Page 85 of Of Shadow and Moon

I drop down onto the edge of my bed and slap my palms on my thighs, but it does nothing to stabilize me. My heart is galloping, bumping hard against my ribs as if it would get out. I couldn't do this. I just couldn't kill him. What the hell am I supposed to do if I don’t?

I start glancing around the room as though an answer would magically appear in the crack of the stone walls.

It doesn't.

All I see are the pieces of my life, the structure that threatens to crumble all around me.

“This is a disaster,” I whisper into an empty room.

Nazriel is a prince. A prince. We don't kill royals. That's the unspoken rule, the line even Alexander's assassins don't cross. Taking out a prince isn't just murder; it's treason. It's a declaration of war.

But Alexander doesn't care about that, does he? No, all he sees is his mission, his orders, his perfect weapon. Me. And if I don't follow through…

I can almost hear the voice in my head.Failure is not an option, Selestina. You know what happens if you disappoint me.

My stomach twists violently. What would happen? Would he kill me? Strip me of everything he's trained me to be? Or worse, make me wish he'd killed me? Alexander is a master of punishment, of breaking people down untilthey're nothing but shattered pieces for him to rebuild. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

And then there is Nasarea. Gods, what would she do? Nazriel is her twin, her blood. Killing Nazriel would destroy her. She'd never forgive me, and rightly so. I couldn't betray her like that.

I run my hands through my hair, digging my fingers deep into the strands as if the pain somehow might clear my head. “Think, Selestina. Think.”

But there is no clear cut answer. If I follow through with Alexander's orders, I cross a line I can never uncross. But if I don't, then what? What happens to me? What happens to the fragile balance I've managed to keep?

I rise abruptly and pace the length of the room. My mind continues to whirl around the same questions, none of which have answers.

Why Nazriel? Why does Alexander want him dead? He never gives reasons, never explains himself, but this… this feels different. It's not just a mission. It's personal. There's something big involved, and I don't understand the dynamics.

I cease my pacing, leaning against the hard wall. The cool stone presses against my back, unwavering. I close my eyes.

I groan. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I can’t kill him. But neither can I disappoint Alexander. I will not fail Alexander.

I slide to the floor, my back against the wall, my knees up to my chest. For the first time in so very long, I am at a complete loss. There's no path forward that doesn't end in ruin, no decision that doesn't destroy something?orsomeone.

My chest tightens, and I draw in a shaky breath. “Gods, what do I do?”

There is only silence in the room, an ineffectual hum against my ears. I feel like I'm drowning.

I look out the window. The moons hang low in the sky, perfect to slip unnoticed across campus. Perfect for what I do best.

I dress quickly. Not as the Shadow Reaper, but someone who doesn’t want to get caught.

I grasp my dagger, the weight familiar in my hand as I tuck it into the sheath at my thigh. My reflection catches my eye in the mirror, the girl staring back is…someone I don’t recognize. She looks every bit the assassin Alexander trained her to be. But beneath the steel of my gaze, I see the cracks forming. The cracks Nazriel has placed there, unwittingly. All of the princes really.

“Get it together, Selestina,” I mutter, yanking my hair back into a tight ponytail. It is just another mission. Another target.

But I don't even believe me.

The halls aresilent as I move, my footsteps soundless against the stone floor. The air feels colder here, heavier, like the academy itself is holding its breath. I follow the trail of magic that always seems to linger in Nazriel's wake. It leads me to one of the towers, the faint glow of candlelight spilling through the cracks of a door left slightly ajar.

I slip inside, my movements precise. Nazriel is there, sitting at a desk with his back to me, his broad shoulders hunched as he scribbles something into a book. The soft glow of the candle brings out in bold planes the sharpangles of his face, the line of his jaw slicing through the light as if it were cut for the purpose.

I catalog the room. It’s organized and clean, and he doesn’t have a roommate, I stifle an inappropriate laugh as I think about how this is probably exactly what Nasarea wanted. The thought of Nasarea is enough to make me nauseous. A reason why I shouldn’t be here.

I draw my dagger, the blade glinting in the light, as I close in on him. My heart beats loud in my ears, yet my movements are sure.

One clean blow and that's it.

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