Page 2 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

In return, our little sister, Safra, gets to live.

Not that I trust Sorley or my father to honor the deal after I’m gone. Right now, Mother and Safra are packed and ready to slip away. My white wolf, Nara, is waiting for them at the far palace gate, hiding in the shadows with the supplies they’ll need. Once they clear the city, they’ll make their way north through the Wilds to a ship that’s waiting to carry them across the sea to the land that lies beyond.

All they’re waiting for is the sound of the second bell, which will signal the start of the fight. Then they can escape while all eyes are on me and Sorley.

Most of the seating is occupied by the favored highborn fae my father invited to witness the spectacle. There are no children here. At least, in that regard, my father saw reason.

A lowborn man stands directly behind me, gripping the partition in front of him. He is Otto, the husband of my mother’s dearest attendant, Juniper. I wanted them to escape, too, but Otto insisted he would not allow me to die alone today and Juniper wouldn’t leave without him.

I meet his pale-blue eyes across the distance and take comfort from his presence.

Kindness is a rare gift in Frost. I’ve valued the gift of care that Otto and Juniper have given me and returned it with protection wherever I could.

Taking deep breaths and squaring my shoulders, I cast my attention back to the arena entrance a hundred paces away, expecting Sorley to appear within it dressed in full armor.

As the favored child, he will carry the two pearly-handled longswords that have been passed from Frost King to Frost King, a sign of our father’s approval.

The hush around me deepens and my forehead creases when the entrance remains empty.

The first bell has sounded.

Sorley should be here.

A prickling sensation grows at the back of my neck. I push against it, fighting my dread, taking deep, calming breaths and recalling the lingering strains of the song my mother and sister sang to me, drawing on that calm as I expand my hearing.

I listen carefully, past the shuffling in the stands, the highborn beginning to murmur and fidget, past the space outside the arena, where the spectators’ white wolves are gathered, past the soldiers standing guard along the path, and then beyond them…

A quiet scream floats along the icy wind.

The thrashing cry of a fragile thing trying to escape.

Chilling fear strikes my heart.

No…

Please.

My sister’s cry cuts short.

Up on the dais in the stands, my father’s lips stretch into a smile.

I’m running before I know it, arms and legs pumping, sprinting to the entrance and past it, too fast for the soldiers who try to answer my father’s roared command.

“Stop him!”

And then his cruel laughter, a deep rumbling that follows me along the straight paths, staying with me during the soul-crushing minutes it takes me to reach the Rose Room, a confined compound that became my mother’s cage.

Sorley lived here too, in a room with walls painted gray, until he turned seven and our father considered him old enough to move to the palace. There, Sorley could be raised in the ways of Frost, away from those who could have shown him the power of mercy and compassion.

Fear clouds my vision as I race toward the front door that now hangs off its hinges, its surface cracked.

My feet carry me inside, where I stop.

Too late.

Faces splattered with blood. Lifeless hands. Silent hearts.

Gentle throats crushed and my whole world with them.