Page 120 of Stealing Tink

He is happy to see her happy, but it confuses him all the same.

And then she adds, “See you in a few hours.”

Acel frowns. Does she really think he’ll attend the competition? Watch from the crowd as other men compete for her hand?

“Aditai—”

“Yes, yes. I know. The Sister told you that if you won my hand, there would be no more princess.” The princess says this nonchalantly for a woman talking about her own death.

“Then you must understand why I refuse to compete.”

“Oh, I understand,” she says. “But Acel, you really should have caught up on the news when you returned.”

Acel’s heart begins to thump wildly in his chest.

“Didn’t you hear? My mother has decided to abdicate the throne to me. Something about being tired of ruling. How it’s my turn. The only condition was that I find a companion to rule by my side. You see, Acel, once my hand is won, there will be no more Princess of Irethden. Because I will be queen.”

And with that, she’s gone, leaving Acel breathless.

He gives himself two minutes to process the information.

And then grabs the money from the floorboards.

The instructions in the note will have to wait.

Acel has a hand to win.

CHAPTER 53

TINK

When I wake, the first thing I notice is how cold the bed feels on my back. How hard. How my muscles feel as if they haven’t moved in centuries.

There’s something else that feels different, too. Something that I can’t quite place. My eyes flutter open, and the first thing that strikes me is the colors.

Dust flecks flutter in front of my eyes, suspended in streams of blue and pink light.

If this is death, it’s not as terrible as I would have thought.

If this is death, perhaps I shouldn’t have spent my entire life in fear.

But there is still pain here. I feel it in my chest when I think of the Nomad. How once again, I allowed myself to trust. How once again, that trust got me nowhere.

I take in a grounding breath. Will my fingertips to move, and they do as they’re told. The first place my hands check is my stomach, but there is no sign of a wound. No sign that only moments ago, a sword was thrust through my body.

I really must be dead then. Because if I were alive, even if it had been days before I woke up, a wound like that wouldn’t have healed so quickly.

When I turn my head to the side, a crick in my neck makes its ugly appearance. Strange, that my abdomen has been completely healed, but I have a crick in my neck. Death is an odd place.

But then my eyes remember how to function, and the room comes into focus.

It’s beautiful, the kind of place that reminds me of the great temples built to the Fates in each of the kingdoms. There are stained glass windows on the far side of the room. That explains the colorful streams of light. My cheek presses against cold, hard, white stone. A table—no, a dais of some sort. When I turn my cheek to the other side, my stomach falls through my spine.

Because that wall is lined with tapestries.

Fear grips me, and I shoot up on the dais.

Something drags behind me, tangles in my fingertips.