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Amber quietly corners me on my way back to my quarters, her dark eyes careful, though she’s clearly excited when she closes the door behind us and grins openly at me.

“Don’t congratulate me,” I groan, throwing myself down on the sofa. “He’s decided he’s not going to marry anyone.”

Her glee turns to calculation. “You tried everything?”

“Short of forcing the issue,” I say, letting her read the message beneath that cynical delivery.

“You have to try again.” Now it’s her turn to pace my room while I watch her with a bone-deep weariness I know can only be fixed with sleep.

“I will,” I tell her, rising to push her toward the door.

“I swear it.” I mean it, too. I’ve already decided so, to pitch the plan in mind to Altar.

But not now. I need my wits about me, and I’m not going to share with Amber until I’ve spoken to him again.

I’m in no mood to argue the details until it’s done.

And either agreed to or failed.

She goes, though she doesn’t want to. “Get him to agree,” she says. “Stay in the Citadel, don’t wander off. At least until you do.”

I fall into bed, propping a chair against the knob to prevent entry, sealing the glass door to the garden similarly before collapsing into sleep.

It’s troubled, despite my tiredness, and full of dreams. I wake with my thighs throbbing, fingers seeking the heat and wetness to ease me back into rest. Climax does the trick, and when I rouse the second time, my body lets me be.

Another soaking serves me just as well, a quiet dinner preceding my prowl back to Altar’s study. But he’s again missing from the place where I suspect he spends the majority of his time.

Which means he’s avoiding me.

At least I manage more sleep, even if I’m up with the dawn’s light. But this campaign offers no outlet in battle, and though I journey each morning to the exercise yard to work off my growing frustration and impatience, I encounter neither the Overprince nor my two interesting friends.

The days crawl by, each one a torment of enforced idleness and simmering resentment.

At least Amber finds me a seamstress willing to alter the dresses I’m forced to wear, and by the fourth morning, I have clever little pockets sewn into each and every one at both wrists and waist, blades a comfort even if my sword must stay in my room.

Gorgon greets me every morning with his usual stoic joy, the young man caring for him always eager to show me he’s well-tended.

The warhorse has earned a break, though I do ride him bareback around the yard every other day just to keep him conditioned and remind him that he’s a working horse as much as I’m a soldier.

Because I have to remind myself as well, sometimes, and he’s happy to oblige me.

I’m already tired of the princesses and their endless attempts to make me feel humiliated by their ostracization, far more impacted by the glittering boredom that becomes my daily torment. Their whispers are a constant hum, their smiles brittle and condescending.

I am far too excited to spot Altar at dinner two nights after our private encounter, but he avoids eye contact and engages with Vae as though to spite my attempts to catch his attention.

He’s faster than I expect, as well, after the meal is ended, disappearing like a wild creature into the maze of the Citadel, impossible to track.

I’m about ready to pin him down by force after all the next time I see him, consent given or not.

Vae’s delight at his attention turns to spite, of course. I could use the fact that he simply turned to her to avoid me. But it feels like lazy ammunition to use against her, so I choose not to. Not out of any sense of kindness or empathy. She’s just not worth the trouble.

My headspace is already full. Her attempts to provoke me now feel tedious, a predictable game.

I meet her veiled barbs with a blank stare, choosing a mask of indifference.

She tries, for a while, but my refusal to rise to her bait eventually frustrates her into abandoning her game.

She seems to have decided I’m not worth it either, turning her sharp wit on less stoic targets.

The physical restlessness, however, is a different beast. I haven’t heard back from my mother or aunt, though I don’t expect to for many days yet.

Each passing dusk and dawn without a message feels like another layer of abandonment.

I spend hours in the palace’s exercise yard, running through forms, sparring with the guards I can barely tolerate.

I defeat them easily, their poor skills and predictable attacks no match for my battlefield training.

And while I suppose I could take pity on them and offer training, I’m far too restless and anxious for such things.

Despite Amber’s early warning about my safety, no one has tried anything that I’m aware of. No poisoned food, no “accidental” trips on stairs, no sudden attacks in the dark. Am I seeking trouble in places I might find it? Perhaps. It breaks up the monotony somewhat.

Then again, it’s almost more unsettling than outright threats to know that assassination lurks.

I almost wish something would happen. At least then I’d have something to focus my attention on besides these endless, dreary, and mind-numbing days and nights that pass without a single advancement of my plan.

The fact that those who inhabit the Citadel live this way on purpose makes me want to vomit.

And yet, surely this lull is simply like the quiet before a storm?

I am a target, I know it, but for now, I remain untouched, suspended in a state of anxious anticipation.

It doesn’t change the fact that I’m about ready to crawl out of my own skin.

I’ve considered finding someone to bed, if only to ease my physical tension, but now that I’ve tasted Altar—and sparred with Zenthris—I’m comparing every option and finding them lacking.

The confinement, the endless superficiality, the constant vigilance – it’s chipping away at my resolve, and I don’t know what to do about it.

It’s late on a dull afternoon that things get interesting. I’m pacing again, certainly irritating the maids from the track I’ve been wearing in the rug, when a small, tightly rolled parchment rustles faintly when it slips under my door.

I’m so startled by its arrival that I stare too long before lunging for it, whipping open my door to seek out the deliverer.

But there’s no one there, only the sound of echoing princess laughter reminding me I’m not wanted.

I scowl at the paper as I unfold it, scanning the message within. Wait, could it be from Atlas? No, it’s not the same beautiful script I remember from his invitation. This hand is rougher, square, and firm, unsigned.

The marketplace where the apple fell. Midnight .

He’s trying to be clever again. I grin at Zenthris’s invitation and toss it in the fireplace.

Is he planning to test me again, then? Finally. Challenge accepted if only to get the fuck out of this place and run free for a little while.

I wait until after the others are asleep to don my armor, to slip out into the garden, bypassing the hallway.

I don’t have to sneak, but it’s excellent practice and a reminder of who I really am.

How I love the weight of my sword on my hip, though no doubt Amber will be furious with me if she finds out.

So much for staying in the Citadel. It’s done me no good. An adventure might give me a new perspective, help me focus. At least, that’s the lie I tell myself as I leap up to the trunk of the tree near the wall and scale it, heading over the rooftops.

It’s exhilarating and reminds me of the soldier I’m trained to be, the warrior and hunter all in one.

By the time I creep along the thick top of the outer battlement to the outer city, the moon is high, now full and bloated and offering lots of light.

I love the challenge of hiding from it, skirting the guards who walk the path on top of the first line of the Citadel’s defenses before climbing down the elaborate face of the Overking carved there.

I find using his likeness this way hilarious.

No one spots me, though I barely try to hide in the end. Surely, someone will see me? There has to be someone here in this place who cares a damn about the things I do? But no, I’m on the ground and running silently into the city, shaking my head without a soul the wiser.

Is this why Zenthris has lured me out past the Citadel?

To show me how lax their protections really are?

I once feared that if the Overkingdom turned on us that Heald would fall to overwhelming numbers.

I now know I could easily lead a small force into the heart of the headland and right to the Overking’s chambers with little resistance.

This could all be over with a simple, deadly campaign ending in a stab to the heart in the dark.

Pondering that possibility as a final resort, I slow my pace and arrive at the marketplace well within time, the sound of a bell chiming midnight loud as I crouch on a rooftop and wait for my rogue friends to arrive.

The night air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of humanity and the city’s waste. There are no guards here, no watchful eyes. My perch seems unnecessary.

A form detaches itself from the deeper shadows of the next roof, a wave identifying him as much as the way he moves.

Zenthris descends to the street, crossing casually, before disappearing into an alleyway.

Moments later, I’m facing him in the darkness, faint light from the street below lighting his grin.

He’s clothed in dark, soft clothes that allow him to blend with the night, eyeing my armor with an appreciative eyebrow raise.

Amber eyes gleam in the moonlight. “I hope that getup isn’t hard to take off,” he says.

“Planning to undress me?” I really hope he’s going to say yes and flash my teeth at him.

He laughs, low and deep, leaning in to breathe in my ear as he speaks. “You actually came. You’re even more reckless than I thought.” He shakes his head, leaning away again with a feigned sigh. “Or brave. Which is it?”

He mocks my recklessness, but there’s approval in his eyes, and hunger that matches mine.

“Are we here to spar,” I ask, “fight, or fuck?”

He snorts in surprise. “Language, princess.”

I reach out to grab him, but he evades me. And now I’m angry. “Where have you been, what are you up to, and why am I here?”

His smirk widens. “About,” he says, “and things. As for why, you tell me?”

I don’t know if I want to kiss him anymore or punch him in that gloriously handsome face.

He must see the shift in me because he holds up both hands as though to ward off my anger.

“Just a bit of fun, Remalla. A little adventure to remind you that the world outside these gilded walls is still spinning.” He gestures with his hand, a playful invitation.

“Care to have some fun? Or are you content to be a caged bird?”

He turns, and with a fluid movement, he’s off, disappearing into the shadows of the rooftops, moving with that delightful grace that promises things my body craves.

I follow, of course, I do. My blood is singing. This is what I need. This is what I came here for, why I answered his call. The rest can wait for later.

I don’t hesitate. I chase him and fully intend to catch him. When I do? I will have my way with him, though I doubt he’ll fight me.

My boots are light on the tiles and thatch, my armor barely creaking from its fresh round of oiling. The taste of freedom, of danger, of exhilarating uncertainty, fills me with a passion I will never tire of.

He is a shadow, weaving through the darkness, and I, the warrior, am hot on his heels.