Page 19 of Shadows of the Crown

“Okay, that’s enough of that.” The prince grabs my weapon and drags it to his own chest. What kind of foolish man claims he needs a personal guard, only to point a blade to his own heart? “You can hold this to me if you wish,” he starts, holding up a finger when Gavriel moves to protest. “But only me.” I studyhis silver eyes. I shouldwanthis attention—be thrilled that he’s already giving so much of it to me. So why does it cause my stomach to churn?

I mutter something about how stupid he is before stalking away from them—I no longer wish to wash and sleep, with my nerves prickling wildly. Maybe I should have taken Ally to the healers, after all, and avoided that entire confrontation.

Chapter Eleven

Caspian

Angel, do I despise meeting with Varrick. I grimace, rubbing my palms along the dark pants I’m wearing, failing to remove the memory of Varrick’s sticky, keen touch. The man shakes hands as if it is his royal duty, though I’ve never been enthusiastic about him.

He has served as my father’s chief advisor for years; and though I have not witnessed him being anything other than kind, his lanky, pale demeanor seems to burrow under my skin.

Plus, he drowns in perspiration at just the thought of heat.

Gavriel chuckles, his bun shaking with the movement.

“You find my discomfort amusing?”

“Obviously,” he mutters, grabbing the top of his breastplate. “Something must ail you from time to time. No one is as indifferent as you appear to be.”

I pause just outside the castle, my brows rising as I stare at my guard for an abrupt moment. Does he always watch me so carefully? If I wasn’t aware of his intense respect for his position, I may have suggested an alternate placement.

“Now!” a silken voice barks in the distance. I should check if she is well…I am duty-bound to ensure the safety of the contestants that remain a part of the trials.

That is the justification I provide my protesting mind as I turn from Gavriel and attempt to be subtle in my eagerness to visit the outdoor training grounds. I feel my guard’s eye roll brand itself into my back—I must be terrible at feigning indifference, contrary to what he claims of me.

I curse at my feet when they quicken their steps at her intensifying commands. I finally crest the hill, looking through the activity below. I did not need to search, though. I would have spotted her with my eyes closed.

Ariella Mistaire.

I may have exploited Varrick’s fondness of me to peruse the files he keeps of each competitor. After my father addressed her by name, the irritatingly obsessive thoughts would not cease until I knew the full thing. Surely I should address her as something other than wraith; that is the honorable thing to do, even if she does not adhere to the customs of how to treat royals.

She circles one of the others with the same predatory grace I witnessed the day I met her. Why does that bother me?

I falter on the other woman’s name, though I recognize her slender form and black hair. I cross my arms and widen my stance when the wraith corrects the woman’s form, scrutinizing her as if one hair out of place would not even be worthy of her approval.I’m captivated by her. Why would she agree to train an opponent, knowing only one of them will live? She must understand the victory is hers.

Unless she is planning to not win?

I haven’t spoken with my father since the trial. I was not privy to his plans, and that is disturbing as I am tasked with organizing the trials. I never would have agreed to such barbaric practices, but he insists that their deaths are necessary.

“What do you think will happen if we send them home as failures? Assassins will not accept embarrassment, Caspian. They will come after our family in their vengeful states.”

It was an absurd excuse for him to give, though I did not say that. Arguing further would have resulted in the termination of my presence in this competition. I would no longer have access to meetings or documents that could help me answer why he's actually killing them. I am not certain of why I care so much; these are assassins who live by killing others.

My eyes focus on the scene before me, and I sigh. I cannot fool myself…I do know why I care.

I study her toned body, aware of the stares I am receiving. Let them talk. I’d be foolish to not have my eye on her at all times—the deadly, exquisite creature she is.

She wears black shorts and a top with mere strings hugging her shoulders. “Ally. This is a basic skill…how is it you knownothingabout centering your body?” Ally impressively does not cringewhen Ariella glares at her—I can feel the heat of her stare from here. Or is that the blazing sun?

I shrug, biting my cheek. They’re the same thing.

“I don’t know! I shouldn’t even be here!” Ally groans, clearly frustrated. She hurls her staff to the grass, running a hand through the partially remaining braid.

“Are you a fucking child?” One of my hands rises to cover my mouth and hide my smile. There is something about her venom that I find irresistible. “I am not here to coddle you, nor will I feel sorry for your situation. You asked for my help, so you will either pick it back up and continue, or leave. Think carefully, because I do not grant second chances.” Ally wrings her hands, a look of pure concentration on her face.

“Wraith!” All heads snap to the voice, where another of the competitors stands in full leathers. Her brunette hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she stands with severe confidence, brandishing a blade in each hand.

Ariella spins until she faces me enough that I can see the sinister smile on her face. She looks angelic as sweat glistens along her skin, damp hair outlining her features. She turns slowly to her challenger, as if she has all the time in the world and there are not dozens of eyes trained on her.

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