Chapter 32

Thirty-Two

Okay, so it may be a little risky. And while my brain is trying to tell my heart that it’ll all work out in the end, the message isn’t translating to the rest of my body because my hands are shaking and my legs feel weak.

We’re in an alcove of evergreen trees on the edge of the Summer Palace. Arion knows most of the guards’ stations and foot paths, and he assured us this was the best hiding place.

I can just make out the tall spires of the palace through the waxy tree leaves.

Bran grabs me by the wrist and yanks me into him. “Be careful, little mouse.”

“As careful as I can be,” I tell him.

He gives me a kiss. Quick and to the point but bites at my bottom lip, reminding me who’s in charge. Being careful is an order and I’m expected to follow it.

I grin up at him.

When he’s sure we’ve had our moment, Arion comes over. “Just make me one promise, little sister of mine. Don’t kill the queen before I reach you.”

“You have my word.”

He gives me a quick nod and then I turn and walk toward the palace.

The guards stationed at the front gate are so fooled by my magical illusion that they bow their heads deeply as I pass beneath the stone archway.

I ignore them the way Arion and Lethea instructed me. Members of royal courts do not look at, speak to, or acknowledge guards.

It takes everything in me to follow this rule. Are they not worthy of a hello or a simple wave? That’s the first thing I’ll change at my court. Just as soon as I destroy my enemies and reclaim my throne.

Once inside the palace, I go left and then take a right and then enter a receiving room. There are several fae here, some in the middle of a game of dice, others feasting on what looks like roasted meat and sweet tarts.

At the end of the red carpet that runs from the entrance to the closed door at the back, a woman cuts me off.

She’s got a long braid of red hair and perfect brown skin. Her pointed ears are capped with gold jewelry and red gems hang from piercings in her lobes.

“Greetings, Princess Lethea,” she says. “State your reason for visiting. Last you were here, you were a prisoner, were you not?”

The woman arches a knowing brow.

My first instinct is to laugh like it’s a big joke, and then my second instinct is to lie about it. It’s not until my third instinct kicks in that I remember I’m supposed to be Lethea—cold, calculating, fearless Lethea, a fae assassin princess who also cannot lie. I keep my face blank and say, “May I please see the queen? I’ve been sent here with an urgent matter from the Autumn Queen.”

The woman’s gaze turns suspicious, and it takes everything in me not to fidget beneath her scrutiny.

Lethea probably never fidgets.

“What matter?” the woman asks.

“Confidential,” I answer.

“Hmmm,” she says.

The seconds grow taut. I keep my hands hanging limply by my sides.

How long will this illusion last? Is it already starting to break and she’s scanning my face, seeing the shimmer of magic, the hint of my real features shining beneath?

Oh gods.

Hold it together, Jessie!

“Very well,” she finally says and turns to the door. “Wait here. The queen will be right with you.”

As I wait to be greeted by the queen, I clasp my hands behind my back and try to look bored, not anxious.

The seconds tick by. The urgency to get this over before the magic wanes builds anticipation in my gut.

I clamp my mouth shut to drive off the nausea. It doesn’t work.

The group of fae playing dice at the round table behind me finishes their game and leaves.

The other smaller group whisper to one another, then shove aside their empty plates and disappear through an unmarked side door.

Now I’m all alone in the room.

I guess that’s a good thing because I can let out a breath, suck in another and wait without scrutiny.

I pace.

There are several round tables in the room with bookshelves lining one wall and a giant woven tapestry on the other.

The tapestry depicts a war scene. The art is detailed and intricate and as I scan its breadth, I realize it must be the Autumn Revolt. On the one side, the fae are wearing blue and silver-blue with snowflakes embroidered around them. On the other, at the forefront, is the Summer Court surrounded by green vines and vibrant flowers. They’re shown as the saviors, helping the Autumn Court at the last second when it looks like all is lost.

Would Lethea see it that way?

From the other side of the closed door, I hear a thump, then a grunt.

My instincts raise the hair along the nape of my neck.

Something is amiss.

I take a few tentative steps toward the closed door, keeping my breathing shallow so I can hear what’s going on, on the other side.

I’m just about to put my ear to the door when it’s yanked open and Sam appears.

“Sam?” I whisper and then check over my shoulder to make sure no one has arrived. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to come all the way to the palace!”

She takes me by the arm and yanks me inside, shutting the door behind us.

“Doing my part,” she answers and nods at a figure kneeling on the floor.

It’s the Summer Queen. And she’s tied up, mouth gagged.

Sam smiles at me.

“How did you…”

“Time for details later!” Her eyes are big and bright, her hair a little mussed. “Kill her now and then let’s party!”

I frown at Sam. “This wasn’t the plan!”

“Who cares about plans? Here is your enemy, bound and gagged.”

The Summer Queen shakes her head and tries to talk around the cloth shoved in her mouth. Only grunts make their way out.

Lethea gave me one of her blades to help round out the costume. I hold my fingers over the hilt now, itching to pull it.

This could all be over.

I could reclaim my throne.

But I promised Arion I’d wait for his arrival so he could have his revenge.

But we never talked about this scenario.

What if they’re still far off? What if we miss our chance because I sat back and waited?

I will never forgive myself if I fuck up the opportunity to end this war and reclaim my throne. I’ll just have to ask my brother for forgiveness.

“Be quick about it,” Sam says.

I pull the blade from its sheath.

The queen fights against her bindings, her eyes watery with tears. I imagine her beginning me for mercy but the words are unintelligible.

“You destroy everything you touch,” I tell her. “I can’t let you keep hunting me down. I can’t let you hurt the people I love.”

I sink the blade into the queen’s chest.

She gives a lurch and tears spill from her eyes.

I feel sorry for her, for just a minute.

But I have to harden myself to it.

She doesn’t deserve my empathy.

Blood seeps from the wound and soaks through her shirt.

She fights against the bindings, groans around the gag.

The air around her shimmers bright gold.

Is she trying to use magic on me? I don’t feel anything.

Her face is obscured by the shining light and when it breaks, horror washes through me.

Because the queen is no longer the queen.

She’s Sam.