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At least Lyrena seemed to be managing. Her role as one of my Goldstones gave her something to focus on beyond her lost lover. Meanwhile, Parys and I were adrift, clinging to each other in a sea of darkness.

But this too would end. Parys was right—the Brutal Prince was near. Some instinct in my gut told me that my betrothed would not take kindly to another male sharing my bed.

I was not in love with Parys. But I would certainly miss his companionship and the mindless escape he offered.

Staring up at the ceiling, I traced the outlines of the golden arches with my eyes. The goldstone was painted in shades of twilight. Pale blues danced with streaks of amethyst and burnt orange, swirling and glittering. It was beautiful. But I wished I could see the sky, rather than a painted facsimile of it.

Only when I was free of the goldstone palace, underneath the scorching hot skies of Annwyn, did I truly feel safe.

Safety, I reminded myself ruefully, was not the objective.

Quite to the contrary, I would willingly sacrifice my own safety if it meant bringing Arthur’s killers to justice.

My one official edict as Queen of the Elemental Fae, before formally surrendering control of my kingdom to the royal council, had been to order the execution of the humans who’d beheaded my brother. They’d been easy to find—as if they hadn’t thought of how they would escape the goldstone palace after their deed was accomplished.

The human deaths had satisfied my court.

But instead of walking to the dais and assuming my brother’s throne, I’d written a missive to the royal council, claiming my heart too broken to rule. Esa and her peers had been only too happy to take control, albeit short-lived.

Once the Brutal Prince was announced as the terrestrial heir, there was no doubt the council’s reign would be brief.

The Brutal Prince.

My betrothed.

The monster of bedtime stories the elemental fae told their children to frighten them into compliance.

Lucky me.

My sharp, pointed ears heard the footsteps, recognizing them moving in triplicate, a few seconds before the knock rang out.

I could hide no longer, it would seem.

Swinging my feet to the perpetually warm goldstone floor, I reached for the dressing gown I’d abandoned sometime the night before.

“Come,” I called, raising my voice even though it was unnecessary. My handmaidens’ fae ears could hear my movements as well as I could theirs.

By the time the three of them glided in, led by Charis, I’d managed to fasten the clasp at the front of my deep turquoise silk dressing gown. Nestled just above my belly button, the emerald clasp held together the cool silk as it cascaded down my body. Layers and layers of it. So much silk it would have swallowed a smaller female. But over my curved form, with my blue eyes sparkling, I knew I was striking. Such things mattered to most elementals. I could play along—for now.

“Your Majesty,” the three sisters said in unison, sinking into identical curtsies.

I rolled my eyes. Cyara rewarded me with a look of reprove.

“If you are going to insist upon tending to yourself in the evenings, then you must actually do something with your hair rather than letting it become a tangled mess,” Cyara said, eyeing my ruined braid. “Your Majesty,” she added as an afterthought.

She was not incorrect. The intricate plait, this one made by twisting several smaller braids together and interlacing them, was nothing more than a bedraggled shadow of the fine work Carly had wrought the evening before.

Cyara snapped her fingers. Carly and Charis both jumped, their delicate white feathered wings twitching in surprise.

“Charis, make the tea. Carly, fetch a comb,” she ordered.

“I will make the tea,” I said quickly, walking to the ornate circular table nestled in the corner.

Cyara did not argue, though I guessed that if I turned around, I would see her eyes rolling toward the painted ceiling as mine had moments before. I couldn’t just sit and stare at myself while they meddled with my hair. If I made the tea, at least my hands would be busy.

And if I was turned away, no one would be able to see my face when Cyara worked up the nerve to read the missive she was holding in her hand.

“Very well,” Cyara said. “Charis, can you see about tossing Master Parys from the bed? I’d like to change the sheets sometime today.”