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El never wanted Ryn to fight her way through the palace with fists or a sword. He never wanted Ryn to fight against the King at all or even the Weylins. No, El had said from the beginning that he wanted her to go to war against the gods .

Ryn looked up at the sky where the shadows moved the white dragon along. Invisible beings that had wound themselves around unsuspecting people all over the kingdom—including the King.

Nyx. Boreas. Iris.

The gods.

False gods.

It was war.

Ryn was still buzzing with energy when she got back into the palace, back into her room. She paced for nearly twenty minutes until Heva piped up from where she leaned against the wall, “You’re going to sprain both your ankles if you keep that up.”

“Heva,” Ryn said loudly as she tapped a finger against her chin, “if it’s a matter of breaking off the King’s shadows, then can’t I just bring the priestesses here, they can intercede, and his shadows will flee? That’s how it works, right?”

Heva sighed. “You’re too enthusiastic for me right now.” She stepped away from the wall and caught Ryn’s shoulder mid-pace. “Your eyes are very wide and you’re shouting. Let’s go get a snack to calm you down,” she suggested.

Ryn shook her head. “But listen—It would work, right? If I brought the priestesses here?”

Heva had been skeptical about the deal Ryn made with Xerxes ever since Ryn told her about it. Maybe this would change her mind.

“I mean, I’ve seen crazier things happen while hanging around those priestesses,” she admitted.

“But you know Adriels aren’t allowed in the palace.

Only Geovani is,” she said, and Ryn’s face fell.

“And if the God Original wants you to help the King, then don’t dump it on somebody else.

You do it, Ryn. The priestesses can support you from afar. ”

Ryn sighed and folded her arms. She paced again. “I barely have two months left.”

“Geovani always says El’s timing is perfect. And Geovani has been doing the High Priestess thing for a lot of years. I trust her when she says stuff like that,” Heva said. “Just wait it out.”

A loud knock filled the room, and both girls hushed.

Heva placed her hand on the hilt of her sword as she crossed the living space and cracked the door open. She flung it all the way, revealing an organizer—the same one who’d helped Ryn pick her charity.

“Maiden,” the organizer greeted. “I’m happy to inform you that tonight you’ll be visiting the King for an evening alone with him in his chambers.” And then he added, “Overnight.”

Heva glanced back at Ryn with wide eyes that said, “What, by the Divinities, does that mean?” which only told Ryn, she knew exactly what it meant.

Ryn cast her a small shake of her head for assurance.

She already knew from eavesdropping that Xerxes wasn’t interested in evening visits with the maidens.

“He’ll turn me away once I get there,” Ryn told Heva as she went to her racks of clothing. “I suppose it doesn’t matter what I wear for the walk over if I’ll just be back—”

“Actually, he specifically requested that you come.” The organizer’s statement left a ringing sound in Ryn’s ears. She turned back to him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

The organizer cast her a knowing smile. “Your artist should be here shortly to dress you up. Your guardswoman and I will escort you to the King’s chambers when you’re ready.” He gave her a small bow, and lo and behold, Marcan came in.

No… Ryn slid back a step—sure she wanted to stay far away from her artist.

The organizer shut them in, and Ryn called after him, “Don’t close that door! We don’t need you to close the door! I won’t be getting dressed—”

Marcan smooshed his hand over Ryn’s mouth. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” he scolded. “I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Oh, trust me, I think my situation is worse!” Ryn said back.

Marcan smirked. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“What…” Ryn chewed on her lip. “What do I do when I get there?” she asked, and Marcan looked at her like she was crazy.

“How should I know? Why are you asking me ?”

Heva bellowed a laugh by the door.

“This isn’t funny!” Ryn said. She put the backs of her hands against her hot cheeks.

She didn’t have enough information to go on, only what she’d gathered outside of Calliope’s door.

What did a late evening visit entail? She’d thought about it enough to come to her own conclusions, and—oh, for Divinities’ sake—she wasn’t ready.

“Maybe he’ll just want to play mancala.” Heva shrugged. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Ryn.”

It took all of ten minutes for Marcan and Heva to wrangle Ryn into silk nightclothes. It should have taken longer—most events required hours of work, but Ryn didn’t feel like playing dress up and she refused every bright piece of jewelry Marcan suggested.

She inhaled deeply during the walk through the palace.

Her exhales were loud, and she should have been embarrassed, but she wasn’t.

In fact, she blew out a heavy breath down the back of Heva’s Folke coat when they reached the King’s door.

Heva squirmed in surprise and sprang to the side.

She was voicing silent threats at Ryn with hand gestures, and Ryn was voicing the same silent threats back when the King’s door swung open.

Xerxes stood there. He looked between the two arguing women, ignoring the organizer and the guards stationed outside his door. Then, he reached into the hallway, grabbed Ryn, and he pulled her inside with him. He shut the door behind her.

“Wait!” Ryn almost screamed it. She slapped a hand over her face. “I can’t do this.” Her voice was pitifully strained. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I know you’re the King, and I’m getting myself into trouble by objecting, but…”

Raspy, quiet sounds reached Ryn’s ears. She lifted her hand slowly and peeled her eyes open.

There Xerxes stood, laughing , leaning against his bedroom door like he was trying not to fall over. “Shhh!” he warned with a finger over grinning lips. “The guards outside can hear you! Do you want the whole palace talking about how you refused me?!”

Ryn blinked as she realized he wasn’t wearing nightclothes like she was. A fitted Folke guard uniform covered him, complete with a navy cape. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to run away and hurl her nightdress at Heva and Marcan.

Xerxes found his footing and came to stand with her. “I would apologize,” he said, shaking the humour from his face, “but I had no other way to get you here without stirring up unwanted attention. And also—” he pointed at her “—that was quite funny.”

Ryn’s fingers tingled with the urge to poke him or smack him. “I’d really like to go hide somewhere you can never find me,” she admitted through thin lips.

“Was that an official request? Because my answer is no.” Xerxes reached for a spare folded Folke uniform on his living space table. He handed it to her. “Put this on.”

Ryn took the garment and held it up, wondering why, by the Divinities, he would want her to wear such a thing.

He folded his arms while he waited, and so, Ryn looked around his chambers.

There wasn’t really anywhere to change. There was, however, a collection of ten glorious paintings high on the wall she hadn’t noticed when she’d been here last time with her harp.

Every one of the paintings was torn or damaged from water, or some other deformation.

It looked like he may have even flung water at them on purpose.

Xerxes pulled on the hood of his cape, shadowing his face. “I’ll wait outside,” he said. “Be quick. And try not to ogle at my painting collection. It’s rude.” With that, he opened the door and slipped out in the blink of an eye.

Ryn looked down at the uniform. “Divinities,” she cursed. She did one full spin around, making sure the room truly was empty. Then she dropped her nightdress and slipped into the Folke uniform, wondering all the while what she was doing this for.

The cape was falling off her shoulders when she came out of the King’s chambers. “How lucky I am,” she whispered at Xerxes as he turned to see her in the oversized uniform, “to have been specially chosen to spend alone time with the King.”

Xerxes adjusted her cape. Then he pulled the hood up and fitted it around her face. Even though two guards stood outside Xerxes’s door, they kept their attention ahead and didn’t react to the two Folke frauds in their midst.

“Your sarcasm is charming,” Xerxes told her, “but I won’t be turned down twice in one night.” He flashed her a cynical smile. “So come with me.” He took Ryn’s hand and led her down the hallway, but he dropped it when footsteps sounded around the bend.

Two Folke guards emerged, discussing something in hushed voices.

They paid Xerxes and Ryn no attention, apart from a small nod in their direction.

After they passed, Xerxes tugged Ryn’s sleeve toward an adjacent hall.

Moonlight spilled in through tall slat windows in even intervals, washing over them every other step.

Xerxes led her to a door barely noticeable within the décor of the walls.

She might have not known it was there if he didn’t reach for a lever.

He hesitated, his fingers hovering in the air, barely brushing the metal.

Ryn waited, but instead of opening the door, Xerxes turned back to her.

“People don’t go down here,” he explained. “No one enters through this door except for me. If you’re ever caught here…” He didn’t finish that sentence, but Ryn filled in the blanks with the look in his eyes. The message was clear: Never, ever come here after today.

Xerxes grabbed the lever and pushed the door open. He stepped onto a dark winding staircase, and a cold breeze lifted through the stairwell that sent chills up Ryn’s arms as she followed, descending into darkness.

At the bottom of the staircase was a modest arch, and through the arch…