“You're insane.” I pulled at the chains. Metal bit deeper. Fresh blood ran warm. “Both of you. You're fucking insane.”
“We're pragmatic.” Marcel's voice. Calm. “We're what the kingdom needs even if it doesn't know it yet.”
“The kingdom needs murderers?”
“The kingdom needs people willing to do what's necessary.” Élodie was right in front of me now. Knife held loose and easy. “People who understand that sometimes you have to cut away the rot to save the whole.” She paused. “I am sorry it has to be you, Sebastian. I really am. You deserved better than this.”
“Then stop.”
“I can't.” She lowered her hand. “Not when we're this close. Not when your father is finally breaking. Not when everything I've worked for is within reach.”
“Viktor will stop you.” I forced the words out. “The Sentinels will stop you. My father will?—”
“Your father doesn't know I exist.” She said it flatly. “To him, I'm just the loyal ward. The girl who's been nothing but helpful and kind and exactly where I need to be.” She paused. “By the time he realizes, it'll be too late. You'll be dead. He'll be broken. And I'll be exactly what he needs to survive.”
“He'll never love you.”
“He doesn't have to love me.” Her smile was cold. “He just has to need me. Love is what got his wife killed. Need is what will let me rule.”
She stepped back. Nodded to Marcel. “He's ready.”
Marcel picked up the brand. Still white hot. Still hungry.
“Last chance, Your Highness,” he said. “Join us. Accept what the kingdom needs. Let Élodie guide your father. Let us build something worth saving.”
“Never.”
“Wrong answer.” He moved closer with the brand. “But expected.”
“Wait.” Élodie's voice. Sharp. “Let me.”
Marcel stopped. Looked at her. Something passed between them. Communication I couldn't read.
Then he handed her the brand.
“You're sure?” he asked.
“I've been planning this for eighteen years.” She took it. Held it like she'd done this before. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. “I should be the one to finish it.”
She turned to me. The brand glowed between us. Heat radiated. Made the air shimmer.
“This is going to hurt,” she said softly. “But you need to understand. You need to carry this. A reminder of what happens when princes refuse to accept reality.”
“Élodie.” I tried one more time. “Please. You don't have to do this.”
“Yes.” She raised the brand. “I do.”
Footsteps.
Distant. Multiple. Fast.
Running. Shouting. Getting closer.
Marcel's head snapped toward the entrance. Gun in his hand before I saw him move. “They found us.”
“Impossible.” But Élodie was already moving. Setting the brand down. Drawing two knives from sheaths I hadn't noticed. “I covered everything. Every trail?—”
“Clearly not everything.” Marcel chambered a round. “Positions.”
