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Mara and Evrardin hastily retied and pulled on their clothes, slipping out of her room. A sigh of relief escaped her realizing there were no sentinels posted at her door. Mara had been knotted with worry that one of the guards might have overheard their pants and soft mutterings as they entangled on her bedsheets. She was relieved to know no one had the chance of eavesdropping on her rendezvous, running to tell the prince.

Evrardin remained silent as he led her through the halls she was only now beginning to feel a familiarity with. She swallowed hard, hoping he wasn’t regretting his decision to lie with her. She tried to dampen that welling spark before it blossomed into something she’d rather not deal with.

Her fingers twisted with the sleeve of her dress, lost for words to share with the captain—which she imagined he’d be grateful for.

“Relax.” His deep voice broke through her reverie.

She glanced at him. “I am.”

“The prince is going to sense something if you keep looking like that.”

Mara arched a brow. “Looking like what, exactly?”

“Like you just had a secret love affair with your betrothed’s most loyal friend the day before your wedding,” he whispered, leaning close enough to sting.

Mara sputtered. “You are not his friend.”

“It’s called an analogy.”

She shook her head. “If everything is accurate save for one small detail, it’s more of a confession than an analogy.”

He repressed his annoyed growl. “Is that not exactly what an analogy is?”

She grimaced. “No. It’s a metaphor with commitment issues.”

“Right. My apologies, Princess. I forgot how well-read you are.”

She swallowed hard before speaking again. “This doesn’t make us friends.”

Evrardin’s hand tightened on the pommel of his sword. “Well aware.”

She wasn’t sure why she said it. Maybe it was the fact that he was already teasing her about the events that just unraveled in her chambers and she didn’t want him to think she was more attached than she truly was. She told herself she wasn’t attached. He certainly wasn’t. He had years of experience; this was just another notch in his belt. She didn’t mean anything beyond that to him.

She hated that he was doing this to her mind. Her chest tightened at his nonchalance. She swore this was pure lustful desire, nothing more. And yet, the mere thought that Evrardin didn’t want her for more than pleasure crushed her. Made her want to weep on her knees and curse the gods out for torturing her like this.

Even if he had wanted her for more than that, it wouldn’t— couldn’t —happen. She was to marry the prince.

“Why haven’t you left yet?”

It took Mara a moment to register Evrardin’s words. She glanced sidelong at him as they moved. “What?”

“After Crowrot’s execution. Why haven’t you tried to escape this hellhole?”

“You think me petty enough to leave because things are getting hard?” Maybe she could have tried to escape and leave Kairth. But then what? Was she to leave the kingdom as it fell apart, risking the semblance of an influence she might possess to change things? Leaving hadn’t even crossed her mind.

She went to say more but he cut her off, his words low, rumbling in her ear. “You have nothing . What is keeping you here?” His words hit her with malice, like he wanted to hurt her.

She straightened her spine, not noticing Ev’s eyes still on her as she willed herself to face her betrothed.

Mara escorted herself into Acastus’ chambers, Evrardin turning to wait outside the closing doors.

“Princess,” Acastus sang, his voice slippery like that of a serpent.

“My Prince.” Mara curtsied awkwardly.

He reached for her hand and placed a delicate kiss on the back. Mara’s cheeks warmed in aversion as he subtly pulled her closer to him before dropping her hand.

“I’m afraid I have terrible news.”

Mara’s expression contorted into something of concern. The prince’s words seemed remorseful, but a falsehood was laced in between.

“My father is dead.”

Mara paled. She was shocked, alarmed, unconvinced, sorrowful. All at once. And still, a brief lilt of brightness fluttered over her features, imagining the wedding being postponed. Or better yet, canceled altogether now that Acastus didn’t have a father to please.

The guilt immediately infiltrated her chest.

“I’m incredibly sorry, My Prince. How did it happen? He seemed perfectly well yesterday.”

Acastus sat on his settee, crossing his legs and gazing at her. She flushed under his watch, trying to appear nonchalant—easy.

“They say it was an unfortunate case of summer fever.”

He said they like he was unconvinced of the medics' credentials to accurately decide the cause of death.

“And the queen? How is she managing?” Mara wondered if she should visit her, or if she might rather be with family.

“Gone, too, I’m afraid.”

Mara coughed, choking on her words. “The queen is also dead?”

Acastus shook his head. “Poor choice of words,” he corrected. “She’s been missing since the death of my father early this morning. I’m entirely convinced she had something to do with it.”

Mara shifted on the balls of her feet, the room growing heavier.

Acastus outstretched one of his hands and Mara tentatively closed the distance between them, allowing him to take hold of hers. “I hope this news won’t ruin tomorrow.”

Mara raised her brow. “What do you mean?”

“The wedding, of course. Can’t possibly be good luck to lose a father the day prior.”

“We’re still going through with it?” she blurted.

Acastus’ grip tightened on her hand and she held back a wince. “Of course we are, foolish girl. My father may be dead, but that holds no bearing on this union. If anything, my father would want us to continue in his honor.”

Mara highly doubted that but she simply nodded. She was used to Acastus’ volatile emotions with her by now.

“The people will need something positive to distract from this… affair.”

“Of course. I meant no offense. Just…I thought you might want time to grieve.”

Cas’ eyes glazed over her skeptically. “And what better way than to have a wife to console me at my side?”

Mara gave him a half-hearted smile.

Acastus took a deep breath in, his eyes narrowing. He stood from his seat, reminding her just how much taller than her he was. She prayed he couldn’t smell Evrardin on her. That would be ridiculous… As good as Evrardin had smelt, she shook off the idea that his faint scent of burning wood and mint lingered on her clothes.

“And once we are unionized tomorrow, you are to glassfaire. You will make us the most powerful kingdom in the realm, Princess.”

She swallowed her breath. “How…?”

He dropped her hand, snaking it between their bodies, the soft leather of his glove gliding against her cheek as he tucked a tendril of chestnut hair behind her ear. “Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head, my love. You’ll follow my instructions, and if you do well, maybe I’ll keep you around as my queen after all.”

His eyes stared lovingly into her own. The further she looked, the more darkness she could see swirling behind the shadows.

“Now, go. I want you well-rested for tomorrow’s festivities.” His final words poured out around his sharpened teeth like a threat.

Mara curtsied before darting out of the room, Acastus’ chuckle haunting her down the hall.

“Mara,” she finally heard.

She slowed her steps and spun to face Evrardin who was staring at her like she had two heads.

“What happened?—?”

“I think he plans to kill me,” she said through a vicious whisper. She met Evrardin’s eyes, pained to find his expression neutral. A deep surge of nausea coursed through her making her knees buckle. “Which you already knew,” she said slowly, pronouncing each word with lingering hurt. Her vision went hazy, her eyes roaming his body. She noticed a bit of blood encrusted on the bottom of his tunic. Blood she hadn’t noticed until now. She almost stumbled back in horror. “You killed the king?”

“No.”

“But you assisted in his death in some way?!”

“Mara…” he pleaded.

She blinked rapidly, finding herself falling into a stupor. “I never should have trusted you.” She intended for her words to slice through the air, but they came out more a whimper. She should have taken what Lord Cofsi said more to heart.

She turned on her heels.

“ Liten rev , please, just listen to me,” he called.

She stopped, turning just her head to look over her shoulder. “Do. Not. Call. Me. That,” she spat through gritted teeth. She jerked her arm back as he reached for her. “And tell me what?!” she almost shouted. “You couldn’t tell me even if you wanted to, right?”

Evrardin didn’t respond. She hated that she was right. Hated that she still yearned for his touch.

She rushed back to her room, her heart pounding too loudly to hear if Evrardin trailed her or not.

She knew he was under Acastus’ curse. That he had to do anything he said. But the way his face didn’t even twitch when she said Cas was going to kill her made her shiver. She had let him get so close to her. She let him…

She cursed under her breath. He carried this knowledge, and he still caressed her tenderly. Kissed her lips with such urgency that she thought she may never get a proper breath in again. His hands explored her, knowing she was promised to someone else. Knowing that someone else planned to take her life. Knowing he had helped kill the king just that morning.

Maybe she truly hated him after all.

Mara sweltered in her rooms as she poured over one of her ancient tomes. She was brewing with a tortuous amount of stupid and reckless ideas, ones she should keep locked inside her, as she searched for anything else she could that might be of use.

Tomorrow, she married Acastus, and, for good reason, she suspected a terrible fate awaited her at his hands. He was going to kill her. Evrardin made that much clear. But when? She had no idea if it would happen tomorrow or one of the many long days glued to his side ahead of her.

As she studied her bookmarked incantations, something pulling her back to the phantom spell. A tome Crowrot left purposefully open for her to find. He was killed for his treason, so it must be worth something.

She stared at the spell time and time again. Even though she had officially been bonded within the Sun Court, it stated clearly in the text that the Sun Court hadn’t been potent enough in centuries to possess enough dark magick to perform a lygi invocation.

Her eyes scanned an open tome to her left, flipping through information about herbs and flora of all different species. Her eyes grew heavy, and the ink began to blur together. She stopped flipping when a drawing of a draugr flower appeared on the page before her. A spark ignited as she read over the description. When used properly, one could summon dark magick from the Veil, letting their veins flow with that of a deity. Maybe if she used the flower…

She shook her head; she didn’t know where she’d obtain a flower that rare. They had been outlawed. And did she really want to possess that kind of dangerous, dark power?

Though, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she had created a lygi form of herself. Could one perform the incantation deeply enough to construct an entire body out of dark magick alone—not just a brain like Marquess Blackwing?