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Myra’s hand froze on her back. She pulled back, her gaze fixed on Kallie’s. “You did what? When?”

“Last night.”

“Last night?” Myra repeated as her attention dropped to Kallie’s neck, her brows furrowing. “Is that how . . . ?”

Kallie bit her lip. “I think . . . I think we should sit.”

Myra nodded once. “Okay.” She nodded again, her head bobbing as she pushed back a loose strand of long blonde hair. “Yes, we should sit.”

Kallie joined Myra on the plush couch and fixed her gaze on her shaking hands. She rubbed her thumb against the dainty gold ring. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning.”

“The beginning is always a good place to start,” Myra whispered, twiddling her fingers.

Biting her tongue, Kallie nodded.

It is okay to lean on a friend,Kallie reminded herself.

She took a deep breath, and then Kallie told Myra everything that transpired last night—well, everything she could. She told Myra how she had wandered the woods looking for Rian like she was supposed to. How she had found the giant sequoia in the center of the patch of trees and discovered an alcove carved out of it. How she had ventured down the dark stairs believing the king to be down there waiting for her, but Rian, of course, hadn’t been down there.

Bile filled her throat at the memory of what happened next, and the words became too thick to say out loud. Living it was one thing, replaying the memory was one thing—but speaking it aloud? That was entirely different.

Myra grabbed Kallie’s hand. With that single touch, the heavy weight on her shoulders lifted an inch. Kallie no longer felt alone.

She latched onto that feeling and pushed through.

When Kallie finished telling Myra what had happened between her and Sebastian, she brushed her hair to her back, revealing the bruises on her neck. Pain laced Myra’s countenance.

“Myra, I can’t—if something were to happen to Rian, my father wishes that—” Kallie choked on her words. “How am I supposed to marry Sebastian after that? After what he tried to do? I—I can’t. Iwon’t.”

Soft fingers wrapped around Kallie’s wrist. Myra pulled Kallie’s hands away from her face and scooted closer. “Breathe, Kals. Rian is still alive and well. There is no need to make yourself sick with worry. We can tell King Rian. We can—”

“No!”

“No?” Myra asked.

“I will deal with this how I wish to, Myra. We will not involve the king. If Rian knew I was with his brother alone . . .”

Myra gnawed on her lip, reluctance tainting her gaze. Her shoulders sagged. “Very well.”

Kallie nodded, inhaling for four seconds, holding for two, then out for three. Slowly, her body stilled, the shaking ceasing.

Myra squeezed Kallie’s hand. “Did Sebastian . . . ?”

Kallie’s gaze hardened, and she shook her head. “No, he didn’t get the chance.”

Myra’s attention dropped to the bruises. “We can cover these up. I know of a trick we can use with powder and paint.”

“All right,” Kallie whispered.

Myra grew quiet, her gaze dropping to the floor as if searching for something. “How?”

Kallie tilted her head, deep wrinkles forming in the center of her forehead. “What do you mean?”

“How did you escape?”

“I—” Kallie’s eyes flitted back and forth between Myra’s, and she hesitated. And because of that hesitation, because the fabricated story wasn’t already at the tip of her tongue, Kallie told Myra the truth. “Graeson stopped him.”

Myra jerked back, and Kallie’s hands fell onto her lap. “Graesonis here? Are you sure?”