Page 116 of Artemysia
At this, he bucks and yanks out my dagger.
He unleashes a shriek and rolls up to his feet, stomping his boots as he hurtles into the panicked, huddling guests in the ballroom.
Like a flock of scared sheep, the crowd screams, crushing each other in their desperate scramble. The Syf spies the royals on the dais to his right and changes direction. The king remains seated, but the men and women in the ballroom dive out of the way, leaving an open path directly to the royal family.
Prince Toryl rises, guarding his parents.
In my bare feet, I chase after the Syf and hurl myself on him again, kneeing him in the kidneys, if he has any. We’re an elk’s length from the prince.
I grip the Syf in a chokehold and mutter into the back of his long head of hair. He reeks of blood and sour bile. “I can help you, Syf. If you stop. Can you do that?” I glance down to see if his expression has shifted, if there’s any comprehension at all, but his eyes drill through me with a wild fury. He slashes his claws and twists around.
He snarls, bares his fangs, and sinks his teeth into my forearm.
I yell out in pain as he tears my skin. His fangs may be smaller than a wolf’s, but they’re sharper, and he doesn’t let go. I drop to my knees, taking him with me onto the ballroom floor.
I’m close enough to recover my dagger and have no choice but to stab him again in the base of the skull so his jaws slacken, and this time, I relieve him of his head. With a small dagger, it’s like cutting an overcooked slab of boar steak with a butter knife. There are gasps and gags among the guests.
My bare skin is covered in blood. Syf and my own.
Everyone watches me in horror, including the king and prince. The queen has fainted, and two servants fan her slumped body while a third tries to prop her up.
I sit back on my heels, wondering why I feel cool air. I glance down. My dress is torn from my leg to my waist. The lace-up top is slashed to pieces so it hangs indecently off my shoulders, practically revealing my entire chest. Not a good night to go braless. I no longer feel my ruby necklace or earrings, lost during the fight.
The Syf head rocks to a standstill at my knees. I can’t stand to look at its fangs.
When I glance up, the finely dressed crowd stares back at me in eerie silence, mouths agape.
I let them stare. The old king is gawking. The prince glares, raking his disdain over me as he stands in front of his parents. Why disdain? Why not gratitude for saving his life?
Because his party is ruined? Are they that shallow here?
I should be cringing at my nakedness, but I’m outraged. Seething. Hell, I don’t know any of them. I’m not even mad that Riev isn’t here, because like Gregory said, I can take care of myself. And taking care of myself now means I am not going to be ashamed.
I just saved their lives and no one bothered to help me.Stare all you want, you stupid bastards. It’s what Riev would say.
It dawns on me how Riev feels…maybe all the time.
One by one, the subjects of North Kingdom turn to their ruler. The king inclines forward and taps his son on the shoulder. Prince Toryl can’t pry his eyes off me as he whispers to his father.
It’s the young man’s coming-of-age party. His official coronation as crown prince. Back in Artemysia, I was told his father would retire within the year, so I assume it’s the prince’s show. He must make a decision as their future leader. They look to him as a test of his power and desire to see a show of his might.
He must prove his capability as a ruler. I’m going to be an example.
Even I know how this works.
Heart pounding from adrenaline, I’m still on my knees, blood pooling around me. I use my ripped gown to wrap my bleeding forearm, tying the makeshift bandage with the silk ribbon Elodie laced up my arm.
The tall prince approaches the crowd, and all before him bow their heads. Except me. I’m still baffled, with no clue what will happen next. In South Kingdom, someone would have helped me, and congratulationswould be in order right about now.
He addresses me with a broad hand. “You’re dressed indecently. And you’re clearly not nobility, but rather a spy amongst us.” A murmur ripples through the crowd.
I open my mouth to defend myself but realize his accusations aren’t exactly wrong. Refuting him would sound weak. Instead, I defy him by saying nothing. Never underestimate the strength of silence.
He steps down from the dais, and his subjects part as he passes. His high boots echo on the golden tiles of the ballroom as he approaches, his hand poised on his fine, ceremonial sword.
No one dares to touch me or to offer a hand up.
“You will come with me to be interrogated.” He paces around me, a predator circling prey. I turn my head, and he gestures at the stitched scar on my bare shoulder blade. “You don’t belong here. Get up off your knees and cover yourself.”
