I struggle to prop myself up on my elbows, the weight of the king’s arm, and his leg, lying over me. I wince at what I find: Maxian and me, half-dressed, tangled in each other in front of the dead fireplace in the king’s bedroom. His shirt slides off my shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of my purple chest. My stomach drops, and Lila gasps.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say, pushing the king’s arm off me. He mutters in his sleep. Last night, we cried for hours, incoherent, raw, painful tears. We cried until we fell asleep. I squirm now, under my friend’s scrutiny. “I swear—”
“You arecoveredin bruises!”
“I’m fine—”
“You don’t look it.”
I glance up at Lila again, fresh-faced and wearing a blue day dress. “What are you doing here?”
“Carter and Fern sent word of what was happening. I could only get to you by agreeing to Hector’s terms. The executioner escorted me—”
“What’s happening?” Maxian groans, eyes still closed.
Lila reaches down, hauling me to my feet. The room spins, my stomach bottoming out. Other than a few bites of cheese, I haven’t eaten anything. My legs give out, little wounds from the glass reopening, and my friend struggles to catch me. Rivulets of blood curl around my ankle bones. Were the cuts this deep last night? It looks so violent now, in the light of day.
“What did he do?” she seethes.
“Nothing,” I say. She’s getting this all wrong.
“Avery, I—”
“Stop it.” I yank his shirt to cover myself, wincing.
“Lila?”
I spin. The king stands in his rumpled nightshirt and pants, hair sticking up on one side, hand rubbing his neck. He looks boyish.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Everything’s okay.”
He gives a sheepish smile. “Hi, Lila.”
My friend trembles. He is not a handsome stranger I could love in the dark corner of a tavern in another life. He is not the knife on which I can cut myself to feel something. He is the monster who mangled my friend, who tortured her. And I? I am the cunt who let him touch me.
“Lila,” I start. “I am so, so sorry—”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Please, I—”
“Don’t excuse him.”
Him.Not the king, His Magnificence, our lord. Him.
The plane rumbles around us, Maxian’s eyes flashing. “We are two consenting—”
“Don’t start with that,” Lila snaps, and my heart plummets, truly plummets, as I watch my friend who has always faked thebrightest smiles in the shadow of a mountain finally give in to her fury. “I don’t want to hear that.”
He folds muscular arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”
“But not the entire truth. You are theking.”
“And you would do well to remember that.”
“This is my fault,” I say, stepping between them. “I got—I got—”
“What did he offer?”
