Jac looked to Z, but for once Z’s handsome face was serious, focused as they watched Richard straighten and approach the rebel, still hunched. The prince stopped maybe two yards behind her and took a moment to watch, to listen to her cry, giving voice to the tears Iabelia rained down upon his suit, turning it a darker, dingier red. Turning it from fresh-flowing blood to old, coagulated, stinking death.

Almost imperceptibly, Z shook their head. And then gave a dark, amazed laugh.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Where could your eyes possibly see humor in this?” Jac hissed.

“If she can, why can’t I?”

“What?”

“She’s not crying anymore, Jacqueline,” was their answer.

The sounds that jerked the rebel’s shoulders, that ripped open her lips were no less bloated with emotion than they had been a minute ago, but Z was right. This wasn’t weeping. It was laughter.