Page 49 of Of Blood & Stone

Her eyes darkened. “If you don’t, then you’re wishing death on everyone in this square.”

And what if that’s what I want?

He fought back the urge to say it. He needed to keep his mask secure, portray himself as the dutiful prince helping his sick brother with treaty revisions. He needed to bring the least amount of attention to himself as possible if his and Kharis’ plans to find the tree were to work, which, thanks to this woman, might be impossible.

Refusing to participate could create an uproar.

“Of course,” he said with a stiff bow, “my apologies.”

She didn’t smile, didn’t reply, didn’t do anything except turn around and approach the fountain. He considered running, but one of the guards pushed him forward. Gritting his teeth and pasting on a royal smile, he followed.

The last time he’d tasted wine was the day he’d escaped his brother. It’d been forced down his throat then, and it was being forced upon him now. He had no choice but to drink it—not if he wanted to appear harmless.

Not if he wanted to find the tree and save Orym.

Sylzenya lifted her hands towards the statue. The carving was of a woman in a flowing robe, both hands placed over her heart. The wine poured from it as if it were blood.

“May our sacrifices bring her glory,” Sylzenya shouted.

Silence hung across the plaza, ominous and holy as she cupped her hands and brought the wine to her mouth. Elnok’s eyes widened as everyone in the crowd kneeled, even the children, and bowed their foreheads to the ground. Something between disgust and fear roiled in his chest at the heaviness; he felt crushed under this sense of sacrifice in exchange for life.

Yet, wasn’t that what he was doing for Orym?

He shoved the thought away as he finally saw what he’d been hoping for: Sylzenya’s hands shook, lower lip quivering as she surveyed the plaza. Sweat lined her forehead, a droplet dripping down her temple as she gulped. A crack in her facade, just like he’d seen earlier that evening on the temple’s balcony. The look of someone hiding something—the look of a liar.

The moment she found his stare, her arms stilled, lips curving into a confident smile and dark blue eyes glimmering with purpose as if nothing happened.

As if he didn’t see through her little act.

“Prince Elnok,” she said, motioning for him to approach the fountain, “if you would.”

The crowd returned to their feet, whispers floating through the air, discussion growing the longer he waited. He could try and expose her, although he wasn’t sure what exactly he’d be exposing. Besides, these people had no reason to trust him. Theybowedbefore her, as if she was their goddess in the flesh.

He’d have to drink the wine, andthenhe’d uncover Sylzenya’s secret.

“Of course,” Elnok replied, heart racing as he approached the fountain.

The heat in his body chilled as the sharp scent filled his nose. He worked his jaw back and forth. The wine’s deep red color appeared almost black in the white fountain. He could smell the burning steel rod as he filled his hands with the wine. He could hear Tosh’s voice as he slowly lifted the liquid to his lips.

He drank two sips before his knees cracked against hard marble.

The plaza disappeared. Tosh’s angry shouts surrounded him, his brother jeering at him—taunting him.

You’re going to steal it from me.

You always wanted the Crown.

You’re planning to kill me!

Dark damp stone encircled him—Vutror’s dungeons closing in tighter and tighter. Hot iron pressed into Elnok’s back, his family’s royal symbol branded into his skin. Elnok’s throat burned as he screamed. He begged Tosh to stop, tried to tell him he didn’t want the Crown. But Tosh wouldn’t listen, tempering the steel rod again and pressing it into Elnok’s burning flesh.

Bile rose in his throat, the wine stinging as it came back up and passed over his tongue. He gasped for air as Tosh's screams threatened to drown him.

The rod burned him a final time before he lost consciousness.

Elnok woke to murmuring voices. Soft fabric pilled underneath his fingers as he took a deep breath, the mattress he laid on groaning in response. Blinking away the haziness in his vision, he tried to sit, but his aching muscles refused.

“I need to guarantee the villagers you’ll be staying with him at all times,” an old woman’s voice whispered.

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