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I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the ache in my shoulders after placing the final pallet of food into the underground oven.

We’d been preparing the camp for tonight’s festivities since dawn.

The thick frost that blanketed the ground had finally thawed, but the season was shifting fast—snow would be here before we knew it.

My thoughts drifted to this morning, when Luca had made good on his promise to warm my bed, making it nearly impossible to get up and start the day.

The camp buzzed with excitement, and it was contagious. My hands were chapped from cleaning, nicked with more than a few cuts from peeling endless vegetables. Still, my heart was full and the anticipation was palpable.

The smell of food wafted in the air, turning my stomach.

I’d been pushing myself too hard again. The cancer—or curse—or whatever the Tribulation was, always seemed to be lurking below the surface.

I needed to decide whether it was worth using the precious little sprite ash I had left.

It was clearly something I’d need to ration now…

unless I found another source besides Maxfield.

The last thing I wanted was for the brothers to start worrying.

I was the last one to finish up. The other females had already gone to prepare for the celebration.

I’d been avoiding it—mostly because I had little to work with.

I’d acquired a few hand-me-down dresses since we’d left the castle, but nothing fancy.

The one warm dress I had was clean, but the hem sagged with ragged holes I hadn’t gotten around to stitching. It would have to do.

“Mic!” Fallon’s voice rang from the cabin doorway. “Come here! I need to show you something.”

Getting ready for tonight would have to wait a bit longer. Hopefully, my wit and charm would distract from my disheveled appearance.

Fallon, somehow, still managed to look every bit the royal she was, even in the middle of a rebellion. A sleek ebony dress hugged her corseted waist and flared at the floor, her short black hair slicked into a polished shine. She always added an edge to whatever fashions the others favored.

“You look amazing, as always,” I said as she grabbed my hand and tugged me into the cabin.

“Yes, of course. Now let me work some of my magic on you,” she said, pulling me into the king’s quarters—her permanent room since I’d refused it, preferring the bunkhouse with the princes. “I found some old dresses in Danya’s chest.” She gestured to a heap of satin fabrics piled across the bed.

“Who’s Danya?” I asked, tracing my fingers over the red flowers embroidered on one of the garments.

“The queen. My brothers’ mother.”

“Don’t you mean your mother?”

“No. We don’t share a mother. Mine died a long time ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Fallon,” I said softly, squeezing her hand.

“Don’t be. She died when I was very young for the unfortunate crime of not producing a male heir. Not that Danya fared much better.”

“Seriously? I thought Artos was a good man. Everyone here talks like he was a great king.”

“He was a great king. Maybe because he put the kingdom above everything else—including his family. When my mother died, he moved on to the next. I don’t think he even shed a tear.”

“Did he marry again? After Danya?”

“Oh gods, no. He wasn’t interested in marriage.

He only needed an heir. After that, females were only a means to an end.

He’d sleep with anyone who struck his fancy or could advance his power.

His favorite trick was bedding the wives of dignitaries who spoke out against him—or sending Lucius in his stead. ”

“Wait—what?” I asked, her words creating more questions than answers. What she was implying had my blood boiling.

“Well… shit.” She muttered the last part under her breath. “Lucius hasn’t told you much about his past, has he?”

“Not particularly, no,” I admitted.

“Don’t be upset with him. It’s not exactly a story he’s eager to share with you. But it’s not my story to tell either. I’m sorry, Mic.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.” I tried to sound understanding, but my mind raced, imagining what kind of torment Lu must have endured under his father.

“The dresses aren’t extravagant,” Fallon said, shifting the conversation without missing a beat, “but they’re better than a woolen house dress with holes in it.”

“I happen to like my plain house dress. I just didn’t have time to mend it—I spent all day prepping for the feast that I sort of forgot about myself,” I admitted.

“That’s why you’re the perfect choice,” she said, rifling through the silks.

“Perfect choice? For what?”

“When my brothers inevitably retake Hiraeth, they’ll need a strong female by their side. You’re exactly the kind of queen this realm deserves.”

“No, no, no. I’m not a queen. Nico has a betrothed. He wouldn’t give up a match that strengthens his claim to the throne. I’m just a sickly human—not queen material.”

Fallon gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Nyla Taryn? You think he cares about that simpering leech?”

“Well, I assumed?—”

“Please, Mic. That betrothal was arranged long before Nico ever got the balls to defy our father. Nyla was always in it for status, for proximity to the throne. Now that Nico’s no longer the golden prince, I’d bet she’s already licking Johan’s boots.”

“But it’s not about what he wants. He has obligations. Making a human his queen could ruin everything. I won’t force him to make that choice,” I said, swallowing back the grief of a decision I knew would have to be made one day.

“I’m going to tell you a secret—but if you repeat it, I’ll call you a liar and swear I never said it.” Fallon leaned in, lowering her voice. “All of my brothers would rather see Hiraeth burn to the ground before they’d ever give you up.”

“I respect your opinion, Loni, but you’re wrong.

After everything they’ve been through, that kind of sacrifice just seems…

reckless,” I said, trying to find gentler words for the truth none of us wanted to face.

Beast princes, born to rule a kingdom, tied to a human girl who wasn’t meant to survive long enough to see it?

Surely Fallon, of all people, could see the futility in that match?

“I’m calling your bluff, Michaela Darling Carlisle. You’re not the kind of female to lead them on if you saw no future in it. Queens aren’t born with crowns. They rise when no one else can. You’ve already risen—even if you can’t see it yet.”

“I… well, I?—”

“I think this one suits you.” She held up a cream-colored gown, switching topics like turning a page.

“It’s beautiful. I can’t repay you for such a gift.”

“It’s not a gift. We’re simply being resourceful,” Fallon said. “Danya is dead. I doubt she’ll need the dress anytime soon. But speaking of gifts, I have something for you.”

She pulled out a parchment-wrapped package, neatly tied with a twill bow.

“It’s for Villrenna. Custom says that females are gifted an outfit for their first chase by the elders in her family, and she’ll wear it for every run thereafter until she’s officially spoken for.”

“Fallon, you shouldn’t have. I don’t have anything for you.” I took the package from her, wishing I’d had the foresight to get her something, while silently cursing Maxfield for not having mentioned this particular custom.

“That’s not how it works in Hiraeth. This is a gift. They’re given with no expectation of return. It would be considered rude if you felt obligated to reciprocate. Now, open it.”

I laid the package on the bed and pulled the tie. The parchment fell away to reveal a two-piece outfit made of velvety suede, decorated with tufts of fur and intricate beaded designs.

I lifted the top, realizing it would barely cover my breasts.

“Is this all there is?” I asked, heat blooming across my cheeks.

“It’s a mating chase, Mic. It kind of ruins the moment if they have to do battle with corset stays and laces.” She rolled her eyes, amusement flickering at the corners of her mouth.

“Are you running too?”

“Unfortunately, no. It’s only for unwed females.”

“I didn’t know you had a husband.”

“I don’t—at least not anymore. He’s dead and hopefully rotting in whatever afterlife exists. But don’t worry about me. There’s more than one way to get laid on Lunavale.”

People had flooded in from Dunharrow, joining us at Whisperhold alongside our allies in the Raven’s Hand. Lunavale brought a new energy to our rebellion. There was something different in the air. The downtrodden faces I’d grown used to now shimmered with hope and anticipation.

Nico had given them something to believe in—and they were rising to meet it. The feeling was so contagious that even Maxfield wasn’t immune. I’d managed to get a half-smile out of him when I presented him with the serviceberry pie I’d made.

The camp flickered with torchlight, centered around a communal fire in the nearby clearing. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke, spiced cider, and roasting meat.

Amos’s deep baritone rang out in lewd drinking songs between swigs from his flask. Fiddles sang, flutes trilled, and voices rose in raucous harmony as rebels linked arms and spun in wild, unbridled dancing.

Overhead, the full moon bathed the clearing in silver light, casting long shadows that danced with the glow of the bonfires.

Nico, Luca, and Lucius had all announced they would take part in tonight’s Villrenna. Jase hadn’t said either way. A part of me was afraid his answer might be no. The idea of the four of them chasing me down was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Nico asked as he joined me, fresh from greeting the guests.

“Isn’t what lovely?”

“Listen...” He leaned in. “No one’s whispering about battle plans. No one’s sharpening blades. Only the sound of our people enjoying what life has to offer.”