“You’re talking about Cal.” The soldier. The general. The prince. His father’s son. Again I think of Julian, of the uncle Cal would kill for his twisted version of justice. Cal would never betray his country, not for anything.
When Maven answers, it’s matter-of-fact. “We give him a hard choice.”
I can feel Kilorn’s eyes on my face, weighing my reaction, and it’s almost too much pressure to bear. “Cal will never turn his back on his crown, on your father.”
“I know my brother. If it comes down to it, to saving your life or saving his crown, we both know what he will choose,” Maven fires back.
“He would never choose me.”
My skin burns under Maven’s gaze, with the memory of one stolen kiss. It was him who saved me from Evangeline. Cal who saved me from escaping and bringing more pain upon myself. Cal who saved me from conscription. I’ve been too busy trying to save others to notice how much Cal saves me. How much he loves me.
Suddenly it’s very hard to breathe.
Maven shakes his head. “He will always choose you.”
Farley scoffs. “You want me to pin my entire operation, the entire revolution, on some teenaged love story? I can’t believe this.”
Across the table, a strange look crosses Kilorn’s face. When Farley turns to him, looking for some kind of support, she finds none.
“I can,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving my face.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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TWENTY-FIVE
As Maven and I are driven across the Bridge, heading back to the palace after our long day of handshakes and secret plans, I wish the dawn would begin tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I’m intensely aware of the rumble around us while we pass through the city. Everything pulses with energy, from the transports on the streets to the lights woven into steel and concrete. It reminds me of the moment in Grand Garden long ago, when I watched the nymphs play in a fountain or the greenys attend their flowers. In that instant, I found their world beautiful. I understand now why they want to keep it, to maintain their rule over all the rest, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let them.
There’s usually a feast to celebrate the king’s return to his city, but in light of recent events, Caesar’s Square is much quieter than it should be. Maven pretends to lament the lack of spectacle, if only to fill the silence.
“The banquet hall is twice the size of the one at the Hall,” he says as we enter the great gates. I can see part of Cal’s legion drilling at the barracks, a thousand of them marching in time. Their steps beat like a drum. “We used to dance until dawn—at least, Cal did. Girls didn’t ask me to dance much, not unless Cal made them.”
“I would ask you to dance,” I murmur back to him, my eyes still on the barracks. Will they be ours tomorrow?
Maven doesn’t answer, shifting in his seat as we coast to a stop. He will always choose you.
“I feel nothing for Cal,” I whisper in his ear as we clamber out of the transport.
He smiles, his hand closing around mine, and I tell myself it’s not a lie.
When the doors to the palace open to us, a wretched scream twists through the long marbled passages. Maven and I exchange glances, startled. Our guards bristle, hands straying to their guns, but they aren’t enough to stop me from bolting. Maven keeps up as best he can, trying to match my pace. The scream sounds again, accompanied by a dozen marching feet and the familiar clank of armor.
I break into a dead sprint, Maven right behind me. We burst into a round chamber, a council hall of polished marble and dark wood. There’s already a crowd and I almost collide with Lord Samos himself, but my feet stop me just in time. Maven slams into my back, nearly knocking us over.
Samos sneers at both of us, his black eyes cold and hard.
“My lady, Prince Maven,” he says, barely inclining his head to either of us. “Have you come to see the show?”
The show. There are other lords and ladies around us, along with the king and queen, all staring straight ahead. I push through them, not knowing what I’ll find on the other side, but I know it won’t be good. Maven follows, his hand never leaving my elbow. When we reach the front of the crowd, I’m glad for his warm hand, a comfort to keep me quiet—and to pull me back.
No less than sixteen soldiers stand in the center of the chamber, their booted feet tracking dirt over the great crown seal. Their armor is the same, scaled black metal, except for one with a reddish glint. Cal.
Evangeline stands with him, her hair pulled back into a braid. She breathes heavily, winded, but looks proud of herself. And where there’s Evangeline, her brother cannot be far behind.