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“I’m sorry, were you expecting a different response? Or a different queen? Perhaps a witless fool too flimsy for a throne?”
And yelp at the two familiar faces staring back at me, arms folded over their chests like twin towers of intimidation. “I believe you owe me ten gold coins,” Zander murmurs. “Surely it’s the other way around,” Atticus counters. “You didn’t think she would figure it out before the clock struck midnight. I had far more faith in her. Besides, the bed moved before the twelfth gong.” “Splitting hairs, are we?” “Shall we call it even, then?” Zander smirks. “I suppose.”
“Yes, Elisaf has been pacing outside bedroom chambers and minding a princess around the clock for weeks. He needs a break and is going to join the fight,” he mocks with a grin, answering for himself in third person.
Watts. I’m from New York City, where mostly everyone is human and there is no talk of fates and casters and immortals. An elemental named Sofie tricked me into helping her save her husband, only to stab me in the chest with a token horn from Malachi. I woke up in this body, which is exactly like my own body, with people accusing me of murder.” Behind me, Elisaf curses. “Except you’re not human. You’re a key caster.”
