Page 33 of Shadows of the Crown

I chew on my lip, the corners of my mouth tugging upward. Stubborn woman.

If she were anyone else, she wouldn’t have even attempted to search for the griffin.

But she’s not anyone else. An unusual warmth grows from my chest, and I take a steadying breath.

I’ll begin with Varrick—aside from me, he is the only other person with access to my design space. Where I keep the valuable pieces of the trials hidden until it is time to deploy them. My head throbs, and the exhaustion I’ve ignored catches up to me.

I look once more at Ariella’s sleeping form, deciding she will not be waking any time soon. My head falls back against the wall, filled with thoughts of messy politics. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.

Chapter Sixteen

Ariella

Unforgiving lights shock my eyes when they flutter open. My hand snaps up to block the sting, and I assess my body.

My chest is sore—though the gashes are nearly healed—and my clothes are stiff from the copious amount of dried blood. I am surprisingly okay, otherwise. My essence feels drained, and memories of the previous night resurface.

Facing a griffin. Challenging the king in front of his court. The prince walking me to my room. Healing my wounds—

The prince. He brought me here against his wishes, as I vaguely recall his insistence that I see a healer. I sit up too quickly, my muscles protesting such movement.

He watched me weave strands I should not have…an affinity I’ve not claimed to possess. I pause to listen for his presence; it’s just me here. He must have taken the first opportunity he had to inform the king.

My nose scrunches from an awful rotting smell, and I look around the bathroom before realizing what it is—me. I pull atmy top, grimacing at the way it lifts my skin with it, and bring the material to my face. The smell is positively revolting.

Even my head objects when I stand, forcing me to grab the vanity until the wave of dizziness passes. Food. I need food.

Shower, eat, murder a king—in that order. My stomach rumbles painfully at the thought. Will I make it to the dining hall before the king’s guards descend on me? The prince could not have left too long ago, as I wasn’t attacked in my sleep.

I blindly reach for the brush when my fingers graze a rough texture I don’t recognize. I peek through my eyes and lean to switch the light off before lifting the folded paper. I open it too quickly, dismissing the flutter in my abdomen when the prince’s name for me appears. The only light is from the window in my room, but I’m still able to read the words clearly enough.

I scoff, rubbing a hand over my throat as if it will relieve the dryness inside. “I do not snore.”

Perhaps he’s waiting to tell the king until I’m already surrounded and have no chance of fighting my way out.

My headhurts too much for this.

Peeling the remainder of clothes that melted into my skin feels like a punishment, but I tear them off quickly and toss them to the side. I have never appreciated a hot shower more, and I’d kill to remain here all day, but I hurry through the motions until I’m certain no blood remains. I dress in a comfortably fitted set of shorts and a top.

I still—my reflection in the mirror shows a woman who is tired and lacks the determination that usually resides in her eyes. If I look this worn now, I’m sure I was a vision last night.

I disregard why that seems to bother me.

The urge to find Isaiah suffocates all other thoughts, and I march to my door, only to pause as my hand reaches the gilded handle. The prince said he’s had Gavriel on watch…does the man ever have a moment off? I’d think he was the prince’s shadow if it weren’t for the displeasing attire he’s made to wear.

I straighten and swing the door open, raising a brow at the guard examining something. He shoves it into his pocket before I confirm what it is and pushes off the wall with a foot, crossing his arms.

“Ah, finally the wraith awakens,” he announces with a tone that knowingly exposes his disdain for being forced to guard my door.

“Why are you here?”

A finger taps against my thigh, his eyes catching the movement. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be if the prince didn’t insist.”

“Well, next time you can tell him I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

He throws his head back as he bellows a laugh. “You think I didn’t? I tried to tell him—even offered to take the pit for a few days. He wouldn’t hear any of it.”

I step through the threshold and saunter in his direction. He shifts, clenching his jaw. A hint of hesitation glimmers in his deep eyes when I still a mere foot away. “The prince must not care for you. He knows my proclivity to slit the throats of those who interfere with my life; and yet…he still sent you here.”

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