The guards take the other prisoners away. Elison’s pleading gaze meets mine, but I shake my head. Whatever fight she thought we should consider, now is not the time. Besides, the king has already proven that they won’t do anything to me.
Yet. Not until the Hunt.
When the doors slam shut behind me, I’m acutely aware that I am standing in a room with the two most powerful noctis in all the realm.
“She doesn’t look like much,” the king says to the prince. “She’s so…thin.”
The prince folds his arms, and I’m relieved that he’s at long last covered that ridiculously plunging neckline of his and the hard plane of muscles beneath it. “I wouldn’t underestimate her, Tor. She’s the reason Gregor and Boris are dead.”
If the king had intended on reprimanding his son for addressing him so casually, he loses his drive at the mention of the dead.
Fuck me. Of all the noctis I could’ve crossed paths with, who’d have known that those two lowlife scum would cause me so much trouble?
“Is this true?” he asks, regal voice echoing all the way down the empty hall as he settles back against the throne. “You’ve slain two of our Crimson Guards?”
As much as I’d love to argue semantics and protest that technically speaking, I didn’t kill either of them, I don’t see it mattering to either of them. Their minds have been made up.
I opt for a slightly misguided, more confrontational approach.
“I’d do it again too, if given the chance.”
The king’s eyebrows arch. “Hmm.”
I can’t tell what I’m supposed to make of that, but the lack of response unnerves me.Yell at me. Scold me. Threaten me. Do something,I want to scream.
The prince, off a short distance beside him, reaches for an amulet around his neck. The garnet stone might as well be a vial full of blood for how deep and rich the color is, catching in what little light the room provides like a burning ember floating away from a fire. The way he clutches it reminds me of the way I hold onto Sable.
Sable…my mother’s crossbow, lost to the hands of some foul noctis. I wish I believed that I would ever see her again, but it’s a hope I can’t afford to harbor, or it might cloud my judgment during our escape.
“She will prove a challenge,” the prince reassures his father, fingers idly stroking the sharp edges of the gold-encrusted garnet. “Perhaps we can even proclaim her some sort of delicatessen.”
The king considers. “It’s not a bad idea. What’s your name, girl?”
Names are precious, special things. These two monsters haven’t earned the right to know mine.
My mother gave me my name. She named me after her late grandmother who she’d always said was the rock that kept their family grounded any time tragedy struck.
I’ve shared my name openly with so few, that I don’t even know how to respond.
The king sees to it to help me. “Unless you’d prefer that we continue referring to you asthe prisoner, or something even more dehumanizing. The choice is yours.”
“Charlotte,” I say firmly, turning my name into two bitter syllables.
The king’s fingers tap a brief melody on his armrest. “Charlotte,” he repeats. “And tell me, Charlotte, how much of a problem do you intend to be?”
“Why? You scared that I might be too strong for the legion of noctis you plan to unleash upon us if I’m kept too well-fed? I’ll tell you a secret: us humans are more acquainted with starvation than you’ve ever experienced.”
A scoff of a laugh eases from the prince’s quirked mouth. But the king remains unmoving.
“My dear,” he says, eyes lowered. “You fail to understand the point of it all. The noctis who have chosen to participate in this year’s Hunt pay well for the opportunity we provide. They expect a good chase—a bit of sport, if you will—but they are no more interested in the hassle and uncertainty of a life-threatening fight than you or I. They fought for years merely to exist.”
Anger buzzes around me, alive and churning like a tornado of angry hornets.
He paints them as victims, rather than the killers they are. Maybe at one point that was true. Maybe for the first few months or so. But they’ve been slaughtering humans for years now. Almost two decades.
They’re no victims. They’re evil incarnate.
He continues before I can mold my rage into anything coherent to launch at him.
