turning to Adelaide after exiting and locking Garin’s cell door, “you’ll get a front row seat to the fiery demise. You seemed to have it out for him at the marsh. Well, here you go.”
Horrified, Lilac and Adelaide both followed his gaze. Through the narrow window in Adelaide’s cell—which opened to the east, just as her balcony had—the sky was brightening. Garin’s cell sat directly across from it. The bars were impossibly stout and thick, and there was no source of blood, dead or warm, for him to draw strength from—and even if there were, it surely wouldn’t provide him enough strength to break free. There was no escape for him, no shadowed corner to recoil into. The sunlight, albeit in a narrow strip, would eventually cover every corner of the cell over the course of morning.
“But—”
“But what?” Sinclair answered, poorly masking the impatience in his tone. “Shall we get rid of him now? I’ll stake him myself, if you’d like.”
She silently shook her head and willed herself not to gag.
Not only had she ingested the potion for no reason. She’d failed to save him. Despite their rough start, Garin had protected her throughout her entire journey—and this was how she’d repay him. Death—a final death, perhaps one not even the two most powerful women in the kingdom could prevent. Another execution she could not stop, this time of a Darkling—a man—she loved. Through the hot tears, she glanced at Adelaide, who’s ochre eyes glimmered distantly with their own remorse. The witch finally spared her a slow, meaningful glance.
Please, Lilac begged silently. Anything for him.
Sinclair grunted to acknowledge the guards. “Gentlemen. This is where we leave you. Keep a close eye on these two. Well, the witch, after the vampire’s gone. He shouldn’t be trouble for much longer. Princess?” He held his arm out jovially. “Let’s get you to your tower, shall we? The kingdom awaits.”
But Lilac wasn’t listening. Like Ophelia, she didn’t utter a word.
She was distracted, burrowed between fragments of imagination and memory.
Garin, she thought as forcefully as she could while Sinclair pulled her out of the dungeon, up into the quiet and dark castle.
Although the fireplace in the main hall crackled, on the verge of sputtering and surrendering to the coming sunlight, the stone walls stood mute, drawing a frigid dampness into her bones. Passing servants either did a double take, or blushed and scrambled the opposite way as she numbly allowed Sinclair to pull her through the back hallways and past the main entrance. She was accustomed to the wary stares and, before her journey, would resort to sheepishly ducking out of the way as quickly as possible. This time, she firmly met each and every one of their gazes.
Her parents weren’t among the surprised crowd of spectators, but she expected no less; they were likely in their own tower being prepped and primed themselves. She wondered if they even knew she’d been found.
No, of course they knew. Their daughter’s prolonged absence was no reason to forego or skimp on pre-coronation formalities, she thought to herself bitterly. She forced her shoulders back and cocked her chin a bit higher. No matter the morning’s outcome, she would not give Sinclair or his family the satisfaction of her defeat.
A show of emotion was as good as surrender. And she was done surrendering for a lifetime.
The last room they had to pass was the kitchen; Hedwig looked as if she’d seen a spectre when they’d turned the corner. Eyes wide as a saucer, she clutched her heaving chest and bent to retrieve the drying rag she’d dropped.
Lingering behind just a second, Lilac could only stare apologetically.
Later, she mouthed to the shaken cook, whose bottom lip trembled in agreement.
“Back to work, Harriett,” Sinclair said, before ushering Lilac upstairs.
Her tower bedroom was just as she had left it, save her now-discarded expanse of haphazard escape rope, and the lack of pungent burning hair. Although she’d hoped to find her mother or at least her father there, a pair of older handmaidens waited instead, springing to their feet at her arrival. Sinclair left her with a revoltingly moist peck on the cheek, which she hadn’t had the energy to dodge.
She was ushered into the room, in passing catching a glimpse of herself in her vanity mirror. As she stared at her reflection, she knew no amount of powder would suffice in masking the fading purple splotch on her jaw, nor the shadows beneath her penetrating eyes. The hair atop her head was