Epilogue
“She is no princess, but a blight, hellbent on poisoning the Crown. She is darker than Saffron, crueler than the bastard who defied me. Let her name be known only for its evil. Elorengail Steele—the Dark Heir.”
— Queen Delaina Lyonaire, decree before the Church of Fate
Luna sat trembling, roped and bound to a chair in the middle of the woods, surrounded by dark blue tents.
Prince Payn sat on a chair in front of her with a tiara in his hand. The campfire cast a warm, shadowy glow on his angular face, his eyes red in stark contrast to his snow-like hair.
“You’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble answering my questions so far,” Prince Payn murmured, leaning forward in his seat. His finger traced along the tiara.
Luna kept silent.
“So let me get this straight. You managed to escape the Northern Waywards. Before that, you lived with a girl named Elora,” he paused, as if saying her name sliced open a bitter wound. “After your escape, you what? Whored around taverns thinking you wouldn’t be captured?”
Luna closed her eyes, lip quivering as she nodded. “Please don’t kill me,” she begged.
Payn rolled his eyes and stood. “You Blackhearts are so dramatic. I’m not going to kill you. I have a job for you.”
Luna perked up. “What’s the job? I’m experienced in many things,” she promised suggestively.
Payn grimaced. “Nothing like that. You’ll learn more later. For now, I have one more question. After you answer, I’ll let you change into clothes that aren’t soaked in piss. Fair?”
She nodded graciously. “Whatever you want.”
Payn cut the restraints off in a clean slice. “Come with me.”
Luna did as told and followed the blood prince through the heavily guarded camp. When he stopped, he drew back the opening of a tent.
“Tell me everything you know about my idiot brother.”
Luna gaped at the limp body lying on a table, bandages wrapping his chest. If it weren’t for his shallow breathing, she would’ve thought he was dead.
TO BE CONTINUED