Page 21

My breath hitched in my throat as I was assailed by a memory of the last time I had seen him, outside of my hazy infirmary imaginings.

The garden. The blood on the snow. And his figure emerging from the ice like a wrathful god set on vengeance.

I hadn’t forgotten about his casual slaughter of my family, nor the many sins laid at his feet since then. But the usual disdain I felt for him was slower to rise to the surface today, buried under those memories of his body standing between me and the Mirrorbane.

The memories, however, did nothing for the fear. Neither did the way his gaze locked on mine, colder and even more distant than usual.

“Where are we?” My voice was quieter than I meant it to be.

He studied me for a long moment, like he was hearing all of the things I wanted to ask him. Not just where are we , but why are we here ? And why are you so shards-blasted furious right now ?

“This is the Hall of Stars,” he answered at last, the deep timbre of his voice rattling my bones. “The room we will use for the Heartstone Ceremony.”

Something stirred at the back of my mind, a whisper of memory, scraping at the edges, trying to claw its way free.

“Heartstone?” I echoed, more to myself than him, sorting through the crowded shelves in my mind.

Though I preferred fiction and monster tomes, I had devoured every book in my father’s library out of sheer desperation. Even the dusty, dry histories.

History of the Courts. Of ancient mana. Ceremonies…like the one I had been dreading. With the queen’s mana.

My heart lurched.

“No,” I said sharply, the word escaping before I could stop it.

Draven blinked once, slowly.

“I understand that you were raised by your commoner mother for most of your childhood,” he said, voice smooth as frostbite, “but surely your father explained the importance of the ceremony.”

“Of course, he did.”

Of course he hadn’t.

The only thing my father ever told me was to keep quiet and stay out of sight whenever he came home, but I needed to stall for time while I tried to think of a way out. Still, I understood the general concept.

It involved infusing the land with your mana, forming a symbiotic connection with the kingdom you ruled. But it shouldn’t have been so soon.

“He also told me it takes place after the coronation. On the solstice,” I fibbed. “We shouldn’t disrupt tradition?—”

“It takes place at the king’s command,” Draven growled, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “And I command that it take place today.”

There was something behind the words, more than authority or irritation, an undercurrent that made my skin prickle.

I tried again, weaker this time. “But my head…” I reached for the faint line of the completely healed scar above my brow.

“Is completely healed,” Draven snapped, stepping closer to me.

The way he looked at me made my heart stutter, like he was daring me to run. Like he’d already decided I would.

I opened my mouth, reaching for something, anything?—

But he didn’t give me the chance. He moved a step closer, speaking before I could muster another feeble excuse.

“The Heartstone doesn’t require effort from you.” He said the words as much like a threat as an explanation, encircling his hand around my arm in a grip that was firm but not painful.

His mana was even stronger with the contact, crashing over me in wave after wave of all the fury he wouldn’t quite voice aloud.

I tried to dig my heels in, still searching for a better excuse.

“Right,” I finally rasped out. “It’s just…not a good day for that. I can’t…”

I can’t protect your people. I can’t even protect myself.

He didn’t wait for me to finish, didn’t even glance in my direction as he pulled us both toward the doors. “It finds your mana with or without your consent, along with your intention.”

My stomach turned to ice. The stone would reach for me, for whatever mana it thought I had, and when it found nothing, the ceremony would fail. Failure meant exposure. Exposure meant ruin. It meant death.

Then I caught onto his last word. Intention .

Because the stone would not accept a traitor. Two hundred years ago, the Autumn Queen had been flung across the dais for plotting against her king, and summarily executed thereafter.

Would my secrets make me treasonous, in the stone’s eyes? For that matter, could the stone even read my intentions, even without mana? Was it possible that I would both fail the mana part of the ceremony and be marked a traitor in a single go?

There was something almost challenging in the king’s demeanor that worried me nearly as much as the ceremony itself, like he had been expecting this reaction from me. Like he already suspected I would fail.

I needed more time. I needed to think of a reason, a lie, that was convincing enough to get out of this frost-blasted mess, without sentencing myself to an earlier death than expected.

“I suppose I’m just…nervous,” I finally blurted out. “I didn’t grow up near any of this, as you’re so fond of reminding me. My upbringing didn’t exactly lend itself to familiarity with royal ceremonies, and you’ve already been furious with the way things have gone with the court.”

That, at least, was true. Draven stopped walking, and I finally took a deep breath.

He clenched his left hand and studied my features for several heartbeats too long, not a single twitch of his eyebrow to reveal whether he believed me or not.

Then the doors to the hall creaked open, and I realized he had stopped, not because of my excuse, but because we had arrived.

A smattering of familiar faces from the Winter Court awaited us, dressed in icy finery, their eyes fixed on me. They weren’t sneering, this time. Not exactly, at least.

The attack had shaken them, rattled something beneath their carefully cultivated elegance. And now they watched me not like I was tonight’s entertainment, but like I might be the answer to a question none of them dared to ask aloud.

Instead of the downfall of their entire royal line.