Page 102 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
“Marbas. Is this really bad?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “You are the princess of our sworn enemy. And it turns out, you are not the slave kalator of the demon arch king, but perhaps his Bloodbound. And, if he wins, a joint ruler on the throne. No arch king has ever had a demon queen, let alone a vampire queen.”
She clutched the fabric of her dress, finally understanding everything that was at stake. “But Zarathos won’t allow that to happen.”
“They don’t know that. Not with how he has been treating you. Protecting you.”
“We have to show that I am nothing but a toy to be cast aside at his whim.”
“That may be your only path forward at this point.”
“When is the next banquet?” she asked.
Marbas hesitated but then said, “There is another one tonight, put on by Kingdom Aeria.”
She looked across the room, her eyes landing on the poker by the fire. “Then I want you to do something for me before you go.”
Aryana sat as still as she could, her body a mass of pain and sourness. The scent of burned flesh lingered in the air. The now dulled fire poker lay beside her. She tried not to look at the burn marks and bruises covering her skin.
Temporary. This was temporary, but necessary if they were to live through the remaining trials. Daylight crept in between the cracks of the curtained windows, but she sat far enough away that at least the rays didn’t reach her.
The door burst open, and a modicum of dread swept over her. Zarathos stepped into the room, his gaze landing on her.
His eyes roved over her wounded skin and he crept forward, his expression turning deadly. “Who did this?”
Her hands twisted in her ripped and bloodied gown. “It doesn’t matter—”
“The hell it doesn’t. Was it Pithian? If so, I’ll shred him like useless old parchment.”
“Zarathos, stop. It wasn’t him.”
“Then who?”
She met his raging gaze. “I did.”
“Bullshit.”
“I did have assistance, but it was my idea.” She looked at him earnestly, at his surprised silence. “We have one chance. One chance to salvage what happened out in that arena today. We must convince them that I am your slave, not your wife who will inherit the throne, or we are finished. Tonight is the banquet with the other victors. It will be a perfect display.”
His hands curled into fists. “You’re not going. You require blood. I set up—”
“Do you doubt my ability to handle this? My uncle—”
“I’m not your uncle!” he snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously.
“I’m aware of that, but we also need to quit pretending this is some lavish holiday in the country! Or that I matter beyond the trials!”
“Stop acting as though you don’t want to live.”
She gripped the bed and dragged herself to her feet, every inch of her crying out, but she fought not to show it. “I do. I want to live, but none of that is going to matter if I don’t help you make it through right now.”
He swiped at the bedpost, his clawed nails scratching through the wood, leaving long, horrible gouges. “I hate this. I hate what you’ve done. You think this is heroic? It’s not. And this damn deal will not save either of us or your precious humans.”
Her aching limbs stilled, unable to move in the face of his words. “You wish that you had chosen someone else as your kalator.”
“I wish it was anyone but you,” he snarled.
Aryana swallowed the sting of his retort and lifted her chin. “We can’t go back. But we can go forward. And this is what we can do currently to try to survive.”
