Page 16 of Merciless Is My Crown

“You are crazy.” Tristan shook his head as the fire blazed hotter. “We barely survived the last time, and the Oracle is stronger now. Younger now.” His eyes glowed like embers. “Not that I’m surprised. You’ve always been willing to sacrifice us for your cause.”

“Our cause,” Torin corrected him. “This is our cause, because life under the kings was bad enough, but existing under Corvus and the Oracle will be a living death.”

“The prison beneath Tempeste is empty.” I nibbled the last good pieces of apple from the core. “If your friend was there, he’s already gone.”

And turned into a Reaper and wiped away on the desert plain by my magic, I didn’t add, wincing at the memory.

“Like that pitiful dungeon could ever hold Zephryn.” Simon’s lips twitched. “Zephryn’s on Darkhold.”

Raziel spit a mouthful of liquor onto the dusty floor, right beside Bexley, who sidestepped the wet splat with a muffled curse. “Darkhold is a myth. Maybe that kingdom existed once, but there’s nothing left now except an empty ring of mountains in the middle of the sea.”

“Zeph’s there, imprisoned inside a circle of obsidian. We have to free him while the Oracle’s distracted.”

“Distracted by what?”

“By you, heading to the High Barrens to claim your inheritance,” Torin said softly, her gaze landing on Adele, who curled her body deeper into Tavion’s cloak, still hidden in the shadows. “Your other inheritance.”

“What are you talking about?” I thought my head was clearing, but apparently, I was still affected by the venom, because the air in the room chilled. “I’m the Fae King’s daughter, we all know that. There’s nothing else…” Whatever I was about to say died in my throat at their expressions, filled with expectation and a hint of pity.

“Adele.” Tavion’s tone was just short of menacing as his arm swept out, crushing me against him as if he could protect me against whatever was coming. “Tell your daughter who waits in the High Barrens.”

Tavion’s tone turned harsher. “Tell Anaria what you told the rest of us.”

Adele shrank under Tavion’s glare and anger burst through me at how desperately she worried that cloak with her ruined fingers. “Do not speak to my mother like that, Tavion. She’s been through enough.”

“And you haven’t?” he snapped. “You’ve been through more than she’ll ever know and the lies have to stop.” He peered at Torin and Simon, then my mother. “You didn’t have a problem telling us everything the night you put that mark on her arm, Adele. Now tell Anaria the truth, or I will.”

“What mark?” Torin asked, the same time I said, “You did that?”

Even Bexley stopped pretending he wasn’t listening to every word and rocked back onto his heels when I rolled up my sleeve and displayed the white tree branded on my upper arm, the branches sparkling faintly in the firelight.

“The mark,” Torin whispered, her face white. “Oh, gods. With that mark…”

“With that mark, my daughter can claim her rightful inheritance.” Adele swayed on her feet. “The crown that was stolen from us. The throne we deserve to sit upon.” My mother’s words rang through me, but their meaning was something I couldn’t yet grasp.

“Does Anaria know what you’ve done?” Torin whispered.

“My daughter will know everything when the time is right,” Adele countered coolly.

“What is she talking about?” I demanded, but Tavion just dipped his head into the crook of my neck and hugged me tighter, as if he didn’t have words.

“This palace belongs to us,” Adele said fiercely, her eyes glowing brighter with every step she took toward me. “You are a Wynter. And that male holding you like…like he has some claim to you…he murdered your aunt and uncle. Right here, within these walls.” Her lip curled in hatred.

“He slaughtered them on the command—on the lies—of the monster who would have sacrificed you. Who imprisoned me.” A white flame flickered in her eyes before it disappeared, but Tavion had stiffened, his entire body taut against mine, as if he’d seen it, too.

“What inheritance?” I asked through numb lips, Tavion hugging me closer, as if he was afraid to let me go. “Are you really the reason I have this godsdamned mark on my arm?”

Adele didn’t so much as blink. “You are a child of two worlds, Anaria. Half Fae and half witch, you can claim both races as your rightful destiny. Or…either throne, if you so choose. Caladrius was only the beginning of your reign. You could be so much greater.”

“Half witch?” I rubbed my palm over the raised mark, magic swelling inside me before I pushed it back down. “I’m a witch? You’re a witch?” When I searched my mother’s face and found nothing there except certainty, something within me shriveled up and died.

This was surreal, like I’d been yanked out of my body and shoved into another. All I knew for sure was that I didn’t want any of this bullshite.

Didn’t want them to look at me with such hope, mixed with a trace of pity.

I wasn’t a witch; I wasn’t a princess. I didn’t want a reign.

“Three hundred years ago, the Oracle approached the Wynters—our ancestors—with a proposition. Revenge on the Fae who’d stolen their lands and drove them into hiding. The coven’s queen accepted and sent Alaric and Zephora Wynter to buy their way into Carex’s court. Once they were established, all they had to do was wait for the right time.”

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