Page 20

Staring down at Sir Qildor, at the shredded skin on his back, the tears in his wings, and the blood sprayed across the white stone ground, I wanted to die.

He’d endured this because ofme.

The worst thing was, neither Vale nor I could have stopped it. My ankles still stung from the king’s cold ice shackles, and that was indication enough. But even if we’d been free to move, it would have been fruitless to try to stop King Magnus.

Down to my marrow, I recognized mad power. I had seen that same glint in many masters’ eyes.

Had either Vale or I tried to stop the king, things would have only gotten worse.

“Qildor.” Vale went to his friend the moment the king disappeared from the throne room, dropped to one knee, and placed a gentle hand on his friend’s arm. “I am so sorry. Let me helpyou.”

Qildor didn’t reply. Perhaps he couldn’t. As Prince Rhistel appeared in front of me a moment later, I lost that train of thought.

The heir to Winter’s Realm sneered down at me, as tall as his brother, and with the dark hair, wings, and eyes, though that was where the similarities ended. “I suppose congratulations are in order. You almost snared a warden, only to entrap a far larger, albeit dumber, prize.”

My jaw tightened as the heir continued.

“Father might not have killed you, dear sister, but I’d watch my back if I were you.” His voice dipped into a whisper as he pressed his black wings down against his back. “Vampire assassins will find their way into Avaldenn. Perhaps even inside the white walls of Frostveil.”

My throat tightened. Stars. I hadn’t even thought of that.

“A pity. I had hoped to sample you for myself once you were in the harem.” Apparently unable to help himself, Rhistel’s dark brown eyes dipped to my lips. “Enjoy your time in our family, Princess Neve. Enjoy all that the royal house can offer you,while you still can.”

He marched through the crowds of nobles, all pointedly not looking at Qildor. Behind the heir, the queen followed, waving a hand to dismiss people along the way. Like a fast-moving tide, footsteps rushed out of the throne room.

My fists clenched. Why had none of them helped? Where was the outrage?

My narrowed eyes scanned the exiting crowd, lookingfor the reaction I sought. I found it, but only in a few faces.

I took heart that many of them were familiar. Sayyida and her older brother Vidar stood in place, their tanned faces pale. Marit was exiting the throne room, an older male’s arm wrapped around her shoulder to guide her, but she was also wiping her eyes, as though she’d been crying for Sir Qildor’s fate. Filip Balik, Vale’s young squire, had, in fact, vomited. The many members of House Balik, all with that golden-brown Balik complexion, helped the younger member of their house, though one, a male who appeared to be around thirty turns, watched us with hawk-like intensity.

“Neve,” a familiar voice came from behind, soft and shaky. “Are you all right?”

I twisted to find Saga descending the steps that led up to the thrones, unshed tears in her eyes. I swallowed.

“My father . . . he . . . stars, I’m so sorry.” The princess’s teeth bit into her bottom lip as her gaze drifted to Qildor, then back to me. “I anticipated his anger, but I didn’t think this would happen.”

Like Vale, Saga saw her father differently than I did. They claimed he hadn’t always been so hard, so cold, so cruel. Though both understood the king was far from perfect, I’d gathered they remembered and clung to a kinder version of him.

“He chose Qildor because he knows Vale is his friend.” I understood the machinations of the king because I’d spent so long trying not to garner the attention of those in power, like him. “It hurt Vale more this way.”

“True,” Saga breathed. “We need to get Sir Qildor to the healers.” She waved over a male fae wearing a gold cloak clasped with a bear claw. “Sir Yaggril, help my brother transport Sir Qildor.” Her dainty hands clapped for attention, not that she needed to do so. Everyone who remained in the throne room was watching us. “Someone else, get a stretcher! Now!”

Two guards who’d been by the doors raced out of the room.

“We’ll need more help.” The moment the words left Vale’s lips; four others appeared: Vidar and Sayyida Virtoris, and Filip Balik, along with the older Balik male I’d noticed standing with the family. He was brown of skin and gold of eye, with lustrous honey-brown hair and wings. A cloak of rich, shimmering gold cascaded from his shoulders and if that wasn’t enough gold, the male wore a gold hoop nose ring, three gold rings on each hand, and two impressive gold cuffs over each of his ears that resembled a ram’s horns.

Rams. The animal of House Balik. And so much gold—a primary house color of the same family, alongside hunter green and black.

“Filip,” Vale started, “you shouldn’t be here.”

It was true. The young faerie appeared to be barely holding it together. But at his prince’s words, Filip’s chin lifted. “I’m staying and helping.”

The gilded lord shifted his attention to me. “I’m Sian of House Balik. I suspect you and I will become more familiar over the next few days.”

I had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t matter. “Lady Neve.”

“PrincessNeve ofHouse Aaberg,” Sian corrected. “Use what powers you’ve been given. If you are to survive this, you will need to squeeze every drop of life from that fruit.”