So that would mean the other line is for Zryan’s name. Only it’s blank.
“This is preposterous,” the king splutters. “If thisgirlwas my heir, she would be dead by now. The countdown to the duel would have started when the witch turned twenty-three—but it’s clearly Zryan’s birthday that has triggered it. Thisgirl,” he gestures at Skylar, “is older, yes? If they are implying she is my firstborn. So if she were my heir, the witch would have had to duel by now. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind anyone here that if no duel between the heirs took place, they would both be dead. So the fact the witch princess lives is surely evidence enough that the witches are wrong.” The king states this all as cold, hard fact—like he’s daring the Covenant itself to contradict him.
The Custodian licks his lips. “The Covenant stipulates that once the younger heir reaches the age of twenty-three, the countdown to the duel begins, yes, but…”
“But what?” The king takes a threatening step toward the Custodian. “If you don’t have use of your tongue, Custodian, maybe we should cut it out?”
The Custodian swallows. “But an heir is only an heir once they are recognized. Until now, Zryan was believed by all—including the Covenant—to be the youngest heir, so it was his twenty-third birthday, as you say, that set things in motion. We don’t understand everything about the magic that binds the Covenant, but I have made it my life’s work—”
“We don’t need to hear about your dedication,” snaps the king. “We need to sort this out.”
The prince seems oddly quiet, given it’s his fate they’re talking about here. His arms are folded, watching the whole thing play out.
“Well, it’s like I said—an heir needs to be recognized.”
The king’s eyes, the color of his ice dragon’s scales, slide to Skylar’s. She feels a curdling in her gut, pressure in her temples building. He knew she was out there alright.
The king hunted down her mother, and Skylar has always thought it was because of what her mother was… But is there a chance it was because ofwhoher mother was? After mating with his one true love—if you buy into that bullshit—did he want to get rid of all his previous lovers?
Or was it actually aboutSkylar? An heir who was not meant to be born.
The Dreki, chasing her down the alley.
Nowhere left to run, girl.
They’d meant to kill her that night. And given they never came for her again, they must have thought they’d succeeded. And all of this means… Skylar takes a shallow breath. Her mother died because of her.
The king’s daughter.
Heir.
It can’t be true. But the pounding of her blood, the spike in hertemperature, means her body is telling her otherwise. Still holding her arm, her bodyguard flicks an odd glance at her. She takes a breath, air rasping against her dry throat. And feels herself calm, just a little.
The king is still watching her with hatred in his eyes. Eyes that are wholly unfamiliar, nothing like hers.
“So what happens now?” the queen asks, breaking the brief silence.
“Well,” the Custodian says, his voice trembling, “now it’s down to whether the Covenant recognizes her as heir. Mjolnir protecting her is, ah, an indication that she could have royal blood. And as Prince Zryan’s name is no longer here, it would suggest…” He trails off, apparently unwilling to finish the sentence.
“In that case,” Zryan says, stepping forward so that all eyes turn to him, “there’s only one way to settle this, isn’t there?” Everyone watches as he holds out his hand to the Custodian. “The quill.” The Custodian hesitates, glancing at the king, and Zryan raises his eyebrows, as if daring him to argue. The Custodian hands it over.
“Zryan,” the king begins, “what are you—?”
But Zryan holds up a hand. “If I’m not the heir, then if I go in that cage in six weeks’ time and kill the witch, we’ll forfeit the Heart. And we can’t have that, can we? So let’s be sure we know what we’re dealing with here.”
Skylar can’t help watching, along with the rest of them, as the prince dips the quill in ink, then writes his name in the blank space next to the witch’s. She feels Axel’s grip tighten further on her arm, resists the urge to wince in pain. They all watch as Zryan finishes, draws back. As the ink on the parchment disappears.
Zryan throws the quill down casually next to the Covenant. “Well. Looks like I’m no longer the heir.” His voice is even, like he’s not all that concerned. “So clearly someone else is,” he adds pointedly.
All attention moves to Skylar.
Not happening.Her thoughts are spiraling, trying to catch up. But she still has that odd sense of calm, so that the whole thing feels distant, like it’s happening to someone else entirely.
“What’s your name, girl?” barks the king.
She snorts before she can stop herself. “Right. As if I’m going to tell you that.”
There is a gasp of shock—almost comical—from the Custodian.
