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For a brief moment, she pictured how it would look shoved into his neck. The black hilt covered in freezing blood as hefell from the horse. How his muscled body would lay in the moss only to be found by some miracle after she finally escaped through the trees. After she found true, unconditional freedom.

An icy chill breezed through the leaves, and movement caught her attention as, stiff-bodied, the High Prince nudged their horse forward.

Reluctantly, she secured the dagger to her waist, allowing his arm to drape across her once more. He’d returned her magic—and the dagger. He sat behind her, exposed and weaponless as far as she knew.

He was trusting her.

“I’m not promising to stay until Dellisaerin, but I will ride with you. Can you agree to that?”

The High Prince stiffened, considering her words for what seemed ages when he finally spoke. “You do not disappear. I wish to know the moment you decide to leave, and I will not interfere unless it is unsafe. Until then, you will be treated as a Dragon. And trained as one. Bound by law and expected to uphold our purpose, following my every order and those of your generals. When you cross beyond the shield, you are … mine. Under my command.

“In return, I offer you protection to my fullest powers, shelter, anything you desire … within reason. Those are my terms. Will you agree to them?”

Though distrust hovered in the depths of her heart, she witnessed the High Prince’s protection, not once, but many times since Telldaira. And today, he’d saved her life when he could’ve allowed her to be crushed to death, let her fall to the earth without the cushion of his body to cradle the impact, even ended her life for escaping. He could’ve allowed Jade to run her through with a sword.

But he hadn’t…

He didn’t have to give her back control of her powers, but he had.

Alora leaned into him, feeling that same weight that he must’ve felt, and breathed, “Yes.”

For two centuries, hope was this depraved, fleeting thing. Cruel and lost in whispers and sung to shadows from the ashes of her tortured life. A flicker dying in an ember. A song forgotten, stolen in the wind. It was this thing that she cupped in her hand, like water, spilling away one moment at a time until hope was nothing but droplets remaining.

But tonight … where hope had been a spark fading too quickly, it now reignited, ready to burst—to flame.

The High Prince’s promise of freedom was enough.

Her choice … it would be her choice. Not someone’s iron fist collecting the ties of her life and tethering them tight to a sinking ship. Not Destiny forcing her hand. She would decide and be free.

But at what cost? What would her time in his army take from her? What was left?

The air was unsettling. The future, unnervingly unclear as the High Prince approached Eldacar, who was settled near the fire.

Garrik’s eyes were glazed, focusing on the amber glow of the flames. “I want to hear nothing of tonight's events. Eat. Rest,” he decided, then motioned for Alora to sit before he turned and disappeared inside the darkness beside his tent.

Alora’s attention rested on the dancing heat, her vision going blurry as she narrowed on the flickering, too nervous to lift her eyes anywhere else. She considered retiring to her tent. At least there she could be alone. Comfortable to a point. Safe inside the walls of … fabric.

Scoffing silently to herself,Not safe at all.

At least she had her dagger.

Eldacar exhaled his grief in a long, steady breath. He leaned forward, drawing up the iron pot of food that Aiden tended earlier, to hang above the fire. “Shall I make us something to eat, then?” Muttering in a whisper, his voice cracked.

Alora watched his hands when a wave of guilt rushed over her. Had she caused him problems for his unknowing part in her escape? By now, it was evident that he knew the meeting at his tent was a diversion. She used him. Lied to him. But when she trailed over his hand that stirred the food, his expression was soft. Almost smiling as he glanced her way.

Was that forgiveness in his stare?

She half-smiled back and returned her gaze to the flames.

After some time, the aroma of gravied meat, green vegetables, and potato stew revived her hunger. And with flawless timing, Eldacar lifted the spoon from inside the pot and ladled a generous serving into a wooden bowl.

Alora folded her hands in her lap, squeezing them tightly, uncertain if she should remain or wander back to her tent empty-handed. But as her legs intended to rise, Eldacar smiled and offered her a bowl.

“I brought you another book to read.” His voice was gentle as he pulled a red, leather-bound tome from beside him. Handing it to her before he poured himself his own portion. “I had hoped to give it to you earlier, but—” Brown, sheepish eyes drifted away, his head angled down to look at the dirt.

“I’m sorry, Eldacar.” Guilt lined Alora’s tone. “I’m so sorry.”

But Eldacar only grinned, wrinkling his nose to push his glasses up. “Tomorrow will be a new day. What’s wrong will be made right, I know it.” He scooped himself a spoonful and shoved it into his mouth.