The Reckless Reign (Book 3, The Culled Crown Series)

Chapter 38

Reubinon Palace, Pellarmus.
Six days after the attack.

The next day, Annalise did not come to my room. Neither did Isla. And so I was left to wonder if their absence was connected. The princess would be busy preparing to leave for Haniver and Annalise would be—well, I didn't know.

Perhaps they were spending as much time together as they could. Or maybe, Annalise was mad and they'd fought and they weren't speaking. Maybe their time together, which was ticking down minute by minute, would be wasted with anger.

I hoped not.

I bathed and dressed in a simple blue day dress. The pain from the bullet was still too much for me to handle putting on trousers. The waistband usually hit at just the right spot to apply pressure to the healing incision, and even the action of pulling them on was excruciating.

Most days, I didn't even bother changing clothes. I'd pretty much lived in the thin cotton night dresses for the last week and was only changing on today because I wanted to go check on Cohen. Walking was still a challenge, but I was sure I could find a guard or someone to help me get to the medical wing.

I was already trying to decide how best to call someone to the room when I hobbled out of the bathing room and came face to face with a familiar set of green eyes. My knees gave out and I had to catch onto the nearby dresser to steady myself as Hugo Dellacov stepped further into my bedroom. He pushed away from the doorframe he'd been leaning on and crossed my bedroom in a few easy steps. Then firm, calloused hands were at my elbow and waist, lifting me.

I was dreaming. Or the pain medications were messing with my mind.

I winced in pain and confusion. "Dellacov—How—?" It was all I could manage as he led me towards the edge of my bed and helped me settled onto the mattress.

He stepped back from, putting distance between us. The curt young man I'd know in Erydia seemed older, changed now. His red hair was longer, his cheeks more sallow, his eyes more sad.

I pressed a hand to my mouth and shook my head. Words—questions—suffocated me. Where had he been? How had he survived the explosion in Varos? Anxiety swelled in my chest and I had to blink back stunned tears.

For a moment, I thought Dellacov might reach out a hand to comfort me, but he paused, his fingers outstretched. A small sound escaped him, the preamble to a sob that he held back. His face changed, that apprehension and sorrow turning to anger as he said, "She's dead." He took another step back from me, those green eyes flashing as he repeated, "She's dead."

I met his eyes.

It wasn't a question, but I found myself nodding all the same.

Yes.

Yes, Uri was dead.

But he was alive and I didn't—couldn't—understand how.

My voice was no more than a hollow whisper as I said, "In Linomi—?"

"What the hell happened?" He shoved a finger towards the door. "I arrived back this morning and Darragh—He told me Cohen was here. That you were here. And—I thought—I thought she'd be here too. I looked for her. And then Britta—Britta told me..." He swallowed and ran a hand over his face. "Goddess, Monroe. What happened?"

I had so many questions, so much I wanted to know, but this...Dellacov knowing about Uri was more important. "There was a ball on Sauenmyde to celebrate Larkin's birthday. She was going to be crowned queen. The Culled planned an attacked and—Larkin saw it coming. She knew we were going to try to assassinate her and she—she changed dresses and masks with Uri. She chained Uri to the throne and—and she was shot."