All the Queen's Angels

Ch. 21: Damned

As I stare at the bruise, I realize he still has my choker. Dammit. If he thinks giving me a hickey will prevent me from getting engaged, he has another thing coming. Maybe I'll have several men propose to me and make choosing the lucky man his problem. I smile to myself. Brilliant. After borrowing a guest's concealer, I settle for letting my hair down to hide it further.

It's good enough.

When I return to the ballroom, King Lucius stands at the front of the room with an announcement.

"The Forsythian Crown thanks you all for being here in our time of mourning. Laurent, my sweet son, was taken too early, and unjustly, from this cruel world." The lords and ladies nod and murmur thoughtfully.

"We must avenge him," Queen Lillian begins. The room falls silent.

"We must bring down those who killed him, the plague-infested Gardenians with whom we've defended ourselves against for so long.

"It was a targeted attack—and we will not stand down!" she declares. The crowd turns hostile. My stomach twists.

"And what better way to initiate our Crusade for Glory and Justice, than with holy matrimony," King Lucius smiles. What's going on?

"Join us in honoring the marriage between Crown Prince Leander Vincenzo and Supreme Commander of the Forsythian Royal Battalion Natalia Amaryllis! In five days time, they will reign in a new era for Forsythia!" he roars. The crowd cheers.

Leander wraps his arm around General Amaryllis's shoulder, smiling vacantly at the guests. His fiancée stares only at Penthia. She turns away, eyes glistening.

Suddenly, Penthia approaches me.

"Let's go find some hot people to flirt with," she says, and promptly whisks me away.

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur. Round and round we flirt and drink and dance and drink and laugh until our stomachs hurt and try to ignore Leander and General Amaryllis's piercing gazes...and drink some more.

Too late, I realize Amaryllis has pulled Penthia aside. I'm on my way over when I overhear their conversation.

"Natalia, don't."

"Penthia forgive me, please. I need to hear you say it or I'll never be able to live with myself."

"There is nothing to forgive," Penthia whispers, smiling tearfully. "The heavens were never in our favor."

Natalia strokes away her tears. From afar, they look like emotional friends celebrating her engagement. Suddenly, Leander grabs my arm.

"Do you have a death wish, Princeling?"'I snarl.

"Shh I want to hear."

"Wh- you knew?" I whisper incredulously.

"Of course I knew," he scoffs.

"You're rooting for them?". He shoots me an offended glare.

"Obviously. There's no rules against the Queen taking a mistress. There's still hope for them."

"Do both of them a favor and annul the marriage as soon as this is all over," I roll my eyes and pull away, taking Penthia from the ballroom and into an empty hallway with me.

"Are you alright?" I ask her, noticing her distraught face in the pale moonlight. She looks away.

"I know you saw my scars." The words echo and die ominously in the darkened halls. I halt. She turns.

"It's okay. I'm just drunk enough to talk about it," she smiles, beckoning me to follow her. We end up at the throne room, pitch black except for two candelabras flanking the twin thrones.

"Have you ever felt the rage of Hellfire?" she whispers hollowly. Suddenly, a cold draft causes the flames to grow higher—illuminating the wings pinned above the thrones. They seem to shiver in the chilling breeze.

"You're the Angel," I gasp. The one on the battlefield where Leander met the general. The one the general traded her freedom to protect.

When an Angel falls, they are exiled from the Heavens. Only an act of divine purity can redeem them. But if their wings are shorn, they are no longer immortal.

There is no salvation left for Penthia.

"The Forsythians would never let me be her mistress," she says. "And I don't want to be." My heart breaks for her. I grab her hand.

"I promise we'll find a way," I whisper. "Now, let's get drunk and find hot people to flirt with." Her lips quirk into the shadow of a smile.

And so the next four days become a blur of flirting and drinking and dancing and drinking and pretending to laugh when we're actually terrified and ignoring Leander and Natalia—and all the while I'm trying to forget forget forget about the ring.

Every night, no matter how drunk I get, I'm plagued by nightmares. Each is worse than the last.

I awake in the middle of the night before the wedding day screaming my throat raw.

Here comes the bride.

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