Walk in.
Tell him I was wrong, silly, naïve. Play the little broken girl he crossed paths with in that hallway at Castle Noir.
Get down on my knees and beg him to take me back—to keep me safe.
Play it fuckingsafe.
The tangerine sun lifts above a tuft of low-hanging cloud, spilling rays across the glossy ocean. They cut through the bridge railing and plunge into the scoop of my hood, dousing my cheeks in a warmth that seeps beneath my skin, drips upon my chapped veins, and lubricates my insides with a surge of liquid warmth.
More lustrous beads bloom.
I’m led into the palace’s blocky shadow before I can quench my thirst, and two more guards peel from their posts, their heavy-booted steps thumping after us in perfect unison. A swarm of armed guards slot into place before the golden gate that towers over us like bared teeth.
I frown.
Isn’t he …expectingme?
One guard clears his throat and strides forward, gold-tipped spear peeking over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I must conduct a weapon search before you enter the palace. I’ll start with your sword,” he says, reaching out his hand. “Orders from the High Master.”
A jagged cleft forms in the dome containing my rage, spilling a thick, thorny vine that saws up my throat. An icy calm settles upon me, sharpening my mind, my perception, and the words sitting upon my tongue like thorns.
My head banks to the side, and I hold his stare, unblinking. “You’ll have to pry it from my lifeless corpse.”
His eyes widen, mouth falls open with some semblance of a word squeaking out while my fingers itch to unravel. While I frantically rummage through my insides,plucking …
Try it,I almost scream.
Squishing …
Try it!
Bogging up the hole.
The rogue emotion snips off like a blown candle flame, and my heavy lids flutter as I waver, mellowing. Like I’ve just been dropped in a bowl of oil.
I clear my throat, pull the sword from its sheath, and lay it upon the ground. I do the same with my charred dagger, then force myself to step back.
The man casts me another nervous glance, then drops to a crouch and examines the weapons. Another guard moves closer, lifts my left arm, and begins to pat me down.
My skin bristles, and I cast my mind somewhere else as he brushes along my forearm … my shoulder … my back …
Play it safe.
Play it safe.
Play it sa—
“Let her through.”
The deep, booming words echo from beyond the gate.
My gaze threads through the men, through the golden bars, and down the throat of the domed entryway to the broad-shouldered man with his arms crossed, a stern look bunching his brow.
Kolden—alive and healthy.
His bold blue eyes scrape across me. “I’ll check her over.”
Relief plunges into my chest.
