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“Very well. Lord Hadeus?—”

“Swallowtail,” Destan supplies.

“Lord Hadeus Swallowtail. I execute you for the crime of trespassing in the Unseelie Kingdom and for conspiracy to murder my nephew, Prince Ruskin Dawnsong.”

Hadeus looks almost liberated, triumph crossing his features.

“May your entire court burn,” he snarls.

Then Lisinder slashes his claws across Hadeus’s throat. The blond fae hovers there for a moment, a stunned look on his features as crimson streams down his front, then he slumps to the ground.

I feel numb from the swift violence of it. This is the world of Faerie, and wherever I go, death seems to lurk. I had no love for Hadeus, but I will never take enjoyment in this.

Guards arrive to carry him out, lifting Hadeus so his blond hair falls and the shorn tips of his ears are exposed again. Hadeus always hated me, I could tell. He had a lot in common with his niece Galaphina, who saw humans as no more than animals to be toyed with as she pleased. Being given ears like mine wouldn’t have just been humiliating—it would’ve been devastating. It hits me then, what he meant when he pleaded with Ruskin, what was behind the unmistakable look of relief and triumph when Lisinder agreed to execute him.

He wasn’t begging to be spared. He was asking for death.

“Please,” he’s said. Please end this. Please allow me to die rather than live with this shame.

Lisinder said there were High Fae who’d rather die than bear the marks of their capture. I think about Hadeus being cursed to a life of disfigured, human-like ears and wearing the symbols of the Unseelie on his face. Compared to that, death had been welcome to him. His fear had been that Lisinder would keep him alive.

I think back now to Ruskin’s cold assessment—he’d known this too. When he’d asked for Hadeus’s execution, he was doing the merciful thing.

Lisinder beckons us out of the cavern as the court begins to disperse. We tuck into a much smaller corridor that seems to head in the general direction of our chambers from the last time we stayed here.

“I hope you understand why that was necessary,” Lisinder says, and I see now why he wanted to get the three of us alone.

“There are consequences for you in offering us shelter, given the tensions between the courts,” says Ruskin. “You needed to be seen doing your duty, remaining strong in the face of a potential threat.”

Lisinder makes a noise of agreement and I throw Ruskin an admiring look. There must be such huge gaps in his understanding, and yet he speaks as confidently as if he knew this place and people well. He’s been watching and observing, I think, and his sharp mind is picking up on what it needs to in order to keep his memory loss hidden and his position secure.

“Speaking of which, Uncle,” he goes on and I hold my breath, guessing what’s coming. “We, of course, receive your offer of sanctuary with gratitude, but my mother’s hold on the Seelie Court?—”

“Save your breath, Nephew, I know what you want to ask, and my answer has to be no.”

“You aren’t open to an alliance to stop Evanthe?”

“I am on your side, but I can’t get involved in Seelie power struggles. That’s a recipe for another war. My people may be brave and strong, but a new conflict between the courts would be devastating for all. I won’t be responsible for another Great Divide.”

He brings us to the hallway for our chambers, nodding to a servant who comes out to greet us, a female Low Fae with skin the color and pattern of purple agate.

“I’ll bid you goodnight now,” he says, the finality of his tone saying he won’t discuss the matter further.

The servant shows Destan into his room first.

“The healer will be on their way shortly to assist you with your arm, my Lord,” she says. Destan can’t get through the door fast enough, muttering something about clean clothes.

“And here, my Lord and Lady, is your chamber.”

I walk through the open door without thinking, only registering what she said when I see the single, large bed on one side of the room.

Oh.

Chapter 7

Of course they’d expect to room us together. We’re naminai, for star’s sake. There shouldn’t be anything strange about this, and yet my heart flutters in my chest at the sudden intimacy of it. It’s not as if Ruskin and I have never shared a bed before, but that was the Ruskin who knew me—who loved me. Not this stranger with his face. Now the idea of being so close to him fills me with a combination of yearning and pain.

The servant closes the door on us, and I look at Ruskin for a reaction, but he’s already walking over to the magically-filled bathtub, pulling off his jacket and shirt.