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The King didn’t glance at Heva once as he spoke. That faint, beginning-of-a-smile found him again when he pulled his eyes off Ryn and turned, heading into the dark trees and leaving Ryn in the garden with her guardswoman’s fate tied to hers.

Ryn stayed perfectly still against the wall. She had no idea how many seconds or minutes passed before Heva appeared in front of her, took her arm and guided her through the garden. She glanced back at the white wall one last time as it slipped out of view.

Ryn was a prisoner of glass and stardust, soft-petalled blooms and sweet fruit. Anyone else might have craved the position she was in—wouldn’t have seen it as imprisonment at all. But she only saw a white-walled cage around her, sealing her in with enemies who would show no mercy once she was caught.

8

XERXES

Xerxes flew over the side of his bed and rolled onto the floor. His flesh was tight, his hands balled into fists, his breathing heavy. Bedsheets wrapped his torso like ropes.

After a moment, he unclasped his hands and released a deep breath as he slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows. Sweat tickled his hairline, and he closed his eyes in disbelief as his nightmare replayed in his mind.

He’d been a beast. He’d been hunting. Hunting forher—that penniless noble girl he’d won in a deal and brought to the palace to live a lavish lifestyle. He’d thought he was doing her a favour, taking her from the dirt and handing her a lifetime of riches and influence. Any maiden should have been thrilled at the opportunity to dine at the palace, eat great feasts, wear expensive dresses, and be forever known across the kingdom as a coveted Heartstealer; one of the fairest in the land. Someone who’d walked in the presence of the King.

But, by now, it was abundantly clear to Xerxes that this Estheryn Electus maiden didnotwant to be here. He almost huffed a laugh as he thought about it all over again.

Xerxes picked himself up off the floor, letting the bedsheets fall into a heap on the cold stone.

Another day.

Another terrible day.

He headed for his window and tore the drapes aside, searching the horizon for smoke. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw none; just clear skies and gray mountains filled the landscape behind the Mother City. He rubbed his temples as he collected his bathrobe, eyeing his signet ring which had landed on his dresser this time—he’d thrown it across the room in the night. He pulled on his bathrobe and headed out.

Steam filled the men’s bath chambers. Xerxes could hardly see the furthest bath pools when he came in, but he spotted a fellow relaxing one pool over. He cared not. Xerxes dropped his robe onto a hook and sunk into the nearest pool. He glanced over curiously when the fellow didn’t say anything or announce himself. “You do know that no one is allowed in these baths in the morning before I have used them,” Xerxes said into the mist.

The fellow shifted, his head of blond hair bowing in the fog like an apology. He still said nothing though, so Xerxes folded his arms.

“Show yourself,” he demanded.

The fellow swam across his pool to the edge closest to Xerxes’s. His features became sharp then, and Xerxes wondered if he’d ever seen him before. “Are you a Folke guard?” he guessed. “Are you new?”

“Kill him.”

The fellow nodded. “I wasn’t aware of the rules, Your Majesty,” he said in a voice that told Xerxes he feared for his life. The fellow was young enough that it was probably true about him being new. He was still older than Xerxes though, by a year or two, if he had to guess.

Xerxes sighed and sank deeper into the bath, laying his head back against the stone and closing his eyes. “Just make sure you’re gone before an Intelligentsia comes in here. They’ve executed guards for less offensive crimes than this.”

His muscles were sore, though he didn’t know why. Xerxes reached across himself and massaged his shoulder.

A splashing sound came from the pool beside him like the fellow was preparing to leave quickly, and after a moment, Xerxes peeked an eye open to see if he was still there. He was.

“Do you want something?” Xerxes asked. “I’m not in the mood to be generous.”

The fellow’s light brows pulled together; his mouth tipped into a frown. He was looking at Xerxes rather carefully, and Xerxes lifted his head from the rock. “You’re not a Folke, are you?”

No guard would dare to look the King right in the eyes.

The fellow’s face blanched, and Xerxes rose from the bench, standing waist-deep in the pool now, staring down at the fair-haired fellow who had crept into his baths. “My guards are just outside,” he warned, tilting his head in a beastly way, eyeing the exact places where this intruder was the most vulnerable. “Not that I need them.”

The fellow drew back, his light eyes wide. “I’m a Folke!” he swore. “I’m new, like you said!”

“You’re an assassin,” Xerxes decided.

“Assassins should be killed.”

“I’m not! I swear it on my life, Your Majesty!” the fellow looked like he might pass out, and Xerxes folded his arms again as he thought about that. If this young man was hiding in the pools to assassinate Xerxes, he’d have already done it—or tried anyway. And he’d have quickly found out how foolish it was to attack a monster. So, this young blond fellow couldn’t have come to the palace for Xerxes. That only left one other option.