Page 29 of A Kingdom of Destruction

Monsters. Murderers.Yeah, she needed to remember it. No amount of pretty furnishings hid the truth of the evil in their hearts. It made her sick.

“Aven, please—” Cillian attempted to say. He reached for her.

This close to the staircase, the sounds of the festivities below grew louder, multiple voices all rising together in a constant drone. Cillian shushed her, but suddenly, the dress squeezed her, constricting her lungs and making it impossible to breathe.

“What kind of a person does that? You threw this together quickly. Or did you already plan on it when you brought me up here? Did you know what you were doing when you played guide yesterday?”

More sick games. She should have expected it, had known somewhere when Nora woke her. Grief might have shadowed her instincts, but they were still there. Aven pressed her hand against her twirling stomach.

“Please, calm down.” Cillian took her by the elbow and drew her down the stairs, although Aven fought every step of the way. Her slippered feet skidded along the stair treads and gave Cillian even more leverage.

“You of all people know what it’s like to have a kingdom to think of. This war has devastated us the same way it has devastated you, thanks to your weapons,” he hissed at her ear. “Powered by stolen magic, no less.”

He plastered a smile on his face once they rounded the bottom of the stairs and the first of the crowd trickled into view.

“I know you’re upset,” he finished.

Twilight colored the horizon now as they made their way toward the grand ballroom.

The rafters soared up to unimaginable heights, the ceiling barely visible overhead. Chandeliers hung above their heads, suspended in midair, with white tapered candles casting a gilded glow over the congregation. Aven caught no sight of King Donal or Roran, and Cillian wasted no time before dragging her to the center of the space. The crowd parted for them.

Everyone had bedecked themselves in their finest outfits, but the sight of so many sets of pointed ears filled her with a mixture of disgust and fear.

“You have every right to be. I’d be upset if I were in your place as well. You have to know the strategy might have been mine, but I had no part in what happened to your family. I will forever remember your loss. It wasn’t my intention. Tonight is for my people, and I’d hoped to show you a glimmer of the goodness of our land. To see that we are not all beasts.”

“Nonsense.” Aven called him out on it, losing her breath when his hands moved to her waist and he drew her into a dance. Like bringing her in here might somehow still her tongue. She wasn’t afraid to embarrass herself or him by making a scene. “It wasyourstrategy, Cillian. You said it yourself multiple times. So you would have knownexactlywhat you were doing. You needed my siblings out of the way to use me as leverage, to maneuver my father into place.”

“I did what I had to do in order to protect Mourningvale. I’m the one responsible.” His face had hardened and gave nothing away.

“I know it isn’t enough to calm you, Aven. But I need you to know that I will do whatever it takes to ensure my people live. The same way you have fought for yours. That alone should explain things.”

She could not argue with him on the point. Not when it was true. Despite the small part of her who agreed with him, she vowed to never forgive him for what his planning cost her. She was alone in this world. And no amount of dancing, no amount of cajoling or fancy dresses, were going to change her mind.

She’d never forgive. And she’d never forget.

11

Her throat constricted as Cillian whirled her in a circle, her dress spreading out in a bright wave around them.

Less than two weeks ago, she’d had a plan and a family. She would wake each morning, anticipating battle and knowing, without a doubt in her bones, that they were going to emerge victorious.

Now her head pounded in time with the thrumming rhythm of the orchestra.

She’d had no time to prepare for what she’d face tonight, and the gods above knew she’d never asked to be the one spared. She’d never asked to be a part of Cillian’s strategy for victory.

The rest of the dancers moved out of their way as they cut a path across the floor. Each and every one of those Mourningvale bastards could go rot for all she cared. Although they glared at her, and she felt the crushing weight of their attention, Aven paid attention to none of them, glowering at Cillian. He whisked her around in circles until her head was dizzy.

Saying nothing. Waiting for her to digest his explanation.

She didn’t give a crap what he said or how he chose to spin the situation into something positive. Nothing would make a difference.

She caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of the Fae King standing near the foot of his black throne. It absorbed every ounce of light coming in from the wall of glass and stole it. His face seemed cut out of ice and promised a painful end to whoever was unfortunate enough to get on his bad side.

The entire room might be bedecked for the celebration, but for Aven, it was a funeral. She remembered how he’d looked holding her father by magic and reasoning with them.

It didn’t matter what kind of dressing you tried to put on it. A celebration for victory on the fae side and a dirge for the lives lost on hers.

Motion at King Donal’s side drew her attention, and she watched Roran step up beside his father, one hand resting imperiously on the side of the throne. He bobbed his head at her in silent acknowledgment, his chin high, before Cillian turned them again and she lost sight of him.

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