Todos os capítulos de Alpha Prince's Little Dagger: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

ASTRIDI’m blindfolded once more, the servant leading me by a series of light touches. The whole walk is eerily quiet, and even through the covering over my eyes, I can tell we’re walking through near-total darkness.When the man removes my blindfold, we’re well past the palace wall, on the way to the slums. He hefts a coin pouch into my hands, turns without a word, and melts into the night, leaving me alone once more.My feet move on instinct, carrying me down the familiar road while my brain still tries to puzzle out what on Phaegia just happened.Peeking into the coin pouch, I can immediately tell I’m holding more money than I’ve ever seen at one time. And that’s not even counting the bracelet. But I don’t allow myself the giddy acknowledgement that this all might actually be real until I see the edge of my neighborhood.I’ve made it back home. Finally.Who cares if I am or am not Prince Cayden’s pet? With this amount of gold, Luca and I can start our own bakery, with two different

ASTRIDI tell Everett everything, how Bruno pulled me from the jail cell, how he and another werewolf nearly clawed each other apart trying to get to me, how Cayden stumbled into ownership instead. Everett flinches back at that word, ownership.I, on the other hand, am beyond caring.“If only I’d let that bastard take me out during the Bell Run,” I say, throat tight. “He would’ve killed me, and that would have been enough. He’d have let Luca be.”Now that we’re alone in the cemetery, now that I can focus on anything other than Luca’s memorial, its crumbling expanse is clear.The Ashtons had it built a decade ago. At the time, I didn’t think much about how much room they allotted for graves.Now, the impoverished checkerboard field feels like an omen. A warning.“No,” Everett says firmly, shaking his head. He takes my hands in his, and I reluctantly allow it. “You can’t tell yourself that. You don’t even know if it was Bruno—it could have been another of those guards, or Freddie may ha

ASTRIDThe house reeks of Luca’s blood. I doubt any amount of scrubbing will get the metallic stink out. Not that it particularly matters. I have no idea when—or if—I’ll return. What’s there to return to?My mother’s wedding dress still hangs in the wardrobe she shared with my father. Luca and I could never bring ourselves to empty it out, not for any sentimental reason but because we couldn’t afford new clothes for ourselves.We were both still growing; we needed the hand-me-ups.I’ve never worn my mother’s dress before, though. I’d been saving the pale green, A-line design for the moment I promised myself to Everett.Now, I pull it on without a second thought, simply noting the way it compliments Prince Cayden’s bracelet, which I’ve fastened around my wrist.I could buy a new dress—I have more than enough gold—but it feels right, donning this particular garment. My mother, the daughter of an apothecary, ran away from home in order to marry my father.I, too, am chasing down my fate.

ASTRIDThe hours pass so slowly in this cell, I feel as if I’ve been imprisoned for days. With no sunlight as a time marker, how does one even tell?Is losing my mind better or worse than a whipping?At this point, I honestly can’t decide. Now that I’m forced to sit still, the horror of the last day wraps itself tight around my neck: the sound of my fellow Bell Run participants being torn apart, Luca’s ruined neck, the choking scent of his blood. Everett’s betrayal.It’s too much. I’m about to yell for the guard, to accept my punishment, when I hear footsteps. I settle back, making myself as small and scared-looking as possible.When the guard walks into view, I see that he’s not alone.“Master!” I whimper, sounding pleased and petulant and pathetic all at once. If Cayden doesn’t vouch for me now, I’ll be executed by nightfall, I’ve no doubt. I pout my plumped up lips. “I’ve been such a naughty girl, getting lost outside. Take me home and punish me, please.”I can tell I’m laying it o

ASTRIDI startle back into the water, away from her hands.“Who are you?” I ask, feeling excruciatingly vulnerable.She smiles without threat. She’s got to be around my age, maybe a little older. Her round face is open and freckled, and her reddish-brown hair is pulled into a low ponytail. She looks trustworthy, friendly even.But I know better than anyone just how deceiving a look can be.“I’m Maggie,” she says. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember, we only met a handful of times. You may remember my pa? He was rather taken with your ma after, well…”This, finally, strikes a chord of memory.While most of our neighbors strictly avoided us after Father’s execution, one man went out of his way to be kind to Mother.I think he may have even asked for her hand, but she’d already committed herself to wasting away at that point.Questions pile up in my mouth, but before I can ask Maggie anything else, the door opens back up, and Grace returns.Maggie presses her lips together, mute in the