Why would he care about stories of love and loss and hope?
I swallow hard and nod, turning away before he can see the sting in my eyes.
“Right,”Imurmur.“Weshould go.”
I quicken my pace, heading up the hill toward the castle gates, my skirts brushing against my legs asIwalk faster and faster.Thecrowd thickens as we near the entrance, people pressing forward to enter theCourton thisDayofGrievances.
I don’t look back andIdon’t slow again.
IfIstop,Imight think too much.Imight feel too much.Imight do something foolish, like turn around and ask him why he feels the way he does or why he thinks he can’t have me.
I can’t afford that—not now.NotwhenI’mso close to ending this.
SoIkeep going, my eyes fixed on the towering gates ahead, my heart aching but determined.
Iwilldo the spell.
I will go back, andIwill forget him and all the heartbreakI’mfeeling right now.Iwon’t even look at him again.Ikeep my eyes determinedly forward, looking for a good place to do theTimeWeavingspell.
That’s whyIdon’t see what happens toTheronwhen we pass through the gates of theKing’sCourt.
67
THERON
I watchElowenhurry ahead of me and every instinct in my body screams at me to follow—to catch her arm, turn her around, make her look at me andlisten.
ButIdon’t do it.Ilet her walk ahead—her spine straight, her steps quick and determined—as she makes her way up the hill toward theKing’sCourt.
She hates me now.
Good—she should.
It’s better this way.Betterthat she’s angry, hurt, pushing me away instead of reaching for me with those soft eyes and that open, trusting heart.Betterthat she doesn’t want me.
BecauseIcan’t give her what she wants—a normal, simple life.
My jaw tightens asIstart forward at last, following her at a distance.Itisn’t hard to keep track of her—not in this crowd.Evenamong all the people climbing the winding road, her red hair stands out like a flame.Thoselong ruby curls catch the morning light, glowing against the muted colors of the city.
Mine.Sheshould be mine.
For once the thought doesn’t come from myDrake—it comes rising from deep inside me—instinctive, possessive, absolute.
I shove it down because she’snotmine—not anymore.Andsoon she won’t be anything to me at all—not even a memory.
The idea settles in my chest like a stone asIfollow her through the outer gates.Theguards barely give her a second glance as she passes—just another priestess hurrying toCourt, nothing special, nothing worth noting.Theylet her through without a word.
I get a different reaction.
Their eyes linger on my horns, on the breadth of my shoulders, on the wayIcarry myself.Theyrecognize whatIam—or close enough.Nothuman.Notentirely.
But they don’t stop me—no one wants trouble with aDrake.
I move past them without slowing, my gaze fixed on the flash of red ahead of me.Beyondthe gates, the courtyard opens wide—a vast stone expanse already crowded with people.Vendorsshout from hastily set-up stalls, selling food and trinkets and charms to those waiting their turn to claim aGrievance.Peasantscluster together in nervous groups, clutching petitions or offerings.Merchantsstand in finer clothes, their expressions sharp and calculating.Afew nobles linger at the edges, clearly expecting to be admitted before anyone else.
All of them are waiting for a chance to see theKing.
I’ve heard how it works.Noteveryone gets in—not even close.TheCourtpicks and chooses who’s worthy of an audience—who has a grievance important enough to be heard.
