My voice hitches. “Is this the part where I ask you to choose me?”
Because it is a choice. He need only say no. Or yes. One word holds both our fates.
Choose me. Choose the dawn. He didn’t before. He has to now.
Shaking, I take his face in my hands and turn him to look at me. When he can’t, when his bronze eyes focus on my lips or my shoulder or the brand exposed to the warm air, something inside me breaks.
“I don’t have to marry her,” he murmurs. “That can be negotiated.”
“No, it can’t. You know it can’t.” I laugh coldly at his absurd posturing.
His eyes darken. “And you know what marriage is to us—to Silvers. It doesn’t mean anything. It has no bearing on what we feel, and who we feel for.”
“Do you really think it’s the marriage I’m angry about?” Rage boils in me, hot and wild and impossible to ignore. “Do you really think I have any ambition to be your—or anyone’s—queen?”
Warm fingers tremble against mine, their grip tightening as I start to slip away. “Mare, think of what I can do. What kind of king I can be.”
“Why does anyone need to be king at all?” I ask slowly, sharpening every word.
He has no answer.
In the palace, during my imprisonment, I learned that Maven had been made by his mother, formed into the monster he became. There is nothing on earth that can change him or what she did. But Cal was made too. All of us were made by someone else, and all of us have some thread of steel that nothing and no one can cut.
I thought Cal was immune to the corruptive temptation of power. How wrong I was.
He was born to be a king. It’s what he was made for. It’s what he was made to want.
“Tiberias.” I’ve never said his real name before. It doesn’t suit him. It doesn’t suit us. But that’s who he is. “Choose me.”
His hands smooth over mine, his fingers splaying to match my own. As he does, I shut my eyes. I allow myself one long second to memorize what he feels like. Like that day in Piedmont, when the rainstorm caught us both, I want to burn. I want to burn.
“Mare,” he whispers. “Choose me.”
Choose a crown. Choose another king’s cage. Choose a betrayal to everything you’ve bled for.
I find my thread of steel too. Thin but unbreakable.
“I am in love with you, and I want you more than anything else in the world.” His words sound hollow coming from me. “Anything else in this world.”
Slowly, my eyelids flutter open. He finds the spine to match my gaze.
“Think what we could do together,” he murmurs, trying to pull me closer. My feet hold firm. “You know what you are to me. Without you, I have no one. I am alone. I have nothing left. Don’t leave me alone.”
My breathing turns ragged.
I kiss him for what could be, what might be, what will be—the last time. His lips feel strangely cold as we both turn to ice.
“You aren’t alone.” The hope in his eyes cuts deeply. “You have your crown.”
I thought I knew what heartbreak was. I thought that was what Maven did to me. When he stood and left me kneeling. When he told me everything I ever thought him to be was a lie. But then, I believed I loved him.
I know now, I didn’t know what love was. Or what even the echo of heartbreak felt like.
To stand in front of a person who is your whole world and be told you are not enough. You are not the choice. You are a shadow to the person who is your sun.
“Mare, please.” He begs like a child in his desperation. “How did you think this was going to end? What did you really think would happen next?” I feel the heat of him even as every part of me goes cold. “You don’t have to do this.”
But I do.
I turn away, deaf to his protests. But he doesn’t try to stop me. He lets me walk away.
Blood drowns out everything but my screaming thoughts. Terrible ideas, hateful words, broken and twisted like a bird without wings. They limp by, each one worse than the last. Not a god’s chosen, but a god’s cursed. That’s what we all are.
It’s a wonder I don’t fall down the spiraling steps of the tower—a miracle I make it outside without collapsing. The sun overhead is hatefully bright, a harsh contrast to the abyss inside me. I shove a hand deep into my uniform pocket and barely register the sharp sting of something. It doesn’t take long to realize—the earring. The one Cal gave me. I almost laugh at the thought of it. Another broken promise. Another Calore betrayal.
A burning need to run tugs at my heart. I want Kilorn, I want Gisa. I want Shade to appear and tell me this is another dream. I imagine them beside me, their words and open arms a comfort.
Another voice drowns them out. It burns my insides.
Cal follows orders, but he can’t make choices.
I sigh at the thought of Maven’s words. Cal did make a choice. And in the deepest parts of myself, I’m not surprised. The prince is as he has always been. A good person at his core, but unwilling to act. Unwilling to truly change himself. The crown is in his heart, and hearts do not change.
Farley finds me in an alley, staring at a wall with blank eyes, my tears long since dried. She hesitates for once, her boldness long gone. Instead, she approaches with almost tender slowness, a hand outstretched to touch my shoulder.
“I didn’t know until you did,” she murmurs. “I swear it.”
The person she loved is dead, stolen by someone else. Mine chose to walk away. Chose everything I hate over everything I am. I wonder which hurts more.
Before I let myself relax into her, allow her to comfort me, I notice someone else standing nearby.
“I knew,” Premier Davidson says. It sounds like an apology. At first I feel another surge of anger, but it isn’t his fault. Cal didn’t have to agree. Cal didn’t have to let me go.
Cal didn’t have to eagerly leap into a well-baited trap.
“Divide and conquer,” I whisper, remembering his own words. The fog of heartbreak clears enough for me to understand. Montfort and the Scarlet Guard would never support a Silver king, not truly. Not without other motives in play.
Davidson nods his head. “It’s the only way to beat them.”
Samos, Calore, Cygnet. The Rift, Norta, the Lakelands. All driven by greed, all ready to break one another for an already-broken crown. All part of Montfort’s own plan. I force another breath, and try to recover. Try to forget Cal, forget Maven, focus on the road ahead. Where it leads, I don’t know.
Somewhere in the distance, somewhere in my bones, thunder rolls.
We’re going to let them kill each other.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to the armies of people who made and continue to make my books a possibility. To my editor Kristen and the entire editorial team, the HarperTeen and HarperCollins family, Gina, the Elizabeths (both Ward and Lynch), Margot, the best cover designer in the world, Sarah Kaufman, and the design team. To our foreign publishers and agents, the Universal film team, Sara, Elizabeth, Jay, Gennifer, and of course, the powerhouse that is New Leaf Literary. Suzie, always in my corner. Pouya, Kathleen, Mia, Jo, Jackie, Jaida, Hilary, Chris, Danielle, and Sara keeping my head on straight and coming through with some amazing notes to shape King’s Cage. New Leaf is always pushing forward. And once more, to Suzie, because I can never thank her enough.
Thank you to the just as formidable army that is my friends and family. My parents, Lou and Heather, still the reason for all this and the drive behind everything I am. My brother, Andy, who is now a better adult than me. My grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins, with great love to Kim and Michelle, the closest things I have to sisters. Thank you to friends from my old home, Natalie, Alex, Katrina, Kim, Lauren, and more. Thank you to friends from my new home, Bayan, Angela, Erin, Jenn, Ginger, Jordan, what seems like most of Culver City, and whoever ends up in the rocking chairs for PMCC Sunday. Thank you to my bunkmates in Slytherin Common Room, Jen and Morgan, and the missing bunkmate, Tori, who a
lways has bedcouch waiting.
This might be a bragging paragraph, but I’ve made so many real friends and grown so much through meeting other authors over the past year. We have a weird job that I could not do without you guys. I would be remiss not to name, shame, and thank a few of you. First, Emma Theriault. Remember that name. Her support has been invaluable over the years. Thank you, in no particular order, to Adam Silvera, Renee Ahdieh, Leigh Bardugo, Jenny Han, Veronica Roth, Soman Chainani, Brendan Reichs, Dhonielle Clayton, Maurene Goo, Sarah Enni, Kara Thomas, Danielle Paige, and the entire YALL family. Warrior mother Margie Stohl. The first friend I ever made in this industry, Sabaa Tahir, who continues to be a torch against the night falling around us. My deepest love and admiration to Susan Dennard, who is not only an exemplary human, but a deeply talented writer with unparalleled insight into our craft. And of course, Alex Bracken, who tolerates too many text message rants to count, is both equally versed in Star Wars and American history, has the cutest child-emperor dog in the world, and is a truly steadfast, lovely, determined, intelligent friend who happens to be a crackerjack writer as well. I think I ran out of adjectives.
I’m blessed enough to have readers, and it goes without saying, I extend my deepest gratitude to each and every one of you. To quote JK, “no story lives unless someone wants to listen.” Thank you for listening. And thank you to the entire YA community. You’ve been a light through the dark waves of 2016.
Last time around I thanked pizza, and that stands. Thank you to the National Parks and the National Parks Service, who continue to maintain and protect the natural beauty of the country I love. Happy 100th birthday! To learn more, volunteer, or donate, go to www.nps.gov/getinvolved. Our natural treasures must be protected for generations to come.
Thank you to Hillary Rodham Clinton, Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle Obama, and all those working to defend the rights of women, minorities, Muslim Americans, refugees, and LGBTQ+ Americans. Thank you to Mitt Romney for his unwavering opposition to demagoguery, and his patriotic duty to the United States. Thank you to John McCain for his continued fight against torture, as well as his years of service and his defense of military families. Thank you to Charlie Baker, Governor of Massachusetts, for his support of common sense gun reform, women’s rights, and marriage equality. And just in case any of the above has an about-face by the time we publish, these acknowledgments were written in November 2016.
Thank you to the Khans, and to every Gold Star family in our nation. Thank you to every member of our military, every veteran, and every military family serving the United States with sacrifices most of us cannot fathom. And thank you to every educator in our country. You are the hands shaping the future.
Thank you to the people of Scotland, who voted against division and fear. Thank you to the elected representatives of California, who will continue to defend their constituents. Thank you to Lin-Manuel Miranda and the cast of Hamilton, who have performed a true service to our country through their lasting art. You guys are nonstop.
Thank you to everyone in positions of power who speak and stand against injustice, tyranny, and hatred in the United States, and across the globe. Thank you to everyone listening, and watching, and keeping your eyes open.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHOTO CREDIT STEPHANIE GIRARD OF STEPHANIE GIRARD PHOTOGRAPHY
VICTORIA AVEYARD was born and raised in East Longmeadow, Massachusetts, a small town known only for the worst traffic rotary in the continental United States. She moved to Los Angeles to earn a BFA in screenwriting at the University of Southern California. She currently splits her time between the East and West coasts. As an author and screenwriter, she uses her career as an excuse to read too many books and watch too many movies. You can visit her online at www.victoriaaveyard.com.
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BOOKS BY VICTORIA AVEYARD
Red Queen
Glass Sword
King’s Cage
Digital Novellas
Queen Song
Steel Scars
Collections
Red Queen Collection
Cruel Crown
CREDITS
COVER ART © 2017 BY JOHN DISMUKES
COVER DESIGN BY SARAH NICHOLE KAUFMAN
COPYRIGHT
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
KING’S CAGE. Copyright © 2017 by Victoria Aveyard. Endpapers and map © & ™ 2017 Victoria Aveyard. Endpapers and map illustrated by Amanda Persky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-231069-9 (trade bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-06-266191-3 (int. edition)
ISBN 978-0-06-266682-6 (special edition) — ISBN 978-0-06-267026-7 (special edition)
ISBN 978-0-06-268177-5 (int. edition)
EPub Edition © January 2017 ISBN 9780062310712
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