Chapter 63
Nadiette
Ishove through the doors to the throne room, not waiting for Waylon’s permission or the guards to allow me entrance. He has ignored my request to speak with him for two days, but no longer.
“He had but moments to decide if he wanted to marry me,” I state as I stride toward him, my skirts twisting about my ankles, cheeks hot with anger. This has gotten out of hand.
Waylon turns from a hushed conversation with one of his personal guards and settles more deeply into his seat. “It fits me nicely, does it not?”
I stop before the steps leading to the throne, hands fisted, eyeing the slightly smaller throne beside the larger one that was intended for me—until now.
“The deadline for our marriage was not yet up before you imprisoned him,” I seethe.
“It is now.”
“We had an agreement!” I hide my fists within my skirt to conceal their shaking.
“You had weeks, my dear. ’Tis not my fault he’s not interested. The guards say he rejected you quite quickly upon his return.” He inspects the gold edging along the left arm of the chair, rubbing it with his thumb. “But as agreed, you’ll maintain a high position within my court.”
“What of the other low kings?” I ask.
“We are no longer low. Do not use that word again.” He narrows his eyes at me. “We are now The Four Kings, and this portion of the kingdom is mine.”
“And what of you ignoring me these past days? Is that how you will treat your head originator?”
“You may go. Resume your duties as normal.” He waves his hand at me as if I am a nuisance.
“But—”
“Now.”
Two guards step forward, and I quickly spin away in order to avoid their grasp on my arms. I silently curse my uncle and wonder how to fix the things I’ve done. Or rather, undone. There must be a way.
The guards corral me toward a door set in the far wall that will take me toward my office.
I stand in the hallway, fuming as they close it behind them, and I listen as their footsteps fade.
I turn to leave, but upon hearing the throne room doors once more slam open on the other side of the door, I pause.
I risk cracking the door open the tiniest bit, and the ring of swords being swiftly drawn within the throne room sounds at the same time as Waylon raises his voice.
“Renton. What is this? You’ve already been paid.”
I turn and peek through the crack when I hear the tread of many boots cross the marble floor.
“I’m The King of Shadows, here to reclaim my throne.” He glances all around the throne room as if letting the long-awaited glory of it settle in his vision. “The kingdom of Moneyre is rightfully mine.”
Waylon laughs, loud and low. “You are a simple mercenary. I’ve never heard of what you speak. Shadows?” he asks mockingly.
Even from my secreted space, I feel the tension seep from the throne room into the hallway where I hide. Dread pools in my belly. The King of Shadows?
“Arrest them,” Waylon commands, his voice cold.
I open the door a little wider, just enough to see what’s happening, when a burst of black engulfs the room.
Its smoky, wispy edges begin to crawl swiftly toward me in the hallway like writhing snakes, weaving amidst the shouting of guards.
Then there’s a strangled shout—louder than the rest—and a gurgling choke.
As the darkness clears, I gasp to see Waylon slumped over one side of the throne. Gray… and very dead.
A whimper begs to escape, but I clap a hand over my mouth and remain still.
Renton speaks, his black-clad entourage of soldiers unmoving. “I am King of Moneyre. You answer to me now. If you don’t, you’ll be as dead as he.”
The guards look between each other, then sheathe their weapons, one by one.
“Good.” Renton nods as he smoothly climbs the steps and tosses Waylon from the throne with a sickening thud before taking the seat. “Arrest all originators, and prepare the Tulip.”
Arrest us? And the Tulip? Breath refuses to come fully as I realize the consequences of my actions are bigger than I ever could have imagined. Shadow King? Renton?
I press a hand to my head, feeling faint for the first time in my life, as my thoughts spin.
I did this. My stomach turns as if to heave its contents, and I resist the urge to sink to the floor.
Those wisps of gloam are growing thicker now, slithering along the crevices and smooth stone walls around me.
I step away from them in horror. Ikar is the only one who can fix this…
All at once his anger over my actions hits me with painful understanding.
The betrayal on his face… I cover my mouth with a shaky hand as the thud of Waylon’s body hitting the floor echoes in my ears.
I can’t fix what I’ve already done, but maybe I can still help. Drade.
I lift my dress above my ankles and run, the words to a message already running through my mind.