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H ector’s footing fumbled for a moment before he righted. “Wife?” He shook his head and yelled toward the open door. “Antonia!” He spoke to me. “Theo would have told us if he got married. He would have sent a letter.”

“It was a quick binding. Surprised the both of us.” We reached the porch and heaved Theodore’s impressive weight up the small step. “He told me of you two. That I could find you up the road.”

“You went to the Mage?” Hector craned around Theodore’s broad chest, bewildered eyes darting over me.

“Yes,” I said, carefully. “It was merely a prophecy we needed. The ritual brew made him ill.”

The man nodded too quickly, clearly concerned.

At the door, we sidestepped over the threshold.

I dripped onto the ornate rug that nearly filled the entire floor of the main room.

It was finely made, at odds with the simple lines and rough-hewn woods of the house, and I wondered if Theodore had gifted it to them.

The entire home, in fact, was a mix of rustic wildland wares and pieces that looked like they belonged in a palace.

The warmth of the home surrounded me like an embrace. I gripped Theodore’s solid middle more firmly. The scents of herbal tea, cut flowers, and a stew simmering over the fire all wove around me, and I blew out a long breath.

This. I wanted this. And I’d never have it.

“This way,” Hector said, guiding us toward a door on the far side of the room. “Antonia?” he called out again. “Where is she?”

A tall woman, lean and strong for her later age, pulled open the chamber door.

Her lovely olive skin was dappled with sun marks.

Her white hair was piled high atop her head, braided and pinned.

“Turning down the bed,” she said in a thin voice.

Her troubled eyes were only for Theodore, tripping down his sodden body, taking stock. “He doesn’t look good.”

Together, we got him into dry clothes and tucked into the bed.

He’d mumbled and moaned as we jostled him and bent his joints.

His skin was still too cold. I dragged my fingers through his hair, combing the knots from it as best I could.

I wiped the black sand from his forehead and cheeks as Antonia brought tea and Hector boiled water for a bath.

“There are clothes in the wardrobe there,” Antonia said, finally looking at me. She watched where my hand lingered at Theodore’s temple. She noted my ring. “Nothing too fine, I’m afraid, but it looks like we were close in size. They should fit you nicely. Your Majesty.”

I winced at the title. “Please call me Imogen.”

She gave me a cool look. “I’ll be in later with broth for him, and stew for you.”

I had no energy to try to make her like me. I barely managed a pleasant “Thank you.”

When she closed the chamber door, whatever force had been holding me upright disintegrated. My shoulders slumped. I pulled the severing draught from my pocket and set it next to the pain tinctures on the table beside the bed. Looking at Theodore made me ache, so I made my way toward the tub.

I peeled off my wet clothes, stepped into the steaming water, and cried.

You are so much better together, Rohana had said.

Of all the words she’d spoken to me, those were the ones that played through my mind in a steady, deafening beat. There was no telling the pulse of my heart from the pulse of the bond we shared. They both echoed a similar rhythm— keep him, keep him, keep him.

Take what you want while you can, she’d said, for someday you will be like me .

I shivered despite the hot water and pressed my hands over my face. I wanted to scream, wanted to rip everything to pieces.

“Any room in there for me?”

I jumped at Theodore’s groggy voice. He had turned his head on the pillow and watched me through heavy lids.

The tangle in my chest began to unfurl. I gripped the tub’s edge and set my chin upon my knuckles. Gave him a half smile. “I think sharing baths with men has lost a bit of its appeal since the last time I tried it.”

His chuckle sounded painful, like the Mage Seer’s smoke had congealed in his chest.

“How do you feel?”

“Everything hurts,” he managed.

“Antonia left some nepenthe. I’ll get it for you.” I searched for a bath linen and found them on a stool—beyond my reach. Theodore watched me with a hint of bemusement in his tired gaze. “Close your eyes.”

A mischievous smirk tried to lift one corner of his mouth. “You’re joking,” he mumbled. “That wet shift you barged into my chamber wearing was worse than seeing you bare. I think about it all the time.”

“Do you? Then it sounds like you need no reminders. Eyes shut.” He gave a weak groan and all I could do was laugh. “You’re quite amorous for a man with such a limp and aching body.”

He fixed me with a steely gaze, all humor leaving him in a rush. “Tasting that brew again reminds me of death, Imogen.” He pushed back a burgeoning emotion. “You remind me that I am alive.”

For a moment I was lost, swarmed by longing and hope, stilled by how he looked at me. I shook my head. “Damn you, Theo.” The water whooshed as I stood in one quick motion and reached for the folded linen.

He made an aching sound deep in his chest at the sight of me, but I wrapped myself in a rush, trying to ignore the way his attention sent a torrent of heat through my middle.

“Imogen.” His voice was suddenly severe. “You’re bleeding.” I looked down at the small red bloom of blood that had soaked through the towel. “Why are you bleeding?”

I stepped out of the tub with a glower. “I had to pay the Mage Seer. Thank you for telling me in advance that she charges in flesh.”

“She was supposed to take payment from me,” he said, his brow lowering in anger. “You stopped her?”

“Yes, of course I stopped her, you dolt. You expected me to let her slither up your body and feed off you while I watched? I nearly ripped her apart for trying.”

“Fuck.” He managed to raise his hand to his face and press at his temple. “Come here.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Will you come here?” His fist hit the mattress with a dull thump. “ Please. ”

We stared at each other across the room, the air between us crackling.

Slowly, I crossed to the side of the bed and perched on the edge.

I managed to keep my face serene, but within me sat a violent clash of feeling.

I scooted closer, pressing the side of my body to his, selfish for the comfort of his touch.

He draped a heavy arm over my lap and his fingers played with the corner of the towel I wore.

“What happened?” he asked. “What did she say?”

I didn’t want to speak any of it aloud. I wanted to lie, to barricade what I’d learned behind my teeth, and keep us locked away from the rest of the world for a little while longer.

I looked to the filthy severing draught on the table beside us and shame upended my want.

“She can’t sever my bond with Eusia,” I finally said.

“I have to do that myself somehow. And I need to do it quickly. Every day that passes with her connected to my power sees more Sirens hunted and killed.” I picked up the draught. “This is for us.”

He said nothing. Only stared.

“When you’re well enough…” I had to concentrate past the anxious twist of our protesting bond. “… I’ll ask Hector and Antonia if we can do the severance here. The sooner it’s done the better.” The words rang hollow in my ears.

His jaw ticced, and he swallowed hard, but his face remained impassive as ever. “Tell me the prophecy.”

I pulled in a deep breath. “There is a crown. Ripped, ripped, ripped from the head. There is a bond. Cut, cut, cut from the blood. The queen lies drained of her divinity. The king sits wrecked and ravaged beneath her wing.” I paused. And left out the final line.

What they have made will decimate the order of all things.

His brow creased, but some tension within him seemed to unspool, like he’d resigned himself to a certain fate. “I’m the king, aren’t I?”

My stomach fell. I shook my head and spoke with conviction that I did not feel.

“No. Not you.” I replaced the severing draught and took up the tiny vial of nepenthe.

The cork gave a hollow pop. “For the pain.” I pressed it to his lips, my fingers cradling his stubbled chin, and tipped it back.

“She meant Nemea.” I relished the way he looked at me—with hungry, admiring eyes—and readied myself for that look to change.

To color with disgust the way Evander’s had when he saw what I truly was.

“He’s…” I set my hand in the middle of his chest and focused on the thump of his heart. “He’s my father.”

His fingers gripped my thigh. His eyes rounded, but not with the look of disgust I’d anticipated. They were wide with concern. “Bloody Gods, Imogen. Are you… how are you?”

My mouth gaped. His reaction stunned me. “Fine.”

“You’re not.” He searched me, then took my hand and tugged me forward until I lay over the top of him. My surprise made me pliable, and I melted into him as he wrapped me in his arms.

“What are you doing?” I whispered with my face tucked below his chin. “Aren’t you… Aren’t I repellent to you now—”

He gave an amused snort. “I’m sorry, Immy,” he said into my hair. The use of my name, sweetened and short, had me lifting my head in surprise. His stare was reverent, warm, steadfast. “You are far, far from repellent.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and rested back upon his chest. My relief was complete.

“Let’s decide together,” he said, softly, “that our fathers have no power over who we are and what we become.”

I managed a slow, grateful nod. The pace of his heart soothed me. Reluctantly, he finally loosened his hold, and I settled onto the mattress beside him. My head on his shoulder, a leg draped over his.

His thumb stroked my bare knee. “Did Rohana say anything else?”