Eyes Like The Ocean | A Culled Crown Novella

Chapter 14

Oredison Palace, Gazda.

The royal dinner.

Malcolm's grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into the tender flesh right where her neck and shoulder met. Around them, people stilled. Forks paused mid-way to mouths and even the waiting staff ceased serving. Leighton turned his face away, looking to the far end of the dining room, toward the windows and the darkened city beyond. His throat bobbed and he shook his head.

Malcolm sighed and tsked quietly. "Three words, that's all it would take, and she's yours."

Viera's voice broke as she said, "That's enough."

Malcolm leaned down, his lips brushing her skin in a feather-light kiss as he said, "Pity, darling, it seems he doesn't think you're worth the effort."

She turned sideways in her chair and looked up at Leighton. He was still watching the windows, each breath ragged and tight. It was a mistake, she knew it was, but habit overtook reason and reached for him. Malcolm caught her wrist in his hand and hauled her forward, almost pulling her from the chair as he twisted her fingers and looked down at the onyx ring she wore.

The ring Leighton had given her.

Viera tried to yank her hand away but he was stronger than she was. Before she could say or do anything, he had pulled the ring from her finger. Cool air kissed the spot where it had been. Once again, she opened her mouth to beg.

He had taken so many things from her and this—as small as it was—cut too deep. The words started to take form but were cut short as Leighton turned and punched Prince Malcolm Warwick in the face.

Guards rushed forward. The goddess-touched girls screamed and reeled back from the table. The king bellowed something. The entire world was spinning, spinning, spinning and Viera was caught in the middle of it all.

Fear settled deep, overriding all other emotions.

Malcolm recovered from the initial hit quickly and, before anyone could try to break them up, he and Leighton were exchanging blows. She said something—tried to reach for Leighton, tried to beg him—anyone—to stop. Please, please stop. She could not remember standing, but she was on her feet.

It was like reliving the moments on the train.

Guards grabbed Leighton and hauled him away from the prince. Malcolm was yelling, red-faced and furious, as he called Leighton a traitor and demanded he be executed. It would happen now. This couldn't wait until morning.

The prince was cursing and screaming. And Leighton was silent. His eyes alight with a rage unlike any she had ever seen. Something in her seemed to crack, splinter and begin to break into a million pieces. It was a wound too large to be easily closed up again.

The room was still spinning.

She barely heard the king as he sent for the axman. Malcolm was speaking, but she couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears. That coaxing song her power had spent days singing was now gone and replaced by an all-encompassing surge of force. As if it had been rallying its strength for one last push, one last rebellion against her hold.

The bite of poison coated her mouth. It made her skin slick and her eyes water. People were moving and speaking and looking at her. Leighton was looking at her. His gaze was pleading—apologetic. Like he had failed her. As if he could ever, in any way, fail her.

The shaking in her bones started.

Malcolm took hold of Viera's upper arm and pulled her away from the table. She tripped on her gown and it tore, but she didn't care. She barely noticed. All Viera wanted was to make it all stop. She wanted to save him.