We step through a vaulted archway and into the throne room. It’s bigger than a cathedral, with silver filigree dancing along the ceiling, stained-glass windows that cast towering shadows across the floor, and sculptures standing in rows like monstrous stone soldiers, their blank, polished eyes forever watching the room. Black and white tiles lead the way to a throne of silver branches.

And on it sits Queen Ophelia.

48

DRESSED IN BLACK SILK THAT looks more like a pantsuit than a dress, the queen sits with her chin high and her curious eyes soaking in the information around her. Hair shaved close to her head, she wears a simple circlet against her forehead.

When she speaks, my blood drains from me completely. “So this is the Failed Hero,” she says. The unmistakable voice from my O-Tech watch. The voice I’ve called to, more times than I want to admit, because I needed to feel less alone.

Does she recognize me? Does she know I’m the one who’s visited her mind?

Ettore and Caelan stop beside me, the three of us at the foot of the wide steps leading to the throne. Beside Queen Ophelia are Prince Lysander of Death and Prince Damon of Famine. Faces blank, their shoulders are rolled back like they’re awaiting orders.

The queen doesn’t need guards when she has them.

“They’re always smaller than I imagine,” Queen Ophelia says without looking at me. “What of the Colony?”

“It’s been destroyed, Your Majesty,” Prince Caelan says, bowing. When he lifts his head, he adds, “All of the humans have been taken to the Winter Keep.”

Queen Ophelia nods approvingly.

My heart burns inside me.

“With your permission, I’d like to decide what to do with the prisoners.” Caelan remains stoic. “They were caught in Victory, after a successful mission to weed them out. I would like the honor of continuing to be entrusted with their fate.”

Queen Ophelia regards him carefully, eyes processing information like an alien from another planet.

But she says nothing.

“I don’t see how Victory has any use for these prisoners. They’re aware—and unsafe within this court’s borders,” Ettore says.

Caelan’s eyes flicker with resentment. “I think I know what’s safe in my own borders.”

Ettore glares back seedily. “Hardly. You’ve been parading that human around your court like she was one of us and even put Death’s Legion Guards in danger to protect your pathetic guise.”

“They were never in danger. Lysander knows that,” Caelan snaps. “It sickened me to fight against my own kind, but I had a duty to this court. I had to protect the mission.”

Ettore snarls. “Our gracious mother let you play your games long enough. You’ve spent too much time alongside the humans, and it’s made you weak.”