Page 53 of The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

But harder than the anger was the concern.

It was no small act, to enter the Kejari. I thought often—unwillingly—about Mische, and the decision she made, and the way that sheer fucking luck had saved her life.

Only one person could win the Kejari. What had Mische’s plan been, if things had unfolded differently?

I didn’t like to think about that.

I tore my eyes from Mische’s accusatory stare, and they drifted to the hand she had propped over her knee, and the burn scars barely visible under the fabric of her sleeve.

If she saw that look, she ignored it, instead cocking her head and giving me a light, reassuring smile. “Don’t look so depressed,” she said. “It’ll turn out. I know it will. It’s just hard right now, but it’s good that you’re here.”

“Mm.” If only the truth was as easy as Mische’s optimistic platitudes. I gave her a sidelong glance. “And how’ve you been?”

“Me?” Her face went serious for a minute, before she gave me a carefree shrug. “Oh, you know me. I’m always good.”

I knew her, alright. Knew her well enough to know when she was lying. And to know when not to push.

I reached over and rustled her hair, making her wrinkle her nose and jerk away.

“It’s too long,” she said. “I’ve got to cut it.”

“I like it. Change looks good on you.”

She scowled. Then she caught my eye and the expression melted into a grin.

“Caught you,” she said. “You’re happy I’m here.”

“Never,” I said.

Fine, she had me. Fucking guilty.

16

ORAYA

Raihn was true to his word. After that, the door was no longer locked. I wasn’t about to fall all over myself with the benevolence of this gift—I had no doubt that guards were still keeping their eyes on me. Still… I liked freedom. The next night, I walked the castle halls by myself. Guards and soldiers gave me strange looks, but no one bothered me. It felt uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t pinpoint.

Maybe it was because the castle already looked so different. It was all a mess, still. Then again, I couldn’t help but contrast it to the decay that I’d seen when I had walked these halls during the Kejari—when I’d noticed for the first time the stagnant decay lurking beneath my home.

No one could call this place stagnant now.

I paused at the balcony that overlooked the feast hall. It was one of the few rooms that hadn’t been moved much. The tables were still in the same arrangement. The furniture hadn’t been changed.

For a moment, I saw the sea of brutality Vincent had shown me during our final argument, his fingernails digging into my arm as he pushed me against this very railing—forcing me to look down upon the humans below, slumped over those tables like drained livestock.

I shuddered and turned away.

Training. That was what I needed.

Raihn was right—I was out of practice. I’d felt that when we fought at the armory, and the way my muscles ached the next day was a lingering reminder.

I turned around and paused, staring down the hallway before me.

All at once, it hit me why it had felt so strange to walk these corridors.

Because I’d never been allowed to before.

Vincent may not have put locks on my door, but his command was more than enough to stop me from leaving—and he made those expectations very clear. Yes, I snuck out, but that was in the middle of the day, creeping around like a little shadow, shrinking from every set of footsteps.

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