The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,145

ending but the one I seek?”

His smugness had only grown.

“The one I seek,” my father corrected.

“And Dior?” I motioned to my stepsister. “What of her marriage?”

He dismissed my words. “Dior will wed someone of my choosing—when the time comes. She’s far too young right now.”

Dior flinched but maintained the mousy pose.

“You mean she needs to stay by your side to continue making gold for you?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes before telling Ophelia, “Go. Prepare for the day’s festivities. There’s still much to do. But first, send me back to my room.”

A wave from the witch, and he vanished.

My chin trembled. The witch remained behind, alongside Dior. “Dior,” I beseeched. She hadn’t budged, just rocked from one foot to the other. “Please. If he can do this to me, his flesh-and-blood daughter, he can do this to you one day.”

She glanced up, just for a moment, tears wetting her lashes.

“We don’t have to do what we’re told,” I rushed out. “We are strong enough to make our own way. We can marry the one we love, not the one we’re commanded to. We can live our wildest dreams. Dior. Please. We’re part of the same fairy tale prophecy. We—” That’s right. The prophecy. “You can be my fairy godmother right now.” Anyone could, I realized. They just had to make the decision to help.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m told I must do this.” With a whimper, she hurried down the corridor.

A new protest burst from me. “Ophelia. Good people will die.” Gripping and shaking the bars, I told her, “My father is unworthy of your aid.” He was unworthy of me, and he always had been. I only wished I’d seen the truth sooner.

“Sorry,” the witch announced, “but there’s only one way to get what I want, and this is it.”

“What is it you want, then? Free me, and I’ll help you get it. Or let me pay you.” I collected the coin from my shoe and tossed it at her.

“A coin?” She scoffed.

With hesitation, I ripped off the ring my mother had given me—the symbol of Craven’s eternal love—and pushed my hand through the bars. Anything to help Saxon and my dragons.

—The ring is mine. Give it away, and I will kill everyone you’ve ever loved.—

“Take it,” I insisted.

More scoffing. “Why would I want Leonora’s castoffs? The ring belongs to you. It was always you, never her.” Ophelia held up her hands and stepped back. “I won’t let you out, but I am willing to show you what transpires with Saxon. Because I’m a giver.” After one of her infamous power-waves, mist rose from the floor and covered one wall.

Moving images appeared, as if I were staring through a doorway to another location. Those images formed a complete picture: Saxon and the other nine combatants were lined up shoulder to shoulder in the center of the battlefield as a crowd cheered. I flattened a hand over my stomach to ward off the newest ache.

The screen went black, and I shouted a denial.

“Before the final battle, they’re going to recreate each of the dances for the audience. You’ll get to enjoy every second from the comfort of your cell. Goodbye, Leonora.” Ophelia offered a happy grin. “Tonight you die, once and for all. Tootles.” With a pinky wave, she vanished.

27

Plans have gone awry.

A warrior is set to die.

SAXON

I stood in the center of the battlefield with the other combatants. At my left: Milo, the vampire, the fae, and the troll. At my right: the wolfin, two snake-shifters, a mortal, and goblin. There were still ten of us. The one who’d lost the courtship later won a chance to come back.

The sun had risen and fallen. I’d been here, frozen in this exact spot, for hours as a ghostly version of Dior and each of her dance partners whisked through the crowd, one by one. A magical recreation of each dance we’d performed during the second part of the semifinals, followed by endless entertainments.

On the royal dais, the king perched upon his throne, high above the spectators. He wore formal attire—a velvet robe, a red sash, and a bejeweled crown—and he held the royal staff. Dior sat in a small chair at his right, with Noel at his left. They’d arrived not too long ago.

I nearly roared with frustration, rage, and worry. Was Ashleigh trapped in a cell, as promised?

If my Asha bore a single injury...

I will never be able to gain sufficient restitution.

Get to Ashleigh. Just get to Ashleigh. Desperation