The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(13)

But if she wasn’t, I would be ready. From the drawer beside my bed, I pulled out a blunt shard of flint. I set my puny weapon beside me and stared at the balcony, willing her to make herself known. Something about her voice had filled me with regret.

A scratching sound startled me out of my thoughts. I lunged for the rock when a voice cut across the room—

“Mayavati, come to the door.”

I tensed, my arm still raised. A heavy feeling settled in my gut. I had heard that voice a hundred times, listened for it from my spying place and imagined it saying kinder words. Father.

The door gave way with a sigh and my father’s silhouette loomed into the room, a blot against the darkness. He stood alone, no familiar retinue of guards flanking his side. At once, I bolted upright. He wasn’t one to flout tradition and yet he’d gone to the trouble of visiting me in secret. For a half-moment, I wondered whether some unknowable power had answered my wishes and freed me. But experience told me otherwise. Father was far too cunning for sentiment.

“I have come with a gift,” he said, extending a hand toward me. “One to free you from this marriage.”

From the folds of his robe, he withdrew a small violet flask. I took the flask and removed the stopper, careful not to spill its contents before taking a whiff. All the blood slipped from my face. I knew that scent. My breath came in a rasp and a dead chill swam under my skin. It was mandrake soaked in milk—poison.

“No matter who you marry, they will wage war against us. My spies have heard it, my councilors suspect it and my instincts know it,” said the Raja, his voice calm and even. “The best chances for the realm are to bring the war to us, instead of letting it play out on the outskirts of our borders. Their attendance at your swayamvara is critical in bringing them here. Your death will nullify the bonds of guest hospitality and we may dispatch the rebels on the spot. Your sacrifice would ensure the safety of all our people.”

I shook my head, my mouth bone dry. I was no bride. I was bait. The walls stretched above me. An invisible thread running from my head to my feet yanked me, threatening to topple me onto the ground. I inhaled a shuddering breath, but it felt clammy in my lungs.

I hoped that by letting you see, you might forgive what I must take from you.

He wasn’t just taking away my independence. Or home.

When I spoke, my voice was hollow, scraped—

“You want me dead.”





6

THE WEDDING

Seconds collided into hours, decades, centuries. Eternity itself moved through me, stretching the moments after I’d spoken. In a whirl, I saw my life compressed, folded and distilled into the vial of mandrake poison in my hands.

Clearing his throat, my father clasped his hands behind his back.

“It is not a question of want,” he said. “It is a matter of need. If this is what it will take to keep the realm safe for our people, then I have no choice.”

Our people. My stomach knotted. Only the thump of my heart told me I was alive. Not yet a corpse. I glanced at the frail vial. If I wanted, I could throw it in his face, pour it on the ground or smash the vial altogether. But of course I couldn’t. The vial was Bharata’s hope distorted, and I held it in my hand.

“You must understand that your contribution to the realm will exceed that of any of your siblings and any of my councilors. What I am asking of you—”

“What you’re asking requires no great sacrifice on my part,” I said, my voice shaking. “I am expendable.”

“We must show strength,” said the Raja. “If any of your rejected suitors believed that your choice was politically motivated, we would be destroyed. Our kingdom would be gone. They know your sisters are betrothed and that you remain a maiden. They also know that we cannot lay siege to their kingdoms if they married a princess of Bharata. The only way to protect ourselves is to have no marriage at all.”

His shoulders fell. I looked sharply at him, wild hope pulling at my heart. Maybe he is changing his mind.

A half-breath passed before his arm tensed and then his hands fell limply to his sides. A death warrant. Panic rasped in my lungs. My whole body gathered like one frenzied breath. Before he could step back, I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist—

“Please,” I said. “Give me a different draught, something that will make it seem like I have died. But not this. There must be another way.”

He pulled back his hand. This time when he spoke, there was no hint of doubt, no sign of succor or mercy, or remorse.

“Do you think I have not thoroughly reviewed every option?” his voice thundered. “They would verify your death with their own physicians. The moment they see through our deception, Bharata would be doomed. Would you rather die by your own hand or by the enemy? Trust me, daughter. One is worse than the other.”

I set my jaw, my eyes narrowing to slits. “I will not die for you.”

He smiled and in that moment I knew I had lost.

“I am no fool. I would not expect you to die for me. But for your sister?” He paused and my heart turned cold. Gauri. “Would you condemn her life so quickly? Or those of your people?”

His words hung in the air, coiling around me like a noose. This time when the Raja stepped back, I made no move toward him. And when he turned to face me—his eyes shadowed and face drawn—no hope glimmered in my heart.