Page 49 of Fearless

“Easy, J!” It’s a struggle not to laugh as I tug the cup from his sticky hands. “I better not have to carry you out of here tonight.”

He gives me a toothy grin. “Hey, I’ve helped Kitt ca—” A hiccup interrupts the word. “… carry you from a party more than once.”

I can’t exactly argue on behalf of nights I don’t remember. So, instead, I settle with a simple, “If her life weren’t at stake right now, I guarantee I’d be much more fun tonight.”

His confused look is only exaggerated by the alcohol that’s loosening his features. “But why areyouso worried about Paedyn? Isn’t that Kitt’s job? They’re engaged, after all.”

I open my mouth before promptly shutting it.

My gaze travels across the room, skipping between the several circles of gossiping court members. I wonder how many of them whisper the same question. Why does the future Enforcer worry for his brother’s betrothed? Is it simply due to loyalty and protection over the king? Or perhaps something far more scandalous?

I suppose the truth leans more toward the latter, but reducing my feelings for Paedyn to something as juvenile as a scandal is absurdity. Only, it does not matter that every beat of my heart belongs to her. Because she does not belong to me.

Turning my attention back toward an awaiting Jax, I open my mouth to spew an answer he likely won’t remember in the morning.

That is when the doors swing open.

Everything fades away, forgotten in her presence.

The future queen of Ilya strides into the throne room, and every Elite falls silent. She is covered in dirt, streaked with blood. It freckles her face in a gruesome addition to the twenty-eight ones I know stretch across the bridge of her nose. Large tears in her clothing reveal jagged cuts beneath, softened only by the mud accompanying them.

My eyes trail down the length of her, knowing just how much that blood must be affecting her. It’s coating her temple, her shoulder, her hands…

Her hands.

There, gripped between scarlet-stained fingers, hangs a crown.

The rest of the court seems to recognize her achievement at the same moment, resulting in a collective gasp that ripples across the room. I push off the pillar, eyes wide as I study the lost relic from afar. A crack crawlsup one of the sides where a splotch of blood stains the large gem there. The rest of it remains covered in mud, just like the woman holding it.

Paedyn’s piercing gaze travels over the crowd as she watches them take her in. No one dares speak, dares move beneath her commanding stare. But when that blood-splattered face turns in my direction, I nearly smile. This formidability is not unfamiliar to me. I’ve seen it within her since the moment she saved my life.

Her eyes meet mine, and it feels like relief.

She reflects my sentiment with a slight softening of her expression. But it doesn’t last long. It can’t—not with this audience.

So I let her go. Let her pretend. Let her morph back into the queen she will become.

All it takes is a single slow nod of my head.

She understands—and meets the king’s gaze with a newfound fortitude.

My eyes flick to the dais, seeing something akin to awe settle on Kitt’s features, and I can only assume that my expression looks the same. She takes another step into the throne room, pushing aside her pain for the portrayal of what is far more potent—power.

Every wound is on display. She wears them proudly, allowing each pair of eyes to sweep over her. Blood drips from the gash at her temple, staining her hair and spilling a trail of crimson into her eye. With strides never slowing and face unflinching, she wipes at the blood with the back of an already stained hand.

I push slowly through the crowd, my gaze unable to stray from such eminence. But watching isn’t nearly enough. I could fall to my knees, beg to be the only one worthy of witnessing her.

Clothes torn and body bloody, she slows before the dais. I shift on my feet, knowing the weight of those piercing eyes now pinned on my brother. Kitt clears his throat, blinking at the scene before him. When hefinally finds his voice, it’s to declare, “Ladies and gentlemen of the court, it seems Paedyn Gray has successfully completed her first Trial.”

And with that, Paedyn’s lips lift. She raises the crown then, matching its bloody and mud-streaked appearance. I smile before she’s even done it. Wide enough to show those damn dimples she loves to hate.

Yes, I smile when she pushes the crown onto her head.

It sits atop her blood-streaked hair, drawing gasps from the gaping court. My breath catches as she stands before the king, every bit his queen-to-be.

With a slight nod to Kitt, she turns slowly toward the court. Her sudden smile catches even me by surprise, the flash of her teeth white against that dirt-streaked face framing it. She inclines her head then, dipping it toward each side of the throne room. The movement is nearly taunting, as if daring any Elite to try to tear the crown from her head. Her gaze is a challenge that travels around the room. But with one final dip of her head, she turns back to Kitt.

He stands, accepting her silent invitation. Stepping from the dais, he offers Paedyn an arm she readily takes. I feel suddenly hollowed out as the happy couple strides down the aisle.

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