Chapter 10 Skylar
The only sound in the ballroom is the echo of the witch queen’s words, bouncing off the stone.
The castle. She’s in the fucking castle.
And literally hundreds of people are staring down at where she’s been dumped on the marble floor, rope cutting her bound wrists.
Not just people but… The royal family is on a dais, looking down at her as one united front.
She scrambles to her feet, and the nearest nobles back away, eyeing her as if she is a feral animal. She glares at every one of them.
Allow me to introduce you to your firstborn child.
The words don’t make sense. Apparently, the king doesn’t think so, either, because his attention shifts from her to the white-haired witch. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, here, Gwen, but—”
“Oh, I think it’s perfectly clear what I’m implying, Your Majesty.” Her accent is thick, but she manages to make the last word a sneer. “And before we go ahead with the Blood Binding, I thought it best to get the facts straight.”
The Vatran queen turns her head to the witch queen, her inky black hair pinned back from her face. Now it’s only the prince watching Skylar, curiously expressionless. Him, and a blond man standing at the edge of the dais, whose chiseled face is hard, eyes narrowed.
“If you mean to say that there’s a chance this… girl”—the Vatran queen gestures in Skylar’s direction without looking at her—“is a daughter of mine, then let me assure you—”
“Oh, I never said she was your child,” the witch queen says.
“But the Covenant clearly states that it’s the firstborn child of the monarch who must compete in the duel.
” There is a meaningful pause, as the hall itself seems to hold its breath.
“Nowhere does it state that child needs to be legitimate.”
Skylar can’t help staring along with everyone else.
Is this woman serious? They haven’t taken her because they think she’s Blooded.
The witches think she’s the king’s daughter.
She almost laughs at the idea. She’s never known who her father is—all she knew was that he abandoned her mother when she was pregnant.
Her mother hadn’t thought him worth talking about, and Skylar has never had any desire to find him.
“Out.” The king’s voice is lethal quiet, but it reaches every corner of the hushed room. “Everyone, get out. Now.”
The nobles scatter, heeled shoes clacking on the marble floor, hushed whispers merging with the rustle of expensive fabric. Some of them shoot Skylar curious looks over their shoulders, but no one hesitates—no one wants to risk angering the dragon king.
Skylar makes to move with them, instinct kicking in. If she can get lost in the chaos, she can escape. But long fingers grasp her bare arm, digging in painfully.
“No you don’t,” the white-haired witch queen mutters.
Skylar lifts her gaze to look her right in the eye.
If she had her daggers… She still has her pin, half buried in her now-matted hair.
She reckons she could use it even with her hands tied.
But she doesn’t reach for it yet—she doesn’t want to throw away her only weapon.
So she settles for glaring at the queen.
I will get you back for this, she vows. The giant bear next to them growls, but the queen’s mouth quirks at one side. Like she thinks there’s something fucking funny about this.
The last of the scattering feet disappear as the doors to the ballroom close, leaving only the royal family, the witches and their guards, and ten or so Dreki.
“Now, Gwen.” The king attempts a smile, which does not reach his eyes.
Meanwhile the dragon queen frowns at Skylar, who lifts her chin defiantly.
She is used to people looking at her like she is an oddity, so go ahead, let them.
It gives her time to think of how she’s going to get out of this.
“Let’s talk about all this reasonably, shall we?
” the king continues. “I’m not sure where you’ve got the idea that I might have another… child… out there, but—”
“If you’re in any doubt, then a simple spell is all we need to prove it.
” She lets go of Skylar’s arm, while the bear beside her moves its head from side to side, as if checking for danger.
“I have already tested her blood to confirm her royal lineage—I wanted to be sure before coming to you, of course.” Skylar tenses.
When did the witches take her blood? When she was unconscious?
“The only way, of course, she could be of direct de Veras descent is if she is your daughter,” the witch queen carries on.
“But if you allow me to take some of your blood, I can cast the spell to prove it right now.” Skylar’s heart is beating fast, trying to catch up.
The witches have done some kind of test. That means they really believe it’s true.
This is not some ploy, some game she doesn’t know the rules to.
Every cell in her body fights against the idea.
This man had her mother killed. Hunted her to the very corners of the country. There is no way this can be real.
The king’s gaze sweeps over Skylar. The assessment lasts less than a second—but it’s a second that takes too long.
Pressure in her skull builds and she feels something gathering in the base of her stomach.
She bites it down, the way she is so used to doing.
If they don’t already know, she will not show them.
When the king scoffs, it does not sound convincing. And that, above anything, is what sends a chill through Skylar’s core. “This is a ridiculous tactic—I didn’t think you’d stoop so low. Clearly you have no faith in your daughter if you have to resort to lies.”
The king angles his chin toward a corner close to the exit, and for the first time, Skylar notices the navy-haired witch.
She only saw the back of her yesterday as she retreated into the boat.
So this is her. The princess. She does look little, doesn’t she?
Skylar would have imagined someone more ferocious-looking, not some small, curvy girl.
Her deep blue eyes are darting from her mother to the king, and by her side the white fox stands with its hackles raised.
Powerful witches have powerful familiars—so is this hers?
For just a moment, those eyes meet Skylar’s. Despite it all, Skylar cocks an eyebrow. Well, Little Witch? Are you going to voice your opinion on all this? But the princess looks away, angling her head toward a taller woman—also navy-haired—standing next to her, who bends to whisper in her ear.
The witch queen opens her mouth to speak again—but Skylar’s had enough. She clears her throat loudly, and the weight of everyone’s focus lands on her. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got a lot to sort out between yourselves. So if someone will just free my hands, I’ll leave you to it.”
The dragon queen raises her eyebrows as the prince’s storm-cloud eyes settle on Skylar. She meets that gaze head-on. Because actually, fuck the lot of them, arguing over whether she’s some sort of long-lost heir as if she’s not even here.
It isn’t true, she tells herself. But there’s a needle of doubt piercing her insides. Because why risk angering the king for the sake of a bluff or joke?
“No one asked you to speak, girl.” The king’s anger spikes the air as he looks at the witch queen again.
“I’m not going to indulge in your pitiful games.
Astrid will face Zryan as planned—and now I know exactly what you think the outcome will be.
” He glances down at one of his Dreki. “Tommen—kill the girl.”
The Dreki doesn’t hesitate, pulling a sword from its sheath as he moves toward Skylar. Other guards around the room draw weapons, too—both on the witch and dragon sides.
“Wait!” Skylar’s shout joins with a protest from the witch queen.
From the way her eyes have turned frantic, she wasn’t expecting it to go down like this.
Skylar backs away from the Dreki but glares up at the king.
“You can’t just kill me! I haven’t done anything wrong!
” But she can feel panic flooding her system—because she knows he won’t care.
And she knows, doesn’t she, how those guards are trained to kill.
Her mother’s voice that night, pleading with her through tears.
Run, Skylar!
“If she dies, then we take control of the Heart!” The witch queen’s voice is loud and clear, as she positions herself in front of Skylar.
Skylar remembers the way she floored the people throwing rocks at her daughter.
Would she use that magic on the king? The entire royal family and their guards?
“Your firstborn heir would be dead—you’d forfeit! ”
Skylar is halfway back through the ballroom now, underneath a gaping hole in the roof, but Dreki are closing in around her. She tries to grab her pin, but her bound hands get caught in the tangle of her hair.
“Only if you can prove she is mine. And that will be harder to do if she’s dead. Which you must know, Gwen—otherwise you would have killed her yourself, wouldn’t you?”
“This isn’t—” It’s the princess’s voice, but it is stifled by an animal growl.
The Dreki’s sword is raised. She’ll avoid it. She won’t let him touch her. She thinks of her lessons with Torin, how he’d hit her over and over until she learned to dodge. But even as she’s thinking it, she knows it’s futile—the Dreki might be Blooded, and, if not, someone else here will be.
To the left of the dais the blond man is eyeing her up, as the Vatran queen whispers something to her mate. The prince steps forward, and for a second she thinks he’s going to intervene. Then he cocks his head, his eyes sliding out of focus. Just as the sound of thunder ripples through the air.