Chapter 7 · Poison at the Ball

"Don't even think about fighting it, Princess. You're already halfway to the grave."

His hand's around my throat. Leather biting into skin. Sweet gas thick in my mouth — rotting orchids and copper.

"Let her go!" Kael roars from across the marble. He tries to get up. Doesn't make it. His knees buckle, eyes blown from the gas.

I don't look at Kael. Can't. I claw at the wrist choking me. Feel it — that jagged, hungry frequency trying to slice into my head.

He wants the Void. He wants what's buried with the old Sloane.

"The Regent's waiting," he hisses, breath hot on my ear. "And he hates to be kept waiting."

The doors slam open.

Augustus walks in like he's late for a party, not a torture session. Velvet coat, perfect hair, that smirk that makes my teeth ache.

"Still breathing?" he says. "Disappointing. I hoped you'd have the decency to expire before the music started."

"Go to hell, Augustus," I choke out.

He laughs. Fake. Practiced. Clicks across the marble and grabs my chin. Glove's ice cold.

"Hell's where you're headed, Sloane. But first? We have a ball. The court expects a miracle.