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“I don’t know,” she said as we shared a look of worry. Wrapping me in another hug, she admitted, “I hope not.”

We made quick work of getting me ready, with semi-wet hair piled into a low bun.

My neck was on full display from the light purple dress—my favorite color—with sleeves that hung loosely halfway down my arms.I took in the image of myself for as long as I was allowed—soaking up what was bound to be the last time I would see myself in such fine clothing.

Eventually, the three guards walking into the bathroom interrupted me, signaling that it was time to go.

The sight of them dressed in their uniforms, coming to collect me, had it all sinking in.

I was probably going to die. My son’s father, and my first love, was about to have me executed.

I’d been ready for death before when it was on my terms, but now, when it suddenly wasn’t, I couldn’t stop the panic from causing my breaths to increase.

My name is Mira Ambros, and I am about to die eight days before my twenty-third birthday, I told myself.

It seemed fitting—Aedon didn’t make it to his next birthday, and I won’t be making it to mine.

Making the guards wait, I wrapped Ysabel in a hug so tight that I doubted she could breathe. Whispering into her ear, I practically whimpered, “If I’m executed, make sure I’m buried with my son in the field by my cottage.”

She nodded in agreement before sniffling as we pulled apart. I looked into her hazel eyes one more time before finally turning to face the guards.

What I assumed was the leader walked out of the bathroom first, while the other two waited until I was beside them.

Each of them grabbed one of my arms—like chains on a criminal.

Which is exactly what I was. They led me through the halls and down the stairs, maneuvering me between the crowd.

Curious and gossiping gazes filtered toward me and I locked eyes with each one, causing every host to jump with a start.

These people were unchallenged, uneducated beyond silverware—and most irritatingly—unsullied with a life of suffering.

As the guards guided me into the throne room I prepared to stop in the center of the already crowded space. My heels thudded against the glistening marble floors—each sound like another nail in my coffin.

Nickolai sat on his throne with his mother and sister standing off to his right. Both of them looked at me with disgust—another family trait they all seemed to share. I lifted my chin slightly, holding it firm in its new spot.

I would not let them see me cower.

We got to the center of the room and, to my surprise, the guards continued walking me to stand near the crowd on the side of Nickolai that was opposite his family. I couldn’t stop the confusion from showing on my face as I looked around the room at many other bewildered expressions.

We stood for what felt like forever, Nickolai seemingly unbothered as we waited for something to happen.

At last, there was a commotion at the front of the room, where Loughlan and Sigric dragged in a struggling Katryn.

Her hair was hacked, some of it so short that it barely made it past her one ear, while other pieces were but a small reminder of what she used to have.

Deep scars covered her face from where I cut it, each of them a glimmering deep purple that matched the bags under her eyes.

There was a loud gasp that fell over the room as we all watched Katryn be practically carried toward the center.

My gaze shifted to Nickolai, whose face was a mask of indifference.

“Let go of me!” Katryn squealed.

Everyone watched her struggle, each person expressing a million different emotions, but the one that stood out the most was shock.

She kicked at Loughlan while trying to rip her arm with her healed finger from Sigrics’ grip.

Fae or not, there was no way she was going to be escaping both of their holds on her.

“LET GO!” she screamed again, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“That is enough.” Nickolai’s usually smooth voice was replaced with one of both command and anger.

She immediately yielded to his tone, slipping into her fake innocent act that she typically had around him. “My king, I don’t understand. What’s happening? I was the one who was attacked!”

“I said enough!” Nickolai snapped.

I was shocked at his anger—even though it had been used on me before—I could only imagine how it must feel for her when she had yet to see this side of him.

Her mouth gaped open so much that she would be lucky if she didn’t catch bugs.

A silence hushed over the court around me as they prepared for Nickolai to speak.

Sitting up straighter, he inquired, “It has been brought to my attention that you purposely snuck into another woman's room to cut off her hair. Do you deny it?”

Katryn had disbelief written across her features as she looked around the room, asking, “What is this?”

“Answer the question,” Nickolai commanded.

“Yes, I deny it!”

Nickolai’s jaw clenched, causing the muscle near his ear to tick. “You were seen slipping drugs into other women’s drinks. Do you deny it?”

She blinked at him, taking what seemed like an eon to register his words. “Yes!”

Nickolai continued, “You are accused of forcing other women to commit crimes in this castle on your behalf. Do you deny it?”

The more he said, the more she tried to portray an innocent victim. She nodded her head, tears spilling over the brims of her eyelids, “Yes!”

Everyone in the room watched intently as one accusation after another was made and denied vehemently.

“Lastly, you admitted to breaking into another woman's room and destroying the memorabilia of our dead son” he said, growling the last few words as his eyes narrowed on her.

My legs went numb, and it was only the tight grip of the guards that kept me standing as I watched the room take in the news with loud gasps.

I glanced at Loughlan, who tried to hide his surprise at Nickolai’s statement, but when my gaze shifted to Nessy, she was a whole other story.

Nessy and her mother shared a look of absolute surprise before her eyes found mine—realization and hurt passing through them.

“SILENCE!” Nickolai yelled, which instantly made every person flinch and their mouths shut. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Do you deny it?”

Katryn’s eyes were crazed as she said, “Mira broke into my room and nearly killed me! Why isn’t she being punished?”

Whispers broke out among the crowd once more as all eyes turned to me. The bystanders who stood closest to me promptly backed away in worry. If there was any doubt about who the mother of his son was before, it was now gone.

Nickolai calmly replied, “What happens to Mira is none of your business. Do you deny it?”

I tried and failed not to catch onto the fact that he was admitting there would be something happening to me.

Finally, she said, “Yes, I deny it!”

Nickolai nodded, having expected her answer. He took a moment to mull over what she had said before finally commanding, “Ezekiel, come forward.”

Katryn immediately started panicking, “NO! I didn’t do it, you have to believe me. My king, please believe me.”

“I will believe what my second-in-command discovers.” Nickolai quipped.

Katryn started fighting Loughlan and Sigrics’ hold on her once again, this time more adamantly as Zeke walked up.

The difference between watching him look through her life and mine was like night and day.

With mine, it seemed to actually hurt him—like he couldn’t get out of it quickly enough.

But with hers, his face filled with disgust as he soaked up all that she had done.

Which no doubt was more than she had been accused of.

Once he finished sifting through her mind, Zeke stepped back and faced Nickolai, stating the four words of validation for me and so many others, “She did it all.”

Katryn began screaming again, “No I didn’t! He is a liar! You’re a liar!”

Nickolai’s voice boomed over her screams, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand, “Katryn Holt, daughter of the Duke of Zheles, I send you to the dungeons where you will await your execution.”

Her struggle continued as the words, “You can’t do this to me!” were pulled from the room.