Page 125 of Bride of Ash & Dust

I murdered a prince of Vsenrog. And in that heartbeat, as our eyes meet across the trampled grass of this meadow, I am absolutely certain that King Malrik knows it.

“My dear citizens of Marion,” Malrik begins in a booming voice that somehow reminds me of my father. “It is my tragic and grave responsibility to inform you that your dear, beloved king has finally succumbed to his long illness.”

Everything is suddenly very silent.

I think of my father stepping off his throne, of Mel grabbing his arm and saying something about his health. Of Princess Acelina saying my father doesn’t have much time left, and how is he holding up?

“In light of Prince Elrick’s recent abdication,” Malrik continues, “this leaves me with only one option.”

Someone is saying something, shouting words I can’t make out. Malrik raises his hand and scowls in my direction. And then one of his attendants hands something to Malrik, something hard and metallic that glitters in the light.

Malrik raises the circlet in his hands. It’s silver, with red jewels.

“I will assume stewardship over the kingdom that was once known as Marion,” Malrik announces.

He puts my father’s crown on his head. Someone starts screaming.

It takes me a moment to realize it’s me. I’m screaming.

Someone grabs me by the arm and yanks me backward. A hand closes over my mouth and presses against my nose. I flail against my assailant, kicking and twisting.

“Shut up, you whore,” someone growls. “You started this.”

My vision blurs, and my lungs scream for air. The world starts to go black around the edges.

“The Kingdom of Marion is no more,” King Malrik continues. He grins, flashing teeth that wink in the sunlight, glittering like his crown, like the many golden medals on his elegant uniform. “Now, you are all once again, as you once were, part of the great Kingdom of Vsenrog.”

Darkness closes over my vision. I sink to the ground, barely aware of the voices rising all around me. The hand pulls away from my mouth; I gasp, almost disappointed that I’m still conscious.

“Give her here,” a man growls.

I’m handed off like a piece of meat in the marketplace. The world blurs with tears. Malrik says something about the funeral, about viewing the body of the last king of Marion, and this can’t possibly be happening. None of this can be happening.

I remember my father sitting at the window of the royal hunting lodge as the sun set behind him, a mug of ale in his hand, the fire behind him sending long shadows across the floor.

“Your mother loved this place,” he said, almost under his breath.

It was the only time I ever heard him mention his queen, the woman who died bringing me into this world. I set my family of paper dolls down on the thick rug and turned to watch him, wondering if he really was crying or if it was just a trick of the light.

“Lilias!”

My head snaps up, responding to a voice I know from somewhere else, some other life.

“Gods, she’s a mess,” the man mutters. “I thought they’d cleaned her up.”

I frown, trying to focus. I’m sitting on a chair inside one of the tents. Someone brought me here, but who? How long ago?

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter.

Malrik’s voice rings inside my skull. Marion is no more.

“Lilias!”

I turn toward the voice. Blayne stands over me, looking annoyed. He is frequently annoyed, this man who convinced me it was my fault he stole my maidenhead. Disgust curls inside my guts.

“What do you want?” I growl.

Blayne frowns like I’ve disappointed him yet again. And then he gestures to a table beside me. There’s a goblet on that table, and a familiar, bitter scent rises in the air. It smells like the tea he made me drink after every time he fucked me. My stomach turns, and I look away.