Page 67 of Shadows of the Crown

“Honestly, Ally, I thought you were dense before; but this—” I gesture to the space between us with my blade. “This is pathetic. Embarrassing.”

“Shut up! You're just bitter that he'll be mine, and I'll give him enough heirs to carry our family's reign for centuries.”

I burst out laughing, the events of the last few days quickly catching up to me. “If you truly believe I'd be upset about not being the prince's breeding tool…” I chuckle again, ducking when a star blade whizzes through the air. “You'll have to do better than that—” My words cut off when she tosses several more in succession, wincing when one scrapes the top of my leg.

She runs for me when her hands are empty, jumping to catch her legs around my waist and flip us over. We roll through the dirt, both grappling for the upper-hand—she's a significantly better fighter than she ever let on. I'm almostimpressed.

My elbow flies into her jaw, my other arm growing too weak to continue much longer. I may have trained myself to heal in moments like this, but actually living it is utterly different. My focus wavers when I attempt to reach for my vital strand, allowing her several hits that she shouldn't have gotten. It's useless to attempt healing my arm right now.

She must have trained hard for this, being a more worthy opponent than anyone I've ever fought. Part of me wishes to prolong our sparring, but my faltering muscles and limbs protest such a foolish idea. I crouch as she stalks toward me again, twisting up to hurl a fist full of dirt in her eyes. I do not stop to catch my wheezing breath before I grip the hilt of my blade and slice it across her throat. She sputters, all but forgetting the pain in her eyes in favor of the mass amount of blood draining from the wound. She trips as she backs away, landing with a thud on her back and attempting to find purchase along her throat—the sweet blood too slick to be anything but helpful.

I grimace, wiping my blade along her tattered shirt. I cannot keep back a yawn and sit heavily on a rock a couple of feet away—I am so fucking tired. I should hurry back to the castle, lest my collar blows my head off for taking too long, or something else just as ridiculous.

My eyes snap to the gurgling woman at my feet, rolling when she continues to struggle for breath. I lean back on a hand and silently beg for clouds to appear.

“Would you like to know something, Ally?” I wait for a hiss of air to wheeze from her lungs and nod. “I knew you weren’t nearly good enough for Isaiah…and I am quite disappointed in myself because I would have let him have you. That man has been through so much shit that even the Angel would balk, but he deserved to be happy.” I groan when she doesn’t answer, instead twitching as her body makes one last attempt for air.

I lean forward to rest my elbows atop my knees and smirk as her eyes become unfocused. The blood leaking from her throat slows to trickles, small droplets causing ripples in the pooling beneath her neck.

“As you leave this realm, I want you to remember one thing.” I push from the rock to crouch, grabbing her chin to force her eyes on me—she likely cannot see or hear me, but that’s not my problem. “If I have even an inkling of you attempting to taint Isaiah’s spirit, I won’t even bother calling to my spectral strand. I will march right into the Aether realm, find your soul, and tear it from the Aether’s grasp. Then I’ll feed it to the first creature I cross paths with, because you are worth nothing more than a beast’s disappointing snack. Stay. Away. From. Him.” I shove her face away, feeling lighter than I have in days.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ariella

Hairs along my arms rise the closer I get to the castle. Every home I pass, every shop and tavern, all empty. The city is quiet. Desolate. Abhorrent heat beats down on my exhausted body—the irony of me all but begging the cold to disappear just a few hours ago is not lost on me.

My tongue weakly attempts to provide any moisture to my mouth and lips, even knowing the only solution at this point is water. My head pounds harder than the sun as every muscle in my body aches, as if they’ve been pushed past their limits for days.

I’m so caught in the throes of my discomfort that I breeze through the castle gates before noticing the lack of red and gold attire that normally surround the entrance. I pause, wincing at the strain looking over my shoulder causes in my neck.

There is not a single royal guard in sight. I scan the courtyard, purposefully skipping the fountain—no one. No movement or chatter. No wary stares in my direction. Nothing. Until a boomingcheer sounds from the left, my feet moving toward the arena before my mind catches up.

The noise gets louder as I step closer to the large structure behind the castle. What the fuck could they be cheering for? And while the rest of us are dying on a mountain? Pathetic.

Two royal guards donning those unbecoming red masks straighten when they spot me. One nods his head before pivoting to enter a tunnel several feet away from the door they’re stationed in front of. A finger taps on my blade as I follow the guard, smirking each time he looks back as if I’m about to attack.

Maybe I will just because of how fucking annoying he is.

Stale, dry air thickens; the man ahead nothing more than a barely perceptible silhouette. It takes longer than I remember before light grows in the distance, and I can feel my heart’s racing tempo in my throat.

The noise becomes near-deafening as the guard gestures ahead, and I step through the entrance. I stop my restless finger to unsheathe my blade.

This does not feel like a crowd that is ready to congratulate a winner. They’re hungry, basically drooling around their pleas of afinal round. It is not difficult to discern their meaning when my eyes lock with Sivara’s, who stands idly at the center of the arena. I swallow down every bit of pain and tiredness as I saunter to the only other person in the grounds with me.

At least I am not alone in having struggled my way back. Her normally pristine hair falls around her in hardened chunks, a hint of red glistening when the light hits it right. Her leathers are torn in several places, faring better than the flayed pieces of skin hanging from her arm.

I avert my eyes—too fresh of a reminder. Images of Isaiah’s body will only render me at a disadvantage.

My knees almost give out when I stop a dozen feet from my opponent, turning right to face Eldoria’s illustrious royal family. My eyes pull to the side where the prince sits already watching me—always watching me. He winces, mouthingI’m sorry. I memorize his lips as they wrap around the simple words; the same ones I wish I had the chance to tell my best friend.

Caspian offers a sad smile, as if he knows where my thoughts went. But now they veer in another direction…tension, heat, those lips devouring mine. Feeling wanted and cherished when it is the last thing I’d ever deserve. His contorted features when my blade met his flesh. Blood seeping from the same lips that gave me so much the night before.

What he did last night.

When I’d gone from wanting to kill him to needing to protect him, I’m not sure. Truthfully, I’m too exhausted—physically and mentally—to be sure of anything at the moment.

I meet his warm, gentle eyes and return his smile, if only to silence my head so that I may focus on whatever the king is about to say.

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