Whispers sweep across the crowd, and a bead of sweat forms on my brow. I scan the area, still desperate to lay eyes on Larkin and Warrick. Knowing they are nearby will calm me, but I’m only met with dark stares from unfamiliar faces. Anxiety floods me, and I feel as though I’m back on display in Daramveer, my life easily being handed over by my father.
My memories crash into my mind, and I appear before a crowd of people cheering and clapping, even though my brother had died mere days ago. I’m before a crowd, sobbing over Silas’s motionless body on the cold ground during the fourth trial. I’m before them, screaming at my father, declaring that his ritual worked, and letting the world know that Kalix lives within me.
Panic swirls like gloomy clouds above my head, and I feel my legs wobble. How can I rule a kingdom when standing before a crowd haunts me? That’s when it hits me—I can’t. I’ll never rule like Silas. I don’twantto rule in my state, and I fight the urge to flee this platform to disappear into the crowd of people before us. My hands tremble, and my palms are soaked with sweat. I attempt to steady my breath, but the panic continuously rises.
My wide eyes scan the crowd while Silas continues to speak. I hear his words, but they don’t register in my mind. Each unfamiliar face intensifies my panic. Something is wrong. Something is about to go wrong. My darkness begins to simmer under the surface, like a near-boiling pot of water, and I close my eyes.
Breathe.
Swallow the feeling down.
In the back of the crowd, I catch sight of a figure that stands a head taller than the rest. A cloaked face stares back at me, and my chest rapidly rises and falls. The figure slowly lifts the hood covering his face, and I see him—Larkin.
His brows furrow, and I know he can see the panic on my face.
“Are you alright?” he mouths, and I return the slightest shake of my head.“Breathe, Briar.”
The hood returns over his face, and he begins to make his way toward the platform, staying on the outskirts of the crowd. His growing presence helps steady my wobbling body.
I’m okay.
We are okay.
I slowly come back into my surroundings and hear the crowd growing louder.
“The Nastrondes are the reason we are in this position to begin with,” a civilian shouts.
“Why should we allow another to take over? What if he turns out to be just like his father? We can’t trust them so easily.”
“Malachi killed a castle worker,” a woman shouts, and my blood runs cold. “A poor girl that didn’t deserve death, and they let her die.”
I slowly turn my gaze to Silas; his face is hard, but I know he’s struggling. How can you rally people who have hated your family for so long? Silas may be possessive and harsh, but he’s fair. He would never risk our safety standing here right now to argue with the crowd. He needs them, and he will take every blow if it means winning us allies for what’s coming. His eyes show me that he is calculating every word that enters his mind and will only speak when the right words come.
A raspy voice escapes Silas’s lips, demanding attention. “I am nothing like Malachi. Haven’t I proven myself to be different? For years, I fought alongside all of you for my own life. I’m not asking for your immediate trust, but I am asking for time. Only then can I prove myself as your king.”
The crowd grows restless.
“Malachi is a monster, and you share the same blood,” a man shouts from the back of the crowd.
Silas tenses, and shadows begin to pulse around his body. I step toward him, as if to protect him from the words of the crowd below us. The crowd seems to step back as I move forward. They fear me, and for the first time, I wish that weren’t true.
“She is going to bring us all to ruin,” someone else shouts, and many others chime in, agreeing.
Silas’s shadows intensify, and Fen positions herself on the opposite side of me, realizing that the crowd is becoming increasingly out of control. She glances toward Silas, whose gaze remains fixed ahead. His shadows loom larger, and I watch as his palms curl into tight fists. Silas contorts his face in pain, and I know his internal struggle is tearing him apart. He wouldn’t expose his mother by revealing that Malachi isn’t his father unless it was essential.
“Calm down,” I whisper, placing my hand on his forearm. “They are processing all of this, just as we did.”
He turns his head, angling it away from the crowd, and his words flow into my mind.“This is escalating, and they will attack if they see fit. The people of Andorwood are hard to control. If they touch you, I will kill them. I will fight this battle alone if I must.”
“Just calm down, Silas,” I say, aloud.
Rage fills his eyes, and I squeeze his arm, praying that things de-escalate.
“If Silas is with her, we are against him,” another voice sounds, and the crowd explodes into an uproar of chatter, shouts, and curses directed toward me.
Larkin’s tall figure reappears in my view, this time accompanied by another cloaked figure of similar stature—Warrick.
Fenmore signals something, and they split up, making sure they are on either side of the platform should things continue to go very wrong.
