Read The School for Good and Evil #2: A World without Princes for Free Online Page A

married—” Agatha sputtered. “How did you survive—”
    â€œBecause I had someone stand up for me,” her mother said, watching the bones strike eight. “And he paid the price.”
    â€œMy father?” Agatha said. “You said he was a rotten two-timer who died in a mill accident.”
    Callis didn’t answer, gazing ahead.
    A chill prickled up Agatha’s spine. She looked at her mother. “What did you mean when you said Stefan suffered worst of all? When the Elders arranged his marriage?”
    Callis’ eyes stayed on the clock. “The problem with Stefan is he trusts those he shouldn’t. He always believes people are Good.” The long bone ticked past eight. Her shoulders slumped with relief. “But no one is as Good as they seem, dear,” her mother said softly, turning to her daughter. “Surely you know that.”
    For the first time, Agatha saw her mother’s eyes. There were tears in them.
    â€œNo—” Agatha gasped, a red rash searing her neck—
    â€œThey’ll say it was her choice,” Callis rasped.
    â€œYou knew—” Agatha choked, lurching for the door. “You knew they weren’t moving her—”
    Her mother intercepted her. “They knew you’d bring her back! They promised to spare you if I kept you here until—”
    Agatha shoved her into the wall—her mother lunged for her and missed. “They’ll kill you!” Callis screamed out the window, but darkness had swallowed her daughter up.
    Without a torch, Agatha stumbled and tripped down the hill, rolling through cold, wet grass until she barreled into a tent at the bottom. Mumbling frantic apology to the family who thought her a cannonball, she dashed for the church between homeless dozens stewing beetles and lizards over fires, wrapping their children in mangy blankets, bracing for the next attack that would never come. Tomorrow the Elders would mourn Sophie’s valiant “sacrifice,” her statue would be rebuilt, the villagers would go on to a new Christmas, relieved of another curse. . . .
    With a cry, Agatha threw the oak doors open.
    The church was empty. Long, deep scratches ripped down the aisle.
    Sophie had dragged her glass slippers all the way.
    Agatha sank to her knees in mud.
    Stefan.
    She had promised him. She had promised to keep his daughter safe.
    Agatha hunched over, face in her hands. This was her fault. This would always be her fault. She had everything she wanted. She had a friend, she had love, she had Sophie . And she had traded her for a wish. She was Evil. Worse than Evil. She was the one who deserved to die.
    â€œPlease—I’ll bring her home—” she heaved. “Please—I promise—I’ll do anything—”
    But there was nothing to do. Sophie was gone. Delivered to invisible killers as a ransom for peace.
    â€œI’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean it . . .” Agatha wept, spit dripping. How could she tell a father his daughter was dead? How could either of them live with her broken promise? Her sobs slowly receded, curdling to terror. She didn’t move for a long time.
    At last Agatha slumped up in a nauseous daze and staggered east towards Stefan’s house. Every step away from the church made her feel sicker. Limping down the dirt lane, she vaguely felt her knees sticky and wet. Without thinking, she wiped a gob off a knee with her finger and smelled it.
    Honeycream.
    Agatha froze, heart pounding. There was more cream on the ground ahead, spurted in a desperate trail towards the lake. Adrenaline blasted through her blood.
    Nibbling his toenails in his tent, Radley heard crackles behind him and turned just in time to see a shadow swipehis dagger and torch.
    â€œAssassin!” he squeaked—
    Agatha swung her head back to see men explode out of tents and chase her as she tracked the honeycream like breadcrumbs towards