The Queen has never sounded more gleeful than when she continues, “Then we will go for the cunt he implanted his cursed seed in.”
I roar and fight but there are simply too many holding me in place.
Naturally it is the Queen’s son and my long-time nemesis, First, who approaches carrying the ceremonial blades.
I imagine he will take as much joy as his mother when he executes me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Juliet
“Let me out!” I yank at the bars of my cage. “Let me out, you fucking bastards!”
The room has all but emptied of people. There is only that same technician left, still working away at his console in the corner, completely ignoring me no matter how much I shout.
On top of everything else, I have the backache from hell. I don’t know if I tweaked it somehow or if it’s another freaky side effect from pregnancy—don’t pregnant women say their backs hurt?
But it’s the last thing I can care about right now. They dragged Shak away. They accused him of killing his own father. They’ll kill him. I know they will. And I won’t to be able to do anything to stop it.
“Let me—” But I break off in a scream.
I’m knocked breathless from the intense pain in my back along my shoulder blades and I bend over in my cage, crying and panting. I try to stretch but Jesus, that only makes it worse. What the hell is going on?
Tears squeeze out of my eyes at the pain. I try to reach around to my shoulder blades but more pain cripples me.
What the fuck? Seriously? As if the day weren’t already the worst of my life. Shak just got hauled off for murder, the baby and I are in worse danger than ever, and to top it all off, the universe decided to give me the backache from hell.
I double over again as a fresh round of pain rips through me.
And when my vision finally clears and I look up only to find two of those fucking guards who hauled Shak away are back.
The technician in the corner finally looks up.
“I have a message from the Queen,” the guard tells the technician. “Kill it.” He nods my direction.
The technician nods as if this is something he does every day. The guards leave as quickly as they came.
“Get near me and I’ll rip your head off,” I screech. This fucker really does not want to try me today.
But he just keeps walking calmly to a cabinet and pulling out a little gun looking contraption that has a syringe tip.
No. No! This bastard can think again if he thinks he’s going to stick me with that.
I’ve been so afraid. I wanted to run and pretend like this all wasn’t happening.
But as the technician approaches with death in that syringe, I suddenly have perfect clarity.
I have been given a second chance. I’ve been given the gift of another innocent life to protect. Whether I fight for them or not is up to what I choose to do in the next few seconds.
And right there and then I decide.
He is not going to fucking kill me or this baby.
A roar wells up from deep inside me and I grab the door to my cage. I scream in fury and it comes out as a roar.
And then the lock on the cage snaps just like it did when Shak first tore it off.
I allow only a moment of surprise at my own strength. Then I leap out of the cage and tackle the technician. I snap his forearm in two, making him scream and drop his syringe-gun.
I kick it away, and just in time. Because the next second I’m doubling over in pain, falling to my knees.
I tear at Shak’s shirt, finally ripping it over my head. And then I scream, clutching my stomach and praying that whatever is happening to me isn’t hurting the baby. Please, let this not mean that I’m miscarrying.
Baby. Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry it took me this long to want you. I force myself to my feet and then to the examination table where they first scanned me. The little hand scanner is still right there and I grab it. There’s a large button on the side so I point it at my stomach and press the button.
The scanner emits a regular whoosh whoosh whoosh noise. A heartbeat. The baby is okay.
I laugh in relief. And that’s when I notice that the pain is subsiding.
But something feels weird.
What…?
I turn around, stretching my back muscles.
And that’s when large, iridescent golden wings unfurl behind me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Shak
The cold of the blades on my neck are a finality I have never known before. Here is my death. Ignoble and unjust. As was my father’s before me, no doubt.
Forgive me, Juliet. I was born nothing and nothing I will die. The Queen will win.