Drip.
Drip.
The cool stone presses against my back as I try—and fail—to shift my body out of the path of that damned water droplet falling onto my left shoulder.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Every two seconds another splash—another reminder that I’m chained to the wall, left to rot for the crime of rising above my station, of reaching for what I’ve always wanted.
What I’ll never have.
It was reckless of me to return to Fairbright Palace. I should have known this would end in chains, the woman I can’t seem to let go of abandoning me once again. Because even thoughshe promised to get me out of this mess, even though I want to believe her, there’s a part of me that knows she’ll choose the crown over me.
There’s never been a place where I fit in her life. We’re two mismatched pieces, incompatible despite every desperate attempt to force us together. It was never going to work, and now I’m going to die for it.
Leaving behind everyone who depends on me to fall once more into the decay of a kingdom that doesn’t give a damn whether they live or die—so long as they strip enough helachite from the earth to fuel its wealth.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I try shifting again, the irons biting into my wrists until pain radiates up my arms. My body slips against the wet stone, and I barely catch myself. With how tightly they secured me, there’s no give. If I fall, I’ll hang by my own weight.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I think of what must come next. Surely, even now, I’ll still be allowed a fair trial. That’s written into the bedrock of Naseria, even if its queen rules like a tyrant.
But if I’m not granted that right, then this entire country is a façade, and Gen will never sit on the throne. Her mother will steal that future away from her, just as she’s stolen every other choice Gen has ever had.
A scrape of metal at my door. A lock clanks. Hinges groan as guards rush in. They grab me in a muddled tangle of arms, and I jerk back, unsure where they’re taking me. I land a hard kick on one of them; he retaliates with a blow to my stomach. My breath escapes me in ahiss, stars clouding my vision. But I don’t stop fighting, not knowing where they might take me if I give in.
“Stand down if you know what’s good for you,” one snarls. A blade is drawn to my throat, nicking through my skin until a well of blue blood surfaces.
“He’s a fucking blueblood!” the guard shouts.
“You idiot—of course he is. He’s in here for misuse of helachite. I heard he caused the rot in Crawford. Wasn’t seen there until he arrived.”
They wrench my chains tighter, another fist connecting with my ribs. I manage to grind out, “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ve had a special request. We’re to bring you up—but no one said what condition you needed to be in. If you want to do this the hard way, we’ll be sure to bring you roughed up.”
“Who?” It must be Penelope. I’ve been waiting for her to call for me—to rip me apart, to tell me exactly what she thinks of me: a gardener’s son, a nobody who dared believe himself worthy of her daughter, of her kingdom.
I’ve seen it in her eyes with every interaction we’ve had these past weeks. The suspicion was there, and I wondered if she could see past the changes in my face to the boy I once was. But I doubted her; she’s never been the type to look closely at a person. And I did my best to keep her gaze off me.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the man sneers with a grin, and his comrade drives the back of his sword into my spine, a hard crunch of metal against flesh.
They drag me through darkened corridors, lit only by waning oil lamps, until I’m shoved into a tight room.
