23. James

23

JAMES

T ime had lost all meaning since I witnessed Adina's execution. Hours, days—it could have been an eternity or mere moments. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, least of all keeping track of the passing hours. I existed in a fugue state, refusing food and drink, sleep eluding me entirely. When my servants and even Ravana failed to break through my haze of grief, they finally summoned my mother.

"James!" She burst into my chambers in a whirlwind of color and perfume.

My mother was still as strikingly beautiful as the day she married my father. Despite never being officially crowned queen due to her humble origins, she had risen to the occasion magnificently, every bit as regal as any royal-born monarch, but now her carefully crafted image was in disarray—makeup smeared, face puffy with fatigue, her usually elaborate coiffure reduced to a simple braid.

"Darling, you look terrible! Are you ill?"

Am I ill?

The question was so absurd I couldn't even muster the energy to respond. I turned away, gazing out the window at the garden beyond.

Not long ago, I had mourned the loss of this view, even as I welcomed the adventure that lay ahead. Now, my beloved garden might as well have been the walls of a prison cell. I was never getting out of here, that much was clear, but I was determined to make everyone else regret it too.

"James, talk to me."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and oppressive.

"Is it about that girl?" She took my hand, her touch gentle but insistent. "Darling, I know you'll miss her, but she'll be fine. She's lived in Londabad all her life—she simply won't be allowed near the palace walls any longer."

I turned to face her, my voice dull and lifeless. "Is that what you think happened? You believe Father turned her loose, set her free back in the city?"

My mother took my hand. "Naturally, she was outfitted with a warning transponder on her wrist chip to keep her from getting too close again, but that's not such a great hardship, right?"

I snorted. "Right."

She frowned. "What else would he do to the girl, have her whipped?" She shook her head. "We don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"Mother. She's dead."

The color drained from my mother's face, her bronze skin taking on an ashen hue as she stared at me in stunned silence. "What?" she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Adina is dead. Father had Jeffry kill her right in front of me."

"No," she said, denial warring with horror in her eyes. "No, that's not... he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't! I—I can't believe that."

"He did that right in front of my eyes," I said, raw agony tearing through me. "He had her murdered just because I dared to venture out of the palace and explore the city that I'm supposed to one day rule. He did that to teach me a lesson." None of this had been Adina's fault. The memory of her wide, terrified blue eyes stabbed me like a dagger to the heart, and I shuddered. "She's dead because of me."

"James, no..."

"And I want you to know something." I'd had little clarity of thought since witnessing the horrific act, but this, at least, I was certain of. "I want you to know that I will never, ever marry Lavanya. I will have nothing to do with her or any bride you and Father pick for me. I would sooner die. Do you understand?"

"James." My mother threw her arms around my neck, her tears dampening my shoulder. "Don't say that! Don't…there must be some mistake, we can fix this, I'm sure we can fix this. I'll just?—"

"We can't fix that. You can't fix death." I turned back to the window, my gaze unfocused as I stared out at the garden I once loved. "And I'm very, very serious about this. Let Father know. I don't care to speak to him myself."

He was dead to me. He was the king, but he was no longer my father.

My father was dead.

My mother tried to plead with me, but I refused to say another word, and eventually she left, no doubt rushing to confront my father.

If only I'd never met Adina. If only she'd robbed me blind and left me to fend for myself on the streets. If only I'd died instead of her... but I hadn't. Instead, I was going to ensure my father learned to regret what he'd done to her. And to me.

Those eyes... she had been so scared. So terribly, heartbreakingly afraid. I wanted to weep, but I had no tears left. Instead, I sipped on a cup of cold tea, stared out at the garden, and waited for the inevitable threats to roll in.