Page 42 of The Faceless Queen

“Then it’s settled. You will take the face and body of Princess Olivay. You will marry her prince. And you will come to his bed, as many times as needed, until you are with child, until his lifeforce is spent, and he is no longer needed.”

Something began to awaken inside me, to untwist and unfurl. It was a feeling I only got when the Azete sensed a way to feed, a way to take. When it knew the hunt was near.

With my marriage to the prince, the Azete would be able to feed freely and frequently. But so would the mortal part of me. Because if I had to sacrifice my body and soul on the altar of this prophecy, give up my child, and shun everything that made me me in order to do this, then I wanted something else. Something more.

Revenge. Not just on Jaron for what he did to me. To Cecelia.

I was going to go after a bigger prize. I was going to hunt the man who’d betrayed my mother, who’d gotten her killed. King Tirian.

I could clearly see Jaron’s life ending with the conception of our child. The very act, once performed enough times to become pregnant, would drain him. But the king—the king I would not touch. Not in the way. But I’d find another. I’d find a way to end him, too. If there was to be an end to House Lafir as they knew it, I was going to ensure that King Tirian’s name was part of that prophecy as well.

There was a final flash of blue light in the black crystals surrounding my aunt’s throne. And the sensation of wings fluttering inside of me began to burn, turning to flame.

I held out my wrist and offered it to my queen.

CHAPTER NINE

An hour later, I was back in my old room, my arm burning. The Hermit had cut me with his dagger, invoking the blood oath between my aunt and me. I was bound to her, physically and magically, with no choice but to complete my mission. To thwart the Hermit’s prophecy on pain of death.

But I was still without power, still completely drained of all magic. The Azete was too starved to try and heal the wound. If I didn’t feed soon, it would scar me forever. I had a feeling that was my aunt’s intention. The Hermit’s as well. A permanent reminder. As if I could forget. But as I pulled up the sleeve of my tunic, I finally laid eyes on the scar I hadn’t allowed myself to see in years.

I’d been too weak after the chimera attack to heal myself, too broken with grief. And so the scar remained—a red gash that sliced from the back of my left wrist to my elbow.

I pulled my sleeve back over it and closed my eyes. It was too late now—that scar would never heal. And now, another would join it.

I took a shuddering breath and leaned forward, my hands resting on my knees.

“I have food,” the Hermit said, walking through my door. No knock, no warning.

I shook my head, though I eyed the tray carefully, my traitorous stomach grumbling. Scrambled eggs, toast, and a mix of cheeses and fruits were piled high on a plate. On another was a slice of what had once been my favorite dessert—something I hadn’t eaten in seven years. A cheesecake drenched in raspberry syrup, baked inside of a vanilla sponge cake. Summer cake.

It was a delicacy—one that had become rare as the chimera infiltrated more of our fields. Destroying more of our crop. My mouth watered.

My mother knew how much I loved it, and when raspberries became difficult to harvest, she still made sure I had a summer cake prepared every year on my birthday.

I could smell it hovering in front of me, sweet and sugary. So fucking familiar. A soft breeze blew through the window, bringing me even more of its scent. With the sun streaming into my room, I was reminded of summers eating slices of the cake, of laughing with my mother as I took another forkful. I could almost taste it now by sight alone.

My eyes watered, and I turned my gaze to the window.

“You know I need to feed in other ways,” I said. “If you want me to become Olivay, I need to feed for real.” I gestured at my hair, honey-blonde, straight and messy, then I blinked my ice-blue eyes, catching sight of my rounded features and my pale skin in the mirror. This wasn’t going to be easy. I couldn’t just tweak or alter what I’d been born with as I’d done over the years. I was going to have to change everything. My looks, my height, my voice. My entire personality.

The amount of power it was going to take to sustain her form magically and mentally was going to require feeding every day and night.

“Oh? You need to feed to shift?” the Hermit asked, pretending he was shocked at the news. “You think I don’t know that?” He snorted. “Did you really think I hadn’t arranged for provisions? That I haven’t considered every detail of this for years? You’ll be well fed and prepared,” the Hermit said, “before we arrive in Eskalon.”

“I’m hungry now,” I snapped. But it wasn’t me who’d said that. It was the Azete. My voice had lowered to an unnatural rasp.

“I am speaking to the mortal part of you, not the Azete. The part that I assume is equally as hungry?” The Hermit raised a dark eyebrow, pushing the tray of food toward me again. “You haven’t eaten in days, and I’m getting tired of holding this.”

“Then put it down. I’m not hungry.”

“I can feel your stomach burning. Eat. It will revive you. Then we’ll deal with your other hunger before we arrive at the castle tonight.”

“Tonight?” I asked. “We’re leaving tonight?”

“We’re leaving as soon as you finish breakfast,” he said. “I almost had to wake you yesterday to get there in time. But that little chimera attack in town pushed the king’s plans back. But there are no more delays. The betrothal of Eskalon’s prince to the Spartvan princess will be announced tonight at a tournament in the couple’s honor.”

I shook my head. “I’m supposed to become someone else by tonight? Why not just wait until we’re closer to the wedding for me to switch places? To—come in when it’s time to—” I closed my eyes, my stomach twisting still at the thought of bedding Jaron again.