremulous. “You…you’re lying. You were never with child.”
“You wretched, awful creature—”
King Dimetreus held up a hand, silencing his wife. Master Benedict began to tug Cora away, but Dimetreus shook his head. His attention narrowed on Cora, voice soft. “Why would you say such a thing?”
Linette spoke before Cora could. “How many times have I told you, Dimetreus? She needs to be sent to a Godspriest. There’s something wrong with her. She’s infected by the seven devils and must have them cleansed from her soul.”
Cora felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I do not need a Godspriest,” she said, a frantic note to her voice. “I am not infected by the seven devils.”
Linette looked around the dining hall. Cora was suddenly aware that silence had fallen over the room. She could feel the attention of innumerable pairs of eyes boring into her back. Linette spoke softly through her teeth. “Don’t make a scene.”
Cora’s attention darted to Dimetreus. Why wasn’t he speaking up for her? Tears sprang to her eyes as her blood began to boil like never before. It felt as if the energies she’d absorbed were compounding, the tightness in her skull growing sharper. She could still feel the queen’s emotions the most, could feel her fear mixed with disgust, her guilt and her shame and so many things that Cora was too young to understand. “Tell him the truth,” she yelled. “Tell him that you lied.”
