The Princess
Sudden clarity pierced through the dark haze of my mind, and an intense array of sensations assaulted me all at once. My skin felt hot and cold, the light shining through the windows was far too bright, and an animalistic screech of fury made my ears throb.
Slowly, my eyes opened. An invisible force seemed to tug directly from the center of my chest, like I was a marionette on strings.
I jerked upright violently. Some innate instinct had me on my feet, my skin prickling with awareness.
Adrenaline flooded my body, fear and energy bursting within me, alerting me that something was wrong, that I needed to move.
Another roar of rage split the air. Claws swiped for me, and I ducked and rolled away, righting myself with my dagger in hand.
I faced Calista, whose long, red claws extended from each hand, fury boiling in her eyes.
“How?” she roared, advancing toward me.
I backed up a step, heart pounding. A flood of confusing and disorienting emotions swelled inside me, overwhelming my senses. The room smelled of the sharp, cool cleanliness I associated with the palace I grew up in.
It smelled like despair.
Calista advanced, and my spine stiffened. I was the prey, and she was very much a predator homing in on its target.
“How what?” I asked, panting.
“How did he heal you?”
I faltered, unsure of what she was talking about. But she gestured to the throne room floor, and my heart stuttered in my chest.
Theron lay dead at my feet.
No. No.
“He… what?” Theron was no healer; he was a necromancer.
In a flash, the memory came back to me: Calista, glamoured as Theron, giving me a sparkwood apple that was infused with her poison. Darkness overcame me, and I was certain I had died.
Theron had power over life and death. But he couldn’t heal a fatal wound. He’d only stopped my wound from bleeding out in Tolston, and it had merely been temporary.
Something shimmered in the sunlight, and I gasped. A glowing blue thread was suspended between Theron and myself, as translucent as a spider’s web.
It was the same shade of blue as Theron’s magic.
Blood and ice.
Theron had given me his necromancy. But how?
Warmth tingled on my lips, an echo of what I’d felt just before waking up. I brushed my fingertips along my mouth, my hand shaking. Theron had kissed me. But it had been more than just an ordinary kiss…
Calista lunged for me, and on instinct, I draped my invisibility over myself, narrowly dodging her attack.
“That trick worked once on me, foul brat,” she spat. “But it won’t work again.”
I danced out of her reach, my footsteps feather-light. She snarled, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed me out. She was right; I couldn’t avoid her strikes forever. As an unseelie fae, her senses were heightened.
And with the juices from a sparkwood apple still in my system, my invisibility wouldn’t last long. It certainly wasn’t as effective. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see me.
How long had I been unconscious? I remembered screaming, signaling to my allies to move forward with the plan. But if I was unconscious for the next phase, the plan couldn’t continue.
I was so disoriented by my thought process that I didn’t see Calista moving toward me again. Something heavy slammed into me, and I crashed to the floor, tumbling across the marble, my limbs throbbing. Pain speared through me, and I sensed my invisibility fading.
Shit.
With a groan, I rolled out of the way just in time, narrowly avoiding another strike of Calista’s claws. Gasping, I climbed to my feet, hastily checking my body for open wounds. All it took was one drop of blood, and she would have me.
“Go ahead,” I rasped, glaring at Calista. “Use your Demon Fae magic, Calista. Show me who you really are.”
Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “I can kill you easily, girl. With or without my powers.”
I spread my arms. “Then go ahead.”
She smirked, triumph gleaming in her eyes.
“I don’t have to. I have plenty who will do the deed for me.
” Her hand went to the small glass vial attached to the necklace at her throat.
She poured a drop of blood from it onto her finger and sucked on it.
Her eyes closed, and power thrummed around her as she no doubt tried to summon soldiers using her blood magic.
I waited, still trying to catch my breath, my eyes fixed on the throne room doors, which remained closed. Come on, I thought. Tell me I’m not too late.
If all went according to plan, Stella, Denton, Huck, and the others would have rendezvoused with our rebel allies, and the troops would have stormed the castle by now.
Calista’s smile vanished, her eyes flying open, shock etched into her face. Either her soldiers were busy fighting for their lives, or they were dead and couldn’t respond to her command. “What—” She, too, glanced toward the doors, then back at me, accusation burning in her eyes. “What did you do?”
“I did whatever it took to claim my birthright,” I said. “That throne is mine, Calista.”
Fangs flashed as she bared her teeth at me.
“You think that can stop me? Those pathetic soldiers aren’t the only tools I have at my disposal.
” She withdrew a vial of blood from her skirts, and my own blood ran cold.
With a savage grin, she uncorked it, pouring a droplet of blood on her finger and bringing it to her mouth.
Her eyes closed, her expression smoothing.
I tensed, my arms rigid at my sides as I waited to see who she would call to her aid. A commander? A powerful fae warrior?
My heart jolted in my chest when Theron shifted on the ground, his body sliding eerily along the cold marble floor.
A sickening feeling rushed up my stomach, churning violently. I was going to be ill. I was losing my mind…
Theron’s body was distorted, limbs bending at awkward angles as he rose from the floor. His eyes remained closed, his face deathly pale. He looked like a rag doll being tossed around.
And that was exactly what he was.
He was not himself.
He was not in control.
He was hers.
Tears stung my eyes. I watched in horror as he stood before me, each movement jerky and unnatural, like he was a demon possessing a human body for the first time.
Step. Step. Step. He inched toward me, feet shuffling awkwardly on the floor. He lacked the powerful prowess, the firm strides, of the hunter I was so accustomed to.
This man was a complete stranger.
“Kill her,” Calista hissed, her voice resonating and bouncing off the walls of the throne room.
“No,” I moaned, shaking my head as I backed away from Theron.
I couldn’t fight him like this. The alleys in Tolston were one thing; that was when he was actively resisting her influence.
But this? Was he even still alive? Was his consciousness in there at all?
Or was Calista controlling his corpse?
My vision swam as tears filled my eyes. “Theron, please,” I whispered.
He continued trudging forward, his body lopsided, his stance crooked. From his belt, he drew a dagger and angled it toward me.
A hot lump formed in my throat. I shook my head, my back meeting the wall. I had nowhere left to retreat. My hand shook as I brandished my dagger.
He attacked, blade swinging. I blocked his strike, then jabbed my dagger toward his arm. I just had to cut him. Just one cut…
His blade met mine, the sound of clashing steel ringing through the throne room. With a swift movement, he twisted my wrist, and the dagger fell from my grip. He kicked it away, and I watched as it skittered along the floor, too far for me to reach.
Theron raised his dagger again.
“Theron!” I cried, lifting my hands as if I could stop him. As if I could do anything.
Theron thrust his dagger forward. I dived underneath him, dodging the swipe of his blade.
He struck again, and I ducked. Back and forth we fought, him slashing and me dancing away from his advances.
Sweat poured down my neck, drenching my tunic.
My breathing quickened, my pulse racing.
A flush crept into my face, making the room feel too hot.
Swipe. Dodge. Parry. Thrust.
This couldn’t go on forever. I couldn’t win by avoiding him.
I had to disarm him. I had to get the knife out of his grasp.
Blood and ice, what if I accidentally killed him? What if he was still alive in there, but I wounded him so badly that he would never wake up again?
With his next strike, I aimed a jab to his abdomen. He let out a keening groan and hunched over, arms wrapped around his stomach.
“No!” I shrieked, covering my mouth with my hand. “Theron, I’m sorry—”
He lashed out, his knife meeting my forearm. I screamed, jerking backward as hot blood gushed down my arm, dripping onto the floor. From behind Theron, Calista licked her lips, eyeing the pool of blood hungrily.
Shit.
Theron’s dagger was wet with my blood. He brandished it toward me, eyes still closed, face still cold and impassive.
“Theron,” I said again, my voice raspy. Blood continued dripping from my arm. “Theron, stay with me. You can fight this. You have to fight this!”
“He cannot hear you,” Calista hissed, inching toward me. Her nostrils flared, her eyes fixed on my blood on the floor.
All she needed was one drop. One drop, and I would be at her command.
She could order me to hold still while Theron slit my throat.
She could order me to cut out my own heart.
My stepmother would win.
“Theron!” I sobbed, trying to snap him out of this. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even crack open his eyes.
My perfect, rugged hunter was gone.
I sank to my knees. Theron stood over me, looming like a specter about to shepherd me to my death.
My face was moist with tears, my arm soaked in blood. I stared up at Theron, my heart shattering into pieces at the sight of his body being used like this.
He would hate this. With every fiber of his being, it would destroy him if he knew he was doing this.
“I love you, Theron,” I whispered.
He aimed the dagger for my throat.