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Something like pain flashed in his eyes. But he covered it so quickly, I questioned whether I’d seen it at all. He sighed heavily instead. “We cannot stop the Joining, Veyka.”

I nodded. “I know. But between us, here, not the High Queen and King, but… Veyka and Arran. No promises. Just truth. Whatever the cost.”

I could see him struggling. He was holding something back. Something important, if the wrinkles forming around his eyes were any indication.

I decided to spare him thinking about it any longer. I grabbed his neck and dragged him down to me, slanting my mouth against his.

“Truth,” he agreed against my lips.

He let me pull him down onto the bed, his knees bracketing my hips on either side. But when I tried to arch against him, several stabs of pain ripped through me. Wrist, chest, legs. Arran eased onto his left knee, settling in to lay beside me instead, head propped on his elbow. Not the hand that still held mine.

“You were injured. So cold, I could hardly feel you breathing or hear your heartbeat. There was not a single drop of blood on you. Scratches… yes, so many. Deep, hideous gouges. But no blood. How is that possible, Veyka?”

I stared at my leg, which should have been mutilated.

“I didn’t have enough questions to ask,” I said cheekily.

He wanted to push it, I knew.

It was luck, I was sure. I’d been damned lucky. For a few minutes, it had even felt like Arthur was there with me. Even if that witch had all but confirmed that was impossible.

Arthur.

His name speared through me, every muscle tightening. I opened my mouth to tell Arran, to demand he let go of my hand and go cut Roksana into tiny, little pieces—

“Roksana is dead,” Arran said.

I stilled. “How?”

Arran stroked a fingertip down the inside of my arm. “Elora began asking questions—about Arthur’s death, the massacre on the palace. When her mother couldn’t answer them, she beheaded her.”

“I see.” Part of me wished I’d been the one to inflict the killing blow. But the other half was just glad it was over. I’d have to question Elora eventually, to find out more about how she’d realized her mother’s treachery. And reward her appropriately. But it all seemed too exhausting to contemplate.

“They are all still under guard. If that is not who the witch—”

“No, no. It was Roksana all along,” I said, still struggling to believe it. It should’ve been easier, considering the betrayals and losses of the last few days. But it still felt like a knife wound in my gut, the blade rotated with each reminder.

Arran paused, but ultimately asked, “What else did the witch say?”

I told him what happened from the moment I stepped into the tower room. How she’d tricked me, how I’d tricked her back.

“Layers,” he said, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. The action made me desperate to find out what that stubble would feel like scraping against my inner thighs. “In the water gardens, all those outlines of Annwyn…”

“Multiple realms,” I nodded. “Not just the human and fae realms. But more, maybe an infinite number. Stacked on top of one another, coexisting, without us even realizing it.”

“And Arthur...”

“I don’t know. She said he was unreachable.” I bit hard on my lower lip, staring down at my hands, the wrist where the witch’s nails had gotten to me red and raw. “When I saw the carvings in the water gardens… I hoped that maybe the afterlife was one of those layers. That maybe I could use the rifts…” I sighed, shaking my head. “But none of it matters, not really. We’ll have to find a way to seal all of the rifts, to stop this darkness coming from the human lands.”

Arran opened his mouth, closed it again. He had an opinion on that, clearly. But it was not a discussion we’d have today.

He leaned down and kissed me again, tracing each line of my mouth reverently. I tried to shift beneath him, but still he held me fast. Our hands joined tightly, the ring he’d slid onto my finger digging into my skin.

A comfort and a promise, despite what I’d said.

But then he slid his tongue into my mouth and I let myself forget the rest.

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