King’s Cage (Red Queen Book 3)

I’m on the porch, watching as Mom says good-bye to my brother Bree. She weeps, holding on to him tightly, smoothing his freshly cut hair. Shade and Tramy wait to catch her if her legs fail. I know they want to cry too, watching their oldest brother go, but for Mom’s sake, they don’t. Next to me, Dad says nothing, content to stare at the legionnaire. Even in his armor of steel plate and bulletproof fabric, the soldier looks small next to my brother. Bree could eat him alive, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything at all when the legionnaire grabs his arm, pulling him away from us. A shadow follows, haunting after him on terrible dark wings. The world spins around me, and then I’m falling.

I land a year later, my feet stuck in the squelching mud beneath our house. Now Mom holds on to Tramy, begging with the legionnaire. Shade has to pull her off. Somewhere, Gisa cries for her favorite brother. Dad and I keep silent, saving our tears. The shadow returns, this time swirling around me, blotting out the sky and the sun. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping it will leave me alone.

When I open them again, I’m in Shade’s arms, hugging him as tightly as I can. He hasn’t cut his hair yet, and his chin-length brown hair tickles the top of my head. As I press myself to his chest, I wince. My ear stings sharply, and I pull back, seeing drops of red blood on my brother’s shirt. Gisa and I had pierced our ears again, with the tiny gift Shade left us. I guess I did it wrong, as I do everything wrong. This time, I feel the shadow before I see it. And it feels angry.

It drags me through a parade of memories, all raw wounds still healing. Some of them are even dreams. No, they are nightmares. My worst nightmares.

A new world materializes around me, forming a shadowed landscape of smoke and ash. The Choke. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard enough to imagine it. The land is flat, pocked with craters from a thousand falling bombs. Soldiers in stained red uniforms cower in each of them, like blood filling a wound. I float through them all, searching the faces, looking for the brothers I lost to smoke and shrapnel.

Bree appears first, wrestling with a blue-clad Lakelander in a puddle of mud. I want to help him, but I keep floating until he’s out of sight. Tramy comes next, bending over a wounded soldier, trying to keep him from bleeding to death. His gentle features, so like Gisa’s, are twisted in agony. I will never forget the screams of pain and frustration. As with Bree, I can’t help him.

Shade waits at the front of the line, beyond even the bravest of warriors. He stands on top of a ridge without regard for the bombs or the guns or the Lakelander army waiting on the other side. He even has the gall to smile at me. I can only watch when the ground beneath his feet explodes, destroying him in a plume of fire and ash.

“Stop!” I manage to scream, reaching for the smoke that was once my brother.

The ash takes shape, re-forming into the shadow. It engulfs me in darkness, until a wave of memories overtakes me again. Gisa’s hand. Kilorn’s conscription. Dad coming home half-dead. They blur together, a swirl of too-bright color that hurts my eyes. Something is not right. The memories move backward through the years, like I’m watching my life in reverse. And then there are events I can’t possibly remember: learning to speak, to walk, my child brothers passing me between them while Mom scolds. This is impossible.

“Impossible,” the shadow says to me. The voice is so sharp, I fear it might crack my skull. I fall to my knees, colliding with what feels like concrete.

And then they’re gone. My brothers, my parents, my sister, my memories, my nightmares, gone. Concrete and steel bars rise around me. A cage.

I struggle to my feet, one hand on my aching head as things come into focus. A figure stares at me from beyond the bars. A crown glitters on her head.

“I’d bow, but I might fall over,” I say to Queen Elara, and immediately I wish I could call back the words. She’s a Silver, I can’t talk to her that way. She could put me in the stocks, take away my rations, punish me, punish my family. No, I realize in my growing horror. She’s the queen. She could just kill me. She could kill us all.

But she doesn’t look offended. Instead, she smirks. A wave of nausea washes over me when I meet her eyes, and I double over again.

“That looks like a bow to me,” she purrs, enjoying my pain.

I fight the urge to vomit and reach out to grab the bars. My fist clenches around cold steel. “What are you doing to me?”

“Not much of anything anymore. But this—” She reaches through the bars to touch my temple. The pain triples beneath her finger, and I fall against the bars, barely conscious enough to hold on. “This is to keep you from doing anything silly.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I shake them away. “Like stand on my own two feet?” I manage to spit out. I can hardly think through the pain, let alone be polite, but still I manage to hold back a stream of curses. For heaven’s sake, Mare Barrow, hold your tongue.

“Like electrocute something,” she snaps.

The pain ebbs, giving me enough strength to make it to the metal bench. When I rest my head against the cool stone wall, her words sink in. Electrocute.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

The memory flashes across my mind, coming back in jagged pieces. Evangeline, the lightning shield, the sparks, and me. It’s not possible.

“You are not Silver. Your parents are Red, you are Red, and your blood is red,” the queen murmurs, prowling before the bars of my cage. “You are a miracle, Mare Barrow, an impossibility. Something even I can’t understand, and I have seen all of you.”

“That was you?” I almost screech, reaching up to cradle my head again. “You were in my mind? My memories? My nightmares?”

“If you know someone’s fear, you know them.” She blinks at me like I’m some stupid creature. “And I had to know what it is we’re dealing with.”

“I am not an it.”

“What you are remains to be seen. But be thankful for one thing, little lightning girl,” she sneers, putting her face against the bars. Suddenly my legs seize up, losing all feeling like I sat on them wrong. Like I’m paralyzed. Panic rises in my chest as I realize I can’t even wiggle my toes. This must be how Dad feels, broken and useless. But somehow I get to my feet, my legs moving on their own, marching me toward the bars. On the other side, the queen watches me. Her blinks match my steps.

She’s a whisper, and she’s playing with me. When I’m close enough, she grabs my face in her hands. I cry out as the pain in my head multiplies. What I would give now for the simple doom of conscription.

“You did that in front of hundreds of Silvers, people who will ask questions, people with power,” she hisses in my ear, her sickly sweet breath washing over my face. “That is the only reason you are still alive.”

My hands clench, and I wish for the lightning again, but it doesn’t come. She knows what I’m doing and laughs openly. Stars explode behind my eyes, clouding my vision, but I hear her go in a swirl of rustling silk. My sight returns just in time to see her dress disappear around a corner, leaving me well and truly alone in the cell. I barely make it back to the bench, fighting the urge to throw up.

Exhaustion comes over me in waves, starting in my muscles and sinking into my bones. I am only human, and humans are not supposed to deal with days like today. With a jolt, I realize my wrist is bare. The red band is gone, taken away. What could that mean? Tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall, but I will not cry. I have that much pride left.

I can fight the tears but not the questions. Not the doubt growing in my heart.

What’s happening to me?

What am I?

I open my eyes to see a Security officer staring at me from the other side of the bars. His silver buttons shine in the low light, but they’re nothing compared to the glare bouncing off his bald head.

“You have to tell my family where I am,” I blurt out, sitting straight up. At least I said I loved them, I remember, thinking back to our last moments.

“I don’t have to do anything but take you upstairs,” he replies, but without much bite. The officer is a pillar of calm. “Change your clothes.”

Suddenly, I realize I still have a half-burned uniform hanging off me. The officer points at a neat pile of clothes near the bars. He turns his back, allowing me some semblance of privacy.

The clothes are plain but fine, softer than anything I’ve ever worn before. A long-sleeved white shirt and black pants, both of them decorated with a single silver stripe down each side. There are shoes as well, black oiled boots that rise to my knees. To my surprise, there isn’t a stitch of red on the clothes. But why, I do not know. My ignorance is becoming a theme.

“All right,” I grumble, fighting the last boot up my leg. As it slides into place, the officer turns around. I don’t hear the jingle of keys, but then, I don’t see a lock. How he plans to let me out of my doorless cage, I’m not sure.

But instead of opening some hidden gate, his hand twitches, and the metal bars bow open. Of course. The jailor would be a—

“Magnetron, yes,” he says with a waggle of his fingers. “And in case you were wondering, the girl you nearly fried is a cousin.”

I almost choke on the air in my lungs, not knowing how to respond. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a question.

“Be sorry you missed her,” he replies without a hint of jest. “Evangeline is a bitch.”

“Family trait?” My mouth moves faster than my brain, and I gasp, realizing what I’ve just said.

He doesn’t strike me for speaking out of turn, though he has every right to. Instead, the officer’s face twitches into the shadow of a smile. “I guess you’ll find out,” he says, black eyes soft. “I’m Lucas Samos. Follow me.”

I don’t have to ask to know I have no other choice in the matter.

He leads me out of my cell and up a winding stair, to no less than twelve Security officers. Without a word, they surround me in a well-practiced formation and force me along with them. Lucas stays by me, marching in time with the others. They keep their guns in hand, as if ready for battle. Something tells me the men aren’t here to defend me but to protect everyone else.

When we reach the more beautiful upper levels, the glass walls are strangely black. Tinted, I tell myself, remembering what Gisa said about the Hall of the Sun. The diamondglass can darken on command to hide what shouldn’t be seen. Obviously, I must fall into that category.

With a jolt I realize that the windows change not because of some mechanism but a red-haired officer. She waves a hand at every wall we pass, and some power within her blocks out the light, clouding the glass with thin shade.

“She’s a shadow, a bender of light,” Lucas whispers, noting my awe.

The cameras are here as well. My skin crawls, feeling their electric gaze running over my bones. Normally my head would ache under the weight of so much electricity, but the pain never comes. Something in the shield has changed me. Or maybe it released something, revealing a part of myself locked away for so long. What am I? echoes in my head again, more threatening than before.

Only when we pass through a monstrous set of doors does the electric sensation pass. The eyes cannot see me here. The chamber inside could encompass my house ten times, stilts and all. And directly across from me, his fiery gaze burning into mine, is the king, sitting on a diamondglass throne carved into an inferno. Behind him, a window full of daylight quickly fades to black. It might be the last glimpse of the sun I’ll ever see.

Lucas and the other officers march me forward, but they don’t stay long. With nothing but a backward glance, Lucas leads the others out.

The king sits before me, the queen standing on his left, the princes on his right. I refuse to look at Cal, but I know he must be gawking at me. I keep my gaze on my new boots, focusing on my toes so I don’t give over to the fear turning my body to lead.

“You will kneel,” the queen murmurs, her voice soft as velvet.

I should kneel, but my pride won’t let me. Even here, in front of Silvers, in front of the king, my knees do not bend. “I will not,” I say, finding the strength to look up.

“Do you enjoy your cell, girl?” Tiberias says, his kingly voice filling the room. The threat in his words is plain as day, but still I stand. He cocks his head, staring at me like I’m an experiment to puzzle over.

“What do you want with me?” I manage to force out.

The queen leans down next to him. “I told you, she’s Red through and through—” But the king waves her off like he would a fly. She purses her lips and draws back, hands clasped tightly together. Serves her right.

“What I want concerning you is impossible,” Tiberias snaps. His glare smolders, like he’s trying to burn me up.

I remember the queen’s words. “Well, I’m not sorry you can’t kill me.”

The king chuckles. “They didn’t say you were quick.”

Relief floods through me. Death does not wait for me here. Not yet.

The king throws down a stack of papers, all of them covered in writing. The top sheet has the usual information, including my name, birth date, parents, and the little brown smear that is my blood. My picture is there too, the one on my identification card. I stare down at myself, into bored eyes sick of waiting in line to have my picture taken. How I wish I could jump into the photo, into the girl whose only problems were conscription and a hungry belly.

“Mare Molly Barrow, born November seventeenth, 302 of the New Era, to Daniel and Ruth Barrow,” Tiberias recites from memory, laying my life bare. “You have no occupation and are scheduled for conscription on your next birthday. You attend school sparingly, your academic test scores are low, and you have a list of offenses that would land you in prison in most cities. Thievery, smuggling, resisting arrest, to name but a few. All together you are poor, rude, immoral, unintelligent, impoverished, bitter, stubborn, and a blight upon your village and my kingdom.”

The shock of his blunt words takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, I don’t argue. He’s entirely right.

“And yet,” he continues, rising to his feet. This close, I can see his crown is deathly sharp. The points can kill. “You are also something else. Something I cannot fathom. You are Red and Silver both, a peculiarity with deadly consequences you cannot understand. So what am I to do with you?”

Is he asking me? “You could let me go. I wouldn’t say a word.”

The queen’s sharp laughter cuts me off. “And what about the High Houses? Will they keep silent as well? Will they forget the little lightning girl in a red uniform?”

No. No one will.

“You know my advice, Tiberias,” the queen adds, her eyes on the king. “And it will solve both our problems.”

It must be bad advice, bad for me, because Cal clenches a fist. The movement draws my eye, and I finally look at him fully. He remains still, stoic and quiet, as I’m sure he’s been trained to do, but fire burns behind his eyes. For a moment, he meets my gaze, but I look away before I can call out and ask him to save me.

“Yes, Elara,” the king says, nodding at his wife. “We cannot kill you, Mare Barrow.” Not yet hangs in the air. “So we are going to hide you in plain sight where we can watch you, protect you, and attempt to understand you.”

The way his eyes gleam makes me feel like a meal about to be devoured.

“Father!” The word bursts from Cal, but his brother—the paler, leaner prince—grabs him by the arm, holding him back from protesting further. He has a calming effect, and Cal steps back in line.

Tiberias goes on, ignoring his son. “You are no longer Mare Barrow, a Red daughter of the Stilts.”

“Then who am I?” I ask, my voice shaking with dread, thinking of all the awful things they can do to me.

“Your father was Ethan Titanos, general of the Iron Legion, killed when you were an infant. A soldier, a Red man, took you for his own and raised you in the dirt, never telling you your true parentage. You grew up believing you were nothing, and now, thanks to chance, you are made whole again. You are Silver, a lady of a lost High House, a noble with great power, and one day, a princess of Norta.”

Try as I might, I can’t hold back a surprised yelp. “A Silver—a princess?”

My eyes betray me, flying to Cal. A princess must marry a prince.

“You will marry my son Maven, and you’ll do it without putting a toe out of line.”

I swear I hear my jaw hit the floor. A wretched, embarrassing sound escapes my mouth as I search for something to say, but I’m honestly speechless. In front of me, the younger prince looks equally confused, sputtering just as loudly as I want to. This time, it’s Cal’s turn to restrain him, though his eyes are on me.

The young prince manages to find his voice. “I don’t understand,” he blurts out, shrugging off Cal. He takes quick steps toward his father. “She’s—why—?” Usually I’d be offended, but I have to agree with the prince’s reservations.

“Quiet,” his mother snaps. “You will obey.”

He glares at her, every inch the young son rebelling against his parents. But his mother hardens, and the prince backs down, knowing her wrath and power as well as I do.

My voice is faint, barely audible. “This seems a bit . . . much.” There’s simply no other way to describe it. “You don’t want to make me a lady, much less a princess.”

Tiberias’s face cracks into a grim smile. Like the queen, his teeth are blindingly white. “Oh, but I do, my dear. For the first time in your rudimentary little life, you have a purpose.” The jab feels like a slap across the face. “Here we are, in the early stages of a badly timed rebellion, with terrorist groups or freedom fighters, or whatever the hell these idiotic Red fools call themselves, blowing things up in the name of equality.”

“The Scarlet Guard.” Farley. Shade. As soon as the name crosses my mind, I pray Queen Elara stays out of my head. “They bombed—”

“The capital, yes.” The king shrugs, scratching his neck.

My years in the shadows have taught me many things. Who carries the most money, who won’t notice you, and what liars look like. The king is a liar, I realize, watching as he forces another shrug. He’s trying to be dismissive, and it’s just not working. Something has him scared of Farley, of the Scarlet Guard. Something much bigger than a few explosions.

“And you,” he continues, leaning forward. “You might be able to help us stop there from being any more.”

I’d laugh out loud if I wasn’t so scared. “By marrying—sorry, what’s your name again?”

His cheeks go white in what I assume is the Silver version of a blush. After all, their blood is silver. “My name is Maven,” he says, his voice soft and quiet. Like Cal and his father, his hair is glossy black, but the similarities end there. While they are broad and muscled, Maven is lean, with eyes like clear water. “And I still don’t understand.”

“What Father is trying to say is that she represents an opportunity for us,” Cal says, cutting in to explain. Unlike his brother, Cal’s voice is strong and authoritative. It’s the voice of a king. “If the Reds see her, a Silver by blood but Red by nature, raised up with us, they can be placated. It’s like an old fairy tale, a commoner becoming the princess. She’s their champion. They can look to her instead of terrorists.” And then, softer, but more important than anything else: “She’s a distraction.”

But this isn’t a fairy tale, or even a dream. This is a nightmare. I’m being locked away for the rest of my life, forced into being someone else. Into being one of them. A puppet. A show to keep people happy, quiet, and trampled.

“And if we get the story right, the High Houses will be satisfied too. You’re the lost daughter of a war hero. What better honor can we give you?”

I meet his eyes, silently pleading. He helped me once, maybe he can do it again. But Cal tips his head from side to side, shaking his head slowly. He can’t help me here.

“This isn’t a request, Lady Titanos,” Tiberias says. He uses my new name, my new title. “You will go through with this, and you will do it properly.”

Queen Elara turns her pale eyes on me. “You will live here, as is the custom for royal brides. Every day will be scheduled at my discretion, and you will be tutored in everything and anything possible to make you”—she searches for the word, chewing on her lip—“suitable.” I don’t want to know what that means. “You will be scrutinized. From now on you live on the edge of a knife. One false step, one wrong word, and you will suffer for it.”

My throat tightens, like I can feel the chains the king and queen are wrapping around me. “What about my life—?”

“What life?” Elara crows. “Girl, you have fallen head over heels into a miracle.”

Cal squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as if the sound of the queen’s laughter pains him. “She means her family. Mare—the girl—has a family.”

Gisa, Mom, Dad, the boys, Kilorn—a life taken away.

“Oh, that,” the king huffs, plopping back down into his chair. “I suppose we’ll give them an allowance, keep them quiet.”

“I want my brothers brought home from the war.” For once, I feel like I’ve said something right. “And my friend, Kilorn Warren. Don’t let the legions take him either.”

Tiberias responds in half a heartbeat. A few Red soldiers mean nothing to him. “Done.”

It sounds less like a pardon and more like a death sentence.