Page 75 of Of Kings and Thieves

“Remember your place today, half-breed,” she whispered, leaning close enough that her breath tickled my ear.

“And what place is that?” I forced myself to remain still, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

Moredanea produced a cruel blade from somewhere—the same blade she had used in the ritual—and placed the tip on my cheek. I froze. “For reasons only the weakling Andris knows, you are valuable to him. If you behave, he will behave. I know he’d hate to see anything mar that beautiful face of yours. And if you have any sense of self-preservation, you’ll cooperate with us. And just in case you don’t, remember that there are ways to hurt Andris without hindering his ability to be king. I know you’d hate to see certain… parts… of him disappear.”

I whirled in anger, but just then two burly guards arrived, and Moredanea dismissed me with a flick of her wrist. The guards flanked me as we navigated the halls of the castle, their fingers digging into my arms like iron vices. My heart raced, thudding against my rib cage and drowning out the murmur of voices growing louder with every step. A grand hall loomed ahead, its doors thrown open to reveal a sea of people, their faces a blur of excitement and discomfort.

As we entered the hall, I couldn’t help but be struck by the sheer scale of the spectacle before me. The vaulted ceiling arched high overhead, adorned with intricate frescoes that shimmered in the light spilling through the giant windows. Rich tapestries lined the walls, their vibrant threads depicting scenes of valor and conquest. The air was heavy with the scent of roasting meat and spiced wine, but I was too anxious to even feel hunger.

But beneath the façade of celebration, tension coiled like a serpent. The crowd murmured in hushed, anxious whispers, casting wary glances at the dais where Col sat on a throne, decked out in furs and looking more miserable than I had ever seen him.

I was forcibly guided towards the front of the hall, my gaze scanning the crowd for any familiar faces. There were none, and I hoped it meant that the other members of the Ironguard were safe.

Moredanea and her Deviants prowled among the guests, their presence like a pack of wolves among sheep. The guests’ forced smiles and nervous laughter betrayed their fear, and no one dared make eye contact with Moredanea or her Deviants.

The Harrow arrived and stood upon the dais, his dark eyes surveying the scene with cold satisfaction. His gaze landed on me, and for a moment, I felt the full weight of his cruelty.

“Let the coronation begin,” The Harrow announced, his voice echoing through the hall. The music swelled, the tension in the room reaching a fever pitch.

The announcement wasn’t a surprise to me, but it seemed the guests had not been given a reason for their attendance today, and a murmur shot through the crowd like an arrow out of a bow. People began taking a closer look at Col, standing on tiptoes to get a better look.

Without regard for the crowd’s surprise, the ceremony began, but it quickly became clear that it was nothing more than a show. The Harrow took center stage, his figure casting a long shadow over Col as he placed the crown upon his head. It was a calculated display of power, designed to send a clear message: Col was nothing more than a puppet on a string.

I stood nearby, a living reminder of the stakes involved. Col received the crown with a stiff nod. Our eyes met fleetingly, and I saw the storm brewing within him—fear, anger, and sorrow.

More than anything, I wanted to talk to him, to hold him. Col’s jaw tightened, but he gave no other indication that he’d seen me.

The crown settled onto Col’s head, and I watched as the roomful of people shifted uneasily, their eyes flicking between him and The Harrow. They knew, just as I did, that this was no ordinary coronation.

The Harrow continued his twisted performance, forcing Col to kneel before him, to swear fealty to a man who had murdered his family and stolen his kingdom. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I knew Col would endure it without complaining.

“Rise, King Andris,” The Harrow commanded, his voice dripping with false grandeur.

Col rose, his posture rigid, his eyes finding mine. As much as I wanted to offer him comfort, I could do nothing but stand there, my heart pounding.

“Long live the king,” the crowd murmured, their voices hollow, devoid of any real enthusiasm.

I couldn’t blame them. They’d seen firsthand what The Harrow and his minions were capable of. Their lives, like mine, hung by a thread—one wrong move, one misplaced word, and it would all be over.

“Smile, my dear,” Moredanea said from beside me, her bony fingers digging painfully into my arm. I jumped, not realizing she’d been standing so close. “This is a joyous occasion, after all.”

I forced a smile, feeling the muscles in my face strain with the effort.

“Your Majesty,” The Harrow drawled, a grin spreading across his pale face. “Would you care to address your loyal subjects?”

His words were clearly calculated to wound, to remind Col of the power he’d lost. But Col relaxed the frown on his face and faced the solemn crowd.

“Thank you,” Col said simply, his voice steady and clear. “I am honored to serve as your king, and I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety and prosperity of our great kingdom.”

His words were met with cautious applause, but it died out quickly.

“Very well,” The Harrow replied, his grin faltering ever so slightly. “Long live King Andris.”

“Long live the king,” the crowd echoed once more.

“Long live the king,” I said with feeling. A few heads swiveled in my direction, no doubt wondering why I had spoken so loudly. But I didn’t care. I only had eyes for Col. To me, he was a true king.

My guards hauled me out of the hall before anything else happened. At the doorway, I turned to look at Col once more, but I only saw Moredanea, looking smug. The guard ignored my scathing glare, yanking me forward through the dim passageway.

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