King’s Cage by Aveyard Victoria
EPIGRAPH
Never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every
chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own
dreams.
HRC
MAP
CONTENTS
Epigraph
Map
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Back Ads
About the Author
Books by Victoria Aveyard
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
ONE
Mare
I rise to my feet when he lets me.
The chain jerks me up, pulling on the thorned collar at my throat. Its
points dig in, not enough to draw bloodnot yet. But Im already bleeding
from the wrists. Slow wounds, worn from days of unconscious captivity in
rough, ripping manacles. The color stains my white sleeves dark crimson
and bright scarlet, fading from old blood to new in a testament to my ordeal.
To show Mavens court how much Ive suffered already.
He stands over me, his expression unreadable. The tips of his fathers
crown make him seem taller, as if the iron is growing out of his skull. It
gleams, each point a curling flame of black metal shot with bronze and
silver. I focus on the bitterly familiar thing so I dont have to look into
Mavens eyes. He draws me in anyway, tugging on another chain I cant
see. Only feel.
One white hand circles my wounded wrist, somehow gentle. In spite of
myself, my eyes snap to his face, unable to stay away. His smile is anything
but kind. Slim and sharp as a razor, biting at me with every tooth. And his
eyes are worst of all. Her eyes, Elaras eyes. Once I thought them cold,
made of living ice. Now I know better. The hottest fires burn blue, and his
eyes are no exception.
The shadow of the flame. He is certainly ablaze, but darkness eats at his
edges. Bruise-like splotches of black and blue surround eyes bloodshot with
silver veins. He has not slept. Hes thinner than I remember, leaner, crueler.
His hair, black as a void, has reached his ears, curling at the ends, and his
cheeks are still smooth. Sometimes I forget how young he is. How young
we both are. Beneath my shift dress, the M brand on my collarbone stings.
Maven turns quickly, my chain tight in his fist, forcing me to move with
him. A moon circling a planet.
Bear witness to this prisoner, this victory, he says, squaring his
shoulders to the vast audience before us. Three hundred Silvers at least,