THE NIGHT OF THE CRIMSON INK
PROLOGUE
The Night of the Crimson Ink
The throne room didn’t smell like incense anymore. It smelled like copper and cold rain.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I looked down at my white silk sleeves. They weren’t white anymore. They were soaked in a deep, wet red that didn’t belong to me.
The silver dagger hit the marble floor with a clink that sounded like a scream.
“Isadora.”
Silas’s voice was a ragged plea. He stepped over my father’s body, his boots treading through the dark pool spreading across the floor. He didn’t look at the King. He only looked at me.
“Give it to me,” he whispered, reaching for the knife. “Give me the blade, Isadora. Before the guards break down the doors. Before the world sees what you’ve done.”
“I... I didn’t mean to,” I gasped. My throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. “He was going to kill you, Silas. He had the warrant signed.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He grabbed my shoulders, his grip bruising. “Listen to me. From this moment on, I am the traitor. I am the one who struck the blow. You were the victim. You’re just the girl who watched her world burn.”
He snatched up the knife. He looked at my family crest on the hilt and tucked it into his belt, hiding it in the shadows.
In the library doorway, I saw a flicker of movement. ThePalace Healer stood there, his face pale, holding a fresh, leather-bound book. He wasn’t calling for help. He was just watching us.
“Write it,” Silas barked at the Healer, his voice breaking. “Write the story where I’m the monster. Write it so well she believes the lie herself. Because if she remembers tonight... she’ll never survive the dawn.”
The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was the Healer’s quill touching the first blank page.
He started to write the lie.
And I started to forget the truth.
