Axel glances down at the rope around Skylar’s wrists, and she wonders if he’d have bothered had the queen not commanded it. She snatches her hands back and the rope falls away, one palm curled around the fragment of the Dreki’s blade she used to cut it.
One of his eyebrows raises, but he doesn’t comment. “Follow me,” he says instead, his tone cold and clipped—the voice of someone used to giving orders. She hates that he’s dismissing her so easily, showing her his back—the declaration that she’s not a threat. But she doesn’t want to stay here with the royals a moment longer than she has to, so she does as he asks.
He leads her into an entrance hall, past some gossiping courtiers who shoot them glances that are definitely not subtle. She ignores them, concentrating instead on the layout of the entrance hall. There is a door, which must lead out to the gates where the witch brought her in. But there are about a dozen nobles she’d have to get past, plus two Dreki, stationed at either side of that door.
Heir. Duel. The words chase each other around her mind. Surely they can’t really expect her to fight the witch. But she thinks of what they’ve been doing, stealing Blooded people from their homes to fight in their army. Executing so-called rebels and hanging them in the streets. So, yes, of course they will.
Axel leads her up a spiral staircase, and Skylar tries to ignore the twitching of her nerves, telling her not to follow, not to let herself get trapped.
Nowhere left to run, girl.
She thinks she hides the shiver down her spine, that giveaway that she is afraid, but Axel flicks a cold glance in her direction, like he notices it. Like he resents it.
He turns off the staircase, pushes open a heavy-looking door, then waits. A corridor looms, empty except for two guards, one at this end,one at the other. Light flickers and she swallows—but she doesn’t move.
“You don’t have a choice.” She glares up at him—as if she didn’t know that. But she steps into the corridor. Because he’s right, isn’t he? For now, at least, he’s right.
She makes herself take a steadying breath, glancing up and down the corridor, noting that there’s only one exit—back the way she came. “So do these guys make a habit of hanging out in empty corridors?” she asks in her best conversational tone, nodding at the guards. “Or are they just here to welcome me?”
Axel looks at each guard in turn, then down at her. His eyes are the green she imagines grass would grow, in a climate less harsh than this one. “They’re here to… help you,” he says, his lips curling around the word “help” in a way that lets her know exactly what he means by it. “Should you need it.”
“Oh, how nice of them. I’ll be sure to order room service.” His jaw clenches, and she sees a flash of something across his face. The same something she’d seen just after Mjolnir blasted apart the guard. A metal tang coats her tongue at the thought, but she shoves it away. She can’t think of what just happened—not yet. “Are they Blooded?” she asks.
He starts to walk down the corridor, leaving her to fall into step with him. She fully expects him to ignore her, but instead he gestures to the right. “Simone’s a Shifter.” Simone cocks her head at Skylar, yellow-gold eyes a little curious. Skylar only smirks at her. “Jason’s a Projector.”
A Projector, like Cam. So, not all of them have been forcibly conscripted, then—of course, people working in the castle would be exempt. Bitterness surges, as a familiar tightness closes in around her heart. At the thought of Cam, and of that last Projection she got from him, that flash of fear. How is she supposed to find him if she’s trapped here?
It’s easy enough to see why Axel volunteered this information—not to inform her, but to warn her. A Projector to spy on her. A Shifter—presumably a high grade—to act as her guard.
“And you?” She might be pushing her luck here, but who the fuck cares? “What are you?”
Axel gives her a smile that does not reach his eyes as he comes to a stop outside a door. “Useful.” He reaches past her and she stiffens, the blade in her hand breaking skin as she clutches it more tightly. But he only pushes the door open, then eases back, gesturing for her to step inside.
Light flares on as she enters. Of course, no short supply of Vitalas here, is there? The king doesn’t have to worry about affording enough magic to light or cool his home—he can siphon it straight from the Heart. Skylar does a slow circle, taking in the bed—big enough for four people—the wardrobe and chest of drawers, made of a material designed to look like wood. She forces her expression to stay neutral but, Arach, this room is bigger than any she’s ever been in.
She walks to the window. It’s dark outside, but the moonslight means she can see the castle grounds, stretching on for what looks like eternity.
“Well, then, Your Highness.” She turns to see Axel give her a mocking bow.
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps.
He raises his eyebrows. “No? Isn’t it every commoner’s dream, to be declared a long-lost princess?”
“You think I’m happy about this?” And of course he’d look down on the “commoners.” He is the type of noble she’s spent her whole life hating.
“No,” he says, his lips doing that cruel smirk again. “But being pissed isn’t going to help anything.” If he thinks this is her pissed, he’s in for a shock down the line. She’s still waiting for it to kick in—the anger, the fear. Anything, other than this numbness. “Like it or not, the future of Vatra now rests on your shoulders.”
She barely contains a snort. “Why should I care about the future of Vatra? What has Vatra ever done for me?” For Cam, for all the people the royals are forcing to serve against their will.
She feels a hint of something else, then. It’s muted, struggling to fight through, so it takes a moment to recognize it. Then her mouth twists into half a smile. Because a tiny part of her feelsgladabout this. Because like their feast downstairs, she’s ruined this for them, hasn’t she? She is no dragon-riding prince, and if they’re going to throw herinto a cage to fight a witch who can incapacitate her with just a few words, then they’ll be screwed, won’t they? Which would be exactly what they deserve.
Yes, but you’d be dead.Cam’s voice has a hint of impatience, the tone he uses when she’s being deliberately obstinate.
Dead. She’ll be dead, if she loses this duel. If they make her fight.
Axel is walking away from her now, toward the bedroom door.
“Are you seriously going to lock me in? For how long?” Could she pick the lock? She’s done it once or twice with her pin, but she imagines it will be more than a key used to lock this door.
