Sainte wasn’t one to waste an opportunity, and before they replaced the latch, the gray horse was upon them. It screamed as it crashed through the door, stumbling to its knees.
When I laid eyes on the scene before me, my stomach clenched as if someone landed a punch to my gut. The throne room, fit for a king—or king-to-be—was a spectacle of opulence. Hundreds adorned in fine, shimmering attire filled the space, their gold and gemstones sparkling in the cold light streaming through the grand windows behind the dais.
The horse’s shrill neigh echoed through the room as it struggled to rise. My gaze shifted upward, discovering another crowd nestled on a balcony along the back wall. Returning my focus to the throne, silhouetted against the cold white snow and pale sky, I locked eyes with my brother.
Fifteen years had passed, yet no amount of time could erase the fear that surged anew as his piercing green irises fixed on mine.
His hair was short, almost clean shaven on the sides, with the top long and hanging in his face. It gave him a roguish appearance, and the madness that twinkled in his gaze, even at this distance, turned my stomach.
There were people whose eyes betrayed a deeper complexity, as if they were not quite like everyone else. Some carried a sense of innocence, forever locked in a childlike state, unable to fully embrace adulthood. Others appeared constantly on edge, their attention and focus darting with nerves, avoiding any prolonged contact.
And then there were those like my brother, whose eyes spoke of darker intentions, a desire to inflict pain on people.
Or creatures.
I shivered as memories stirred—him hurting animals, killing pets for sport. Unbidden, those harrowing images flooded my mind, casting a darker shadow over the present moment.
Almost as if he sensed the fear swirling within, Adrastus’ smile widened, sending a chill down my spine. Beside him, a man dressed in vibrant green and white attire held a forest-colored pillow. Atop it lay a silver crown adorned with delicate emeralds.
My brother reached for it, his movements commanding the shocked crowd’s attention. Gasps and exclamations rippled through the throng.
That terrible smile, tinged with malice, turned my way. Even from across the grand hall, his peridot eyes gleamed with cruel delight, feeding off my palpable fear.
At that pivotal moment, I contemplated staying as a passive observer of my brother’s ascent to the throne. The safety of my position, nestled against Sainte’s reassuring warmth, tempted me to stay put. However, it seemed as if the gods were, perhaps, not happy with that choice.
Our horse rebelled, letting out a wild scream as it reared, its forelegs flailing. Sainte’s powerful arm encircled me, anchoring me amidst the chaos. I clung to the mane, fighting to keep my seat.
That shattered the spell.
“Hold!” Sainte roared over the crowd which broke into horrified cries.
When the horse steadied, I acted swiftly, fearing if I hesitated, I might lose my courage to follow through with this. With Sainte’s steady grip around my waist, I swung my leg over the horse’s sweaty neck, and he lowered me with the utmost care. My body slid against the gelding’s damp hide, and I stumbled when my feet hit the ground. After a tentative step, I stopped. The crowd blocked my view of the dais.
The horse bit my shoulder, and I hissed, jerking away. It snorted and thrust its nose between my shoulders, pushing me forward.
This beast was in on the whole conspiracy. I knew it.
“I am Elspeth! Second Born to Veiled King Vardis!” I called out with all the strength I could muster, my voice cracking.
The crowd pivoted, turning their backs on my brother. Shock painted the faces of some, hands flying to cover gaping mouths, while others murmured and exchanged skeptical looks, their expressions a mix of disbelief and curiosity. I strode forward, my posture rigid and determined, each step purposeful. Bystanders, sensing the importance of the moment, parted like a sea, creating a clear path down the aisle leading to the dais.
My brother’s sneer faltered, his fingers twitching just above the crown.
Taking a quick breath, I marched toward him, pasting a cocky smile on my face. “I challenge Prince Regent Adastrus to the Rites of the Gods.”
Gasps and chatter echoed through the chamber, hardly masking the crowd’s shock. Suddenly, curiosity and wonder stirred among the people, and the tense moment was lost.
Stepping up to the prince regent, I threw back my hood and met the simmering hatred in his glare.
“Hello, big brother.”
Chapter 10
Adastrus kept his eerie eyes on me, unblinking. There was no warmth, compassion, or even shock in that gaze, as if he predicted I’d show up and pluck the throne from his grasp.
I sincerely hoped he hadn’t been expecting it.
“Princess Elspeth,” a clear voice called from the crowd.
