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“Majesty, stay down!” Evret yelled. From somewhere, he had a knife. Of course he had a knife. He had probably slept with it under his pillow since their wedding night and Levana had never known.
She didn’t stay down. Instead, she gripped the tumbled blankets and watched as Evret flung himself toward the intruder, and she silently said her good-byes, even as tears trekked down her face.
The knife was only a hair from the intruder’s chest when it froze.
This was not a shell like the one that killed her parents. This was a much more skilled assassin. A much more dangerous one. As Levana’s vision adjusted to the light pouring in from the corridor, she watched Evret’s eyes widen in recognition.
Although Head Thaumaturge Haddon had retired some years before, he had never fully left the court. Or, as Levana had guessed, fully given up on his ambitions. He had reached the highest position in court that he could achieve without being royalty himself.
Levana had made him a very tempting promise. He hadn’t even hesitated when she told him her price.
The knife fell, landing anticlimactically on the bed.
A second gunshot. A third. A fourth. Blood splattered across the white linens. Down the hall, Levana heard Princess Winter screaming. She wondered whether the girl would come see what was happening or whether she would be smart enough to run for help.
Either way, it would be too late.
It was too late.
Joshua Haddon released Evret, who fell to his knees, blood covering his hands as he pressed them over his stomach. “Majesty—” he croaked. “Run.”
The thaumaturge turned toward Levana. He was smiling, proud and haughty. He had succeeded. He had done as she had asked. And now, without the burden of a husband, it would be time for Levana to fulfill the promise she had made. To marry Joshua and crown him as the king of Luna. When Levana asked him to do this, she was sure to tell him how she had admired him for so many years—that this is what she had longed for ever since she’d made the mistake of her youthful marriage. Arrogant as he was, Haddon took very little convincing.
Levana climbed onto her shaky legs.
Haddon lowered the gun. His eyes roved over her body—her glamour’s body—full of lust and anticipation.
Ignoring the tears now drying on her cheeks, Levana flung herself toward Haddon. He lifted his arms to accept the embrace.
Instead, he received a knife, handle deep, in his chest.
As horror and comprehension crashed into his expression, Levana shoved him away. He stumbled back, collapsing against the wall.
She fell to the floor beside Evret. Agony clawed up her throat and exploded in a shrill wail.
As soon as Levana was out of danger, his last reserves of energy left him and Evret slumped against the side of the bed.
“Evret!” she cried, surprised to find that her terror was real. Watching the spark dim behind his eyes, the way those gray and emerald specks seemed to fade in the darkness, was more painful than she’d imagined it would be.
I vow to love and cherish you for all our days.
“Evret,” she said again, whimpering now. Her hands joined his, trying to block the wounds. Down the hall there were new footsteps. It could not have been more than a minute since Haddon had entered the room, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed. Looking down, she saw blood splattered across her nightgown. Blood covering their hands. Blood on the two wedding bands he still wore, pressed up against each other.
Here is what I think of love.
She sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh, stars. Evret.”
“It’s all right,” he gasped, dragging his arms around her and pulling her against him. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”
She cried harder.
“Please. Please. Take care of Winter.”
She sobbed.
“Promise, My Queen. Promise you’ll take care of her.”
She dared to meet his eyes. They were intense and melting and struggling so hard to stay strong. To hide his pain. To pretend that he wasn’t dying.
At some point, guards arrived. A doctor. Even Winter, with her pale nightgown and frightened tears. And Sybil, too, unsurprised it seemed, by the expressionless set of her brow.
Levana hardly saw any of them. She was alone with Evret, her husband, her beloved, clutching his hand as the blood cooled on her skin. She felt it the moment he was gone, and she was left alone.
She could not stop crying.
It was all her fault. Everything was her fault. She had ruined every moment she had with him, from their very first kiss.
“I promise,” she whispered, though the words burned her throat. She did not love the child. She had only loved Evret, and now she had destroyed even that. “I promise.”
Reaching for the pendant around her neck, she broke the chain with a firm yank. She slipped the charm into Evret’s hand as Sybil pulled her away, and a screaming Winter collapsed against her father to take her place.
Her sister’s words came back to her, thundering in her ears, filling up all the hollow places in her heart.
Love is a conquest. Love is a war.
Here is what I think of love.
Acknowledgments
Thank You, Thank You, Thank You …
To Jill, Cheryl, and Katelyn, for all your guidance and enthusiasm, and for not batting an eye when I was like, “Surprise! I wrote this thing, and I have no idea what to do with it.”
To Liz, Jean, and Jon, for believing in me as an author, and for believing in Levana’s story as one that needed to exist in the world.
To Rich Deas, for the most outstanding book covers a writer could ever hope for.
To the rest of the Macmillan team, for your tireless creativity and constant efforts on behalf of myself and the Lunar Chronicles.
To all of the folks behind NaNoWriMo, for reminding me every year what I’m capable of when I really put my mind to it.
To Tamara Felsinger, Je
To Jesse, for making me laugh even when the writing gets all depressing and stuff.
And lastly, to that girl who came to the Cress launch party dressed up as Queen Levana and pretended to kill me with her crazy-long fingernails. Thank you for not actually killing me with your crazy-long fingernails … Your Majesty.
Bonus excerpt from
Winter
The final book of the
Lunar Chronicles
By Marissa Meyer
(coming in Fall 2015)
BOOK
One
She had a little daughter who was as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony wood.
One
Winter’s toes had become ice cubes. They were as cold as space. As cold as the dark side of Luna. As cold as—
“… security feeds captured him entering the AR-Central med-clinic’s sublevels at 23:00 U.T.C.…”
Thaumaturge Aimery Park smiled as he spoke, his voice serene and measured, like a ballad. It was easy to lose track of what he was saying, easy to let all the words blur and conjoin. Winter curled her toes inside her thin-soled shoes, afraid that if they got any colder before this trial was over, they would snap off.
“… was attempting to interfere with one of the shells currently stored…”
Snap off. One by one.
“… records indicate the shell child was the accused’s son, taken on 29 July of last year. He is now fourteen months old.”
Winter gripped her hands in her lap, hiding them in the folds of her gown. They were shaking again. It seemed like she was always shaking these days. She squeezed her fingers to hold them still. Pressed the bottoms of her feet into the hard floor. Struggled to bring the throne room into focus before it dissolved entirely.
The view was striking from the central tower of the palace. From here, Winter could see Artemisia Lake mirroring the white palace back up to the sky and the city that spread to the very edge of the enormous clear dome that sheltered them from the outside elements—or lack thereof. The throne room itself was built to extend past the walls of the tower, so that when one passed beyond the edge of the mosaic floor, they found themselves on a ledge of clear glass. Like standing on air, about to plummet into the depths of the crater lake.