Page 18 of The Crown's Awakening
“Your mother was nothing more than your father’s side whore,” I spat. “Do not posture in front of me about my husband when you’re a bastard with no real claim. A bastard whose only ascent to anything meaningful needed to involve manipulating a vulnerable woman.”
“Asharin, I?—”
My hands tightened against the bed. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too,” he roars.
I have never seen him lose control, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me startle.
The room falls silent.
“Colsar is the most selfish person I know,” he said, voice low. “He is not going to walk through a sea of undead for you. Or for anyone.”
He laughed softly. “And even if he tried, I can assure you he would not survive it.”
The color drained from my face. “What do you mean?”
He stopped. "This ship is compromised. We are no longer cloaked or warded. We are transferring to a Thren vessel.” He paused. “The Vethara.”
As though the name of the ship matters.
“It has already arrived.”
He didn’t pause. “Nyara is already aboard. You won’t see her again until we reach Alarna. We will separate those with power from those without.”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Colsar will still find?—”
“No,” Teorin said, cutting me off.
“He won’t.” His voice carried a certainty that made my chest tighten. “When we leave this ship, we will set it on fire,” he continued. “A distraction. Everyone will believe we died here.”
He sighed. “Some of the elderly have volunteered to stay. They would rather burn on Eravic’s ship than set foot on a Thren ship.”
So would I.
“And the undead will come,” he added. “They will gather at the promise of food. By the time they are finished with this wreck, their numbers will have grown.”
He held my eyes. “By the time your Colsar hears of it, if he even chooses to act, he will be walking into something far worse than what you see now.” He looked almost satisfied. “And that,” he said, “is not something he survives.”
CHAPTER 7
Resolve
The words did not leave me.
Not something he survivespressed inward, deeper than everything else he has said, making it difficult to separate from the rest of what is happening. He watches me as though silence is something he can bend if he waits long enough, but there is nothing in me that will move toward him.
“We’re leaving.”
“No.” The answer comes immediately. “I’m not going with you.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I always have a choice.” My voice rises before I can temper it. “I’m not getting on your ship.”
His expression does not change. “You are.”
“No.”
