Page 132 of The Shadows Between Us
The door to the sitting room bursts open, nearly flying off its hinges.
“Lady Stathos, you’re ordered to appear before the king immediately.” Some nondescript guard issues the command. He’s flanked by two other men wearing the crest of the king.
“Is Kallias all right?” I ask as I stand abruptly.
“Take her,” the first guard says, and the other two flank me, each grabbing one of my arms, and start physically pulling me toward the doorway.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Rhoda yells from behind me. “That’s the future queen. Unhand her at once.”
But she’s ignored, and my arms are bruised as I’m dragged up the stairs, toward the library that Kallias and I use for our private meals.
After a while, I stop struggling and just bear the humiliation. I will deal with these three men once I’m with Kallias. Oh, how they’ll pay then.
This is some sort of mistake. They must have misunderstood the king’s orders. I can’t imagine what he said to give them the impression I should be treated as a prisoner.
But when they finally release me, I find Kallias alone in the library, his back to the door.
“Wait outside,” he says to the guards. They do, shoving me unceremoniously toward the king.
“Kallias, what is this? Gods, I have bruises from the guards!”
He turns, his eyes going to my arms to assess the damage. Then, as if remembering himself, he looks away, hardening his features.
“Why did you come to court?” he asks in a low tone.
“Because you asked me to!” I’m fuming now.
“No. What was your real purpose? Why were you at the ball, the one specifically set up by my advisers because they wanted me to select someone to court? Why did you ignore me, practically force me to come to you?”
Dread sinks low in my chest, but how—how could he know?
“Where are these questions coming from? Have I done something wrong? Kallias, it’sme.”
Did Zervas spout more drivel about me being involved in his attacks?
“The servants finished moving your things over to my room. This was found in your wardrobe.”
He holds up the vial of minalen—the one I stole from the healer and then shoved into the back of my wardrobe ages ago.
And promptly forgot about.
“Kallias—”
“You are suspected of treason,” he bites out. “And you will address me asYour Majestyfor these proceedings.”
Something in my heart twists, breaks, dissolves away. Leaving a gaping wound in its place. I need a lie. A convincing one. Fast. Now.
But I, conniving, scheming Alessandra Stathos cannot think of a single thing to say when he looks at me with such loathing.
“Why was this in your wardrobe?” he demands. “I’ve already had it examined by one of my healers. It’s the same kind of poison that was found in my cup after your ball.”
Oh, a horrid coincidence.
I open my mouth.
“I don’t think you’ve ever lied to me, Alessandra.”
I haven’t. Not really.
