Page 34

Xerxes’s arms were grabbed, pulled behind his back, and bound with chains. Even so, he leaned forward, slowly, his face coming tantalizingly close to Ryn’s, mouth hovering before hers. He blinked his dark lashes deliberately.

Ryn’s eyes widened. “What do you want me to do?” Her gaze tore over to the nobles in their chairs. Some stood, watching the Per-Siana heroes curiously. A guard inched closer to Xerxes, pressing the edge of his spear right beneath Xerxes’s jaw.

Xerxes rolled his eyes. “Oh Divinities, just kiss me, Ryn. Will you really make your King beg?” Then he added, “In front of all these enemies?”

She blinked.

He huffed.

Xerxes stepped forward and pressed his mouth against hers. A beat of wings fumbled through Ryn’s abdomen, her inhale lost to the soft movement of his lips, to the treacherous warmth and pulse that stole her body. “King—”

“Shh,” he whispered against her mouth. “Let them watch.” He kissed her once more, his lashes drawing up as he opened his eyes and pulled away. Just a touch of a smile found his lips. Gloating, almost.

“Are you…” Ryn swallowed, slamming a hand over her pounding chest. “…crazy?”

“You know I am. Feel free to disobey me again,” he said. The guards grabbed his arms, his robe, his chains. “Just as long as you come apologize after.”

“Xerxes!” Ryn’s cheeks heated. Her shoulders were captured, too, cold hands pinching her skin.

Xerxes was taken one way; Ryn was taken another.

Nobles leapt from their chairs. They approached her, and guards held them back. They waved to her, tried to tell her things in their language that might have been congratulations. A man even blew Ryn a kiss, and she blushed as she followed the guards in silence. She felt their gazes on her back until she sailed into a hall, following the guards up a staircase in silence, servants rushing to keep up with sponges and jugs of water.

Ryn’s fingers travelled up to her thundering heart. Her lips burned with remnants of Xerxes’s kiss, flutters finding her stomach as she thought about it.

She was so distracted she didn’t notice someone in a long red robe leaning against the door of her room when they rounded the corner, glowing in the torchlight. The servants slowed, exchanging glances. The flutters vanished from Ryn’s stomach when she looked up.

Price Mansour pulled himself off her door, straightening his crimson garment as he flicked a hand toward the guards. Ryn spied a silver dagger in the back of his belt, one with a brown leather handle and a white crystal in the blade that made her nearly stop in her tracks.

“She needs a bath,” a servant informed the Prince, but one black-gold glare, and the servants ducked into bows. The guards dispersed, their boots stomping down the stairs behind Ryn, servants padding after them in sandals.

Prince Mansour’s red lips twisted. Ryn was eclipsed by his shadow when he stepped in close. A smile broke across his mouth, flickering orange light splitting his face in half. “That was interesting,” he remarked, eyeing the scrapes on her arms, the drying blood at her ankles. Her bells.

“I’m glad you were entertained.” The sarcasm was lost to the dryness of Ryn’s throat, but the Prince’s gaze still twinkled. He tilted his head, rose gold coronet sliding half an inch as he leaned forward, red lips stopping at Ryn’s ear.

He whispered, “I think you really are the Gold Maiden.” The feeling of his finger brushing down her hair made her skin pull tight across her back. “But I think you’ve lost your power, Commander Adassah.”

Her breathing hitched.

Prince Mansour’s smile fell when she tore his dagger from his belt and thrust it toward his chest. His long fingers wrapped her wrist, and he drove her backward against the wall, twisting her arm until the dagger fell with a clang by his sandals. His body was cold where he pinned her there, wild eyes searching as if waiting.

Heva’s last smile before she fell over the cliff slammed into Ryn’s heart, and she tried shoving the Prince back, her teeth gritting when his strength held and she failed to come even an inch off the wall. Prince Mansour stared in amazement when she tried again, and a low, cold laugh slipped out as he pressed harder, crushing her lungs. “Well, this is perfect,” he whispered.

Finally, he dropped her wrist and pushed himself off the wall, giving her space. Ryn gasped, her lungs filling as she turned away and flattened a hand against her door to catch her breath.

A hiss of cold crossed her back, and she tilted her face toward the Prince slinking to his dagger. He picked it up and dragged his thumb over the sharp point. “I have plans for you, Gold Maiden, now that you’re powerless.” His voice sailed against her neck as he moved by, venturing down the hall with a quiet chuckle.

Ryn didn’t move a muscle as his slow footsteps tapped one by one down the staircase.

Quiet sang through the halls. Ryn’s fingernails dragged down the door, fingers pulling into a fist she slammed against the wood. Traces of blood glistened on her knuckles.

“I’m sorry, El,” she whispered. “I have to do this. I just can’t let this plan go.”

Because Prince Mansour wasn’t even sorry for what he did. Because Prince Mansour was gloating. Because if the roles were reversed and Ryn had been killed that day, Heva would have made sure to avenge her.

12

RYN