Risa scurried back to the dais, where Javi was helping Amina to her feet. He was trying to coax the princess into letting him pull out the dagger that still protruded from her hand.
But she was not listening. Amina held her head high as she marched toward the general, who trembled with unbridled fury. She did not cower when he leveled his pistol at her. She did not stop when his finger moved over the trigger.
Thequeenof Madros did not stand down.
Those ice-blue eyes widened. The general’s phantom had returned, and she would not disappear into the night like he hoped.
“I am Amina Durra Moro Almunia.” Amina’s voice rang out over the chapel. The guards, the guests, and the Sanguines turned their confused faces toward her as her pronouncement echoed around the hallowed walls. “I am the rightful queen of Madros. This man killed my family. And he will be held to account for his crimes against the kingdom of Madros.”
Like magic, the stained glass dome brightened and bathed her in dancing blues and greens.
One by one, the guards fell to their knees, hands at their hearts. The guests hurried into bows and curtsies. Even the Sanguines, loyal to no one, were humbled enough to lower their heads with respect.
Behind the general slunk a dark, frightful thing with singed fursticking out at odd angles. Waiting, calculating, yellow-black cat eyes narrowed in determination.
General Sur laughed. “I won’t miss this time.”
A shot rang out.
The world slowed. Perla screamed. Brunie leaped into the air, but the cat was too late. Javi shouted, body twisting as he stepped in front of Amina.
Amina’s eyes widened, but she was too slow to move.
And then the prince and the princess went down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINEIn Which the Girl Saves a Kingdom
Risa’s gravest mistake had been thinking she could control her curse by not caring. She always cared, even when she shouldn’t, and there was no stopping her curse when she did.
Javi lay sprawled over Amina. Brunie pawed at him, the cat’s yowls loud in the ringing quiet. Dark crimson stained his white doublet.
All at once, chairs screeched against the marble floor as people began to scatter in every direction. Guards shouted. The Sanguines attempted to escape. General Sur roared in outrage as the guards tackled him and pinned his arms to the ground.
“Good!” General Sur bellowed above the din. He wrestled against his restraints, spit flying. He turned his cold gaze on Amina, who struggled beneath Javi’s body. “Madros will go to war, and I will find a way to rise from the ashes.”
Risa couldn’t hear him over the rush of blood in her ears. She swam against the crowd, elbowing past bodies, barely wincing as a particular shove grazed the gash at her side. She swallowed around the knot in her throat and ignored the sudden ache in her chest.
Perla reached Amina first and helped roll Javi onto his side, her hand cushioning his head. The rest of him landed on the marble tile with a sickening thud.
Amina frantically nudged the prince with her knee, arms limp at her sides. “Javi!”
Risa quickened her steps. Her rucksack bounced at her back, and she unshouldered it to hang at her side.
She’d known what her curse would do the moment she let Javi worm his way into her heart. She should have broken her own curse; no, she should have never continued on with the farce of the journey. Everyone in Barrow had been right: She was a Bad Thing.
This was all her fault.
She half expected Javi to sit up, laugh, complain about how his outfit was ruinedagain, and insist he couldn’t join the parade in his honor as savior of Madros while indisposed.
But he did not move. He lay still, dark hair pooling around his head like a disheveled halo. Blood smudged a corner of his lips.
Risa tripped over her own feet and went crashing inches from his supine body. Something shattered beneath her and shot a wave of pain through her hips that felt like a thousand piercing daggers. Hot tears flooded her vision, turning the world blurry. Someone spoke, but the voice sounded strange and distant, fading into the background of the surrounding clamor.
With one hand pressed against her hip, the tattered remains of her canvas pack tickling the back of her hand, Risa struggled to situp. Warm liquid soaked through her shirt and painted her fingertips red.
Finally, Amina’s face came into focus across from her. “I’m sorry,” Amina was saying through heaving sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“This is my fault,” Risa said, though even her own words sounded muffled and far away.
