The moment Everly's brain registered the face beneath the elaborate, jewel-encrusted headdress, her body moved on pure, unadulterated instinct. She launched herself off Sophie's back with the startled agility of a cat that had just sat on a cactus.
Sophie, who had been contemplating the structural integrity of her own spine and the philosophical meaning of pain, finally collapsed onto the flagstones with a groan of profound, soul-shaking relief.
She was free. The human throne era was over. She could die happy now.
Cora, her face still a puffy, tear-stained mess, watched Everly's sudden movement with a surge of vindictive glee.
Aha!
Her brain fizzing with the sweet, sweet nectar of anticipated revenge.
She's scared! The big bad bully is terrified!
Of course, she was. Who wouldn't be? This was the Imperial Noble Consort! The woman whose smile could make flowers bloom and whose glare could curdle milk from three provinces over.
