Page 85 of The Crown's Awakening
They move without hesitation, binding him, lifting him despite the way his body fights against it, despite the blood that continues to pour, despite the broken sounds that spill from him as they drag him upright.
I watch it. I let myself see it.
“Bring him to the square,” I add.
The trembling has changed, no longer held beneath my skin or contained within me, but moving freely now, rising like heatand spreading through me with a quiet insistence that will not be stilled, carrying with it a clarity that feels clean and certain, as though something long building has finally taken its proper shape.
I am done enduring what should never have been endured, done allowing men who are less than me to reach as though I belong to them, as though I could ever be something they are entitled to take, and as their faces move through my mind—the Baron, Mysin, Hurstinal, all of them—it becomes something final, something that leaves no room for hesitation, no room for what I once permitted simply because I believed I had no other choice.
Whatever I once tolerated has been burned away, leaving nothing behind but certainty, the kind that runs deep and does not waver, the kind that changes everything around it without asking.
My fingers tighten slightly around what I hold, the weight of it grounding me, anchoring me in the present and in the choice I have already made, a choice that cannot be undone and does not need to be, because it is right, because it is necessary, because it ensures that what comes after me will not carry the same stain.
I turn to the guard next to me. “Go to Hurstinal’s chambers and bring me every bit of gold and coin in his room.”
The guard looks nervous. “Majesty?—”
“All of it,” I cut in.
The rest of the guards stand in the corridor, staring at me.
“Move,” I say, my voice quiet, but carrying all the same.
And they do.
CHAPTER 29
The Punishment
They drag him into the square, and I follow at my own pace, unhurried, letting the sound of it carry ahead of us. By the time we reach the center, people are already gathering, drawn by the blood, by the noise, by whatever instinct tells them something has shifted.
Good.
They force him to his knees, though he can barely hold himself upright. Blood has soaked through his trousers, dark and spreading, dripping steadily onto the stone beneath him. His breathing is uneven, breaking into small, useless sounds that no one bothers to quiet.
I stop a few steps in front of him and let the silence build.
Then I open my hand. Two small, blood-slick pieces of flesh drop from my palm and strike the stone between us with a soft, wet sound. His testicles. No one mistakes them for anything else. A few people turn away immediately, but most remain where they are, staring as the reality presses in.
I feel it then, the moment when something that needed to happen finally does.
“Hurstinal may share my name,” I say, my voice carrying easily across the square, “but he is no family of mine.”
No one speaks.
“But let me be clear.” I let my gaze move across them, meeting eyes where I can and holding them just long enough.
“He tried to harm my child.” I look back at him. He’s shaking now, his body folding in on itself, his breath coming in broken, useless bursts.
“So now you never will have any of your own.” The silence deepens, thick and heavy.
I lift my head toward the crowd that has now emerged. “I’m here. I know what you expected. That I would listen, that I would do what you wanted, that I would accept a bond with the Threns.”
The word feels smaller now than it did before. “It’s not happening.”
Aunt Petunis appears at the edge of the crowd, her expression tightening as she takes in the scene.
“I am your queen heir,” I continue, my voice even, steady in a way that feels new and settled. “You don’t have to like me. That part doesn’t matter.”
