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“I am not afraid.”

Kerris Dawn, A Lie

T he only thing more fake than my wedding five days ago is today’s trial. The judge doesn’t consider any of my perfectly logical arguments nor the timeline I presented. My words have fallen on deaf ears ever since the blasted inspector handed over my blood-drenched gown. Worse still was the fact that they found a vial of deadly nightshade in the pocket.

The exact poison used to kill King Bandon.

Did I forget to mention that they pinned that crime on me too? There were witnesses who saw me at the castle gates, distressed and begging to see the king. None of them could say whether or not I made it inside, but what other reason would I have to request an audience if I wasn’t there to assassinate him?

I face my jury with my head high, Ronan and the queen watching from the balcony, their expressions giving none of their treachery away. Would this have happened if I had never crossed The Divide? Never pursued Ever? Had any of the romantic words Ronan once spoken to me been real? Had he ever truly aspired to share his life with me?

Had he cared for me at all?

It takes all of twenty minutes of deliberation for the judge to hand down a guilty verdict.

My sentence: Death by hanging.

My father sobs so loudly that his wails can probably be heard on the mountains of Gravale. What I wouldn’t give to be back there now, among the goats and peaks, all thoughts of husbands and betrayal eclipsed by burbling streams and trees to be climbed.

“They’re wrong. They must be wrong. My daughter would never kill anyone.” Father’s voice cracks as Theo leads him out of the courtroom. My brother casts me a sorrowful look from over his slumped shoulder. They both came to see me this morning, hoping for a proper resolution, believing that an innocent woman would never be put to death for such heinous crimes she did not commit.

I knew that this battle was lost before I stepped onto that platform. With Ronan on the throne and his wicked mother at the helm, there is nothing but darkness ahead.

I chose my side in this fight, and unfortunately, it wasn’t the winning one.

I’m brought back to the prison cell where I spent the last few days awaiting trial. The cell isn’t what I imagined it would be, with its fine mattress and single bedside table. There’s even a private privy. The view of the city far below is peaceful, serene, and Nolan has ensured that the guards on duty keep me well fed. He even stopped by with some of the tarts I liked from one of the cafés in the city.

I’m not under any illusions that he’s doing this for me.

Ever since my arrest, Nolan has been trying his best to get back into Nia’s good graces, but she is still giving him the cold shoulder.

Nolan is only doing his job. There’s no telling what his fate would have been if he’d defied Ronan. For all we know, he might’ve ended up standing next to me in that court today.

A kind-faced young man with peach-fuzz dusting his jaw trudges into view, torchlight flickering off his black leather armor. He looks at me in stolen glances, his cheeks coloring with splotches of pink every time I catch him. “You have a visitor,” he says, fumbling for the keys at his belt.

Nia steps into view and slips through the door, her head bowed and eyes red from tears. The door closes quietly behind her, but the sound of the key in the lock cuts through the silence.

My cousin and I stare at each other, her gaze scanning as if searching for any signs of mistreatment. If not for the bars and guards, this place could be mistaken for an inn.

“I’d offer you tea, but I’m afraid all I have is water and a stale scone.” They delivered my breakfast hours ago, when the sun was barely kissing the horizon. I was too nervous for my trial to eat. Now that my fate has been marked, I’m too despondent.

Nia’s lips pinch, her curls swinging as she steps forward. “How can you make a joke at a time like this?”

Because come tomorrow, there will be no time for jokes.

There will be no time for anything.

When she pushes back her cloak, I notice she’s strangling a book. “What have you brought?”

She captures my hand, leading me to the bed where she sinks onto the mattress. I fall down beside her, waiting as she sets the tome on top of the blanket and flips through the pages to one marked with a strip of ribbon.

“I went to the library,” she says, pressing a finger to one of the lines midway down the page. “Read this.”

The section in question speaks to the succession of the throne of Willowhaven. Apparently, if Ronan and his mother were to both fall, the crown would pass to the eldest male cousin. If there are no cousins, then the high chancellor—the king’s head advisor—would be crowned king and his line would continue to hold the throne until such a time that there are no heirs, and the same thing would happen.

All very interesting, but hardly helpful at present. “I don’t understand.”

She closes the book with a huff, clutching the worn leather to her chest. “We have scoured every book in the library on the subject and there is nothing that states the King or Queen of Willowhaven must be Seelie. If Everett can prove that his father was King Bandon, then he would be the rightful heir to the throne.”

And as king, he could rebuild the bridge. “Nia, this is excellent work.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Your brother and his wife have been neck-deep in research since Nolan took you away.”

“He didn’t have a choice,” I remind her.

Her eyes harden even as her hands flex around the cover. “He did have a choice. He could’ve stopped working for Ronan the moment he found out the prince was a corrupt piece of shite, but he chose to bite his tongue. It’s disgraceful and I shall never forgive him.”

“Never is a long time to hold on to your anger.” And my cousin is too full of life, too full of joy to lose that spark. “Don’t forgive him for his sake; forgive him for yours.”

Her curls spill over her wool-clad shoulder when her head tilts. “When did you become so philosophical?”

“Since I found out I’m to be executed tomorrow at dawn.”

The book clatters to the bed, falling open to a page of the royal family tree.

How fitting.

“They cannot do that, not before Theo has filed your appeal. I won’t let them.”

Theo won’t have time for his appeal, and Nia cannot do anything about it.

No one can.

I’ve made my peace with what’s to come—at least I’ve tried to. “Will you do me one favor though? Will you promise me that you will find a way to get this book to Ever? Willowhaven deserves better than that heartless wretch Ronan as its king.”

The glassiness in Nia’s eyes spills down her cheeks when she nods. “This isn’t the last time we’ll see each other.”

It’s not. But tomorrow will be a day of mourning. Tomorrow I won’t get to tell her these words.

I fold my arms around my cousin, her snowy curls tickling my nose as I press my face into her jasmine-scented hair. “I love you, Nia.”

With the book pressed between us, she wraps one arm around my back, her body trembling with emotion. “I love you, Kerris.”

The guard returns, his expression giving nothing away as he unlocks the door to let Nia out.

Her sobs haunt the stone hallway on the long, narrow walk toward the prison’s exit.

Choking back tears of my own, I turn toward the rays of sunlight streaming through the bars and peer toward The Divide, wishing I could see my love one last time.

* * *

The gallows have been erected where only a handful of days ago I stood in a white dress, expecting to marry a prince. My wedding gown has been replaced by a fitted gray muslin so long it sweeps the cobblestones as I trudge toward the raised platform, escorted not by my father but by four armed guards.

This crowd is even larger than the one that came to watch the wedding, which says so much about the true state of this city. For all its sunshine and blooms, there is still too much darkness.

I climb the stairs. One. Two. Three. Standing face-to-face with a man as tall as he is wide wearing a black mask over his face, my heart beats firmly in my chest.

“Kerris Dawn, you have been sentenced to death for the murder of our great king, Bandon Reve, and Master Trevor Dillon. Do you have any last words?”

Only this morning, I had so many things to say. But now, all I can think about is how poorly these small-minded people have treated their neighbors. They deserve to know the truth about their leader, to be given a chance to decide for themselves.

I straighten my spine, throw back my shoulders, and say as loudly as I can, “Ronan Reve isn’t the rightful heir to the throne. Everett Gathin is.”

Ronan’s face turns as red as a robin’s breast, the vein in his forehead thumping as he glowers from his throne. Beside him, his mother smirks, ever the cold, calculating queen.

The masked man drags me by the chains still binding my wrists, forcing me to climb atop a rickety stool as he fits the length of coarse rope around my neck and tightens the noose at my nape.

I’m not scared.

I’m not scared.

I’m not scared.

I take my last breath.

I’m not scared.

I’m not scared.

My eyes fall closed.

A low rumble sounds in the distance. A swarm of tiny birds lift into the cloudless sky on colorful wings, a glorious farewell.

The guards posted at the edge of the crowd take off toward The Divide, to where dust swirls like a cyclone.

Everett Gathin emerges from the muddy cloud, dagger drawn and his long legs eating up the distance.

My heart soars as I gasp, and?—

The stool is kicked from beneath me.