Page 119 of Fearless

Hands are suddenly at my back, shoving me toward the railing.

Kitt stands abruptly, watching me behind that spotless glass before his Imperials can push me into the Pit. Calum appears beside him, smiling grimly even as I’m escorted to what will likely be my doom.

Still, I hold my breath, watching the king’s mouth open and eyes flash with regret.

And then—nothing.

Kitt straightens. Lowers himself into that plush seat. Fixes a slight smile onto his features.

I blink at the sudden change, bewildered by his—

“Hey, Princess.”

I startle at the fingers Lenny is snapping in front of my face. “Hmm?”

“Listen up, all right?” He’s forced to yell over the restless crowd engulfing us. “Take this and use it.” The hilt of a sword is suddenly shoved into my palm. “Just get it over with, and you’re free from these Trials. I know how terrifying you can be, so just… be that.”

I nod numbly, my gaze clinging to the sharp blade I now hold. Lennyreaches a gloved hand toward my face and pats it gently. “I need you to win this, okay? Don’t stop being a cockroach now, Princess.”

I have no idea what it is I’m winning. No idea if it will be worth it in the end. But a weak laugh surprises me, the sound buried in chaos before reaching my ears. “I’ll try my best.”

“After this,” he shouts, “I won’t get to call you Princess anymore.” His smile is bittersweet. “I’ll have to call you Queen.”

And then I’m forced down into the Pit.

I trip over the steep steps until my boots finally sink into the sand beneath. Staggering back, I lift my head toward the crazed crowd. I’m panting, blood pounding, as I take in the arena with one slow spin.

The Bowl is gaping, and I stand there, swallowed within the sheer size and sound all around. The sword’s hilt grows sweaty in my palm, its sharp point dragging in the sand. Chants and shouts are muffled by the continuous pounding of feet, like a death march long anticipated. The sun weighs heavy on my arms, warming my bare skin with its close presence. It seems that even the sky leans in to witness my brutality or the brutal end I’ll meet.

I squint up at that box high above the Pit’s floor, watching the king stride out onto the path. A familiar shock of teal hair shines beside him, and when the Amplifier rests her hand on Kitt’s shoulder, the arena falls silent.

“Welcome, Ilyans, to Paedyn Gray’s final Trial. Here,” he says evenly, “we will test her brutality.”

The crowd erupts at his words, bloodthirsty and rabid for a riveting show. Kitt calms them with a palm to the air before continuing. “If Paedyn can complete this Trial, she will have proven herself to be brave, benevolent, and brutal. These are the three characteristics my father believed made a good ruler. If she manages to succeed today”—Kitt’s gaze pins me to the Pit’s floor—“Ilya will have its queen.”

A roar rips through the arena, and I’m quite certain it’s not intendedto cheer me on. Men and women stand on their benches, pumping fists and spouting curses into the air. My gaze sweeps over the rowdy crowd until I’m startlingly staring back at myself.

The scrutinizing expression I wear is projected onto a large screen above the Pit for even those in the highest stands to see clearly. My eyes dart across the sand, landing on the Sights currently projecting what they see. Four of them stand at the other side of the Pit, though only three stare at me with glassy eyes and arms raised upward. With white cloaks rippling in the soft breeze, their heavy stares have a chill skittering down my spine, dread pooling in my gut.

“As a ruler,” Kitt continues over the chaos, his voice echoing, “brutality is often needed. So for this Trial, it will be a fight to the death.”

My breath catches. Throat dries.

To the death.

I have to kill someone.

The crowd’s responding cheer is lost to the sudden ringing in my ears. I turn slowly toward that glass box, finding a king peering back.

Not my friend. Not my betrothed. Just a king who ordered me to be his killer.

And suddenly, I know how Kai must feel.

My knees go weak at the thought.

Kai.

Frantically, I scan that glass box for any sign of his familiar figure. A lock of tousled black hair. A glimpse of those damn dimples. A flash of that cocky smile.

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