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Alora’s eyes narrowed on an all-familiar sight; a death mark—what was left of one.

Healed, singed skin and painful scars covered his flesh until the tunic concealed them away.

The High Prince’s eyes turned cold.

“Why do I care?” he rasped through gritted teeth. “Because. I was hunted for my magic, too.”

Adeath mark? That didn’t make him their equal. Didn’t make her pity him. So, he was hunted, too? Not like she was—not like all the other Marked Ones—Mystics—innocentswho had one foot forward and their heads turned over their shoulders.

He was royalty. How could he possibly know what that kind of pain was like? Was his mother murdered? Did he lose abeloved father? Was he forced to eat insects and chew on grass until he could earn enough coin to buy moldy bread?

Hunted for his magic.Alora held back the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

At least he stillpossessedhis magic.

What pain did he suffer from his father because of it when it was still his to command?

None. He didn’t know pain like everyone else. A royal, pardoned because of his bloodline. The only pain he’d probably ever known was exerting himself across a golden footpath instead of a male servant carrying him. How dare he compare himself to them—to her.

Lies, lies, lies.It’s all lies.

She wouldn’t believe it—not for a moment. Rescuing faeries and bringing them to his camp to dowhat? Rise up against the most powerful king—High King—in the history of Zyllyryon … of all of Elysian?

You’d have to be raving mad to believe this. It was a death wish. And she already had one over her head simply for being born with magic. She didn’t need another one. The moment she found an opportunity, she would run. It didn’t matter where; it didn’t matter how far. She’d been a slave to the service of one male, she wouldn’t do it again.

Never again.

‘You cannot run from me,’the High Prince’s words echoed in her mind.

She blinked out of the forest in her daydream and looked reluctantly into his eyes.

Watch me.

“Enter.” Garrik pulled his shirt over his death mark and buttoned it.

The guards positioned outside the tent pulled the entrance open as Jade walked through, carrying the same dark rose tunic,black pants, leather vest, and boots that had been in Alora’s tent that morning. The clothing was mundane, almost similar to Jade’s attire. Simple. Movable.

Easy to escape in.

Nothing like some of the luxurious ballgowns she’d been forced into before.

Jade stormed to her and threw the bundle of fabric and boots into Alora’s chest. “Your guest’s clothing.” If Jade’s voice was able to set the tent ablaze, they would all burn in the inferno. “Won’t cover up the stench.” She sniffed. “Unfortunately for us.”

“That will be all, Jade.” Garrik growled.

Jade’s fiery red ponytail fell in long, loose strands and large braids down her back as she nodded with a scowl, and like a funnel cloud full of rage and destruction, stormed out.

Garrik stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, looking at the tent entrance a moment too long. He turned to Alora, still displeased. “Apologies for her behavior. Jade’s trust is not easily won. It took her a while to like me. Given time, I imagine you will become friends.”

I doubt that. I won’t be here long enough.

“So, am I to get dressed in front of you, mighty prince? Surely you have enough females around to tend to your fantasies. I won’t be one of them.”

The High Prince wickedly smirked. “As pleasing as that would be…” His traveling eyes glanced over her figure. “No.” He turned away, picked up the swords, and leaned them against the table. “I will not watch, but I also will not leave. Can’t have you fleeing or making a daring attempt at my life again.” Garrik’s back turned, pressing his fingers into the table, and he surveyed the maps that filled it.

Taking a moment to confirm his intentions, Alora, too, turned until their backs faced each other. She removed the cloak, pooling the night-dark fabric at her feet, and shuddered at thelick of air against her exposed skin. Her sapphires narrowed at the clasp before she pulled the ripped tunic over her head, then her lacey underthings, and exchanged them with the simple fashion Jade had thrown in her arms. Toeing the heels of her boots, she slipped them off, then undressed her lower half and exchanged the rest for the clothing left on the pile.

Surprisingly, the fabrics and boots were a perfect fit, almost as if they were created in her specific measurements. And much to her surprise, they were comfortable. She admitted that she would’ve worn this clothing at the manor if Kaine had ever allowed it instead of the extravagant gowns he kept her in.