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He was handsome. Painfully so.

His clothes were trimmed to fit that tall and powerful build—exquisite in their contrasting hues of storms and forest. Brooding clouds and unfurling leaves. He was Weald manifest in his sky-fury and wondrous green, but it was his eyes that had given him away, that rich molten steel, and they were staring at her so intently that Seph’s heart did a strange and unexpected flip.

“Holy Father of kith…” said one of the elders. A man with cropped white hair and silver attire cut to highlight a muscular build. Inky vines curled down one side of his face, a diamond accented one ear, and he gazed upon Seph as if he’d seen a ghost.

Everyone else seemed to share his assessment, because they all gaped and whispered. Many in the crowd were straining to get a better view, but Seph knew what they saw: two women, one old and one young, who were spitting images of each other. Seph doubted the enchantress even needed to make a formal announcement.

“Ah, there you are,” Abecka said, walking down the short stair and stopping before Seph. She looked over Seph with approval, though her smile faltered when she noticed Seph’s naked crown. “I apologize for not visiting you sooner. It could not be helped.”

Seph’s retort crowded behind the tight smile she gave Abecka. It would not do to insult the enchantress in front of so many people. Seph might have a temper, but she did havesomeself-control.

Abecka’s expression strained just a little, as if she heard Seph’s fury anyway, and a long beat passed before the enchantress angled herself to face those atop the podium.

“These are my elders. Tyrin of Drava, Celia de’Lana, and Sienne Alienne Dupree.” Abecka gestured to each in turn. Tyrin was the male. Sienne looked like a warrior, with her fitted clothes and breastplate made of moonstone. Her dark hair was braided close to her scalp and woven together into a single braid that draped over her shoulder. She gave Seph an appraising though not unkind expression.

Not at all like the second female: Celia de’Lana.

She wore her clothing loose, and her golden hair fell all the way to her waist in a mixture of thin braids and elegant coils. Seph thought Celia very striking but too severe to be beautiful.

“This is my great-granddaughter, Josephine Risorro Alistair,” Abecka announced to the crowd. She didn’t have to speak loudly, because all the room was silent. “Though I imagine you will accept her parentage without further proof.”

There were a few chuckles, and Tyrin looked knowingly at Sienne, who gave the smallest smile.

“Her birth is irrefutable, yes,” Celia said haughtily, tilting her face. “How old is she in mortal years?”

“Twenty-two,” Seph answered, though the question had been directed at Abecka.

“Thank you,” Celia replied tightly. “And have you spent all of your …twenty-twoyears in Harran?”

Seph refused to be belittled by her mortality. “I have.”

“Has she exhibited any signs of connecting witheloit?” Sienne asked, looking at Alder.

Seph looked at Alder too, wondering how he would answer.

He met her gaze, and his full attention nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. She still couldn’t get over the transformation. He was still Marks, the man she’d first met, in bearing and in manner, and he had that same shrewd intelligence in his eyes. That same spark of sarcasm. But she missed his beard. His wildness had leveled the playing field, but this…

This was simply unfair.

Seph steeled herself as she held his gaze. He must have caught something in hers because the edge of his lips curled in the way she’d imagined it would, a way that reflected the dry sarcasm that always reflected in his eyes. She’d never been able to see his smirk fully through his beard, and seeing it now was wholly disarming.

“A little,” he answered, but he addressed Abecka and the elders as he added, “She was able to usemybow.”

Tyrin and Sienne appeared intrigued, Abecka pleased, Celia…annoyed, while the crowd murmured.

“Forgive me, but what does that mean?” Seph asked.

It was Abecka who answered. “Prince Alder’s bow was crafted by one of our most talented bowyers. It’s embedded with many powerful enchantments, but foundational to Prince Alder’s is that only a kith of royal blood can draw it.”

Oh.

Seph looked straight at Alder. “So you knew I was of royal blood.”

He tilted his head a fraction as he raised one of his stately brows. “I suspected you were more than even you were aware.”

Seph wasn’t sure if she believed him, and she was about to say as much, but Celia beat her to it.

“Prince Alder could be deceiving us,” Celia said hotly. “You know there is little sincerity within him.”