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Emyr is the Prince of Zulgalros.

The bloody prince…

I still can’t wrap my head around the idea, even as he stands before me.

I’m a fool for not figuring it out sooner.

All the signs are there, from the way the palace staff treat him to the way he carries himself.

I truly thought he was just arrogant or hideously ugly, which is why he always wore the helmet, but no —it was to hide the truth.

His bright amber eyes sparkle against the darkness of the night, and they’re solely focused on me. There are small dimples in the corners of his mouth as he displays a realm shattering smile.

Is this what he’s been hiding behind the armor?

If so, perhaps he should always hide it away so no one else can see it because…

Holy Celestae!

He’s even more devastatingly handsome up close. I’m pretty sure I could cut glass with his chiseled jawline.

Imagine all the vases I could make with all that glass…

Maeva, my dear, I do believe you’re drooling, Saoirse chuckles.

That’s beside the point, I snap back.

And what IS the point then, my dear? Saoirse inquires.

The point is that he’s here, he’s beautiful, and he lied to me. He hid this part of himself from me just when I thought we were being vulnerable. So, why not reveal his identity when we were alone? Why reveal this so publicly to me now? I reply, confused.

Technically he didn’t lie, my dear. He just omitted parts of who he is, Saoirse says.

That’s the same thing as lying, Saoirse, I snap.

Perhaps to you it is, but you’ve hidden things from him as well. So don’t hold him to a standard that you don’t abide by yourself, she replies.

Bloody Celestae, she’s right.

I haven’t admitted that I have a random voice in my head that speaks to me.

I suppose we both have secrets we desire to keep to ourselves, but it still doesn’t take the sting away.

Bloody voice, I grimace.

All that matters is that you know that I’m right, Saoirse retorts.

“Maeva,” Virgil’s voice pulls me out of my stupor. “Do you wish to dance with Emyr?”

Apparently, I’m still staring at Emyr like a daft idiot, because the prince is quite amused.

The cheeky twit.

I tilt my head higher. “No,” I say. I attempt to turn back toward Virgil when Emyr’s firm hand wraps around my arm.

“Maeva, I insist,” he replies, his tone suggesting there’s no room for argument. “This is a request of the king, Rosey. It would be rude to deny his command.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I groan. “ Just one dance.”

Emyr grins, definitely a feature he inherited from his father. “That’s my girl,” Emyr coos.

Heat crawls up my neck as a blush overwhelms me.

Virgil clears his throat then, regaining Emyr’s attention. “You’re dismissed for now, Virgil. I’ll signal to you if you’re needed,” Emyr says.

Virgil tenses at the command, but nods nonetheless. “I’ll be at the drink table should you need me,” he growls, stalking away.

Emyr pulls me in close to his body, his large palm resting on my waist. The other clasps my free hand firmly.

The next haunting melody begins, but this one sounds different from the ones previously.

Something about it reminds me of life and death, growth and decay, beginnings and endings.

It might be the most beautiful ballad I’ve ever heard, as Emyr twirls me around the dance floor.

I can’t bring myself to look at him for fear of embarrassing myself by ogling him.

So instead, I glance around the garden, watching the guests.

I notice that several have stopped and are observing Emyr as he spins us in time to the music.

Some are even whispering amongst themselves, pointing in our direction.

Unable to handle feeling further like a specimen, I look at Emyr only to find that he’s no longer smiling.

I assume that’s from a certain someone’s gaze lingering on us.

I’ve been aware of Tiernan’s watchful eye from the moment that I entered this evening, but I wasn’t expecting everyone else to be curious as well.

Interrupting my assessments, he whispers, “You’re a divine dancer.”

“As are you, my prince,” I retort.

Emyr winces, but spins me away from him before catching me once more on the retrieval spin. We continue to dance along with the beat in silence. Emyr’s grip tightens around me slightly, the muscles of his jaw working overtime as he ponders something.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers after a few moments.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I inquire.

“It was a last-minute decision,” he replies.

“No, I mean why didn’t you tell me you’re the prince, Emyr,” I say. “Also, why has no one addressed you as such except for tonight? ”

Emyr’s throat bobs, and for some reason, I find it mesmerizing. “It’s complicated,” he whispers, his amber eyes boring into mine as if trying to relay everything he wants to say through one look. Unfortunately, when I don’t know the history, it’s hard to understand.

“Lucky for you, I’m quite well-versed in understanding complicated things,” I reply.

I catch the slightest movement of his chest as if he’s trying to stop a laugh from escaping.

“Quite lucky, indeed,” he says.

“Yes, my prince,” I retort. “Now, are you going to tell me, or am I just supposed to read your mind?”

Emyr sighs, rolling his eyes. “My father doesn’t like anyone knowing I am the prince,” he says. “At first, I believed it was for my protection. As time went on, and I was only referred to by my rank amongst the soldiers, I realized it’s because he hates the idea that I could challenge his power.”

“Have you ever tried to challenge him for his throne?” I ask.

“No. I’ve been loyal to a fault. Maeva, I never questioned that decision even though I hated no longer being known as his son,” he replies.

“As I grew older, I was taught to see it as a blessing. All the former nobility of Malvoria were slaughtered after he invaded, and the nobility’s replacements were none the wiser.

Who would desire to be known as the son of the Demon King of Zulgalros with his dark abilities?

I never wanted to use my title again if it meant I never had to be attached to him beyond a working relationship. ”

“So, why claim the title now?” I ask, trying to put all the pieces together. “Why risk putting yourself through that kind of scrutiny?”

The air thickens, and Emyr stops swaying us as his molten eyes roam over the planes of my face with such intensity… Perhaps even longing. “For you,” he whispers.

I blink rapidly, feeling lightheaded. “Me?” I respond .

He nods slightly, swaying us once more. “This is retribution for what he did to you,” he replies. “Under my loyalty oath, I can’t physically harm him or those closest to him, but I can make him squirm.”

I scoff. “You didn’t have to do th?—”

“I’d do it a thousand times over to see him rattled,” he interrupts. “Likewise, if you haven’t noticed, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Rosey.”

His deep, honeyed voice causes a shiver to roam over my spine.

Though his eyes and features remain hard, I hear the tenderness behind his words.

There’s a kindness deep within this coarsened man that others, like the king, would desire to see eradicated.

All they care for is the destruction his power can bring.

Yet, all I see is a man with a golden heart that could lead his kingdom to greatness.

He’s so much more than the abilities he wields.

Shame on the whole bloody court for not seeing it.

“I’m sorry about what he did to you,” I say, changing the topic. “I don’t understand how a father could do that to his child if he truly loved them.”

Emyr sighs. “Don’t be sorry, Rosey. You’re not the one that needs to atone for their sins,” he replies. “Besides, he hasn’t been a father to me for a very long time. The man that I knew as king before my mother died isn’t the same man that now sits on that throne.”

My brows furrow. “Orla isn’t your mother?” I ask, intrigued.

Emyr quickly blinks away the tears brimming in his eyes. “My mother died when I was just a boy—an illness that we couldn’t understand,” he says in a raspy voice.

My heart shatters for the man before me. He’s gone through so much in such a short lifetime, yet he’s allowed me to sit in my grief. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I reply, squeezing his shoulder.

“We brought her to Malvoria to seek help from King Elias,” Emyr continues, “but he couldn’t save her from her fate, and my father has blamed him for it ever since.”

“Is that why he invaded Malvoria?” I ask. “For revenge? ”

Emyr chews on his bottom lip in contemplation. “Perhaps that was the goal initially, but I believe over the years his goals evolved as his influences changed,” he whispers sadly.

I don’t know what overcomes me, but I reach up on my tip-toes, cradling his cheek in one hand.

My pulse races as my thumb traces back and forth along the stubble at his jawline.

Emyr’s entire body stiffens, and something breaks within me that this poor man is so unused to being loved that he’d cower away from being comforted.

His eyes hesitantly search mine. “You deserve more from a father than what you have received,” I say.

“You’re more than what you were made to be. ”

His large fingers dwarf mine as he softly removes them from his cheek. A sad smile briefly crosses his mouth as he clears his throat. “Thank you, Rosey,” he whispers, as he places his hand on my waist once more, but this time, his grip is firmer.

“Of course,” I reply, settling into his touch.

We continue to step in time to the haunting song, swaying and twirling when appropriate.

His eyes never leave mine and something about this moment is one I believe will live in my memory for all-time.

Even with everyone watching us, I only see him standing before me.

He might be my shadow, but I’d gladly be his light.

We’re just two lost souls that were fractured and broken, but somehow helped make the other whole.

I’ve finally met the man behind the mask, and he’s more than he’s given credit to be.

As the last crescendo rings out, we know our moment has come to an end.

The crowd erupts in applause, reminding me they’re still here.

Emyr looks behind me, and whatever he sees has him quickly stepping away.

I’ve never seen his expression so calloused.

Before I can ask what’s wrong, a tall presence towers behind me.

Emyr drops into a bow, and I fear turning around to face the one causing the hairs on the nape of my neck to stand.

Whoever is behind me is standing close—too close for my comfort.

I’m about to demand they move away when I feel a breath against the shell of my ear as a familiar voice purrs, “I believe it’s my turn, my darling. ”