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“There’d be consequences. There always are. Especially when I’m….” He clenched his jaw. “He’s the one who needs you now.”

Before I could respond, he was moving, his back to me, his shoulders tensed, and his aura retracting to nothing as he walked out the door of the Seating Room.

I swallowed, trying to compose myself, to find some inner ember of strength still blazing inside of me. He was right. I had to go to Tristan. I had to comfort him. And I had to appear strong before the Bamarian nobles. I had to be Lady Lyriana Batavia. I had to forget what I’d seen tonight, what I’d witnessed, what I’d done. I stepped forward, lifting my chin and pushing back my shoulders as I entered the crowd.

I searched through the overwhelming cluster of nobles with tears falling, sobs erupting, and hands wringing as accusatory and devasted sets of eyes landed on me. I steeled myself, pushing down every feeling and memory of Haleika: her laugh, the way she bounced on her feet when she was excited for food, the passion she expressed for the people she loved, for Leander….

I found Tristan. He stood stoically next to his grandparents, his eyes reddened with tears, his chin lifted in defiance of the tragedy. It was the same stance I’d seen him take dozens of times during memorial services devoted to his parents and how I imagined he’d looked as a toddler at their funeral—tiny and helpless, already carrying the title of Lord, and preparing to join the Bamarian Council one day.

Tristan rolled his shoulders back, stretching his head from side to side. He was holding back his tears, fighting to keep them at bay. When he saw me, his brown eyes, so full of loss and sorrow, seared into me. He crossed the room in quick, determined strides, meeting me in the middle of the hall.

I threw my arms around him, breathing in his mint and salt scent, the scent of my childhood, of my friend, of Haleika’s cousin. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

His arms tightened around me, his face buried in the crook of my shoulder. He bit back a sob, his mouth pressed to my skin, and the delicate dam I’d built inside myself to conceal my emotions and find the strength I needed to survive the night was gone.

I saw Haleika in my mind, imagined her fighting to protect Leander, neither leaving the battle against the akadim, refusing to allow the threat to continue for the next soturion to face. I imagined their fear and pain while fighting against death to save the one they loved. I imagined their horror in knowing what they were about to lose.

Guilt began to gnaw through my bones. I almost couldn’t bear for Tristan to touch me. My skin felt prickly and hot—and for once, it was because of me, not him. He hadn’t deserved this or any of what I’d done tonight with Rhyan. He hadn’t deserved my betrayal—not just tonight, but during most of our relationship. I hadn’t been there with him emotionally for a long time. I’d fooled myself for years, and that had fooled him, but now the truth was weighing on me. But the guilt was about more than Tristan. Maybe if I’d been faster, trained harder, stabbed deeper, or if we’d been more focused, less afraid of losing each other, Rhyan and I could have killed that third akadim, could have saved Haleika from a fate worse than death, could have saved Leander.

But we’d let the demon go. We hadn’t stopped the threat.

Rhyan may have been the one to take me away, but I refused to let him shoulder the blame alone. I had been there, too. I had been in the cave, safe in his arms, kissing him, touching him, telling him I loved him while back here, Haleika and Leander’s love had failed them. I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears falling. A part of us had known, deep down, when we’d escaped the akadim, how close we’d come to death, to losing each other, and that was why we’d had to confess how we felt, that was why we’d had to do anything we could to feel alive.

Haleika and Leander’s fate had been ours first. Our destiny. And we’d cheated our way out of it. They’d been good, so good. Leander had defended Rhyan in the habibellum, and Haleika…fuck. Fuck!

Tristan’s arms tightened around me, and I started to shake. I wanted to hug him and comfort him, and I wanted to tell him to run away from me—that I didn’t deserve to be in his arms, that this was my fault. That I’d killed them. I’d let this happen.

But I couldn’t step away, I couldn’t. I had to live with this, and I had to be here.

“They won’t let us see her,” Tristan said quietly, his voice weak, like the emotion was too close to the surface for him to speak without it drowning him. “She’s all alone.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” he said, his hands running up and down my back. “So am I.”

The doors to Cresthaven burst open, and the herald who’d announced the Emperor’s arrival the previous night burst into the hall. His cheeks were flushed with exertion as he blew on his horn. “He comes!” he shouted.

The sobs and cries filling the room came to a halt.

The Emperor’s sentries, adorned in their brushed-gold armor, their bodies poised for battle, and their cheeks glowing as the firelight flickered over their golden Valalumir tattoos, rushed into the hall. They brandished their swords as they snaked their way through the crowd in a sort of organized chaos, ordering everyone to get in line.

Tristan let go of me. “What in Moriel’s name?” he snarled. His nostrils flared. “What does he want now? Can we not fucking grieve in peace?”

I bit my lip. “That’s not his way.”

Tristan squeezed my hand, leaning in to kiss me quickly on the lips. I froze, unable to kiss him back, tasting only the salt of our tears that had mixed together. When he pulled away, I found Rhyan across the room, watching us, his expression schooled to indifference, to that of the cruel, cold high-lord-to-be of Glemaria. I felt the ice of his aura abruptly against my skin as it escaped him again, and then, just as quickly, he pulled it back.

“I must stand with Ka Grey,” Tristan said, hand on his stave as his grandparents yelled at a soturion before marching with indignation to the same place they’d stood when we’d first greeted and celebrated the Emperor’s arrival in the Great Hall.

“Of course,” I said, heart pounding.

Tristan marched away, his back straight and his head held high, as he swallowed his grief and resumed his role as the future lord of Ka Grey.

I stood alone, unable to move, unable to find my place in the fray as nobles were pushed about in every direction, swarming back and forth across the hall. I looked for Rhyan again in the chaos, but he’d moved. There was no sign of him, no hint of his aura.

Meera and Morgana came down the steps, their hair unstyled and hastily brushed back, their diadems set on their foreheads slightly askew. I wasn’t sure if Morgana had heard what was happening already or if they’d been summoned to appear for the sudden visit.

My father walked through the doors next, looking like he’d aged a decade, with more gray hair around his temples and a balding spot at the back of his head I’d never seen before. Within seconds, every member of the Bamarian Council along with their immediate family stood organized in two long lines in the Great Hall. Markan had appeared and pushed me to my place beside Meera and Morgana just before the Imperator walked through the makeshift aisle, followed by the Emperor.