run. The crowd made a path for her, whether from fear, or support, or the burn of her magic, Aurora did not know. But she ran across the square, her feet moving so fast she felt as though she were flying, past the guards, up the stairs, onto the platform where it had all begun, where a marriage arch had become a pyre.
“You little witch,” the king said. He raised his sword and swung at her. Aurora dodged away, the air crackling around her. He swung again, shouting for his guards, but they were all caught in the growing riot. Aurora willed John’s blade to burn. It glowed white, and John dropped it with a shout. When she snatched it up, it was cool under her fingers. She pointed it at the king’s chest.
He laughed. “You won’t kill me,” he said. “You don’t have the nerve.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
He reached for the sword. She drove him back, blade swinging, magic burning. He tripped, and his back slammed against the stone, scant feet from the pyre.
Her sword point rested under his chin. And Aurora felt that whisper of a second heartbeat again, urging her on.
She looked at the rioting crowd. “Stop,” she said again, and this time the dragon screamed with her, fire bursting through the sky. “Stop!” The air pulsed as she shouted the word, and the square froze, every person caught in place. They stared at her.
Magic again, she thought. Unexpected, uncontrolled magic. She did not just have fire. She could influence people, as Celestine did. She could control them.
How much magic did she have?
She wanted calm, she wanted peace, but she did not want to bend everyone to her will, a magic cage dropped upon them all. “Please stop this,” she said. “I will bring justice to the king, and there will be magic. Things will be better. But this must stop.”
“Kill him!” One voice from the crowd, but then another, and another, until all the panic and bloodlust was directed at the dais. Kill the king.
His shallow breaths jerked under the point of the sword. He had tried to capture her, to control her, to kill her. He had killed so many others. He had been about to kill Rodric, his own son. He deserved death. But her hand shook. The sword shook. Could she take a life, even one such as his? Taint her hands with his blood, become as brutal as the king himself?
“Don’t.”
She looked up. Rodric had escaped his guards. He looked thin and worn, but he hurried toward Aurora with a determined expression on his face.
“Rodric—”
“Don’t kill him, Aurora.”
“I have to,” she said. “It has to end.”
“It will.” He shouted louder now, his voice echoing over the crowd. “Lock him up. Give him a trial. He’ll pay for what he’s done. But you’re not a killer, Aurora. You’re not a monster. Don’t do this.”
She was a monster. Dragon fire, dragon blood. That was who she was. But still she hesitated, sword brushing against the king’s throat.
“Do this right, Princess. Don’t be like him.”
Neither of them had been watching the king. He grabbed the sword around the edges and shoved it backward. The hilt crashed into Aurora’s stomach, and she dropped it, gasping for breath. John pulled a knife from his boot, and then he was gripping Rodric, the dagger pressed against his throat.
“I am the king,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “You can’t stop me. You can’t defeat me. I am—”
He gurgled. Blood spurted across his lips to match the red now staining his hands. His grip on Rodric loosened, and Rodric shoved him away. The king fell to his knees. Blood was spreading down his chest. He keeled forward, and his chin cracked against the stone.
Queen Iris stood behind him. She held a small dagger. Her dress was covered in blood.
She stared at her husband as though surprised at what she had done. Then she looked up, skin flushed. She nodded.
The crowd was quiet. They stared at the dais, held still by shock or magic.
“Rodric?” Aurora rested a hand on his arm. She was surprised at how solid it felt. He was alive. “Are you okay?”
The prince stared at her hand. “I think so,” he said. “Yes. I didn’t expect to see you.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward him. Her hands crashed against his chest and then settled around his waist. Safe. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She pulled back. “I