Page 29 of The Manticore's Human Queen
They mock me as they circle, hurling barbs about my captivity, my wounds, the futility of my situation. Each comment aims to break my spirit, to reduce me from warrior to beaten animal. But I’ve been broken before, and I survive.
Rage simmers in my blood like molten steel, but I hold it back through sheer force of will. Let them think me defeated. Let them believe their chains and cages tame the beast within. Their arrogance will be their downfall.
When they wheel my cage to its place of honor—directly facing the marriage altar—I gain my first clear view of the ceremony about to unfold. And there she is.
Annelise glides down the aisle like a vision in ivory silk, her golden hair crowned with white roses, her face serene as a saint’s. Her beauty outshines even the cruel dark elf ladies, breathtaking in its radiance.
But I know her too well to be fooled by the performance. I see the steel beneath the silk, the predator lurking behind the bridal veil. Our eyes meet across the crowded ballroom, and inthat single glance, an entire conversation passes between us. She gives the slightest nod—almost imperceptible, but I catch it. Our agreed-upon signal. She’s ready.
I watch as she takes her place beside Zarren at the altar, my lip curling with disgust. The elven lord preens like a peacock, his hand possessive on her waist as he displays his prize to the crowd. He looks like what he is—a pathetic insect begging to be crushed beneath my claws.
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant begins, his voice echoing through the vaulted chamber. “We gather today to witness the union of two houses…”
The words wash over me, meaningless. My focus locks on Annelise, on the way she stands perfectly still while chaos brews beneath her calm exterior. I sense the violence building inside her, like a predator scenting blood on the wind.
The ceremony proceeds with all the pomp of a noble wedding. Vows are exchanged—lies cloaked in silk and silver. Rings are presented, chains disguised as symbols of love. Through it all, she plays her part flawlessly: the blushing bride, the dutiful ward, the perfect ornament for a monster’s collection.
But I see the truth in the set of her shoulders, in the way her fingers curl slightly as if gripping invisible weapons. She is coiled like a spring, ready to unleash destruction on those who have wronged her.
When Zarren lifts her veil to seal their union with a kiss, her eyes close—not with passion, but with barely contained revulsion. Her body stiffens the moment his lips touch hers, rigid with disgust. The crowd cheers, as if witnessing something beautiful instead of the violation it truly is.
“And now,” Zarren announces, his voice rising over the applause, “let the wedding feast begin! And tomorrow night, my friends, we shall have our hunt!”
More cheers, more cruel laughter. The nobles file toward the banquet hall, drunk on wine and the promise of blood sport. I remain still in my cage, every muscle coiled and ready. My mate has been claimed by another man, marked with his scent and touch. The insult cannot stand.
Soon, I will show them what it means to cage a manticore, to steal what belongs to me, to think their golden bars and silver chains can hold back the storm they’ve unleashed.
Zarren catches my gaze from across the room and smirks, his arm tightening possessively around Annelise’s waist. He thinks he’s won, that he’s claimed the ultimate prize. The fool has no idea he’s signed his own death warrant.
I bare my teeth in what might pass for a smile, and his smirk falters. Some primal part of his brain recognizes the promise in my expression.
Tomorrow night, the hunt begins. But I won’t be the prey.
32
ANNELISE
The wedding feast glitters with excess and cruelty. I sit beside my newly wedded husband at the high table, my hands folded demurely in my lap while Zarren regales the assembled nobles with tales of his prowess.
“The beast was nearly dead when I found it,” Zarren lies smoothly, gesturing toward Tarek’s cage with his wine goblet. “But even wounded, it took six of my best hunters to bring it down.”
The gathered lords nod appreciatively, their ladies sighing with feigned admiration. I smile, playing the part of the adoring bride, while inside I count heartbeats and plan trajectories.
Lord Renlir sits at the head of the table, just out of reach even if I could slip past Zarren. But that’s fine—I’ve accounted for that obstacle.
The signal arrives precisely when it should. A body crashes through the stained glass window above, slamming into our table with enough force to send dishes flying and wine splashing across the white tablecloth. Lyra’s lifeless form lies twisted among the shattered porcelain, her neck bent at an impossible angle.
Screams erupt from the guests. Ladies shriek and swoon; lords leap to their feet, hands reaching for weapons. I do not scream.
Instead, I seize the carving knife skittering across the table, its blade gleaming with reflected candlelight. Zarren turns toward me, his mouth opening to ask if I’m hurt, confusion clear in his silver eyes. I drag the steel across his throat in one smooth motion.
Blood sprays across my wedding dress, turning the ivory silk crimson. Zarren’s hands clutch his neck, his eyes wide with shock and terror as he tries to stem the flow. But it’s too late—I’ve opened him from ear to ear.
“Goodbye, husband,” I whisper as he collapses beside me.
The screaming intensifies. Chaos erupts as nobles scramble for exits and guards rush toward the high table. But I’m already moving.
I scramble over the blood-soaked table, my wedding skirts hiked to my knees, dishes crunching beneath my feet. The hidden blades shift against my legs with each step, reminding me of the weapons I carry.
