Page 67 of Ruin of Revenants

“King Wystan surely isn’t going to force him to slay another on his birthday.”

I glanced back to find that Owen stood behind Lily, his expression solemn. His height allowed him a clearer view, and I wondered if he could see all the way past the crowd—which was growing frenzied-looking, practically blocking the guards’ paths in their eagerness—to the victim. “You know he will, Lily,” he said in his rumbling tone. “He will consider it part of the celebration. A way for the future king to prove himself to his court on his birthday.”

“Where is he?” Lily asked frantically, scanning the crowd. “Did he leave?” She glanced at me, still holding my wrist, as if the point of contact was buoying her as much as it helped me.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My skin went hot and cold. Vaguely, I remembered sparks of flame in the air, desire and anger tangling. Archer’s hands on my face and in my hair, his lips on mine.

He couldn’t be far, but I couldn’t summon the focus to call to him with my mind.

Isa. Get out of here. Archer’s tone was firm and commanding in my head.

Not a chance.

Anger mingled with my fear, giving me the strength to tamp down on my urge to unfurl my magic. But what if I did? a wild, angry part of myself wondered. What if I lost control and burned down this entire ballroom?

The desire fizzled out almost instantly. Although I was disgusted and angered by the cheering of the courtiers around me, there were fae that weren’t bloodthirsty, such as Owen and Lily, who were not partaking in the celebration. I didn’t even want to harm the ones who were cheering, not truly. I sighed, deflating. I was no killer, and I didn’t want to be.

Archer appeared, pushing through the throng and making his way past the flurry of activity—directly toward us—and his expression was sterner than I’d ever seen it. No charming smile. No careless, easy attitude. His eyes were dark, locking onto mine as if I were the only other person in the room.

“Allow the guards to bring the prisoner to me,” King Wystan announced in his booming voice, and the fae scattered. At last, I had a view over Archer’s shoulder of the scene I’d dreaded. Two guards gripped the arms of another chained prisoner, guiding him toward the throne. As they pushed forward, they stepped into the flickering candlelight from one of the chandeliers overhead and were bathed in a golden glow that revealed their features.

My stomach bottomed out, my knees turning weak. Bren? I tried to catch my breath, realizing I was hyperventilating. Why was he here? What had happened? How had he allowed himself to get captured?

Tears burned my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. I had to stop it. I had to—

I stepped forward as Archer reached me, seizing my arm. “Isa.”

A tear escaped as I turned to Archer. “You can’t do this again. Not today.” My voice broke. I didn’t care if Owen and Lily overheard, for they felt the same. He’s Brenton, I sent into Archer’s mind. My brother.

Archer stiffened, his eyes widening as he searched my face.

“Please,” I whispered.

The prince reached up, brushing my tear away with his thumb. A thread of hope unspooled within me, dashed away almost just as fast by the king’s jarring voice.

“Archer, step forward. It’s time to test this prisoner and execute him.”

“Your Majesty,” one of the guards said, dipping his head. His shaggy, sandy hair hung into eyes that were as red as flames, and his mouth twisted in a cruel smile. “There is no need to test this one. We caught him shifting from his phoenix form right after he crossed into Rainsong.”

“Just as I’ve suspected,” King Wystan said, his voice a low, threatening growl. “The fire demons are using their phoenix forms to breach the barrier. A nice little trick from that hag, Maris, to follow my request to the letter and not block out the one thing we need protection from the most. The barrier only keeps unwanted fae out…not animals.” He sneered.

My blood heated at the way he growled the word animals. Because that was what they thought of us: that we were unruly creatures to be put down.

Archer pulled away from me, walking unsteadily toward his father’s throne, his charming smile pasted back on his face. My blood thrummed in my ears.

With the way Bren was positioned before the throne, his face angled downward, he hadn’t found me in the crowd. Would he think I’d betrayed them all if he saw me dressed up for celebration with our enemies?

Shame burned through me at the memory of the searing kisses I’d shared with the crown prince only moments before, the one now walking forward to condemn my family.

“Father, this is not the way I wanted my birthday celebration to go,” Archer said, slurring his words.

King Wystan scowled down at him. “How much have you imbibed already, son?” he growled.

Archer laughed. “It’s my birthday!” He spun toward the crowd, lifting his hands in a grand gesture. “It’s a day for us all to celebrate and drink and eat to our hearts’ content.” He gave an exaggerated scowl. “Not the day for punishments.”

Murmurs arose throughout the ballroom, and a chill skated across my skin. What if the people, out of fear, rebelled against their beloved crown prince and insisted on an execution anyway?

“Lock him in the dungeons,” Archer continued, waving his arm carelessly. “We can plan a separate day to execute him properly.”