Page 15 of Shadows of the Crown

That was mistake number one.

Mistake number two? Not being alert enough to quickly register the whooshing next to my ear. A hard object knocks into my cheek, though I barely register the pain as I immediately go on the defensive, crouching and silently unsheathing my blade.

“Where are you, little wraith?” I weightlessly tread so stone is at my back and wait for the best opening I have to end this with minimal damage. I do not recognize the voice, though clearly most of the other contestants here loathe me, so I suppose it does not matter who it is.

They’re dead, regardless.

“Come on, kitten! Why don’t you and I have a little fun before I cut your heart out? I can’t wait to see the king’s face when I present him the flesh of his favorite toy.” Kitten? I grimace. “I know it’s you…I can smell your brand of fear. You may as well quit cowering in the shadows.” My lips thin as I bite my cheek hard to keep in a laugh. What a fucking idiot.

Those who need to use words to be intimidating are the greatest cowards. They have nothing but mindless banter to offer and hope that the sting of their utterances is enough to ward away enemies.

I close my eyes and focus my ears, wondering if the air down here holds a minute amount of sound. It’s loud enough to cloud some of my attention, though I am still able to hear my opponent step past me. The moment his back is to me I stand and press my blade to his throat, satisfied with my estimation of his height.

“Let the Angel know I’ll be seeing it soon,” I purr into the man’s ear, slicing through layers of thick skin until I hit the sweet spot that will drain his life away. My eyes roll at the frantic gurgling noises he makes, slipping on his own blood. His head must be what slams into the stone as his struggles cease immediately upon his fall.

I turn, spinning my slick blade through my fingers as I navigate the remaining distance of this trial with renewed energy. I am almost disappointed when I meet no other contestant in the tunnels before a sliver of light appears high in my peripheral.

Ascending the steps hastily, I knock twice on the thick, wooden door, wincing from how loud the action seems. The woman who escorted me down swings it open, raising a brow when she sees the blood coating my hands. Sliding my blade back in place, I follow the guard the unnecessarily long distance back to the throne room.

Chapter Nine

Ariella

The gilded doors make no sound as the stationed guards heave them open. Whispers instantly float through the large room as every single person in attendance turns their attention to me. I’m used to the scrutinization, so it is less than a thought to push their drama-filled nonsense out of my mind.

I saunter to my original position, taking my time to send the king a message. However he perceives that message is not a worry of mine.

When I stand before the raised thrones, inwardly groaning that there’s only one other contestant here, my fingers twitch as they nearly reach for the artifact in my bra. I relax them again when I notice how the prince’s questioning eyes look over my body, smirking delightedly when he sees no glowing object on my person. He sinks further into his chair, seeming oddly proud of himself.

I will leave the ring where it is for now. Bastard deserves a little humiliation in his privileged life.

Antsy fingers hover over my blade after an hour passes and nearly every other assassin has made it back to the throne roomwith an artifact in hand. Where the fuck is Isaiah? Even Raine made it back, and he had to carry a large pillow.

There are pieces of dangling fabric across the front, so maybe the pillow was not the worst idea.

I know I shouldn’t worry. Isaiah can handle himself…I fight the prickling that taps against my spine at the thought of our incident. An incident that left him permanently marred and me with the only thing I will ever feel guilty about. My lungs fill deeply with air, willing my brain to push the thought away.

It isn’t long before some of the other contestants begin complaining about standing here, which garners an eye roll from me. There’s a group of the male contestants standing directly behind me while they not so quietly make comment after comment about my ass and what they’d like to do to it. I’m certain every person on this side of the room can hear them clearly, which does not affect me, though it’s interesting to see the way the prince glares at them when they speak.

I’ve counted twelve sets of steps since I arrived, which leaves Isaiah and one other contestant. Sivara stands next to me again, eyeing the prince as if she’s about to eat him for dinner. The one who keeps trying to befriend me—Ally—is next to her.

“No artifact, wraith? How sad for you,” Sivara mocks, earning a few chuckles from the group. I cross my feet and spin in her direction, keeping my hands clasped behind me. Not a soul misses the insult of me willingly presenting my most vulnerable fleshwithout protection. Several snickers and coughs stir the tense atmosphere in the room. Her jaw clenches as she crosses her arms like a fucking child. “Well, you’ll be kicked out of here in a moment, so I won’t let that get to me.”

I close the small distance between us, deliberately pressing against her arms. She drops them instantly, though raises her chin, refusing to step back from my advance. I reach a hand out and graze it over her breast where the ring rests next to mine. “Are you sure about that?” The entire room stills, not a single breath can be heard. I see the king sit forward in the gilded chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because if you’re wrong, you just made your time here much more difficult.”

She bristles, eyes snapping to the prince quickly before blinking a few times and meeting mine again. Her voice is impressively stronger than I thought she could manage. “I’m not wrong. I can see no artifact.”

The bored mask slips from my face, replaced by an insidious smile. Hundreds of people watch our interaction, but my attention focuses solely on her unease. Her sweaty, metallic fragrance overpowers my own, and it is moments like these that I wish there was a strand of essence that allowed me to taste the fear of others. The amount of pleasure such a strand would bring me rivals every sorry fuck I’ve had the displeasure of experiencing.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Her pupils dilate as she swallows loudly, though we’re unfortunately interrupted before I can push this any further.

Jeth saunters through the room as if it’s his throne he approaches. My stomach flutters when Isaiah enters a minute later, candelabra in hand.

Thank the Angel.

I stow away my relief, hesitant to disclose my relationship with Is in the instance someone wished to use him against me. My eyes find Sivara once more, a challenge in my gaze. She holds her position for all of five seconds before dropping her leer and stepping back.

Good. Perhaps now she will cease her hate-motivated advances. I nearly laugh, pushing my tongue to the roof of my mouth to keep it in. Of course she won’t; she is too similar to Isolde, and that bitch has been at my throat for years.

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