a hand on us.”
The cage door swung open behind him and two guards gagged Tedros with a mucky cloth and hoisted him out by his armpits, before roughly nabbing Callis too. Before Agatha could react, Stefan leapt into the cage and took her for himself.
“Stefan, listen to me—Sophie needs our help—” Agatha appealed as he pulled her through the crowd, who was abusing her with cries of “witch” and “traitor” along with chunks of spoiled food. “I know you have a new family, but you can’t give up on her—”
“Give up? You think I gave up? On my own child?” he seethed, pulling her up the stairs to the pyre behind Tedros, who kicked at his guards with muffled yells. “You promised me, Agatha. You promised you’d save her. And instead you left her there to die. Now you’ll see how it feels.”
“Stefan, we can still save her!” sputtered Agatha. “Tedros and me!”
“I always thought one day my daughter would abandon you for a boy,” said Stefan. “Turns out I had the story all wrong.”
He bound her to the pyre with a long rope around her belly, as two guards shoved Tedros in next to her. Agatha could feel the heat of the flaming torches above her.
“Stefan, you have to believe me! We’re Sophie’s only hope—”
He gagged her with a black cloth, but just as he cinched it, Agatha managed one last breath—
“The School Master has her!”
Stefan’s hands froze and his blue eyes met hers, big and wide. Then a hush swept over the crowd and Agatha knew her time was up.
The Elders had come.
Agatha spotted Reaper’s shadow sprinting away from her mother and towards Graves Hill, a scrap of what looked like parchment between his teeth. Trapped on the pyre, she wrestled hopelessly against her binds, sweating from the heat of the torches above her. If her mother had entered the house one second later, she and Tedros would have had their magic back—they’d be far into the Woods by now, her mother no longer in danger. Stifling tears, Agatha searched for her again, but darkness rendered the crowd a sea of shadows. They’d called her a witch from the day she was born, destined to burn on a stake, and now they’d made their tales come true. In the front row, a few rosy-faced children gawked at Tedros, clinging storybooks to their chests, like talismans against the boy from inside of them.
“But we are not savages, of course,” said the Elder, turning to the captives. “Justice is only delivered when there is a crime.”
The crowd buzzed impatiently, eager to see the show and get to bed.
“Let us meet our guest from the Woods,” the Elder proclaimed. His shiny eyes flicked to Tedros. “What is your name, boy?”
A guard ripped out Tedros’ gag. “Touch her and I kill you,” the prince lashed.
The Elder raised his brows. “Ah, I see,” he said, peering between Tedros and Agatha. “For two hundred years, those from the Woods have kidnapped our young, ripped apart our families, and attacked our homes. For two hundred years, those from the Woods have brought our children nothing but terror, pain, and suffering. And here you are, the first to ever stand before us, claiming to protect one? An improbable twist …” He studied the way Tedros looked at Agatha, his tone easing. “But if it’s true, perhaps mercy is in the cards after all. Only the hardest of hearts can resist young love.”
The crowd rumbled, as if they’d cast their own hearts in stone to see vengeance for all the curses of the Woods. But as Agatha searched the Elder’s face, the old man’s smile was almost friendly now.
“You’ll let us live?” Tedros insisted.
Agatha’s heart hammered, praying her prince had just saved them.
The Elder touched Tedros’ chest with a shriveled hand. Tedros winced, his wound still tender. “You’re young and handsome, with your whole life ahead of you,” the Elder cooed. “Tell us what you know about those that attacked us and I promise we won’t hurt you.”
Agatha’s stomach sank. That tone. She’d heard it before. It was the same way he’d told Sophie she’d be sheltered from her assassins …
Before he left her to die.
Agatha pressed her fist into Tedros’ ribs. Whatever he did, he couldn’t play this game—
“Tedros,” the prince proclaimed to the Elder. “Tedros is my name.”
Agatha bristled, shoving him harder.
“And how do you know our beloved Agatha, Tedros?” coaxed the Elder, leaning closer.
“She’s my princess,” Tedros declared, gently clasping Agatha’s fist. “Soon to be Queen of Camelot and bloodline to King Arthur, so I suggest you unhand us at once.”
The mob quieted in disbelief, children clutching their storybooks tighter. (Red-haired Radley gaped goonishly at Agatha. “Must be slim pickings in the Woods,” he murmured.)
“A real-life prince!” The Elder stepped back. For the first time, he looked unsettled by Tedros, as if forced to acknowledge the possibility of a world bigger than his own. “And to what do we owe this honor?”
Agatha squirmed against her binds, trying to get Tedros to look at her.
“I’m taking her to my castle in the Woods,” Tedros testified, eyes fixed on the Elder. “We pose absolutely no threat to you.”
“And yet we were attacked only months ago by assassins from the Woods,” the Elder said, masses clamoring behind him. “Attacks from which we are still rebuilding.”
“Well, the attacks are over,” retorted Tedros. “Your town is safe.”
Agatha dug her heel into his foot. Tedros shook her off.
“Oh really? Do your princely powers come with foresight?” the Elder scoffed, the audience echoing his laughter. “How would you know anything about the fate of our town, let alone the attacks?”
Agatha shouted into her gag to stop him—
“Because I ordered them,” Tedros fired.
The
