Page 9 of Until Death
I’m not even certain that I’m the woman he’s searching for, though I can’t shake the nagging suspicion that I am. What does he plan to do to me if I am?
This thought alone is enough to have me desperately glancing about the throne room for some way to escape.
Perhaps, if no one steps forward, this will all be over soon. Surely, he can’t mean to keep us all here.
As if reading my mind, blue flames begin to lick the edges of Hades’ head and shoulders, his rage burning hotter with each passing second.
“As this woman has chosen yet again to defy me, I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands,” Hades growls. “You, guard, bring me a stool.”
We all watch nervously as a simple stool is quickly found and placed before Hades. His eyes trail over us before stopping on a tall blonde standing off to one side.
With a small nod of his head, two guards step out of the crowd to grab her, dragging her forward as she cries out in surprise.
“My king, please, it was not me—”
“Silence!” Hades orders, causing the woman to flinch as her mouth snaps shut.
My heart thuds in my chest as she is forced down onto the stool, her eyes wide with fear as Hades motions to another guard. He quickly moves to approach the throne, a black box carried in his arms.
Stopping before the throne, I watch with bated breath as Hades lifts the lid and reaches inside. Suddenly, all hope shatters within my chest, horror rushing in to fill its stead as Hades pulls out a single, opalescent shoe.
There is no doubt left in my mind. I am the woman he’s looking for.
The traitor to the crown.
My mouth dry, I realize I should step forward, but I remain frozen in place as Hades hands the shoe to the first guard and orders the woman to try it on.
Kneeling, the man obeys, pulling off the woman’s shoe before slipping the crystal heel over her foot.
But it doesn’t fit.
Hades lets out a low growl of annoyance before waving toward one side of the room. “Clear that side of the room and put her over there. Next.”
Instantly, the guards surround the rest of us, pushing us unceremoniously toward the opposite side of the throne room as they form a line down the center of the room to separate us.
Another woman is pulled forward from the crowd and thrust down onto the stool, her own shoe tossed aside as the guard slips the sparkling heel on.
This time, the shoe fits.
“Hmm,” Hades murmurs in obvious approval. “Good, place her up against that wall and continue dealing with the rest as such.”
His men are quick to obey, and in a matter of seconds, I find myself crushed between the other women in the center of the room, surrounded by guards as two groups begin to form on either side of us.
Those the shoe fits, and those it does not.
It doesn’t take long for everyone to realize which side Hades is more pleased with, and soon the women are trying to force their feet to fit. Some going so far as to cause injury to themselves in the process.
I grimace as one such woman screams out in dismay as the heel is wrenched from her foot and she’s tossed among those that the shoe does not fit.
“But it fits! I was almost able to—”
A heavy-handed slap from the nearest guard silences her as she’s sent sprawling to the floor before she can clamber back toward the stool. “You had your turn—”
“If she says it fits, let her prove it,” Hades says coolly, interrupting the guard.
“Of course, my king.”
The woman’s tear-stained face brightens as the guard steps aside and she scrambles back to the stool. Taking the heel, she tries her best to shove her foot back inside, her face screwed up in pain as Hades watches from above.
