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Icarion spotted them as they walked by. He was lounging on a dark pink canape, a crystal goblet with crimson liquid was in his jewel-covered hand. “Being late is quite rude, Endreth,” he commented, a faintly cruel smirk on his face. When his golden eyes landed on Anthea, that smirk widened. “Or perhaps you have started the party early.”

“I prefer a more private celebration before joining the main event,” Endreth replied, grabbing Anthea by her waist, and tugging her closer. It was slightly disconcerting—the way he could slip into this façade of a cruel prince so easily.

Icarion’s eyes roamed over her, taking in the disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. “Pity, I am sure many of us would have liked to see her perform,” he said, already moving his eyes to another elven prince coming his way. “Prince Althar, I am pleased you could join us.” He got up to greet the High King’s son. Endreth kept his hand on her waist as the Obsidian heir reached them.

“Icarion. Endreth,” Althar’s deep voice acknowledged the two royals. Anthea was glad he didn’t say anything about her, glad the attention had shifted.

“Prince Althar, your presence here truly graces this hall. Would you like something to drink? Perhaps some of our finest wine? Or some entertainment? I’ve made sure only the prettiest of my court are present for tonight’s celebration.”

“I appreciate the offer, Icarion, but I won’t be staying long. I’ve always preferred more . . . intimate gatherings.”

Anthea noticed a twitch in Icarion’s smile, but he quickly recovered, laughter lacing his words. “Ah, then you and Endreth have something in common.”

Anthea felt the Obsidian heir’s eyes shift to her. “Indeed,” he said, keeping his gaze on her. She wished she could vanish into the shadows and away from those scrutinizing eyes. His nostrils flared as he scanned her form. The blush on her cheeks darkened.

“It seems my preferences are no secret,” Endreth remarked, chuckling softly. “I do have a fondness for more secluded locales. And speaking of which, if you will excuse us, I believe I’ve had my fill of court politics for one day.”

Icarion’s laughter, smooth and mirthful, filled the brief silence. “By all means. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Althar simply nodded, his gaze still locked on Anthea for a moment longer before it flicked away, offering a silent acknowledgment of Endreth’s decision. As they walked, she could still feel the Obsidian heir’s gaze. She kept her eyes down, posture subservient. Like an obedient slave.

Endreth led her away to a more secluded corner of the room, perching himself on a turquoise couch and drawing her into his lap. Her eyes traveled the room, cataloging faces and scenes despite the wave of disgust threatening to overwhelm her. A gasp escaped her lips as her eyes landed on a particularly brutal scene on a raised pedestal. Two elven males, their tunics bearing the emblem of the Iron court, were enjoying the services of a young human woman. The elves didn’t carry the air of nobility, rather, they seemed more like soldiers. The roughness of their actions made her stomach churn, her eyes water. The woman’s eyes were glazed over, detached from the reality of her situation. Anthea felt guilty for her earlier distraction with Endreth, a sense of self-loathing for momentarily forgetting the reality of this world. Every ounce of her being screamed in frustration at the display she was forced to watch and could do nothing about. She had to remember her own shortcomings—she was a stranger here, just trying to survive, just trying to get back home. With a heavy sigh, Anthea turned away from the scene, pushing the sight to the back of her mind where it would join other images she wished she could forget but knew she never would. Right now, she had to focus on getting home. She couldn’t help any of them.

Endreth moved her once again, this time settling her straddling his lap, her body pressed close against his. His voice was low, a soft murmur in her ear. “Close your eyes, don’t look. We won’t stay long. Just a little while longer, then we will go.”

“No, I need to see. I need to understand this world.”

But he wouldn’t let her. His hand in her hair kept her face pressed against his neck, shielding her from the world around them. But even like this, the sounds of the party continued, filling the air with a sickening mix of laughter, moans, and groans. The pleas, the cries of pleasure and pain, they all swirled together, creating a symphony that served as a harsh reminder of the reality of the Cattleya court—the reality of Isluma.

The morning sun streaked through the small window, warming the bedroom and highlighting the ache that thrummed through her body. She hadn’t slept for most of the night. The images of the previous night running through her mind, her brain refusing to quiet.

This world—it was cruel to humans. Cruel to people like her. She had been lucky. Endreth was kind and caring. He would never do something like that to her. Of that, she was sure.

She’d used him—the realization had troubled her, she had used his body to feel, to lose herself in the chaos of the world she was stuck in. It wasn’t fair to him. She had lured him in, had known what worked and used it. Today was the day Anthea had to break into the vault, the day her chance at finding a way home lay within her reach. Anthea made herself a promise—As soon as she found her way home, she was booking a session with a therapist. Her fingers lightly brushed over the tender skin at her hip. His grip had left marks. This new side of her, this version of her who sought out control in the most unorthodox ways, needed some serious unpacking.

When they had returned to their quarters, Aegonar had already been there, sitting on one of the ornate chairs, his emerald eyes fixing upon them as they entered. The brief, silent exchange between the brothers had not gone unnoticed. The weight of Aegonar’s gaze, as it had shifted between her and Endreth, spoke volumes. It was as if the golden chains that hung from her collar had tightened for a moment—he had known what they had been up to.

“No more distractions tomorrow,” Aegonar’s voice had been a soft snarl. His words were directed at Endreth, but his eyes had rested on Anthea, scrutinizing, evaluating. Then, he had dismissed her for the night.

Sitting on her bed now, she wondered what the brothers might have discussed after she left. Had they argued about her? Anthea couldn’t be sure, but the thought of being a point of contention between the two siblings was unsettling. She made herself another promise—As soon as this heist was over, she would come clean. Anthea was going to tell Endreth about the stories she had spun about him. She was going to earn his trust. Just like he had earned hers.

Transformed once again into the role of Endreth’s human pet, Anthea stepped out of her chamber and found the younger prince waiting for her. He was wearing his mask of indifference again. But his posture was stiff as he helped her fix the golden collar to her neck.

The rhythm of the second day echoed the first, a carousel of meetings and courtly duties. With each room they entered, each corridor they traversed, she began to piece together the maze-like structure of the Cattleya castle, aligning it with the mental map she carried with her. The frescoes, the golden statues, the crystal chandeliers—they all became landmarks, etched into her memory for the task that lay ahead.

As the day wore on, the tendrils of unease twisted tighter within her. The imminent heist and the thought of what could go wrong sent her heart pounding in her chest. Could she really pull it off?

Just as the night had settled in and the silver hues of the moons bathed the castle in an ethereal glow, Endreth escorted her to the evening party, showcasing her before feigning a desire for more seclusion with his toy. But instead of seeking a private spot within the thrum of the party, he guided her to a secluded corridor, a hidden alcove, and Anthea’s heart pounded with the realization it was time—time for the most dangerous stunt of her life.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, the words barely audible over the pulsating rhythm of the music echoing from the grand room. “Do you remember the path?”

“I’m ready.” She kept her voice steady despite the tremors coursing through her veins. “We’ve prepared for this . . . I am ready,” she repeated more to herself than him. “I need to do this.”

Endreth observed her for a moment longer, his eyes searching her face for any hint of hesitation. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he sighed, his shoulders dropping a fraction. “Now is the perfect time,” he said. “The party is in full swing, wine is flowing like water, music is drowning out any possible whispers. No one would spare a glance at a single slave leaving.”

“Okay then.” She squared her shoulders. “See you at the fountain.” Anthea turned to go, but a firm grip on her arm held her back. Before she could react, Endreth pulled her back into his arms, his lips finding hers in a heated, desperate kiss.

His arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer against his body as his tongue explored her mouth. It was as if he was putting everything he had not said to her into this one kiss. Anthea melted into him, taking what he was giving. After all, it might be their last. When she came clean, he might resent her for it.