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Lyrena froze. Gwen didn’t; pushing her advantage, she had Lyrena up against the wall in a second. I was only vaguely aware of their sparring, knowing that both females would fight till blood was drawn.

Many underestimated Lyrena, with her beautiful golden visage and whip-quick smile. I recognized that swagger was another weapon; sometimes, it felt like looking in a strange golden mirror.

“In the more isolated parts of the Spine and the Shadow Wood,” Arran was saying. “Where there is little contact with the rest of the kingdom… sometimes it happens.”

“Rape happens,” I said sharply, understanding instantly.

Arran met my gaze, steady and sure. He would not lie to spare my feelings, even about this. I felt him through the bond. Not a tangible word or phrase, but the offering of comfort—and retribution.

But I didn’t want the others to see it. They might guess, but that was different than having stark confirmation.

I cleared my throat and tossed Arran a wicked, seductive grin. Let them think that this moment was about some unknown entendre passing between us, rather than the scars that lurked just beneath my skin.

Arran responded immediately, the growl of his beast rolling through me, unleashing a dark wave of power through the room. Enough that Lyrena and Gwen turned away, back to their sparring.

Just like that, my pussy clenched, a rush of wet desire flooding through me. Ancestors... just playing with this male, just pretending, was dangerous. I ought to have known better.

I forced myself to drag my eyes back to Parys. I didn’t have to fake the effort. My body was singing for Arran already.

Unlike Cyara, who was now pointedly looking the other direction, Parys met my eyes with annoyance brimming in his own.

I cracked my knuckles and reached for a cookie from the tea tray. “Even if this half-human, half-fae priestess existed, she would be long dead by now.”

“Not in Avalon. No one can die in Avalon.”

This time, the clatter of blades only faltered for a second. But it was enough for me to know every single pointed ear in the room was intently focused on this conversation.

“Avalon is not a real place.”

“And the Void and Ethereal Prophecies are not real, either?”

“Exactly.”

Parys shoved to his feet, the book that had been splayed in his lap hitting the goldstone floor with an emphaticthwak. “Fuck that.”

Arran’s snarl filled the room—not just my head, this time.

“Parys,” Cyara warned, the rustle of her wings punctuating her soft but authoritative voice.

He ignored her, squaring up against me. “You are the Queen from the Void Prophecy. If I must go to Avalon and find the priestess myself in order to prove it to you, then so be it.”

I could feel Arran about to shift.Stand down, I screamed through the bond, to the beast, to whatever form of Arran was listening.

“You are a Knight of the Round Table. You will go where you are commanded,” I snarled.

But Parys was undeterred. “So much for us each having a voice, without fear of repercussion.”

Some small part of me cried a warning—I’d never seen him like this. Before Arthur’s death, he’d been jovial and sly, happy to do whatever his king had asked. After, we’d grieved together. And when I emerged from that darkness, he’d been there as well, giving aid without question, risking his life in the Tower of Myda. Nearly dying for me and my kingdom. He’d been my friend through it all.

But it hurt too much.

Princess of Peace, Queen of Annwyn.

Powerless, now powerful.

Betrothed to a male I hated, now mated to a male I couldn’t let myself—

Everythingin my life was beyond my control.