And I know it won’t be the last, not unless I do this. “That’s why I’m declaring my intention to marry someone from Castleview.”
The crowd breaks out into a sea of murmurs.
“Who is it?”
“Has someone been sneaking off?”
“You’re wondering who it is,” I said loudly, pulling their attention back. “Well, you don’t have to guess for one more second, because I will be marrying”—
Awfully confident, aren’t we?
Iama king.
This is it. The moment everything changes. I could stop now. Make a joke. Laugh it off.
But then Nightmare will go after her. And I'll go back to being alone with nothing but revenge.
“I’m marrying Chelsea…” Oh shit. She never told me her last name. “She’s about this tall.” I place my hand to my chest. “Wears sparkly sneakers. Sorry, I don’t know her last name. Can someone help me out?”
One of the two women I caught on the balcony yells, “Thornrose. It’s Chelsea Thornrose.”
I snap my fingers. “Yes, that’s her. I’m marrying Chelsea Thornrose.”
The ballroom erupts. Not polite murmurs—actual chaos. Voices rising, people turning to each other in shock. This isn't just gossip. This is political. The Nightmare King marrying across the barrier? Uniting the districts through marriage?
I've just declared war on tradition itself.
And that’s when the blonde woman who interrupted me and Chelsea in my study, faints.
That wasn’t so bad,Nightmare murmurs.
It wasn’t so good, either.
Chelsea
The next morning I wake up before the rest of the house. It’s still dark when I slip out of my dress and change into leggings, a T-shirt and sneakers.
As much as I try to push last night out of my head, it won’t leave. The feel of Eryx’s cold magic sliding across my skin lives rent-free in my head.
And the worst part is, now that I’ve had time to digest it, it wasn’t just terrifying.
It was alluring—pulling, enticing me and my magic to join it.
No.
Stop.
It wasn’t alluring. It was wrong.
End of story.
I pad quietly down the stairs and out of the house. It’s cool in the early morning hours, and in the distance I spot the glow of the barrier.
It pulses like the thing’s breathing, alive, calling to me.
Nope. Not calling. I refuse to believe it’s calling.
I run through Castleview, doing everything I can to push the last traces of the ball from my mind. My feet pound theconcrete hard, and I pump my legs faster than I have in months. When I break into a sweat, it feels good, earned, like I’m doing something right.
