Page 1 of The Court of Truth

1

ADRIANNA

If this woman standing toe to toe with me is family, then I want off this crazy train. Possibly a DNA test for the road. I’ve seen evil in this world, but none of it compares to the look on her face, and she’s supposed to be my aunt? Go figure.

My heart races with every passing second, my blood vibrating through my veins as I remain stoned faced, staring at the woman threatening to take my crown the moment it’s placed on my head. The scent of blood fills the air, heightened by my wolf senses as Bozzelli remains lifeless at my feet.

I want to look, to see if there’s anything I can do, but that’s not possible with this woman present. Her last words echo in my mind, swirling relentlessly as I attempt—and fail—to process the audacity of her actions.

“Now that the crown is back on the table, in the grasps of a fae no less, it’s mine for the taking.”

Over my dead body.

But from the glint in her eyes, I can tell she’s happy to put that sentiment to the test.

I can feel the gathered audience watching, waiting for my next move. I’m certain the cameraman is still rolling, broadcasting my encounter with the first threat to the throne, while the fluttering of heartbeats from those present ring in my ears as they wait with bated breath for my reaction.

More than anything, I can feel the tugging in my gut, the resonating panic coming through the bond with my men. My fated mates. It was at the hands of The Council that our bond was forged, but now, I’ve never been more thankful. I try to project a calm and collected aura through the connection, but the spike of adrenaline through my veins makes it harder than expected.

My father moves to ascend the stairs beside me, but I shake my head as subtly as possible to pause his approach. What kind of queen am I if the former leader has to step in immediately?

Thankfully, he manages to tear his furious glare from his sister to see my plea and stops before he even lifts his foot off the ground. That single move, that feel of his support and his consistent ability to hear me, is enough to spur me on.

Rolling my shoulders back, I stare at Clementine Reagan and sneer. “If you think you’ll ever lay hands on my crown, you are mistaken.” The words enhance the weight on my head, reminding me of the responsibilities that come with it.

Protectmykingdom. Protectmypeople. Protectmyfamily.

Every jagged pump of my heart floods me with the tingles I’ve grown familiar with. My magic is desperate to burn bright, cast the shadows from the room and protect everyone here, but something is holding it back. I just can’t figure out what.

Clementine cackles, tossing her head back as she dramatically throws her arms out wide, the perfect picture of a supervillain as she does her best to disregard me.

My father’s presence looms at my back. I can sense his desire to eliminate the distance between us, but through what must be a Herculean exercise of will, he remains rooted to the spot. That doesn’t stop him from leaning closer, though, as if to offer some kind of protection over me. He wants me to lead as the new monarch, the rightful queen, but I’m still his daughter, and his need to defend me from the bad things in the world is strong.

“You will not taint my daughter with the same disgrace you showed me.” His words are heavy, dark, and filled with a level of pain I’ve never heard in his voice before.

“Enough from you, brother,” Clementine snarls, flicking her hand in his direction. Magic bursts across the short space, sending my father sailing through the air. He skims over the seated crowd, barreling into the fourth row as gasps rupture the air around us.

My heart freezes in my chest as I search for him, relieved when he manages to stand among the chaos a moment later, even if the wind has been knocked out of him. The pain he almost manages to hide only encourages another cackle from Clementine, forcing a burst of rage through my bones.

I react before I can think, curling my fingers in her direction, and watch in delight as my magic replicates the action on her. The air tightens around her throat as she swats her hands at nothing, struggling to breathe. My fingers flex in vicious delight.

“Do noteverdo that again.” My nostrils flare, rage rising to the surface as I try to remain as calm and collected as possible, but her attack on my father cannot go unpunished.

There’s a hand on my shoulder a moment later, and I’m relieved to see my father at my side. He’s not here to take control, to be my savior, he’s here to support me. I feel the difference and it offers me the strength to take a calming breath. My hold on her throat relents as I become acutely aware that my family drama is being aired for all to see.

I’m spiraling and acting irrationally. I need my men to ground me.

With my mind made up, I tug on the connection between us, hoping to convey what I need without allowing myself to be distracted, searching for them in the crowd.

“Nothing good will come of this, Clementine. That’s why you were imprisoned to begin with.” My father’s voice is firm, his fingers curling on my shoulder in silent support as he aims his finger at his sister.

“It never should have been that way,” she insists, shaking her head in disgust, yet it’s my father who scoffs.

“You killed our mother. In a fit of rage, no less, because you couldn’t be queen.”

What the fuck?

Prepared for her to deny such an allegation, I tilt my head at her, but to my surprise she shrugs at him, a huff parting her lips before she sighs. “The kiss of death was an unnecessary touch.”

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