Chapter 88 Eighty-Eight.
Chapter 88 Eighty-Eight.
OLIVIA’S POV.
The hours pass with an agonizing slowness that makes my skin feel tight. Isadora sends a maid over to bring me a dress and it comes with a scarf, which is thoughtful because it can be used to cover my healing neck.
The dress itself is presentable, not exposing in a way that would make me uncomfortable. It is a deep forest green gown that is long enough to cover the chains around my ankles.
I take a quick shower and put on the dress, deciding to prepare early after all Isadora had said I should be prepared before dusk.
As I pull up the zipper of the dress, my hands shake. The Last Supper. The name alone sounds like it’s confirming my inevitable death.
The last thing I wear is my boots before tying the scarf around my neck and taking my seat on the bed as I anxiously wait for dusk.
When the sun begins its slow descent, painting the horizon in violent streaks of orange and deep blood red, I know it is almost time and a heavy wrap of knock on my door signals just that.
Two heavily armed guards are waiting for me in the hallway. They don’t say a single word. They simply gesture for me to walk between them. My boots click against the stone floor, a hollow, rhythmic sound that feels like a countdown.
They take me down the winding stairs before we step out into the courtyard where a line of black iron carriages stand waiting. The air is crisp, carrying the sharp scent of oncoming winter.
One of the guards opens a carriage door for me, and I climb inside, sinking into the velvet cushions. To my surprise, I am alone. Sven isn’t here, nor is Isadora. Not even a guard. Just me and my suffocating thoughts.
The carriage jolts forward, the iron-rimmed wheels groaning against the cobblestones as we exit the palace gates and head down toward the main square of Māui.
Through the small glass window, I watch the city blur past. The streets are unusually packed. Citizens, scouts, and visiting dignitaries are all heading in the same direction.
The air outside is thick with a strange, nervous energy. They aren’t just coming for a feast; they are coming to see the prey before the battle next in the following days.
When the carriage finally comes to a halt, the sheer volume of the crowd hits me like a wave.
The center of the square is massive, different from the palace square where Sven’s killings take place, and it’s illuminated by hundreds of towering iron braziers that cast long shadows across the ancient stone architecture. Long wooden tables line the perimeter, overflowing with roasted meats, heavy breads, and flowing flagons of dark ale.
The door falls open and I am met with one of King Sven gammas, Caspian. The last time I had seen him was during Kane’s execution.
He offers a hand, which takes me off guard, but I quickly pull myself together as I take it and he helps me down onto the pavement. The moment my boots touch the ground, the immediate section of the crowd goes completely dead silent.
Whispers erupt instantly, cutting through the cold night air like small knives.
“That’s her.”
“The Fae girl.”
“Seeing how small she looks, I am surprised she made it this far in the tournament. She must have Fae sorcery.”
“King Sven’s slave.”
“Is she the one corrupting the King and making him drop the bounty on the head of that Fae?”
“Yes. Rumours say she is his mate.”
“Impossible. A Fae and a werewolf together? That is blasphemy against our goddess. She definitely used sorcery to forge the bond. Besides, our King is already engaged to lady Katniss. He won’t spare her a glance. She does not even look that good.”
“On the bright side, she is going to die soon and our King would be freed of this vermin.”
“Still cannot believe she actually survived Lotus.”
I keep my spine straight, refusing to let them see how badly my knees are shaking or how their words affect me.
Caspian walks quietly next to me, his platinum silver hair flowing down to his back. He leads me down the cleared path, toward the center of the square where a high platform sits elevated above the common tables.
At the very center of the platform is a long, heavy oak table draped in black velvet.
Sven is already seated at the head of the table and Isadora stands behind him. Sven looks massive and completely terrifying in his full royal attire. His dark green eyes track my movement as I ascend the wooden steps, but his face remains an impenetrable stone mask. As if he did not spend the last two nights in my room, on the same bed. As if he isn’t the same man I had serenaded to sleep.
As if he isn’t the same man who dropped the bounty against my brother… a man I know I will never truly be able to understand.
To his right sits Katniss, a huge smile on her face as she watches me.
And seeing her next to Sven makes my heart clench.
Lord Emmett, the man I detest, is also present, and I am not surprised considering the Ripper Ghost is from his Kingdom, Nyxara.
But it isn’t any of them that makes my breath catch in my throat.
Seated directly opposite the empty chair meant for me is a figure cloaked entirely in tattered, midnight-black fabric. A hood covers his hair and obstructs his face, but I can see the chain that hangs around his neck. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for the food or the wine in front of him. He just sits there like an ancient monument of death with a large wooden white stake pierced through his chest.
The Ripper Ghost.