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“Why aren’t you laughing along with them then?” She didn’t mean it as an accusation, just an attempt to understand.

Ivain said grimly, heavy with the weight of age, “Because I’ve already seen enough of death to have my fill of it.”

At the dais, Kalahad stood encouraging some of the more squeamish ladies to put their fingers in the intestines. The heads were taken away as silverware scraped against plates once more.

Taly no longer had an appetite. She stared at her plate, the luxurious cut of wyvern steak resting in a pool of rich, spiced jus, and felt her stomach turn.

Down the table, Aimee had already gone back to her project for the night, which seemed to be the handsome blonde beside her. Kato was laughing at something someone said, though his eyes did find Taly’s. His mouth twisted to the side in recognition, or maybe it was sympathy. She couldn’t say.

“Excuse me,” Ivain said and tossed his napkin on the table, rising.

Seizing the chance, Taly gathered her skirts, preparing to follow. If he was going to make his escape, she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity.

“Poor dear, you’re not distressed by our little spectacle, are you?” the noblewoman beside her tutted. Lady Seraphine. They’d been seated together all night, and it had been nothing but a parade of thinly veiled inquiries and condescending nods, as if Taly were a child hopelessly out of her depth. “These little events are merely a form of discipline, quite customary. They’re not meant to be taken personally.”

It was exhausting, forcing herself to feign gratitude for their hollow attentions. The greatest challenge, however, was notpunching the silver-haired harpy right on her over-powdered nose when she reached out and gripped her arm.

“You and the heir are quite close, I’m told. It must be quite the experience, standing so near to such…power.” A shiver ran through the noblewoman, her smile curling. “Surely, you must have someinsightsinto his demeanor.”

Politeness demanded that Taly retake her seat, her one chance at freedom vanishing as Ivain blended with the stream of butlers and slipped away unnoticed. She reached for her wine glass, raising it to be refilled as Lady Seraphine prattled on.

Together, or not at all. But apparently, that rule didn’t apply to dinner parties.

Shit…

Skye splashed cold water on his face. His hands shook as he cupped them beneath the flow of water streaming from the ornate silver faucet.

Shit, shit, shit…

Air sawed through his lungs, each breath a battle against the vise tightening around his chest. The soft glow of crystal sconces lined the walls of the lavarium, papered in black and gold. The light cast eerie shadows across his strained features reflected in the large gilt mirror.

He pressed shaking fingers to his temples, willing the storm inside him to settle. His mind raced, replaying the events of the evening—the man on his knees, the surge of rage and power, then the sickening realization of what he’d done.

Images flickered behind his tightly shut eyelids, memories not his own but borrowed.

He saw the men and women whose heads now stared out at the crowd, lifeless. Their clandestine meetings played outbefore him, each whispered plot and hidden agenda an echo that reverberated through his mind.

There was no denying the man’s guilt.

Skye could’ve stopped there. He almost did. The words were already forming on his tongue that would’ve handed off the responsibility for his death to someone else.

Then he saw Vale.

He saw a man, indeed the man before him, creeping down a shadowy set of stairs, and through his eyes, he saw a human Taly in the relay room below.

The memory was real. It rang with undeniable truth.

He saw when Vaughn grabbed her by the neck—saw her back hit the wall. He saw the subtle movement, even watching from behind, when that bastard reached for his trousers.

Skye gripped the marble counter as past and present overlapped. Taly never told him…

The man’s lust clung to his thoughts, like an oily residue, impossible to scrape off. But that wasn’t even the worst part. It was the hope—sickening in its persistence. A desperate, twistedyearningfor a role in the horror, a chance to share in the violation, and the patience to wait…

Marble cracked, just as that man’s skull had cracked.

He hadn’t meant to kill him. Truly, Skye hadn’t even realized what he’d done until it was over. It was just a flicker, a momentary lapse. His thoughts spiraled, grasping at the fragments of that moment—the rush of power, the scent of blood, the visceral joy at justice being served.

He hadn’t lost control of his magic since he was 12 years old—when he broke Taly’s arm, just by reaching for her, and vowed to himselfnever again.