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I want to be free.

“Didn’t we all,” Olek said in a voice wiped of amusement. “I wish you luck, Isak Sintali.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.” He took another step and froze, whipping his head up to stare at the bear’s white, furred face. Olek’s azure eyes were deep with wisdom and age—and knowledge. What else did the damn creature know? “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“You didn’t have to,” Olek said with a little laugh, glancing past Isak to Harth. “You can trust this one. His heart is good and true, even if he doesn’t realise it.”

Isak ignored that, ignored the way it made his ears burn and his stomach squirm, and he kept walking until they were past Olek. Anzhelika let out a low whistle. She did that a lot.

“I think he likes you,” she said, her eyes on Isak. “Do you know how rare it is for an ice bear to like someone?”

“About as rare as meeting a King Consort,” Isak replied, his nerves slamming his heart into his ribs. It didn’t help that Viskae had been silent all morning, as if she was tuned into something else or concocting her own plans.

“Ask the consort about the ships,” Olek said as he strode away, the comment aimed at Harth.

“What does that mean?” Harth asked with a sigh, already sounding tired. Probably because Isak had just spent an hourexplaining, in detail, the suffering his estranged sister had been through. Harth genuinely cared about Maia, even if Isak wasn’t sure he’d ever met her. He had a feeling Maia didn’t know about his existence at all. Why?

And was the prince so genuinelygoodthat he’d care about someone he didn’t know at all, just because they shared blood? Isak frowned, but family was his own highest priority, so why was he surprised? If he discovered he had a secret sibling and they were in danger… well, he didn’t know what he’d do. He wasn’t gallant or heroic or—

Says the man who travelled across realms to save his brother and mate,Viskae drawled.Face it, Isak, you’re at least a little bit valiant.

That doesn’t seem like me at all,he remarked.

Wonders will never cease.She sobered.It’s alright to want your family, to want somewhere to belong. To want a bond with your mate. Just because you’ve never had those things before, it doesn’t make it wrong to want them now.

“The ships,” Harth muttered under his breath as he strode ahead, leading the way again, the crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling above them making the gold on his teal jacket glitter. NowHarthwas gallant. Very princely.

Stop self-loathing and pay attention,Viskae huffed.You’re about to meet a power player.

Another reborn saint?

Not in that sense. Power in the mortal, fae kind. Don’t piss him off.

Shit, Harth had already lifted his hand to knock on a door covered in golden scrollwork and an excessive number of filigrees. There was no name or marker on the door, but this had to be the King Consort’s office. Shit became real very quickly. If Isak messed this up, that would be his one shot at freeing Jaro, Maia, and the others gone.

He didn’t breathe at all when a resounding male voice called for them to enter. It reminded Isak of generals who’d roared on battlefields, their voices so loud they reached even the front lines. A voice made for giving orders, a voice that was, without fail, listened to.

Isak sucked in a breath when Anzhelika smacked him on the back, and he followed Harth into a grand office every bit as golden as the door, with accents of crystal everywhere in the same opalescent stone as the wall around Saintsgarde. A sweet smell filled his lungs, like vanilla and sugar and jam all rolled into one cloying scent. It was a strange scent for the man who waited at the desk at the far end of the room, looming in front of a huge stained-glass window. Isak was momentarily distracted by the images, the story it told—the same origin story of the Nysavion family as he’d told Maia, with the star and drakes.

Harth closed the door soundly behind them and Isak let his attention fall on the king consort. Thick dark hair spilled over the shoulders of his opulently embroidered jacket and framed a face nearly identical to Harth’s. Same rugged features, same jaw and straight nose and high cheekbones, but with black hair where Harth was blonde. So this was the bastard who gave up his daughter to her psychotic aunt.

“It’s a wonder no one knows you’re related,” Isak said, turning to Harth. “You have the exact same face.”

Kaladeir Nysavion, king consort of Sainsa, stiffened, his broad shoulders flexing as his hands twitched, no doubt reaching for a weapon.

“It’s fine,” Harth said quickly, giving Isak a warning look as he strode past, standing behind a chair opposite his father. “We can trust them.”

“Can we indeed?” Kaladeir asked, his voice lower, rough and unfriendly. Searing brown eyes raked over Isak, then Sunny, then Anzhelika.

Sunny gasped and grabbed Anzhelika’s arm. “It’s the king. Look, it’s really him. The actual king.”

“I see that, babe,” her wife agreed with a little laugh.

“Who, exactly, are all you people?” the King Consort demanded, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He was less than impressed with them. As far as Isak was concerned, the feeling was mutual.

“Olek said to ask you about the ships,” Harth spoke before any of them could. He gripped the back of the chair so hard his knuckles whitened. Clearly, he’d broken some unwritten rule by bringing them here.

Kaladeir’s eyes flicked back to them. “Is that who they are? Did they come off a ship?”