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I flushed beneath his shrewd gaze. Stig would not be as easy to deflect as Alise. For one, he was no naive girl of sixteen. He was confident and perceptive. At twenty-three, he was the lord regent’s son and served as captain of the guard. There were plenty of petty whispers that he had been given the role simply because of his father’s position, but I knew better. His father’s cunning and ambition might have secured him the appointment as the lord regent, winning out over several other candidates and making him the second most powerful man in the realm, but Stig was more than competent in his own right. He was an exceptional swordsman and astute in the machinations of the court. His loyalty ran deep. He would not hesitate to offer his life for king and country. He also possessed something his father didn’t: a heart.

“I would rather watch from here.”

His half smile disappeared, and his expression clouded. “Tamsyn,” he said in that softly chiding voice I knew well.

He had used it so often over the years, always making certain that I knew I was every bit as important as my sisters and due all the same honors. I could not count the times he had come to my rescue: strong, noble Stig chasing away the bullies who thought to put me in myproperplace. Most people respected my role in the palace, but there were always a few. A few then and a few now. Bullies who thought it important to remind me that I was not a true blue-blooded princess.

I shrugged and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring look. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “I merely prefer the view from here.” I gestured lamely around me at the gaping spectators.

He looked at none of them. His gaze remained intently on me. “You are a princess of Penterra. You belong up there.” His head inclined toward the dais. After a long moment, when I did not make a move to take my place, he leaned in closer, his eyes glinting as he taunted me in a deliberately small voice: “Are you scared?”

I flushed.

Those warm brown eyes traveled over my face as he continued to tease. “Scared of the big bad men coming through the doors? Don’t tell me you believe all the wild stories about them.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed.

Scared? Of strangers? I had no reason to fear them. And yet... there was something I felt. I swallowed. Something that kept me from putting myself in their line of sight.

The teasing glint faded from Stig’s eyes as he considered me. As though he saw something in me then, saw whatever mysterious and uneasy thing gnawed at me. His expression turned somber as a tomb. “Tamsyn?” His throat worked as he paused. “You know I’ll always protect you.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond—to agree or disagree—even though of course I knew that about him.

The doors were flung wide, striking the walls, the sound reverberating through the vast space and echoing in my ears. The lordchamberlain led the way, his perpetually flushed face even brighter than usual as he bowed and scraped low before the king and queen. Kelby was enjoying this. The way his eyes gleamed reminded me of when he was whipping me—or devouring a roasted leg of mutton. Both favorite pastimes. “Your Majesties, they’ve arrived!”

A dozen border soldiers, eight men and four women, entered the hall, warriors all, thick-necked and brawny, attired in armored leather tunics, swords tucked away in scabbards at their backs, their heavy boots thudding in time with my hammering heart. They shamelessly bore the grime of the long journey as they strode in front of the silk-and-brocade-draped members of the court.

The women were tall and wiry. I looked them over with awe. I had never seen women such as these, dressed in armor and breeches, trained to defend and fight alongside the men. My gaze narrowed on one of the warriors, my nose twitching. Was thatbloodon her armguard?

“Maybe you should wait here, after all,” Stig said gruffly.

I glanced sharply at him. His lip curled in a faint grimace as he assessed our visitors.

“Really?” It was my turn to tease. “Now who is scared?”

He didn’t rise to the taunt, his attention fixed steadily on these outsiders filing into the hall. “Best steer clear of them.”

“They’re...” I searched for the word and then arrived at it. “Heroes.” The reminder was just as much for me as it was for him. “We owe much to them.”

He sneered. “What? We should thank them for what is in their nature to do? They’re killers.” He shook his head. “Don’t be gulled by all the stories, Tamsyn. They take pleasure in bloodshed. Brutes, the lot of them.”

“A little harsh,” I murmured. “You’re captain of the guard. A soldier. Not so very different from—”

“No. I am nothing like them,” he cut in, his voice flat, lacking its usual warmth. “I serve the throne of Penterra. Your family.” He smiled then, looking at me again. “You.”

I smiled back. How could I not? My family was good to me...but there were court nobles who treated me with disdain or indifference. Not Stig, though. He was always good to me. Always my friend.

He left my side then, striding ahead, taking his place beside the dais, flanking the royal family, a row of his most senior guardsmen beside him, resplendently outfitted in their red tunics with shiny buttons, their expressions stoic as they faced forward.

The border lord and his entourage took a knee before the king and queen. They each crossed an arm over their chest, hand knotted into a fist over their heart. The contrast of their appearance with all the elegant lords and ladies of the court was marked. Embarrassment would have been an appropriate reaction, but no such sentiment was evident on their dirt-encrusted faces.

My nostrils flared. Their scent reached me. Wind and earth and horseflesh. And something else. Something more. Something I had never smelled before. A ripple of heat passed over me, prickling my skin. On a deep level, I recognized it even if I could not name it.

Bewildered, I watched them in awe. These warriors were big and fierce and unkempt. Nothing like the polished guards of the palace, and Stig was the most polished of them all, his rich brown hair swept back from his forehead very precisely, his beard short and perfectly trimmed as he fixed alert and wary eyes on the party of warriors. One hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed rapier. I recognized what he did. Saw what he saw. They were violent. Dangerous. Scarred and battered for a reason. I felt only more certain that I was right to observe from the perimeter of the hall.

They wore their hair longer than was fashionable. Some with braids. Some with the sides of their skulls shaved. Inked designs crawled over their skin. The Borderlands clearly had their own fashion. I would not know. No one ventured there. It was an uncivilized place.

“It is him,” the lady in front of me breathed in awe, shifting so that she partially blocked my view. “The Beast.” I slid over a step and rose on tiptoes to better eye the man standing at the helmof the group. “Lord Beast,” she added to no one in particular, as though clarification was needed.