Page 122 of Blackheart

Sweat dripped from her face and down her nape.

“Oh my God!” I wheezed.

“I’m fine,” she breathed, clutching her chest.

“You’re strong. I thought that was a goddamn man pulling me up.”

She scowled and pushed me off her steed. I shrieked as I rolled onto the ground, a grin spreading across my face.

“Get on your own horse,” she rasped.

Kostini stood waiting for me, letting out a huff. I lay on the ground for a moment, catching my breath. “Thank you,” I whispered.

I certainly wouldn’t be missing her show, not after that.

Chapter 37

The Carriage

“Light or dark, Nature’s wasted on violence alone.”

—King Xavian Steele

While she may have savedme from the bladebreather, Lady Jocelynn had no such mercy with my brother. She immediately informed him of what had happened at Moonhill, with special emphasis on how she would never,everreturn, no matter the circumstances.

Xavian wanted to march up to Moonhill himself and wipe out the bladebreathers, as if that would be an easy feat.

After a long and exhausting argument, it finally ended with a firm “no” to using them in the coming war. To say the whole affair was disappointing was an understatement. Our kingdom’s own crest, the beast we proudly displayed on our flags—treated as a blight.

I had attempted to convince myself that the trip to Moonhill was a nightmare, and that the queen of the bladebreathers never tried to end my life on that field, but that was not the case. Ithadhappened, and the chances of me ever being a rider like Amzee or even seeing more people become riders was unlikely.

But nothing was impossible. Maybe Valeska would die before I was too old to climb onto a bladebreather’s back.

Riven would arrive soon, and surprisingly, I was looking forward to an evening out. I’d spent hours perfecting my cosmetics, being intentional with every color, brushstroke, and angle.

A light violet shimmer swept over my eyelids, and a touch of clear sparkles dusted my cheeks and nose. My lips were glossy, and my hair was tied into a voluminous bun with delicate, loose strands framing my face and spilling down my back.

I marveled at the woman in the reflection. It wasn’t long ago that I couldn’t stand to look at myself in a mirror. The Castivian black gown hugged my frame down to my navel, and from there, the skirt fell to the floor in heavy layers.

A firm knock pounded on my bedroom door.

I took one last look at my face before opening it.

Xavian stood in the hallway, balancing a black tiara on the end of his pointer finger. It had crystals embedded all along the front, like stars on a clear summer night.

“You have to wear this.”

I shifted awkwardly. “You don’t wear a crown. Why do I have to?”

He unceremoniously plopped it on my head with no regard for whether it was straight or messed up my hair. I took hold of it, walking back to the mirror to adjust it properly.

“Because I haven’t attended a public event as aprestigiousguest since becoming king. Lady Jocelynn has spread the word far and wide that the Princess of Castivian is attending. So,Princess, wear your tiara, and don’t let anyone rip it off your head. It’s expensive and new.”

I would be the first in history to wear it. The first Princess of Castivian.

It was surreal… and maybe not undeserved.

The bastard daughter.