Page 60 of Oracle of Ruin

“If you come down in a crown, I’ll shoot you.”

Never mind.

I allow myself a bit longer in front of the mirror today, not looking at my appearance, just sitting still for a moment. This might be my last moment of stillness and quiet before my life gets shot back into hell, so I might as well take it. Savor it.

A low rapping sound comes from the door. Blaine peeks his head in, his knuckles still pressed against the wood as if poised for another knock. “May I enter?”

“If you must,” I droll.

He hesitates, then sees the upward tilt of my lips and allows himself to step inside. He settles on the edge of my bed, now freshly made aside from his presence. His steely gaze traces over all the tapestries that adorn the walls before it makes its way back to me. “This is nice.”

“Blaine, I don’t mean to snap, but you’re horrible at making small talk. What do you want?” I do my best to make my tone gentle. The truth is, my ire isn’t directed at him, and it shouldn’t exist in the first place. I shouldn’t feel angry with Rowan at all, but a small rage simmers at the base of my throat. He is just trying to be considerate; I know this. I need to know this.

“I wanted to see how you are,” he admits slowly. I note the clarity of his eyes and his voice. While he rubs at his temples now, he seems completely aware of everything. “We didn’t have a chance to talk last night, and the Torin thing was a lot for any of us to take in.”

“I’m guessing that’s where that scar on your fist came from?” I bite back a laugh at his embarrassed flush. “It wasn’t there when I left.”

“You’d be right about both of those things. But Rowan was right—this is important and we just got you back. If you aren’t ready, let us know.”

“Blaine,” I bite out, that irritation rising again, “if I wanted to be coddled, I would’ve stayed at the palace and let them kill me. If I’m going to stop this war, I need to partake in it.”

Blaine’s brows set in that scowl he always seems to be wearing, his features sharpening as if I flipped a verbal switch. “So now you want to be queen again? After you already turned your back on the people?”

The verbal slap slams across my face as if it is physical. My cheeks heat, embarrassment and rage commingling in the crimson flush. From anyone else, it might have been a backhanded insult, but from Blaine… His is so much worse because he actually means every hateful word. He has always thought of the people before me, like a good ruler, a good man. Meanwhile, I shut my eyes and left, leaving them alone. I tried to kid myself and say I was doing it for them because I would be a bad leader, but deep down, we know the truth. I feel guilt, yes, but my own selfish desires outweigh the consequences they would face.

“Do you always have to be such a dick?” I lash out. It is the only defense I can conjure. Pinning the blame on something else entirely, something unrelated to my sins.

But per usual, Blaine is not having any of it. “Did you really think he would let you go? Lucius would only lead Krycolis through marriage, so with both of you gone, there would be no heir. No one to take over. Enemies would get wind of this and invade; the rebels would have invaded, and I’ve met their leader. He would have been ruthless, the type to kill anyone in his way. Do you know how many people, innocents, would have died by his sword? What about other enemies? Or by the king as he sacked homes and tortured civilians to find out where you went? And if Tanya had lived, then he would’ve known to go after her first. Then when she didn’t crack, Torin, and then me. None of us would have given you up, but our blood would be on your hands. Now tell me why you are fit to be queen?”

The rejection stings like nothing else. All my life, I have been raised and groomed to be queen. I’ve memorized every line and verse of law in the kingdom, now able to recite them upon command. I’ve had my wrists whipped if I held my cutlery at the wrong angle, or if my spine was not straight enough. I’ve been preened and polished until I bled, all to prepare for the weight of the crown.

“My whole life, I was raised for this.”

“Your whole life, you were raised to be a figurehead. An image. Up until this year, you thought the cursed were literal monsters. You so easily forgot that they were your people too.”

Tears of embarrassment prick at the corners of my eyes, but Blaine continues, his voice unwavering.

“I know you were kept in the dark on purpose. I know it is not all your fault, but by the Laei, at least take accountability for what was. You have always been so headstrong about everything and nothing. I never understood how you could sit silent as they lied to you.”

My mouth clamps shut, and even when I try to open it, no words utter from between my lips, just a dry, croaking noise.

Blaine’s eyes are dark and sorrowful and his hand twitches as if longing to reach for mine. Instead, his shoulders go rigid and he rises. “The rebels are cresting the hill. They’ll be here soon. I just thought I’d let you know.”

He closes the door on his way out. Gently, so gently. Like he was never here.

A dry scream sticks to the back of my throat. Not because he was wrong—Blaine is hardly ever wrong, especially when it concerns me. No, he’s so right about everything that my heart burns with rage and sorrow.

Slowly, I smooth my dress. Darkness coils in my stomach, but I shove it down. The rebels are nearly here and if there is anyone I cannot afford to show weakness in front of, it would be them.

My fingers fly to the dagger at my hip, and I press the pads of my fingertips against the iron thorns. They are blunt edges, but the dull bite calms my senses just enough that I can clear the mist from my eyes and open my door.

Later. Everything that Blaine just said can be dealt with later.

Rowan’s hand finds my elbow, the mercenary appearing at my side as if from thin air. I smile brightly at him, vanquishing any last trace of my sorrow or contempt. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just walks beside me in silence until we round the corner that will take us back to the lobby of the inn where the others wait.

“So,” I drawl, my feet suddenly dragging. “Any idea how long this meeting will take?”

His lips lift into a smirk. “Why? Do you have somewhere more important to be?”

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