Page 99 of Creatures that Breathe

“Show me the wrists, too.” Because I’m tired of being tricked.

She tilts her head, clearly amused, and then shoves up her sleeves, displaying the Blackguard’s curse like a glittering thousand carat bracelet.

Somehow, it looks just as menacing against her dark skin as it does on Cross’s pale skin.

“You’re really Kingsguard?” I ask.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and I can’t tell if I’ve given her a compliment or doomed myself until a dangerous smile flashes across her face. “Andromeda of the Blackguard. And you must be Leni,” she says my name with a messy blend of admiration and contempt. “I gotta say, the hype lives up.”

I think I might cry. Might be crying.

Andromeda Porter—the most notorious thief in the realm. A master of deception and manipulation. Sleight of hand better than magic. The best at taking what’s not hers without leaving a trace.

Here. With me.

“How did you find me?” I ask, gathering up layers of my ridiculous white skirts, hurrying toward her. “We’re in the middle of a forest—”

She interrupts me with a click of her tongue. “Damn, you were doing so well with keeping your secrets, but you’re just like him, aren’t you? Figured everything out already.”

“Is he alive?” I ask, officially giving up the ruse, needing to know.

“Who?” she taunts. “Your fictional stud bunny?”

“If I scream, the sentries will come. I don’t remember the Blackguard’s royal pardon.”

“I suggest putting something else on,” she advises, as if my threat isn’t worthy of a reply. “It’s freezing outside. January in New England, and here we are in these ridiculous uniforms. Cotton skirts to carry firewood. Hasn’t His Royal Bitch heard of electricity?”

I don’t point out that modern homes lack dungeons, and servants’ quarters, which is why Draven abhors them. “Did you kill him? Draven? Is he dead?”

“I wish,” she sighs longingly, as if we’re discussing an all expenses paid vacation to the Canary Islands. “Lucky for his royal ass, the curse prevents us from harming anyone royal, and I’m only telling you that so you make sure none of us dumber Blackguard try to force it. Understand?”

She can’t really think Cross would try to kill the prince? Not after he sold me out. “Understood,” I respond, somewhat numb, mind a storm of thoughts.

Andromeda presses her ear to the door, and whispers, “We need to hurry.”

“Did Cross send you?” I blurt.

She hesitates, the first chink in her swagger. Then she’s rotating her elbow, pushing her sleeve higher. There, in silver sharpie, she’s written his name, along with a list of bullet points.

“You can’t remember him, can you?” A chunk of my heart falls out, smacks the floors.

Andromeda tenses, sucks in her cheeks. “Let’s get a move on.”

The wedding dress is my only option, voluptuous and whimsical, with coverage befitting a royal. I gather the mile long double lined train in my arms and, rolling her eyes, Andromeda leads me out of the cell.

Then we’re racing. And I vow it will be the last time I ever run.

25

Cross

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Around me, faces blur and flicker in a demented twist of shadows. I flinch, jerk away from the darkness, fearful it’ll swallow me, but I’m strapped down, at the wrists, the ankles, my stomach, chest, thighs. Everywhere.

I’m doomed to be suffocated by my own gift. Snuffed out like a candle at the end of its wick.

There’s no grace in this death. Heracles died on a pyre of his own making. Theseus fell into the sea. Jason burned in the arms of his wife.

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