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C ora hadn’t forgotten about Morkai’s blood weaving that had bound her fate with Linette’s. But knowing about the curse was one thing. Seeing the origins of its inception was another. It made her stomach bottom out, made every hair on her arms stand on end.

When Morkai had confessed to her about the fate weaving—told her about it in this very room, no less—she’d felt violated. Shocked. Ashamed. He’d taken a twelve-year-old Cora’s mistake and twisted it for his own sinister use. After Cora had publicly declared before the court that Queen Linette had been lying about being with child, he’d used that knowledge to forge a devious plan, killing the queen and gathering her blood. Then he took Cora’s blood too, cutting her palm and weaving a horrible tapestry with it before her eyes. She’d fled the castle right after, unwitting as to why he’d cut her or what purpose that strange blood weaving had served.

But she knew now.

Morkai had bound her fate to Linette’s so that she, like her sister-in-law, would die childless.

All because of a prophecy he’d been determined to thwart.

Morkai’s voice echoed through her mind, recalling the words he’d said the night he’d confessed the truth.

The unicorns. The mother. The child. Who do you think you are in that prophecy?

Then after that…

You are the mother and your child would have been my enemy.

Weaving your fate was the only thing I could do to let you keep your life.

She hadn’t forgotten. No, she’d carried the burden of the curse, hating what he’d done if only because it robbed her of choice. And yet, she had grown complacent, hadn’t she? Upon Morkai’s death, she’d seen proof that his glamours had been severed. She’d assumed every bit of magic he’d cast had died along with him.

But that wasn’t true. She knew that now. The evidence was all around her, mocking her from the shadows of Lurel’s demise. Only the glamours, spells, and enchantments that had relied upon a continuous stream of magic from the Roizan had been broken when the creature died. When Morkai died. But everything else remained. Every curse he’d placed—using just a single instance of dark magic—stayed unbroken.

Which meant her fate was sealed. She’d die childless.

Her stomach plummeted further, taking her heart with it, but not for the reasons she expected. Having children might be a blessing she’d someday desire, but it had never been at the front of her mind. She was nowhere near ready for maternal responsibilities.

But that curse—that fate—was tangled up in something else now. Something far more pressing. Present. Cherished.

More of Morkai’s words rang through her mind.

You could never be Teryn’s queen. Do you know what the prince’s father did to his queen? He tried to have her replaced with his mistress. Teryn would only do the same to you.

She wanted to believe Morkai had been wrong. Her heart told her he had been. Teryn wouldn’t cast her aside for being unable to bear him children.

No, he wouldn’t, he’d…never…

He betrayed you before , came her own voice from deep inside her. It was stoic and steady, the part of her that remained within the walls she’d erected around her heart. He said he desired you. He never said love .

And even love could be broken. Even love could twist hearts. She’d seen it happen.

As much as Dimetreus had loved Linette, the queen had been so afraid of disappointing him that she’d lied. Pretended to be with child to keep his attentions from wandering. Back then, Cora had been perplexed over Linette’s motive. Why would anyone—a powerful queen, no less—lie about being pregnant?

Cora understood, now that she was older. She knew full well the expectations placed on royal women, even more so after her recent experiences with Verdian and his brothers. Queens were expected to bear heirs. If they failed…

Teryn would only do the same to you.

She shook her head. Teryn was no longer beholden to the pressures of the crown; he didn’t need an heir. He only needed to marry Cora to fulfill the alliance, and in turn, position Cora as Dimetreus’ heir. His temporary heir. Once he remarried…

Cora stepped back from the table, as a complex layer of truth peeled back before her. In what world could she imagine Dimetreus—her hurt, traumatized brother who still agonized over his dead wife—getting remarried? If he didn’t, Cora’s place as heir would be permanent. She’d be expected to ascend to queen one day. A queen forced to carry all the same burdens and pressures Linette had caved under. That Teryn’s mother nearly lost her crown over.

Cora had never wanted to reclaim her role as princess permanently. She’d only wanted to help her brother get his throne back and ensure Khero was taken care of. Agreeing to a loveless marriage alliance had been a necessary evil, and she’d still considered it something she could escape once her duties had been served.

Then came Teryn’s confession. It had opened her heart, made her think that being stuck in her role wouldn’t be so bad. Not with him by her side.

Half her heart told her she was in no danger of losing that now. This was Teryn, after all. He wouldn’t reject her for being unable to bear children, even if he wanted them. But the other half of her heart shrank back, reminding her that all royal men—even those with lesser titles like dukes and lords—were forever fixated on heirs. On sons. On their legacies.

What if she couldn’t provide that?

Regardless, if the worst came to pass and Cora ascended to the throne, the curse had potential to upend her life in the future. Wars sprung easily where bloodlines were broken. Where queens failed to produce sons.

Even if Teryn decided he didn’t care about having children, could she truly subject him to the chaos that might one day ensue in her kingdom?

Mother Goddess, it was too much to think about.

Her lungs tightened. The room felt too small, the walls closing in around her, smothering her. She felt…trapped.

Trapped in a curse.

Trapped as her brother’s heir.

Trapped in a game of royal politics.

Trapped under fragile, breakable hopes.

“Your Highness.”

The voice sent her whirling away from the table and toward the door. Her guard stood on the other side of the rosemary bundles, his face cast in shadow from the stairwell. She glanced out the nearest window and saw the sun sinking over the horizon. How long had she been lost in her thoughts? Something small and wet landed on her collarbone. Belatedly she realized it was a tear, and more were pouring down her cheeks.

She cleared her voice and addressed the guard. “What is it?”

“His Highness Prince Teryn is here to see you.”

Cora’s heart leaped into her throat. He was early! No, she was late. They were supposed to meet for dinner, one she most certainly couldn’t attend. Not in this state. Not with her mind so consumed with blood magic and curses.

“Tell him…” Her voice dissolved into a quaver. She found herself unable to continue.

“Cora.” This time it was Teryn’s voice coming from the other side of the threshold. She hadn’t realized he was at the top of the stairwell too. Damn her guards. She’d have to tell the sentry at the bottom of the stairs to block all visitors from ascending from now on. Just because she was inside the room didn’t mean it was safe. “Is everything all right?”

Before she could say a word, he brushed aside the hanging herbs. Their eyes met, and his grew wide. He surged forward, ready to cross the line of salt?—

“Stop!” she shouted, charging toward the door. “Get out, Teryn!” Her voice came out harsher than she’d intended. A look of hurt crossed his face, but he halted in place—that was what mattered. It was too dangerous for him to step inside this room. He’d already done it once and she’d be damned if he made a habit out of it. Besides, she didn’t want him to see her like this. It was too late, of course. Now that she was closer to the doorway, he could fully see her through the rosemary. His gaze slid to her cheeks, and his expression of hurt shifted into one of concern.

“Cora, what’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth to try and shape her current state into words, but no sound would come. Instead, she breathed in the truth on an inhale, burying it in her heart, and donned a casual demeanor on an exhale. “It’s nothing,” she finally managed to say.

His voice deepened into a growl. “It’s clearly not nothing. Who hurt you? What hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” A lie. The deepest of lies. She had been hurt by someone and something, but how could she express that? The thought alone made her throat tighten all over again, summoning painful memories to the surface. She’d spent most of her life keeping secrets, and for good reason. Telling the truth had rarely served her well. Evidence flashed before her mind’s eye.

Queen Linette condemning Cora’s clairsentience, calling her a witch and begging Dimetreus to have her exorcized by a Godspriest.

Dimetreus ignoring Cora’s strange powers and telling her that her insights were untrue.

The Forest People boasting of their distrust of royals.

Cora’s meeting with the Forest People elders where some denounced her for her lies. Her secrets. Her identity.

Cora gaining the acceptance of Verdian’s inquisitors only after pretending she knew nothing of magic.

Dimetreus’ new council feigning that magic didn’t exist. Fearing her relationship to the Arts. Mistrusting her motives in the tower.

She shook the memories away, reminding herself that this new situation wasn’t like the rest. This was about her and Teryn. Even so, with these wounds still darkening her past—many of which were still fresh—she found herself shrinking deeper and deeper into herself. She wanted to talk to Teryn, but she was still learning how to open up to people, especially to him. This curse was no small matter, nor were the repercussions it could have on their relationship. On her responsibility as potential future queen. She needed time to prepare for that conversation.

“Please come out here and talk to me.”

She shook her head. No. No, she wasn’t ready.

Another look of hurt flashed across his face. “We can sit in silence then. Let me be there for you, whatever is wrong.”

“No, Teryn.” His name on her lips nearly shattered her heart in two. But it was nothing compared to the pain she’d feel if he rejected her upon learning about the curse. Teryn may desire her, but what if he desired furthering his bloodline more? She tried to tell herself such a fear was silly, but it didn’t feel silly. It felt crippling. Smothering. Before she’d be ready to tell him the truth, she’d need to prepare herself for possible heartbreak. Fortify the walls she’d so recklessly abandoned, just in case she needed to retreat behind them once more.

She was nowhere near strong enough for that right now.

“I just need one night to be alone,” she said, tone softening.

Teryn’s throat bobbed, expression struck with agony. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I need you to. Please. Just one night.” She wasn’t sure a single night would be enough to sort through her feelings, but she hoped it would be. She forced a reassuring smile to her lips. “Please.”

Teryn held her gaze for several silent moments. Finally, he gave her a nod and turned away. She watched his back until he was out of sight. Fresh tears trailed down her cheeks.

It killed Teryn to do as Cora had bid and leave her behind. To think only hours ago she’d requested a kiss that he’d been all too eager to deliver. Now she was asking for space.

Every step that took him farther from the tower room made him question whether he was doing the right thing. He wanted to trust her. Believe in her strength. But seeing her like that, her cheeks glistening with tears, her shoulders hunched with grief…it nearly cleaved his heart in two. He knew she was capable of combating dark energies, of using her magic to accomplish incredible feats.

But what the bloody hell had made her cry?

Rage sparked in his blood, and his fists closed around air. He wished he held his hunting spear right now. If he did, he would chase down the source of Cora’s distress and destroy it.

What if I’m the source?

The question sank his gut, but he had to consider if it was true. Had he pushed her too far? Had she changed her mind about him? About them ? If so, he couldn’t force his presence upon her. The best thing he could do was let her work through it. And if she had changed her mind…

He found himself outside the door to the guest bedroom he’d been given. With a sigh, he pressed his forehead to it.

If she’s changed her mind, I have to respect that.

Telling her about his feelings had already been a risk. He’d known she could have rejected him, and he’d been prepared for that. But to lose her now, lose the small, beautiful thing that had begun to bloom between them, tore him up inside.

Feeling as if his feet were made of lead, he opened his bedroom door and dragged himself inside, stopping only when he reached one of the windows. There was no balcony, no balustrade to lean upon, so the windowsill would have to do. He opened the glass pane, relishing the fresh air pouring in, and gathered lungfuls to counteract the tightening in his chest.

His eyes were unfocused, but not enough to miss the feathered shape darting from the trees outside the castle wall. Berol landed beside Teryn on the windowsill, giving his forearm an affectionate nibble. He reached into his pocket in search of the dried meat he always kept on hand for his falcon, only to realize he wasn’t wearing his traveling vest but an elegant frock coat.

He’d changed his clothing before his audience with King Dimetreus, during which the king had granted him permission to dine privately with Cora instead of attending the meal in the dining hall. After that, he’d changed again, outfitting himself in the finest ensemble he’d brought. He didn’t have the heart to join the main feast now, to sit amongst the king and his council, trying to pretend there wasn’t somewhere else he’d rather be.

He was about to fetch his leather vest from where it was draped at the foot of his bed, when his hand brushed over a lump in his waistcoat. Had he tucked some treats in there after all and simply forgotten? He reached inside the pocket to extract what he expected to be a strip of meat…but came away with an amber crystal.

He blinked at it a few times, confusion blanketing his mind. Why did he have this? Was this…no. It couldn’t be.

Yet the color, shape, and size were hauntingly familiar. There was no denying what this was. The last time he’d seen it, it had been attached to the dagger that had opened his father’s throat.

Wait, that wasn’t true.

The last time he’d seen it had been…

A memory snapped into place, of him changing his clothing and finding the crystal in his trouser pocket. The same confusion had struck him then. He hadn’t understood why he had it or where he’d gotten it until—like now—his memories returned.

Now he remembered it all.

He recalled Cora standing frozen in the tower room, her fingers clutched around the crystal. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t responded to the sound of her name or the feel of his touch. Not until he’d wrenched the crystal from her hand and shook her by the shoulders once more. He must have tucked it in his pocket to free his hands then. And when he’d found the crystal while he’d been getting changed, he’d moved it to his waistcoat pocket with the intention of returning it to the tower.

But…he’d forgotten. Twice now.

The thought chilled his bones.

With a screech, Berol nipped at his fingers, then raked a talon over the back of his hand. He winced and dropped the crystal to the ground. It rolled toward the bed, and he watched it settle at the corner of the rug. Berol screeched from the windowsill again, wings splayed.

“Hush, Berol,” he said to her, tone soothing. His eyes remained locked on the crystal. He still couldn’t fathom how he’d forgotten about it. Sure, he had his reasons for being distracted, but forgetting that he’d tucked a strange object into his pocket? It had to be enchanted. Possibly triggered by touch.

He frowned, stepping closer to it. Berol screeched once more, but he held out a hand to quiet her. “I know, Berol. It’s dangerous. I won’t touch it. I just need to tuck it somewhere safe until I can tell Cora about it.”

Saying Cora’s name wrenched his heart, but he was too preoccupied with the mysterious crystal to linger over his pain. Instead, he kept his attention on the stone, afraid to blink lest it somehow flee his memory like it did before. Inch by inch, he crept toward the crystal as if he were stalking prey on a hunt. He untied his white silk cravat from around his neck and stooped over the stone. Careful not to let his skin touch the object, he lifted it with the cloth.

He faced the window, ready to fold his cravat fully around the crystal, when shards of light exploded around him. The light from the setting sun had caught upon one of the facets. The glittering effect was…beautiful. He’d never seen that happen when the duke had carried it atop his cane.

His fear and trepidation fled his mind. What had he been so worried about a moment before? Entranced by the dance of amber light, he lifted the crystal higher, let the waning sunlight catch more of its facets…

Berol let out a sharp cry, startling him as she launched off the sill and into the room.

“Right,” he said, closing his fist around the crystal and smothering it in the folds of his cravat. But when he looked back at his surroundings, all he saw was blinding white light.