"They played me in their games. They freed me from my cell only to place me on the throne. They took me from you all, sent you away as a spare just in case they played me into my grave," I am unable to meet my brother's gaze, finding the bitter pall of shame and fear to potent for me to cross that final line. "There were times where I wanted to run, to escape them and vanish into thin air. You cannot know how many times I prayed for some way that they would leave me out of their plotting. But I never ran nor did I take the chances I might have done. I stayed. I let them mould me into whatever shape best pleased them, dancing to their tune. I have been a prisoner since Father died."
Cesere's eyes are on my face, tracing the jagged emotions etched in every line of my face. The arrogance slips from his eyes like tears, slow as an ancient river turning about a meander. Some defiance remains in the contours of his jaw, sharp as a knife. "Then why do it? Why didn't you leave when you could?"
"They would have come for you next. They would have taken you from Mother and did it to you. They would have put crown on your head and set you on a horse while armies fought in your name, to save a crown that held other men's ambitions, their greed. They would have torn you apart and left you hollow as a shell. But as for me," the attempted smile on my face must be grotesque or at unsettling for he flinches. "I was already dead to begin with."
-excerpt from Tris 12, Book 5 of The Thirteen Kingdoms series
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