“Don’ttouchhim—gods, don’t—”
“Bring the priestess! Now!”
Panic fractured their formation, and order unraveled beneath the torchlight. One of the guards dropped to his knees, gripping the edges of his helmet like the sound of his own heartbeat was too loud. Another turned and retched into the grass.
It wasn’t the man’s body that terrified them.
It was the fact that the Dread had never made it past Menelaus’s gates before.
Why was it happening now?
I should have been terrified that the gods’ curse had breached the one place that had been safe from it. But I wasn’t. Instead, I leaned forward, watching the red mist dissipate … and I wished it would come inside the palace. I wished it would slip through the gilded doors and down every courtier’s throat that had stepped in Anysa’s blood. I wished it would drag Menelaus down to the marble and strip him of his crown, make him bleed and gasp and cry … just like Anysa.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound jolted me from the railing and my murderous thoughts. I turned, expecting a guard—or worse—but the door eased open to reveal a young woman in soft linen robes, her dark hair braided close to her head.
Her gaze swept over me, lingering in a way that made it clear she was taking in far more than the paint on my skin. Something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before I could name it.
“My name is Alcmene, my lady. I’m to be your new handmaid.”
Before I could respond, another guard shouted in panic. Alcmene stiffened, then hurried to the balcony, peeking over my shoulder.
The guards were moving fast, circling the dark, crumpled shape on the grass. Their torches illuminated his blood-spattered features. Her lips parted. “Is that … the Dread?” She yanked up part of her dress to cover her mouth.
“Come inside. You shouldn’t stand there, my lady!” She gasped, urgently gesturing for me to follow her. Once inside, she shut the doors quickly, her hands shaking as she dropped the bolt into place.
She busied herself at once, though her movements were distracted and nervous. Worrying her fingers together, she crossed to the wall and lifted the lever so water began to flow into the tub. Stepping back, she smoothed her skirt, then rubbed her palms against it. All the while her gaze kept flicking to the balcony doors fearfully, as if she expected the Dread to seep through the cracks of the stone and find us.
“That’s never happened before, right?” I asked, wondering if the rumors had been wrong.
Alcmene shook her head. “Not that I know of,” she whispered, nervously dropping rose petals into the water.
I frowned as I watched them move across the surface, their perfume drifting faintly in the damp air.
Before I’d come here, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen flowers that weren’t shriveled with drought. Here, they floated as if drought had never existed.
I slipped off my clothes and stepped into the water, the warmth licking at my skin, the petals brushing past my legs like curious fingers.
She bathed me in silence, pouring warm water down my arms, over my back, tending my hair as if I might break. I closed my eyes and let her scrub away the paint and the scent of a throne that I was now starting to fear.
But no amount of rosewater could wash away the red mist out in the gardens, or Anysa’s red blood spreading across the marble floor.
The palace reeked of it now, and so did I.
Sleep was a cruel joke, something that dangled just out of reach. I twisted in the silk sheets, the scent of crushed flowers from the bath still clinging to my skin. The room was too quiet. Even the wind stayed still, like the whole world was waiting to see what I’d do when morning came.
And then, just once, I slipped under.
Into darkness.
Next toher.
Anysa’s body lay sprawled across the marble, eyes half lidded and mouth slack, her blood weaving through the cracks in the floor like red thread spun by the Fates. Her lips moved, soundless. Her fingers twitched.
Her gaze crept to mine, like it was costing her the last scrap of strength she had left.
A shadow blotted her out. The executioner stepped into her blood, the curve of his blade catching the torchlight, and his mouth split around the words:
