“–and were too ashamed to face your people, so you negotiated an arranged marriage with our sworn enemies, the Blood Brotherhood.” He gnashed his teeth. “And you don’t do anything to contradict those lies.”
“Don’t.” My voice slashed through the room. “Don’t blame me for this.”
“It’s not your fault we’re in this mess, but we’re the only ones who can fix it. Why aren’t you getting that?” His hands shook with frustration. “I risked my life to bring you the crown–”
I closed my eyes, more shame flooding me. He had. Dax had traipsed through the entire continent, strapped wings on his back, and flung himself into a dangerous crater to reach me.
From his perspective, he’d endangered himself only for me to dismiss his efforts and his pleas.
If the roles had been reversed, I would have yelled much sooner than he had. It seemed even Dax had more patience than me.
“And I am grateful.” I licked my lips, throat burning. I had to tell him. He didn’t deserve to be tormented with hope. “But–”
“Are you? Because you keep dismissing me every time I mention it. And I know you hear me when I ask.”
“I know.” I forced myself to remain calm, though my heart shook, the truth pricking the tip of my tongue. “It’s more complicated than–”
“Than what, Allie?” He threw his hands in the air. “Stop letting the rest of Malhaven rip us apart, get back some of that famed courage you seemed to have misplaced, and put that damn crown on–”
“The crown didn’t accept me!” I screamed, finally uncaring who heard.
Dax’s face went slack. The hope melted from his eyes in the same way it had for me on that awful night.
“That’s right,” I said bitterly, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “It doesn’t think I’m worthy of wearing it. I can’t lead the Protectorate army even if the soldiers would follow me.”
“That’s impossible,” he said, stunned.
“It’s not.”
“Ithasto be.” His chest shook, eyes widening with fear and denial.
Ryker, the only other person I’d shared my humiliation with, had believed me instantly. My own cousin didn’t.
He kept shaking his head, as if that would somehow change the reality he now had to live with.
“It’s impossible,” he said again. “Grandpa Constantine picked you as the heir.”
“The crown doesn’t care.”
“You’re wrong. You have to be.”
Whatever dregs of composure I’d held on tightly to finally snapped.
Wrong.
He hadn’t meant it that way, still staring at me with stubborn hope, but I felt wrong.
Flawed.
Unworthy.
Under his incredulous gaze, I marched to the tall wardrobe, yanked its door open, ripped the slab of wood I’d cut into its base, and pulled the crown out for the first time since I’d dared place it on my head.
My hands shook as I held it up, like I was undeserving of even touching it. But those same threads of recklessness that had made me jump on the dining table and smash glasses burned through me now.
It made me want to howl all the pain I tried to conceal, for the entire world to see.
I marched right up to Dax and placed it on my head with shaky hands. Its weight felt heavy and mocking.
