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M ates. As they exited the tower, Fane tightened his grip on Marjani’s hand. He’d sensed the bond come to life, warming him from the inside out. Filling him with wonder—and hope, small but stubborn.

Through the bond, he’d felt her fear that he’d judge her for taking her cousin’s life. But he’d known it was a mercy killing. He hurt for her, but he understood.

Gods, he’d hated seeing her cry. She might as well have reached into his chest and cracked open his heart. So much pain, his warrior woman had endured. Sometimes fate was one cruel son of a bitch.

When they got out of this—and they would get out of this—he’d spend the rest of his days showing her there was more to life than what she’d seen so far. Maybe that wolf fada would be better for her, but then again, maybe not.

A serious woman like Marjani needed someone to help her lighten up, make her smile. A man like Fane.

They set out for the north tower. Suddenly, the maze was nearly impossible to navigate, narrowing until they could barely squeeze through the tall walls, spiraling in on itself like a twisted skein of yarn and sending them down multiple dead-ends.

Marjani plodded alongside him, shoulders hunched a little. He hated to see her so subdued. He wracked his brains for a way to help her escape, even if it meant fighting Sindre’s direct order. But the king knew she was here. How far would she get?

Anger churned in Fane’s stomach. He felt so goddamned powerless.

“Cat’s balls,” Marjani muttered. “Does the man want us to get to his tower or not?”

“Oh, he wants us there.” Fane glared at the towering white wall that had sprung up out of nowhere to block them. “He’s just playing one of his fucking games.” And messing with Fane’s head. He was a wayfarer, a man always on the move. He hated small, enclosed spaces, and Sindre knew it.

At last, they came upon a familiar passageway filled with fae heading to dinner in the great hall. No one seemed surprised to see Fane and Marjani’s fading bruises and tattered clothes. But then, gossip spread like wildfire through the court.

Most of the fae barely noticed them, uncaring what a mixed-blood and a fada were up to. Some shook their heads, their mouths in disapproving lines. A few smiled and nodded.

Fane kept a firm grip on Marjani’s hand, proud to be seen with her. She was strong. Beautiful. Caring. And if she had a problem with you, she’d tell you straight out, instead of circling around the subject like these beautiful, two-faced creatures.

So he nodded back to the friendly fae, and ignored the rest.

“So.” Marjani gave him the side-eye. “You’re the famous Lord Roald’s grandson. I had no idea.”

“Trust me, he wants it that way. I’m a wayfarer, which means I’m a frivolous SOB who’d rather drink a beer with you than fight. Just like my dad. Roald blames it on my human grandmother—except humans don’t have Gifts.”

Her lips twitched. “If the shoe fits…”

He hooked an arm around her neck, glad she seemed to be feeling better. “We prefer to say we’re well-rounded. What’s wrong with enjoying life’s pleasures?”

“Don’t change, okay?” She reached up to squeeze his hand. “The world needs more people like you.”

He nuzzled her ear. “I gave up trying to change a long time ago. Too much work. And I like me as I am.”

She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Now you sound like Roald.” He released her to slip through a narrow opening.

“But you would like to be a full member of the court,” she said when they were side by side again.

He lifted a shoulder and let it drop.

“Why? What would it mean, exactly?”

“The short answer? I’d be one of them. Right now, there are rituals I can’t attend. Magic I can’t access. And I have to smile and pretend not to see when one of them sneers at me.”

“And that’s important to you—to be accepted as one of them?”

He jerked his head in assent. “I’m one of Sindre’s top envoys, but I’m so low in the hierarchy I might as well be dirt under their feet.

If the king declared me a full member of the court, it would make me a pureblood in every way that counts.

I could even mate with a pure—” He snapped his mouth shut. “Not that I’d want to. Not now.”

Yeah, it had been his goal once. But not any longer.

She stopped and he did, too. The expression on her face made him reach for her, but she held up a hand. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give up your dreams. Not for me.”

“But I want to. Those dreams mean nothing if I don’t have you.”

“Fane.” Lines formed between her brows. “This thing—it can’t go anywhere. You know that, right? Nothing has changed.”

Anger clogged his chest. Anger, and a touch of panic. “The hell it hasn’t. You felt the bond, same as me. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t.”

She looked at her bare toes.

“Go ahead,” he growled. “Tell me we’re not mates.”

“I can’t,” she said in a barely audible voice.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You and me.” She shook her head. “I’m my brother’s second.”

“So? What, you took a vow of celibacy?”

That almost got a smile out of her. “No, but I can’t leave the clan. My brother needs me. The clan needs me. There are so few of us left after the Darktime.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He reached for her, but she took a step back.

“You don’t understand. Adric will never accept you. He can’t.”

He let his hands drop back to his sides. “Why the hell not? He accepted Evie, didn’t he?”

“She’s not under a geas . How could we trust you?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it just wouldn’t work.”

“Okay.” He dragged in a breath. Where was his so-called charm and negotiating ability when he needed it? But he couldn’t seem to leave it be. “Maybe you’re right. But after I serve out the geas ?”

She stilled, her eyes searching his. “Are you asking me—?”

“To wait for me? Yeah.” He stepped closer and framed her face. “Don’t answer—not now. Just think about it, okay? I know it’s a lot to ask, but you felt the bond, too. I know you did.” He smoothed a thumb down the smooth butterscotch curve of her cheek.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her words with a finger. “Later. Somehow, I’ll come to you in Baltimore—or get word to you. I promise. Now come.” He took her hand. “We must be almost there.”

He was right. They turned a corner and there was the door to the north tower. It swung open and they stepped into the anteroom—and into a howling snowstorm that blew up out of nowhere, engulfing them in a blizzard of icy flakes.

“Bloody hell.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “I’m not leaving you here,” he shouted.

“You have to,” she yelled back. “I’ll be all right.”

The wind whirled around them like a mini-tornado, jerking Marjani from his grip. The next thing he knew, what felt like a giant hand slammed into his chest, shoving him toward the outer door.

“ Jani .” He tried to reach her but for every step forward, he was forced two steps back. The door opened and he was thrust into the hall. He clung to the doorjamb, bellowing her name.

The dark-haired Irish fada appeared out of the swirling white ball. The wind died, leaving just a few stray flakes drifting down, and a sudden, unnerving silence.

“Welcome, Marjani.” The Irishwoman gave a dignified little bow. “I’m Jewel. The king has directed me to see to your needs.”

Fane tried to re-enter the tower, but couldn’t step over the threshold. Fury shook him.

“Damn you, Sindre,” he yelled. “Let me in, you bastard.”

Jewel clucked her tongue at him. “Don’t worry yourself, now. She’ll be fine. I’m to get her ready for dinner, that’s all.” She held out a hand to Marjani. “Come, alanna . You look like you could use a nice hot bath and a change of clothes. And perhaps a cup of tea?”

Marjani nodded at Fane. He knew she sensed the truth in Jewel’s words, same as him. “Go ahead. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He hesitated. Gods, he hated to leave her. Still, what choice did they have but to follow Sindre’s orders? The king had made it clear he wanted both Fane and Marjani at the dinner. Whatever he intended, it involved them both.

“She’ll be fine,” Jewel repeated. Her gaze caught his. “I promise.”

He gave a curt nod and headed back to his room, hating how helpless Sindre made him feel. It was like playing cards with a hand you weren’t allowed to see. But what could Fane do but play out the hand?

In his apartment, he dragged off his ruined clothes and threw them into the garbage chute.

Unlike Marjani, both his shoes had remained on and somehow made it through the attack with only a few scuff marks.

He left them on the floor next to the closet and headed into the bathroom.

He’d have liked a soak in the tub, but he contented himself with a hot shower and a shave.

He racked his brains for a way to save Marjani. Maybe if he signed on to serve Sindre for another ninety-nine years? But he was afraid there was nothing he could offer that the king wanted more than her.

With a muttered curse, he set down his razor and strode naked out of the bathroom.

His father was sprawled on the easy chair, long legs stretched out, a beer in his hand. It was like looking into a mirror—the two of them had the same blond hair, dark brows and narrow face. A poet’s face, his mom had said.

Arne grinned up at him. “There’s my boy.”

That was his dad. Always sure of his welcome. Fane hadn’t seen him in years, and he acted like they’d just met last week.

“Hi, Dad.” Fane glanced at the door, which apparently he hadn’t locked. “Just come in and make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“I have, thank you.” Arne raised the beer bottle to Fane and then stood up, arms open wide. “Now give your old dad a hug and act like you’re glad to see me.”

“You know I am.” Fane hugged him back. “Where the hell have you been, anyway?”

“Oh, here and there.” Arne slapped him on the back. “I hear you're having dinner with the king.”

“You’ve been talking to Roald.”

Arne waved his bottle noncommittally and settled back into the easy chair. “Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll have ourselves a chat?”

“I’d like that.” Fane headed into his closet, emerging a few minutes later in clothes fit for a dinner with the king: black leather pants and a collarless shirt in a fae material that changed from navy to light blue when he moved.

Clasping a gold bracelet around his wrist, he turned the wood chair to face Arne and sat down.

“So. Let me guess.” He leaned back in the chair, fingers interlaced behind his head. “Roald ordered you to bring me to my goddamned senses. Give up the fada female, and stop embarrassing the family.”

His dad chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Consider it done. And the answer is no.”

The skin around Arne’s blue eyes crinkled in amusement. “Fair enough. Roald is breathing fire, though. Something about how you owe him and the Morningstar name. Oh, and he threw in something about diluting a bloodline that can be traced back to the first fae warriors.”

“Like hell. I’ve been at the court for sixty turns of the sun, and in all that time, he’s spoken to me less than a dozen times. I don’t owe the man a bloody thing.”

Arne’s good-looking face turned serious. “Forget Roald. He’s always growling about something or other. And he’s a fine one to be talking about diluting bloodlines—he mated with my mother, after all. No, it’s the king you should be worrying about. He makes a powerful enemy.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Fane sat up and leaned forward, hands on his thighs. “I love her, Dad.”

“Lovers come and go. Life’s too short—”

“And time goes by,” Fane finished for him. “Yeah, I know. But…” He stared unseeingly down at his bare feet. “I think she’s my mate, Dad.”

“I see.” Arne took a thoughtful sip of beer. “That changes things.”

“No kidding.”

“You can’t hide from the king. It might take a decade, but he’ll hunt you down.”

Fane dragged a hand over his wet hair. “So we’ll bargain with him.”

“What can you offer that he doesn’t already have?”

Fane’s stomach sank. “I don’t know, but I’ll think of something. I have to.”

A knock sounded on the door. Fane opened it to find three tall, stern-faced warriors—a woman and two men. The woman informed Fane that they’d been sent to escort him to the north tower.

Fane nodded. It was unnecessary, and the king knew it. He’d sent the warriors as a warning. “I’ll be right out.” They tried to object but he repeated, “I’ll be right out,” and shut the door in their faces.

He sat on the chair and put on his shoes and socks.

Arne rose to his feet. “I’m coming, too.”

“Yeah?” Fane glanced up, surprised. He’d expected his dad to make some excuse and then get the hell out of there. “You sure?”

Arne shrugged. “I’ve known the king a lot longer than you. Who knows? I might be able to help. And besides, he always sets a good table.”