Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

“I don’t understand your attachment.”

I sigh.

No one does.

I’ve tried to explain it before. I’ve written it out, then torn the pages and burned them. There’s a danger in admittance. People think confessing wipes away sin. Speak it out loud, absolve yourself with penance, move on. But confessing is a trap.

I’m done explaining myself.

The little figure sits heavy on my palm. On the screen, the video feed lags by a few seconds. I jostle it, count to three, and watch the image of me jerk and tremble.

This will work well.

I examine it closer, but even to my eye, the camera is hidden.

“Satisfied?”

I nod once.

“Where are they?”

“Strung across Rose Hill,” I answer. “Little fires everywhere.”

Just the way it should be.