Page 48 of The Faceless Queen

“She needs to be,” he hissed, and grabbed hold of my wrist, his fingers pressing into the skin still wounded with the blood oath.

I flinched, barely stopping myself from crying out in pain.

“Who’s—” Olivay started, but was so afraid that she sobbed again. “Who’s there?” Her eyes moved wildly back and forth between us. “Please. What do you want with me?”

“Oh, Princess Olivay,” the Hermit said. “I’m almost offended you don’t recognize me. Not after how well I’ve come to know you.”

“Know me?” Her voice shook.

“Know you,” he purred. “Well? How about now? Do you know who I am?” Slowly, he let the torch fall from his face, taking it over to the wall and lighting another, and then another, brightening the cavern, until he hung his torch up on a neatly placed rod. Flames crackled across the stone walls as he turned, stepping fully into the light.

Olivay’s eyes widened. I could see the moment they were filled with recognition. And I knew what came next. The moment they’d shatter with betrayal.

But first, there was hope. Relief. Her mouth fell open as she called out to the Hermit.

“Lord Brandon?” she asked, her voice suddenly high-pitched. “Thank the Gods you’re here. I’ve been so afraid. Please, you must help me. Get me out of here.”

Lord Brandon? I scowled. Was that his alias in Spartva? Gods. I couldn’t think of a less fitting name for the Hermit.

“Brandon?” Olivay cried, when he hadn’t moved, or spoken. “Please, please! Please help me!” Her voice was growing more urgent and desperate.

The Hermit, or Brandon, shook his head. “Princess, I am sorry. But I can’t help you. As your ambassador, I must inform you of some rather unfortunate news. You see, it’s because of me that you’re here.”

“Because of—” She shook her head. “No.” Her eyes widened. “No! No! No!” The disbelief in her voice was palpable. Her mind refused to accept the betrayal, but her body already knew, her emotions exploding.

That was enough to fully awaken the demonos part of me. I felt it uncoil at the center of my belly. A meal was near. I took a step back, my heart thundering.

No. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. She was innocent. She was just a girl, a girl who’d been born with the wrong title, placed unknowingly as a pawn in a game she’d never agreed to play.

The Hermit walked into a small corner and picked up a leather satchel. He opened it and removed a purple velvet cloak—one just as lush and rich in material and color as Brennan’s had been, as rich in quality as Jaron’s. The purple was so dark in tone, so jewel-like, I knew it had taken a wealth of dye. A kingly amount. Pinned to the collar, glittering in the torchlight, was an amethyst stone engraved with a silver unicorn.

The sigil of House Kanos. Princess Olivay’s house.

“It wasn’t that hard to get close to you,” the Hermit taunted as he placed the cloak over his shoulders. “Learn what I needed to. Earn your trust, the trust of your guards. And then, with everyone in House Kanos believing me a friend, I barely broke a sweat bringing you here.”

“You? You tricked me.” Her voice hollowed. “Why? Why would you do this?” She sniffled. “What do you want from me?”

“Me?” He pointed at his chest. “My darling, no. I don’t want anything from you.” He clicked his tongue. “Nothing at all. But my friend here …” He sucked air through his teeth, hands resting on his hips, his neck snaking from side to side. “I can’t promise the same.”

The Hermit grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin still sensitive and raw after he’d carved the blood oath into it. I hissed, stumbling as he shoved me forward.

Olivay squinted at me, not understanding who I was. Or what. But one thing was clear. She was afraid. Afraid of me. It was a sinking feeling that weighed me down, threatening to crush me. I felt sick, and yet I couldn’t stop it from happening. Couldn’t slow it down.

Because already I was connecting to her mind, hearing her thoughts, feeling just how terribly afraid she was. My stomach burned, the Azete slithering through my limbs.

I shook my head. “No.” I turned to the Hermit. “Keep her here if you must. But I will not feed.”

“Feed?” Olivay whimpered. “What do you mean, feed?”

“You must,” he said.

“No,” I cried.

Olivay stilled, her eyes no longer filled with tears, but something almost like hope.

“Find me someone else,” I seethed, my voice growing deeper.

“I brought her here for you.”