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“I think Katerina knew,” I tell him. “She saw us earlier, when you dropped me off.”

“Katerina is bound to silence,” he says. “And she knows exactly how precarious her position is in our court.”

Ourcourt. Nothiscourt. As if it belongs to me as much as it belongs to him.

My heart clenches at the meaning behind his words, and I feel more cherished and loved than ever.

But I need to focus. Time is of the essence, and I don’t want to learn first-hand what happens to those who kill the queen’s favorite pet.

“Isla helped me get to you,” I tell him, praying she won’t end up paying for it. “She’ll be okay, right?”

“Isla’s immune from anything at court,” he says, affection creeping into his voice. “The king and queen will protect her. They always have.”

I release the breath I was holding.

“She told me she was raised by them,” I say. “That she sees you as a brother.”

“Isla’s been with us since she was born. She’s family.” He shakes his head, as if dismissing the topic. “Who else saw you tonight?”

“Aurora was with Isla when I went to the king’s suite to ask for help,” I say, and he turns to the window, his wings fluttering, a breeze stirring around him.

“Aurora could be pinned as an accessory to the crime,” he muses aloud. “She saw you covered in blood, and Isla will make sure she doesn’t report it. That’s enough to implicate her.”

My mouth goes dry. “But she didn’t do anything wrong.”

His gaze snaps back to me, cold and cruel. “If we need her, we’ll sacrifice her. My only concern is protecting you. Now, who else saw you?”

I draw in a sharp breath, searching his face.

There’s no mercy there—only devotion wrapped in ruthless resolve that makes me burn with desire.

“Victoria and Sophia,” I manage, my throat tight. “Victoria hates me, but?—”

“We’ll say that Victoria confronted Henry over you, and then she killed him in a fit of jealousy,” he interrupts, like it’s the simplest conclusion in all the realms. “She’s one of mine, and no one will care if she’s gone. I was close to sending her to the barns, anyway.”

I stare at him, letting it sink in. “You want to frame Victoria for Henry’s murder.”

He rushes toward me, grabbing my shoulders like he’s begging me to see reason. “I want to keep you safe,” he says. “And this is the cleanest solution.

“She’ll be killed,” I say, barely able to get the words out.

“Yes,” he agrees. “And I need you to be okay with it. To accept it. Can you do that? For me?”

The Zoey from before—the one who volunteered at animal shelters and worried about which colleges she’d apply to—would have paused.

But that girl died in the cold Winter Court.

Then she started to thrive in the Night Court. Where she’llcontinueto thrive, no matter who she has to step on—or stab to death—to get there.

“Do it,” I say, the words a heavy door closing on who I used to be.

His breath leaves him in a rush, his eyes flaring with pride.

“We need to move quickly,” he says. “Is Henry’s body still in your suite?”

I twist my fingers together, my stomach knotting. “On the floor in the living room. There’s... a lot of blood.”

Something in my voice must alarm him, because he pauses to look me up and down.