“I am your king,” he says, and though his voice is quiet, it’s full of venom.
“And I’m not your ‘girl.’?”
She feels the collective gaze of the guards, as if they are waiting for something to happen. She knows the odds aren’t in her favor right now. Mjolnir has disappeared, and she’s surrounded by enemies. Even with her pin, she hasn’t got a hope in Vaar.
That pounding in her head, coursing around her system. Urging her to do something. Because she doesn’t want her name written there. If it’s her name they need to bind her into this, she won’t give it to them.
She takes another breath.
Stay calm, Lar.
“One way or another,” the king says darkly, “I’m afraid you’re telling us.”
Her body stiffens—but not of its own accord. For the second time in a matter of hours, she finds herself held in place by magic. Only this time, it is not a spell. It’s her very bones, tightening inside her. A Bone Wielder’s magic. And he might not be a Prime, but everyone knows how powerful the king is.
The king stretches out his hand in front of him, turns it. And inside her body, Skylar’s bones strain. She can’t help it, she lets out a gasp of pain.
“I could break every bone in your body right now,” the king says mildly. “Or I could do it one by one, until you talk.”
Skylar bares her teeth at him, bracing herself. She’s used to pain, used to fear. She tells herself she can handle it, whatever he throws at her.
“Well, then she won’t be much good in a fight, will she?” Zryan says dryly.
The king glances at his son, while Skylar’s heart thumps, her palms, still pressed together, damp with sweat. The queen moves to the king, lays her hand on his arm.
“I’ve got a better way than torture, my love.” She gestures to one of the people in her private guard. “Herron? If you could?”
The man called Herron, hair the color of rust, steps forward as the king releases his hold on Skylar. She refuses to let herself sag in relief, though she flexes her fingers, one by one, to make sure they are all obeying her. She feels sick. She’s never had that kind of power used on her—Aldric wove illusions over them all the time, but he only ever influenced what other people could see.
Herron moves closer to her. She wonders if he’s a Reader—true mind Readers are rare, but they do exist, and they could pluck her name right from her head.
Don’t think about your name, Skylar.
Fuck.
But Herron is smiling at her, showing teeth that are far too white. “You want to tell me what your name is, don’t you?” His voice is lyrical, and she knows, almost instantly, what this is. She can feel the magic wrapping around her, bending her will.
She tries to stop her mouth from opening, but it’s no use. There’s no fighting against an Influencer as powerful as this one.
“Skylar.” It is torn from her in a gasp. She stops herself before adding her mother’s last name, not wanting to give that part of herself over. She wonders if they’ll make her—but it seems her first name is all they need.
“Well, then,” the king says. “Let’s get this over with.” He gestures to the Custodian, who picks up the quill Zryan discarded and begins to write.
She sees it there, in ink.
Skylar de Veras.
De Veras. The royal bloodline.
Nausea swells and for a brief moment the hall swims around her.
When she blinks her surroundings back into focus, the name—hername—is still there.
There is quiet for a moment more. Then the Custodian clears his throat. “I’m afraid that’s that. Once she’s recognized by the Covenant, there is no getting out of it—she’s bound to duel.”
No one seems to know what to do with that information. The king and queen look at each other, while Zryan scrapes a hand through his dark hair, shaking his head—the only sign of disbelief he’s given. TheDreki and the queen’s guards are all looking at Skylar, some dumbstruck, some curious.
“Axel,” the queen says, “take this…” She hesitates, then draws herself up to her full height. “Take the princess to the north wing.” Princess. Bizarrely, it makes her want to laugh. What is wrong with her? “And you ought to untie her, while you’re at it.”
