Page 61 of The Faceless Queen

I gasped, taking a step back. He was no longer wearing a green cloak. But blue. The blue of House Lafir, embroidered with the same golden thread he wore the other night. And beneath was the metal armor of a knight entering the tourney, shaped to fit a muscular body, one that had clearly trained for such events.

“O-Olivay?” he asked, his face concerned. “Princess? Are you—are you all right?”

“W—what?” I asked, forgetting my name, who I was, and who I was supposed to be.

I couldn’t even move. I wasn’t all right. I couldn't breathe. I clutched at my chest, staring back at him in horror. Not at the man I’d expected or imagined. Not at Jaron and his hateful face, and the scar across his lip from the wound I’d given to him.

Because Jaron wasn’t before me at all.

The prince I was standing in front of was Brennan.

PART TWO: OLIVAY

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Brennan stood before me. Brennan’s green eyes held me in place. And Brennan wore the royal blue cloak which boasted the moonstag and flamed sigil of House Lafir.

By the Godsdamned Gods.

All this time, Brennan was the one I was to marry. Brennan was the crown prince of Eskalon.

I felt dizzy and sick as my body hollowed with panic. My mind whirled as I raced desperately through all of the knowledge I’d collected over the years, pieces of information I’d tucked away, until my mind caught up to the truth. Until I understood exactly what my eyes were seeing.

Jaron was merely a nobleman. A relative of King Tirian’s. Exactly what I’d imagined Brennan to be when we met. Yes, the blood of House Lafir flowed through his veins, and yes, he possessed a name that nearly every member of the royal household shared. The very name at the head of the crown prince’s nomenclature.

But he was not the crown prince.

He had lied to me. Of course, he fucking had. It was the most Jaron-like thing he could do. Waltzing into the tavern all those years ago like he owned it, wearing enough jewels and gold to shout out his wealth and status to anyone willing to look his way. He’d wanted the attention, wanted us all to see him as the prince.

Brennan though? His wealth and status had only been so obvious to me because I’d been trained to look for such things–but Brennan had done his best to hide it, to conceal who he was.

His Highness, Crown Prince Jaron Emmerson Rowan Brendathan.

Brennan.

My chest tightened.

I’m not a lord.

My friends call me Brennan.

I squeezed my eyes shut. He hadn’t offered me his full name that first night—because he couldn’t. But what he had given to me was far more meaningful. Not the formal name shared by half of his bloodline. Not the name Jaron, which probably every man inside the castle could claim to one extent or another. He’d given me his real name. The one he was known by those closest to him, the one he answered to. Brennan.

Brennan. Short for Brendathan. The crown prince.

When this is over, what happens to the prince?

He will die.

Upon the conception, there will be an end to the House Lafir as they know it. Never to rise again.

Brennan was the prince in the prophecy. Brennan. Brennan was going to die.

He said something to me then, but I couldn’t hear or understand. My ears were ringing with the Hermit’s warning.

He will die. He will die. He will die.

By my hand. My touch. My body. By the Godsdamned Azete inside me.