Page 115 of The Kingdom's Crown

Camellia was in a stained nightdress on the bed. Aric had fashioned some kind of binding for her hands, arms crossed together, that looked gentle enough to keep from hurting her as she pulled and twisted on the mattress. She was pale and trembling, lips broken from her own biting, eyes zipping between our entrance and the window and the door. She tried to sit up and I tensed, but then she groaned and sagged. The doctor was right. There was nothing to fear from Camellia. She was dying, and she was doing it quickly.

My mother, on the other hand, backed away from the bed toward the wall. "The Hunger is doing this to her?"

Her lack of control is. Her lack of discipline. Our habit of ignoring her misbehavior. I bit my lip on all the possible answers that rose up.

"You…" Camellia hissed.

I stiffened, but it wasn't me she was looking at.

"You came—" Her voice broke off into a whine, body arching and eyes squeezing shut, thin tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. Agony clamped her in its teeth, and Camellia tried and failed to catch a breath.

My mother pressed her hands over her mouth, watching in horror, and I swayed in place, torn between running out of the room, running to Camellia, or simply standing and watching like an idiot.

Camellia finally snatched a great gasp and collapsed back to the bed, air rattling in and out of her chest. Slowly, step by step, I moved closer to the bed. Her eyes flicked in my direction, narrowing, and her head winced away slightly, but she didn't speak or mock or laugh. She just watched me sink down to the stone floor, just out of reach. Her eyes were shockingly red, pale blue irises standing out eerily, the skin shadowy all around. Her cheeks were hollow and pale now, instead of flushed with arousal.

She was not what she ought to be to me, a competitor rather than a sister. Just as my mother wasn't what she ought to be to either of us.

"I can't do this," my mother whispered.

I kept my eyes on Camellia, not certain if her Hunger might see an opportunity to challenge me. "Can't do…? Mother, I'm not sure there's anything wecando for her."

"No. I can't rule."

Camellia's eyes were falling shut, her breathing fit apparently too much effort for her. I watched her brow furrow and smooth, her tongue licking out over her bottom lip but failing to leave any moisture behind.

"I don't know that I ever wanted to be queen. I wanted my Chosen. That was all. Everything else has been so…so hard."

Camellia's eyes opened again, already focused on me. We were part of that everything else, me and my sister.

"You'll have to take the crown," my mother said.

"Fine."

"Soon."

Camellia whimpered again and began to squirm, her thighs pressing and rubbing together, arms pulling at the strange sleeve she'd been trapped in.

"Bryony."

"Yes. Soon. And Camellia?"

Camellia groaned, senseless to the conversation, panting and then seizing without being able to take a breath.

"Mother?"

I turned my head and found her standing with a blank and empty look, her head shaking slowly. "I can't. I wash my hands of it all."

When did you ever get your hands dirty? I thought, pressing my lips into a hard line to keep from speaking it aloud. It didn't matter, she was already on her way out of the cell, footsteps echoing, Camellia's breath stuttering.

"Your Highness?" Head Guard Amos called.

"An announcement should be made declaring Princess Camellia having taken ill," I said, watching my sister watch me in return. The courtiers had seen her attack me. Everyone would assume Camellia was killed. Just as Sir Weston and the other lords assumed that previous sisters in the queen's line died off by one another's command. Maybe they had. Or maybe they'd gone like this—eaten up from the inside by their own power when misapplied.

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything decent for you sooner," I said, although the words didn't quite fit on my tongue. They weren't a lie, but Camellia and I weren't close either. Even prior to her Hunger developing, we'd always been kept separate. Probably with the understanding that one of us was unnecessary in the long run.

Camellia groaned and twisted away, and I couldn't tell if it was a physical complaint or just irritation at my pity.

Boots scuffed on the stone, Aric's hands settling on my shoulders. "The physician is on his way with a sedative."

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