Page 256

“And yet you believe you can insult the Crown?” I ask.

For a moment, the warden says nothing. His gaze flicks over me again, lingering in a way that makes my skin crawl. Then his mouth presses into a flat line, and his shoulders straighten as his gaze moves to everyone watching through the gates. Something in his expression changes, like a switch has been flipped. Gone is the man who cowered in front of Kylian moments ago, and instead, the drunken warden I remember returns as his pride gets the better of him.

“I remember you now,” he snarls. “You were the girl who was willing to sell herself to me to save your sister!” The warden’s fear twists into anger. “And now you come back dressed in silk pretending you’re above the cages you came from.”

Kylian’s fury pulses through the bond.

“Queen?” he spits. “You’re just a debtor who got lucky.”

His cane strikes the stone. “And now we’re all supposed to bow because the Vampire King decided to drag a market girl into his bed?”

Eagan takes a step forward, but Kylian catches his arm.

“Look at her,” he says, turning toward the crowd. “A cage rat playing queen. The whole world has gone mad! You were nothing when you came through here,” he says, panic making him foolish now, making him cruel because cruelty is the only weapon left in his hand. “You were just a name on paper, same as the rest of them.”

Kylian growls behind me, but I lift one hand.

“A pretty dress and a king’s bed doesn’t make you better than me,” he spits, his voice cracking at the edges as his fear turns to anger. “Now you stand here pretending to be queen because he put a mark on your throat.”

My power surges as I lift my hand, and Eagan curses under his breath.

The bonfires scattered throughout the market erupt without warning, flames roaring upward high enough to lick the night sky. Heat rushes through the yard as every torch, lantern, and brazier ignites at once, their fire turning gold so bright it hurts to look at.

The wind picks up and tears through the market hard enough to rip loose canvas from the auction stalls. Sails snap overhead. Barrels roll across the docks. Chains rattle violently against iron bars.

The cells creak and groan as the bolts yank from the ground.

The warden stumbles backward, and all the color drains from his face.

The air around me hums, and gold light spills beneath my skin, tracing along my arms as the iron gates tremble.

The warden takes another stumbling step back, his cane slipping from fingers. Then his eyes widen. “No, that’s not possible.”

Kylian’s voice comes softly. “You fool. You should kneel and pray she is kinder than I am.”

The warden points at me with a trembling finger, his eyes wide and frantic as he looks between Kylian and Eagan.

His knees nearly give out when he realizes they aren’t coming to condemn me.

“She is a witch,” he says, voice rising. “She is a witch, my king. She should be burned.”

For a moment, no one breathes.

A laugh escapes me. “Witch?” I ask, and the word leaves my mouth gently enough to make him flinch. “After ten years in a market that sold the desperate, the sick, the old, and the unwanted, that is still the worst word you can find for a woman who frightens you.”

His finger drops slightly.

I take another step toward him. “Not a witch.”

The gates behind me slam into the stone with a deafening shriek of metal.

“Mage,” I whisper.

The warden’s face changes.

My magic rises then, warm and gold beneath my skin, sliding through my veins, gathering in my palms, sinking through the stones beneath my feet until steam rises from them.

“The Arcanum is long dead,” he stammers.