Page 61 of The Midnight King
“Yes,” I reply. “She should still be in the Prince’s bedroom. I knocked her out cold.”
“Killian,” says Clara calmly. “Do you think you could make a portal for me?”
“Clara, you shouldn’t,” Finias objects.
“I’ll only be a minute,” she replies. “I have something to do.”
I suspect I know what that something is, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to witness it.
“I’ll go with you,” I offer, shifting Killian’s head off my lap. “Two can pass through at once, right?”
“That’s right.” Clara surveys me for a moment, then nods. “Very well, come along.”
With a sigh, Killian forms a portal in the air. “It won’t stay open for more than a few minutes. You’ll have to be quick.”
Clara steps through without hesitation, and I follow her.
We step into the Prince’s bedroom and stand beside the gigantic bed, in the dim glow of the lamps. The lamp I used to strike Gilda lies on the floor beside her. My stepmother isconscious, but she seems dizzy—she has propped her back against the nightstand and she’s gingerly touching a bloody cut on her temple.
When she sees me, her face changes. The hatred she has always felt for me is still there, but I spot a new emotion in her eyes, one that she has never shown toward me before.
Fear.
Without the anklet—without complete control over me—she is afraid.
“You came out of thin air,” she gasps. “Witch. Where is the other one, the face-changer?”
“That was my son, bitch,” says Clara pleasantly. “You nearly killed him. And from what Celinda has told us, you’re responsible for at least one other death and years of mental, physical, and emotional torture.”
She steps forward, extracting her whip from its pouch. “I’m not usually the vengeful sort. I prefer defense, not offense. And yet, for you, I’ll make an exception. Let’s think of it as me defending your potential future victims, with a side of punishment because you hurt my son.”
Gilda cringes back. “Please… I didn’t know who he was.”
“Exactly. You thought he was helpless to your dark magic. That he would be your slave. That you would rule a kingdom with the same wicked cruelty you showed to this brave girl.” Clara jerks her head toward me. “I may not be a resident of the mortal realm anymore, but I can still do my part to protect its citizens from you.”
My stepmother’s face fractures with realization and fear. She looks older, more worn, and more fragile than ever, and perhaps I should pity her… but I begged her for mercy a thousand times. She could have ordered me not to, but she allowed it, because sheenjoyedhearing my suffering. She liked listening to me sob and plead for some shred of compassion.
Clara glances at me. “Is there anything you would like to say to her?”
The question confirms my suspicion that Killian’s mother is going to end the life of the woman I’ve hated since childhood. The thing I’ve fantasized about for years is finally coming to pass. I thought I wanted to be the one to do it, but now that the moment has come, I’m relieved I don’t have to.
“Just this.” I approach Gilda and sink to one knee beside her. “I want you to look at me and say, ‘Please, Your Highness, have mercy.’”
Gilda stares at me, abject terror warring with hatred. She grits out the words. “Please, Your Highness… have mercy.”
I smile. “No.”
“Think of the girls,” she protests shrilly as I step back and let Clara take my place. “Think of your sisters! You’re stealing their mother from them.”
“You stole my father from me,” I retort. “And they’re adults. Independence will be good for them.”
“You hideous changeling!” she squawks. “You idiotic—”
But her tirade cuts off as the tip of Clara’s whip snakes out and slices neatly across her throat.
The cut is deep but bloodless, and for a moment Gilda blinks as if she isn’t sure what’s happening, Then, slowly, her eyes go blank, and she slumps over, her head hanging crookedly on her damaged neck.
“She deserved a more agonizing death,” says Clara. “But I’m not one to take pleasure in torture. Unless it’s the sensual kind of torture.”