As if I were good—as if I hadn’t murdered two of their kind. I was a murderer and a liar. A cluster of red petals loomed ahead—just like that Fae youth’s blood had pooled at my feet. Ten steps from the dais, at the edge of that splatter of red, I slowed. Then stopped. Everyone was watching, exactly as they had when I’d nearly died, spectators to my torment.
