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My target has no idea how close he comes to death, though his grunt of surprise and faint cry of fear tell me he is who I think he is, even without the scent of wine and old books to confirm it.

I’d know his body anywhere, senses dulled or not.

“What are you doing here?” I stare down into Altar’s eyes before looking up, crouching over him where he lies prone beneath me. There’s no sound of approaching feet, no rush of guards behind him. Just the dripping and the faint squeak of a rodent back the way I’ve come.

It’s found a feast in Vivenne.

“Remalla.” He exhales, eyes wide, features coming into focus. It’s definitely lighter out, the narrow slit window in the next cell down proof of that. “I came to rescue you.”

I snort, then snarl in his face. “Nice try,” I say, grasping him by the collar of his shirt.

“Rem,” he whispers, fingertips trying to brush my cheek.

I bat his arm away. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.

When you asked about the kinspark, I thought you were teasing me.

Trying to tell me we were…” he chokes. “Soulmates. It’s stupid,” he scowls at himself, shaking his head.

“I didn’t even think for a second…” He blinks slowly, falls still and silent, then exhales. “Remalla, your mother.”

“And aunt,” I say, voice flat and dead though I’m aching inside. I push off him, standing back as he rises, making no effort to help him. I’m taking Vivenne’s warning to heart. “She betrayed us, killed Amber.”

He nods, eyes now wide and voice hushed, though if he thinks he’s being quiet or stealthy, he’s sadly mistaken. “We need to get out of here,” he says. “Come on, this way.” He turns and starts to hurry back the way he came, but stops when he sees I haven’t followed.

I haven’t decided if I’m going to or not.

“I might just kill you, too,” I say. “Eliminate a barrier to the throne I’m not supposed to sit.

Then go up to the Citadel and cut your father’s throat.

” I stalk toward Atlas, chest a knot of hate he doesn’t deserve, but he’s here and a soft target, and I have no one else to blame except myself.

I’m doing more than enough of that. “Set fire to all of it. Watch it burn.”

He raises a hand toward me. “Please, Rem. Please. Come with me. We can talk about killing me later.”

It’s the thing that breaks the spell, oddly. He’s not afraid of me. He’s terrified, but for me. And that reaches me, past the predator who fights for control. Atlas’s hand is still out, waiting, patient.

In one move, I step forward and take it. He doesn’t flinch, grasping my fingers like he knew I would never be a threat to him.

He has no idea how close he’s come to dying. And I don’t think I’ll ever tell him.

One of us deserves to stay innocent.

He holds his grip on me firmly, drawing me out of the light and back into pitch blackness, no windows where we find ourselves, though it’s only for a moment. Hinges squeak as metal grinds, and then we’re crouching through a small access door and into the light of day.

“Through here.” It’s some kind of delivery hatch, a low ramp grooved with the ruts of countless carts leading forward and up toward the dawn. “Hurry. I have a carriage, but we have to be out of the city before anyone finds out I’m gone.”

“Why are you doing this?” I don’t slow my pace, pushing ahead of him, protective all over again, though I’m the one who needs watching over.

“Because,” he says so simply and with a faint hint of surprise, “I love you, Remalla.”

I don’t know what to say to that, the fool, the brilliant, sweet, and lovely fool. It’s pushed aside with the rest of my thoughts for later, though I fear I’ll be overwhelmed when that time comes. So maybe having him with me to keep me from falling apart is a good idea.

It’s not. It’s terrible. And the second I’m on board the carriage, I’m closing the door and sending him away.

He can’t help me anymore, though I will always be grateful that he came for me. Too bad I have to destroy his home, his father, and all that’s been built on lies as repayment.

I wonder if Atlas will forgive me when it’s done.

There’s a bulky shadow ahead, the clomp of hooves loud in the passage as the carriage horse blows steam into the early morning air. I’m mourning Gorgon suddenly, though Atlas will care for him until I can come back and retrieve him.

The last thing I do before I set this place ablaze.

The door of the carriage is near the wall, just enough space for me to squeeze through, but my plan to slam it in Atlas’s face fails, not because I do, but because there’s someone waiting inside who distracts me.

Golden eyes flash with relief, a gorgeous smile, and the touch of a hand that sets me on a different kind of fire than the one I’m planning for Winderose has me gaping.

He tugs on me hard, jerking me forward into the carriage, and I land hard on the seat, spinning to call out to the Overprince, to warn him away.

But Zenthris has Atlas by the wrist and is manhandling him on board, too.

The door clicks shut behind the startled blond as Zenthris lets out a low whistle.

“What…?” Atlas meets my eyes, clearly in the dark, the carriage lurching into motion. I know who sits in the driver’s seat, not needing to peek through the curtains to prove it to myself. I hear Kell’s deep voice cluck to the horse as we pull away.

“Highness,” Zenthris winks at me. “Nice dress.” He gives Atlas the once-over as well. “Overhighness.” He sits back with a satisfied sigh while I scowl back. “Nice rescue.”

“She rescued herself,” Atlas says. “I just provided the means to leave.” Those blue eyes turn to me again, careful but unafraid. Trusting me. I wish he wouldn’t put that kind of pressure on me right now. “Which you figured out, apparently.”

I have zero trust in myself at the moment. “Drop the Overprince on the way,” I say.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Zenthris says. “We might need him.”

“You’re kidnapping him?” How stupid is this rogue?

“I’m here voluntarily,” Atlas says in a gentle rebuke.

Zenthris laughs as the carriage picks up speed. “Of course, you are,” he says, amber eyes locked on me, mocking me. “I suppose you think you’re in love with her.”

Atlas shrugs, settling back in the seat. “I know I am,” he says. “You too, then?”

They stare at one another, the blond Overprince’s astute observation surprising me and Zenthris both.

“Where are we going?” I don’t have time to fall apart, and I’m blaming the rogue—the drakonkin rebel—for it. At least it gives me something to focus on.

“To meet some people,” Zenthris says, leaning toward me, hand on my bare thigh, the burning sizzle of what he claims is a kinspark waking again at his touch.

I stare defiantly back. “Make some plans.” He taps the end of my nose with his other index finger.

“And maybe, just maybe, find a way to wake the dragon magic so you can do what you’re born to do. ”

“What would that be?” Atlas’s polite question makes Zenthris frown. His usual buildup of charm falls flat when the Overprince interrupts with his honest curiosity, and I’m honestly here for it.

For all of it. I laugh, though there’s so little to laugh about.

Zenthris grins while Atlas’s smile lights up the carriage. “I’m amusing.”

“You’re precious,” I say, meaning only good by it. “Hands off,” I growl at the rogue who tilts his head at me. “I mean it. If you corrupt a single thought in his head, I don’t care what kind of spark you think we have. I’ll light you up, too.”

He bows his head to me, his smirk softening into something far more appealing and, at the same time, frightening. “Remi,” he says.

“I like that,” Atlas tells me. “It feels more complete than Rem.”

They are both going to be impossible to live with, aren’t they? “Shouldn’t you be jealous of one another?”

They exchange a look, amber on blue, before they laugh and shrug.

I’m crying suddenly, and again. “I hate you both,” I whisper as Atlas engulfs me in his arms.

“You’ll get over it,” Zenthris says, though he sighs and sounds sad. “I’m sorry, Remi. About all of it.”

“No more secrets.” I wipe at my face, but let the Overprince continue to support me because it feels nice and I’m cold and tired and broken inside, and something about him makes it better.

Zenthris pulls an item out of his shirt, on a gold chain. The round, clear stone isn’t a gem exactly, it’s too spherical, unfaceted. And as I stare at it, it seems to undulate slowly inside.

I’m leaning forward, fingers out to touch it before I can stop myself, but he shakes his head and tucks it away again.

“Not yet,” Zenthris says. “Not until we know for sure.”

I look up and meet his eyes while Atlas asks my question for me.

“Sure of what?”

“If you’re the one we’ve been waiting for.” Zenthris isn’t teasing anymore, face serious. “Your father, Remi. He didn’t warn us about you. We didn’t know you even existed and now that we do, you might not like the answers I have for you.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “I’m tired of being in the darkness.”

“She deserves the truth,” Atlas says.

My hero.

“Then it’s a good thing I rescued you,” Zenthris says, his charming smile back again. “You’re welcome.”

I kick him firmly in the shin with one bare foot, acutely aware of my near-nakedness now that I’m warm, safe, and sandwiched, somehow, between the very two I’ve not only been craving but, it seems, feel the same hunger for me.

It’s either focus on that fact or fall apart, and I will not dishonor my mother’s memory while the plans she made wait for me to trigger them.

“I have my own tasks ahead,” I tell Zenthris. “Whatever your little secret society of rogues and bandits has in mind, that’s on you.”

“Drakonkin,” he growls at me, the kinspark stirring, “deserve your attention.”

“Heald is my home,” I shoot back.

“No longer,” Atlas sighs, shaking his head at me. “I’m sorry, Remalla.”

Not unexpected. “Who takes the throne?”

“Your Aunt Vivenne,” he says. Then frowns as I laugh in bitter understanding.

“Then the throne is empty still,” I say. “She lies dead in the cell where she tried to kill me as she did so in the bathing pool.”

Both whistle low in response to that.

“And I thought my family was cutthroat,” Zenthris says.

“And mine,” Atlas nods. “What exactly is your drakonkin’s plan, if you don’t mind me asking?” He rests his cheek on my hair. “Since I’m your prisoner and all.”

“Willing, wasn’t it?” Zenthris chuckles.

“Why, take back what belongs to us, of course,” he says, again leaning toward me, sliding in next to me, Atlas making no protest as the three of us now scrunch together on one bench.

I drape a leg over the rogue rebel’s thigh, my head still on the Overprince’s chest. This change of events can’t heal what’s been shattered, but perhaps it can ease what was broken enough to let me heal.

“Let me guess,” I say. “I get to burn something to the ground.” I really need to make that happen.

Zenthris laughs. “More like return history—and magic—to the realm of dragons.”

I look up, not sure what to think. From the widening of Atlas’s blue eyes, he’s as stunned by that as I am.

Book Two of the Child of Scale and Fire ,

The Rogue Prince’s Lover