The sound of muffled voices slips beneath the throne room’s looming doors.
Kitt stands beside me, straightening the golden crown that bleeds into the hair beneath. “She should be here by now.”
I get the strangest sense he wasn’t speaking to me. My gaze sweeps down the hallway, searching for any flash of silver hair. “She will be here soon. Probably.”
The king runs a hand over his face, eyes blurry. “Well, the court is growing restless. We should head in there.”
Sighing, I turn toward the door.
“What?” Kitt asks skeptically. “Spit it out.”
“I’ve just never been dead before.” I shrug a shoulder. “It was kind of nice.”
Kitt’s laugh bounces all around us. His stare seems to clear suddenly. “Peaceful, I’m sure.”
“I should die more often.”
His smile is so equally familiar and earnest. “No chance, Kai Pie. I need you with me.”
The doors begin to slowly uncurl, revealing a sliver of the court within. We face them, the kingdom, the life we have been thrown into, just as we have everything else—together.
Kitt glances sidelong at me. He smiles wider.
I grin back.
“Ready for your resurrection?” he murmurs.
I take a breath. “So long as you’re here to help me survive this time.”
The doors fly open, and gasps echo through the room.
Every gaze is pinned to the walking corpse among them. I learned many years ago not to grow flustered beneath scrutiny, so I slip a mask over my features, smothering any emotion that isn’t indifference. Shocked whispers follow my every step, disbelief nipping at my heels.
Reaching the dais, Kitt turns to greet the stunned court. “Good afternoon. I trust you are all thoroughly surprised at the sight of your Enforcer after witnessing Paedyn’s final Trial in the Bowl.” The king rests a firm hand on my shoulder. “It seems you all needed to be reminded that Kai Azer is the strongest Elite among us. His death will not come so easily.”
The crowd erupts, cheers rippling throughout the throne room. It’s likely out of fear that they celebrate, concerned by what I might do to them.
“They don’t need to believe you. They need only to fear you.”
Kitt’s words ring true, but it’s Father’s voice I hear saying them.
I stand there, pretending as though I am a man whom Death himself fears. And all it cost me was the torture of watching myself nearly kill Paedyn. Witnessing my deepest fear come to life while I tried uselessly to claw my way to her.
The court claps for me, shouting praises deserving of a hero. And they know better than most that I am anything but. Even so, I offer a slight nod of my head and—
The doors swing open.
Every head turns toward the rumbling sound. Gazes widen when they land on her face, gawk when they glance below it. I can hardly help but do the same, though, for very different reasons.
She stands there, draped in emerald green. It spills down her body in dozens of layers before billowing around her feet and draping behind her heels. The gown hugs her waist tightly, climbing up her body in a strapless corset.
And there, on display above her beating heart, is the king’s carving.
Paedyn’s spine is straight beneath the crushing weight of eyes against her chest. The mangled O sits crudely atop her smooth skin, the scar flowing grimly into the slice down her neck.
Boldly, she casts her own scrutiny over the crowd. Vulnerably, she shows those who hate her the one thing she hates most about herself. And unashamedly, they stare.
Hushed whispers drift through the crowd, forcing the king to cut through their gossip loudly. “Your future queen, Paedyn Gray.”
Kitt has always worn his emotions blatantly—a quality I equally admire and envy. So when I look over at him, finding an unsurprised expression on his face, I realize that this isn’t the first time he’s witnessed the cruelty our father engraved on Paedyn.
A prick of jealousy, hurt, even, slips beneath my unbothered mask. I’m not entirely sure why, perhaps because I know that scar to be incredibly intimate to her. Something that she fought to keep me from finding, only to willingly bare herself to my brother.
But of course she would. They are betrothed. This is only the beginning.
Paedyn strides across the marble floor, splitting the now silent court. Emerald fabric flows behind her with every step toward the dais. She holds her head high, silver hair brushing tanned shoulders while that scar tugs at the skin below.
Her foot reaches the first step, and those blue eyes crash into mine. The look she gives me is sharp—same as it always has been and likely always will be. Because no matter how much our feelings grow or confessions spew, we will always remain precisely as we are. I will tease her until my dying breath, spar until I’m buried six feet beneath her feet.
I am forever her rival, and I revel in it.
She turns to face the court, every bit the queen they made her become. Her gaze falls to Kitt, just as it will for the rest of our lives. He offers her a slight dip of his head, encouraging her mouth to open and—
“So, the Ordinary couldn’t kill him.”
My eyes snap to the crowd, landing on a man who must long to meet Death. “That means”—he raises a hand toward the dais—“she didn’t even complete the Trial. It was to the death, was it not?”
Paedyn is speaking before I have the chance to choose a more violent method. “Would you like me to complete the Trial here? If you wish to be satisfied, it is your blood I can spill instead.”
Her voice is lethal in a way I’ve yet to be graced with. The man’s face slackens at the words, growing paler with each one spoken after. “It wouldn’t be difficult,” she says smoothly. “You recently lost your dominant hand, and as a Crawler, that would severely put you at a disadvantage. Any punch you try to throw would be weak, and your defense even more so.”
She says all of this as if stating the weather. I reach out with my power, twining it around the stunned man.
Crawler.
My lips twitch into a smile I can’t help.
Not quite a Psychic. Not quite an Ordinary, either.
“And your wife.” Paedyn’s cold gaze flicks to the woman beside him, now inching closer to her husband. “Even being a Healer, she couldn’t save your hand. And deep down, you despise her for it.”
The court stares up at their future queen, their eyes wide with disbelief while her own remain on that man’s face. “Am I wrong?”
His mouth opens and closes.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Am. I. Wrong?”
He dips his head, shaking it solemnly as the crowd explodes into a flurry of whispers.
Psychic, indeed. Something else, entirely.
Paedyn’s voice cuts through them all, a soft sort of demanding. “I am no Elite. And that is all you see when looking at me—everything I am not. So let me tell you what I am.” She takes a deep breath, the scar above her heart rising and falling. “I am power earned, not gifted. I became one of you. Observant enough to pose as a Psychic, strong enough to survive your Trials. Over and over, I have proved myself worthy of your loyalty.
“But I have faced far worse things than my own powerlessness.” She lifts an arm, running fingers over the scar beneath her collarbone. “I once wore this carving with shame, but now it is proof of my survival. No ability could have withstood what I alone have.” A smile touches her lips. “A king left his mark upon my heart, and now, I will leave mine across his kingdom.”
I’ve never seen something so beautiful, so bold, so blatantly right for me, for this kingdom, this hope of a united Ilya. And I fear I may forever be in awe of her. Looking at Paedyn Gray, I see a reckless sort of fearlessness, a power that swells from her vibrant soul.
“The Plague runs through my blood, same as yours.” Paedyn’s voice is clear, carrying over the silent throne room. “But it did not bless me with strength. I took it.”
Stepping to the edge of the dais, she lets her gaze wander over the crowd. “I am Ordinary. Elite. A power of my choosing. And I will be your queen—all that I am and fiercely what I am not.”
Silence.
The court stares at her in shock, in a confusing concoction of fear and respect. And Paedyn Gray stares right back.
“Silver Savior…”
The hushed whisper meets my ears, spurring me to step forward. “Bend the knee to your future queen of Ilya.”
Pae’s eyes snap to mine, and for a moment, it’s as though we are the only two souls occupying this room. There is that electrifying tether between us, tugging at my heart with every second I’m beheld by her. But the sound of shifting feet has my gaze tearing away and—
And every knee has met marble, every head bowed toward it.
Paedyn swallows at the sight of the court kneeling before her.
I smile.
Kitt grabs his queen’s hand.
“To the Silver Savior,” he calls over the crowd. “In three days’ time, she will be your queen of Ilya.”
