Page 34 of The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

She got out.

She came here.

She knew to come here.

She was trying to escape. Or…

Or she was responsible for this.

She leapt away as soon as she saw me, taking a few strides backwards. The Nightflame around her surged and danced, clinging to her form. I wondered if she knew that it did that. Was it conscious, or just a new part of her, like my magic was?

“Let me pass,” she said. A command, not a request.

I smiled a little. “Or what? You’ll stab me again? For what, the third time now?”

The Nightflame flared again, curling around her body.

I should have hated that Oraya had gotten a burst of power of her own from her ascension to Heir. But damn if I didn’t love to see it. Just like I loved to see the strength in her stare as she gritted her teeth and stepped closer.

“I’m not fucking around, Raihn. Let me go.”

“I can’t do that, Oraya.”

“Why?”

It was shockingly earnest—a wrinkle between her brows and everything. She took another small step, gaze never leaving mine. It was a throwing knife of a word, already drenched in her blood. “Why?”

It struck me harder than it should have.

It was a bigger question, I knew—we both knew—than the single word. Bigger than two people in this hallway. It was awhy did you betray me?question, spoken with the same devastating tone as when she’d hurled the reality at me in Vincent’s wing:You killed my father.

I could practically see the accusation in her eyes. No, more than that—an observation. Because like always, she saw right through me.

Why?

Because if I let you go, I’m committing treason against my own throne.

Because if I let you go, I’ll have no choice but to fight against you out there.

Because if I let you go, you become my enemy in earnest.

And I can’t kill you, princess. I’ve tried. I can’t.

Too many damned words. Too much honesty.

I settled for, “You know why, Oraya. I’m not done with you.”

A sliver of the truth, mixed in with the goad:Come on. Fight me.

I wanted her to fight. I’d missed seeing that in her. I’d been begging her for this for weeks.

I raised my sword. She did the same. The Nightfire danced with her every breath, rising with the hatred in her face.

Then her gaze rose. Eyes widened.

I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see a lithe female form with outstretched featherless wings rushing towards me, sword drawn.

Jesmine. You don’t forget the face of someone who spent hours torturing you.

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