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Laughter at the table again, uproarious this time. A blush heated Alie’s cheeks. One would think that a jilted husband wouldn’t want to dwell on his absent wife, but Apollius brought up Lore—and Nyxara, in subtle ways that only Alie would understand—every chance He got.

It annoyed the new lovers He’d taken. Alie heard that on the wind, too.

Everyone Apollius had brought to bed dreamed of taking Lore’s place, but He wasn’t looking for a new consort.

There was only one person He would deign to share a throne with, and She was locked in Lore’s head in the Burnt Isles.

Color stained Jax’s pale cheeks. “I am content to wait as long as I need to,” he said stiffly.

Apollius waved a dismissive hand. “Where’s that indomitable spirit I heard so much about, Jax? I’d think a man who built an Empire would have no problem changing situations to take what he wanted.”

More laughter, though some gave Alie slantwise looks, those married to powerful nobles. They were familiar with being treated like objects, art pieces to be moved and gazed upon and owned.

That was another reason she used her magic. All her life, she’d seen what happened to the powerless.

“Land and people are very different matters.” Jax’s voice was low. There was a gleam in his eye, almost dangerous. “I find that patience is rewarding.”

Alie clenched her fists beneath the table.

Golden eyes narrowed, as if Apollius wanted to stoke the flames of the latent fight she’d overheard. But He shrugged instead, sat back. “I suppose I’m used to indulging My impatience. Terrible habit.”

“Who would make you wait, Bastian?” Beaumont smiled, only the glint in her eyes showing her nerves at using the Sainted King’s given name. It still jarred Alie to hear it, knowing Bastian was long gone. “I’m sure you’ve never had to wait for anything.”

Apollius grinned with Bastian’s mouth. He’d only slept with Beaumont once, a fact she lamented at her weekly tea with her friends. Alie had stopped listening in on those; it upset her too much to think of Apollius using Bastian’s body like that.

“Not often,” He said. “And when I do, it’s always worth it.”

Something low in His voice, contemplative. Alie stared at her empty plate.

“So I suppose I agree with you, Jax,” the god said. “Some things are worth the wait.”

No change in Jax’s expression, but the tension in his body dissipated.

“I grow tired.” Apollius stood and stretched His arms over His head. “Go to your chambers, all of you.”

And with that, dinner was dismissed.

The courtiers tried to linger, some from the end of the table coming closer to where Apollius had sat, hoping to catch Him in conversation. But the Sainted King was already out the door, headed to His own chamber.

Outside the window, the sky darkened.

It gave Alie the smallest spark of hope.

Apollius didn’t seem to fade fully away at night—at least, He hadn’t at first. Alie had listened, carefully manipulating threads of air from her own apartments, tapping at the door of the Sainted King’s suite for clues.

Nothing interesting, other than sounds of the King enjoying Himself with whomever He’d summoned that evening.

That was enough to tell Alie it wasn’t Bastian. Bastian would never, not anymore.

But the past few nights, Alie had heard crashing. Cursing. The sounds of a brawl, but with only one physical participant.

“Jax.” Apollius turned around in the doorframe. There were circles beneath His eyes, as if He’d grown exhausted in the thirty seconds since standing up. “Come to My apartments when you can. We have things to discuss.”

Jax’s mouth thinned. He nodded.

Hope, that tiny spark flaring in Alie’s chest.

Alie stood from the table and went to the door without saying goodbye to anyone. Her part was played for the evening; she had no further energy to expend.

“Alie, wait.” Her fiancé caught up with her, holding out his elbow.

She looked at it as if he were offering her an insect. She said nothing.

With a sigh, Jax dropped his arm. The only time she ever saw him look anything but completely self-possessed was in moments like these, when he tried to act like her betrothed and there was no incentive for her to match his performance. It almost made her think that, for him, it wasn’t all a farce.

That was a dangerous line of thought.

“May I walk you to your apartments?” he asked, stiff and formal.

And there were enough people still in the atrium that it would look odd if she refused.

“Yes,” she said.

He smiled at her. Just the barest corner of one.

Jax didn’t offer his arm again, instead ambling beside her as Alie made her way out of the atrium and toward the turret stairs. They walked in silence, and while it wasn’t exactly comfortable, it didn’t make Alie feel like she was on the verge of a full-blown panic, either. Small mercies.

But when they reached her door, Jax reached out and touched her arm. Anxiety bloomed just below her breastbone, her stomach hollowing.

“Alie, I…” It was strange to see him lost for words. Jax stopped touching her, as if suddenly aware that it wasn’t welcome, and tucked his hands behind his back. “I understand that our circumstances are not ideal.”

“That,” she said primly, “is an understatement.”

He lifted a shoulder and let it fall, conceding.

“But I truly want to have a partnership,” he continued.

He didn’t meet her eye, instead looking at the pothos vine curling over her door.

That nervousness, again, making him strangely vulnerable.

“I want us to be friends. I wouldn’t presume to ask for anything more, but I hope we can cultivate that. ”

“A friend wouldn’t lie,” Alie said. “A friend wouldn’t chase all of my other, true friends out of the damn country. A friend wouldn’t use me for power.” She looked up at him, resolutely set her chin. “I don’t know you, Jax Andronicus. And I do not care to.”

She stepped into her room without looking at him and closed the door. She didn’t need to tap into air threads to hear his sigh or the soft pad of his boots down the corridor.

Alie slumped once she was alone in the dark, blowing out a harsh breath and making one white curl flutter on her forehead. She stripped out of her gown and left it on the floor, collapsing on the unmade bed in her chemise.

She had things to do.

It was easy to fall asleep. Alie had never been someone who struggled with it; her body let her rest without much fanfare.

But this kind of dreaming took precision, keeping a handle on her mind even as it slipped into sleep.

She’d perfected the technique with the same determination she’d used to hone her croquet swing and the steps of a complicated minuet.

There was no skill she could not acquire, given proper time.

An island. That’s where this kind of dreaming took her. A beach, white sand beneath her feet, cliffs at her back, and foaming blue water before her, meeting the equally blue sky in a blurred horizon line. The beach was silent, even the waves soundless.

There was no one here. That didn’t surprise her. There never was. According to the books, dreamwalking could be done by any two people with power from the Fount, and the more you had, the easier it was. But Alie assumed that in order to truly dreamwalk, you had to be using that power.

And she was, apparently, the only one foolish enough for that.

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Short and softly curved, long brown-gold hair, the runnels of a new scar.

Alie shot to her feet. “Lore?”

And there she was, just for a moment. Long enough to turn and look at her, long enough for her eyes to go wide.

But then she vanished, and Alie was all alone on the beach again.