She stumbled backwards, her eyes glazing over. “It’s my life,” I said, clenching my fist. “Not yours.”

Snatching up my skirts, I bolted upstairs to my room. Flinging the door open, I was confronted with a wall of cold air. The window was open, snow blowing in and dusting the carpets with white. Hurrying over, I slammed the glass shut. Then I stopped in my tracks, goose bumps rising up on my flesh. I hadn’t left the window open before I left. Slowly, I turned around.

A single candle burned on my desk, and on the mirror above it – written in smears of red – were three words: Tick, tock, Princess.

Chapter 22

Tristan

The sounds of a mob growing began to permeate the walls of the palace not long after curfew broke at shift change, though from the sounds of things, none of the day crew had gone down into the mines. It was a sure sign of their fury that they’d dare risk not meeting quotas. Despite knowing this would happen, having this much anger directed at me still made me uneasy. I’d been wrong to think that being ignored was the most horrible sort of punishment. This was far worse.

Someone hammered on the door to my rooms, and I jumped, for a moment thinking that the mob had somehow breached the palace gates and was even now coming for my head. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Guillaume stepped through, a smile plastered across his face. I hadn’t seen him since Cécile left Trollus, and I would have preferred to keep it that way. “His Majesty has ordered your presence in the throne room. Now.”

I followed him out into the corridor, where I found six more guards waiting. “This isn’t necessary,” I said. “I’ll go voluntarily.”

“Excellent,” Guillaume replied. “But we’re still going with you. Not to make sure you go, but to make sure you get there alive.”

I blinked. “I hardly need protection.”

“His Majesty thinks otherwise. There are half-bloods aplenty within the palace, and all are seeking your blood.”

“As you like.”

They marched arrayed in a circle, their magic creating a shimmering dome that pressed in around me. I’d never needed guards to protect me before; but then, until recently, neither had my father. Dark times indeed that we were worried about an outright attack.

We marched through the vaulted marble halls toward the throne room, the din from outside growing worse with every step I took. The doors to the great chamber swung open, but no one bothered to announce me. Pushing past Guillaume, I stepped inside, taking in the countless figures on either side of the path leading to the throne. My father held audiences early, and the throne room was packed with those wishing to air their grievances and those who were keen to watch.

The hall grew silent as I was noticed, everyone turning to watch me as I walked swiftly toward the throne. The half-bloods’ faces were all enraged, the aristocracy seemed curious, and everyone else appeared… worried. My father sat on the throne, the golden crown perched on his head, his expression unreadable. I met his gaze for a second, then bowed low. “Your Majesty.”