He hasn’t looked at me.

I’ve been kneeling on the floor before him, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look at me.

His hair is disheveled, dull against the golden crown atop his head. It looks uncomfortably heavy, consisting of what must be a dozen gold strands all twisting between one another. I recognize the familiar tangled pattern to represent Ilya’s crest and the use of all powers working together.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the utter bullshit of it all.

“And her?” he suddenly asks. “Any other unforeseen circumstances I should know of?”

The silence filling the throne room is suffocating.

His words ring in my ears, hang in the air between us.

But it’s the unspoken question that has my eyes widening.

He’s asking if something happened between the two of us.

I fight the urge to look over at Kai and instead keep my eyes pinned on the king who can’t be bothered to look my way. The court surrounding us doesn’t seem fazed by the question they only know the half of.

I can’t imagine we look as though something happened between the two of us. In fact, I would argue that we’ve never looked more like enemies than in this moment with my bloody, kneeling body at his feet.

“I brought her back, did I not?” Kai says evenly.

“That’s not what I asked, Brother.”

I still at the title, feeling the significance of it.

That one acknowledgment of what they still are to each other is enough to have Kai’s voice softening. “No. No, other unforeseen circumstances.”

The lie slides off his tongue, sounding of sincerity. They stare at each other for a long moment, allowing me time to study this king I’m kneeling before.

Dark circles smudge beneath his eyes, aging him with nothing more than lack of sleep. His hair is ruffled, sticking up between the strands of his crown as though he’s been running his hands through it. Wrinkled clothes lie below an unshaven jaw while slightly mismatched socks tell me that servants haven’t been tending to their king. The faint outline of a box draws my attention to his right pocket, though I can’t make out what it is that lies inside.

Ink subtly stains his hands, as though he’s scrubbed them vigorously, leaving his knuckles cracked and dry. Fingers drum against his chair, his only sign of fidgeting, though his knee occasionally bounces. And his eyes…

His eyes are suddenly pinned on me.

Green and crisp like fresh due on a blade of grass.

Green and swimming with emotions.

Green like those of the king before him. The king who carved his mark above my heart. It seems to sting at the reminder of those familiar eyes full of hatred.

But this green gaze I hold is considering, scrutinizing in a way that seems too harsh for the Kitt I once knew. But this is not that boy. This is what is left of him.

“Good,” he says to Kai, though his eyes stay fixed on me. “Because I have special plans for her.”

Everybody in the room seems to lean closer in anticipation. This is what they have all been waiting for—my punishment.

I swallow, forcing myself to hold his gaze as he stands to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen of the court, let me reintroduce you to who it is that kneels before you.” His voice is soft in the way that powerful people can afford to be, forcing everyone to listen closely. “This is Paedyn Gray. Once a contestant in the Purging Trials where she ranked quite highly for a Mundane. And to think a Psychic became such a threat to Offensive Elites.”

I catch the shaking of heads in my periphery, but keep my eyes fixed on Kitt as he continues. “But she isn’t exactly what she seems.” Grunts of agreement echo throughout the room. “Not only was your Silver Savior an Ordinary in disguise, but she was a traitor under our noses. Paedyn.” His eyes flick back to me. “Do you confess to not only being a Resistance member, but to conspiring with them as well?”

I blink, still shocked at him addressing me by name. My throat has gone dry, voice raspy as I manage, “Yes.”

The crowd gasps dramatically, as if they hadn’t already known all this. I’m tempted to tell the king to spare us the theatrics and sentence me to death already.

“Not only that,” he continues quietly, “but do you admit to… killing the former king of Ilya?”

My eyes never stray from his. “I do.”

That has the people murmuring around me, cursing my name between breaths. Kitt nods, looking down at the marble floor reflecting my dirty face. The stretch of silence that follows is deafening, and I bite my tongue to keep from filling it.

When the king looks up, I see Kitt shining through his expression. The sudden shift has me blinking in surprise, blinking at the familiarity of that face. And when I see Kai straighten slightly beside me, I know he sees it too.

“This woman—Paedyn Gray—has committed atrocious crimes,” Kitt says, looking around the room. “She killed my father, your king, plunging his own sword through his chest before her dagger through his throat. She conspired with the Resistance, a radical group of Ordinaries, helping them find a passage into the Bowl Arena.” His eyes find their way back to mine, memories clouding that green gaze. “She lied. She killed. She betrayed.”

The sting in his voice has me dropping my gaze to the feet that slowly carry him down the steps of the dais. “And I have grieved. I have stepped suddenly into the role of your king while still mourning the former. And, yes, my reputation as a crazed king has reached my ears.” My eyes lift to his while the throne room grows thick with tension. Uneasy glances flick between the Elites, breaths held as they wait for their king to continue.

“But I assure you,” he finally continues, allowing everyone to breathe again, “that my future decisions are anything but crazed. And I will explain them all to you in due time.”

When his eyes land back on me, I know my time has come.

“Paedyn Gray…”

I duck my head, not wanting to see the words form on his lips.

So this is how it ends.

Not by the Trials. Not by the Scorches or bandits or sewer attempting to drown me, but by the mere word of a king.

A king that I created.

I wonder if he will make Kai do it. Maybe re-create the death of his father. That only seems fitting.

“Stand.”

I almost don’t hear him over my deafeningly dreadful thoughts.

It takes several stuttering heartbeats to finally scramble to my feet, wincing at the pain shooting up my sliced ankle.

The king’s eyes travel up the length of me before landing on my gaze.

He pulls that box from his pocket, small and velvet between his fingers.

The lid lifts, snapping open to reveal…

Nothing could have prepared me for the words that fall from his lips.

Not even a real damn Psychic.

The ring sparkles against the black velvet it sits within.

“You are to be my bride.”