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When morning came the following day, Mara slumped out of her bed, momentarily forgetting the events of the day prior until she shifted the drape from her mirror and saw her haunting reflection.

She shoved that memory back down, her eyes bloodshot, and she looked ready to blow over with one gust of wind. Her two arms appeared from two different people, one her normal olive tone, the other encrusted a faded red, her fingertips dusted with ash. The darkness marring her skin may have alarmed her at any other moment, but with the grief that lingered in her chest, nothing seemed to matter. Her fingers danced over the red marks on her throat that Acastus left the prior night, after he visited her rooms shortly after the execution, his words haunting her into the morning light. “You’ll get more of your friends killed if you decide to stray to other texts again.” His hand locked around her neck as he spoke. She didn’t panic like she thought she would have, the suffocation a numbing sensation to the loss of Crowrot.

She slid on a new dress reluctantly, its black fabric mimicking how she felt inside. It wasn’t customary to wear black in mourning for the executed, but Crowrot didn’t deserve to be treated as a traitor to the crown. She pulled her hair back in a braid, her handmaidens absent ever since she screamed at them to leave her alone as she stared at her reflection in hatred.

She had written Azor multiple letters, but she was worried they weren’t getting to him. She hadn’t heard anything from her family since her brother’s first missive telling her about the darkness spreading on the northern front. She felt so alone without any communication beyond the walls of Kairth.

She was tempted to reach out and shatter the mirror, and she hadn’t even realized she followed through with her daydreams until the shards were scattered amongst her feet and dress skirt.

She stared at the silver daggers, not hearing the footsteps till it was too late.

“I’ve been waiting.”

A bit startled, she turned to face the voice, Evrardin looming in her room’s entrance, his appearance not any better than her own. His jaw clenched so tight, she was surprised he managed to get any words out at all. Evrardin appraised her, then flickered to the scattered glass on the floor behind her silhouette.

“I don’t want to go,” she said like a stubborn child. She knew he was here to escort her to the libraries, likely on Acastus’ orders. No, she knew it was on Acastus’ orders, otherwise the captain wouldn’t have succumbed himself to such trivial affairs. She assumed Acastus needed someone as loyal as Evrardin to ward over her, not trusting her to stay on task any longer.

Evrardin’s face loured and contorted into animosity. “You don’t really have a choice, though, do you?”

She wanted to ask him if he was talking about her, or himself.

Mara’s jaw tensed and a pang of pain slid through her burnt arm, taking a step back, her bare feet slicing on the exposed sharp edge of her broken mirror, blood seeping onto the floorboards and between the glass.

Evrardin's eyes went dark. “Is this what you’ve been doing? Wallowing in self-pity?”

Mara scoffed. “You’re right. I’m throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get my way. That my day was ruined because some servant had to go and grab the attention of the prince.” She hadn’t realized she began to shout. Evrardin looked at her with a hardened gaze. She shook her head and turned to begin picking up the pieces of her mirror.

“ You killed him. And here you stand, acting like a child,” he spat.

Mara whipped around so fast she thought she might snap her neck, her damning thoughts brought to life by the captain. “Fuck you,” she shouted. Everything within her was reaching its boiling point, ready to bubble over.

Evrardin took a step farther into the room, ignoring her profanity, and Mara swallowed on instinct, the shadow he was creating around her haunting. “I know he was killed because of some forbidden tome he showed you. Did you go seeking him out for help?”

Mara furrowed her brows remembering her visit to the crypt to speak with Crowrot. The magick tome he let her have. The tome he had left misplaced in the library.

“You did,” he said, answering himself in realization. “Fuckin’ hell,” he cursed, his hands squeezing into fists. “There’s no way he’d turn you down if you asked something of him. You got him fucking killed, ” he said again, this time with far more distress.

“I—” she stuttered. “I didn’t kill him.” She wanted to scream, but her voice came out in small spurts. “I didn’t know—I didn’t mean…” she trailed off. It wasn’t just her own self-reproach; Crowrot would still be alive if it wasn’t for her.

Mara buried her face in her hands. She let out a sob, her tears barely rolling out, most dried up from the night prior, before running her hands through her hair and pulling it taut. “I killed him…” she whispered. Her eyes looked through Evrardin, the events of yesterday flashing in her mind again. Her heart ached.

Evrardin’s scowl grew, his features turning darker as he watched her spiral. He acted like he came for a fight. Like he wanted her to fight him on this. He needed her to fight him on this.

“And now you wish for me to console you. To help you bear the burden you created.”

Her tears turned angry as she glared at him, her fingers tensing like she had claws. “This is not something I wished to happen,” she growled. Evrardin’s glower matched hers. “And I will not let you convince me to fight with you.”

He shook his head, and she saw the anger flow all the way to his fingertips.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry he made you swing the sword.”

Evrardin seemed shocked momentarily by her words. He stepped into her space and Mara clenched the shard of glass she forgot she was holding, blood seeping through her fingers. “Any other man would have killed you for this.”

Mara blinked rapidly several times, digesting his threatening words.

“Any other man would kill whoever it was that took his family away. And that’s what you did, Mara.”

Mara tried to keep face, her eyes narrowing, but she could feel herself slipping. “So why don’t you?” she goaded.

“Trust me, my hands are itching to tighten around your neck.”

“As are mine,” she challenged, his body so close that when she moved her hand forward, the sharp tip of the glass she held poked into Evrardin’s chest. She quickly moved her hand up, holding the glass dagger to Evrardin’s throat, her eyes wild and full of both remorse and anger. She held the dagger just as he had shown her in the gardens. She was done letting everyone walk all over her. She was done .

He inched closer, forcing the glass into his skin, enough to draw blood. Mara’s eyes briefly flashed with horror.

He glanced at the blood swirling down Mara’s arm from her palm. “You’ve done nothing but torture me since you’ve arrived here.” He grabbed her hand without her realizing, their eyes locked on one another, both snarling. “What I wouldn’t give to shed you from the role you seem so eager to take in my life.”

“And what role is that?” Her words came out sharp, but she was wavering inside, the full weight of his awful admission hitting her in a potent shove.

“My ruination.” His hand clasped hers tighter and she thought he might rip her sideways, slit her throat with her own weapon. “I’ve dreamt of ending you.” Much to her surprise, his fingers loosened hers so she was forced to drop the glass, not allowing it to dig any further into either of their skin. His words a whisper. “Though, those tend to be the nights I sleep the least.”

She didn’t know if the tears in her eyes were from anger or pain. She felt the full weight of his culpability and she wanted to shed the feeling like a serpent would its skin.

Mara’s gaze finally met him again and his balance wavered, sparked with fire. “But you never came!” she spat.

Evrardin’s hand retracted, resting on the hilt of his sword. He gave her a puzzled look.

“You didn’t come! You didn’t fucking come!” She was a tolling bell as she repeated herself. “You’ve become the only person I have here.” And he left her . He didn’t visit her during the entirety of her time bedridden after he hauled her to the sea; holding her so delicately in his arms, afraid she would wither away before his eyes. And now he despised her, lambasting her for something she hadn’t meant to cause. “I have no one else. You have no one else.” She didn’t say it as a jab, but rather an audit of his own sanity. Her hands shook. “I’ve been alone.”

“Loneliness isn’t the worst thing a person can face,” he said harshly, the loss of the gravedoctor lingering on his tongue.

“No. It’s something you’re quite used to. And now you wish it on everyone else.” She choked on her final words, her stability crumbling. She was alone. She had no one to help her. No one to take her hand and lead her through this mess. No one to fall back on when she soaked her hands with Crowrot’s blood. No one to hold her face and remind her to breathe as she sobbed. She didn’t think Evrardin could be that anchor for her, yet she yearned for it every day that had passed without him.

“I couldn’t,” he grumbled. Mara tried to steady her breathing and glared at him. “I had to follow Acastus’ orders.”

“To do what?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Mara wiped her tears, disregarding Evrardin’s eyes as they traced her movements. She knew the reason his mouth was sewn shut, but she asked anyway. “Why?”

“Mara,” he warned darkly.

“No. Tell me why!” she insisted. “Tell me why you do everything the prince asks of you. Tell me why you obey his every fucking whim.” She shoved his chest forward with her hands, but he did not budge. “Tell me why you let him command you to kill your friend!” She hadn’t realized the tears were still falling until she felt the warmth trickling down her neck.

Evrardin clenched his teeth, resentment coating his eyes. “I can’t,” he managed to get out.

“I know,” she said more gently. “I know he has you under an incantation.” The shock was evident on Evrardin’s face, and she gave a mirthless laugh. “I figured it out.” She gestured her hands around nervously. “You know, from all those dusty old books I’ve been reading.”

Evrardin pursed his lips. He went to open his mouth, but nothing came out.

Instead, he edged into her space and brushed a stream of tears away like he lost his self-control. “You didn’t get him killed,” he breathed, barely able to get the words out. Anger at her still lingered in his eyes and chest. He glared at her like he was debating slipping his hands around her neck to let out the madness. She gazed at him with such painful longing as his thumb caressed her skin that it physically hurt. “I shouldn’t have accused you of that. I’m just…” his words trailed off. “I’m furious that it was my hands that ripped away his life. Acastus gave the orders, but it was my sword that separated his head from his body. And that old man is too bloody stubborn for his own good. If he wanted to help you, there was nothing either of us could have done to stop it.”

Mara nodded, her hands gingerly reaching out across the short distance between them, clinging to his belt to steady herself as her mind reeled. She understood the need to blame anyone else. If he couldn’t take it out on the prince, the real culprit of their misery, then she was the next best target.

He shook his head, his fingers tracing the necklace gifted to her by Acastus as he had done at the masquerade. Gooseflesh rose on her arms at his nonchalant affection as he aimlessly touched her. They stood in each other's embrace, blood trailing Evrardin’s shirt and wetting Mara’s hand, tears staining her sunken face, Evrardin’s eyes dark and heavy with loss. The two of them lost in a painting.

His hand skimmed her collarbone, then gently caressed her neck. “What happened?” he asked, his breath shortening as he assessed the bruising forming on her throat.

Mara reached up on instinct, her fingers brushing his, before stepping backward to put distance between them. Her feet crushed more glass as she moved, wincing in pain.

Evrardin was quick to pick her up, effortlessly carrying her to her bed and placing her down so she sat on the edge. He squatted before her, his hand roughly grabbing her ankle like he still wished to punish her, and pulled her leg up enough so he could see the bottom of her foot. He wiped the glass from the sole then quickly did the same with the other. He was swift and terse with his movements, not caring when she whimpered in pain. But still, he kneeled before her and did what she could have done herself. Before he stood, he grabbed her hand and turned her palm up. Her fingers closed, blocking the already scabbing wound from his vision.

Mara’s entire chest must have turned red from the intimate touch—she hadn’t realized he could be that temperate. She wondered if Evrardin was savoring the feeling of how revenge would taste on his tongue as he studied her.

“Let me help you,” she finally said. Mara felt paralyzed; frustrated beyond words at how trapped Acastus made them both feel. She at least wanted to help Evrardin break free from his chains. Free him of Acastus just as she yearned to be.

“You can’t,” he said flatly.

“You don’t know that,” she argued, though she knew he was right.

“ Liten rev , you can’t help me. And I don’t want you to help me. If you get yourself into any more trouble with Acastus… I don’t know what he’ll do.” Evrardin gave her a despairing plea to at least allow him to prevent her from facing Acastus’ wrath if he couldn’t avoid it himself.

His use of her pet name put a blush on her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she missed him calling her that until she heard it in his deep baritone—soft words that were meant just for her, even if he did speak it with malice.

“Evrardin, please,” she began to implore, knowing she had no idea what she could possibly do. Her begs felt like they were more intended for the gods, not Evrardin. She was lost as to how to even dive into the concept of saving Evrardin from his curse, but she wanted to do what she couldn’t for herself.

“You can’t help me.” His next words congealed in his throat, viscous pleas she never thought him capable. “Please, liten rev . Don’t try to do anything to figure this out. I won’t be able to protect you from Acastus if he were to discover your treason.”

“I can handle his?—”

“No. You can’t,” he said sternly, a hint of drear in his words. “I’m not worried he’s going to reprimand you, Princess. Acastus’ is…” His words were choked in the vise that became his throat. “Acastus will punish you beyond your imagination if he finds you interfering.”

“Interfering…” she repeated. “With what, exactly?”

Evrardin sighed, his eyes shifting about the room. “Don’t do this. I’m fucking begging you.” A chill ran up her spine at Evrardin’s vehement beseech. She had never known him to beg for what he wanted.

Mara stood from the bed, ignoring any pain she felt on the soles of her feet, their faces as close as they were in the corner of the library all of a week ago. “Okay,” she whispered. Defeated. She knew she’d never be able to resolve his words down to the truth while he still lingered under this curse.

His dark eyes studied her, but she couldn’t decipher his thoughts. Mara bit her lip and Evrardin’s pupils seemed to double in size. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Let me train you.”.

“What?”

His hand gently touched her neck, his thumb stroking over the bruising. Mara swallowed hard. Fire flickered in Evrardin’s gaze. Could he ever truly protect her?

“I can’t always be there for you. And I don’t trust Acastus to not put his hands on you again. Let us focus back on your training.”

Mara pondered for a moment, her thoughts lost as Evrardin rested his hand on her exposed flesh. Her hackles rose from his feather-light touch. She recalled the last time they trained, how close they had gotten. How his body had responded…

She nodded, afraid her voice would betray her. As she gazed at him, she could still see the hint of resentment behind the shadow of his eyes. He may have taken back his words, but something egregious still blossomed in his chest as he breathed her in. He hated her for everything she was making him feel.

She wished she could absolve him of his pain. She’d gladly take it in his stead if it meant he’d stop punishing himself for what he couldn't control. Her eyes fluttered downward, a bit embarrassed as he embraced her softly, and she chided herself for falling so easily for his charms, begging to be his light source, to take away his sorrows.

She nodded. Evrardin’s hand danced under her chin, his fingers needing to touch her olive skin, and turned her face to look at him once more. He tore his hand from her gravity and cleared his throat, shaking himself from whatever spell Mara seemed capable of enthralling.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

A pang throbbed in her chest as Evrardin guided her down the hall to the libraries. She was going to figure out how to break the spell Acastus cast on Evrardin under the guise of researching glassfairing.

As she tirelessly tossed through tome after tome, she pretended not to feel the heat of Evrardin’s eyes following her dutifully as she moved through the library, likely warring with himself on whether to hate her for all of eternity or kiss her against the shelves.