Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Bitterroot races through my veins as I stagger between shadows, desperate to make it toward Keir's chambers.
The enormous gilded doors are locked. Of course. Slamming my fists against them, I try to snatch at the wisp of shadows that lurk beneath them, but there's nothing there. Only the spill of light as if someone's set a lantern near the door.
Soraya has accounted for my strengths.
But the bitch doesn't know me well enough.
It's been ten years since we fought each other in the training camps, and the girl she knew wasn't ruthless enough to face her sister and win at all costs.
Something always held me back. Something always stopped me from striking a mortal blow that could have won me the title of champion, and cost me a sister.
But there's nothing more inspiring than betrayal.
She wants to fight?
Fine.
Filmy curtains drift in the hallways, chased by the skitter of wind through the arched windows. I haul myself through one of them and look down. The famous gardens are far below and the ledge beneath my feet barely wide enough for my boot, but this isn't my first time in a precarious position.
Just not when I'm half drugged with bitterroot.
I can see the balcony that juts out from the prince's chambers.
Ignoring the drop, I slip along the ledge like a cat and leap onto the balcony.
I nearly miss the landing, muscles straining as I misjudge it.
Muscle memory saves the day, and somehow I hook my leg over the balcony, even as the stone tiles loom far below.
Mother of Mercy, that was close. Sweat drips down my spine as I take a second to catch my breath. I swear I am going to wring my bloody sister's neck when I get my hands on her.
Hauling myself over the edge of the balcony, I crouch behind the gauzy curtains, knees trembling.
The sight that greets me shakes me to the core.
A woman straddles the prince, the violet sweep of her skirts—my skirts—sliding up her bare thigh.
A woman wearing my face.
The arts of glamour are gifted to all fae. You can't entirely change your appearance, but you can embellish it.
And Soraya and I look similar enough that one could almost be forgiven for the mistake, even without the heavy lashing of glamour she's applied.
Keir kisses his way up Soraya's throat, hands sliding up the silk covering her back, as she arches her head back in a simulation of pleasure. Or, at least, what I hope is a fucking simulation. Because someone is moaning, and it damned well better not be her.
Then her hand is sliding into her skirts, lantern light glinting off the flash of a golden hilt strapped to her thigh.
And I am done.
Bitterroot or no bitterroot, rage blooms through me, like a starved furnace granted oxygen.
I offered her a truce. But once again she's spat the idea in my face.
And whatever I might have begun to feel for the prince—forbidden or not, hopeless or not—she has no right to try and take that from me.
Twisting through the shadows, I slam onto the bed, sending her sprawling off him. Half-shadow, half-flesh, I draw back my fist and punch her right in the mouth as she screams.
The knife makes a loud clatter as it hits the floor, but my rage knows nothing else.
Soraya grabs for my throat, but we're both scrambling for balance on the treacherous bed. Silk, fucking sheets slither like snakes beneath us. I can't get a decent grip on her, but neither can she. We both hit the floor as a snarl erupts behind us, and suddenly I lose my grip on the Sift.
The shadows drain from the room around me as I physically manifest, rolling across the cold, marble tiles.
Keir's on his hands and knees, the glints of gold in his eye practically spitting sparks. And then he sees both of us facing each other, and freezes. "What in the Cauldron's name is going on?"
I watch as his gaze locks on the discarded dagger. The claw that hung around his neck is beside it, as if she ripped it from his throat when I slammed into her. It's as if the veil is swept from his eyes. No more confusion. He understands this.
And curse it all, I can hear his voice speaking of trust. Of betrayal.
"Sorry, Your Highness," I gasp, as Soraya gives a vicious scream and launches at me. "Family dispute."
I block her blow. And then the second. Rage glints like a trapped predator in her eyes as she realizes I'm not the girl I was.
"Do you know," I taunt, "I've never really wanted to hit you, until now."
"And yet you still haven't managed to strike a blow."
Oh, that does it.
I launch forward.
We're a whirling whirlwind of elbows and knees. Enough bitterroot must have hit my system, for it's harder to breathe now. Harder to block the next punch. Heaviness seeps through my limbs, and the rage that fueled me is dying.
And then something smashes us apart, like a fist of pure air slamming into my ribs.
I hit the floor, hands and legs flying. Tumbling head over heels until I hit the wall.
Ow.
It's so tempting to stay down, to give in.
But an icy wind sweeps through the chamber, bringing with it an air of menace. And suddenly I'm reminded of the true predator in the room.
"Enough." Prince Keir's golden skin glows internally, as if his body simply can't contain the magic radiating through him.
He makes a claw gesture with his hand and a pair of glowing golden cuffs spring into being around my wrists.
I take one look at Soraya as similar cuffs snap around her wrists. Her lip curls in fury.
"Would love to stay, Your Highness." I push to my feet, reaching for the shadows. "But I think it's time to put this farce to an end. You chose me before you knew what I was, but it's better it ends this way." My voice softens. "Now no one will get hurt. Goodbye."
I hurl myself into the shadows—
Only to flicker back into being as something stops me from melding with them. Slamming back into my physical body is an agony I never expected, and I find myself gasping on the floor.
"Don't deny your charms," the prince growls out. "I've never been more intrigued by you."
Soraya is gone.
And with her, the Dragon's Heart.
I slap my palm to the floor. Merciless bitch must have had a turnkey portal on her somewhere. Which means I'm the sole recipient of the prince's hot-eyed stare. Damn it.
She won again.