Shadows of the Crown

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ariella

I 've never been so blurred in my resolve. Knowing what I want, how I need to prepare for it, and executing a routine that will get me there is easy. Kill the king. That was the only goal I've had for two decades. But the moment I arrived at the castle? It shifted into killing the prince. And now? My head feels…off.

I shouldn't have fucked him.

It didn't seem like such a difficult choice in the moment, but I know better than to allow my desires to shadow everything else. I stretch my neck, attempting to forget the many spots along it I had to heal this morning—not my proudest moment.

The hairs along my skin rise when a piercing scream resonates through the halls, so deafening I am certain it will wake the Angel. My feet carry me through the severely empty castle, and I sprint faster when a large crowd of people enters my view. My stomach turns.

Something isn’t right .

I am unashamedly frustrated as the horde forces me to push them aside, when normally they run at the sight of me. I curse when dresses tighten around me.

My eyes close as I breathe deeply, calming my fretting heart. “Fucking move or you die,” I scream, and the whispers finally cease. Heads turn my way as bodies push back, creating a path. Habit insists I threaten several of them with my eyes, though I do not yield as I no longer see them.

The metallic notes in the humid air strengthen as I step toward the fountain. What is normally a beautiful sight now represents the worst of my nightmares. The griffin’s bright stone possesses a red hue as an endless stream of bloodied water pours from its mouth. Below, swirls of deep crimson dance through the pool, darkening by the second.

Whatever is causing the color change must be submerged.

My breathing shallows, saliva thickening to an unbearable point. Something knowing gnaws at my conscious, but I do not acknowledge it. One step further shows me the tips of fingers bobbing in the water. Another step, a skinless arm.

So many thoughts race through my mind, but there is just one pounding its way in, forcing me to see the scene for its truth.

I know what it is. Who it is.

And I know why.

The realms collide when my toes press against the stone, and my eyes confirm everything .

The last time I cried was the day my father was taken from me. I watched as the king whipped him endlessly for a crime he never committed. They had him chained in front of the castle gates, because that revolting excuse of a royal could not be bothered to leave the grounds to execute someone he charged with treason.

The crowd wouldn’t listen when I screamed my father’s innocence and begged for them to investigate the accusation further. Not one single person looked my way, even as my voice broke from the overuse. Instead, they yelled obscenities at him—cackling as he became weaker and his life drained from the wounds.

When I realized the people did not care about my words or that they just witnessed a blameless man be executed, I stared at the stone below his feet. I watched his blood run in rivulets through the cracks as they soaked up the last of his existence like starving beasts.

I didn’t blame the stone for taking what did not belong to it.

I envied it.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be it. To be the thing that consumes the warm blood of those who have mistreated and walked all over me for their own convenience.

I stood un-moving for hours, fascinated with how unapologetic the stone was. Even when they carried my father’s body away, I did not waver. I watched. Memorized.

I shifted into something new that day. No longer was I the girl who allowed others to think for her, or tell her what to do. Dead was the child who was too weak to fight for herself and those she loved. Forgotten was the daughter who let others carry her heart, as she wouldn’t live through ever feeling like that again.

They wanted to be monsters? Then I would be worse. I would become their every fear. The subject of each scary story told in the quiet of the night.

I would become their worst nightmare.

And when Marek found me and insisted I follow him to the guild? I wiped the last stray drop from my cheek and vowed that the only tears ever shed in my presence again would be from those I sunk my blade into.

I’ve broken that vow today.

Salty liquid cascades down my stoic face, the taste a reminder of what it feels like to be weak. I cannot find the will to care that so many others watch me, questions on their tongues.

Isaiah. My best friend.

The one person I’ve allowed myself to get close to, even knowing what it would do to me to lose him.

His body sways with the water, flayed skin breaking the surface every few seconds. The only part of him not sliced to pieces is the scar running over his cloudy brown eyes.

I kneel against the ledge, warring with my need to break down and my will to claim the life of every single person here. I am close to doing both when something creamy appears in Isaiah’s mouth. My hand reaches for it, trembling slightly when my fingers push past his slimy lips and sharp, jagged teeth.

Something solid presses against me, and I pinch it, blinking when the crinkling of paper breaks through the utter silence of the courtyard.

Three words sear through my every nerve like fire when I un-crumple the small bit of paper.

I warned you.

If that message did not solidify my resolve, the sound of the prince’s voice would have.

“What’s going on?”

No one speaks as his footsteps get louder. I rise from the ledge, stuffing the confession in my bra before crossing my feet to face the worried eyes of the prince.

“Ariella. What’s going on?” he repeats, his leg twitching to take another step but halting when my gaze darkens.

He was a fool to become attached to me.

I am not good or kind. I am not the girl you marry and enjoy a life with. It’s unfortunate he will be reminded like this…in front of dozens who wish for nothing more than to capture any gossip they can on the royals.

“This is your fault.” My voice is menacing and cold, causing him to wince. “You just couldn’t stay away from me, and that was your first mistake. Even after I’ve told you time after time that you mean nothing to me. That you are no more than a moment of entertainment. Even after I agreed to go to the ball with your fucking cousin, you still couldn’t leave me be.”

His nostrils flare, features glazing over before he remembers our eager audience. “I—” His stormy eyes flick to Isaiah, shoulders dropping when he sees just what could make the Silver Wraith cry. His throat bobs, a haunted expression overcoming his face. “I swear to you, I will find who did this and make them pay.”

“I know who did it! Are you that fucking ignorant, Caspian, that you haven’t a clue?” He bristles and rubs at the stubble along his jaw. His gaze searches mine for several moments before he nods, looking away.

Is that all? A nod of acknowledgment for what he and his family have done?

I don’t fucking think so.

I unsheathe one of my blades and fling it, ignoring the warmth that blooms in my abdomen when the prince catches it just before it sinks into his heart. Exasperated noises fall from the mouths of the crowd. They retreat as a group, though do not leave the courtyard—always looking for a show.

I’ll give them one.

Guards rush me, swords drawn to take what they think will be my life. “Leave her be.” The prince raises a hand, gesturing for the men to stand down. They share confused glances before obeying, though they do not return to their original positions. “You want someone to take your anger out on, angel? That’s fine—I’ll have whatever you wish to give.” His arms widen, a clear invitation. This is a dangerous game he’s playing, unaware of just how thin a line he treads.

“Take my anger out on you? As if you do not deserve it?” My voice rises as I take purposeful steps toward him. He watches me with sympathy, waiting until I’m just inches away to speak.

“I do. I’m sorr—” My fist strikes his jaw, familiar pain radiating through my knuckles from the contact. He catches himself on hands and knees, heaving as he spits hot blood to the ground.

“Do not pity me. You are not sorry,” I hiss, grabbing the collar of his thick jacket and dragging him to his feet so that our chests press together. My eyes find his as they demand him to hear my next words as if they were his last. “But you’re about to be.”

“Ariella—”

“No. There is nothing you can say that I will listen to. Isaiah is dead. Your entire family will pay for this.” His brows furrow, skin paling as he registers the blade in his abdomen. “Starting with you.”

I release his collar, not taking my eyes from his pained ones as I step back. He falls to his knees, hands trembling around the protruding metal.

He laughs, groaning at the movement. Bile rises while my chest constricts every available muscle. I barely notice people screaming and hurriedly running from the scene. The guards advance once again, though I do not move to protect myself. I refuse to look away and break the connection between Caspian and me.

“You are forbidden from touching her!” he roars, coughing at the last word as blood spills from his mouth. He hunches forward, struggling to hide the pain in his features. They pause, unsure of what to do in such a situation, eventually relenting when the prince pins them with a sharp glare.

Has he learned nothing?

I should heal— no . He deserves this.

When the courtyard is empty, his heavy eyes find mine, pleading for promises and confessions I will not give. I look one last time to his blood soaking through the stone—a stark reminder.

In my peripheral, guards peek from around the castle doors, clearly arguing with each other, though none come for me. One barks for another to find a healer. I chuckle to myself—it won’t matter if they find one or not. Caspian’s fate will not change.

The prince’s legs give out as he clambers to his side, barely holding his body up with one arm. He struggles for a few moments before exhaustion overcomes him, eyes closing as his back thuds heavily to the ground, hands clutching the blade.

“That was your second mistake, prince.”

I return to Isaiah’s cooling body, my hands trembling as I step into the bloody water to pick him up. I cannot look at him as we walk through the castle gates, back to our home .

Tears continue to fall, but their meaning shifts. They began shedding for the harrowing murder of the only person I had left…the kindest, most reliable person to have ever graced either realm.

Now they shed because there is simply nowhere else for the rage to go.

I lost focus of my plan, and Isaiah paid the price. He was supposed to win the competition and find a life outside the one we were forced into as children. He may not have admitted it, but I know he only stayed at the guild this long because I refused to leave. He never understood why…and now he never will.

I let Caspian ease his way under my skin when I understood why being with him was impossible. Yet I foolishly convinced my logic otherwise.

I barely comprehend the screams of Valorian’s as I stalk through the main streets. I’m used to people fearing and running from me—they’re lucky I’ve a job to do, because I’d have no reservations about using any of them as an outlet.

Why should I? These are the same people who laughed as my father was whipped before their eyes…and now they scream because it’s me—and not the king—showcasing a dead body.

I’m certain some are running to report this to the king himself.

Good. He will hear my screams this time .

My limbs threaten to give out as I ascend the steps to Isaiah’s and my home. I kick the door in, unfazed by the clink of metal pieces dropping to the tile.

I stop just past the entrance and fix my eyes on the back wall next to the hallway that leads to Isaiah’s room. “Marek!” I scream, my lungs burning from the effort. Several of the students to my left jump, spinning to face me.

“Oh, look who it—” Isolde trips over someone on the floor as she rushes over with a few of the others. “By the Angel…is that…” She slaps a hand over her mouth, holding in what someone in the distance cannot.

Why are you at the fucking guild if you’re going to vomit over a dead body?

“Marek!” A sharp pain laces my throat as my voice cracks. He rushes up the stairs with Velora and Jaxon directly behind him.

“What is it?” His hurried steps falter when his eyes find me and slide to my best friend. His lips thin as he steps forward, blinking several times.

He searches my face when his feet stop in front of me. “Ari…” he whispers imperceptibly.

“Don’t.” He knows why I ended up at the guild. How much Isaiah means to me. I look between his down-turned eyes, willing him to understand. “Give him a proper death,” I demand hoarsely, holding Isaiah out to him, even though I never wish to let go.

He hesitates, breathing unevenly as he reaches out to gather the unnaturally cool body. My tongue presses roughly to the roof of my mouth—a warning, I realize. I need to leave.

I spin on my heel and walk around the crooked door, pausing when Marek speaks. “And you? What will you do?”

I look over my shoulder, raising a brow in a way that says, “the king’s head is mine.” He nods, and my chest somehow hurts more when he mouths his next words instead of allowing me to interpret them from his expression.

I’m sorry.

My throat burns, but I lift my chin and cherish the last look I will ever have of Isaiah Cheral before turning to descend the steps.

Two fingers tap firmly against my blade. The king just killed the one thing he could hold over my head…now he can watch his kingdom burn.