The Reckless Reign (Book 3, The Culled Crown Series)

Chapter 65

The royal bedchamber.
Oredison Palace, Gazda.
Sometime past two in the afternoon.

For a moment, I couldn't move. I was pinned between the wall and the guard's slumped body. Distantly, I recognized the hiss and pull and the swift dissipation of the final lantern. My cue. The signal I was supposed to look out for. There it was.

But I couldn't make myself move.

Even as the guard let out a grunt of pain and slumped down to his knees, I couldn't move. His fall dislocated my knife, but I kept hold of it. His blood was warm and sticky against my fingers as he clutched his stomach. Shock and fear rallied in my veins and I kicked out, my boot colliding with the man's head. It was enough to propel him away from and he fell to the side, groaning in pain.

He didn't stir again.

I waited for him to, my body vibrating with building tension. I was prepared to strike out again, ready to plunge my knife into his gut once more. But another strive never came. I didn't know if he was dead or merely unconscious. I didn't give a damn either way.

Something stirred in my peripheral and I looked to Kinsley. She was staring, her lips parted in surprise. What had she believed would happen? We were equals, she and I. We'd both been in the arena. We'd both killed and done horrible things to preserve our lives. I could never forget how horrible and violent she was--but she'd clearly forgotten about me. About how I burned.

And burned.

It wasn't a mistake she'd make twice.

Fire filled my veins, sharp and bitter. The taste of ash coated my tongue, it drowned out everything else. All except that voice, the chorus of a million lost voices. Burn her. I gasped at the strength behind the essence—that darkness that had always swirled in me was taking form. It was pushing past every gate I'd subconsciously placed between it and my mind, my heart.

Burn her.

Kill her.

End her.

The sound of those voices was so loud, so demanding, that for an instant--it was as if I no longer existed. It was only the dead speaking. Only their will, their desire. Their unending bloodlust.

Panic—raw, enveloping fear, rushed through me and I shoved that roiling power down. I'd given it a step when I'd killed Dahlia, but it would take no more from me. No more of me. I was in charge. I controlled it.

And I wanted to believe those things were true. I wanted to empty myself of this thing, this darkness. Whatever the hell it was.

But the pressure was overwhelming. And they fought for control.. Each voice louder and more insistent than the last. Kill her. Burn her. I pushed away from the wall, my body not my own. End her. Take her crown. Bleed her dry. I took a step towards Kinsley. Feast on her bones. Turn her to ash. The throne is ours and ours alone.

Beyond the words that was the buzz of million cries of anguish. It was the screams of too many innocent girls. It filled my chest and I bit back a sob. This wasn't me. I wasn't those girls.

I closed my eyes. My name is Monroe Benson and I am goddess-touched.

Despite the noise from within, I fought. Shoving that clawing heat down, down, down, until it was only me and Kinsley. Until it was only the feel of the guard's blood coating my hands and the absence of Arden's lantern.

I myself to focus. I needed to move. Now. I had no idea how much time had passed—but everyone was waiting for me. I needed to light the explosives and I couldn't do it, not with one of the gowns so close. I'd die in the blast if I did.