Cora stands and leans over the table, both hands face-down on the rotten wood. “Now. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to vote yes today, and you’re going to tell your citizens that the witches aregoodfor the kingdom. If you’re unable to convince them, then your children will die, and so will your citizens. House Panthera has already executed two of their own, with a new execution scheduled every day foras long as there are dissenters.” She smiles at Katze and Issa, who stare back at her with empty gazes.
It was their idea. The least they can do is pretend like they’re proud of it.
Artis and Torben are silent, but Conall stares at Panthera in horror. “Is this true?” he asks. Katze nods, staring straight down at the table. “You?—”
Cora waves her hand, and the arm of mold grows closer to Sasha, cutting off any retort Conall had.
“They’re just doing what needs to be done. And their children will live for it, isn’t that right?” Cora asks House Panthera pleasantly.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Issa says with a soft smile.
Cora returns the smile. “That’s right. Because I wouldsohate for Princess Cassia to die before she’s had the chance to truly live. That would be such a shame, wouldn’t it?”
Issa’s smile fades. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she repeats in a drawl. Katze stares ahead, unwilling to look at Cora or his wife.
The last time I saw House Panthera, Issa was all for the executions, Katze nearly panting for them. I wonder what changed. Maybe it’s no longer fun to play games with the devil when what you love hangs in the balance.
Cora turns her gaze to Mother and Father next. “Just look at the Serpent Princes. Asmo chose Mae, and he died for it.” The words are full of conviction, but there’s no evidence to suggest he’s dead. If I know my brother, he found a way out. He always did when we were young. “But no matter, because Marik chose the right side,” Cora continues, beaming at my parents. As if they did the world a favor by raising me.
They return the smile, but it looks like a puppet is pulling the corners of their mouths up, one yank at a time. Asmo will always be their proudest accomplishment. And now he’s gone, leaving them with second-best—me.
Cora brings her hands together in a loud clap, and Sasha jumps in her seat. “Now, does anyone object to the forming of the witches as a High House?” She looks around the table.
Every single king and queen of the High Houses stares at the table in silence.
“Wonderful!” Cora exclaims cheerfully. “It’s official, then. The witches will be recognized as a High House. I’ll throw a ball to celebrate. And remember the warnings you were given today, won’t you?”
Murmurs of confirmation ring around the table.
Cowards.
But then again, I don’t have anything I care about enough to lose. Not even myself.
To my immense surprise, Elle doesn’t attack me when I step inside her wing. To my even greater surprise, she’s already dressed and ready for our dinner. I thought I was going to have to bring her meal to her wing.
She sits on the couch, her red hair hanging limp at her shoulders. At least it looks like it was brushed. The black necklace is clunky around her slender neck. She wears a shapeless navy-blue shift that cuts off halfway down her thighs. It looks like…
“Is that a pillowcase?”
She lifts her chin. “I refuse to wear any more of Mae’s clothes. It was this or nothing.”
I shrug. I don’t particularly care what she wears, if I’m being honest. She stands, and I can’t help but gaze at her defined legs as they work to push her to standing.
I offer her my hand, but she declines, pushing past me and throwing the front door open. She doesn’t stop to put on shoes or anything else, just walks out barefoot in the pillowcase. I follow her, trying not to watch her in wonder. She places one foot on the steps, then turns to look back at me.
“Where are we going?”
I shove down whatever the hell this feeling is and walk around her, resisting the urge to brush my hand against her as I pass. The feelingalmost vanishes with her out of my sight, but the desire to turn back and look at her is too strong for my liking.
We walk in silence, guards eyeing Elle as we pass, their gazes catching on her legs. I hover a hand over the small of her back on instinct until we’re in the formal dining room.
The table is set for two, a floral arrangement of black roses and white peonies sitting in the center. The floral scent is cloying, and I resist the urge to order a servant to remove them. Ebony plates sit on opposite ends of the table, centered atop ivory placemats with gold branches embroidered along the edges.
Elle sits, and I take the opposite seat, watching her carefully as she eyes the cutlery in front of her. She doesn’t pick up the knife and hurl it in my direction. Someone’s full of surprises tonight.
I clear my throat. “Thank you for joining me tonight,” I say. And I mean it.
She scoffs. “Like I had a choice.”
