Palace Bedroom.
Oredison Palace, Gazda.
The morning of the
Commencement Ball.

I barely slept at all that night out of fear that I would wake up to find Caine in my bedroom. The way he'd touched me at dinner, and even what he'd done in the transport on the way to the arena, had been sexual—yes—but it had been possessive too. Entitled. I'd wanted to pretend it wasn't happening. And maybe, maybe I could have pretended to ignore the look in Caine's eyes if I hadn't told Kai. Admitting the truth to him had shattered the illusion I'd crafted for myself. It made it all the more real.

But it was more than a look.

He'd touched me.

And he'd do more if given the chance.

And now, more than ever, I knew that Caine would be looking for ways to hurt Kai.

I'd never failed to be an easy leash to use. Kai had always responded to my being hurt or abused. But last night's reaction to hearing that Caine had tried to touch me—that Caine had touched me—had been new. Up until then, Kai hadn't reacted with violence.

He'd argued and begged and done whatever Caine had asked him to do. But I'd never seen him strike his uncle. Judging from Caine's expression, that had either never happened before or it had been a very long time since it had.

So, there was no predicting what Caine would do now.

I was afraid to sleep, terrified to close my eyes. Each time I did, I would see him leering over me. I would be back in the transport, on my knees in front of him. Vulnerable and alone. I'd feel his breath at my ear. I'd have his hand shoving between my legs, his nails biting at my flesh.

But as night shifted to hazy dawn, my eyelids grew heavier. Exhaustion pushed my fear away. I sat on the floor, my back pressed to the side of the bed, my gaze—which was growing blearier by the second—locked on the closed door.

Prepared. I told myself I was prepared.

I am a girl made of lies.

Ross and Igell had arrived shortly after Cohen left. From where I sat, I could just make out the shadow of their boots. I wished their presence was a comfort to me, but it wasn't. Each time they shifted, every time their voices grew loud, I flinched back to full consciousness.

They'd laugh.

Every time Caine did something to me, they laughed. Once, a palace healer had given me a salve for one of the burns and Igell had taken it from me. He'd taunted me. He'd said I deserved to have the scars. If Caine came for me in the dead of night, they wouldn't stop him. They'd watch. I'd never done anything to them and they'd still somehow think my torture was deserved.

So I fought sleep. I fought to stay awake, to stay alert. My ability paced beneath my skin, a caged beast. Both of us broken and bleeding. Neither of us able to escape from the hell we were in.

My eyes burned. The sob that was building in my chest hurt. It knocked the air from my lungs and made each breath too shallow. It was soul-crushing, this ache. And I worried that if I truly began to cry, truly began to process what had happened to me, I might never stop crying. I couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of what Caine had done. If I let myself dwell on it, if I let myself accept that he'd really touched me, really violated me, and been willing to do far more, I knew it would break my resolve.

So, I held reality at arm's length.

I lied, I made excuses, I blamed myself.

I found solace in those untruths.

And as dawn crept forward and the moon sank lower, I found some semblance of rest. I found peace in the cool, white sunlight streaming through the frosted windowpanes. I found it in the sound of maids, the laughter of footmen, the clink of coal in buckets, and the far off—almost indistinguishable—lighting of morning fires.

***
The Throne Room.

The king smiled at the reporter seated next to him. She was lovely, made lovelier by the lights and powders and the lowcut dress she wore. It showed every curve of her body, accentuated her long legs and lithe body. She'd wanted to be a dancer once—a ballerina in one of the larger opera houses in Gazda. She'd been telling the king about it when I'd arrived. She'd had to quit dancing, something to do with a broken leg, I think.

As she'd spoken, his gaze had darted to me.

They'd done a good job covering up the cut on his face with creams and powders. If I didn't know to look for the marks, I may not have even noticed. But they were there—a large cut down one side of his neck, another smaller one under his left eye, and a purplish bruise on his chin from where I'd punched him last night. My knuckles still ached from the hit.

There were probably more bruises too. His nose had been bleeding last night, so it was probably sore. It didn't seem swollen, so at least it wasn't broken. A stylist had slicked back his hair, taming the curls away from his face. The style was more Cohen than Kai. It made something in my chest hurt—a pang of regret and worry and a million other emotions that I couldn't sum up into coherent thought.

All I knew was that everything was laced with fear.

Terror was the third person in our relationship. It sat between us always. It ate from the same table, slept in the same bed, drank off of our care for one another. It made breathing difficult. It made me hate him—even when I knew I really didn't. It confused me.

It made me jealous.

As I'd taken my seat next to Caine, I tried not to notice how close the girl sat to him, how her hand just happened to brush his knee as she laughed at her own joke. He laughed too, but the sound was hollow, too forced. The reporter had frowned when she'd heard it, her blue eyes noting the way Kai still looked at me—noting the way I refused to meet his stare. The way I sat; my body angled as far from Caine as possible.

It did no good, there was no escaping him.

When he realized that the reporter was watching us, Caine's fingers dug into my wrist, his nails biting into my skin until I winced. With all of the cameras and so many strangers watching, he expected me to be on my best behavior. But I was damn tired to even care.

But I should.

I should care.

The people in Third Corps could die if I didn't.

Seeing my reaction, the girl's smile faltered. Kai tried to deflect her attention by asking her a question and it seemed to work. She beamed and the two of them laughed and all was well again.

The tightness in my chest only increased.

After a second of more meaningless small talk, the girl signaled to the man behind the camera, cuing the crew to prepare for the shoot. She adjusted herself in her chair, straightening her spine, and putting a respectful amount of space between the two of them. A second passed and then the cameraman signaled that they were live.

The reporter smiled and introduced herself, then said something about how honored she was to be able to speak to King Kaius today. Kaius. The name had taken on a venomous quality. Before we'd come here, he had been Callahan to everyone in Third Corps and Kai to me. Now, everyone who had once called him Callahan called him Kai. And Caine called him Kaius.

Kaius.

A name he'd gotten from his father.

The dead king.

Because he was a prince.

And now he was king.

I didn't think I'd ever get used to that.

At breakfast this morning he had been silent. It was a new sort of quiet, different from when he was anxious or broody or mad. This silence spoke volumes. It told stories that the bruises and cuts only hinted at. Even Cohen, who had taken to staring daggers into Kai anytime they saw each other, had looked at him with pity.

Kai hadn't deigned to look in my direction all morning.

And now, when his eyes were finally on me, I avoided his gaze.

A dance. This was a dance.

I'd done really well over the last month. I'd channeled my fear into anger. I'd done my best not to cry—but I'd faltered the last few days. My emotions were raw, like a skinned knee I kept splitting open over and over again. It was a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

I was slipping.

And Kai was my weakest spot.

I'd learned that I was strong until I looked at him. And, goddess, I was trying so hard to be strong—to not crumble to a million tiny pieces—and I worried that if I looked at him just then, I might put my guard down. I might fall apart. And there wasn't time.

I could feel that internal fracturing, the fraying of my insides. But I would not cave to it. I couldn't.

And, if I were being honest, I was mad too. Jealous of this stranger. The way he'd avoided me all morning had hurt, but I'd understood. Still, seeing him with this girl—even if the smiles were fake, they were still smiles.

Unfair.

I was being unfair.

Because, deep down, I knew that I was his weakness too. And we needed to be strong, to be unmovable. But now he was looking at me. I could feel his stare, feel the concern burning there.

I wanted, more than anything, to have him hold me.

I wanted to be able to fall apart.

My throat burned, the tightness so much it hurt to swallow.

The reporter said something else to the king and his attention moved to her at last. She asked how he was liking palace life. He gave a bland answer about settling in. It was the same interview, the same answers, he'd given five million times. This wasn't his first time in front of a camera. I'd seen each reporter, listened to the king rattle off Caine's script over and over again.

Yes, we're pleased with how smoothly the transition is taking place. The cooperation of the Erydian people is paramount to the successful start of a king's reign. Of course, Kai mourned for his half-sister. Yes, it was upsetting that Uriel Warwick had become ill and died. No, the transition went without casualty. His men were trained, they took over peacefully. No, they had never had any intention of killing Larkin Warwick. Why would he want his half-sibling dead?

Question after question, lie after lie.

The reporter smiled and asked a new question about Heidi and Nadia's trial. Kai's mouth pulled into a grim line and I felt his gaze move to me again. I felt him prepare to speak Caine's words. When I didn't look up at the reporter, didn't even acknowledge the king's presence, Caine's grip on my wrist tightened to the point of drawing tears. I glanced up then, finally meet Kai's gaze.

For an instant, the room seemed to settle, that pacing anxiety in my chest leveled out, and it was only his eyes on me. My heart hurt so much that I wanted to carve it from my chest. Kai's expression changed as he looked at me, that practice calm slipping away into cold dread. His face paled as Caine shifted in his seat and placed a hand on my knee.

I'd tried to wear pants today, but Caine had made me go back into my room and change. I hadn't been able to find a longer dress. The one I wore fell just an inch below my knee and it still seemed too short. It revealed too much, gave him too much access, left me too exposed.

Caine's thumb swiped small circles towards the inside of my leg, up my thigh. The skirt of the dress hitched. It wasn't enough to draw attention from the reporter or the camera crew, who were all focused on the interview, but Kai noticed.

The king's mouth pulled into a thin line and he focused his attention back on the reporter. She crossed her legs and angled her body towards him, waiting expectantly for the answer to a question he hadn't heard her ask.

Kai was not as skilled at playing royal as Cohen was. If it had been Cohen sitting in that armchair, surrounded by cameras, he would never have gotten distracted. He would know how to smile, how to put the reporter at ease. He would have made himself seem approachable, even if he wasn't. Of course, Cohen had been raised for this role—King Kaius Reid Warwick had not.

He ducked his head and muttered a quiet apology. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

The reporter straightened and looked to the camera. The man operating it gave her a thumbs up. "How do you feel about taking over the Culling from Prince Cohen? It must be strange taking over something so personal from your brother."

The king swallowed. Cohen was one of the subjects he avoided at all costs—this topic was right next to his feelings about me and the subject of what he'd done to land us all here. When he again hesitated, Caine's hand on my leg tightened until I was certain he'd draw blood.

If the king noticed, he didn't show it.

He said, "I'm grateful that the prince—that Cohen—has chosen to pass the responsibility on to me. The Culling is a centuries-old tradition and I'm honored to be able to play a part in it, even if we are doing things a little out of order."

The reporter grinned, pleased with his answer. Then, her eyes drifted to me.

This time, the king did not look, he merely took a silver pocket watch from his vest pocket and said, "I believe that's all the time I have for interviews—"

The reporter leaned forward, her smile wide as she asked, "Is there any goddess-touched girl you're interested in seeing win the Culling?"

The question was pointed, it cut at my lungs, made my throat tightened. This young woman wasn't stupid. She knew it was strange to have only one goddess-touched girl here, sitting only feet away from the interview platform. And even though we'd never been introduced and I didn't even know her name, there was no way in hell she didn't know mine.

I was Monroe Benson—the goddess-touched traitor to Erydia and the lover of the current king. Lover. I hated the way courtiers and reporters said it, the assumptions tied to it. In their eyes, and in the eyes of this woman, lover might as well have meant whore.

Heidi's accusation from the night before burned a hole in my chest.

These people didn't know me—they only knew that the king favored me. They knew that I'd been the one to announce who he was to the world. They knew that he and I had danced together before he was crowned.

For weeks after it had happened, there had been a picture of us plastered on the front cover of every newspaper and broadcast. It had been taken when he'd arrived, just as Cohen had pulled away from me and Kai had taken his place. I'd been surprised, I'd smiled. Kai's gold eyes had been bright with something—an emotion I now recognized to be fear.

That had been minutes, seconds, before everything went to hell. When the people of Erydia saw that image, they saw two people in love. A lovestruck girl thrilled to see her prince charming.

But when I looked at that picture, I relived the moments before Uri had died.

The reporter was watching the king's face. His lips were parted and I could see him trying to decide how to answer. His feelings for me weren't a secret. The reporter probably assumed I was here because he wanted me to be. Caine's hands on me could have appeared stabilizing, reassuring. To an outsider, nothing might seem amiss.

This should be easy.

He should be able to openly declare to her that he wanted me.

But he'd barely spoken to me in weeks. He'd told me that he loved me and I hadn't responded. I'd given him his mother's ring back. The heartache of it all had been painfully fresh—it was still painfully fresh. Each of our attempts to mend things were hollow, a bandage over a gushing wound.

I didn't want to hear that he wanted me like this. Not here. Not in front of these people.

Not with Caine's hands on me.

I didn't want to have to decide if this was yet another lie.

Kai's voice turned soft as he said, "Isn't it the job of the goddess to choose the next queen? I'm not sure my desires have any sway in it."

The reporter shot him a coy smile and said, "Of course, but there's no harm in wishing...?"

He tucked the watch back into his vest pocket and stood. The reporter got to her feet too. Before she could ask any more questions, he was saying, "It was wonderful chatting with you, Miss Vance. Now, if you don't mind..." He offered the woman his hand to shake and she took it.

She was still holding his hand, the contact lingering too long, as she said, "It was an honor, Your Majesty."

The smile plastered on his face faltered, just a bit. "The pleasure—" he pulled away and stepped back. "The pleasure was all mine."

He didn't wait for her to say anything else, he strode from the platform, past where Caine and I sat, and out into the corridor. Guards followed at his heels, close enough to protect him but far enough away that he wouldn't get annoyed at their presence.

If the rumors were true, he'd already gotten into a fistfight with three of his royal guards after they refused to give him space. After the third man was concussed after less than a week on the job, they started keeping their distance.

As soon as Kai was gone, Caine was out of his chair and speaking to the reporter and her crew. The woman smiled, but her attention wasn't on the dull conversation he'd started, instead, she kept glancing at me. I stayed where I was, unsure if my abandonment had been a dismissal. I had half a mind to go after Kai.

After what had happened last night, I was worried about him. I was also upset that he'd struck out at Caine. He'd been playing this game much longer than I had and I knew that Caine's antics were wearing him down—but I needed him to keep his cool.

I needed Kai to help me.

Caine wanted to keep me in line, he wanted to control me, and I wanted to show him I was submissive and quiet and willing to play the part he cast me in. I needed him to think that so he'd let me close enough to strike. I needed Caine to see me as a pawn, an easy to control queen.

But I'd messed up too.

Caine had cornered me, gotten too close, taken too much, and I'd balked. I'd freaked out and left the dining room last night, I'd cried, I'd told Kai the truth about what had happened. I'd stayed awake most of the night terrified Caine my come after me. That he might take what I'd denied him last night.

With all of that in mind, I found that I was eager to get as far from him as possible. Him touching me, even briefly, was enough to make my pulse quicken—my palms sweat. The walls of the room would close in, the lights would darken, my vision would narrow until all I could imagine was what he'd do to me if he had the chance.

I needed to get out.

Now.

With Caine's full attention still on the reporter and my guards dismissed for the rest of the morning, I slipped from the throne room. For a moment, I just stood in the hall, trying to decide what to do. I counted my heartbeats, waiting to see if Caine would notice my absence. When the conversation with the reporter continued, I relaxed a little.

I weighed my options.

I wanted to see Kai again—privately. Without witnesses and prying eyes.

But I had no idea where he would have gone. The Commencement Ball was this evening and most everyone was busy preparing for that. The Synod was in recess until after Heidi and Nadia's trial, so I knew Kai wouldn't be in the council rooms. He could be in the library drawing. I'd found pencil shavings and scrap papers that were evidence that he enjoyed sitting in the sunroom to sketch.

Or he might have gone on a run.

His bedroom was also an option. He'd taken up residence in the old king and queen's quarters. Anna's rooms were in that same wing of the palace.

If I were betting coin, I'd say that's where he'd have gone.

Anna hadn't come to breakfast.

And the way Kai's shoulders had relaxed when he'd caught sight of me as I'd entered the dining room, told me that he'd been worried for my safety. Her absence had kept him on edge. The likelihood of Caine doing something to punish one of us because of Kai's stunt last night was high. If I hadn't taken a beating because of it, it was possible his mother had.

As I headed towards the southern wing of the palace, I avoided maids and the stray guard, ducking into shadowy alcoves and hiding in doorways until they'd passed. Once Caine had realized I'd left without his permission, he'd either come after me himself or he'd find Ross and Igell and send them. I needed to find Kai before that happened.

I had no idea what I'd say to him or even what I wanted. I only knew that after last night, I was afraid. Goddess, I was tired of always being afraid.

With the ball happening tonight, everyone was preoccupied with preparations. This made it easier to stay unnoticed. As I stepped onto the lift that would take me up to the royal rooms, I began to relax. It seemed that no one was looking for me.

Either Caine had decided I wasn't worth the trouble, or he was too busy censoring the reporter to worry about where I'd gone. I was willing to gamble on the latter. There was nothing he cared about more than protecting the image he'd crafted.

For once, his lies were benefitting me.

I slumped against the metal wall of the lift.

This elevator was in the interior of the palace and subsequently lacked the beautiful glass panel that the one closer to my rooms offered. Without that window looking out onto the city, the elevator was a little more frightening. The soft click of the gears and the rumble of the floor beneath my feet reminded of me advisor Tallis. She'd been afraid of the lifts because her mother had died when a mine shaft had collapsed.

As the metal box drifted higher and my panic grew, I realized that same fear for myself.

This shouldn't have really come as a surprise, since I'd recently found myself afraid of small spaces. I didn't exactly know where that anxiety had come from—maybe the cell I'd been locked in all those months ago or the transport I'd ridden in during my first trip to the rebel camp. Either way, that same mouth-watering, nausea-inducing, panic-spurring fear took hold of me.

And I wanted off.

I pressed a button lower on the panel, deciding that I'd just take the stairs the rest of the way up. Sure, I'd risk running into someone, but it was worth it to me.

I couldn't seem to get a full breath. My hands became slick against the railing as I clung to it for dear life.

I exhaled as the lift chimed and the doors slid open. I burst out into the hall, too relieved to pay any attention to my new surroundings. I wiped my palms on the skirt of my dress as I turned and headed towards where I knew a servant's stairwell would be. I took two steps away from the lift, my eyes locked on my shaking hands and the cream-colored wallpaper. For a moment, I just stood there trying to catch my breath.

It was quiet this deep into the palace.

In the silence, I imagined the way Caine would yell. I thought of the things he might say, the things he might do. That was enough to banish my fear of the lift.

I needed to go. I needed to keep moving. I was fine.

Everything was so damn fine.

I took off at a brisk walk, trying to remember exactly where the stairwell would be. I hurried my pace as I turned a corner. Three more steps and then I was stumbling forward as my shoe caught on something. I scrambled for anything to hold onto but came away with nothing.

A few more staggering steps and a nearly twisted ankle later, and I crashed into a far wall. I narrowly avoided colliding with an expensive-looking painting, it swayed dangerously on its hook as my hands barreled into the wall on either side of it.

For a moment, I just stood there, too shocked to move. I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I'd seen as I'd careened forward. My legs were trembling, my breathing too fast.

I took a split second to collect myself, then I straightened the painting, turned, and looked down at where Princess Isla sat on the floor, a cigarette perched between her thin fingers. I blinked at her as if I could make the absurd scene disappear.

She smiled, her white teeth flashing against her warm brown skin as she took in my disheveled state. With a flourish of her hand, she said, "Good reflexes, Miss Benson. Would you care for a smoke?"

***

You got a longer chapter tonight.

If you enjoyed this chapter: leave this emoji 🗝 in the comments and go tell a friend to read TCC series. Because who doesn't want to be *absolutely wrecked* together? The more the merrier, right?

My upload schedule for The Reckless Reign is Tuesdays and Thursdays. 🧡🔥👑

For more information on The Culled Crown series and other projects, follow me on Instagram (@briannajoyc) or check out my website (www.briannajoycrump.com).