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The soldiers’ distrustful gazes clawed at me. Some of them scooped up the limp body of the soldier who’d been shot from his horse. A snapped arrow protruded from the side of his neck. They removed his breastplate and threw him over his horse’s back, belly down.

“Lachlan. I’m sorry,” I said as they passed me for the carriage.

Lachlan shook his head. “We’re even.” He tried for a crooked smirk. Theodore’s gaze was downcast. “I should know better than to make you mad.”

His voice was hoarse from how I’d strangled him.

It made my stomach roll with sick. Lachlan climbed into the carriage, but Theodore lingered for a breath.

I waited for him to look at me, to see how I was rattled, to give me his ever-steady comfort and pull me up from the darkness I’d too easily slipped into.

Instead, he rolled a tight shoulder, then entered the carriage.

In his absence, the world grew overloud.

The ring of swords forced back into their scabbards, the horses’ nickering, the soldiers’ voices.

The incessant echo of the waves in the distance; the unending rattle of the grape leaves.

My mind played cruel tricks too, showing me Lachlan’s face contorted, and Theodore’s etched with brutal worry.

The meaty smell of blood from my shirt sat heavy in my nose.

It had grown sticky and cold. I stepped through the mud, head hung, toward the carriage door.

I decided then that the moment after our severing ritual was complete would be the last I would see Theodore.

For I was as undiscerning as a storm, as ruinous as a tidal wave crashing, and I could never live with myself if he was caught in my devastation.

Theodore’s hand found my leg, gave it a shake. “We’re here.”

Two days had passed. The carriage wheels crunched over gravel. I peeked through the window and yawned. Genevreer Palace seemed like a skeleton lit aflame in the night. Its stone walls were pale as bone, its windows glowing bright against the black sky.

The carriage rolled to a stop and a short line of servants greeted us. Theodore exited the carriage first, but he did not reach back to help me down himself. A servant came swiftly on his heels, his glove soft against my hand as he helped me down the narrow steps.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

His brown eyes raked over the filthy shirt I still wore.

It was creased and stiff with dried blood.

In the melee, the saddlebag that had held my spare clothes had fallen from its restraints, left behind among the bodies and blood.

The dress Antonia had gifted me had been in that bag.

It brought a strange sadness over me to think of it lost—one more thing I’d ruined.

I looked down the front of my body. I wore Theodore’s ill-fitting trousers, tied with a frayed rope.

Mud caked my boots. My hair was stiff in places with mats.

At least Theodore had taken a moment to bathe in the shallow stream beyond the city boundaries that afternoon.

I watched him cross the gravel drive. Even with his threadbare shirt rolled to the elbows like a worker’s, even exhausted, there was no mistaking precisely who and what he was.

He stood at the base of the marble palace stoop, chin tipped back regally, shoulders square and strong.

I’d not realized just how much of his armor he’d let fall away while we’d traveled. Alone with me in the wildlands, he’d been someone else entirely. Now, all the soft, vulnerable pieces of him were suddenly hidden away.

I stopped at his side. “I’d like to bathe.”

He gave me a quick nod. Something had shifted between us since I’d lost my control. Since I’d nearly killed Lachlan.

It made me certain of at least one thing: The king of Varya could not allow himself to love me. Here, in his world, we could never be. I was something fearsome, untrustworthy. And he… he wore his crown so well.

The severing draught sat heavy in my pocket. “Tonight, we should—” I started, but Theodore’s attention was elsewhere.

“We should what?” he asked, absently. A deep line creased his brow as he took in a long line of opulent carriages, tucked one after the other down the long drive like a string of gaudy beads.

“What’s the matter?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why all these carriages are here.

” He turned and took the stairs two at a time.

I moved quickly to keep up, racing behind him down the middle of the entry hall.

Ghostly music echoed off the walls, the tune delicate, almost melancholic.

Theodore followed the sound all the way to the ornate door situated at the palace’s back wall.

He heaved it open and halted right upon the threshold.

It was his throne room. It was a soaring space, drenched in crystal and gold, and brimmed with extravagantly attired guests. It was as if Theodore had lifted the gilded lid of a jewel box that held the brightest of stones. Varya’s nobility had a wealth that Seraf’s could only dream of.

Theodore took a rigid step into the room and the herald’s voice boomed over the violins and murmurs and laughter. The music cut out as every guest bowed. I wanted to bolt behind the door, but Theodore plodded farther into the room, eyes scanning the scene in shock.

“The bridegroom has returned.” The empress appeared from the center of the crowd, arms spread wide in benevolent greeting.

I lingered as far behind as I could without our bond cramping with sick. Boots scraped behind me and Lachlan was there, helmet in hand.

“Fuck me,” he mumbled when he saw the way Theodore’s anger had rounded his wide back and curled his hands to fists.

“What is this?” Theodore asked the empress through a locked jaw.

The empress tilted her head, a bland look on her pale face. It was a wonder her massive diamond crown didn’t slide to the floor with the movement. “An engagement party, of course. The wedding is in just over a week.”

Princess Halla emerged from amid the guests and swept into an absurdly grand curtsy before Theodore.

Her white gown was tight and studded with sparkling beads.

A sheer, flowing white hood billowed over her shoulders and hooked to her tiara.

“Your Majesty, I’m happy for your return.

” She stood once more and gave him a blooming smile.

“I’m sure you’d like to refresh yourself, but may I request a dance before you do? ”

Theodore was still. Red crept up his throat, which bobbed as he swallowed back his temper. He gave Halla an almost polite nod. “One dance.”

The princess’s smile grew somehow brighter as she lifted her arms. Theodore held her hand and, keeping their distance, took her by the waist. The music swelled.

The crowd cleared away. With the first steps of their dance the blood bond made my stomach feel like it was stretching.

It gave a deep ache, a protesting surge of discontent.

Saliva trickled over my tongue. I didn’t budge.

I merely clamped my jaw, chest squeezing, and endured the discomfort.

I could feel Lachlan’s gaze on me. “You okay?”

“Don’t act like you care.”

“I care.” He blew out a fast breath. “I was mad when I found you on the road. It’s been stressful.”

“The severing draught is in my pocket.” I watched a stoic Theodore glide the princess through the steps of the dance. “Can you find Agatha for me? I’d like her to be with me when I take it.”

Lachlan gave me a heavy, searching look. “Does Theo know?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t tell him. Please.”

He pursed his lips, looking ill at ease. “I’ll find Agatha.”

As soon as he left my side, a smooth, lilting voice trilled in my ear. “It looks like your travel was quite harrowing, Lady Nel.” Empress Nivala sounded benign enough, but her lapis eyes were keen as she took in the state of me.

I stepped back and dipped into a curtsy. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Quite.”

Her gaze cut away from me, and she watched contentedly as her daughter and Theodore continued their dance. “They’re lovely together, aren’t they?”

They were. He was the sun, fervent, constant, and it was she that was the pale, glittering moon, brightened by his presence. What was I then, I wondered? The slinking darkness, perhaps, burned away by the light of them both.

When the empress’s attention returned to me, the wrinkles at her eyes deepened with puzzlement. “Is there a reason that you linger? You’re covered in days-old blood.”

“No, Your Imperial Majesty.” I curtsied again, my stomach twisting further. “Excuse me.”

“Ahh, a moment.” She’d gone oddly still, all her icy attention zeroed in on me, or rather, on the engagement ring I still wore on my finger.

I stopped in my muddy tracks. “Your name, my lady— Nel. ” Her casual tone was so at odds with her piercing gaze.

She extended a hand toward mine, the fingers long and bone pale, but her touch was warm, soft.

She took my hand—the one with the ring—and began to stroke the back of it with the pad of her index finger. “I’d like to know its origins.”

Cold skittered through me, but I offered her an agreeable nod and worked to clear my mind enough to answer.

Nemea’s family name was Miros. I couldn’t even remember what Ligea’s had been, though I’d learned it in my lessons.

“I was born on Seraf,” I answered with a shaking voice.

I could only offer her the story I’d been told.

“Seraf. I see.” Her eyes shone with cunning. That finger still traced a repetitive line over my hand. “It’s an interesting name,” she said through a small, unfriendly smile. “It’s Obelian.” Her finger stopped moving, but she did not let me go. “Did you know?”

My throat tightened, senses on alert. I shook my head.

She looked out at the collection of beautifully dressed nobility, at Theodore and Halla.

Then her gaze sliced to mine. “I’ll tell you of it,” she said, as if sharing a secret that was to be kept between us.

“Years ago, back when King Athan still ruled, when Seraf’s king, Nemea, was still young, my husband died.

Sweet man. Simple. He liked horses. The blandest consort an empress could ever hope for.

” She gave a cold chuckle. “All the Leucosian rulers came north for the remembrance. Queen Rillion. Queen Ligea too. Some of them had never visited the continent before—it’s quite a distance.

The Nels were a very rich, very old Obelian family that I had been close with since my youth.

Our families intermarried for generations, but by then, their members were few.

A matriarch remained, her sickly grown son, and his mousy wife.

They had a quiet little girl with the most perfect white curls.

That first night, they hosted an elegant dinner for the Leucosian royals in their manor home.

“Between courses, we toured their gardens. It was summer and the night was unusually balmy for the north. When we returned for the next course a half an hour later, the bodies of the Nels—all four of them—were piled in the middle of the dining room, beside the table.” She tutted as if to say such a shame.

“They’d been sliced open from their necks to their groins, so deeply that their insides spilled out onto the lovely rug.

” Again, that finger traced a slow line down the back of my hand.

Down the middle. Mimicking the way the Nels had been sliced.

“The matriarch’s body had been stripped of its jewels.

A spinel necklace and earrings to match. A ring too.”

I jolted. “That’s an awful story.”

“It is.”

“Why did you tell it to me?”

“Oh well.” She brushed her thumb over my palm quickly—over my many scars.

She smiled. Then she let me go. “You, born on Seraf, with that name. It brought forth the memory.” She gave a thoughtful hum.

“Nemea was very handsome then. He was very attentive to me in my shock and grief over my late husband. I wonder how he’s fared. ”

My pulse sped. “How many years ago was this?”

Her blue eyes rolled upward in thought. “Halla was not born yet, so, twenty-five years ago now. My, time is a savage thing, isn’t it?”

In that moment, it was not time that I thought to be savage. “Good evening, Your Imperial Majesty.”

I dipped into a shaky curtsy, stole one last glance at Theodore, and blood bond be damned, fled the throne room.