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The fresh pine air changed to the coppery scent of blood, and Kassandra froze. It was market day in the town square, with laughter and easy chatter filling the air, including Cian discussing his evening with Xander. She whirled around, scanning the crowd. No one bleeding here.

The dark trees and mountain-backed wooden houses blurred. She gasped and staggered, falling to her knees. “No,” she whispered. “Not right now.” Not here. Not in front of everyone again. The Dorians didn’t know about her visions, and she’d hoped to keep it that way.

Cian dropped to her side. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t answer. Clutching his hand, darkness swirled, and the vision took over.

It was no longer morning in her vision. The sun was lower in the sky, dipping below a towering, crumbling wall to cast long shadows over a weed-strewn courtyard. How far in the future was she seeing? This afternoon, or much later?

The high stone wall swept in a semicircular arc, protecting a cleft in the mountain where buildings stood. Windows and doors had long since been worn away by the weather, and they stood open and gaping, leaving the houses with a perpetually surprised look. It was clear no one had lived here in ages, yet fires burned in the courtyard, and smoke trickled from a few chimneys. Soldiers, dressed in black with a gold insignia, strode past.

This wasn’t Sardi architecture. There was a heaviness to it, an emphasis on function and battling the weather, rather than an expression of form, yet many Sardi hunkered down here. Scanning the courtyard, she counted at least a hundred men. It was far more than the thirty or so she’d met on the road last week.

Her brother, wearing a long blue tunic and white cloak, sauntered through the courtyard with a shorter, squat man hustling to keep pace at his side. Harl may not have worn armor, but he had a sword at his side, the ancient sword of Sarda that had hung over her father’s throne.

A yell split the air. “Messenger from Argos with supplies. Horses, too. Sardi horses.”

Her brother sneered. “It’s about time. We told them to get us more horses weeks ago.”

The shorter man scowled. “Ambrose was supposed to come himself. With troops, too, not just horses.”

“He better be hunting down my sister.” Her brother clasped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. “That blood traitor poisoned me. She needs to pay.”

“We can still use her as leverage, my lord. We need to.”

“Her death is long overdue. I gave orders for them to starve her in that temple, and they failed.” Kassandra had seen him give the order to kill Lodan’s entire village, she knew who her brother truly was, yet still, his words hit like a physical blow.

He hadn’t ignored her letters to return to the palace because of her visions or because he was too busy, he’d wanted her dead all along. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t feel anything inside.

She was completely cold. Remote.

If Lodan measured every Sardi by her brother, of course he’d hate them all. But not all Sardi were sycophants, bowing and shuffling around court for every scrap of wealth her father and brother could throw at them. There must be Sardi out there like her, who may have grown up with Sardi views but wouldn’t remain blinded by the lies. Who could see the truth.

Lodan wasn’t right about everything, but he was right about a lot. Every day she spent with him, he’d proven the Blood Laws were utterly false. Lodan behaved more like a king simply walking around camp and checking in with his men, than her brother ever had.

Lodan needed to win this war.

“We need her alive,” the squat man said. “We need the Dorians on our side. With them, we win this.”

Her brother hissed. “At what price? To have their disgusting hovels expanding into Anatolia? To have them mingling with us? My father already disgraced my family by taking a Dorian whore as his second wife. Look how that turned out. My sister has fits. We don’t need their blood mingling with ours.”

“We focus on obliterating the Myrdinian hoard. Rebuild. Then we chase the Dorians back into the mountain holes they came from.”

Yells punched through the air, followed by the clash of weapons on armor. Her brother whirled to the right. Myrdinians, with Lodan in his golden armor at the lead, flooded the courtyard. Her brother shouted, then whirled around, sprinting toward the back of the camp.

Time whipped forward in a blurred frenzy of flashing swords and horrible cries. Blood drenched the cobblestone courtyard, and men fell to the ground.

Lodan shouldered through the scrum, charging forward as if looking for something. Someone. A figure in shiny, black Sardi armor stepped out from the entrance to a grand building. A golden plume decorated his helm.

Her brother.

Time seemed to stand still as Lodan and her brother noticed each other. Her heart beat so hard in her ears, it drowned out the terrible sounds of battle around her. A deep sense of foreboding pressed on her. She was seeing this for a reason, and her visions were never good.

The two warriors clashed, sword to sword.

Their battle seemed to last for hours, but it may have been minutes. Lodan’s blows rained on Harl, stronger, harder, but her brother was swift and could block and parry better than she expected, considering how much his sword masters coddled him growing up. Lodan struck him hard along the side, and Harl staggered backward.

The king dropped to a knee. It seemed he’d bent over to draw in a breath, but Kassandra caught the flash of silver at his ankle. The poisoned blade.

Her stomach dropped, and she tried to run forward, but the vision kept her locked in place. “No!” She screamed as loudly as she could, but no one heard her.

Her brother fisted the small dagger. She kept screaming as Lodan raised his sword to level a chop at Harl’s head. Harl swung upward, and buried his poisoned dagger deep into Lodan’s lower ribs, right below where his armor ended.

She screamed so loudly she thought her throat would rip apart.

Lodan’s blow skated harmlessly over Harl’s shoulder. He lurched sideways. Her brother lifted his sword. “It’s over.”

The last thing she saw was her brother’s sword arcing down.

The tall trees swayed behind Cian from her position on the ground. Bile rose into her throat, and she jerked to a sitting position. She curled forward and heaved, but nothing came out.

“Are you all right?” Cian rubbed her back. “What is it? What did you see?”

Clara stood next to him, panting. “What’s wrong? I heard Kassandra fell.”

“I think she had a vision,” Cian said. “Xander told me she gets them.”

“She’s a seer?”

Kassandra barely heard them. The prophecy was real. Lodan was going to die.

A memory surfaced of their time together when she was in heat. It pushed aside Cian, Clara, and the rest of the bustling market center.

It was of Lodan holding her in his arms and coaxing her to drink some water in between bouts of coupling. She nestled deeper into his chest, feeling blissful. Happy. That special feeling.

He used the back of his knuckles to wipe a strand of hair from her face. “You slay me.”

“What?” She’d struggled to keep her focus on him so she could hear him through the haze of her heat. Understand his words.

He purred, the vibration rumbling through her. “I traveled halfway across the world to get the best armor, but it doesn’t work with you. You’ve gotten inside me.” He kissed her, his lips warm and gentle.

She brushed her fingers over his cheek.

“I can’t fight it anymore. I want you there.” That was when he’d rolled her onto her back and taken her slowly. As if he’d cherished her. He’d spoken her name as if it were beloved. Tangled his fingers with hers above her head, and whispered his mouth over hers. When he’d released inside her, sealing them together again, his lips went to her ear, and he said, “I don’t care who you are. I want you because I can’t imagine not having you beside me. I want to do this, exactly this, every day for the rest of my life.”

The memory faded.

Certainty flooded through her. Those words weren’t idle twaddle. Not from a Myrdinian. Not from him. They were his words. The words a bondmate would say.

A warmth uncurled deep inside her and thrummed. It pulsed with certainty. And it spoke clearly for the first time.

This was what Cian meant when he said to sink into herself to learn the truth. The truth was there; it had been there for a while, and it could finally come to light.

He hadn’t looked at her with hate. He hadn’t looked at her with lust. This was Vasick, looking at her like he would look at his mate.

At his bondmate.

Kassandra lurched to her feet. “I need to go to Lodan. I need to get to him. Right now.”

“The Myrdinian battalion left early this morning,” Clara said.

“I need to follow them. He’s going to die.” She whirled around. “I need Zephyr, and I need to find Greta. Or her healing kit. Wherever the poison antidote is.”

“Poison?” Clara laid her hand gently on Kassandra’s shoulder. “Let’s take a minute and think about this.” She turned to one of her assistants. “Get some water.”

“No.” Kassandra peered upward. The sun was still low in the sky. “It may happen today. I need to warn him.” She spotted the path to the Myrdinian camp and ran.