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“You are the same as all the rest, no matter what I let myself believe,” she spat out, jabbing a finger at the hollow beneath his throat. Her eyes stung, tears hot against her lashes. “You see me as they do. A broodmare. An object.”

That is not true, some little part of her whispered. She remembered how he knelt, so easily, without shame. How he waited for her order to kill. Every time he hung back, shifting to stand just a little bit behind her, holding her flank like a soldier on the front line of battle. How he froze, a sword to Domacridhan’s neck, the Elder’s death in his hands. But forErida’s own life hanging in the balance.

Even so, she could not stop.

“I have been alone all my life. And I thought you—” Her breath caught, choking. She blinked fiercely, trying to force back the hot, stinging sensation. “I suppose now I’ll never be alone again.”

The river still flowed against her legs, pressing, begging to be followed. She wanted to lean into it and be swept away. To follow and not lead, if only for a single moment.

Taristan only stared, the hard edge of his jaw clenched tight. He watched her, eyes ticking up her frame,judgingher. She could feel it, his gaze. It burned like her skin, threatening to consume everything.

“You must learn to balance,” he finally said, his shoulders dropping.

Her eyes flared wide.

“How dare you lecture me?” she sneered.

But he only shook his head. Again, he closed the distance between them, reaching out to touch her exposed throat. Erida shrugged away, nearly tripping over her own skirts.

“Balance what He is, and who you are. Both exist now, in here.” His voice shifted, oddly kind for the circumstances. Erida did not trust it.

“Both,” he said again.

This time, when his hand closed over the space where neck met shoulder, Erida held herself steady. She swallowed hard, throat bobbing against his thumb. As much as the feel of him burned, it grounded her too.

Balance, the small voice, her own voice, said. She reached for it, past the rage and wild abandon.

Her eyes went round and she looked up to Taristan of Old Cor. It felt like seeing him for the first time. But now, she saw beneath. To the battle under his skin, behind his eyes, the weight always tipping back and forth.

The river current.

With a shudder, she realized it was not a gentle pull tugging at her body, cool and sweet as freshwater. It was a fountain of magma, red and endless, angry. It was the slow, inexorable motion of stars in the black sky, who could not stop their dance even if they tried.

“Taristan,” she whispered.

My mind is my own.

Again, her eyes stung. She could not see them herself, but some part of her knew. The sapphire blue was no more.

Her eyes burned red.

“I know,” he answered, laying his fevered forehead to her fevered neck. “I know.”

She smelled smoke again. From her dress or the demon in her head, Erida did not know. And, she knew, it did not matter.

Then the door burst open, a white-faced lady behind it. She stood half in the hall, the other ladies-in-waiting behind her, all of them pale and trembling. It was no small thing to disturb the Queen and her consort. At the back of Erida’s mind, something snarled for their heads. It overwhelmed her at first, her vision shining white, and she had to turn away.

Taristan let her, bracing her against his still-bare chest.Hiding me, she realized.Hiding what I’ve done.

“My lady, the council has convened in the cathedral. But—”

Erida went stiff against Taristan, her back too straight, both hands fisting at the folds of her dress. Her good hand curled, nails biting into her palm.

Still she would not turn. Not while her eyes stung, her sight edged with a black-and-red haze.

Even so, she knew what came next.

“Lady Harrsing is gone, Your Majesty.”