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I’m grinning as I walk down the corridor toward the Cadres’ chambers. I hardly notice the shrieking spirits or temperamental palace staff, and it is all because of her.

The quirk of her lips when she finds something amusing.

The way her dark blue eyes light up when she’s happy.

How I wish she were happy more often because her joy brightens this dreary realm.

The way her cheeks deepen when I am near.

The feel of her hand in mine.

I wonder what it’d feel like, touching her without my gloved armor between us.

Even her bloody tantrums intrigue me.

Every time I’m with Maeva, a deceased part of me spurns back to life within my chest. There’s a glow to her that reminds me of contentment and dreams that I could’ve had were I not confined to this life.

Yet, I desire to dream.

I want to do so with her by my side because I feel less alone when she’s near.

She’s the balm to my weary soul.

Suddenly, unease prickles along my spine as I round a corner.

“You ssssssseem lighter, High General,” Domhnall calls out.

If I wasn’t already used to the soulless creature’s appearances, I would’ve sent my shadows to snake around the urchin.

However, I can’t harm the creature since Tiernan decreed that injuring the Scythe was a death sentence for any that dared.

If I defy his orders, the brand on my chest throbs, cutting off my air supply—disabling me.

Cursed oath.

My gaze meets the eerie red eyes of the hideous creature.

“Indeed,” I say, nonchalantly. “It’s the fact that I haven’t had to stare at your disturbing face for the last two weeks. Truly, it does wonders for my well-being.”

Domhnall hisses.

“I’m referring to your conversssation with—what did you call her—Rosssssey, isssss it?” he retorts.

My blood chills as I clench my fists.

“Her name is Maeva. You misheard, Domhnall. Perhaps you really should get those holes in the side of your head checked to make sure they still work properly,” I reply coldly.

My sarcastic comment doesn’t seem to phase the creature as he continues.

“Hisssss majesssssty will be ssssso disssspleassssed to hear that hissssss sssssson confidesssss more in her than him,” he taunts.

Though Domhnall can’t see it, I’m about to break a tooth from the pressure of my clamped jaw.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” I retort.

The Scythe leans its head to the side. “I never had a mother,” he responds.

“Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t be so insufferable,” I quip.

“You sssssssseem quite taken with her,” he says, turning the conversation. “And ssssssheee ssseemssss quite fffond of you. Are there romantic feelingssss, General?”

Bloody urchin.

For the last decade, he’s ruined any ounce of merriment I’ve found. The king desires to be the only one to whom I’m loyal. Even with the Cadre, I have to pretend to only be High General to keep them safe, so he won’t harm them.

If he were to believe my loyalty is elsewhere, I fear he would hurt her—even if she is his prize.

My posture stiffens as I straighten to my full height.

I can’t allow that.

I shouldn’t have been so careless—even within her chamber. I should’ve known Tiernan would have Domhnall spy on my every move. Even in private, I’m still a prisoner.

I’ll never truly be free.

And I brought Maeva here to receive the same fate.

I’m na?ve to believe that I deserve even an ounce of joy, especially when Tiernan takes it away so easily and I?—

I would be forced to watch.

“I’ve been given orders by the king to protect her and nothing more,” I snap. “How do you mistake my false kindness for fondness? Are you aware that I use similar ploys with others—in order to gain trust—or have you forgotten what I’m capable of?”

My shadows unfurl from me, creating a terrifying web of darkness around me.

“Come now, Domhnall,” I say, placatingly. “You know better than to think such flowery notions about the king’s High General. Are you sure that you aren’t the one infatuated with her? I’m sure she’s more suited to your liking than my own.”

A sour taste coats my mouth as I spit the lies.

Though Domhnall eyes me suspiciously, he allows the subject to slide. “My apologiesssss, High General,” he replies.

“Remember your place,” I growl. “You forget I’m still the Prince of Zulgalros, and therefore your superior, regardless of what the king thinks. Be sure your accusations have some basis before you waste my time.”

I back away from the bloody urchin, turning back toward the corridor. “Go,” I command. “I’m sure there’s someone that you can annoy. I have better things to do than to tarry here with you.”

Domhnall curls his long skeletal fingers. “We ssssshall sssssee where your loyaltiessss lie,” he hisses.

The hairs on the nape of my neck settle once his presence is gone. However, my body is on high alert as I continue down one corridor, and then another.

It’s only when I near the Cadre’s quarters that I unclench my fists and my shoulders sag.

A fool .

I’d been a complete fool to entertain what it might be like to care for her—to have a future with her. I’m cursed in this hell of an existence, so such luxuries will never be in the cards for me.

What good is it to be the strongest Galrosan in centuries if I’m eternally chained to a mad king?

I bang on my Cadre’s chamber door.

While I have my own private quarters, Tiernan gave my friends adjoining rooms that connect into one central parlor.

Tiernan still treats them as if they’re like every other soldier in his ranks—cramming them into one area.

Perhaps he does this to see if it’ll irk me, as he enjoys putting me in my place any moment I’ve strayed too far from the path he desires for me.

I’m about to knock once more when the door swings open and Riordan greets me. “High General,” he says sharply .

I stride past him into the large sitting area. Laisren is already suited in his armor, while Virgil and Riordan are still getting dressed—their faces already shaved and their hair is perfectly groomed.

I sigh, removing my helmet in the company of my friends.

“What is it, Emyr?” Laisren asks. His nostrils are flaring as his hand tightens instinctually around the hilt of his blade. Sometimes, I forget that the beast within him sharpens his already well-honed senses, especially when the scents of fear or distress are on an individual.

“Domhnall,” I reply.

“How’s the bloody Scythe vexing you today?” Riordan groans.

“It must have something to do with Maeva,” Laisren replies.

I furrow my brows quizzically.

In the corner of my eye, I notice Virgil tense at the mention of her.

“Why would it have something to do with her?” I ask.

“Surely you jest,” Riordan laughs. “The tension you carry lightens when she’s near, Emyr.”

I roll my shoulders back, clearing my throat. “I always look this way.”

Riordan shakes his head. “No, mate. You’re always so tense, yet even in your disagreements with her, you seem… playful ,” he says, wiggling his brows on that last word.

Laisren nods in agreement, but Virgil continues to dress in his armor, apparently not wishing to weigh in on the matter.

Is it that obvious that she amuses me?

If they saw that in the few days we traveled together, how obvious was it to Domhnall?

I cannot allow this to happen.

“You’re mistaken,” I retort.

Laisren quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Indeed,” I reply. “She’s my assignment. You know as well as I do that we’re to watch over her. In order to do that, she needs to trust me. You’ve seen me use similar tactics in the past. Why would Maeva be any different? ”

Laisren sighs, moving in closer to me. “What did Domhnall say to you, Emyr?” Laisren murmurs.

“It doesn’t matter,” I snap, turning my attention to the others. “I’ve dealt with it, so perhaps we should move on from this ridiculous conversation. I can assure each of you I feel nothing but repulsion for her.”

“So, you’re going to ignore the warmth that pours from her, soothing every ache in your heart?” Laisren quips. “I haven’t even seen her ability, and I feel the power and light that radiates from within her.”

“She’s bewitching you,” I chide. “Even if she is full of light, Tiernan will wrench every drop of it from her.”

Laisren throws up his hands, walking away from me.

I’m not sure why he’s angry with me when I’ve only spoken the truth.

Maeva will soon turn, just as the rest of us have, in order to survive.

Besides, once she unearths the sins that are buried deep within this palace, she’ll remember why she detests me.

Laisren gestures to the others. “Can one of you imbeciles make him see reason?” he asks.

“It isn’t a weakness to care about someone, Emyr,” Riordan interjects. “You’re too hard on yourself, mate.”

She already is my greatest weakness…

It’s best to leave things as they are, because I refuse to be the source of further pain for her.

She’s already endured more than enough to last three lifetimes.

“As I’ve already said,” I sigh, “I don’t have any sort of attachment to her. By all means, if you’re interested, perhaps one of you should pursue her. You each seem smitten with her—especially you, Virgil.”

Laisren and Riordan curse under their breaths, and I swear that Virgil’s one eye flares as he stands.

One of our oldest rules in the Cadre is that we don’t provoke anger in one another, but I needed a reason for their pestering to cease.

So, of course, I take advantage of the fact that Virgil is the most taken with her.

Is it my smartest maneuver?

No, especially since Virgil is quite lethal. Yet, here we are .

“What are you implying, High General?” Virgil growls.

“She’s quite attached to you,” I reply. “Why is that?”

“It’s none of your business, High General,” he replies.

Interesting .

“Are you secretly lovers?” I deadpan. “Did you woo your way into her heart in the middle of the night at the inn? Because for the life of me, I can’t figure out why she’s so taken with you.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. “Perhaps if you showed her any semblance of kindness, she’d extend you the same courtesy,” he snarls.

“So, you are lovers then?” I chide.

Virgil offers a devilish smirk. “Are you jealous, Emyr?” he sneers. “Does it scare you that someone, besides yourself, might actually care for her?”

I swallow thickly, my unchecked anger burning a hole in my gut. “Answer the question, Fourth Commander,” I snarl.

Virgil scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “No,” he whispers.

We stare at each other for several long moments, neither of us cowering from the other.

“I bet you ten silver coins that she chooses Virgil,” Riordan whispers.

Laisren laughs, then not so quietly replies, “I bet you twenty that Emyr will?—”

“Enough,” I command, pinching the bridge of my nose.

What in bloody Celestae is wrong with me?

Since when do I pick fights like a scorned teenager?

“I apologize for my behavior, Virgil,” I say.

The mysterious Galrosan nods his head, sitting down once more.

“Can we discuss the reason I’m actually here?” I ask, allowing my shadows to unfurl from me.

“Yes, High General,” they reply in unison.

My shadows dome around us.

“Let’s begin then.”