A familiar sensation overtook me as the guards dragged me into the throne room and pushed me to the ground. Whispers swarmed around me, wild and fervent. I kept my prayers to myself.

It would all be over soon. Hopefully I could buy Sabine some time.

"Look at me, you treacherous fool," came the king's voice. The guard that had been restraining me hesitated, his sword still poised at the center of my back.

"Your Majesty," his voice trembled and the room went silent at his direct address. He let out a strained sigh as the realized his misstep, but stubbornly stumbled along. "Is that...wise? The witch...her eyes."

I snorted into the floor. What kind of nonsense did they believe I could do with my eyes? The Angel's only knew. I would have used such a skill if I had it long before now.

The room paused, like an in-held breath. An irritated sigh came from the direction of the king. I looked up through the sheets of my matted hair as King Gilroy leaned forward, his shining leather shoes creaking as he shifted his weight.

"Are you trying to call me dumb, soldier?"

"No! Of course not Your—"

"Enough." The king's tone was clipped. "Your superstitions have no place here. Go ahead, let her go. She's nothing but a soft, spoiled, little girl. She's no threat, not now anyway."

This time the guard withdrew and I grit my teeth, my smile gone and I looked up, connecting with the king's inky black eyes. I saw nothing of Jourdon there. Today his expression was grim, clear of his usual drunkenness.

Now I could see bits and parts of Pierre in him.

"Ah, there we go. Angry as ever. And look—no spells or enchantments. For surely, if she could, she would have murdered me where I sit right now with that look alone."

There was a shuffle in the room and I slowly rose to my feet, ignoring the pain in my tired aching body. Whatever it was that was going to occur, I wouldn't do it grovelling on the floor. One quick glance around showed that I was surrounded by black clad Garnetti guards, their gazes wary. I did not see the intimidating black mask of the King's Guard, however.

Curious.

The King regarded me. "You have caused a real ruckus, girl." He sniffed, settling his palms on the arms of his chair. Garnets glinted red as he tapped his fingers. Beside him sat the Marquise, though, I noted, she did not sit on a throne. Her gaze strayed from me to the door. For once she was stiff, her body strained away from Gilroy.

I focused back on him. "It was worth a try."

The king's eyes flashed, rage brewing just behind the surface.

"You left a mess in your wake."

Internally, I flinched. Pierre may have betrayed me, but for his own father to refer to him as simply a mess? It didn't seem right. I kept my expression blank, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. I didn't reply, waiting to see what Gilroy would do next.

There was something in his eyes. A shiver spread over my skin, a hot burn spreading over my back. Like something within was scratching at the barrier of my skin, determined to be set free.

It took everything I had to stay in the moment. I may have played the madwoman the superstitious guards had wanted to see, but I would not allow the king to see me lose my dignity.

Gilroy didn't look away, his lips pressed into a hard line. When he spoke it came out more like a growl. "You and my own son have betrayed me."

My brows pressed together. Pierre may have betrayed me, but as far as I could tell he had not betrayed his father.

King Gilroy gestured to the far door and more guards swooped in, dragging in a man. It took me a few moments to recognize Jourdon. His hair was matted, dark with blood, his face nearly as swollen as Sabine's had been. When they pushed him to the floor, he curled in on himself and moaned, barely able to hold himself up.

My stomach sank. The whispers soared. No.

No. No. No.

Jourdon had helped me, he had been good. He was the one that was supposed to convince his father to call off his men. If there had been any chance to avoid a war, it dwindled before me as I stared at Jourdon.

The king let out a disapproving snarl. "My own son, my own heir. I always knew you were too soft, too like your Perlisian mother. Raised on stories of fairies and those sea vermin of hers—I tried to beat it out of you. I had hoped that putting you in that school would toughen you up, instill some proper Garnetti values in you, but I see it was all pointless now. For one little pretty girl, you betrayed your own country."

Jourdon shifted, pushing himself his knees so he could meet his father's eyes. His breaths came ragged and his whole body trembled so hard I could practically feel it. Still, he did not look away.

"You're wrong," he rasped through gritted teeth. "By saving her, I was trying to save this country. You are just too wrapped up in your own hate to see that."

The king let out a humorless laugh. "Hate, you say? And what is it that I hate? This Roserian bitch?" He gestured to me, then laughed again.

"Fool. Had it not been for that prolonged life of your sorry excuse of a mother, I would have taken the princess as my own wife. Would have put a son in her already, unlike you." Spit wet his lips. "My men watched you. Barely even tried, all this beauty and you what...just let her sleep in that room beside you? Woman are good for one thing, and one thing only. I gave you a gift son, and this is what you do with it?"

I was shaking with rage. But before I could release it, Jourdon pushed himself up the rest of the way, glaring at his father.

"And here I was afraid I had been treating the Princess poorly, knowing I would never feel such lust or romantic feelings," he spat out the words, his revelations reeling through me. "But I would have cherished her, treated her as an equal. And that makes me much more of a man than you have ever been."

The king's thick upper lip rolled into a sneer. "Touching, really. But your soft heart makes you weak. You have betrayed me, and your brother and I cannot leave that unpunished."

I furrowed my brow and looked over to catch Jourdon's eyes. Something icy filled me. How did the king come to find out so quickly what Jourdon had done? No one...left living...aside from me and Sabine knew who had freed us.

My heart pounded rapidly in my chest, and what I had been about to say froze on my tongue as I felt the Angels slowly fading, taking with them my fiery rage. Numbly, I watched as two figures moved in behind the guards. Black inky hair and ice-cold blue eyes met mine through the room and everything fell away. Blood still smeared his lips, a bruise like mar across his chin. I trembled at the intensity of his gaze.

Pierre. Pierre was alive. It was impossible...he had been dead...hadn't he been dead? There had been so much blood. Too much blood. It still stained his clothes. It was a miracle...

It was a curse.

As if reading my thoughts Pierre's lips turned into a cool smile.

"I can attest to my brother's treachery. How heartless, to leave me for dead on the floor after his betraying betrothed tried to eviscerate me." His voice was a low rasp, but it echoed through the room, beating against my eardrums.

He shouldn't be alive.

Pierre frowned, his features darkening, this time directed at Jourdon. "I knew I was weak to her beauty, brother, but you too? I never would have imagined you would turn on us all for no more than a pretty face."

Jourdon didn't look away from Pierre, but he didn't try to deny it. "She is much more than a pretty face, brother, but something tells me you knew that."

Pierre's cheek twitched, his gaze sharpening. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

The king cleared his throat. "Enough, you two. It has been a trying night. I have no more patience for all of this. One of my son's has acted behind my back, and the girl I welcomed here like my own daughter is to blame. Now, guards, kill the girl. I cannot stand it a moment longer—"

"Father," Pierre said, cutting off the king. He waved off the guard supporting him, and stood on his own, appearing surprisingly in well health despite being dead on the floor only an hour ago.

Behind me, the guard was all too eager to position his blade beside my neck, gloved fingers tangling in the knots of my hair as he pushed me to my knees.

"Always so hasty. Didn't we discuss that the princess would be having a public execution?"

King Gilroy turned his glare on Pierre. His lips twisted. "That was before the bloody thing tried to escape. No. She will die right this instant, I want her head posted outside upon the palace fence, for all to see, should that Roserian Witch Queen make it through the attack."

My mouth went dry. My heart raced. The missing horses, the missing soldiers. There was already no time.

Please Sabine, hurry.

Pierre snorted a short laugh. "What about my dear brother?"

The king's eyebrows pressed into an irritated line. "Well, he must watch the girl die."

Pierre let out an impatient sigh, and shook his head, rubbing a long finger against his blood smeared jaw. I noticed then he was trembling. From weakness, or anger, I was not sure. His expression was blank, emotionless. "That's it? That's all the punishment he gets?"

The king pursed his lips. "Are you suggesting I kill my own son—"

"No, not kill. Banish him." Pierre said steadily, taking a step closer to his father. His hand was crossed over his stomach, covering where I had stabbed him. Perhaps he was in pain. Good.

The king arched a brow. "He is my heir."

Something in Pierre's voice finally broke, his next words spitting out with accusation. "And I am also your son!"

A shocked silence fell over the room. Gilroy blinked, surprised. He glanced at Jourdon, then back at Pierre. "You want to be my heir?"

Pierre let out a humorless laugh. "Is a bastard still so unsavory to you that you would rather cling to this traitor as your heir than me? And you call him weak," Pierre sneered. He turned to the Marquise, who had sat silently observing most of the exchange. She paled under his scrutiny.

Was she afraid of him?

"Besides, my mother has always acted the role of queen when your wife was too ill to perform her duties. In a way, I am even more true born than my brother."

King Gilroy worked his jaw, and I realized with cold dread, he was considering Pierre's words. He was considering making Pierre heir.

This wasn't good. I wanted to scream, but they would never listen. It was too late now. I had accepted my death, yes, but it had been for a greater good. For the safety of my country. That was all pointless if Jourdon was banished and Pierre took his place.

"Fine," The king said. He turned back to the room. Giving his voice and authoritative edge. "I hereby banish my first born, Jourdon de Gilroy, and strip him of all titles. In his place I name my second son, Pierre de Gilroy, my true and rightful heir." King Gilroy pressed his eyes closed as if it pained him. "Get him out of my sight."

The guards moved to pull Jourdon away. He tried to fight them, but he was too weak to afford much of a challenge. Pierre watched on, moving over to his father so he stood next to his throne. Then he smiled, looking directly at Jourdon as he was taken from the room. Something metal glinted.

"No," screamed the Marquise.

But it was already too late. Faster than he should have been capable of, Pierre pressed a slim dagger into his father's throat. Blood gushed from it, bright red as it fountained down over his jeweled fingers. Gilroy tried to gasp in a breath. Wet and rattling, choking on his own blood.

Pierre let go of the blade, wiped his hand off on his father's shoulder. Blood splattered one side of his face. He looked out over the room.

"I suppose that makes me king now." He looked at the guard behind me. "Let her go."

The Marquise stood to her feet, backing away. "Son...what have you done...You-you killed him. You monster. You terrible, terrible monster. I knew the minute you were born with that awful hair. What have I done? No..."

Pierre sighed heavily. "Shut her up."

Black clad guards shifted around the room. Looking from the dead king to Pierre. Pierre's gaze flickered. "Now. Get the Marquise out of here, and let the princess go," he said, sure and stonily.

The guard behind me hesitantly moved away and I straightened. The Marquise choked on sobs as the guards led her out into the hall, in the same direction that Jourdon had gone.

Once the Marquise's voice faded, Pierre brushed off his coat, and smiled. "Better. I am king now; you will listen to me." He waved an impatient hand.

"Now leave me and the princess alone."