Page 153 of Her Soul for a Crown
The prince rushed in from the terrace, fuming. “What is happening? Where did the water come from?”
“Perhaps the entire kingdom is cursed,” Anula offered.
The prince’s eyes snapped up. “You. Why are you still alive?”
A throat cleared unsteadily. The dogs were wary of their failed kill.
“My curse must have saved me.”
“That’s not how curses work.”
“Are you sure?”
The prince spat. “Take her out.”
“Before you command them to kill me again”—Anula raised a brow—“might I have a chance to be redeemed?”
A grimace lifted his lip. “Why would I allow that?”
Anula shifted, popping out a hip and pressing her shoulder blades tight. The prince watched her curves. “I was trained by the concubines. I could begin a new harem for you. A fresh set of Anuradhapura Jewels. You’d be the only one of your father’s sons to own one.”
He licked his lips, thirst rising as high as the irrigation tank tides. Anula ran a hand down her thigh. For although poison could be tasteless, it was always sweeter with seduction.
The prince waved his guards out the door. “One chance. Convince me that you aren’t scraps fallen from the raja’s tables, and we shall see if you deserve a future.”
Anula lifted a hand, brushed her fingers through the prince’s hair, and as the doors clicked closed, her other hand flashed up.
A knife glinted, right at the base of the prince’s neck. He growled a laugh. “I heard the women here were bitc—”
“Careful,” Anula warned. “I could kill you.”
“No.” He smiled. “You couldn’t. I saw the knife in your hand all along.”
“So why let your guards go?”
His smile curled, dark and dangerous. “My soldiers aren’t the only ones having fun.”
The prince snatched Anula’s wrist, twisting it to the side. She let out a yelp, and the knife clattered to the floor. A hand clutched her neck, and the prince drove her back, slamming her into a wall. He leaned closed and breathed her in, nose tracing the length of her collarbone.
“You are no Jewel, but an imitation,” he whispered, squeezing her throat tight. “One to be broken and discarded.”
His other hand plummeted into her skirt.
“No,” Anula choked.
“You have no choice.” He smiled wider, crushing her throat tighter.
“I always,” she croaked, “have a choice.”
She grabbed each side of his face, pulled him close, and pressed a long kiss to his lips. He hardened against her and then—seized. He wrenched back, hands dropping from her neck and body, and clutched his chest before crumpling to the ground. Blood ran in rivulets from his eyes. Purple and blue veins popped. White crests frothed at his mouth, as if he were the ocean. Each wave a convulsion, the tide bringing his heart to racing and yanking back, stealing breath and pulse and life.
Anula wiped the coating off her lips.
There were so many ways to stop a heart.
This was, by far, Anula’s favorite.
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