He lifts one hand, and I sense a handful of projectiles flying through the air toward me. My magic flares outward, runes of protection and defense igniting on my body as I catch one of the arrows in midair. The rest of them combust ineffectually against the white-hot aura pulsing off my skin.
“Is that it?” I taunt, and snap the arrow shaft in half with a dismissive sound. “Seriously, Vogon, haven’t you been listening? You can’t stop me, and to be honest, I respected you because you were all ruthless cannibal overlord and stuff, but now you’re starting to wear on my nerves.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of running that mouth of yours?” a familiar voice cuts in from behind us.
“It’s my weapon of choice against toxic masculinity,” I say brightly, turning to see my precious betrothed with a small contingent of guards at his flanks. I notice his burn scars are once again covered by an ornate mask, only this one is made of onyx and gold. “Oh, hello, almost husband. A little bird told me that your cowardly self managed to evade your captors. Where’s Mommy dearest? Please tell me she’s dead.”
The king’s lips flatten, but he doesn’t lose his sneer. “Waiting for the guest of honor.”
“Oh, my sweet summer stars, is thatme?”
Those pale eyes narrow. “You think to joke?”
“It’s a little funny, admit it.” I gather my magic, feeling it swirl powerfully to my fingertips. “Kind of sad that no one will mourn your death, Javed. Except for your egg donor, and that will last all of one minute before she joins you.”
“Now!” The command is from the Scav general.
I stare as four huge crossbows loaded with bolts marked with ice runes appear in the midst of the Scavs, all pointed toward me. I crook an amused eyebrow.
The crossbows fire as I raise my arms high, summoning my power... but the surge of magic never comes. An ice-white glow surrounds me, rendering me immobile. Frost spreads over my skin and catches on my eyelashes, dusting them in white.
“What is this?” I say, struggling to feel anything at all. The first flickers of alarm fill me as even my breath slows in my lungs.
“The Scavs call it a runic web,” Javed explains, walking forward, his sneer more confident now. “Jadu isn’t just for blades and bows; it can work wonders with the right runes. Remember my azdaha? This is how I trapped it and brought it down. It’s a big old fishing net, and we’ve caught the biggest fish of all.”
“Your tricks won’t hold me for long,” I bite out, feeling my magic start to heat. “Ice is no match for me.”
“I know,” he says, “which is why we brought this.” My eyes widen at the huge syringe in his hand with a thin needle as long as my finger. The plunger is filled with a viscous, opalescent fluid that makes me crave it and hate it in the same breath. “Now try not to move a muscle, sweeting. I won’t lie—this is going to fucking hurt.”
True to his word, the last thing I feel is the excruciating stab of the needle plunging into the inner corner of my right eye and the glorious dissipation of Jade into my bloodstream.
***
When I come to, my eyeball is throbbing and my vision is blurred, but I feel vibrantly, deliciously alive. Of course, because I’m fucking stoned out of my mind. With a grunt, I detect the toxin in my system, but the poison running through my body is potent—much headier than the first time I’d been dosed. I can’t seem to hold a single thought for longer than a heartbeat. The sweet lassitude fills my veins, making me feel blissfully languid. My senses are dulled but functioning. Barely. Whatever dose they’d given me had packed enough punch to fell a full-grown elephant.
Blinking, I struggle to get my bearings. I’m in a wide room with huge marble statues—a temple?—lying on a wide stone altar with my arms and legs bound. The sound of more chanting—by all the cursed gods, am I sick of chanting—fills the air, and I fasten my stare on a group of Elonian mystics in Fomalhaut robes eerily similar to the ones who had been in the tower with Morvarid. Hadn’t they been crushed? Maybe they’d survived like the vermin they are.
“The ritual must be completed before the sun rises.” A female voice pierces the haze.
My brain feels peculiar, unable to process information as it normally would, but then the woman who had spoken comes into view. Morvarid, the death magi queen. How in Droon is she alive? My mind tries to keep up with my frantic thoughts, trying to make my unresponsive body act.
Get up get up get up. Fight flee fight flee.
“What about the marriage rites?” A male voice this time. Familiar. I recognize those obsequious tones.Javed.
Blearily, I try to focus on him, taking in the masked cheek and striking eyes. He’s the half brother of the other prince. Warmth gathers in my chest as another face forms in my head—the prince with the intense gold-flecked brown eyes and disarming smile. The feeling fades as strands of memory curl around the image—betrayal and bitter lies, shared confidences and laughter, friendship and love twined with virulence and pain.
Snatches of conversation slam through my thoughts.
Not every woman wants to be rescued by some prince. Perhaps she’ll rescue herself.
I thought every woman dreamed of being rescued by a prince?
Was it all a lie?
No. Please, you have to trust me.
I love you.
