Page 56 of Shadows of the Crown

I shouldn't have fucked him.

It didn't seem like such a difficult choice in the moment, but I know better than to allow my desires to shadow everything else. I stretch my neck, attempting to forget the many spots along it I had to heal this morning—not my proudest moment.

The hairs along my skin rise when a piercing scream resonates through the halls, so deafening I am certain it will wake the Angel. My feet carry me through the severely empty castle, and I sprint faster when a large crowd of people enters my view. My stomach turns.

Something isn’t right.

I am unashamedly frustrated as the horde forces me to push them aside, when normally they run at the sight of me. I curse when dresses tighten around me.

My eyes close as I breathe deeply, calming my fretting heart. “Fucking move or you die,” I scream, and the whispers finally cease. Heads turn my way as bodies push back, creating a path. Habit insists I threaten several of them with my eyes, though I do not yield as I no longer see them.

The metallic notes in the humid air strengthen as I step toward the fountain. What is normally a beautiful sight now represents the worst of my nightmares. The griffin’s bright stone possesses a red hue as an endless stream of bloodied water pours from its mouth. Below, swirls of deep crimson dance through the pool, darkening by the second.

Whatever is causing the color change must be submerged.

My breathing shallows, saliva thickening to an unbearable point. Something knowing gnaws at my conscious, but I do not acknowledge it. One step further shows me the tips of fingers bobbing in the water. Another step, a skinless arm.

So many thoughts race through my mind, but there is just one pounding its way in, forcing me to see the scene for its truth.

I know what it is.Whoit is.

And I know why.

The realms collide when my toes press against the stone, and my eyes confirm everything.

The last time I cried was the day my father was taken from me. I watched as the king whipped him endlessly for a crime he never committed. They had him chained in front of the castle gates, because that revolting excuse of a royal could not be bothered to leave the grounds to execute someone he charged with treason.

The crowd wouldn’t listen when I screamed my father’s innocence and begged for them to investigate the accusation further. Not one single person looked my way, even as my voice broke from the overuse. Instead, they yelled obscenities at him—cackling as he became weaker and his life drained from the wounds.

When I realized the people did not care about my words or that they just witnessed a blameless man be executed, I stared at the stone below his feet. I watched his blood run in rivulets through the cracks as they soaked up the last of his existence like starving beasts.

I didn’t blame the stone for taking what did not belong to it.

I envied it.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be it. To be the thing that consumes the warm blood of those who have mistreated and walked all over me for their own convenience.

I stood un-moving for hours, fascinated with how unapologetic the stone was. Even when they carried my father’s body away, I did not waver. I watched. Memorized.

I shifted into something new that day. No longer was I the girl who allowed others to think for her, or tell her what to do. Deadwas the child who was too weak to fight for herself and those she loved. Forgotten was the daughter who let others carry her heart, as she wouldn’t live through ever feeling like that again.

They wanted to be monsters? Then I would be worse. I would become their every fear. The subject of each scary story told in the quiet of the night.

I would become their worst nightmare.

And when Marek found me and insisted I follow him to the guild? I wiped the last stray drop from my cheek and vowed that the only tears ever shed in my presence again would be from those I sunk my blade into.

I’ve broken that vow today.

Salty liquid cascades down my stoic face, the taste a reminder of what it feels like to be weak. I cannot find the will to care that so many others watch me, questions on their tongues.

Isaiah. My best friend.

The one person I’ve allowed myself to get close to, even knowing what it would do to me to lose him.

His body sways with the water, flayed skin breaking the surface every few seconds. The only part of him not sliced to pieces is the scar running over his cloudy brown eyes.

I kneel against the ledge, warring with my need to break down and my will to claim the life of every single person here. I am close to doing both when something creamy appears in Isaiah’s mouth.My hand reaches for it, trembling slightly when my fingers push past his slimy lips and sharp, jagged teeth.

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