Page 16

He hands the other man the vial, standing as it’s poured into an antique inkwell. “Now, you must come to us pure of spirit,” Ashby says, retrieving a sheaf of papers from a nearby table.

“Is it over yet?” I gasp. Sweat is beading up on my brow, but I fight to remain still. The more I move, the more it hurts. “Can I get up now?”

“Very nearly,” Ashby replies, placing the stack of papers in my lap. “All that’s left is for you to sign the covenant.”

I sob, fingers curling into tight fists as I look down. The stack of paper is thick, the first page bearing mine and the Princes’ names. It shudders from my shaking legs. “I-I can’t r-read it.”

Ashby commands, “Pace, Lex, let her hands free. Our Princess needs to read the contract. After she’s done, we’ll let her up.” He gives me a smile that’s as sickly sweet as the roses crushed beneath my arms. “Takeallthe time you need, Verity.”

My face goes slack in horror.

There must be a hundred pages.

Hot, defeated tears track down my cheeks as I try, reaching down with a trembling hand to uncover the second page of the covenant. The black ink blurs through my tears and I blink them away, heart twisting as I realize it’s impossible. No one could remain in this much agony for the length of time it’d take to fully comprehend what I’m agreeing to.

As if to solidify this point, Pace’s hand joins Whitaker’s on my shoulders,pushing.

I cry out, slamming my fist into the arm of the chair. “Stop!”

Ashby forces something into my palm, saying, “You can make it stop, Princess. All we need is your signature on the last page. It’ll be your explicit agreement to abide by everything within.”

When the black spots have cleared my vision, I’m left panting and exhausted, clawing my fingers around the fountain pen. “Where?” I gasp impatiently, body quaking. “Tell me where!”

Smoothly, he extracts the last page from my lap, laying it on top. “Well, right here, of course.”

When the inkwell filled with my blood appears in front of me, I can’t even think about it. There’s no space in my body–my mind–for anything except pain and the desperation to rid myself of it.

I dip the metal tip of the pen into the inkwell and fling my hand toward the paper, messily scrawling my name across the line. There’s no time to really consider what I’ve just signed away. I lift the pen, watching through watery eyes as a drop of blood falls from the tip, landing on my white dress.

The stain blooms out like a crimson flower.

Ashby collects the papers, beaming. “Congratulations. All done.”

The hands on my shoulders leave, only to wedge themselves beneath each arm, wrenching me upward and off the device.

The absence of the intrusion is almost worse. My vision swims as I fling myself away, tumbling gracelessly to the floor in front of the throne. Ashby steps back, but all I can see are the toes of his shoes, as polished as black mirrors.

“Exceptional,” he breathes, and though I can’t find the strength to look up, I can still feel Ashby’s eyes on me as I curl into a ball, hands wedged between my thighs. “Not many women could withstand being throned as well as you have. Such an effort is worthy of reward. I’ll make sure my sons understand that.”

Fuck your reward, I want to say, pressing hot, humiliated tears into my knees.

But I don’t.

I lay there and try to feel grateful that the worst of it is over.

And then Ashby says, “Fetch me the knife, would you, Danner?” and I’m clutched with panic as my eyes snap up, watching the new Princes move to the front of the throne.

Luckily, the next hurt isn’t meant for me.

One by one, they prick their forefingers, squeezing the blood into the same inkwell that holds mine. The only break in the solemn hush of the room is when Whitaker pauses, the edge of the knife centimeters from his flesh.

His blue eyes jump up to Ashby’s. “Father,” he starts, the line of his shoulders tense. And then quieter, downright pleading, he adds a strained, “Dad.” The room grows thick with an uncomfortable silence, and I get the sense this is as close to begging as Whitaker has ever come.

Ashby’s eyes flare angrily. “Is something about this confusing to you? It shouldn’t be. You’ve borne witness to several ceremonies. You prick the finger and sign your name.” When Whitaker just stands there, frozen and edgy, Ashby sighs, glancing at his other son. “Lex, what are you doing Friday?”

Whitaker lurches forward, barking, “No!” At the expectant curve of Ashby’s brow, Whitaker sucks in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring wide as he finally presses the blade to his finger. “I’ll do it,” he says through clenched teeth.

Watching them sign the covenant makes me want to vomit.