Bram lounges on a throne at the other end of the arena, the golden crown on his head glinting in the light.
Beside him sits Emmett, his white shirt dirty and torn, his hands and legs in iron chains, a gag tied around his mouth. From what I can see of his eyes from behind strands of his limp hair, he’s fighting tears as he struggles against his restraints. Next to him is Rhion, also gagged and beaten black and blue. His bruised eyes bore into mine, that piercing blue visible even from here. I’m surprised by how much it hurts me to see him in pain.
On the other side of Bram is his mother on a brilliant golden throne, and beside her are Faith and Marion. They’re not chained orbruised, but by the grim looks on their faces, I have no doubt they’ve been threatened with it.
And directly below Bram, her unconscious form slumped in the dirt, is my sister.
I take off for her at a full sprint, pushing my weak legs to their absolute limit.
I skid onto my knees as I approach her, absolutely shredding them, but I don’t care. The pain is nothing compared to the panic. Is it possible Bram dumped me in here with my sister’s corpse to torture me further?
“Ivy?” I shake her lifeless shoulders. “Ivy, please, please.”
She awakens with a rattling gasp and I let out a sob of relief.
I pull her into a tight hug. “What’s happening?” she mutters groggily into my shoulder. We’re dressed identically, like we’re little girls again. Both of us in perfect replicas of my Pact Parade gown, golden tiaras on our heads.
Ivy is made up just like I am, with painted lips and rosy cheeks, so I know the lady’s maids must have paid her a predawn visit as well.
The only difference is Ivy’s left hand, the one Queen Mor broke the day Ivy attempted to kill Bram. It’s wrapped in thick gauze, immobilizing it.
Her right hand, like mine, contains a weapon. Bram loves a joke, and this one is particularly cruel—he’s armed Ivy with the crude knife she used in her ill-fated assassination attempt.
A boom echoes out through the arena, and I pull Ivy to her feet, careful not to jostle her broken hand, and sling an arm around her waist to keep her standing upright.
I hate the way fear ignites in her dark eyes as she takes in our surroundings.
Bram is standing now, and I realize the booming sound was the hilt of his sword striking the marble railing of his observation box.
“Dear guests!” He must have magically enhanced his voice to carry across the arena because an immediate hush takes over, causing my ears to ring in the absence of the crowd’s roar. I force myself to focus on Bram’s words over the buzz.
“I welcome you here to enjoy the finale of three trials to find my wife.”
I’m already your wife, I want to hiss, but Bram is a coward and cowards will always bend the truth until it fits the narrative they want to believe about themselves.
“I was married both here and in England to free us from my mother’s tyranny, but it left me in a rather interesting predicament,” he explains. A smattering of laughter ripples through the crowd. I bet he loves it.
“A man cannot have two wives, and a land cannot have two queens. Both Benton sisters have fought bravely, but I am still unconvinced either possesses the devotion to put me, and our two great lands, above all else. Thus, our final trial is simple. To prove her loyalty to me, the last living sister will be declared the winner.”
The last living sister?It takes me a moment to even glean his meaning, but Ivy puts it together faster than I do.
“You want us to kill each other?” Ivy shouts up at him with disgust. If she thought she could bridge the distance, she’d probably spit on him, too.
“Yes.” Bram sinks down onto his throne. The jet-black beads of his ornately embroidered doublet jingle like soft bells.
Emmett struggles against his binds, but Bram doesn’t so much as spare him a glance.
Oh, Emmett.My heart breaks for him, my faithful friend. He’s only ever been guilty of having a heart that longed for love so desperately it left him, and everyone in his wake, bruised. I wish I’d gotten to see a world in which he and Ivy got to be together, settled and happy. They deserved it, but I suppose life doesn’t always deliver what we deserve.
I know immediately what I must do, and I know I cannot hesitate.
The unicorn horn is still clutched in my sweaty palm and I raise it above my head, briefly blocking out the sun.
In that single heartbeat, a memory comes back to me with crushing clarity, perhaps one final gift from the universe.
It’s my very first memory, a little foggy and pink around the edges. My father leading me by the hand into my mother’s bedchamber. She was propped up against the pillows, a little sweaty, but glowing with happiness. I’d never seen her hair down before; that’s what I remember being shocked by. I didn’t even notice the wriggling bundle in her arms until my father scooped me up and placed me next to her.
She tipped the white blanket toward me, and inside was a sleeping baby. The sister they’d been promising me for months.
