Page 4 of Devoured

“I’m willing to find out,” Lyra croaks through pale lips. Her dark hair mats in vicious knots while the tattoos on her skin have dimmed to a sickly gray. She pulls her knees into her chest, pressing her back against the wall. “Kick me out and let’s see, Your Majesty.”

Cora glares at Lyra. “I do not take commands from humans.”

“Didn’t you screw a human once?” Evelyn Lee asks, her voice the soft hum of a birdsong even as her words cut like a blade. Evie leans forward on her elbows, setting down the stake she was whittling seconds ago. Every werewolf in the room turns to look at her. “What?” She shrugs. “Yesterday, you said, ‘In this new court, we are all free to ask questions and voice our opinions.’ ”

I grind my teeth. Sinclair stiffens. Tension thickens as whorls of black smoke begin to seep from the rest of the castle into the hall.

Queen Cora tilts her head, though the crown atop it doesn’t wobble in the slightest. “In fact, I did, Evelyn Lee. Yours is a good question, and I am happy to answer it.” That snarled smile pulls unnaturally wide. “You see, in my court, it does not matter if a werewolf is the disgraced child of dead royals”—Evie flinches—“or Bitten and turned. I value each and every one of you equally.” Cora dips a spoon into a bowl of porridge, swirling meager streaks of brown sugar and syrup with a demure hand. “I did have sex with a human. A human I attempted to transform into a werewolf so we might be together. Sybil Severi took that away from me. She—just like the rest of her bigoted ilk—felt that only Born werewolves were true werewolves. She wanted to keep bloodlines pure. She was wrong, and she suffered for it.”

Evie nods shortly, her red gaze flaring hotter by the second. She’s too impatient. Unruly. She’s going to get us all killed. “So you treat Lyra like a dog because—”

“Because she is an oracle, a speaker for a universe whose mouth does not otherwise exist. I treat Lyra like the interloper she is because I do not believe in the stars, and I do not believe in being controlled. We are the leaders of our own destinies, Evelyn Lee, and you would do well to remember that. I sacrificed my family to grant us each the ability to live our lives the way we choose. If you would like to go and screw a human, I encourage you to do so. I encourage you to bite them, transform them, bring them among our kind. We should be growing our numbers, not stifling them due to overwrought rules from centuries ago told to us by a young woman who does not belong here.” Cora drops her spoon, looking over the rest of the room. Looking out at Evie, at Calix, Portia, Lyra, and me. “I understand there will be growing pains. I am not too ignorant to think you won’t need time to adapt to this new regime. But remember that our strength comes from one another, and weakness simply will not be tolerated. A garden can only flourish once the weeds have been pruned.”

“Am I a weed, then?” Evie asks, her voice low and taut.

“Only time will tell. Now, eat.”

Cora doesn’t need to command the feast to begin. This court isn’t supposed to work like the old court. Werewolves aren’t supposed to fear eating before the queen or her son. Still, they only return to their gilded plates once she demands it. The clang of metal against metal fills the cracks of silence, and soon dozens of werewolves are gobbling down eggs and sausages and heaping bowls of steaming oats. All the while, I just sit here. I just watch.

“Eat,” Sin murmurs to me. “Please, Vanessa.”

I want to glare at him. I want to stab my fork through his pale hand. But when I look up, the queen is watching us.

“Are you not hungry, darling?” she asks, and though her tone is as airy as a summer breeze, I know her meaning is not. “My son has been worried you aren’t eating enough. We can’t have such a valuable member of this court falling ill, now, can we?”

Freaking Sin.

I have tried so hard to keep Cora’s attention off me. Of course he’s sabotaging that too. I snatch a piece of buttered toast from the center of the table and slather it with strawberry jelly before taking a huge, performative bite.

After I swallow, I say, “Oh,” and match her grin with a cheery one of my own. I think of Celeste, of the sunshine she radiated on a daily basis. I think of Oona’s laugh. I think of how, because of Cora, they’re both dead. “No. I’ve just avoided eating meat.” I finish the toast with Cora’s narrowed eyes trained on my every movement. “All that useless slaughter, you know? It unsettles me.”

Sin glances between us. “I… didn’t know, actually.” His brow furrows, a deep crease of concern dividing his golden forehead.

I arch a brow at him. Tilt my head. Try anything to make it seem as if I’m annoyed. Mildly humored. Not nauseous. Not sick from that lump of bread churning hot in my stomach. I’m just annoyed. “I thought you would notice.”

The muscles along his jaw flex. “Then, we’ll stock up on vegetarian items. Beans, legumes, lentils, tofu. Are you allergic to soy? Soy allergies are very common, even among werewolves. Perhaps we should order more fruit to the castle. Everyone likes fresh produce—”

I promptly tune him out. While Sinclair lists every single fruit known to werewolf kind, counting them off on his fingers, I stare straight ahead and nibble on another piece of toast. I’m not doing enough. This performance—it’s not going to convince anyone if I can’t douse the flames of rage burning through my chest. I try to breathe, but it’s as if I can’t quite gather the air in my lungs. As if the air is empty. As if I’m empty.

A shadow ripples just behind the queen.

An apparition of Celeste with a ribbon of blood spilling down her scalp.

My claws threaten to rip from my nails and expose every hideous thing I’m thinking. I stare at the table, at the petrified sausages on my plate, at their wrinkled casings and grill marks. I do not look at the goblets of wine. I do not picture them as goblets of blood. I do not smell the viscera of the dead haunting this hall.

I need to get a grip right now if I’m going to deliver any sort of justice. I lift my gaze, meeting Celeste’s watering brown eyes. They are hazy, but I can still make out the flecks of sunlight amber in them. I can still count the moles and freckles on her arms. I know, if I allow myself, I could hear her too. I could waste the rest of my life talking to this hallucination of her.

But that won’t help, and I’m done losing this game.

I didn’t sign up to play it. I didn’t ask to be part of this court. But that no longer matters.

I will not lose again.

So I shift my gaze from Celeste to Cora, smile, and take a larger bite of my toast. I chew as if it tastes better than ambrosia and swallow with a smooth gulp. “Breakfast is delicious,” I add sweetly.

“Good. I’m happy to hear it.” Her eyes sear into mine, smoke reflecting, undulating, in the blackness as that thick, unnatural smog from earlier rises. It sweeps through my hair, around my shoulders, and clings to my skin like sweat.

Cora claps then, as if she can smell the negativity of my thoughts, and I startle in my seat.