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

Chapter 16

The South Wing.
Oredison Palace, Gazda.
The morning of the
Commencement Ball.

I blinked at her. "It's ten in the morning."

Princess Isla nodded, her brow furrowing as she considered what she wanted to say. I saw her translate, her thin lips quirking up into a wry smile as she said, "Ah, yes, but what a lovely morning it is." She gestured with her cigarette towards the opposite wall. "Will you join me?"

After a heartbeat of silence, I walked to where she sat and then slid down the wall opposite hers until I was seated. I tugged at my dress, trying to be modest while still keeping my knees curled away from her. As if sensing my desire for distance, Isla stretched out her own legs, purposefully intruding into my space.

She crossed her bare feet at the ankles, took another drawl of her cigarette, and asked, "Do you always run?"

I stared at her, confused.

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded to me as if my presence were explanation enough. White smoke threaded through her hair as she said,  "You know, like at dinner last night... And now here today. Always running. Always so fast. It must be tiring for you, to be in such a hurry all the time."

"Princess Isla—"

"Just Isla." She didn't look at me as she tapped the butt of her cigarette against the edge of a small crystalline bowl that looked way too expensive to actually be an ashtray. She said, "After all, we are the same—you and me. Both of us equally capable of one day being a queen." Those jade green eyes slid to me. "And I will call you, Monroe—yes?"

I nodded.

"Are you happy here, Monroe?" I opened my mouth to respond but she cut me off, her accent making the words sharp as she said, "Because you do not seem like a person who is happy. And that boy—this so-called king of yours—he is not happy either. I can tell. I'm good with people. My mother always said I had a sense for it." She leaned towards me, lowering her voice as if she were telling me a secret. "I can read people, you see."

"And what do you see when you look at me?"

"Unhappiness. But also anger. And other things too..." she shrugged, dismissive. "It doesn't matter."

I swallowed. "I'm fine."

She hummed in response. "Maybe. But are you happy?"

I inhaled a deep breath and then started coughing on the smoke-tinged air.

Isla frowned and stood up. I watched her fiddle with a window that was already propped open. She spoke as she pushed it up higher, allowing more cold air to enter the hall. "I would think it would make you happy to be loved by a king."

My throat burned and I had to push back a sudden surge of annoyance as I asked, "What makes you think he loves me?"

She smiled widely and took her place across from me again. "I have known many, many boys. But none who would choose a girl over dinner." She laughed at her own joke. When I didn't join in, she sobered, her brow furrowing as she leaned across the short distance between us. "No, but really, he does love you—doesn't he?"

"Yes. He does."

She hummed again, this time in thought. "The king loves you, but you don't love him back? Why?"

"What makes you think he loves me?" I asked again. "And what makes you so certain I don't love him?"

"Rumors." She shrugged. "But, also, the way he went after you last night. You ran and off he went, running for you. The two of you, always running. Run, run, run..." Isla sighed heavily and brought her cigarette to her lips again. She began to smoke it, but stopped herself before she could. She lowered her hand, her brow furrowing with thought. "My brother returned to the dining room. Cohen returned to the dining room. But...the new king did not. And neither did you. And when the other man did come back—you know, the one who seems to act as regent—he had blood on his shirt." Her head tilted to one side as she examined me. "So, tell me, Monroe, was that your blood or the boy-king's?"