Ruling line?
Isla turned to the women to ask them what was happening, and why they looked so excited, when the door in front of them opened.
He walked in.
Isla froze.
She knew who he was instantly. Something about the way the air moved around him, about the resonance of his step. He was the tallest man she had ever seen, a foot and a half taller than her at least. He had relatively long black hair like spilled ink, falling across his forehead, curling around his ears. His mouth seemed set in a permanent frown. Unimpressed.
He was the king of nightmares, a demon.
The ruler of Nightshade.
She was dead. He had found her out. They had trapped her; the woman must have recognized her somehow, alerted the guards—
What an idiot. Poppy and Terra had taken such great pains to keep her safe, and she had disobeyed their orders, for what? To experience something new? How selfish she was.
Her fingers inched toward her thigh. She wouldn’t have a chance against the ruler of Nightshade, againstanyruler—no matter how well she could handle a blade, power was power—but she would die with dignity. Fighting.
Just as her pointer finger found the smooth metal, his eyes met hers. She stilled.
His look was strange. There was no hint of fury, or even satisfaction. Just a slight widening of his eyes—a curiosity.
That didn’t make sense. If he was about to kill her, wouldn’t he announce his intention? Slay her where she stood, in front of all the others?
“You,” he said.
He was staring at her. He meant her.
She didn’t move a muscle. His eyebrows rose just a fraction of an inch. Surprise. Another unexpected emotion.
The woman from before all but shoved Isla forward, toward him.
The Nightshade ruler stared down at her. She didn’t breathe. Then, he turned and walked back through the door.
She was expected to follow him. She knew that for certain when the woman from before gripped her wrist and said, “Follow,” so fiercely that she actually did.
Her steps echoed through the empty hall. His were almost silent in front of her. All she saw was his back. Her own shoulders were small—tiny slopes.
His were wide cliffs.
He had perfect posture. The posture of a warrior. She swallowed. How many thousands had he single-handedly taken down? Even in her glass room, she had heard whispers about his malice. Some Nightshades could kill with a single touch—wasn’t that the rumor?
A shiver worked its way down her spine ... and turned into a pit in her stomach when he led her into a dark room.
Was this where she would be executed?
She tugged her dress up while his back was still turned and risked a look at her portaling device. It was still dark, lifeless.
No.
Isla needed a plan.
The voices in her head crowded, wicked, quick to attack. What plan could she possibly come up with to have a chance against him?
She was a fool. A powerless fool.
The door closed behind her, and she jumped.
