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“Cleanse her soul. Withdraw the demons that possess her.”

Aemyra struggled against the three men who were holding her down while Athair Alfred prayed over her.

After starving herself all day, Aemyra had discovered that the binding agent required regular administration to remain effective. Alfred had turned up at her door with Sir Nairn in tow before she could feel the first sparking ember return to her.

The captain had snapped his fingers at two Covenanters twice Aemyra’s size and had them wrestle her to the floor. They had forced the binding agent between her lips until she choked, and held her down while Alfred read increasingly sanctimonious passages from the Tùr, the Savior’s book.

“Grant protection against the wickedness and snares of evil. May the Savior intervene, we humbly pray, and thrust beyond the veil all evil spirits that possess the Dùileach and wander this world to the ruin of souls.”

Aemyra bucked against the Covenanters’ hold. She writhed as if the demons Alfred preached about really were possessing her.

“I drank the damned potion, will you stop your incessant chanting?” Aemyra cried.

Alfred glared down at her.

It was Sir Nairn who spoke. “Perhaps she would benefit from a few more days without food, Athair. She seems altogether too spirited.”

Aemyra turned her attention to the captain, his light eyes narrowed with disgust from where he lurked near the door.

“Says the man charged with the protection of this city,” Aemyra drawled. “You should see me with my magic, you’d really hate me then.”

Struggling anew, Aemyra managed to wrench her arm out of the grip of one Covenanter and she reached up to try and strangle him with his pendant.

As her fingers wrapped around the metal, she hissed between her teeth and dropped it, her skin scalded by the metal.

She had thought it a rumor after Pàdraig had dismissed it as nonsense. But apparently the Savior’s pendants could indeed repel magical touch.

The Covenanter looked like he wanted to spit in her eye for touching it, but the door opened, interrupting Alfred’s droning prayers.

“Thank Brigid, I thought Big Al would never shut up,” Aemyra said before she saw who had entered the room.

Katherine’s calculating gaze fell on the Covenanters restraining Aemyra and she straightened the rigid set of her shoulders.

“The king requests the presence of the princess,” Katherine said.

Aemyra stilled. “On second thought, I think Al was just getting to the good part.”

Ignoring her quip, Katherine nodded to Athair Alfred, remaining where she stood with her hands clasped calmly atop her full skirts until Aemyra was released.

Glaring at them all, she got unsteadily to her feet, her empty stomach protesting even this small effort.

The dowager queen sighed. “Someone get the princess some water. I need her capable of walking on her own two feet.”

The Covenanter looked to Alfred for permission, and she watched him nod stiffly. Narrowing her eyes as a cup was pressed into her hand, Aemyra wondered why they refused to take orders from Katherine directly.

No doubt it was due to her lack of male genitalia.

Her mouth dry, Aemyra hesitated before raising the cup of water to her parched lips as Katherine turned on her heel and strode off down the corridor.

Alfred snapped the Tùr closed and tucked the heavy book against his potbelly.

“It isn’t poisoned,” he said, clearly put out that he hadn’t had time to finish his purification of Aemyra’s soul.

“Shame,” she replied, draining the stale water in one long draft. “A couple more passages and I would have drunk nightshade willingly.”

Alfred gestured to Sir Nairn, silently giving him instructions, and Aemyra found herself pushed roughly from the room. She had to work to stop herself from falling flat on her face.

After days with no food and minimal water, Aemyra was struggling. But she would be damned if she would show weakness to these people. She had gotten herself into this situation, she owed it to her father, and those fighting in her army, to get herself out.

Pulling her arm away before Sir Nairn could grab on to her, she walked down the corridors with a heavy heart.

Closing her eyes and offering up a quick prayer to Brigid that she could find a way out of this mess, she smoothed the dark blue dress she was wearing and squared her shoulders.

The moment she got her hands on a weapon she would slaughter them all. Starting with Fiorean, and then Athair Alfred. She hadn’t missed the triumphant gleam in his eyes when she had been restrained before him.

Meanwhile, Aemyra walked as meekly as she could through the caisteal, eyes darting left and right for clues or information she might be able to use. Three servants passed her, all of them avoiding eye contact.

That was a blow. She wouldn’t be able to get a message to Draevan’s spies without help. Aemyra tried to sharpen her wits as she deftly braided her messy curls to get them out of her face, her head throbbing. The sudden assault of the priests had shaken her more than she was willing to admit.

No matter what Evander had summoned her for, she needed to be thinking clearly. She wouldn’t be able to fight her way out of whatever was awaiting her. No, she needed to wage war with her words and hope she made it out alive.

Sir Nairn herded her to a small receiving room, and Aemyra had to give thanks to Cailleach that she had not been forced to see Evander sitting atop her throne.

Nairn pushed the door open. “The Princess Aemyra, Your Grace,” he announced, stepping to the side.

Evander was glaring at her from where he sat on a raised dais. Fiorean was on his right, Katherine beside him. Evander’s wife, Charlotte, sat to his left. Even in his private chambers, Evander was wearing King Vander’s crown, and she could see the hilt of the first king’s sword resting against his leg.

But it was what was lying on a litter between Aemyra and the royal family that threatened to make her knees give out.

Evander’s wife, Charlotte, was sitting rigidly, looking like she didn’t even realize what room she was in.

Stomach roiling, Aemyra’s eyes flicked traitorously downward to look again upon the small body of Prince Fergys. It hadn’t been wrapped, and she could see the sores around his mouth were weeping pus.

Aemyra clapped one hand over her mouth lest she actually be sick.

Fiorean’s eyes rose to meet hers as she did so, his expression unreadable.

“Look at my son,” Evander commanded, his voice sounding years older than it had only weeks ago when she had last seen him, a touch of hysteria lacing the words.

Aemyra did what she was told, her whole body beginning to shake.

Fergys looked so small atop the litter in the middle of the room, and Aemyra suddenly wondered if Lachlann had too. Or if her brother’s corpse had been unrecognizable after the burning.

The thought hardened Aemyra and her tears dried before they could fall.

Fergys must still be wearing the clothes he had died in. They were stained red with more blood than Aemyra could have imagined a small body held. His chin was smeared with it, the skin of his hands marked with pustules that had begun to fester.

Narrowing her eyes, she took a half step forward to examine the body.

Evander stood from his throne, sword in his left hand. “This is what you did to my son,” he said, his voice laced with venom.

Completely wrong-footed, Aemyra’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

Evander’s features hardened. “The night you declared yourself queen, my eldest son began to sicken with this disgusting ailment. When my brother brought you into this caisteal three days ago, Fergys succumbed to it.”

Raising her eyes carefully from the small body, Aemyra replied, “And what, may I ask, do you think my role was in this?”

Fiorean’s emerald eyes darted between her and his brother.

Evander took one step toward her, but she held her ground.

“Waiting until we were distracted by our father’s death, you snuck into this caisteal and poisoned our children before seeking refuge in the temple,” he said. “Hamysh and Edwyn still hover on the brink of death.”

The outlandishly far-fetched claim had Aemyra’s eyes narrowing, and she glanced toward Katherine. Perhaps it wasn’t only the dowager queen’s words that dripped poison.

If someone was trying to frame her, she would need to tread carefully.

“At what point between revealing myself in the temple and you sending the city guards to slaughter us in our beds was I supposed to have gained access to the royal nursery?” she asked.

Evander’s green eyes flashed, but Aemyra did not balk.

“If you want to know what a murderer looks like, turn to your right,” Aemyra hissed.

Fiorean’s knuckles whitened against the arms of his chair, but he sat as if frozen, his eyes trained on Evander’s back.

“You lived in this city under our noses for years. Who knows what secrets you keep,” Evander spat.

“I lived in this city as a healer. Together with my mother, we helped people.” Aemyra lowered her voice when Charlotte cringed away from the noise.

Evander seemed not to care and sneered down at her. “Athair Alfred tried to purge you of your demons and has told me that your soul is beyond saving.”

The priest wasn’t in this room, but symbols of the True Religion were everywhere. White banners decorated the walls, and both Katherine and Charlotte were wearing Savior’s pendants. Would Katherine really kill her own grandson just to frame Aemyra?

Aemyra folded her arms over her chest. “You are falsely accusing me of your son’s murder as a way to sully my name and steal my crown.”

Evander’s face was contorting in fury, his skin slowly turning puce with rage. “ My crown!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

Aemyra flinched. Gone was the sullen drunkenness, replaced instead by this violent rage. Evander had lost his father and his eldest son in the space of a few weeks, all while Bonding and becoming king. The terrifying glimmer in his eyes almost made Aemyra feel sorry for him. Almost.

“If you hadn’t executed the most skilled healer in this territory, then perhaps my mother could have saved your son before he died,” Aemyra ground out, her fury washing away her common sense. “I am not the one who started this war.”

“You dare try to tell me, the king, what I should and should not do?” Evander roared, unsheathing his sword. “You stand there in your fine dress, staring down at my son’s body and pretend you knew nothing about this? You think yourself innocent?”

Evander descended the steps and Aemyra willed him to come closer; she had been scrapping without magic in this cesspit of a city for years.

Before Aemyra could lose all sense completely, Fiorean rose to his feet. “You are far from innocent. Balnain has just launched an attack from the river. There are more than five hundred dead on the eastern Forc.”

Aemyra stayed her hand. If her father wasn’t coming to rescue her, at least he was still fighting on her behalf.

Aemyra reminded herself what kind of queen she aspired to be and tried for diplomacy.

“I am truly sorry for the loss of your son,” she said, looking over Evander’s shoulder toward Charlotte, who seemed scarily detached. “But I did not kill Fergys. He looks as though he has ingested some kind of toxic substance.”

Evander seethed. “If you know the symptoms, you must also know the poison. You say that you have no desire to shed blood. Then how do you explain the six thousand soldiers marching from Atholl toward the northern Forc?” Evander asked, his voice shaking.

Knowing that her army would follow Draevan’s command until she could escape, Aemyra met Evander’s eyes with a steely glare. Fuck diplomacy.

“I did not draw first blood. You did. Their names were Orlagh, Pàdraig, and Lachlann,” she shouted at her usurper. “You murdered them simply for having a connection to me. A boy the same age as your son who lies rotting on this very floor. You killed them .”

Evander lifted his sword. “My heir for Draevan’s, then.”

Aemyra instinctively ducked as he swung for her head, but the path of Evander’s blade was stopped by another.

The weapons shuddered where they met, suspended in front of Aemyra’s face. Shock and rage were painted on Evander’s features as he glared into the face of her rescuer.

It was Fiorean who had saved her. Both hands were gripping the hilt of his sword, blocking his brother’s blade from cleaving Aemyra’s head from her shoulders.

She took a healthy step away from them both.

“You dare defy my orders?” Evander roared, looking like he was ready to duel over his son’s corpse.

“Put the sword down, Ev. This won’t bring him back,” Fiorean said, surprisingly gently.

Aemyra watched the shadow of grief flicker across Evander’s features until he sagged where he stood. Breaking out of her withdrawn state, Charlotte rose from her chair and crossed the floor to her husband. The woman did not speak, but the moment her hand alighted upon the king’s arm, he dropped his sword.

“Enough,” Katherine called down from her seat. “This has already been discussed.”

The dowager queen was looking faintly sick, obviously ready to vacate this room as soon as possible. Aemyra found herself inclined to agree.

Evander’s eyes were flitting back and forth in a panicked manner, as if he had forgotten something. Fiorean’s face was unreadable as he slunk away from his brother to stand behind Aemyra.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Evander said, “Kneel and swear allegiance to me as the rightful king of Tìr Teine and I shall give you your life.”

After being restrained, assaulted, and very nearly beheaded, Aemyra summoned whatever courage she had left. “I am the only female born of Clan Daercathian in the last hundred years, blessed by Brigid herself, and my claim to the throne supersedes yours.”

Evander’s lips curled back from his teeth and Charlotte clutched him tightly against her.

Before Aemyra knew what was happening, Fiorean had grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully. His knee knocked into the back of her own and pushed her to the floor. Feeling as if he were about to dislocate her shoulder, she couldn’t struggle.

“She swears it,” Fiorean said, sounding vaguely bored.

“See that you keep her obedient,” Evander said to his brother as Charlotte led him to his chair.

The moment she was back on her feet, Aemyra shook Fiorean off, glowering when she saw Evander sneer.

It was the dowager queen who supplied the missing information. “You will both appear before the Athair at sunset on the morrow and swear your vows within the tower,” Katherine said, the ghost of a vindictive smile on her face.

Aemyra’s heart stuttered violently, and she rounded on Fiorean, who stood completely still, not facing her.

“Vows?” Aemyra asked, her voice trembling.

“Your marriage vows. You will marry Fiorean. He has been too long unwed, and this union will secure your rightful place within the clan as a Daercathian princess,” Katherine said, heavily stressing the title.

No. No, this couldn’t be happening.

“And you agree with this?” Aemyra turned to Fiorean.

He did not move or look at her, but the stiffness in his voice told her that he loathed the idea just as much as she did.

“It will keep a leash on your father’s dragon,” Fiorean said, his tone icy.

For the first time, Aemyra sincerely wished they had just killed her.