Page 16 of Shadows of the Crown

“We appear to be missing two. One of you go find them—I am tired of waiting.” Thalion’s arrogant voice grates my ears, making me speak before I think any further.

“The absentcontestantsare dead.” Footsteps halt as the king gradually shifts his attention to me, as if just looking at my face will cause him harm.

It might.

He purses his lips. “And you know this how, wraith?” Thecorner of my mouth lifts when I unsheathe my blade and spin it through my fingers to showcase the now dried blood. He stares at me longer than necessary, a wild energy flitting through his eyes. Interesting that he seems to catch himself off-guard, plastering a practiced smile on his features before continuing. “Well, it appears the first trial is complete! We have sixteen remaining contestants, though we must say goodbye to those who failed to retrieve an artifact.”

The king sits back in his chair, clasping his hands together after gesturing to the guard at the foot of his throne. The tall male nods and faces our group. The red and gold uniform does nothing to soften his severe features. The angles along his face are so sharp I am sure I could see the ridges in his bones up close. He regards each of us with distaste, raw venom leaking from him in droves.

“Each contestant who recovered an artifact may present them now.” The sound that leaves his mouth does not match his person in the slightest. He speaks with a high, almost whiny tone. Thirteen people step forward to set their artifacts at the guard’s feet, and the tightness in my chest becomes less restrictive when Isaiah returns to his spot after securing his success in the trial.

I do not move, interested in seeing how the prince will respond.

“Now, will the fruitless contestants please step forward.” There’s movement in my peripheral, but I’m focused on the pompous, smirking prince in front of me.

He raises a brow, nodding to where the two unlucky assassins stand at the head of our group. I remain still, offering him theslightest smile that dares him to speak against me. His jaw works as he looks me over, clearly unsure whether saying something is worth the potential consequences.

“As unfortunate as it is to lose two additional competitors, that is the nature of the trials,” the king announces, standing from his cushioned seat. “As such—”

“Wait.” It is embarrassingly difficult to suppress my smile, a fluttering sensation working under my skin. The prince pushes off his imitation throne and stands next to his father, gesturing calmly to me. “The wraith did not present an artifact and must step forward for the pardoning.”

Thalion’s chest rises thoughtfully as he struggles to focus on me once more. “Ms. Mistaire, you will join your counterparts as Prince Caspian has dutifully informed me of your failure in the trial.”

There are times when silence is as effective at carving open an opponent as a blade.

This is certainly one of those moments.

I had thought that having an audience through this competition would be maddening, though I am currently relishing their presence. Holding the prince’s scathing gaze, I reach into my clothing and pull out the ring. I raise my brows as I twirl the object around my finger before flicking it to the pile of artifacts, settling intomy stance once more.

The clink of its landing is pure ecstasy as the prince’s face blazes with heat. His fists contract, and I know that if we were in a different setting, he would be the one challenging me this time. Thalion glares at him like he’s a child who needs lecturing before shaking the entire situation off and returning to his speech.

“What are your names?” he asks the two standing closest to him.

“Vincent.”

“Saben.”

“Ah, yes—well, it is unfortunate that we must part ways with Vincent and Saben.” An armed guard quietly steps behind the two assassins, and a tingling chill swirls in my torso. “We thank you for your sacrifice.”

Time stalls. The air surrounding me becomes electric. I can name the number of moments I have ever been shocked on one hand…including now.

There is but a second between the king’s final word and the bodies of the two men dropping through the air. The thump of their heads penetrates the room, followed by the rest of their bodies. One of the men—Saben—falls in such a direction that the blood spurting from his gaping neck shoots across my waist.

Fuck’s sake.These will need an extra washing now.

Screams radiate from the audience, sharp intakes of breath the only thing I hear from the other competitors. But itisn’t the death that shocks me. No, it’s that the king has shamelessly shown his true self.

To the people, he presents himself as a kind, generous ruler—one who punishes only in the name of justice. But I am intimate with who he is deep inside, and the man I see in front of me—eyes gleaming with child-like excitement at the death of two citizens—is exactly who he hides behind the facade.

Why is he doing this? How will this serve any purpose except to ruin his meticulously crafted image?

My eyes narrow, shifting to the prince. Did he know? Was he attempting to kill me by calling out my lack of an artifact? Those thoughts mute when his horror-stricken face turns my way, pinning me with his scared eyes. Is that regret I see?

I no longer care. I have no qualms about being killed in this competition, but I will not allow Isaiah to participate any further.

As I move to grab my friend’s arm and drag him from the castle, several guards enter our space, one for every assassin still alive. My will shifts to killing the bastard breathing on me but I’m too stunned by the device he’s clamped around my neck.

What the fuck is going on?

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