Page 9 of Blood of the Fairest

"Yes."

"And just who the fuck am I accidentally killing today, on top of the three creeps in the cemetery?" I ask, my voice strained. "Please tell me it's a bunch of rapists and mass murderers who could actually deserve a death sentence."

He purses his lips. "It is not my place to tell my queen whether a small family of northerners deserves to face death for settling in Isenhold without your explicit permission…including their elderly parents and their stripling son of sixteen years⁠—"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I groan, already hiking up my skirt to rush down the street in the direction of the tolling bell.

Merrick keeps up with me easily, since this dress is ten thousand pounds of ugly velvet and dried blood.

"Your Majesty! You must not reveal your face to the public. Please, this is not safe for you!"

I curse like a sailor when a misshapen cobblestone digs painfully into my bare foot. "Does the executioner know what I look like? Is he one of the inner circle peeps?"

"He is, but⁠—"

"Great," I call back, adjusting the ratty blanket until it rests over my head like a hood, ready to be pulled down. "So fucking help me, I'm not going to be responsible for letting Queen Rhinestone murder an entire family!"

How many times has the death knell hit thirteen already, anyway? I curse again.

All at once, Merrick and I emerge from the glass-filled village into a large but crowded rectangular town square.

On one end of it is a giant statue of…a sexy horned angel, I guess? At least, she has the feathered wings of an angel. They curl around her voluptuous statue body as she holds a mirror high, smiling up into it. At her feet are fresh flowers, polished trinkets, locks of hair tied with glossy bows, and about a trillion little mirrors.

"Offerings," Merrick explains quickly, seeing my frown. "That is Ayna, the embodiment of Pride itself. She is revered as the patron faerie of Isenmere. Now, please hide yourself, Your Ma—Verena."

Tugging down on the blanket to obscure most of my face while keeping a little peephole intact, I turn toward the much more crowded side of the town square.

Despite the stained glass everywhere, I thought this looked like a modest medieval-ish village—but all these townsfolk are primped to perfection, dressed in perfectly tailored fabrics. Even in the middle of these executions, I see them adjusting their clothing, smoothing hair, and ensuring they look perfect in the mirrors hung on the doors of shops and storefronts surrounding the town square.

They've thronged so closely together that I can't see the actual execution. When yet another death knell resonates over the well-groomed observers, I tug the blanket down over my face fully and march into the group, determined to get to the front.

"Move! Stop everything!" I shout, but it's muffled.

I can't see anything from under the blanket, so at first, I'm surprised how easy it is to push my way through the villagers. But it quickly becomes obvious why everyone is clearing out of my way so fast.

Someone gasps. "What bloodied, muddied waif dares go outside looking like that?"

"How revolting!"

"Crones, something so unsightly would make even Ayna wish for blindness."

"Is that blood? My gown is made of mirrorflax! Move—I cannot get this dirty!"

They're all so melodramatic and vain.

I guess that means I've found my kind of people.

I must be nearing the front of the murmuring crowd now, because I hear a voice boom, "That was the twelfth knell. The thirteenth approaches. Why do you hesitate to raise your axe?"

"I do not execute children," a man replies. "The queen knows this. She should not have sent me."

I don't feel people bumping into me or fleeing out of my way anymore. Does that mean I'm finally at the front?

I take another step forward, but my cold bare toe stubs itself on stone, like there's a step up in front of me.

"You dare defy our queen's orders on behalf of a northern dog? Fine, I shall do it myself! Hand me the punishment axe. Bow your head, whelp, and prepare to⁠—"

Stepping up, I pull the front of the blanket back enough that my face can be seen by the few people on this circular, raised stone platform.