Page 61 of The Dead Queen

“Then we will have to take you by force,” he says. He gives Hunter a challenging look.

“She can walk herself,” Hunter says, his voice firm. Threatening.

“I will not.” I pull my shoulders back. “I’ll do as I see fit. I’m the heir to the throne.”

“We’ll see about that.” Commander Malen reaches out for my arm, but I wrench it away.

He motions to his knights and, in one swift motion, they encircle me, reaching out to grab my arms. No amount of wriggling makes them let go.

“Don’t fight, Sienna,” Hunter says, an edge of fear in his voice.

“Let me go!” I try to kick and bite, but I’m nothing when up against copper plated armor. They drag me toward the thick wooden doors.

Those who dared come to the dining hall tonight are all staring, openmouthed, as I fight with every ounce of strength I have. No doubt they’ll run to their families to report seeing the heir dragged away at supper. They’ll hardly believe their luck.

As the knights pull me through the door, Hunter scrambles after us, trying to push them off me. He lands a punch on one guard’s face, then tries to wrench me out of his grasp. Two more guards break away from the group to pull him off of me.

“Don’t interfere,” Malen tells his son, a firm hand on his chest.

“Hunter!” I call.

“Sienna!”

The wooden door of the great hall slams shut as the guards drag me away. They take me down into a servants’ hall, then twist and turn through dark corridors beyond. No one has to tell me where we’re going. I know it with every fiber of my being.

When they finally throw me into a dark cell, far beneath the palace, I’m bruised and scratched from fighting. I scream profanities at them for several moments before I realize we’re not alone. Near the door, a man stands facing away from me, bouncing lightly on his feet. I don’t need to see his face to recognize him.

My father turns toward me, slowly. In his arms, he holds a sleeping newborn wrapped in a blanket of spun copper.

“I’d like you to meet my son.” Father’s voice is calm, odd. He smiles. “My new heir.”

From my spot on the floor, I watch him bounce the baby boy like a proud father. Vaguely, I wonder if he ever held me with such love and compassion. I doubt it.

“What’s his name?” I ask. My scraped knees sting and my dress is soaked through from the puddle I’m kneeling in.

Father pauses, thinking. “I’ve decided to name him Fennec, The Pale Fox.”

Only then do I notice the tuft of white blond hair on the baby’s head. Not a hint of auburn in sight.

At this moment, I finally understand what my almost-wedding truly was: an excuse to get me out of the way. To marry me off to a beloved man with no political machinations. To make room for a new heir.

And I threw it in his face.

There’s a long silence between us as I watch my father bounce the sleeping newborn. Then he slowly walks toward the doorway. He pauses to turn back to me.

“It turns out there will be a royal wedding after all,” he says.

My brain scrambles to catch up.

Father chuckles lowly. “Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “Not yours. That opportunity has passed.” He gazes down at the baby boy with a love I’ve never seen in him before. “It will be mine. To my new bride, the one who gave the kingdom a true heir. An heir worthy of the Fox Throne.”

My mouth hangs open, stunned.

Father shrugs. “I no longer have a use for you.”

The rusty door hinges screech closed as father walks away, cooing and bouncing his baby boy. My screams of rage echo behind them in the dank cell.

“Let me out!” I attack the door, kicking, pounding and scratching until my nails break and bleed.