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Silence.

“He instructed he is to be woken in the event of any emergency concerning Lorian,” Darielle said.

“The child looks fine.”

“Based on your extensive experience with such things?”

The door opened. A few minutes later, it opened again. “What is the problem?” Conreth asked.

“He does not sleep, Your Majesty. Every night, as I’ve mentioned. But tonight is the worst. He needs his family.”

Strong arms reached out and took the boy. Conreth gazed down at him, and his eyes lightened. The king turned and carried him into his rooms without another word.

* * *

“It’s good to see you, Margie.” I scanned her, taking in the softened lines around her mouth. It had taken some convincing for her to leave Lesdryn—the city where Regner had murdered her daughter. But Vicer had managed to make it happen.

“You too.” Margie smiled at me. “Let me find you a tent.”

I got to my feet, my gaze finding Asinia’s. She gave me an encouraging smile. “Dinner tonight?”

“Yes. Just you and me,” I promised. We were well overdue to spend some time together. Just a few uninterrupted hours.

I followed Margie out of the tent, turning left. “This is the main thoroughfare,” she told me. “If you continue walking along this path and follow it as it curves to the right, you’ll eventually end up at the arena. Keep walking, and you’ll be back at the camp entrance, and then at The Hearth. The Hearth is close to the cooking fires, and it’s where anyone is welcome to sit and eat together throughout the day.”

This time as we walked, the staring wasn’t so bad. Sure, curious gazes clung to me like blood to a sword, but when those gazes shifted to Margie, hands raised in greeting, mouths stretched in smiles, and people called out to her.

“Now, don’t you go training on that ankle before you see the camp healer,” she scolded one boy, who looked like he’d only seen around fifteen winters. Tall, thin verging on scrawny, he had shoulders wide enough that he might carry some serious muscle one day. The boy stuck out his chin, turning his attention to me.

“You’re the hybrid heir.”

My mouth turned dry, but I nodded.

His expression was almost accusatory. “Are you going to help us?”

Margie’s hand tightened on my arm. “Now, Silas, Iknowyou’re not being rude to the woman who saved your brother’s life.”

He glanced behind him. “My brother is crippled from the iron guards.”

A weight pressed on my chest. My eyes met Margie’s. “Has Tibris—”

“Yes,” Margie said softly. “We need more healers. There are only three hybrid healers with enough power to tend injuries like broken bones and infection, and they must see to the entire camp.”

I blinked. “There’s no fae healer here?”

“He tends to the fae. The hybrids refused to tolerate his ministrations.”

Silas wandered away.

I ground my teeth as Margie continued to lead me down the main thoroughfare. “So, they desperately need a fae healer, but they won’t allow one because they don’t trust them.”

“That’s right.” Margie slid me a cool look. “After everything you heard about the fae your entire life, would you trust them in their position? If you hadn’t fraternized with the Bloodthirsty Prince?”

Hurt warred with shame, and I slowly unwound my arm from hers. Margie’s mouth tightened. “Forgive me. That was rude.”

“No,” I said softly. “Speak your mind.”

She sighed, suddenly seeming much older than her years. “I don’t begrudge you your relationship with him,” she said. “Without his powers, we would be dead. But you have to understand what kind of message it sends when you’re seen with him here, among the hybrids. Some of them lost family members who were locked out of this kingdom when they fled. The oldest among them remember slamming their hands against those wards themselves—and then watching as their friends and family were cut down. You represent our hope. He represents our death. And the people living here watched as you conversed easily with him at the camp entrance.”