Page 69 of The Throne's Undoing

As she walked out of the cell, a short chain ran from one ankle to the other, scraping against the floor.

Holding back tears that began to sprout, Myra turned toward the usual path.

The guard snatched her wrist. "This way," he ordered.

"What? Why? Where are you taking me?" Myra asked, frantically looking over her shoulder in the other direction.

Was she walking to her execution? And if so, why was she not more afraid?

"The king thinks you need a little motivation," Kolen said, tightening his grip around Myra's arm.

The fear settled in her stomach then. Because if this was not her execution, she was terrified of what awaited her.

They took the steps that led to the main floor, the chains rattling with every step. At the top of the staircase, Kolen peered down at her. "Don't bother screaming. No one will hear you.The king has sent everyone out of the castle this evening just for this little visit. Doesn't that make you feel special?" He smiled wickedly.

Myra gulped as the guard pushed open the door. She squinted when a flood of light streamed in from the torches lining the halls. As Kolen dragged her through the side entrance of the throne room, she looked longingly at the moonlit windows. Salvation was so close, and yet so far out of her reach.

The guard flung Myra to the floor in front of the steps leading to the throne. Her knees slammed against the white marble floors, and the heavy chains cut into her ankles.

Domitius lounged on his throne, his chin resting on his propped-up hand as if bored. With a quick snap of his fingers, the main doors creaked open.

As the newcomers entered, a wave of emotions washed over Myra, sending chills down her spine and setting every nerve ablaze.

Myra turned and nearly toppled over as the chains restricted her movements. "Mynhos?" she croaked, gasping for air.

As a guard led him down the walkway, her brother didn't react, his head remaining slumped and his gaze fixed on the ground.

His blond hair was shaggier than before, and greasy, dull strands stuck to his forehead. Wearing an oversized jacket that sagged over his frail body, the sleeves too long for his arms, and ill-fitting pants, Mynhos was no more than a walking pile of bones. A shadow of the brother she once knew.

Myra's brows twisted together as her heart pounded in her chest.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked in horror, turning to the king as tears burned the back of her eyes.

The king rolled his eyes as if her question was an annoying fly he wished would disappear. He looked past her. "Mynhos, your sister wishes to see you. Lift your head," he ordered.

But when Myra returned to look at her brother, Mynhos raised his head.

With a blank, tired expression, his complexion was as white as the marble walls that surrounded them. A near ghost.

Tears burned her eyes. "What--what happened?"

Mynhos's gaze flicked to the king.

"Go ahead. Tell her," King Domitius said.

"You," Mynhos said, his voice low and haunting. "You did this."

Myra gasped, her heart shattering as she looked up at her brother.

"You left me," he whispered.

"No! No, Mynhos. I never wanted to leave you. I--I--" Myra choked on her tears. Her eyes darted to his injured arm, where the jacket's sleeve was draped loosely over it, shielding it from view.

"You forgot about me," he seethed.

"Mynhos, please," Myra begged through her sobs as she crawled forward. Every word that left Mynhos's mouth was another dagger to her heart.

"If you cared about me, you would do as the king says."

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