Page 3 of Fearless

“Uncuff her,” the king commands casually.

My breath catches at the brush of calluses against my skin.

Kai.

My head whips around, unable to stop myself. Unable to focus on anything but the burning need to look at him.

But it’s not his gray gaze I crash into. No, this one is brown, murky with blatant hatred. These are not the eyes I search for in every crowd. Not the eyes that rake over me with a reverence I revel in. Not the eyes that have counted every freckle dotting my nose, every shiver of my body.

My breath grows shaky before the Imperial who had carelessly cut that cuff from my ankle in the poppy field. He is to blame for every drop of my tainted blood marring this marble floor. His movements are as rough as the hands that carelessly yank at the chain encircling my wrists, further tearing the skin beneath.

Tears prick my eyes, and I blink, forcing them back. I shake my head slightly in defiance to the growing weakness within me and bite the quivering lip that portrays it. My gaze scans the room, body shuddering in pain as I search for him. I’m frantic, eyes fumbling over unfamiliar faces.

Damn the pretending. Damn the hiding. Damn everything but him and us and this moment where Ineedhim.

But he’s nowhere to be found. And for the first time since stealing those silvers from him on Loot Alley, I feel utterly alone.

The lock clicks. The cuffs spring open.

They fall to the floor, clanking against stone and smearing blood. The sound rings through the ornate throne room, sounding of finality. Of freedom that comes at a price.

“Much better.”

I tear my eyes from the gaping crowd to find the king smiling pleasantly. Rubbing my raw wrists, I watch as Kitt extends the hand not currently cupped around that little black box I’m avoiding. I blink at his palm, his gesture of goodwill. This single touch separates a traitor from a future queen.

When my gaze flicks up to the king, he offers a single reassuring nod. But the look he wears is laced with a reminder—I have no say in any of this.

So, when my dirt-streaked hand meets his ink-stained one, I let him pull me closer.

I wonder if he can hardly bear to hold the hand that drove a sword through his beloved father’s chest, let alone slip a ring onto the finger that once dripped with his blood. As if in response to my racing thoughts, he gives me a gentle squeeze. The action is meant to comfort, though it alarms me far more than any threat.

“We Ilyans believe to have conquered the Plague many decades ago.”Kitt’s voice carries across the throne room, deliberate and domineering in that familiar way I know he learned from his father. “Yes, our powers are a gift from the Plague, but they are also a spit in its face. Because it is Elites who came out stronger on the other side of a sickness meant to kill us. Elites who protected our weak kingdom from conquerors. Elites who showcase their strength in the Purging Trials.”

Murmurs of agreement flutter throughout the room, followed by a wave of prideful nods. I bite my tongue, anger rising until it stains my cheeks with a flush. I am nothing more than their Ordinary entertainment, their example of weakness. I’ve been put on a pedestal to be poked and prodded, degraded and shamed.

“But Elites weren’t the only ones who survived the Plague, were we?”

His question has the rage cooling on my tongue, leaving my mouth dry. Time seems to slow as I turn my face to him and hang on every unspoken implication.

“No, there were also the Ordinaries,” he continues evenly. “The Ilyans who managed to stay alive, and yet, did not obtain abilities. And after years of coexistence with the Elites, they were banished and continually hunted for their lack of power.”

My palm grows sweaty against his. My whole body stills, though I’m unsure if it is my sentence or saving grace I’m waiting for.

The king—the Kitt I once knew—sweeps that green gaze over his court. Blond hair peeks between the swirling strands of his gilded crown, glowing like a halo atop his head. When he speaks, it is deliberate. It is calm. It is practiced. “And if we wish for our great kingdom to remain, we will welcome Ordinaries back into it.”

My knees threaten to buckle, but Kitt holds me upright. It’s as though he suspected as much and grabbed my hand, if only to keep me from collapsing at his words. Faces blur around me; mouths move; handsrise in protest. But I hear nothing, see nothing, know nothing but this moment and the hope for every one after.

Kitt’s mouth is moving again, cutting through the roaring crowd and my ringing ears. “I will address all your concerns in due time. But, for your peace of mind, I will elaborate quickly. Since sitting on my father’s throne, I have come to realize the dire state Ilya is slipping toward. I’ve learned more about our kingdom in these past few weeks than I ever had before.” Inclining his head to a figure in the crowd, he continues, “Calum was once a prisoner of mine. Once a Resistance leader who I thought was a radical.”

My heart stutters, my eyes searching until—

There he stands, swallowed within the crowd. It was his pale blond hair I found first, followed by those watchful blue eyes. Feeling my gaze, Calum offers me a slow nod. I press my lips together, fighting the radiant smile I ache to give him. Instead, I spell out the gratitude in my mind, knowing he’s likely reading the whirlwind of thoughts within.

Kitt pushes on, smothering the murmurs rippling through the throne room. “But the more I questioned him for his treasonous acts, the more he taught me about my own kingdom. Our resources run dangerously low, due to several decades of isolation. There is not enough room within our borders to hold the growing numbers of those in the slums, and records show that our food supply has dwindled alarmingly over the years.”

Ilya’s impending doom slides calmly off the king’s tongue, as if he’s spent every second since I escaped staring at the list of failures his father left him to deal with. My mind flashes back to that moment in the Scorches, when I had spat the truth of this kingdom’s fragility at Kai’s feet. My whole life has been spent in the slums, crowded and hungry. It’s no shock that the records reflect a scarcity I know firsthand.

“Dor and Tando will not trade their livestock, crops, or knowledgeof adapting to the Scorches.” Kitt flicks his gaze over the stunned crowd. “We cannot expand, nor can we eat, without them. Izram’s water, the Shallows, has grown far more treacherous over the years. Even the fish within it shy away from our shore.” His voice grows solemn while I hang on every word. “If we do not open up our borders, and allow Ordinaries to live among us once again, this Elite kingdom will fall.”

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