Page 62 of Her Soul for a Crown
He would not be the cause of another’s suffering, would not have blood added to his hands, would not—
A flash of red rivers, of bodies, and a flaming pyre.
Look away.
Anula might be a murderess, yet she was no monster. If she killed, there would be reason. Her threat was fueled with the fear of failure, a last-ditch effort to gain the throne instead of finding the relic. It was a bluff.
“You would never,” he growled.
The smile fell from her mouth, as did the triumph in her eyes. “I will. And I’ll start tonight. One person a day, until you fulfill my bargain.”
Lie.
“You care about suffering, too. Else you would not be here,” he said. Anula did not argue. Reeri took a step closer. “You refuse to acknowledge it, yet I see the truth. You will not harm aninnocent.”
She raised her chin, as if it made her taller. “I never said they would be innocents. I said they would suffer.”
“No.” He stepped another foot closer. “I do not believe you. I doubtyoueven believe yourself.”
“Have you forgotten my poisoncraft? Do you think I learned it for fun?”
Another step. “I do not doubt that poison is meant for someone, yet not for this. Not for mere suffering.”
“I’ll do it.” The veins in her neck tightened.
“No, you will not.”
“Yes, I will!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
Reeri closed the gap. Her heavy breaths hit his neck. Her heaving chest grazed his. Sent a spark down his spine. O Heavens, she was beautiful, aflame in ire and passion for her people, radiant as the sun. He wished she would burn him. “Prove it.”
Her breath caught. Her teeth clamped.
Yet she did not retreat, did not argue. Instead she wiped her lips, gripped the sides of Reeri’s face, wrenched him down, and pressed her mouth to his.
It was warm and soft and everything he thought a kiss would be—
Except for the slowing of his heart.
And the moment it stopped.
25
The shadow ripped out of the raja.
Dark, insubstantial features sharpened into a chin and cheekbones. Saffron eyes flashed open.
A white noise keened as Anula’s skin tore from muscle and bone. But she’d had no choice. The Blood Yakka had ridiculed her warning, dismissed her challenge. She had to make him see that she was no mere wife, no Jewel for a raja, and that he didn’t actually care. He was deluding himself and lying to his patrons.
Choking sounded. Siva—the man, now free of Yakka control—lay on his back, blood strangling his breath. Cursed Yakkas, of course the Blood Yakka was right; she wouldn’t let an innocent die. But he’d goaded her so quickly, she hadn’t had time to check whether her necklace held the antidote.
Ignoring her own stripping flesh, she rushed to him, fingers tripping over sapphires. Tincture, poison, remedy. None of them were right. She swayed on her feet, searching her bedside. But the room tilted. The edges of her vision rippled, and she crashed to the floor.
“Raejina Consort!” Bithul gathered her up and deftly swung her toward another guard. No, not a guard—a palace worker.
