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Freia slips back into my room with an armful of bandages and dumps them on the bed. “Okay, your mum is out, but I don’t imagine taking a load of food over to the Penners’ for your wedding night will take her long. We need to go now.”

I stuff one more knife into the backpack already filled with weapons, skins of water, and deer jerky, then pack the remaining space with the bandages and fight the zipper closed. Every pocket threatens to burst, but a nervous energy has me second-guessing that it’s enough.

No, Tristan just needs to make it back to Kingsland, and there’s only so much he can carry.

I bite my lip. “And what about the guard? Is he still at the front door?”

The door in question opens and closes with a bang. Father’s low voice rumbles as he speaks to someone. A few someones.

Freia’s eyes scream the same panic I feel, but then she jolts like she has an idea. “The dress!”

She grabs my wedding dress from the closet and tosses it at me. “Put it on. I have a plan.”

Freia swings open the shutters and drops the backpack outside the window, a place where it could easily be found by soldiers passing by. This had better be an amazing plan.

I throw the dress on the bed and remove my clothes, then slip the gown over my head. Adrenaline pumps so hard through me, there’s not an ache of pain anywhere. The dress is snug, and I have to tug it into place. Only now do I notice the slit that runs nearly to mid-thigh.

Freia peeks out the door, then turns to speak to me. She falters. “Wow. That’s really stunning.”

I’m too scared to care. “What now?”

Emerging from my room feels like a parade through enemy territory.

Male voices fill Father’s office. Maybe that’s good. He’ll be distracted.

“Isadora!”

Father barks.

I flinch, throwing myself off-balance, and stumble a step.

His formidable frame emerges into the hallway. “Where are you going?”

His eyes flash with anger, then lower to take in my dress. The frown on his weathered face melts into a look of surprise.

“We’re . . .”

I turn to Freia and nervously run my fingers over the fresh bandage on my neck. Where are we going, Freia?

“Going to my house!”

she chirps. “Isadora doesn’t have what I need to braid her hair into a crown. For the wedding,”

she adds, like he might have forgotten why I’d need my hair done. I can practically feel the heat radiating off her as she breaks into a sweat. She hugs my arm for support.

We look so guilty.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

Freia croaks.

Father’s eyes narrow on me, so I drop my head in submission. Ever since I was a child, he’s never liked it when I held his gaze. “She is. Would you leave us for a minute?”

Freia squeezes my arm softly one last time. “Um . . . I’ll wait for you outside.”

She might be waiting a while. He knows we’re up to something; I saw it in the hard planes of his face.

“You were trying to leave.”

“Am I not allowed?”

I ask, keeping my voice as soft as a bird. A spark of pleasure ignites at the idea of secretly defying him.

“Do I need to remind you what will happen if you—”

“No,”

I say. My jaw clenches at the looming threat. “You’ve made yourself very clear.”

“Have I? And yet, I still see some fight in you.”

“The only fight I have left is to protect Tristan. At all costs.”

Fortunately, my voice comes out weak and trembling, so he interprets my meaning in his favor.

“Good choice.”

Silence hangs between us until I fear he can hear my pounding heart. “Am I free to go?”

“I know you resent me, but this is a monumental day.”

My gaze lifts from the floor to his face.

He almost looks repentant as his Adam’s apple bobs. “At one time you wanted to marry Liam. Look for that feeling again. It will make this much easier for you.”

That’s his advice? Focus on someone else to get over the person you love. I’m tempted to ask if it ever worked for him. “Of course.”

He looks me over one last time, then his large hand lands on my shoulder, offering a quick squeeze. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to a hug. “You’ll get through this. You may go,”

he says, his voice gruff.

My eyes close. Part of me wants to fold up this moment like it’s a note and tuck it somewhere safe as proof he’s not entirely a wretched excuse for a human being. In his own contemptible way, he cares.

The rest of me wants to light everything on fire.

He turns back to the men waiting in his office, and I leave before I get any more tempting ideas.

I slip on my snakeskin riding boots, and the guard, who likely heard Father dismiss me, doesn’t stop me as I barge out the door. Three of Father’s men stand on the porch, talking. Two more by the horses. They all eye me as I cross the yard in a wedding dress. I couldn’t be more conspicuous in this thing; how am I ever going to get to Tristan?

I look for Freia and notice the simple setup for the wedding. It’s small, as promised. A dozen donated kitchen chairs are spaced out in two even rows. They face a long strip of white fabric draped between two tall birch trees, forming an arch. The decorations make everything feel real, and my already hammering pulse skyrockets.

It won’t be long before wedding guests—clan leaders—arrive. We’re running out of time.

Hooves thunder down a trail to my right. Gerald and four of his men ride ahead past the hitching post, coming directly my way. My steps slow with caution as my ribs tighten over my lungs.

“Princess,”

he says, jumping off his horse.

My guard rises in full force. There’s no hiding the fear and revulsion on my face. I don’t know what I did to gain this man’s attention, but I don’t want it.

“You don’t like Princess?”

He smiles, revealing a couple of rotten teeth. “But isn’t that what you are as the Saraf’s daughter?”

Father’s men stand taller, not hiding that they’re watching from their position on the porch. But they don’t move to intervene. My gaze flicks toward Percy’s house. Fates. I was so close.

Gerald’s gaze slithers down me and although the urge to hide my body from him is overwhelming, I force myself to do the same, sizing him up. His shoulder-length dark hair is greasy and receding on top. But it’s the small bone dangling from his necklace that has all my attention. It’s on top of his shirt. Visible as clear as day. A power move, no doubt, to remind Father of the secrets Gerald’s keeping for him. The disgust I feel for this traitor rivals only my fear.

He’s wearing a Maska leather vest holding at least two knives, some coiled wire, and a rope. A bow is strapped to his back. Dark stains spot his clothes. Blood. Other body fluids. It’s no wonder he remains unmarried.

“You dressed up for me.”

He lets out a gravelly laugh that makes my skin crawl.

I take a step back.

His hand shoots out to grip my arm. “Where you going? We’re not done.”

“W-what?”

I glance helplessly in the direction of Percy’s house. “I need to go to my brother’s.”

I realize my mistake immediately as suspicion sparks in his eyes. Why didn’t I say Freia’s house? He likely knows where Tristan is being kept.

“Your brother can wait.”

He leans in, and the sour stink of sweat and old leather fills my nose. “You know, you marrying that hammer-swinging pile of lice from Cohdor wasn’t the plan. Your father cheated.”

His gaze drops to my neckline, then just below. I close my eyes, wanting to scream. “What do you think I should do about that?”

For courage, I imagine my hands filled with knives. Then, using more muscle than should be necessary, I extract my arm from Gerald’s grasp. “I’m late. I need to go.”

His hand reclaims its grip on me and jerks me toward him. “Did I say you could leave?”

I search for Father’s men, and thank the sun above, they’re finally coming this way. I meet Gerald’s cold gaze.

He grins. “You and I should go speak with your father. Air our grievances about this wedding situation and see what can be done.”

His nails dig into my skin, but all I can think about is how he’s ruining my one chance to save Tristan. “No.”

Gerald’s mouth goes wider. “Now, that’s not the right answer.”

“Gerald!”

Denver calls from the porch. He descends the stairs, jogging in our direction past the men already coming my way.

It makes me grow bolder. “I said no. I have somewhere I need to be.”

His eyes seem to brighten with excitement the more I fight. “You’ve got fire in you.”

His fingers pinch tighter; they’re going to leave a mark. “That’s something that will need to be tamed.”

“Let. Go,”

I say louder, then yank hard on my arm. His nails drag down my skin as I pull away, slicing me open. But before I’m freed, his other hand shoots out, slapping me across the face. Pain slams through my cheek.

I almost fall down, but his hand finds my chin, gripping it tight and forcing me close. My ears ring as he speaks. “Careful. Talking back is never a wise choice. It might tempt me to cut those pretty lips off.”

He smiles as if to soften the threat.

The taste of blood fills my mouth. But so does my rage. “What? You’d cut off these?”

Then I use those lips to spit in his face.

His eyes close. Sparkles of my blood and saliva coat his cheeks. But then his smile is back. “You’ll pay for that.”

I’m ripped from Gerald’s hand by Denver and Harris. I stumble, suddenly free. More men join the fray, shouting and shoving, but I only have one thought: Tristan.

My feet are clumsy thanks to the shock and adrenaline overriding my body. I glance back and am met with Gerald’s predatory gaze. Clansmen pull at him. Yell in his ear. But his eyes track me, holding a promise of much more pain.

Someone grabs me, and I let out a scream—until I recognize Freia.

“Come,”

she says, then hastily guides me to a spot behind my house. We’re not hidden, but at this moment, we’re not in anyone’s direct line of sight. Thankfully, my pack lies at our feet.

“What happened with Gerald?”

she yell-whispers, eyes wide.

I blink, trying to clear my eyes. “He . . . wanted me to . . . I don’t even know. Go and see my father. I refused.”

A cry leaks from her throat. “And you spat on his face. He’s going to come after you.”

Probably, but that’s not what’s important right now. I reach for Freia’s hand. “Let’s go. We’re running out of time.”

“Wait,”

she hisses. “I went to talk to my brothers to prepare them . . . but only Freddy was there. The other guard is your brother.”

I grimace as our plan takes another blow. Even if by some miracle Percy lets me in, he won’t let me leave with the prisoners.

“Okay, what if we wait until both my brothers are back on guard?”

Freia asks. “I’m sure it will happen. We’ll just come back another day.”

I shake my head. “We don’t have another day.”

She shrugs helplessly.

My fingers rub at the ache in the corner of my mouth where Gerald split it. Doing this the easy way isn’t going to work anymore.

Crouching down, I rip open the pocket in my bag containing the weapons.

“What are you planning?”

Freia asks warily.

I pull out a drop-point blade, then stuff it under the fabric covering my bust, not caring whether it’s visible.

“Isadora, wait,”

Freia says urgently. “This isn’t what we talked about. If your brother doesn’t agree to help you, he won’t corroborate our story that the Kingsland took the prisoners.”

I stand up. “I know.”

She glances around, face pained. “It’s not just about getting in trouble. This is my brother. Your brother. What exactly are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure,”

I answer, but that’s not the truth. I do know. “Have the horses waiting.”

Then I take off toward Percy’s house.