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As much conflict as there is in Bondé, as much resentment for the royal family as I have seen over the years, you would never know it standing here in front of them. I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus on some of the faces, hoping recognition will calm my nerves, but it only serves to make them worse.
The people are an endless, rolling sea—too innumerable to count—stretching from the Heights back to the Mid-Sector, at least.
I have known, in some distant, unimportant way, that I would be a princess ever since Mother first gave me my orders. It just felt singularly unimportant in light of Remy’s identity and dungeons and hangings and torture.
It doesn’t feel that way now.
Suddenly, it feels like maybe the most crucial part of this entire catastrophe.
My mind races back to the blue vial. To the children she wants me to bear. To the heirs of this kingdom that she wants to use in whatever plan she has for its future…
Does the kingdom even belong to the monarchy anymore? Or is it already hers?
I dart a glance along the edge of the crowd at the guards wearing Corentine colors. They’re lined up in the courtyard, along the walls, the balcony, everywhere, to protect the family and to protect the illusion of the monarchy.
And the crowd buys it.
The king addresses them warmly, talking about his new daughter-in-law, the people’s new princess, the love of his son’s life and another steward for the people.
As though I have ever taken care of anything in my life.
They cheer, though, because they don’t know who I am or what I’ve done. They hold their children up on their shoulders to see me, and I can see even the small, disheveled heads of the orphans in the alleyways straining for a closer view.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and the king’s words fade to the background.
I have never felt less equipped for any job. I am not their princess.
I am not their anything.
They deserve better than the death and destruction I have to offer them, better than a princess who has more blood on her hands than the entire royal guard put together.
When I told Remy in the nursery that I would find a way out of this, I didn’t entirely believe it was possible. But now I am determined to find a way. I have to.
I force my hand up to give them a demure wave as Remy wraps his free hand around my waist. The faces in the crowd vary from adoring to envious, but all of them believe the united front we’re showing them. We are the picture of a perfect royal couple.
I take a deep breath through my nose, slowly letting it filter out through my lips.
Of all the lies I tell, I am beginning to think thatweare the biggest.
Movement near the front of the crowd catches my eye, and my gaze lands on a horrifyingly familiar figure. My heart catches in my chest and my vision goes dark around the edges.
Damian.
I had grown to recognize him by his scars, but they’re gone now. Instead, his skin is nearly perfect, the fading light highlighting the smooth, unblemished cheek.
He taps two fingers to his temple before brushing them against his mouth. The sign that Mother needs me back home. And she senthimto the palace to fetch me…
My world tilts on its axis.
Mother kept Damian in the dungeons, torturing him for three solid weeks when she suspected he had done something wrong in Jokith. But now? He’s free. He’s wandering the crowds without a leash, and she healed him…
I dip my head once in understanding before forcing my eyes away from him. I want to be sick. If she’s forgiven Damian, if she thinks he’s innocent, then what in the Seven Hells does she want with me?
And if he’s free, what will that mean for the rest of us?
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
REMY
