by Eva-Maude Calla
The competition is over, so what? My ex Kendrick is still dead. I lay awake in the castle, awaiting his wee killer. “Come and get me,” I shouted to the world days and days and days ago.
Kill or be killed should be made into a rule in the Land of the Fair−My grandfather the King would approve. Although, the expectation alone may be the death of me.
I’ve thought up a new motto. Hunt or be hunted.