Page 148 of Bloodguard

“No, Grandmother,” I say aloud. “Papa was right. Theremustbe another way.”

I now know the point of all the death and suffering since that night three years ago. It’s why Vitor and Soro were throwing everyone they could into the arena. They needed to feed the ever-strengthening and growing Aurora.

I start to pace, choking back tears. The slate floor cools my battered feet, and while it offers some relief, the pain from my injuries keeps my mind focused.

By the stars, I will be queen. And I’ll do itmyway.

If it weren’t for this pesky little life-and-death blood oath I have with that raging psychopath Soro, the crown I rightfully possess might be the shining light I need in all this darkness.

But the blood oath is there, and I must find a way out of it.

My feet sting, my head throbs, my throat aches, and every muscle and ligament in my body screams in vicious agony. Accelerated healing ability or not, I won’t recover fully for many more days.

Furnishings of rich mahogany fill the room, including an oversize bed. While I don’t find an axe in the wardrobe to murder Soro with, I do find plenty of overly accessorized silk dresses with matching hats, as well as—oh, goody—a wedding gown of white lace and stitched in diamonds I’m no doubt expected to wear at the blessed event. Next to it hangs a veil even longer than the one I was forced to wear to the arena to cover my face, which was still bloodstained and bruised.

If trees were middle fingers, I’d wave a forest at Soro.

Mercifully, I find a pair of breeches and a shirt. I peel out of the undergarments I’m wearing and change. My hand presses into the dressing table to keep my balance as I pull up the breeches. The table is stacked with sparkling jewelry—rubies, sapphires, and emeralds fastened to more flashy gold, silver, and diamond necklaces than anyone needs. And because mypreciousfiancé doesn’t spoil me enough, look at this. A large bottle of belladom!

I loathe every bit of this space. This castle is nothing but a pretty prison.

Someone knocks on the door. It’s a soft knock, so I don’t immediately look for something sharp. “Come in,” I say.

“Princess,” stammers the servant. The door opens slowly, and a young human woman slips hesitantly through. Her skin is ebony, and her long hair is charcoal black.

“Ah, yes?” I say.

She walks slowly, shadowed by a young troll girl with short red hair. I saw her when I was dragged, or rather, “escorted” in.

“I am Lita. This be Brynne. We are here to serve you and have brought your supper,” the young troll says. “Please eat. You mustn’t displease Soro, our most distinguished and revered future king.”

My mouth twists. “Is that what he told you to call him?”

Lita and Brynne exchange glances. “Yes?” Lita answers.

I curl my fingers into fists at my side. “Figures.”

The young women watch me as I start to pace again. “Tell me, is anyone questioning what happened to the former lord regent?”

At Lita’s nod, Brynne answers. “No.”

“Why?” I ask, though I suspect the reason.

“Our beloved and most revered future king made a formal announcement that the former regent was a traitor. And that while he adored his father, Arrow will always come first.”

Rage swells from deep within me and all but punctures through my skin. Of course Vitor will be painted as a traitor. This way, there will be no funeral and no period of mourning. I knew Soro resented Vitor. I just didn’t realize how deep his hatred ran.

“Lord Ugeen and the generals produced evidence—”

“Sure they did,” I grumble.

Brynne twists her hands in front of her. “Our future legendary and revered king also decreed that should anyone question him, they’re questioning Arrow. And if they question Arrow, it will be considered treason, and they will be sentenced to death.”

Just as I thought.By the phoenix, Soro, you truly put the dick in dictator.

Lita and Brynne bow and motion toward the meal they have delivered. I suppose they fear what will happen if they say too much. The food is served on a pewter tray. Lita lifts the lid and gracefully bows again.

My stomach is such a mess, I gag at the smell of broiled meat. She quickly covers it and offers me fresh rolls from an ornate wicker basket rimmed with wildflowers.

---