Page 76 of The Beast King's Bride

“You have lost the game, unless of course…” She clicks her talons together, her gaze turning contemplative. “Unless you show her your true nature now. Those are the rules.”

His true form?

“Don’t make me do this,” Talen says through gritted teeth. “Not now, not here.”

“Now or never, king.” Her glee is written all over her face. “No hiding and no lying. Let’s see if she still wants you after this.”

What is she forcing him into? What is he going to do?

Somewhere, deep in my mind, an idea is forming, an image, clues coming together.

He pulls away from me, his face still and shuttered, a perfect mask. Even his eyes seem empty, flat, nothing to read in them.

“Talen…” I whisper.

“Move away,” he says, his voice tight and controlled. “Move away from me, Ash.”

But I take a step toward him instead, not wanting to let him go through whatever this is alone. “Wait, no—”

“Move. Back!” He unhooks the cape from his shoulders with unsteady fingers, the only sign of agitation, and when one of the guards steps forward as if to help him, Talen snarls for him to stay away.

Everyone is staring now, the gathered Fae slowly approaching, abandoning caution in favor of curiosity, as the king takes off the long cape and throws it over one of the thrones.

“Well?” The Empress manages a bored expression even with those empty black eyes of hers.

“I didn’t want to ruin my cape. It is new.” His grin is twisted and angry, showing too many teeth. “Look, your Eminence, the moon hasn’t risen yet. What if there’s another way—”

“There is no other way. Stop delaying the inevitable.” She lifts one hand and her talons seem to grow longer. I wonder if that thing on her head really is a crown or if it’s growing from her skull. “You cannot cheat, lordling. I knew I had to come and make sure the rules are followed.”

Removing his crown, the king bows his head, a growl rumbling from his chest. Black hair tumbles on his forehead, his braid slides over one shoulder to swing against his chest, those impressive horns shine. “Let it be known that I comply with your rules.”

What is he going to do? Will he be hurt in doing it? I desperately glance around—for Jassin, for someone who can explain to me what is going on, but nobody seems to know and Jassin isn’t here.

The king, though… My attention returns to him as he moves, crouching down, bracing his hands on the floor. Something is happening to him, something terrible. His bones are shifting under his skin, his head is changing shape, his face… I swallow hard, swallow sourness.

Throwing up on the Empress might not be a good idea. “What are you doing to him?” I cry out.

“Watch, little bird,” she says, her voice oozing satisfaction. “He is the one doing it, not me. This is who he really is, deep inside. This is the manifestation of his arrogance and selfishness, given flesh. Every night he turns into this. Every night.”

I could look away. I want to look away, not to see the sickening writhing under his skin, his eyes bulging out, his jaw distending, his back curving out. It doesn’t seem like something anyone can survive. It’s like this is killing him, like he’s dying.

But I make myself watch. If he has to go through with this, it’s the least I can do. Be by his side. Live through it with him.

Despite his warning, I step closer. As black, striped fur flows over his skin, as his clothes and boots shred and fall in small pieces around him letting the beast rise, I know what he is. Who he is.

The horned tyger.

But of course. The same horns, the same eyes. The limp. The scratch marks outside the king’s study.

He is one of the monsters.

“So what do you think now, birdie?” The Empress is watching me, I realize, not the king, not the hulking tyger. He’s huffing under his breath, shaking his head, slowly rising on his four legs, so large that I’m at eye-level with those rows of sharp teeth and the lolling ruby tongue. “What do you think of your handsome king, now turned into an animal ready to kill you? Aren’t you afraid of him?”

She’s waiting for my answer, waiting for the truth like a raven waits for a body to fall so it can peck out its eyes, hungry, cruel, ready to pounce. Ready to kill.

“No, I’m not,” I hear myself say and it isn’t a lie. “I’m not afraid.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice like metal screeching on stone.

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