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Was this what death felt like? An endless, impenetrable darkness so deep that she couldn’t see where she started and where it ended. But she could hear the sound of her heart beating. Surely, if she were dead, that wouldn’t be the case.

Then, her body was overtaken by a constant shaking that she couldn’t stop.

Hands squeezed her shoulders, and Kallie screamed. She struggled against them, but her body was too weak. A flame burst to life in the corner of the room.

Light.

Nearby, someone whispered, “That took a toll on her, didn’t it?”

Kallie tried to see who spoke, but tears blurred her vision, tears she didn’t even know she had shed.

Lavender filled the air, and a soft, light hand brushed her cheek. Their knuckles featherlight as they ran over her skin. As Kallie focused on the person’s gentle touch, she ever-so-slowly regained control over her breathing.

Then the hand was gone, and cold air kissed her forehead.

Vision clearing, Kallie spotted a moist towel in Myra’s hands, and realization struck.

There had never been blood, and yet her hands were stained red.

“Myra?” Kallie tried to swallow, but her throat was raw. Voice hoarse, she asked, “What happened? Where am I?”

Kallie tried to push herself onto her elbows but fell back onto the mattress with a thud.

Myra grimaced. “You fainted. King Rian had one of his guards bring you back to your rooms. By the time I had heard what happened, you were fast asleep. I left only for a moment so that you could rest.” Myra’s voice was gentle, but she didn’t bother to hide the truth from Kallie. “You must have had a nightmare. You started screaming.”

Kallie shivered beneath the thin blanket. She didn’t remember being carried back. When she tried to recall the moment before she blacked out, all she saw was golden brown eyes staring back at her. Kallie would recognize those eyes anywhere. For the past couple of weeks, she had stared at the boy’s face for hours when she couldn’t fall asleep.

Fynn.

But Fynn wasn’t the one who had died tonight, who had fallen victim to Kallie’s actions. The servant was.

But it could have been worse, couldn’t it?

Domitius had told Kallie to choose a servant to take the fall for Lothian’s death. However, her father had not specified whether the servant needed to be alive.

On that first tour of the castle, Phaia had shown Kallie the small hospital ward on the castle grounds.

When Kallie was debating how to complete her father’s assignment without taking an innocent’s life, she accidentally wandered to the hospital ward. Two servants occupied the otherwise vacant beds. One dying and one recovering from a broken ankle after an incident in the kitchen. Winston, the healer, had said the servant, Jericho, had only a few days left—weeks if he was lucky.

After manipulating Winston to inform her discreetly when the servant passed, Kallie planned to deliver the poison before word of his death spread. Because even though it was unnecessary with his state, she needed the people to believe that Jericho poisoned himself. She didn’t wish for her father to figure out the truth. If it worked, an innocent servant would not have to suffer, and Domitius would never know.

Day by day, Jericho’s health waned. Too slowly, though. As the days passed, Kallie grew more impatient.

With the arrival of her father’s letter, she had to act quickly before the Frenzians found evidence that would link Lothian’s death to Ardentol.

The night before the dinner, Kallie crept into the hospital ward and commanded Jericho to scribble down the confession. Before leaving, she commanded the healer to give the servant the poison in secret once the man passed. Then, she had given one last command to two guards to stage the body in the servant’s quarters during her dinner with Rian.

The next day, the victims of her manipulations were quiet, their recollection of Kallie’s commands nonexistent. Yet throughout dinner, Kallie’s gut churned. While Kallie had not killed him, she had destroyed Jericho’s name, his legacy. It didn’t matter that he was a servant or held no position of power. He still had a family.

A family Rian had mercy on, even though he believed the man to be a traitor and to have killed his father.

Kallie’s throat burned.

At dinner, she recalled thinking that Rian would be an easy target. And while the young king would indeed be easy to manipulate, Kallie couldn’t prevent the shame that rose in her throat. Rian wasgood—too good for the world and role he had been born into.

Myra squeezed her hand, the familiar touch a small comfort. “You’re all right, Kallie,” Myra whispered gently.

Kallie wasn’t sure if it was a statement, question, or reassurance, but she nodded.