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The Night King’s magic, though it still dances through my veins, now feels like a shadow of its former self. And with every exhalation, it dims and dims until I only hold a memory of it inside myself.

I grasp at the last tendrils of his power as they slide down our magical connection. Down and away from me. All the while, my gaze searches the room.

What just happened? Where did Des go?

And why can’t I feel him down our bond?

In the distance, someone calls out to me.

I still can’t get enough air.

Why?

Why why why?

My fingers begin to tingle like they’ve been kissed by ice. The sensation spreads, numbing me as it goes. Putting my hands to my head, I bow over myself.

So confused …

Suddenly I feel a presence at my back. Someone grabs a clump of my hair and jerks my head back, placing a blade to my throat. I hear Temper shout.

“Time to join your mate,” Galleghar hisses against my ear.

No sooner are the words out, than another burst of that sickening magic blows him back.

“I told you not to touch her,” a soldier says, their voice echoing off the walls.

A second wave of magic follows the first, this one from Temper. It blasts from her palm, hitting Galleghar in the head and knocking him out.

“Eat shit, motherfucker,” she says.

Everything happening around me barely registers. All I can focus on is the thump of my heart and the sick certainty that something is wrong—thatIam wrong.

Where is my mate?

Temper’s footfalls echo through the room as she comes towards me, her eyes burning. “You’ve got about a minute to start explaining yourself,” she commands a sleeping soldier, “and then I begin to fuck shit up.”

“There’s only one human whose words I’ll listen to,” the soldier replies smoothly, “and they aren’t yours.”

This is a dream. Of course. Adream.

Dropping my hands, I straighten.

“Enough with the games.” I’m surprised my words come out as even as they do.

I search the room for the Thief. When I don’t see his dark features, I settle on a sleeping soldier. “Where is my mate?” Glamour coats the words like syrup.

Around me, the entire room is poised, the air thick with promised violence and the Thief’s dark magic.

The female soldier I stare at replies, “He’s in my kingdom now.”

Small death. The Thief rules over small death. That’s how this nightmare is all possible. I’m asleep, and the Thief is screwing with me.

“Wake me up,” I demand.

The look the Thief gives me … if I didn’t know him better, I’d almost say it’s pity. But he’s enjoying this.

“This is no dream, enchantress. If it were, I would stand before you as myself—just as I always have.”