Eyes Like The Ocean | A Culled Crown Novella

Chapter 10

Narenti Station.

Minden, Erydia.

Viera was on her knees before a prince begging for his forgiveness—begging for Leighton. Malcolm stayed in his seat, eyeing the young woman kneeling in front of him. Minutes passed; an eternity passed. The guards around them grew restless, shifting from boot to boot, glancing around the room to avoid looking at her. But Malcolm only showed his teeth, sneering at her as he gestured for her to continue speaking.

She did not cry.

Although it might have helped to garner pity from the guards, she knew it would not do her any good with the prince. As she spoke—telling him she regretted running, telling him it was a mistake, telling him that she would join the Culling—she let that dark power within her fester. Viera would go to the Culling, she would go to her execution if she had to, but she would find a way to save Leighton. He was only here, only in danger, because of her.

Malcolm leaned forward in his chair, bending at the waist so he was closer to Viera—her upturned face staring up into his. He said, "Tell me why I should pardon him. Convince me."

"Running was my idea. He had nothing to do with what happened at my family's home. I attacked my father. I almost killed him."

"And the fake identification cards?" The prince asked. He held out a hand, gesturing for a guard to step forward. Malcolm took the documents from the guard. They were crumpled and torn. Viera must have lost them as she was taken from the train. He examined the picture and then said, "Britta Schuler. How long did you think you could keep this up before you'd be found out?"

Her knees ached against the concrete floor. "It was all my idea. The cards, the names, all of it."

"Am I supposed to believe that you seduced him and promised him your love just so he'd help get you out?" Malcolm asked. "Was it all a game then? Did you never love him?"

Viera met the prince's eyes. She should lie. It would be easy to just tell him whatever he wanted to hear. It would make things easier. But telling this arrogant man that it was all a sham, that she didn't actually love Leighton... the words wouldn't come. Her mind raced for an answer, a way out for both of them. There had to be something she could—

He spat in her face. She recoiled but he caught her by the hair and held her still. "Miss Kevlar, I asked you a question."

His saliva rolled down her face.

Somehow, she'd thought the stories of his cruelty were lies. Viera had known men like him were possible, she'd lived with one her entire life, and yet she had believed this prince would be different. Even though she had not wanted to join the Culling, had never wanted to be queen, she had let herself think this man would make a decent enough king. Viera had thought he would at least be a good man, a compassionate man.

She had been wrong.

"I love him." Her voice broke against the words.

The fist in her hair tightened, dragging her head up, closer to the prince. He did not look away from her eyes as he addressed a guard, saying, "Where did we leave off?"

"Sixty lashes and his tongue, sir."

Malcolm reached forward and took Viera's cheek in one hand, the other still tangled in her dark curls. He leaned close, his voice no more than a breath against her ear as he said, "I will have his head."

A sound escaped her lips, something like agony. The air in the room was gone. She could not see or think or speak. Her entire body began shaking. That tether on her ability slipped, the monster inside of her opened an eye—looked at her, waiting. She would be sick.