Right. The tournament. The urge to smile faded. Their truce was over. From now on, there’d be no more forced physical contact. No more straddling her enemy or sharing an almost kiss. And that was good. The time had come to choose a war path. Become queen, putting their battle on a forced timeline? Or let him win his task, and take care of business afterward? In other words, strike now or later?
Which one, which one? Both came with pros, and both came with cons.
No wonder she hadn’t pulled a decision trigger yet. Get this right, and she would win big. Get it wrong, and she would lose everything. Nerves already frayed, Blythe climbed from bed. “Guess we’re back to being enemies.”
“We were always enemies, harpy.”
True. “You acted like a besotted suitor yesterday,” she quipped, stretching.
“Yesterday, I didn’t have to chain you. Today I do.”
And...what? He resented the need? She strutted to the wardrobe, almost glancing his way. But bad things happened when their eyes met. Or when they stood next to each other. Or when they touched. Terrible, wonderful, awful, amazing things.
Now or later?
Blythe cast a glance to the crown. To wear or not to wear? The crystals glistened in the sunlight, summoning her closer for a better look. The next thing she knew, she was kneeling in front of it, holding it. Heavier than she’d expected. Colder, too. Not that she minded.
Pinpricks of light didn’t just glisten within the crystals; they swirled. So lovely. Shemusttry the piece on. There was no reason not to. Become queen...yes! This was her destiny. Meant to be.
Blythe lifted the gorgeous coronet—
“What are you doing?” Roux swiped the headdress from her clasp.
“Hey!” She shot to her feet, reaching, but the crystals vanished into thin air. “Give that back!”
He clamped onto her wrist, snarling, “I will not.”
Will murder him right here, right now!Her nails elongated, the tips sharpening. She tensed to strike. “Final chance to heed my warning, before I make a new crown from your entrails.”
“Go ahead.” He lifted his chin. “Try.”
She wouldn’t try, she’d do! Except, just as soon as she met Roux’s gaze, the spinning, jewel-toned striations in his irises wiped her mind of all thought. That blip of blankness cleared the way for a mortifying realization. She’d fallen victim to the crown’s spell.Again.
The Astra had just prevented her from choosing a war path before actually choosing a war path. Although, the answer struck her as obvious now. Avoid the crown and postpone her vengeance.
Yes, that felt right. It bought her more time. Time to win the firstone dagger from Penelope. To plot and scheme at home, away from the Astra and his sense-highjacking intensity.
“Sorry,” she muttered, deflating. Deep breath in. Out. Uh...had she justapologizedto the Astra? Roux should infuriate her, not calm her. That was a consort’s job.
Hello, guilt. Hello, shame.Hate myself.
Weakness washed over her limbs.Hate the wraith.
Her knees wobbled. “I meant, you’re welcome.” She put her emotions on lockdown and shimmied free of his grip. “Now we know the crown gets more powerful with every punch.”
“There have been other punches?” He scowled, his eyes flittering with red. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Was he serious? “Like there aren’t a million obvious reasons, Rue. Though, really, only one of those reasons matters.” She selected today’s attire, another uniform. A well-made leather vest and pleated skirt with her combat boots. Perfect. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to.”
He opened and closed his mouth. “Do not push me, Blythe.” With a huff of frustration, he stabbed his fingers through his hair. Muscles flexed. In his arms,alevalaswitched places. He froze. “Unless youwantto push me further and see what happens.”
Roux stepped forward, putting his body less than an inch from hers. Challenging her. And yes, highjacking her good sense.
“Do you, Lyla? Are you ready forthis?”
Yes. No. Maybe? Her heart skipped a beat. “I think you’ve forgotten the threat of chains. But I haven’t. As soon as you come at me with those shackles, the fight is on.” A fight the ruby guaranteed she’d lose.
“I expect no less.”