A scowling Vikander moved beside the oracle and the witch. I glared bloody daggers at him.
Though stiff, he launched into a speech about husband and wife loving, honoring and protecting each other. After a while, I lost track of his words. Blood rushed through my head, my ears ringing.
Vikander wore a mirrored pin on his jacket. I stared at my reflection, willing Foreverly to appear and tell me what to do.
I stared at the exit, willing Roth to rush through it. Or even Nicolas.
If the torque came off, I could try to summon Tyler again.
“Everly.” Challen wheezed. “Say the words.”
Any. Second.
My heart hammered against my ribs as if trying to hang a picture there. One of a husband, his wife and her two stepchildren.
“I. Do,” Challen said. “Say it.”
I gave a violent shake of my head. Come on! Someone, anyone, object to this.
Roth didn’t burst into the room.
Tyler didn’t appear.
My twin remained quiet.
Wanting to vomit, I met Vikander’s gaze. The glitter in his skin swirled like mist. His emotions affected his appearance?
“Do you take King Challen Charmaine to be your lawfully wedded husband?” he asked, his voice tight. “Yes or no?”
I opened my mouth to say I don’t. No way. Not now, not ever. I would fight this marriage with every ounce of my being. The words that rolled from my tongue? “Yes. I do.”
Nooo! The compulsion had overtaken me. Now, the words reverberated in my mind, destroying me. A white-hot tear streamed down my cheek.
Vikander wilted, saying, “You may now crown and kiss your bride.”
Someone handed Challen a crown made of crystals. The king placed the symbol of my new status atop my head and planted a quick peck on my cheek. I stood there, stunned.
“All hail the King and Queen of Sevón,” the fairy muttered.
The crowd erupted into wild cheers. It was done. I had married the king—I had married Roth and Farrah’s father. In one fell swoop, I’d become a queen and a stepmother, and developed a deep hatred for my stepchildren, who’d helped make this day happen.
The prophecy had unfolded, just as predicted.
Welcome to my new reality.
I had officially become the Evil Queen.
30
Leave him in the dust,
and his heart will rust.
My entire world crashed and burned. I felt like a fish caught in a net, struggling to no avail. Dazed and horrified, I offered no protests as Noel and Ophelia led me from the room, King Challen following at a much slower pace behind us.
King Challen. My husband.
I whimpered. Just before we exited, I looked over my shoulder and zeroed in on Truly. She sobbed quietly, her arms wrapped around her middle.
Boo-hoo. Poor Truly. At any point, she could have protested. Instead, she’d remained silent, and I’d been served to the king on fine china that definitely hadn’t been on my registry.
Noel had nailed it. Truly and I weren’t sisters.
“Give her to me.” Vikander closed in, saying, “I will return her to the tower, where Roth wishes her to stay.”
“No, no, no, little fae. There’s another ceremony to complete,” Noel replied. “Sorry, but your invitation is nonexistent.”
“Another ceremony?” I squeaked.
“Because of Challen’s condition, we must make the healing as easy as possible, which means he needed a familial bond with you,” she explained.
“Let me annul the marriage to Challen and marry Roth, then.” I’d rather hitch my wagon to my enemy—and crush—than his father.
“The closer the bond, the better the result,” Noel said. “Now, the time has come to offer true love’s kiss.”
Gross! “I will not be kissing the king.” Or doing anything else to or with him. “In the actual fairy tale, there are zero mentions of true love’s kiss. Especially in regards to the Evil Queen.”
“Just as death does not always represent death, a kiss does not always represent a kiss.”
“What does it represent in this case?” What were they trying to make me do?
She smiled, her eyes going blank. “Around and around and around they go, where they stop, nobody knows.”
Nonsense—what did it mean? Was she in the midst of a vision? “What do you see? Tell me!”
“I see what could be, what would be, what should be, what will be, what can’t be, what won’t be...”
She was still muttering when we entered the throne room, smaller in size but devoid of people and guards.
Challen entered at last. I was married to an elderly man. I had two stepchildren who despised me, the fairy tale grinding on. At the moment, I had no power or hope. Did I even want to heal Challen? No. The desire to cause pain seethed inside me. And I could... I didn’t need to wait for magic.
I threw a punch at Noel, but she expected the action and jumped out of the way. Rather than pausing to formulate a plan of attack, I used my momentum to my advantage, spinning and kicking, nailing Ophelia in the stomach.
Air gushed from her lungs as she hunched over. I experienced the barest hint of satisfaction. More! I threw another punch. Prepared this time, she blocked. Before she could deliver a punch of her own, Noel stepped between us.
“Shall I explain what happens next?” She looked at me, brow arched. “Witches cannot steal power the way sorcerers do. But a coven can work together to collect and extract power from one body, then transfer it to another. That is how many royals acquired their magic.”
More fuel for my fury. “The sorcerian are universally hated for stealing power. Now you’re going to steal mine, but that’s okay because the king is dying? Hypocrites!”
“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” Noel patted the top of my head, all there, there. “We are not going to do anything. The coven will do the honors. Plus, you won’t have to live as an empty husk without magic. I promise! When the ceremony ends, only one royal will live. The other will be dead, if I wasn’t clear.”
Empty husk? Bile burned my throat. I was to be killed—sacrificed? Dead at seventeen, the fairy tale unfulfilled? Surely not. “In the prophecy, the king dies after he marries the Evil Queen,” I reminded Challen. “Why are you willing to risk yourself?”
“Desperate,” he rasped. “Dead anyway. Must try.”
“Of course you must,” I screeched. “For your children and the kingdom, right? Well, I call foul! You’re doing this because you’re a selfish bastard.”
He blanched, but said nothing more.
“Ah. The coven has arrived.” Noel grinned and clapped. Clapped. Thrilled to ruin my life.
Great, sweeping tremors moved through me.
A door opened. One after the other, seven women in hooded black robes glided into the room. Not a single footfall resounded.
Panic and hysteria surged within me, threatening to slay what remained of my sanity. Seven witches. As in, Seven Protectors? Had I gotten things all wrong?
The members of the coven formed a half circle around me.
“Let’s get the queen ready for the ball.” Noel placed a hand on each side of my torque. Click. The metal split in two, the pieces clanging on the floor. So quick and easy, making a mockery of my efforts. “Torques made by fairies can be removed only by another fairy. Remember that.”
Finally, an act of kindness. A mistake on the oracle’s part, and one I would happily exploit. I cracked the bones in my neck, rolled my shoulders, flexed and unflexed my fingers, preparing to strike. Syphon first, attack second.
—I will help you survive this, but you must swear not to kill the Charmaine siblings.—Though she had turned away from me, Noel spoke inside my head.
I paused, considering her words. I would be a fool to
trust you again.
—If you do not trust me, you will die today, and Roth will die later.—
That sounds like a you problem. If I die, I won’t care what happens to Roth. I needed to stop chatting and focus, so I could syphon. So why was I hesitating?
—I have never lied to you. I cannot. Think back, remember my words.—
Today she’d said one royal would live and the other would die...but she hadn’t specified that I would be the one to kick it.
My eyes widened. Would Challen die?
—This is the only way to get everything you’ve ever wanted, Everly. That is my gold star guarantee.—
Everything I’d ever wanted versus dying. Maybe she was telling the truth, maybe she wasn’t.
Did I really want to blow this opportunity?
Did I have a choice? If I couldn’t circumvent Roth’s compulsion, I couldn’t escape. This way, at least, I might—might!—have a way to protect myself.
I told her, I agree to your terms. Desperate times, desperate measures. But I have two caveats. One, I won’t attack a Charmaine sibling unless I need to defend myself. And two, all bets are off when Roth returns.
—Very well. You have a deal. Now, here is my aid. Do not use your magic, Everly. Let this ceremony take place.—
Sickness curdled my stomach. That’s it?
“Return the torque to her neck.” Challen coughed, blood spraying from his mouth. “Without it, she can syphon from us.”
“The collar keeps power trapped inside her, and you want to draw her power out, correct?” Noel said. “Besides, a plain, ordinary sorceress cannot syphon from witches who are guarded against such things. And Roth compelled her not to syphon from you or your people.”
What felt like a thousand invisible hands swept me off my feet, forcing me to lie flat on my back midair. I had no foundation, and I pitched this way and that. My sickness worsened. Though I kicked and clawed at air, nearly tearing my shoulders from their sockets, I remained in place.
The fires of fury went head-to-head with an ice storm of fear. Too late to change my mind and launch an escape. “Let me go!”
—You can thank us later. We prefer gift baskets filled with the hearts of our enemies.—
“This is where we bid you adieu, Your Majesty.” Noel spoke out loud this time. To me, she said, “The king offered us a measly chest of gold to perform this ceremony, so of course we declined. So he hired witches from another kingdom.”
Something about her tone...and the gleam in her eyes... She was trying to tell me something, but my mind was a jumbled mess, and I couldn’t figure it out.
She blew me a kiss, and then she and Ophelia left. Abandoned?
I won’t cry.
As the double doors closed with an ominous click, Noel whispered to me. —Here’s to New Beginnings, Everly.—
They had abandoned me, unwilling to witness my demise. Foolish Everly! I’d had an opportunity to strike, but I’d wavered, allowing an oracle I despised to fill me with doubt.
Panic screwed with my focus. What was I supposed to do now? The witches were guarded against syphoning, and Challen didn’t have enough power to flicker a light bulb, much less help me fight off an entire coven.
“B-begin,” he said, his voice nothing but fumes.
The witches glided closer, forming a complete circle around me. One unsheathed a dagger, metal glinting in the light. Better to stab me to death?
I screamed and flailed for freedom, then grunted and groaned from exertion, my gaze returning to the doors. Come on, come on.
Roth.
Hartly.
Nicolas and Tyler.
Truly.
Vikander.
Even Noel and Ophelia.
Anyone!
The witches chanted words I couldn’t decipher, their voices melodic but emotionless. Air heated, electric pulses flashing like lightning strikes. Every point of contact felt like a needle prick against my skin.
One after the other, the women sliced their palms and flung blood over my body. Soon, my wedding dress had more crimson than white. Tears brimmed, obscuring my vision. On my own.
This was it, then. The end. I wished I’d had a chance to say goodbye to Hartly and Nicolas. Wished I’d never come to Enchantia.
Giving up so easily?
Yes! What other option did I have? I wasn’t a plain, ordinary sorceress but a—
I sucked in a breath. That’s right. Everly Morrow was no plain, ordinary sorceress. I was the Evil Queen. I was rooted in the Enchantian Forest, and more powerful than most.
I was the Apple of Life and Death.
The witches began to dance around me. Around and around and around.
I stilled, Noel’s gibberish helping me focus at last.
Realization: I didn’t need to annihilate any mystical shields. To link with me and draw out my magic, these women had to drop their guard all on their own. I had only to wait...
The only obstacle? Roth’s compulsion.
But wait! He’d compelled me to leave his people alone. The witches were not from his kingdom.
More of Noel’s nonsense made sense. In her own way, she had helped me.
One royal would die today, but it wouldn’t be me.
As for the witches...they weren’t characters in the fairy tale but instruments of Challen’s demise. His battle magic had warned him to let me go, but he’d refused to listen. Today, he paid the price.
I closed my eyes, inhaled, exhaled, centering my mind. Once Mom had likened magical power to a string. As the witches used their combined power to clasp my string, pulling, pulling me, weakness washed through me.
Now!
I clasped my string, too, pulling...pulling, regaining my power. At the end of my string, I found theirs. They’d hitched their wagons to mine. Pulling. Harder. Faster.
The tips of my fingers heated, strength flooding me. Seven witches, seven times the power. I wanted to laugh with glee. Pulling, pulling. The coven chanted at a lower volume, their dance slowing. Hoods fell back, revealing eyes aglow with fear and confusion. The blade clattered to the floor.
My merciful side said, Show mercy.
My vengeful side replied, These witches agreed to kill me for a chest of gold. They can spare more power!
Pulling. The heat intensified, my cells ablaze, using my organs as firewood. Sweat beaded on my skin. Did blisters erupt? Any second, I would melt, yet I never ceased pulling those threads.
What magical abilities would I obtain?
“What’s happening?” Challen asked, sounding weaker.
Power nearly split me apart at the seams. Just a little more...one last tug...
A witch collapsed, then another. Thud, thud. Soon, the rest followed. Unconscious or dead?
Did I care?
Next, I dropped with a hard thud. My plaits came tumbling down, curls falling over my face. As I smoothed the locks away, lines of fire raced from the tips of my fingers to my shoulders. I gritted my teeth and lifted my arms to the light. My jaw nearly unhinged. Black veins had surfaced, branching here, there, everywhere.
When sorcerers have syphoned so much power from others, it seeps into their blood, turning their veins black. Touching them skin-to-skin is as painful as it is lethal.
The witches were dead. I’d killed the entire coven and stolen too much power.
Suddenly I wanted to laugh. Too much power? Tsk, tsk. Such a terrible problem to have.
“Everly,” Challen said, barely audible now.
I snapped my gaze to his. “Are you asking for my help? I remember asking for yours—to no avail.” I stood, a little giddy, and a lot drunk on power. So glorious!
Only two slight problems remained.
1. Challen wasn’t healed.
(A) To heal him, I would have to give him my power.
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(B) No witches had survived, so no one could perform the ceremony.
2. Roth hadn’t returned, so I couldn’t leave the palace.
If Challen touched me... I wouldn’t have a marriage problem.
“You’ve killed me,” he rasped.
Oh, no, he didn’t. “I will not carry blame. I warned you about this. Had you shown me an ounce of compassion, I would have moved mountains to save you.” The pitch of my voice escalated with each new word. “You just had to go and use force, turning a potential savior into a definite enemy. So, no. I didn’t kill you. You killed yourself.”
He wavered, his cane shaking. In his expression, defeat battled remorse. “Do it, then. Syphon from me. Kill me and acquire my battle magic. But please, I beg you, use it to save the kingdom and my children, not to harm them.”
“You heard Noel. I can’t take it. Your son ensured I couldn’t syphon from a member of his family.”
Defeat marred Challen’s features. He hobbled toward me, every step an illustration of agony. I stumbled back, bumping into the throne, then falling into the seat with a humph. It wasn’t made of ice, as I’d once assumed, but glass.
A wild thought pricked my mind: there is no throne more perfect for me.
Focus! I gripped the arms. “If you touch my skin, you will die. Instead, hang on as long as you can.” Give Roth a chance to say goodbye.
“Told you.” Still he kept coming, until he stood mere inches away. He dropped the cane and gripped the throne, finding balance. “I’m dead either way.”
To prevent any accidental contact, I settled my hands on my lap.
“What I did to you was wrong,” he said. “What I planned to do, even more so. But I ask you to forgive me, to spare my children, and treat them as your own. They are your family now. I ask you to be better to them than I was to you. Please! I ask you to be better to them than they are to you.”
I owed him no favors. I owed his precious children even less. But I wasn’t a monster—I hoped. I couldn’t let him die without offering some kind of assurance. “I promised Noel your children would be safe as long as they refrained from attacking me.” If they did strike at me...
Who was I kidding? They would.
The Evil Queen Page 31