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Turning to Vanda, Endreth’s voice was flat, a mere whisper of the menace that had been there before. “I will let my father know about the slave market,” he said. “If the Crimson court has a need for new additions, we know where to find them.”

Anthea couldn’t help but glance at the princess. The elf’s smile twisted with mirth, as her eyes slid over Endreth, a wicked glint in her gaze. Then her attention flickered back to Aegonar, and she traced her fingers up his chest, her touch as light as a feather. “I must admit, I was not aware that Endreth had such . . . fire within him,” she purred. “Do tell, Aegonar, do the brothers share this trait?”

The crimson heir’s hand closed around Vanda’s, halting her aimless wandering over his chest. The smile that danced on his lips was sly. “Endreth is the more temperamental of the two of us,” he remarked.

Anthea bit the inside of her cheek to keep from scoffing at the blatant lie. She had seen firsthand Aegonar’s fiery temper, had been on the receiving end of it. And while Endreth had his moments of intensity, he was far more restrained than his older brother. But she kept her thoughts to herself, her eyes still lowered, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Vanda’s laughter rang out, a tinkling sound that seemed to carry through the air. “Is that so?” she said, her tone light and playful. Aegonar simply inclined his head, a small smirk still tugging at his lips. The princess’ eyes danced with mischief as she turned back to face Anthea, the mirth in her gaze undiminished. “Well, I shall leave you to your . . . pet, Endreth,” she said, the word dripping with condescension. Then, linking her arm through Aegonar’s, she added, “Do come, Aegonar. I shall show you the new additions to our wine gardens. The Crimson court surely has nothing that can compare.”

Aegonar’s lips curved as he allowed Vanda to lead him away. Anthea watched as they walked toward the gardens, the sound of Vanda’s laughter carrying on the wind.

Glancing at Endreth, she saw his eyes were fixed on the retreating pair, his expression unreadable. She wondered what thoughts were running through his mind as he watched his brother with the haughty elven maiden. But she didn’t ask.

The sun moved steadily across the sky, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the sprawling gardens and courtyards. The rest of the day seemed to dissolve into a dreamlike haze.

As Endreth moved from one group of elven nobles to another, Anthea’s eyes were constantly scanning the surroundings. The lavish gardens with their explosion of colors, the reflecting pools with pink water lilies floating placidly, the towering spires of the castle—they were all imprinted on her mind, overlapping with the blueprints she had studied so meticulously. Each line, each curve on the map, was burned into her mind. She knew that tomorrow, she wouldn’t have the luxury of time or hesitation. She had to be perfect, she had to remember it all.

Occasionally, Anthea caught glimpses of faces she recognized—Vaelor, the Nephrite court’s heir, stood out distinctly. His luminescent hair, contrasting sharply with his emerald attire, gave him a spectral look.

Further away, Anthea recognized High King Taranath, deep in conversation with Icarion.

Every now and then, she’d feel Endreth’s fingers brush against hers—his presence was her anchor, a reminder that, even in this alien world of opulence and intrigue, she wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

Eyes boring into her made her skin prickle. She looked around, her eyes darting around the crowd, but could not pinpoint the source of the stare. She shrugged it off, dismissing it as a side effect of the display of her supposed status as Endreth’s slave. It was part of the act, she reminded herself, even if it did make her skin tingle.

As the sun began its descent, casting the world in hues of amber and gold, Endreth’s arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close to his side. The contact was unexpectedly reassuring, his cool skin a welcome contrast to the heat around her. He leaned in, his voice low as he said, “We are going for a walk.” His tone held a playful note, acting out the part of the spoiled elven prince perfectly. Anthea was pulled along with him as he confidently moved through the crowd. He flashed a smirk at the elf he’d been conversing with earlier.

She focused on the rhythm of their steps, the firmness of his grip on her arm. They were in this together, after all.

Eventually, they reached a smaller, secluded garden on the side of the castle. The opulence of the previous gardens was noticeably absent, replaced by a quieter elegance that seemed to whisper rather than shout its beauty.

Endreth guided her toward a marble bench nestled in the corner, partially hidden by an array of vibrant bushes. He took a seat, gently pulling her to straddle his lap. His hands rested lightly on her waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on the exposed skin of her back. His warm breath was tickling her ear as he spoke—painting a lurid picture, a scene of hedonistic excess that sounded more like a scene from a Roman orgy than a grand party.

Anthea had to remind herself to focus on his words, not the enticing proximity of his lips, not his fingers on her back.

“We will make a brief appearance,” he said. “Then we will excuse ourselves, claiming a desire for privacy. This garden,” he continued, gesturing at their surroundings, “will be our meeting point tomorrow night, after you have retrieved the tomes from the vault. When we go back to the party, I need you to pay close attention to our route. Remember it, Thea.”

The memory of their night on the ship was still fresh, the taste of ecstasy potent in her mind. His presence, the heat of his body, the enticing smell of him was making it hard for her to concentrate.

“Why did you bring me here, Endreth?” Anthea cut off his next sentence. “Why do we sit like this?” She shifted her hips slightly, the friction eliciting a small gasp from him.

Endreth tried to answer, his voice strained, an explanation about the route and the meeting point tumbling from his lips. But Anthea didn’t want to listen, not to that. She wanted something else. She wanted . . . proof—proof she had some effect on him—that the night on the ship hadn’t been just the golden liquor.

Anthea silenced him with a finger against his lips. “No, not that,” she whispered. With a gentle roll of her hips, she felt him harden beneath her.

Endreth’s eyes darkened.

The thrill of control coursed through her veins. She rolled her hips again, eliciting a groan from him.

It felt good—seeing him react.

The tangible proof of his attraction was a balm to the uncertainty that had lingered in her mind. Anthea leaned closer, her lips brushing his as she whispered, “Is this why we are here?”

Endreth’s voice came out strained, his resolve wavering. “I wanted to show you the meeting place?—”

“But did you need me to straddle you like this?” She moved her hips again, savoring the slight tremble that ran through him. The heat of him was enticing, the hardness of his cock against her center creating a delicious friction that made her heart race. She enjoyed it, the way she could coax out these responses from him with a mere shift of her body.

“This . . . this is to keep up appearances,” Endreth’s voice was strangled.