I’m going to be sick.
He hesitates, guilt and agony warring in his gaze. “I think you already know the answer.”
My knees give out. “You—”
He steps toward me, arms outstretched, but I stumble back, hitting the floor hard.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“Selene—”
“Don’t touch me!” I cry, scrambling to my feet. My pulse thunders in my ears as I turn and run for the door.
“Selene, please—for your safety, don’t leave—”
“I don’t care!” My voice breaks.
Desperation flickers in his eyes, the gold in them burning brighter. “You can’t leave! If you do, I won’t be able to control him!”
But the words barely reach me. I’m already gone, sprinting down the corridor, the echo of his plea chasing me into the darkness.
Chapter 41
The Runaway Brides
Mariel, Vivian, get up! We have to go.” My pulse pounds in my ears.
Mariel groans but sits up.
I go to her side. “The final Trial will kill us all. We can’t survive it. There’s no time to lose—we have to escape the castle grounds before dawn. Come on!”
Mariel nods gravely, knowing better than to delay us with her questions.
I leap to my feet as the door creaks open behind us, whirling around to see—
Seraphina stands in the threshold, chin lifted, arms folded. A slow, victorious smile creeps across her features. “Planning yourescape, are we? You won’t get far,” she purrs. “But please,dotry. I don’t mind being the king’s only choice.”
“You can have him,” I snap, grabbing my satchel. “Nowmove.”
She steps aside in a mocking half-bow. “Run, little Fire. See how long the wind favors you.”
Vivian barrels in behind her, cheeks flushed, curls escaping their pins. “What did I miss? Oh stars, we’re doing it, aren’t we?” She grabs Mariel’s hand. “I’m with you.”
As quickly and quietly as I can, I lead Vivian and Mariel through the corridors, sneaking past open doors and dodging the occasional servant. If Keiren has sounded the alarm, he’s done it silently, not giving us any warning.
Outside, the courtyard lies washed in the paleness that heralds the dawn, lanterns guttering, mist curling low across the stones. In the stable, Brimstone stomps the ground impatiently beside Ashwing. When we lead them out of the stable, little Moonbeam circles overhead in nervous, fluttering loops.
Vivian hesitates at the sight of the stallion’s glinting black eyes. “You expect me to get on that beast?”
“Either that,” I say, hoisting her up behind me, “or be dragon breakfast.”
Mariel mounts Ashwing, the mare tossing her silver mane as if she understands.
“We’ll ride hard until the ridge,” I say.
We spur forward, hooves clattering over the cobbles. The gate yawns open like a wound, and the orchard blurs past, rows of pale blossoms ghosting in the wind.
Then a sound splits the sky. A roar.
