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“You two look exquisite together,” Garrik said in way of greeting, and she continued stroking night-dark hair, avoiding his attention. “Storm seems quite comfortable with you. She’s never flattered anyone’s hand.” As if to emphasize his meaning, Garrik’s lifted to scratch between Storm’s ears, but the mare sharply lurched away, swatting her tail like a whip against his side.

A flash of white appeared in the darkness. Storm lowered her head and began to turn as Ghost emerged, head high and neck stretched with her ears flattened. The encounter lasted only seconds. The intensity of Ghost’s posture was enough to warn Storm to step away and graze.

Garrik subtly shook his head. That hand intended for Storm’s ears gently stroked Ghost’s nose. “Like squabbling younglings,” he scoffed and turned glistening silver orbs to Alora. Garrik regarded her evasive eyes, speaking quietly among the crackling of the fire behind him. “You look exhausted.”

“Not as tired as you.” She didn’t know why she said it, but at least they weren’t talking about Kaine.

The corner of his mouth twisted. “I am so tired that if I were at the castle and it were on fire, I would die because I slept through it. It would seem we both could use a day off.”

She breathed a laugh at that understatement.

Then Garrik’s smile faltered, and his expression turned gentle—the same way as in his tent earlier. “I am not going to ask if you are alright, because I despise being lied to,” Garrik said, glancing around at the stars. “If you do not wish to talk about your past any further, I am someone who understands that more than most and will honor your decision.”

She found Garrik’s eyes then; they glowed inside a darkness so crisp; she could feel it brushing her skin.

“I want you to know, though,” he said, gently enough that she almost felt the words caressing the bleeding wound in her heart, “that with me, you do not ever have to pretend.”

Pretending was easier, though. To act as if nothing happened was better than the alternative. Better than ripping off the armor and leaving a soft spot—perfectly placed—for the enemy to strike. Why should she willingly hand herself over to that kind of bitter end?

But she wasn’t there to dwell on the past. Especially not one that seemed to possess a desire to haunt her every waking breath.

There was something in the High Prince’s voice though. A truth and honesty she was unable to deny.

Something she had rarely experienced after her parents died.

With no retort to his kind reassurance, Alora may have, for only a moment, felt a stirring of trust bubble. And she wondered if maybe he saw it too, because when those silver eyes flickered to her again, he stepped forward, reaching out a hand as if to take hers.

Perhaps more out of reflex than anything, Alora flinched, brushing her hand over her death mark, when, instead ofGarrik’s hand, she remembered a warmer one. One deadly and vicious, one that was adorned in the finery of painful sins.

Garrik dropped his hand, which she didn’t expect, and whispered, “What can I do to help you?”

Kill him for me?She deepened a brutal, damning breath, surprising herself at the thought laced with venom. Through all the beatings … every hand laid upon her … not once had she wished for Kaine’s death. Her heart hadn’t been able to bear the thought, no matter how truly cruel and despicable and black-hearted he was.

Her eyes burned, brimming with liquid as she surveyed the male who had stolen her from her city and now was offering her a caring hand. To trust that. To trust him. The shield around her heart had barricaded itself in another solid layer, warning of the dangers of loosening her tongue.

But even so, it didn’t stop her from saying, “I feel like even though Kaine isn’t here, he still controls me. That I’ll never be able to move on. That I’ll never be healed or able to breathe again.”That I’ll never feel whole.

“Alora,” Garrik breathed with a smile so bright it could have been mistaken for the stars. “You will not always feel this way.” But his eyes … they seemed to war between pain and hope.

“How do you know?” The words were strangled enough that they collected as whispers.

Something frigid as winter tickled inside her palm. Alora twisted her wrist and opened her fingers before a pearl-petal flower appeared inside tendrils of Smokeshadows.

“Flowers still grow after forest fires. How could I not believe that we can, too?”

She gripped that flower as if the act of opening her fingers would have it misting away.

“Your fight was not fair, and the path ahead will not be easy. Look forward with hope, even if you never forget the pain of the past. You are a survivor. You are not the pain you have suffered.”

Alora felt the stirring of hope.

“You are sunstorms and starfire. Refuse to surrender.”

Slowly, her nerves returned to their normal state of functioning anxiety as Eldacar served mouth-watering, fire-roasted sirloin tips complete with garlic-buttered asparagus and honey-drizzled carrots. The garlic and butter aroma spurred her empty stomach to growl stridently; it could surely be heard in Telldaira.

Thalon was the first to offer her a tankard, unusually cheerful after a near inferno destroyed the arena that afternoon. “How are you feeling? It’s been a long couple of weeks of training for you.”

She forced a grin from her seat in the dirt. By reflex alone, Alora rubbed the gash in her leg. “I feel like I've been chewed up, spat out, and trampled over … repeatedly. Then rolled off a cliff, only to have it all happen again once I’ve landed.” She tipped her head. “And again.”