“For the Crown”

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

The King’s voice freezes me in my tracks, one hand pressed against the door, the other yanking my saddlebag behind my back. Satisfaction rises in my chest as I slowly turn to face him.

His icy blue eyes bore into me, filled with disapproval. They flick down to my poorly hidden saddlebag and back up to my face. His scowl deepens.

“I…”

I let the words die on my lips. He expects that I won’t argue.

He holds out a hand. I give him my bag.

Wordlessly, he opens it and turns it over. The apples for Hope and a sketchbook tumble to my feet. He shakes the bag and catches my feathered pen.

The bag drops beside him. Holding my eyes, he grasps the pen firmly and snaps it. Ink runs between his fingers. He doesn’t seem to notice.

The sharp snap of his fingers makes me force tears into my eyes. He expects me to cry.

“Guards,” he orders, the black ink staining his robes, “escort the princess back to her room.”

As the guards each grab one of my arms, I bite back a smile. The poison in the ink will work quickly.

Finally, the crown will be mine.