OF THORNS AND BEAUTY

TWISTED PAGES - BOOK ONE

ELLE MADISON
ROBIN D. MAHLE

WHISKEY AND WILLOW PUBLISHING

 COPYRIGHT
Of Thorns And Beauty: Twisted Pages Book One
Copyright © 2020 by Whiskey and Willow Publishing
First Edition
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are
the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover by Covers By Combs
Map by Enchanted Quill Press
Copy Editing by Jamie Holmes
 For Sarah and Gideon.
We will never think of Frosted Flakes the same way again.
“You are not hopeless,
though you have been broken,
your innocence stolen…”
— LAUREN DAIGLE
 CONTENTS
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Apologies for that cliffhanger….
A Message From Us
Elle’s Acknowledgments
Robin’s Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Also By Elle and Robin
“Y OU THINK YOU KNOW THE TALE AS OLD TIME , BUT YOU ’ VE
ALREADY GOT IT WRONG .

T HERE NEVER WAS A BEAUTY AND A BEAST , ONLY A GIRL WHO

WAS BOTH .

A ND THAT GIRL WAS ME .”

 CHAPTER 1

I will never be free.

I have been chained for so long, I’m not sure I
would know what to do with freedom. And now, I will never
find out.
We’re nearly there now, my new prison.
Jokith.
Even the name sounds cold and brutal.
Just like its endless frozen landscape. Just like the rumors
of its beastly king, the man I will soon belong to.
Tales of the seclusive warrior people run wild.
Whispers abound of how they drink blood from the skulls
of their enemies, of the beasts they become on the battlefield
and the bodies they leave torn in their wake.
I shiver at the thought. It will be interesting to navigate the
facts from falsehoods.
It’s not like I had time to do any real research. Six hours.
That’s how much notice I had before I left on a journey that
would change my entire life.
Six hours to hear the barest details about this kingdom and
its king, my soon-to-be husband. Six hours to sit perfectly still
while my wedding markings were inked onto my arms and
wrists, remnants of a culture I can hardly remember.
Then, eight solid days to dwell on all the goodbyes I didn’t
get to say.
 I want to scream.
None of this even makes sense. Arranged marriages
haven’t been done in centuries, even in the Eastern Lands.
It’s not surprising that a king would marry a woman a third
his age, but why one he’s never even met? For that matter, a
man in his position should have his choice of brides. What
prompted him to purchase a lady of middling importance from
a neighboring kingdom?
Madame is persuasive, but surely even she has no
influence over the Jokithan King…unless he truly is a
barbarian, and all he wants is a bride he could use up and
dispose of. Someone no one else would miss.
Icy tendrils edge slowly in through the window, and I can
feel them winding their way through my body, down to my
core. The handle on the carriage door mocks me with empty
promises of escape.
Damian notices my glance from the seat across from me
and gives me a cruel smirk. But it’s not Madame’s watchdog
who keeps me from fleeing.
It’s not even the day-long trek back to the inn at Colby in
my silken slippers and thin wedding ensemble. Truthfully,
facing a blizzard with no clothes at all would be preferable to
the future I’m hurtling toward.
The reasons I don’t flee are my sisters.
The few lady’s maids who were sent with me stare ahead
with dead eyes and lifeless expressions. Even when they
shiver and struggle to keep their seats in the jostling carriage,
their expressions don’t change.
The only time they show any emotion at all is when they
cringe after capturing Damian’s wandering eye.
He brushes his knee against mine, watching my face for
any sign of the reaction I refuse to give him, though my skin
crawls at each point of contact.
“This plan has been a long time in the making,” he says in
the eerily calm tone he always uses. “Try not to ruin it.”
 “Perhaps I would be more likely to succeed if Madame had
seen fit to give me more than half a day’s notice,” I shoot
back.
His features turn feral.
“Mother, you mean.”
I swallow a gag. She is not my mother. She’s not even my
aunt, as the castle has been led to believe. She’s just the
woman who took everything from me.
But for all that she bribes and tortures the rest of the world
into submission, Damian follows her out of sheer devotion. In
turn, she lets him off his leash to be a sadistic monster.
Already, I fear for the ladies in the carriage when I leave.
But that’s one more thing I have no power to control.
“Yes, of course. Mother.” At least, I can try not to provoke
him. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Good,” he smiles, but there is no warmth to it. “We all
know what happens when you aren’t at your best.”
And there it is. The reason I am here at all.
My sisters would pay for my disobedience. Hadn’t they
before?
I take a deep breath, willing the emotion from my face.
The carriage rattles and shakes as we draw nearer the
ancient gray stone walls ahead. With each bump and jolt, my
stomach sends waves of nausea through me. I focus on what
lies beyond the frosted window — anything to distract myself.
The top of the castle and the outer walls surrounding it
come into view at last. The enormous façade is outlined by a
lifeless, overcast sky and the black, choppy waters of the canal
that encompass it.
The slow groan of an iron gate rattles the world around us,
a foreboding greeting playing out in each clink of metal as it
lifts high enough for our carriage to pass through.
Ahead of us stands Castle Alfhild, a massive edifice of
dark, imposing turrets.
 Morbid curiosity takes over as I scan each menacing brick
and snow-covered tower. The castle has exactly one splash of
color. Almost as if it was an afterthought, a single stained-
glass window sits high above in one of the spires, mocking me
with its depiction of a black-stemmed, blood-red rose.
Rose.
The word is like a curse that follows me everywhere I go.
I sit up straighter, pushing the thought and its painful
associations out of my head. I smooth out the skirts of my
beaded red bridal outfit, more to occupy myself than because I
actually care.
Because I need to think about anything other than my
frantically beating heart and the ceremony ahead that will
surely break what’s left of it.
“You look lovely, Lady Zaina.” Damian twirls a lock of my
midnight hair around his finger, his words dripping with a
vulgar sort of lust.
His other hand reaches up my thigh, and I sit perfectly still,
forcing a playful smirk to my lips. Slapping him away would
only invoke his wrath, and I wouldn’t be around long enough
to subdue it.
“Thank you,” I say with a wave of my finger. “But no
touching. We’re nearly there now, and I wouldn’t want to give
my new husband the wrong idea about our relationship.”
He laughs, and it only encourages my nausea.
“Don’t kid yourself, Zaina. It’s not like anyone could
mistake you for a virtuous bride, even with this.” His fingers
play along the chain that runs from my golden nose ring to my
matching ear cuff.
“And as far as our relationship.” He says the word like it’s
something dirty, and I fight the urge to shudder. “I know
Mother has had her reasons for keeping me out of your bed,
but there will be time enough for that down the line.”
I swallow down the bile building in my throat, my smile
freezing on my face. I don’t need anyone to remind me that
I’m tainted goods. Damian knows better than anyone that
choice was never mine.
A few more moments pass by in silence until we finally
come to a rocky halt. Damian steps out of the carriage to be
met by a shadowed figure that towers over him. A man, I
realize.
They converse in low tones until I hear the clipped edges
of the sadist’s words, enough to realize that he’s upset.
I can’t hear what the newcomer is saying, but the whispers
that linger at the end of each syllable send tremors down my
spine. Their conversation is a brief back-and-forth until
Damian rips open the door. His dark eyes are furious, but his
voice is calm when he speaks.
“Looks like I won’t be allowed to so much as walk you
in.”
I bite back a satisfied smile at his frustration. I’m not sure
why he expected anything different when we had known I
would face this alone.
I give the servants one last glance. I wish I could help
them, but I can’t even help myself at this point.
Reluctantly, I take Damian’s hand to step out of the
carriage. The man who had been speaking to him is now
visible, and it takes everything I have to face him bravely.
This is it. There’s no turning back now.
I force my chin a little higher, refusing to play the part of a
startled animal facing the den of a hungry beast. This king
cannot be worse than anything I have faced in my life already.
A beast he may be.
But I am a far cry from being anyone’s prey.
 CHAPTER 2

“L ady Zaina.” The man’s voice is more unnerving

than the imposing castle in front of us. “Welcome
to Castle Alfhild.”
He is covered from head-to-toe in black and grey, and his
hands are gloved under his dark, hooded cloak. But what
stands out most is the mask he wears with dark rounded lenses
over the spaces for his eyes, punctuated in the middle by a
long, sharp beak. A silver wolf’s head is stitched into the side.
Do all of the servants here wear masks, or is this a
personal quirk?
I give a small dip of my head.
“I apologize again for this necessity,” the man says.
Somewhere through the formal tone and the hissing
syllables in his voice, I can detect sincerity, but that could
mean nothing. I’ve heard Damian apologize in that same tone
right before he takes a man’s life.
It does pique my curiosity, though. Why would it be a
necessity for a bride to have not a single friend at her own
wedding?
Another group of servants joins us. Those with more
feminine forms under their black and gray clothing wear veils,
too thick for me to make out their features. The men all wear
the beaked masks.
A northern wedding custom? Or something else?
 Damian hands off my trunks to them with more force than
necessary.
“I’ll miss you.” He winks.
His words creep up my spine as surely as the mountain air
does.
Then he returns to the carriage, and I am almost relieved
before I remember what faces me on the other side of the
imposing doors.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, at last. My name is Leif, and I
am at your service.” The man offers his arm, and I hesitantly
reach up my hand to wrap around it.
At nearly five-and-a-half feet, I am considered tall for my
people, but these servants make me look like a child. Leif is no
exception. His proffered elbow nearly reaches my shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, I put one frozen foot in front of the
other.
The doors open with a groan, and Leif leads the way. The
other servants aren’t far behind, but they veer off to take my
trunks to another part of the castle.
Earlier, I had thought of this place as a prison, and it’s an
apt description for the dark stone walls we wind our way
through. I try to focus on the rooms we pass, making mental
notes of the places I see and every possible exit, anything to
differentiate these castle walls from the dungeons I grew so
familiar with at the château.
A small breeze whistles past, and I shiver, more from the
memories it stirs than the cold.
Endless nights in a darkness so thick, it was more like a
physical blindfold. The shadows would close in around me,
suffocating me, shutting me off from reality.
Why are there no windows here?
The hallways are lit by sconces on the wall, and it’s too
similar to the walkways down to the dungeons. I half expect to
hear the clinking of my own chains, the scurrying of creatures
staying just out of sight.
 How many times had Madame dragged me down there on
a whim? To teach me a lesson. To make me stronger.
She always had a reason.
During the wan light of day, I would stare at the sea water
trickling in through the cracks and wonder if it would keep
coming in, faster and faster until it covered over me and I
surrendered myself to an inevitable watery grave.
That’s what happened to most of her enemies. Why not
me?
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Leif’s voice startles me from
my thoughts. He’s studying me through his mask, like a
creature from my nightmares.
“Yes, very well. Thank you,” I say quickly.
His head turns to the side for a moment, as if he’s carefully
interpreting each word, before he nods and continues leading
us forward.
My damp slippers slap against black stone floors as I
shuffle along the fur rugs, following Leif to the enormous
entry room. For all its size, it’s unnaturally still and airless. A
massive fireplace sits on the far wall, but it is devoid of
flames.
If the castle is reflective of the king, it becomes clearer
why he has had to import his bride. Even the halls are
ominously empty, the only sound the weight of Leif’s left foot
gently scraping along the floor as he walks.
“Nearly there now,” he says over his shoulder. “We’re just
taking a quick shortcut.”
He leads me through a large door to the outside once more,
and I brace myself for the biting cold. I don’t complain,
though, because at least there is light here…and air.
Still, I bundle my cloak tighter around my bare midriff and
wonder if perhaps I was wrong before about drowning.
If instead, this world will be my frozen tomb.
 Leif opens another door at the end of the walkway leading
back indoors, and I force myself to follow him to the dark
interior.
“Nearly where?” I ask when he makes no move either to
the right or the left.
A naïve part of me is hoping he will say we’re nearly to
my rooms, but that doesn’t seem likely.
Instead, he gestures to the door directly across the hall and
it feels as if my heart has stopped beating. I hear the music
drifting from behind the wall before he can answer.
“The ceremony, of course.” His expressionless mask tilts
to the side as if he’s confused by my question.
Of course.
When I had been told to wear my bridal gown, I had
expected the marriage to happen today, but not before I had a
moment to use the privy or collect my thoughts, or, even more
ludicrous, to meet my groom.
Nothing for it now. I plaster a bland smile on my face and
head for the door. Leif’s gloved hand reaches out to stop me.
“Your cloak, My Lady.” He holds out his other hand.
I suppress a sigh. I’m not in a hurry to be any colder, but I
can’t very well walk down the aisle with my cloak on.
Handing it over, I give myself ten more seconds to breathe,
straightening the ruby dangling on my forehead and smoothing
out my silk headscarf. Once I’m finished, Leif nods his beaked
head and opens the door to the ceremony.
The candlelit aisle is lined with rows of pews, at least
twenty on each side, but only a handful of those are occupied.
Though the guests are dressed in rich velvets and furs, they,
too, conceal their faces with coverings similar to those of the
servants. The only differences are that the haunting masks of
the men are overlaid with fine silks, and the ladies’ veils are
embellished with thick layers of intricate lace.
The abundance of short swords and axes, even among the
women, makes me grateful for the knives I have hidden on my
person. At least I’m not going into this completely defenseless,
even if it feels that way.
Finally, I force my eyes to follow the path of the aisle to
the man who has kept his entire kingdom away from the rest
of the world.
I suck in a breath.
With everything I have seen in what feels like an
obscenely long twenty-two years, I had begun to believe that
astonishment — just like hope — is an emotion I am no longer
capable of.
But when I see what awaits me at the end of the dimly lit
room, I realize that’s only one of the many, many things I’ve
been wrong about.
 CHAPTER 3

S tanding at the end of the aisle is the king of Jokith, a

mountain of a man clad in gray and white furs with
an enormous axe strapped to his back and a short
sword at his side.
By all appearances, he looks more prepared for battle than
matrimony.
Or, are they the same in his mind?
But that’s not what surprises me. I wonder, for a moment,
if he is the king at all or if this is all part of an elaborate hoax.
King Einar is a solid sixty-five years old, but the man in front
of me appears to be no more than thirty.
My heart sinks. Is this how Madame arranged for me to
come here? Had she given him one of her potions? It’s true
that Jokithans live several times as long as the rest of the
world, but it never occurred to me that they wouldn’t age in
the meantime. Besides, no one looks this perfect without the
use of alchemy.
I shake the thought away. That wouldn’t make sense. Her
role as an alchemist is wholly separate from the one she plays
as a noblewoman.
His long white-blond hair is braided close to his scalp on
the sides of his head, far enough for his silver crown to rest on
before falling down in a straight line.
A slightly darker beard covers the lower half of his face; a
small braid is woven into this, too, ending a few inches below
his chin. A silver chain glints around his collar, dipping down
to fall under his shirt.
When his glacial blue eyes meet mine, I’m taken aback by
the fury burning within them. His gaze barely roves over my
figure before he stiffens, his knuckles going white around his
clenched fists.
Whispers sound throughout the small room as veils and
beaked masks lean closer to one another, likely to discuss the
king’s reaction to the strange new addition to their castle. Or
the fact that I’m still standing here, frozen as the world around
us.
Still, I don’t move. My legs have turned to marble, cold
and heavy and utterly unyielding. Mentally, I chastise myself.
I know better than to make a scene.
Einar scowls in my direction, a timely reminder that he has
all the power here.
Taking Leif’s proffered hand, I place one foot forward.
Then another, and another afterward. My heart beats a furious
rhythm within my chest, punctuating each halting step the
masked man and I take toward the end of the aisle.
When we stand directly before the king, Leif bows to us
both before moving to stand behind him at a place of honor.
Interesting.
Einar stretches out a massive hand for me to hold, and I
force myself not to cringe while placing mine in it. I can’t help
but notice that his warm fingers are calloused, one more thing
to set him apart from the noblemen I’ve known.
The officiant opens the ceremony in the aggressive,
clipped tones of the Jokithan language, and our wedding is
now underway. Einar repeats his vows in his own language,
promising things he has no business swearing to a girl he’s
only just met.
When it comes time for my vows, the man surprises me by
giving them to me in the desert language. The tongue of my
people. His accent is thick, but the words are there, clear as the
noon sun.
 My body goes rigid, and it takes everything in me not to
scream and run from this place as fast as I can. It is one thing
to vow my life and future to a man who is as foreign to me as
the language he speaks.
It is something else entirely to be forced to make promises
in my heart language that I never wanted to make in the first
place. Somehow, it makes me feel…exposed. Like one more
piece of me has been offered up for the taking without my
consent.
I close my eyes, trying to will calm into my breaths, but
the only thing I manage to do is morph my vulnerability into a
wave of white-hot anger. It’s an emotion that will get me
nowhere, though, so I shove it back down and repeat the words
I will never be able to give to anyone else.
When I am finished, the officiant holds a hand out to Leif,
who passes him something from the pocket of his cloak.
Rings, I register as he hands one to both Einar and myself.
The King takes my left hand in his and slides the delicate band
over my finger. I reciprocate the gesture with a quick,
impersonal motion.
“King Einar and his consort, Lady Zaina of Jokith.” The
officiant announces our union along with my new title and I
fight to keep my features neutral.
Consort? No one has used that title in half a century except
for the Emperor of the Eastern Lands, and even he only uses it
in reference to his concubines. Surely even Madame didn’t
agree to this, not with her aims.
Then again, she does love to see me humiliated.
I push back the heat trying to creep its way into my cheeks.
These people and their king will not see how this title affects
me.
The officiant makes an announcement with the word koss,
pulling me back to the moment. The king steps closer, his lips
curling in distaste as he pulls me roughly against him.
Before I can even brace myself, he has crushed his mouth
against mine. His scruffy beard is even more abrasive than the
kiss itself, scratching at the soft skin of my face.
I focus on that momentary discomfort instead of the
gesture that is as empty as our marriage would surely be.
 CHAPTER 4

A pplause rings out, and congratulations assail us both

from every direction.
I know I should at least be feigning the role of a blushing
bride, but I don’t have it in me to pretend. Not yet. I’ll have
enough of that to do tonight.
My jaw clenches at the thought, and I fight to at least keep
the half-smile I have on my face now.
The king nods in thanks but says nothing as we leave
through the open doors back into the hall. A guard closes it
behind us with a loud bang that echoes down the silent halls.
He doesn’t speak again or even glance in my direction as
he practically drags me along next to him, unaware or
unconcerned by his much longer strides. Just when I wonder if
he is intentionally fraying the edges of my sanity with this
endless walk, he finally drops my arm, halting before a solid
oak door guarded by two more hulking, and unsurprisingly
masked figures.
I move forward as soon as one of them opens the door,
ready to get this cursed ordeal over with. When I take a step,
the king does as well, practically barreling over me with his
giant form.
The servant coughs on what I assume is a laugh as Einar
pointedly clears his throat. The brute is obviously unfamiliar
with chivalry. We stand locked in place, both waiting for the
other to budge, for what feels like an eternity.
 My lips part, and I am about to speak when Einar heaves a
sigh before he roughly grabs my wrist, pulling me into the
room. As soon as the door closes behind us, I carefully extract
myself from his grasp.
My other hand itches for the knife sewn into the skirts at
my side, though I know I can’t use it. This is what I’m here
for, but all the notice in the world would not have prepared me
for this moment.
“Blazing sands!” The words escape my trembling lips as I
squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath.
My stomach is leaden, and my heart races, but when I open
my eyes again, the king is watching me with an impassive
expression.
“What is the matter with you?” Einar’s voice is dripping
with condescension, but he makes no move toward me.
If anything, he seems to be putting an intentional space
between us, and I’m reminded of his extremely reluctant
wedding kiss. Looking around, I see he hasn’t brought me to a
bed after all. Only a dimly lit chandelier, an ornate porcelain
basin, and a black chaise lounge fill the small space we’re in.
“Did you bring me to a fainting room?” I ask my own
question instead of answering his, my brows furrowing in
confusion.
“Where did you think I was taking you?” He huffs.
Heat floods my cheeks, partly from embarrassment, but
largely from the fury that is slowly ebbing in, crowding out the
fear that has been driving it.
“The way you yanked me down the hall, what was I
supposed to think?”
He looks nonplussed.
“You should have said something if you couldn’t keep up.”
My last, fragile thread of patience splits apart with that
comment.
 “I’m beginning to see why you had to import your bride
with manners like these,” I snap. “Have you actually
encountered a woman before, or is this an entirely new
experience for you?”
His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to respond,
venom dripping from every word.
“I can assure you, I’ve encountered many a woman.” His
eyebrow raises, a cocky smirk playing on his lips.
“Just none that would stick around, then? I wonder why.” I
feign contemplation.
His expression goes flat, sharpening the angular lines of
his face and only emphasizing his barbarism. He looks me
over from head to toe, but there’s nothing flattering in his
gaze.
It’s predatory. Scrutinizing. The way he looks at me makes
me feel as though I’m wearing clothes far more revealing than
my bridal outfit. With another man, I might be afraid, but I
know the signs of a body thrumming with violent intent.
The king is not going to hurt me. At least, not physically.
Not yet. When he finally speaks, his voice is deeper and colder
than it had been when we said our vows or even a moment
ago.
“You should clean up, wife.” Einar points to the basin.
“There’s a feast in our honor.”
“Clean up what, exactly?” I counter, stopping myself
before I can ask why I’m allowed such a privilege now when it
wasn’t even offered before my wedding.
He gestures to my hands.
“I didn’t figure you’d want to eat with dirt on your hands,
but of course, that’s entirely up to you. All that is required is
your presence, not your cleanliness.”
Red flashes through my vision. I may have only vague
memories of my early childhood, but I remember dreaming
about my wedding day, about the privilege of having such
exquisite markings on my skin to let the world know I
belonged to someone.
I never imagined my life winding up here. With him.
Insulting me and my culture.
“Certainly. While I busy myself scrubbing at the very
intentionally and carefully applied bridal paint,” I use a
description I think the oaf might actually understand, “perhaps
you could spare a moment to remove the revolting animal
from your face.” I gesture to the braided beard with
unconcealed disgust. “I wouldn’t want it consuming your meal
before you get the chance.”
Einar’s jaw might have dropped, though I can hardly tell
behind the mass of hair. He visibly collects himself before
letting out an audible sigh.
“As much as I’m enjoying spending time in your delightful
presence, we should go, Zaina. My people are waiting.”
“Sadly, my feminine sensibilities are far too overwhelmed
with the emotion of this joyous union to leave just now.” I sink
down on the chaise pointedly. “It was certainly an astute move
on your part to bring me here. Truly, your understanding of my
weak constitution is most appreciated,” I add, noticing the way
his jaw tightens at my words.
For all of my bravado, I can feel myself spiraling. I’m
desperate for a moment to collect my thoughts alone.
He stares at me for a long moment with an expression I
can’t quite decipher.
“Very well then,” he finally says. “I certainly hope you
don’t starve.” He flashes his teeth in what is more a snarl than
a grin, like that thought is appealing to him.
What’s more is that he clearly thinks his comment will
sway me, like I’m some spoiled heiress who has never spent
the night hungry. If only he knew the consequences of gaining
an unsightly pound in my household.
But I refuse to think about the dungeon when I’ve finally
banished its images from my head.
 “I’m sure I’ll survive,” I reply with a smile that doesn’t
quite reach my eyes.
“Yes, of course,” he says, his body taut with tension. “The
fates would never be kind enough to grant me anything less.”
The fates haven’t been kind enough to grant it for me,
either.
I don’t say the words out loud. I don’t say anything at all
while he sweeps out of the room, slamming the door shut
behind him.
 CHAPTER 5

D espite my brave words, I already feel the gnawing

of hunger in my stomach. Part of me wonders what
it is that they’ll be serving for the feast, and another
tells myself that I shouldn’t care.
Before I can deliberate further, an eager knock sounds at
the door.
I’m fairly certain it isn’t the king. I doubt the man knows
how to knock, much less would bother with it.
The door opens, and in bustles a tall, round figure sporting
a black veil. With the wedding over, I’m beginning to wonder
if this is a custom all the time here.
“Æ, dúllan mín!”
I’m a bit taken back by her familiar greeting, so I respond
uncertainly.
“Hello.”
“You have even more beauty up close.” Her accent is
thick, and there’s something like wistfulness in her chirpy
voice.
“Can you see through that, then?” I finally ask what I’ve
been wondering since my arrival.
She halts, but whether she’s affronted by the abruptness of
my question or the veil itself, I can’t tell.
“Yes. I could not help His Majesty while not see.”
 I’m gleaning nothing from her carefully neutral inflection,
so I decide to push a little further. I need more information to
navigate the murky waters of this strange place.
“Surely, it would be easier to work without it, though.”
She lets out a surprisingly wry laugh for such a high-
pitched voice, shaking her head.
“I now understand His Majesty’s temper,” she says instead
of answering. “He is angry like wolf.”
I bite back a sigh.
“So, you’ve been sent to coax me to dinner, then?”
She bristles.
“I am not sent anywhere, Mistress, though why a bride
needs to be coax to come to her own wedding feast is very
much confuse to me.”
“I see.” My tone is clipped, my fury rising to the forefront
again. “Is it also confusing for you to understand why a bride
might want a moment or two to collect herself, to use the
facilities, or, odder still, be introduced to her groom before
their wedding?”
I don’t even mention whether it’s beyond the whole
twisted lot of them to see why I might have wanted a single
familiar face here. Though, at this rate, I wonder if the only
face I’ll ever be familiar with again is the king’s, considering
everyone else hides theirs.
My eyes sting unexpectedly, and I look down. I don’t cry.
Ever. It must be something else. The damnably frigid air,
perhaps.
When the woman’s posture slackens ever so slightly, I
want to disappear in between the freezing floor stones.
“It is not done, Mistress. A bride and groom are not see
each other on the day of marry. If you had —”
“No,” I interrupt her. “It is not done here.” I don’t need to
say the rest. That not a single consideration was given to my
needs, to my traditions.
 A beat of uncomfortable silence stretches on until I finally
break it.
“I apologize —” I drop off, not sure what to call her.
“You call me Sigrid,” she supplies. Or orders?
“I apologize, Sigrid,” I tell her sincerely, lifting my fingers
to massage my throbbing temples. “I know none of this is your
fault.”
She huffs and waves her hand.
“Do not have worry. I am sure you had long journey,
Consort Zaina.”
Another stilted moment passes as I cringe at the title my
husband has bestowed upon me before she reluctantly speaks
up again.
“I suppose you do not want hear this, either, but is no good
to stay shut up in this room. In Jokith, the union is not being
final until the partake.”
“Partaking?” I parrot back to her.
“Yes.” She pauses and scratches her cheek through the
veil. “The two of you have witness when you partake what the
other offers.”
I freeze in my pacing, mouth agape. Either the language
barrier is stronger than I thought, or she’s suggesting our
wedding night will be performed in front of others.
I run through my knowledge of the ice kingdom and come
up short. No one engages in public consummations anymore.
Not even Jokith can be that archaic.
“But, what about the feast?” I ask hesitantly.
Her head cocks to the side, the black fabric swaying below
her neck.
“That is where it is happen.” She sounds confused, like it’s
obvious.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say under my breath as
I clench my fists.
 “This is usually considered not a hardship, Mistress.”
I say nothing, because I can’t imagine the type of woman
they breed here if that truly is the case.
“Come, Mistress. It is over before you know.” Her tone is
softer this time.
I finally find my voice.
“And just where is this…” I search for her words,
“partaking to occur?”
She stops and turns back toward me, her head tilting to the
side the way I’ve seen birds do when they are listening to
something.
“In dining hall, of course.” Again, she sounds bewildered
by my confusion.
And again, I am stunned into silence.
The dining hall? I wonder if there are furs on the ground or
if he plans to take me right atop the cold stone tables.
I grit my teeth and curse the woman who forced me to
come here.
But of course, it scarcely matters how I feel, I remind
myself. Not to Madame, nor the king, nor anyone else in this
sands-blasted castle.
There is little use in delaying the inevitable. I muster all
the dignity I possess, but the words still come out baked with
resentment when I finally respond.
“Lead the way.”
 CHAPTER 6

“T he king is good man.” Sigrid’s incessant

praises of the king have not stopped since we
stepped out of the fainting room. I’m
beginning to wonder if he has a kinder twin brother I know
nothing about, or if the woman is truly insane.
If it was not for the signs of age in her voice and stature, I
would ask why she hadn’t married the king herself.
Perhaps she isn’t as keen on public dining table sex as she
pretends to be.
“Indeed.”
I should at least try to be charming, to ingratiate myself to
the people here rather than making them like me even less, but
somewhere between my frostbitten toes and my impending
“partaking,” I can’t quite dredge up the energy for courtesy.
The steady hum of conversation reaches me as we near the
dining hall, but once I round the corner, it cuts off entirely.
The sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor echoes
off of the cavernous walls as everyone stands to greet me.
Even Einar follows after a moment.
So, he is capable of chivalry. He just doesn’t bother when
his people aren’t there to bear witness.
A second examination of the room stops me dead in my
tracks.
Three long, empty, wooden tables with ten occupants on
each side are aligned parallel across the room. One smaller
table sits perpendicular at the end of the room, with only the
king and an empty chair beside him.
There is no food anywhere, even though I am decidedly
late. No servants stand by with covered tureens. Not so much
as a single stein of ale or glass of mead clutters the long,
rectangular tables of veiled and masked courtiers.
Just when I had begun to hope Sigrid simply possessed a
truly horrendous sense of humor, I can see she was neither
mistaken nor joking about what was to take place here.
I feel the blood drain from my face, and the ambience in
the room turns even more tense than it had been. I am acutely
aware of how very other I am here, in my red skirts with my
bared stomach, dripping with ornate jewelry yet covered in the
markings I now know they all believe to be dirt.
But I refuse to cower, or even to fidget under the weight of
their stares. I make my way to the king, where he holds out a
chair for me.
His face holds no sign of what’s to come, so I have little
choice but to take my proffered seat. Once I am settled, the
rest of the room follows suit. A lutist, likely the same one from
the wedding, starts up a subdued tune, and gradually, a halting,
stilted conversation overtakes the room. Though, none of it
seems to be directed toward me.
No, I have the immense honor of being at a separate table
with Einar as my only conversant, not that he has bothered to
glance in my direction since I sat down.
And here, I thought this ritual couldn’t get any more
awkward.
A servant places a chalice at my right, and I examine the
contents for hints of poison. It was impossible to grow up in
Madame’s household without a basic knowledge of alchemy.
Having watched her do everything from turning a prince into a
frog to outright murdering people, I had long since learned to
be cautious.
Fortunately, though, all I can discern here are dark and
frothy scents of barley and malt with a sweet, chocolatey
undertone.
“It’s just ale,” the king grunts without looking at me, but I
don’t miss the way his lips curl in disgust.
I resist the urge to glare at him.
“Obviously, you’re well-enough acquainted with it,” I
mutter, noting the sour note of the drink on his breath.
He takes a deep breath through his nose but doesn’t
respond. I take a tiny sip of the brew, letting it linger on my
tongue for a long moment before swallowing. It’s surprisingly
smooth, if a bit sweet. It’s that last part that gives me pause.
I hold my breath for a moment, but there is no burning, no
unexpected effects of any kind. Of course, it’s not doing much
to keep out the cold, either. What I wouldn’t give for a cup of
chai masala right about now, but I doubt the barbarian even
knows what that is.
A fireplace roars in the opposite corner of the spacious
room, but it offers no more warmth over here than my thin
bridalwear does. I will myself not to shiver, not to show any
weakness, but the idea of shedding even more clothing in this
room is nearly as unappealing as the ritual itself.
Several tense minutes later, a servant arrives with a
covered silver tureen. Einar slams his metal stein down on the
table several times, causing the ale inside to slosh out. The
sound is loud enough to get the attention of the room, and my
insides seize.
“What is on that tray? Why is it just for us?”
Einar gives me a puzzling glance before speaking to the
room in Jokithan. They all pound their fists on the table in
agreement with his words, and that’s when my husband deigns
to look in my direction.
“Are you ready?”
Is it my imagination, or does he look hopeful that I will
decline? That’s all the incentive I need to lift my chin and
answer in a strong, clear voice.
“Of course.”
 The tray is placed in front of us, the lid removed to
reveal…food. Just a bit of roasted fish and potatoes. He cuts a
small bit of potato, then spears it with his knife before holding
it out to me. I lean forward, taking the bite into my mouth and
deftly removing it from the knife with my teeth before he can
stab me.
His impassive gaze burns just a bit brighter while he
watches me but remains otherwise unchanged. He stares for
another moment, finally clearing his throat to remind me that
it’s now my turn.
Well, then.
I reach for a knife as well, though it’s more like a dagger,
and the handle was clearly designed for a hand much larger
than my own.
“Can you use that?” The king raises his eyebrows, and I
blink back a glare.
“You mean with my delicate constitution? I’m sure I’ll
manage, as long as I don’t faint first.” I stab the end into a
large chunk of potato with perhaps a bit more force than is
strictly necessary, then lift it up to Einar’s lips. Well, his
mouth, anyway.
Who can say where his actual lips are in all that mess.
He rolls his eyes, but dutifully plucks his bite off of my
knife, baring his teeth in the process.
The room gives a polite smattering of applause, and the
feeling of expectation begins to ebb away, but I don’t let my
guard down just yet.
“So,” I ask cautiously, “is that it? There’s nothing else?”
“Not meeting your lofty expectations?” The king
scrutinizes me for a moment, his brow lifting as he takes a
gulp of ale.
I narrow my eyes but don’t rise to his bait.
“I was led to believe that we would be partaking of… each
other…” I lower my voice so only he can hear.
 Einar’s eyes meet mine for a half second, and then he does
the last thing I would have expected him to do.
He laughs.
Eyes crinkling and deep, baritone chuckles, all while I sit
at his side, likely the butt of his joke.
Does this mean there is more?
“What did you call it?” he finally manages to ask.
“The partaking,” I say, then add somewhat defensively.
“You know, that whole wedding ritual you didn’t bother cluing
me in on.”
“That’s what you thought we were doing, and you still
came to the dining hall?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“Quite the exhibitionist I’ve married.” This throws him into
another fit of laughter at my expense while I glare at him.
It’s easy enough for him to laugh, the man with unlimited
power in a room of people who do his bidding, as though I
would have had a single sands-damned choice if that had been
our purpose here.
While he’s laughing, a man with a single silver star on the
beak of his mask rises from his seat at one of the other tables.
The king’s laughter cuts off abruptly, the mirth in his features
replaced by the stony face from our wedding.
Interesting.
The man slides toward us, his footsteps too muted to be
entirely casual. I suppress an arched eyebrow, guessing at his
purpose before he even reaches my side.
“Consort Zaina.” He stresses the title, like he suspects how
it rankles me. “We have not yet had the chance to become
acquainted. I am Lord Odger. I wish to offer my
congratulations.” The obsequious tone coming clearly through
his mask tells me I’ve taken his measure correctly.
Sure enough, he takes my hand with both of his in what
can only be described as a proprietary gesture. His fingers
stroke the inside of my wrist, making my skin crawl, but like
earlier with Damian, I don’t pull away.
 I feel the king’s gaze on me, though I refuse to turn in his
direction. Like it or not, I am a consort, not a queen. Einar may
as well have called me his plaything for all the power he’s
bestowed upon me, here in this place where he has made sure I
am without friends or allies.
Besides, Odger is hardly the first to touch me without my
consent, and I doubt seriously he’ll be the last, not in my
lifetime or even on this day. My wedding night still awaits.
“I confess, that was not my only reason for approaching,”
the man says, righting himself. “You looked to be freezing.”
His western accent is particularly prominent on that last word,
rolling the R and turning the Z sound into an S.
“It is warmer where I come from,” I respond
noncommittally.
Where is he going with this?
He answers my unspoken thought by reaching for his cloak
pin. His heavy fur is off his shoulders and around my own
with a speed that is unnatural, even to me.
The king is nearly as fast.
He is at his feet with his sword drawn in a movement I can
barely track. The tip of his blade presses into Odger’s bare
neck just enough to draw the tiniest drop of blood.
The casual violence from a man who was laughing less
than a minute ago is jarring. But then, I should have expected
no less. I knew who he was before I came here.
A man who would draw a sword on someone for daring to
offer me warmth in this frigid mausoleum he calls a castle. A
beast, as they say.
My opinion is solidified by the reticence of the room. The
king’s authority is absolute here.
Odger slowly holds his hands out in a gesture of surrender.
“Forgive me, My King.” He sounds not the least bit sorry.
“Knowing your lofty position precludes you from seeing to
such minor details, I only thought to make your bride more
comfortable in her new home.”
 Judging by Einar’s murderous expression, he hears the
thinly veiled scorn as plainly as I do. With his free hand, he
rips Odger’s cloak from my shoulders, not so much as
glancing down at me.
I scarcely have time to fight down a shiver before the king
replaces it with his own.
“I have seen to it. You will have no further need to
approach Lady Zaina. For anything.” Threat laces his words,
but he is more like a child refusing to share a toy than a man
protecting his wife.
This isn’t about my comfort. It’s about his property.
Odger returns to his seat, and Einar sits back down like
nothing happened, except for the thrumming of fury I can still
feel waving off him. The rest of the room takes their cue, but
the conversation in the air feels markedly more forced now.
I wait until their talking creates a steady hum again before
I murmur my next words through a smile as false as our
wedding kiss had been.
“Perhaps I should just stand still while you drop your
trousers right here to mark your territory on the ground around
me.” At his confused look, I add in an overly pleasant tone,
“That way, you wouldn’t have to suffer without your cloak.”
“If I’m suffering through this meal, it has nothing to do
with my cloak,” he mutters, sizing me up in a glance. “But I
could never deny a lady her wishes.”
He gestures gallantly for me to stand, and I shoot daggers
at him.
“I’m only saying that somewhere between our never-
ending vows and shoving potatoes down my throat, I would
think you had sufficiently staked your claim.” My cheeks
redden in anger, but I force my smile to stay plastered on my
features. “That you feel the need to continue doing so makes
me wonder what you might be compensating for.”
I want to take the words back as soon as they are out. I
can’t remember the last time I spoke without thinking, let
alone allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment this way. I
need sleep, and warmth. And my sisters.
But his next words duly remind me that it will be a long
time before I have any of those things.
“I guess you’ll find out.” He gives me a crooked grin, his
eyes glinting with something sinister. “Or have you forgotten
it’s nearly time for our wedding night?”
 CHAPTER 7

F or the second time in an evening, I find myself

off-kilter. I swallow, fighting to keep my
expression pleasant for the courtiers.
“Shouldn’t we finish the feast?” My attempt at
nonchalance falls flat.
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your
enjoyment of the meal.” He shoots me a phony smile, waving
a hand toward the food I scarcely touched, like he knows I
can’t stomach another bite.
All traces of my earlier hunger disappeared when the king
pulled his blade on a man for an offense as innocuous as
showing him up. For daring to care for what was his, whatever
the motives.
“I was only thinking of our guests,” I try again, though I’m
not sure why I bother postponing the inevitable.
“They’ll eat after we leave.” He says it like it’s obvious.
Perhaps it is, given the masks and his overdeveloped sense
of authority.
“Well then, Husband, I see no sense in making them wait,”
I say with a boldness I don’t feel, then stand from the table.
Even if I was hungry, I couldn’t sit here in good
conscience and stuff my face while they watched with empty
bellies.
Einar stares up at me for a moment before I see the
smallest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Either he knows I’m bluffing, or he’s pleased with himself and
where he imagines this night going. Regardless, he follows
suit and stands next to me.
A thud sounds, followed by another and another until
every beaked figure at the tables before us is slamming their
fists down on the table. Cheers erupt, and they stand and beat
their chests with the same fists, while the veiled figures
applaud.
I raise my glass back to them and chug the contents in one
go. If I’m going to endure this, I might as well have a drink
first…or several.
Neither of us speaks after that. An endless walk up a large
staircase and down three hallways with nothing adorning their
walls finally leads us to a large set of doors.
The engravings on the dark wood offer some of the only
adornments I’ve seen in the entire castle. I wonder if the
carver had meant for it to sit in a palace far more lovely than
this bleak prison.
Two large guards open the massive doors for us. If I
thought that Einar dwarfed me, he seems average compared to
the men who are protecting the room. That shouldn’t surprise
me, given their reputation of being a warrior people, but I’m
still getting used to being the shortest person in the castle.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he says in his deep, growling
voice.
“Do hurry…” I respond through gritted teeth.
The words are right, even if the tone is all wrong. His
glacial stare meets mine as he leans in to place a mocking kiss
on my hand.
“I wouldn’t dream of making you wait,” he adds before
turning to leave.
I wait to hear the click of the door closing before I collapse
in front of the blazing fire in the center of the room. I can
hardly breathe for the weight of the day, and the worst part
isn’t even over.
 At least I can finally kick off my damp shoes and burrow
my feet into the plush white fur rug. Pain seeps in as they
begin to thaw, but there is warmth as well.
My trunks are here and opened, the colorful fabrics in such
sharp contrast to the monotony of the room that I suddenly
find it unbearable. I’d rather not be reminded of home right
now. Of anything personal.
My eyes flit to the rustic table nearby. A decanter and two
glasses sit upon it. I lean over and grab the decanter, pouring a
few drops of the amber liquid into a glass. Swirling it around, I
take a sniff before dipping my pinkie finger into it and
bringing the drop to my lips.
It burns, but no more than ordinary alcohol. Between my
rapidly fraying nerves and the chill I can’t seem to dispel, I am
desperate enough to actually want some. I take a small sip,
then wait a few minutes. Nothing.
Another sip and I finally feel the heady warmth of the
alcohol beginning to work its way through me, numbing me,
just like I need it to. With some relief, I pour myself a heavy
dose of the amber liquid and drink it down before I can even
feel the whiskey burning at the back of my throat.
Liquid courage is all I can count on to get me through this
night, so I go ahead and fill it up a second time.
The crackling of the fire draws my attention back toward
the hearth, and I watch as the flames lick the air around it. For
a moment, I imagine I am one of the embers that dances away
from the blaze, flying through the air to freedom.
Minutes pass by — or hours, I’m not sure which — while I
imagine and dream of a different world, one where I have a
say in my future.
The sound of the door latching shut pulls me from my
pointless thoughts, and I stiffen. I am not ready for what
comes next, no more than I was when he left.
But then, is anyone ever truly ready to hand over their
body to a stranger?
 CHAPTER 8

I feel the king’s presence behind me, the warmth of

his body overpowering that of the fire in front of
me.
Slowly, I turn to face him.
With most men, I can immediately tell what they want
from me, but I’m finding it difficult to read the king. The rise
and fall of his chest tells me that he’s breathing quickly, but his
sharp features reveal nothing. He stands there immobile as a
mountain range, looking down on me like he’s expecting
something.
He’s too smart to expect me to run. And surely by now he
knows I’m not the type of woman who simpers. So, what is it
that he is so clearly anticipating?
The way he shakes his head is so subtle, I nearly miss it.
He moves toward the sitting chair next to the bed and slowly,
methodically unties the laces on his boots. He places them on
the floor next to him and stares up at me.
I swallow hard, walking toward the one feature of the
room I’ve been doing my best to ignore. I gulp down the
remaining contents of my glass just before it slips from my
hand, shattering on the floor.
“Are you drunk?” Einar asks as I sit down on the massive
bed that looks as if it was carved from one of the enormous
trees we passed on our way here.
The grooves in the wood resemble bark, and the branches
at each corner stretch upward toward the ceiling. I run my
fingers along the post, marveling at the craftsmanship.
Einar repeats his question.
I turn back too quickly, and the room begins to spin.
“I am never intoxicated.” My eyebrows raise in offense,
even as I teeter sideways. “I simply thought it would be less of
a burden on both of us if we were more…relaxed. I left you
some in the decanter. Help yourself.” I wave a hand toward the
table.
He moves to examine the nearly empty container and
crosses his arms. Then, he stares down at me like I am nothing
more than a fascinating marionette, playing a part he’s not
quite sure of while he towers over it all.
We both know what happens next. There is no use in
delaying it any longer. I preempt any attempt he might make in
removing my clothes and decide to do it myself. I wouldn’t
want him to wonder at the carefully concealed weapons
stitched into the fabric.
Pushing aside all the reservations that have no place in this
moment, I begin by removing the long silken scarf, carefully
disentangling it from my hair and letting it fall softly to the
ground. I capture his icy blue gaze with my own, noting that it
doesn’t waver from where it’s focused on my face. Only my
face.
Next, I pull down my heavy beaded skirts, neatly stepping
out of them. Again, his eyes don’t falter.
But when I place my hands on the short blouse that covers
the only remaining part of me, I swear I hear a sharp intake of
breath, though his expression is as resolute as ever.
I slip the top up over my head, shaking my hair out from
the ornate beading before I reopen my eyes.
This time, he has let the smallest molecule of that stone
façade slip. His gaze is heated, his lips parted, and his eyes
find their way slowly down my body.
Content with whatever power I have managed to wrangle
from this situation, I shoot him an arrogant smirk. He has his
strengths, and I have mine.
What I don’t expect is the way he stalks toward me,
closing the space between us until he has all but erased it.
Until I am close to being plastered against the freezing
leather of his belt and the warm, rich furs of his cloak.
Until I forget, for the tiniest increment of a moment, that
I’m not supposed to want to be here. To want any of this.
I lean toward him, in spite of myself and the way I have
done nothing but dread this moment for days. Tilting my head
up ever so slightly, my gaze travels from the chain at his neck
and up to his lips, which are slowly parting.
“Stop.” The words are not mine, but his.
I pause briefly, any warmth I felt moments ago being once
again stolen by this wintry castle and the people in it.
“What?” I ask in a voice that is unfamiliar, even to me.
Did he want to be the one who undressed me? Or is he
unhappy with what he sees? I look down to be sure nothing is
amiss, and nearly lose my balance.
Einar catches me with steady hands, careful to only touch
my arms and nothing else.
“Is something not to your liking?” The whiskey has made
me bold and reckless.
“Just put your clothes back on.” He clenches his jaw.
I narrow my eyes at him. Surely, he doesn’t mean it. That
would be too much to hope for. And it makes no sense.
His frame towers over mine, and I can feel the heat
emanating from him once again. Is that why he keeps the fires
so low? Because he is his own source of furious, unyielding
heat?
I fight down a shiver as my gaze moves from his piercing
blue irises to his full, parted lips.
We stand there for a moment, and not even my rapid
breaths dare to make a sound. He leans in, and it’s all I can do
to stop myself from leaning right back into him, stealing some
of his warmth for my own.
But he doesn’t tilt his head downward. Instead, he grabs
one of the heavy gray furs piled atop the bed and dangles it
next to me.
“If you were freezing earlier, you must be ice by now.” Not
unlike his tone.
I stand there, puzzled, abruptly aware of how very exposed
I am. Holding the fur in front of me, I back up to brace myself
against the tall, plush mattress.
Is he turning me down?
I war with feelings of relief and something else I can’t
quite figure out as I voice the question aloud.
“Isn’t this why you chose me?” If Madame’s alchemy
hadn’t come into this, my beauty is the only reason anyone
would have picked me from a sea of eligible ladies.
I had been called beautiful my entire life. My light brown
skin and my wide, almond-shaped, honey-colored eyes were
rare in these parts of the world.
Exotic.
I didn’t take any pleasure in it. That’s why Madame had
taken me to be part of her macabre family. It’s why I was so
useful to her.
And I suspect that’s why the king chose me as well.
Of course, that would mean his features are all his,
genetically. I tried not to stare at his perfectly chiseled jaw and
the unnaturally straight line of his aquiline nose.
He sizes me up with a glance that is almost cursory,
crossing his colossal, muscled arms before giving me his
answer.
“I didn’t choose you. My ambassador did.” He could be
reading a shipping ledger for all the inflection in his voice.
No malice. No anger. Only a calm, collected, factual tone
that has me steadily losing my grip on what’s real and what
isn’t. Trying to gather my thoughts and utterly unsure why I’m
staring this gift horse so directly in the mouth, I speak up
again.
“Regardless of what either of us wants,” I begin, my voice
going even colder than this stone floor. “Surely, we have to…
consummate, at some point?”
I stop just short of saying “produce heirs,” though that’s
really what I mean. It’s the main reason I was sent here.
His eye twitches infinitesimally, the first outward sign of
emotion I’ve seen from him. I tuck it away for future me to
think on, though I’m observing it through my swimming,
inebriated vision.
“Tempting as it is to spend this evening — or any — in
your delightful company, I’m certain I could find a more
appealing prospect elsewhere.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to decide how to respond,
but when I open them, he has vanished. There hadn’t been a
creak or the clink of the door latch shutting. He was simply
gone.
I’m left naked on my bed, confused and unsure, and worst
of all, completely unable to escape the dawning horror that this
is my life now, chasing after a man who clearly hates me for
reasons I don’t begin to comprehend.
And not chasing him isn’t an option I have. Things stand
to get much, much worse if I fail to produce an heir.
Especially when Madame finds out.
 CHAPTER 9

“I thought you want for breakfast, Mistress.”

The sound of Sigrid’s plucky voice and
bright rays of golden sun pouring through the windows pull
me from my fitful sleep. I want nothing more than to throw the
covers back over my splitting head and die.
“Here,” she says, resting a tray beside me on the bed.
One sniff of the savory meats has bile rising in my throat. I
sit up too quickly and barely make it to the other side of the
bed, grabbing the nearest container I can find and vomiting
every ounce of liquid in my stomach.
I use my free hand to hold both my hair and the golden
chain linked from my nose to my ear safe from the trajectory.
It isn’t until I’m finished that I realize it is one of Einar’s boots
that is the lucky recipient of my stomach’s contents.
Well, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving piece
of footwear, at least.
Sigrid comes to my side without hesitation.
“Oh, no. It must be the mountain sickness.”
“The what?” As in, the mountain of alcohol I consumed
last night?
“The mountain sickness, Mistress. It takes everyone when
they are first arrive.” Sigrid chuckles and helps me move my
hair away from the mess I’ve made.
 Ah, that explanation makes much more sense, and in no
way involves the several — or more than several — glasses of
the amber liquid I treated myself to. That, at least, is a relief.
My temples begin to throb again, and all I want is for the
mountain sickness or whatever it is to finish me off.
“I see the wedding night was success…” I don’t miss the
amusement in her voice as she picks up the pieces of my
wedding garb and folds them neatly across her arm.
“Yes. It would seem that way,” I croak out, throwing the
furs back over my naked form.
I remember last night in bits and pieces, mostly drinking
nearly an entire decanter of whiskey and then being rejected
by my husband.
Which begs the question, Is our marriage even secured
yet? Does he no longer wish for it to be?
If his ambassador chose me, what did he gain from any of
this? Einar clearly didn’t want me, and I was beginning to
wonder if he wished to be married at all, based on his behavior
at our wedding.
My spinning thoughts are interrupted when a panel of the
wall to my left slides forward with only a quiet shuffling
sound to announce its entrant. I am unsurprised by the motion,
having surmised there were passageways coming and going
from this room.
It’s the king. Of course. After his vanishing act last night,
it makes sense that he used a secret door.
I look up with more anticipation in my expression than I
had intended. It is warranted, though. At this point, he’s the
only person who can answer any of my questions.
If he can manage to string together more than two hateful
words today.
His expression isn’t hateful, though. It’s so neutral, it
borders on lifeless until his gaze snags on his defiled boot.
Even then, he only lifts a single silver eyebrow the barest
fraction of an inch before turning his attention to Sigrid.
 “Gooan morgin, Sigrid.”
“Gooan aptan, Úlfur.” She says the words insistently, her
tone a gentle chiding, and I can’t help but marvel.
Her head would not have been long attached to her body at
Villa Paradís, the château I had grown up in. Madame scarcely
let the servants speak at all, let alone refer to any of us with a
nickname, but the king doesn’t so much as blink at the
exchange.
So, he’s not opposed to showing kindness. He’s only
opposed to me.
Einar walks to the tray while Sigrid pours a steaming cup
of milk. My stomach flips again, and I press a hand to it,
taking a slow breath through my mouth.
Though he hasn’t directly looked at me once, the king
shoots me a sideways glance.
“The privy is through there.” He points to a small door. “If
you would like to empty the contents of your stomach into
something other than my boot.”
Sigrid turns to face him, her veil fluttering with the quick
movement, but I’m too focused on keeping my food down to
do the same.
“I just tell her about the mountain sickness.”
He looks me over with a deliberate slowness.
“Ah, yes. That must be what ails her.” His voice is
condescending, and if I could lift my head from this pillow, I
would throw it at him.
I just glare at him instead, but at least I don’t vomit. I’d
rather be caught dead than have him watch me run naked to
the privy.
Yes, things are going splendidly.
Sigrid makes a quiet exit, leaving me in a stilted silence
with my…husband.
“Do they always wear the masks and veils?”
 “Yes.” His clipped tone leaves no room for further
questions.
Swallowing back another round of bile, I gesture to the
passageway and try an attempt at humor to change subject.
Anything to make the man act like less of an ass.
“So, is that how you go to visit your more agreeable
wives?” I lift my lips in what I hope is an apologetic smile.
“Are there agreeable wives out there somewhere?” He
doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t quite frown either, so I take
it as a victory. “Sadly, it leads only to my own chambers.”
He sits on the foot of the bed near the tray, dumping nearly
the entire bowl of honey onto one of the bowls of porridge.
Adding a scoop of deep purple-colored berries, he proceeds to
drown the whole thing in milk before finally mixing the horrid
concoction together.
I grab my own bowl, carefully keeping the sheet close to
my chest, and begin to eat it plain. He looks on in clear
revulsion.
I sigh.
“Is there a reason you came into my rooms to pass
judgment on the way I eat my breakfast?” I quip.
His eyes narrow.
“And by your rooms, you mean the rooms in my castle?”
So much for him acting like less of an ass. His words are a
slap in the face, a cruel reminder that I have nothing here, not
even a small pocket of space to let my guard down long
enough to eat a sands-damned bowl of porridge the way I like
it.
I feel my face turn to stone while I attempt to collect
whatever vestige of dignity I can muster while naked in a bed
that doesn’t remotely belong to me.
“My mistake,” I say quietly. “In that case, do help yourself
to any pocket of sanctuary I eke out in this lifeless tomb of a
castle. It’s not as though I could stop you,” I add.
 He closes his eyes for a prolonged blink, and when he
opens them, they are completely devoid of emotion.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to see the rest of this…lifeless
tomb, then?”
Like is a strong word, but I need to know my way around
this place sooner than later.
“That would be helpful,” I answer honestly. “I can dress
and meet my guide within the hour.” The quicker I get out of
this oppressive room, the better.
“The staff is busy,” he all but snaps. “I will be your guide.”
Wonderful.
“All right, then,” I say, but even I hear the grim resignation
in my tone.
We finish our breakfast in silence before he leaves me to
dress.
 CHAPTER 10

I meet Einar just outside my room. My sapphire

gown is a stark contrast to the monotones around
me, which must be why his eyes are fixated on me
from the moment I step out the door, since he hasn’t shown
interest in me before this.
His gaze lingers on the criss-crossed straps that wrap from
my collarbone to tie around my neck, then over the sheer
sleeves that gather at my wrist with golden lace cuffs, and
down to the flowing, gauzy skirts.
My slippers are as impractical as the gown is, but it was by
far the most suitable thing I found in the trunks I hadn’t been
permitted to pack myself. Each outfit had been more stunning
than the last, the clothing from my home culture blended
seamlessly into Delphine’s far more revealing styles.
Most have low necklines, bare midriffs, and no sleeves at
all. By comparison, at least this one covers my cleavage and
offers some modicum of protection from the elements, though
I’m already fighting down a shiver.
Sigrid had returned to fix my hair. There was little time to
converse while her lightning-fast fingers whipped my hair into
a half-updo, taking yesterday’s curls and making them look
artful, even after a night of sleep.
When the moment stretches into awkwardness, I finally
clear my throat to speak.
“Well then… lead the way,” I say with a begrudging smile.
 It’s only been a day since I got here. Surely, we can still
turn this around.
Einar stares down at me, and I swear I see his steely gaze
soften a fraction. He opens the large wooden door and gestures
for me to walk through it.
My head throbs as I take in each hallway and corridor. He
only names the important places like the barracks, the throne
room, the great hall, and the kitchens. The list goes on, and I
make mental notes in the map I’m drawing in my head.
All of the spaces are spartanly decorated. Shields are the
only decor on the walls, along with other weapons that are
obviously well-used.
It’s almost as if they keep their arsenal close by in case
they are attacked at any moment. I can’t help but wonder if it
is a habit that has been ingrained in them from the days of
constant war between Corentin, Jokith, and the other mountain
kingdoms, or if it’s merely a matter of pride among their
people.
For a moment I imagine the giant beside me running
toward an opposing army, swinging his battle axe in full
regalia. A shiver runs down my spine, and I begin to
understand why such barbaric rumors have spread about these
people.
Most of the castle is as dull and lifeless as I had expected it
to be, but there is one room that catches my eye. He calls it a
study.
It’s a long, rectangular room with an enormous fireplace
on one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows on another. There
are shelves of books, a smattering of musical instruments, and
several places to sit and converse. It looks like a room where
someone might actually enjoy themselves, and I have to
wonder what it’s doing in this castle.
I have to pull myself away from it rather reluctantly to
return to my meandering tour.
We trudge up and down several sets of stairs, and I’m
certain that I will vomit again all over them. I feel sicker than I
should, even accounting for my rare indulgence last night.
“We can take a shortcut back, through the courtyard.” The
king gestures ahead of us to an area at the bottom of the
staircase.
It’s the small square of freezing outdoor air Leif had
walked me through only yesterday. I glance down at my sheer
clothing and thin slippers.
If it was anyone else, I would assume they were joking, but
I’m beginning to believe he is just genuinely oblivious to the
needs or feelings of any person outside himself.
“The long way is fine,” I say shortly, swallowing back the
burning feeling in my throat.
The nausea doesn’t concern me, but I can barely seem to
keep my feet beneath me. Maybe there is something to this
mountain sickness.
My foot slips ever so slightly on the final step, sending me
teetering backward. But Einar’s reflexes are quick, far more so
than I would expect of someone his size. Before I have time to
right myself, one of his hands is on the small of my exposed
back, while the other is gripping my upper arm.
My eyes lock onto his for a moment while I take his
measure. I can feel the heat emanating off of him just as it did
last night. Shaking my head, I step out of his hold and smooth
out the layers of my gown.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Einar simply nods and continues to move forward on the
tour. I am about to reach out to him, to link my arm in his for
support when I catch sight of one of the veiled servants
hunched over on the floors, scrubbing what looks like a trail of
green slime from the stones.
She wipes at her brow, fidgeting with the veil that is so
clearly hindering her, when the king calls out to her loudly.
The words he uses are in his native tongue, but his
meaning is clear enough.
She needs to keep her face covered.
 My blood runs hot as I stare from him to the woman on the
floor.
I deliberate over my response. True, I’m trying to appeal to
whatever slightly better nature he possesses, but where does
that end? Do I sit back and watch him mistreat others just to
avoid upsetting him?
I flash back to Damian in the carriage, and a hundred
memories before that. Hasn’t that been enough of my life?
“What’s happened?” I decide to interject, though I try to
find the kinder tone I’d used earlier.
Ice creeps back into Einar’s irises and his jaw clenches.
“Nothing you need worry about,” he grits through his
teeth.
The servant has ceased moving, cowering so much that she
appears to be disappearing into the very cracks in the floor.
I try again to assess her stance with his fury before
deciding to speak.
“Surely, she would be able to work more quickly without
the hindrance of the veil.” I offer him a sincere expression,
placing a hand on his colossal forearm.
He hesitates for a moment, his entire body stiffening and
his gaze going predatorial.
“What did you say?” His voice is a growl, offering a
glimpse of the beast I saw in him yesterday.
“I was only thinking that the servants —”
“Don’t. It isn’t your place to think where my staff is
concerned.”
There’s that word again. My.
I nod. It’s all I can manage, weighed down by my
mounting resentment. I know one thing, though. I was wrong
before, when I thought there was still time to turn it around.
But at least there is consistency in this.
 At least I don’t have to worry about my emotions getting
in the way of what I came here to do.
 CHAPTER 11

E inar insists on walking me back to my room, though I

would much prefer to be alone and could find my
way back blindfolded at this point. I nearly take him
up on his suggestion of going through the courtyard just to
shorten the tense walk.
Considering what a failure today has been, though, I don’t
bother to argue or to make suggestions.
Sigrid waits at my door, practically bouncing on her toes.
“It is here at final,” she says to Einar.
He sighs, and his clear unhappiness piques my interest.
What’s here?
Sigrid clucks her tongue at one or both of us before
opening the door with a sigh of her own. I’m beginning to
realize the woman misses nothing.
“I will leave two of you now.” True to her word, she’s
gone before I can question her enthusiasm or the way she
continues to address the king with such informality.
I reach a confident hand to the door, refusing to show any
outward hesitation, and Einar doesn’t stop me. If I had hoped
to be less confused on entering, though, I am sorely
disappointed.
I hate surprises. And that’s what awaits me.
The space has been cleaned, the bed made, and my trunks
are no longer in the center of the room. I wonder where she
took my clothes, and if she found the weapons carefully
hidden within them.
Would it even matter now that I know the Jokithans keep
their weapons so readily available?
The middle of the room now hosts a nondescript wooden
crate with shapes seemingly carved out at random on each
side. I move toward the box, vaguely registering Einar coming
in behind me and shutting the door.
A shuffling noise from inside stops me short.
Have I misjudged Sigrid’s nature entirely? Is it a snake?
I glance back at Einar, but his face is as inscrutable as ever.
Fine.
I flip the lid off one-handed and take a half step back, my
heart thundering. When nothing jumps out at me, I inch closer,
but what I see leaves me more confused than ever.
It’s… a tiny cat, of a sort, covered in bright, shimmering,
silver-colored fur with deep sapphire stripes, the exact color of
my dress. It’s staring unflinchingly at me with eyes the color
of the waters around Villa Paradís, the bluer side of turquoise.
When it opens its mouth to yawn, two metallic canines
stand out amongst its sharp teeth.
I was raised in a place far grander than most palaces,
surrounded by the most extravagant things in the world, but I
think this cub might top them all. I only wonder what strings
the king will attach to this gift.
Though it’s hard to imagine that this is a gift, in the light of
all his caveman-style territorialism. He has made it clear
nothing is mine. Why should this be any different?
Tall, pointed ears — too large for its small body — twitch,
but the thing makes no move to attack. Again, I wonder at its
purpose. I am both in awe and terrified of the fuzzy creature as
it curls into a ball and falls asleep, completely undeterred by
our presence.
 The king’s features give nothing away. Most men, I can
read like a dossier, each part of their component crystal clear.
But not him.
I am at a rare loss for words, something he must notice,
because he finally speaks up.
“The chalyx was supposed to be here yesterday,” he
explains without inflection. “I commissioned it when I was
more hopeful about the whole arrangement.”
I try not to let his last muttered statement sting, but it does.
There are only a handful of reasons that come to mind why he
despises me so much after so short a time.
Does he know about Madame’s subterfuge? She told him
she was my beloved aunt, that she had taken me in when my
parents were killed. She had falsified my lineage and hers, all
to make this happen.
And I, of course, had gone along with it. Surely, if he knew
that, it would mean more than cruel comments and dirty looks.
It would mean my life.
Which leaves another explanation.
“Did you know I was from the Eastern Lands?” I ask him
quietly, studying his face for a reaction.
His brow furrows before he answers.
“Yes. My people vetted you before you came here,” he
says flatly. “Why?”
So my story had checked out, and it wasn’t an objection to
my people. Just me.
“I just wondered if that was why you chose this animal.
Tigers are common there, though I haven’t been back in some
time.” I keep my features perfectly neutral, turning my gaze
back to the chalyx.
“Clearly, the gesture was ill-conceived.” His tone is even
sharper than before, and I’m already tired of trying to cater to
his moods.
 “Clearly,” I echo in a hollow voice. “Pets are frivolous.” I
nearly cringe as I hear Madame’s voice echoing in my head.
I inspect my fingernails rather than meet his eyes and let
him see the uncertainty swirling in mine.
“But thank you for the thought,” I add in a tone about as
genuine as his gesture was.
I finally glance up to see the smallest twitch in his eye, the
only sign of any emotion from him.
“I am tired and in need of a bath. Would you please fetch
someone to help with that?” I say with all the imperiousness
he has already ascribed to me, making my way to the small
seating area by the fireplace.
I hear the breath he takes before he turns to leave the room
without a word. As soon as he’s gone, my shoulders slump and
I rub my temples.
Without him around to scrutinize me, I take a solid look at
the kitten. It’s not really a tiger, but it still brings me back to
another life, one I barely remember. Vague, scattered
recollections of tiny cubs running rampant while careless
children laugh and play with them.
“Were you taken from your siblings, too?” I whisper,
pulling the creature out of the box and cradling it against my
chest. “Do you have sisters who miss you? Parents who don’t
know you’re still alive?” And though I know it’s not
reasonable to sympathize so much with an animal, I trace the
thing’s nose with a finger, whispering reassurances it’s still
young enough to believe, and wishing I still could.
I can’t seem to make this go any better with Einar. I tried
during our tour. I practically threw myself at him last night.
But nothing. He is as impassive and impervious as a brick
wall. Sands, if only he was one. I would probably get further
with him then.
At least walls can be scaled.
 CHAPTER 12

T he only sounds in the room are the crackling of

the flames in the hearth and the gentle snores of
the cat, or whatever the creature is. It’s nearly
enough to lull me to sleep. I take comfort in the melody of the
two until the door opens and Einar’s heavy footsteps remind
me of my purpose here.
I hastily plop the chalyx back into its box before they open
the door. Taking a deep breath, I turn and see that Sigrid has
followed him, pushing him toward me like he’s a child being
rebuked.
“Good afternoon, Mistress. I will start bath.” She
immediately sets to work in the small room off to the side of
this one.
I had glanced briefly at the fixtures this morning before I
got dressed, relieved to see pipes and faucets. Plumbing is
something we had gotten only a few years ago in the château,
but it looked like theirs had been installed for a while.
For being so closed off from the rest of the world, they
seemed to be advancing well enough on their own.
The king lowers himself onto a small sofa, one that looks
like children’s furniture once his massive frame covers it.
Still, I ignore his presence and that of the gift he gave me,
the latter of which is scratching at some cedar shavings in the
box she slept in. Sigrid shuffles around in the privy, and I
wonder if she is taking longer than she needs to on purpose, to
force us to communicate.
 If so, it’s a wasted effort. There is nothing I especially
want to say to him right now.
Actually, there is one thing.
“Why is it so quiet here?”
He shoots me a pointed glance over the book he has
brought with him, indicating that I have clearly interrupted his
reading.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” If he is trying to irritate me with
his answer, he has succeeded.
The image of him doing something so…normal is so at
odds with his appearance. His hair is still braided to the sides
of his head, but, this morning, the long mass is pulled up into a
knot. The sleeves of his tunic hug his biceps as he turns
another page of the book that looks terribly small in his hands.
I add it to the list of contradictions about him.
“Is hiding their faces not enough for you? You’d prefer no
one in the castle speaks, either?” I am genuinely curious about
this, but I am also happy to return his ire in spades.
“Did I imagine Sigrid’s greeting just now, then?” he
growls over the book but doesn’t look up at me.
I’m sure he is only pretending to misunderstand what I am
implying. I feel my temper rising again.
“Fine. I suppose it’s hardly my business if everyone in this
castle is miserable.”
He shuts his book, placing it forcefully on the table before
he matches my furious gaze with one of his own.
“Have you considered that the only miserable person in
this castle is you, and if its inhabitants seem so in your eyes,
then perhaps it is only because you managed to siphon the joy
out of every room you walk into?”
My jaw drops open at his audacity.
“If I manage to siphon the joy out of any room, it’s only
because you’re following me into it with your revolving
carousel of moods. You would think sixty-five years would
have given you time to sort out your emotions, but please, tell
me, how are you feeling now, Einar?” I hold up my fingers as I
count off his various unpleasant dispositions. “Is it to be
hostile Einar? Self-centered bastard Einar? Or my personal
favorite, downright unlikable beast?”
I am practically shouting on the last word, and the feeling
is so foreign to me that it stills my tongue.
Einar opens his mouth, but his response is cut off when
Sigrid practically comes running into the room, confirming my
assumption that she was less preparing than she was giving us
space…space she clearly no longer thinks we will benefit
from.
“Sorry I not have this ready early, Mistress,” Sigrid says in
a forcefully cheerful tone. She gestures for me to come over. “I
was want for you have surprise kitten.”
I try to let myself be soothed by her matronly mannerisms
and the cheerful way she speaks the common tongue. “That’s
all right, Sigrid. I —”
My words are cut short by the large bath that is filled
almost to the top. I am already frazzled, and the still water
mocks me. The deep tub was clearly built to accommodate the
average Jokithan.
But for me…
I place a hand to my throat, swallowing hard, fighting back
the images that come unbidden.
Disobedient soldiers, spies, and anyone who was
disloyal… I see their wild eyes and hear their pleas as they are
locked in a cage and lowered into the raging seas.
Shipwrecked trespassers who have nowhere else to turn
are forced to swim to the continent.
None of them make it. Even if they can swim, their bodies
are dragged down to a watery grave by Sharks, or, even worse,
the Mayima, the cursed sirens off the coast of Delphine.
A single mother — starving, begging, desperate — walks
her crying babe into the Cerulean Sea and allows the waters to
take them. Any fate is better than watching your child waste
away, slowly and painfully.
A bubble rises from the drain breaking at the surface of the
bath, but all I hear is the gurgling, final breaths of each of
them, the sounds of death and drowning. My mind spins as
each of these gruesome scenes play on repeat for me until I
can’t take it anymore.
“Remove half of this at once,” I croak out, not caring for a
moment how rude I sound.
Sigrid freezes, her head tilting to the side.
“Pardon, Mistress?”
I try to collect myself, to come up with a reason that makes
sense, but it’s all I can do to speak in a halfway reasonable
tone.
“Remove at least half of the bath water,” I repeat.
“Please,” I tack on belatedly.
Sigrid tsks and mumbles under her breath in Jokithan but
does what I ask before leaving the small room. She’s probably
gone to complain to Einar about my manners.
Not that he would have room to judge.
I rub my temple again, close the door behind me, and lean
into the dark spruce frame.
I’ve never been so far from my sisters, and I can’t help but
wish they were here to help me figure this whole mess out.
I undress and climb into the tub of steaming water, bracing
myself. Most people find baths relaxing, but they are nothing
short of torture for me.
Sigrid comes back in as I’m methodically washing each
inch of my skin. She doesn’t even hesitate before kneeling
down on creaky joints to start in on my hair.
“Thank you,” I say after a moment.
She nods, and the veil moves with her forced breath. But
whatever words she is about to speak are cut off when I get to
my stomach.
 I immediately regret not sending her away. The water has
washed away the balm that concealed the carefully hidden row
of scars along my abdomen. Madame could have made them
disappear with one of her concoctions, but she insisted they
were a healthy reminder for me.
I forget about them most of the time. It’s easy enough
when I refuse to look at them, but here they are now — white,
stark slashes against my tawny skin.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the hideous sight of them
and the visceral memories of the man who gave them to me.
They are a harrowing remembrance of the night my innocence
was stolen. With one quick glimpse of them, I can practically
smell the peppermint leaves on his breath all over again, and I
want to be sick.
Shivering, I swallow hard, and belatedly attempt to cover
them with the small washcloth in my hands.
The servants in Villa Paradís were accustomed to seeing
much worse than a handful of healed wounds here and there,
but that isn’t how I want to be seen here.
Sigrid’s hands still, but she says nothing. When she
eventually starts applying the oils to my hair again, her touch
is softer. Maternal.
And I’m not sure how to interpret it.
When she finally finds her voice, it’s not to ask about the
scars, as I expected. She says something else entirely.
“You are so beautiful. But you have too many…thorns.”
She pauses, and I wonder for a moment if she’s referring to the
obvious physical flaws she has just borne witness to, until she
speaks again. “You prick at his Majesty…use sharp where soft
would work. You do with everyone, I believe.”
I know I’ve been rude, harsh even, but her mild scolding is
an unwelcome reminder of how differently things have gone
than I wanted them to. Even if the overgrown toddler that
serves as Jokith’s king is largely to blame. Still…
“Sometimes thorns are useful,” I add after a moment.
“Sometimes they’re even a protection.”
 “This is true.” Sigrid sighs. “And it is difficult to be in new
home, be with new people so far from the ones who belong
you.” Her voice trails off, and I hear the sadness etched into
each word. The empathy. “But you will never have happy here
if not you try.”
Truer words…
She pats my shoulder and goes back to rinsing my hair
without waiting for a response. The rest of our time passes in a
silence that leaves too much room for the thoughts and
memories that haunt me.
 CHAPTER 13

O nce I’m out of the bath and dried off, Sigrid wraps
me in a thick, warm robe and sends me back out to
the bedroom.
Einar pointedly ignores my presence as I sit across from
him at the fire, pretending to focus on the book he’s reading.
He looks even angrier than he had when I left, and I’m not
sure I have the energy to try any more today.
Hadn’t he just accused me of sucking the life out of a
room, of making the servants miserable with my mere
presence?
It hadn’t been fair when he’d said it, but it felt
uncomfortably true now.
When Sigrid emerges from tidying the privy, though, she
places a gentle hand on my shoulder. She clears her throat and
faces him, her expression concealed by the veil, but something
in his countenance softens.
He sighs and arches an eyebrow, then goes back to his
book.
Sigrid huffs, then scolds him in Jokithan, and I can’t help
but wonder how she gets away with it. I’ve yet to meet a lord
or lady who tolerates such a thing.
Einar’s eyes narrow as he closes his book. He doesn’t
respond to her rebuke. Instead, he stands and moves toward
the door.
 “You’ll have to excuse me. I have matters to attend to,” he
says, reaching for the knob.
“What matters?” Sigrid boldly asks, placing a hand on her
hip.
Einar’s hand freezes, and he glares back at her.
“I am King still, am I not?” he asks calmly.
“Of course, Majesty.” She uses his title condescendingly.
“But Leif has already everything in control. Remember? You
have nothing but to know your new wife today.”
“I don’t mind. I would hate to take him away from
something so important. I’m not feeling very well anyway,” I
interject.
Even though he hasn’t outwardly reacted, half a lifetime of
watching servants be punished for less has left me
unreasonably afraid of what her obstinance will result in. And
besides, it’s not untrue; my head and stomach are still vying
for my attention while they do somersaults.
Sigrid only tsks again and walks over to the king’s side.
Whispering another rebuke, she pushes him bodily back to his
chair.
“I get tonic brought up for sickness, Mistress. You are feel
better after.”
At this point, I’m not sure if the words are encouragement
or a command. With that, she walks out of the room. Judging
by the slight spring in her step, I would say she is quite
pleased with herself.
As soon as the door clicks shut, a squeak sounds from the
crate at the center of the room. The chalyx is back securely
inside of it, but I’m hesitant to make any moves to let it out
just yet, especially under Einar’s watchful gaze.
Einar’s knee bounces repetitiously as he stares too long at
the same page in his book, and I continue to watch the flames
dance in the hearth.
Another meow has him glancing from me to the cub and
back again. He shakes his head, presumably because I’ve
shown little interest in the thing he purchased for that very
purpose.
The silence stretches on until I have no real choice but to
break it or spend the rest of my evening in the suffocating
tension that has permeated every inch of this room.
“So,” I begin. “Leif is taking care of your duties? Your…
ruling duties?”
The king’s eyes meet mine, and he grunts what might be
an affirmation. I’m missing something here. The man wouldn’t
grant his own wife a shred of power, so surely not a
subordinate, one he forces to wear a mask for reasons he
refuses to even hint at.
Though Sigrid would point to a different dynamic entirely,
I assumed she was a unique case.
“I thought he was just a servant?” I seek to clarify, and he
slams his book closed.
“He isn’t just anything.”
His gaze doesn’t waver from mine for several heartbeats.
“My mistake,” I offer, not breaking eye contact. “I am only
trying to understand —”
He stands abruptly, cutting me off before I can dance
around all of the things I had just been thinking.
“You understand nothing.” He looks at me for a final,
stilted heartbeat before stalking off to the passageway.
Well, then.
I sit in stunned silence while I try and fail to make sense of
him and my purpose here. He doesn’t seem to want to be
married, or have any interest in me at all, for that matter.
Every woman I’d seen on our journey since crossing the
border was tall and broad-shouldered, strong-looking, with fair
hair and eyes. Their skin was either dark as coal or white as
snow, and I am simply a middle-ground of sorts between the
two.
 While I am of average height back home, I feel like a child
here. Even Sigrid towers over me.
My skin is much darker than Einar’s, as is my hair. And
my topaz-colored eyes are far different from the various
shades of blue I’ve seen on every person in Jokith.
Am I so different from what he is familiar with that he
finds me disgusting?
From the way his pupils went wide when he saw me bare
before him, I would say no. There are some things you can’t
lie about; your traitorous body always gives you away.
I shake my head at the whole situation, mulling it over
again and again and always coming up short.
I’ve been direct with him. I’ve tried subtleties. But nothing
has worked.
The man is impossible.

The tonic Sigrid had sent up does seem to be helping ease my

body aches and nausea. I was even able to eat some of the
roasted venison and carrots from the dinner she had delivered,
though there was no plate for Einar.
He still hasn’t returned, and I’m unsure of what to make of
that.
A squeaky growl reminds me that I am not the sole
occupant of the room. Leaning over the side of the bed, I peer
down at the cub, who is desperately trying to gain my
attention.
It raises its little paws up, seemingly reaching for me.
“You’re spoiled already, I see,” I coo, but I pick her up
anyway.
The servant who brought up our meal also saw that the cub
was fed and taken outside to relieve itself, as well as inform
me that my new pet is a girl, in case I wanted to name her.
 “What is it that you want?” I ask the cat. “To annoy me?
To make me crazier than these walls are already?”
Metallic teeth flash as she opens her mouth to yawn,
rubbing her small head against my palm. Her fur is softer than
the finest silks I’ve ever touched. Softer than gosling feathers
or a butterfly’s wing.
I’m still marveling at her when she presses her sharp teeth
against my flesh.
“Khijhana!” I gasp a word from home in surprise, one that
roughly translates to little nuisance.
I pull my fingers away to examine them, but she didn’t
seem to draw blood, or even break the skin. It was just a
warning nibble that there is something she is wanting from our
exchange as well.
She nestles in closer, her turquoise eyes opening and
closing slower than before.
I narrow my eyes at her.
“If I let you sleep with me, you’re not allowed to bite me
again. Understand?”
The cat purrs, vibrating through my chest.
“Fine,” I sigh.
I plop her down on the bed and lie down next to her. She
goes straight to my pillow, kneading the fabric with
shimmering claws until she’s satisfied.
“Khijhana,” I say again, more amused this time. “It would
seem that we have found your name, at least.”
She stretches and purrs before closing her eyes to sleep.
I wish I could follow suit.
Over-thinking is getting me nowhere, but neither will
closing my eyes and wishing this all away. I force my eyes to
stay open, trying desperately to turn the gears in my weary
mind.
 I need to find a way to make this better, and I need to do it
soon, before this convoluted mess of a situation gets any
worse.
 CHAPTER 14

T his is an awful idea, but I can’t seem to stop

myself.
No sooner do I hear the king’s voice echoing down the
hallway outside my bedroom than I find myself slipping
through the panel in my wall. The one he said leads to his
room.
I don’t stop to think. I don’t even spare a second for shoes,
instead slipping along the freezing stone floor on the naked
soles of my feet.
Madame always did say desperation makes a fool.
I can hardly deny that now, not when I’m shivering and he
could return at any moment. But I need to know something,
anything about the man if I have the furthest chance of making
this work.
I leave the panel cracked for a trickle of light but don’t
dare take my bedside lantern. It hardly matters. I am no
stranger to the shadows.
In fact, as I make my way down the hallway, I realize how
much I have missed the darkness, the ease of hiding in the
shadows, of seeing without being seen rather than being on
constant display in the full force of an unforgiving light.
Here, no one can see my scars.
Perhaps my cat, for all her seemingly nocturnal
preferences, was an apt gift after all, if only I could believe it
was meant that way.
 Speak of the siren.
The tiny, exquisite terror is making her way behind me
with footsteps even more muted than my own, but her shadow
plays like a giant on the wall, giving her away.
A smile tugs at my lips, in spite of myself and this
wretched situation. Without time to backtrack, I have little
choice but to scoop the vixen up and bring her along for this
little reconnaissance outing.
Ill-fated though it may be, my gamble has paid off already.
Before I even make it to Einar’s room, I discover something
new about him. Something altogether less surprising than I
wish it was.
This passage leads far beyond my room in both directions
and has at least half a dozen hallways breaking off toward the
eastern and northern wings. Unless the man has chambers the
size of Villa Paradís, the king is a liar. And a rather gifted one
at that.
A soft glow to my left seeps from under what I assume is
his door. Pressing my ear to the wood, I listen to be certain no
one is on the other side. I feel around for a knob or lever until
my fingers graze the cold steel of the handle. One slow twist
and the door is creeping open.
I steel myself for what my excuse will be for coming into
his space unannounced. But we are married, after all… I’m
certain no one else would take issue with my visit, even if my
husband undoubtedly would.
Closing the door, I allow my eyes to adjust to the hazy
light coming from the lanterns in the room. I’m not sure what I
expected from such a calloused man, but it certainly wasn’t
this.
Plants cover half the surfaces in the room, potted on tables
or the floor, hanging in the windows. Some of their leaves and
stems are cut and rest on his desk. A closer examination shows
drawings of the plants and hand-written explanations of their
health benefits.
 Books, unsurprisingly, line every shelf, some stacked on
top of one another, some spread open on his bed and the table
next to it. Some are new, but most are worn, the bindings
frayed and torn as if they have been read many times by many
different people.
The cub mews, and I put her down so she can do some of
her own exploring. I make a mental note to keep track of any
mess she might make.
I’m careful when I move the pages to place everything
back just the way it was. Each of the leather-bound notebooks
has extensive information on various herbs and the oils that
can be derived from them.
The clinking of glass alerts me, and I barely have time to
catch two glass vials as Khijhana’s tail knocks them from their
home on the shelf.
I curse at her under my breath, and her ears lay flat, as if
she understands me.
I place the glass bottles back on the shelf and take a
moment to study it all. The number of vials and tomes on the
dark oak shelf are puzzling. Each of the journals seem to be
filled with the same subjects: flowers and shrubs, weeds and
grasses, herbs and even some trees.
But nothing like the rose on the tower window I saw on
my way into the castle.
Who knew he had such a passion for botany?
I snap my fingers gently to get Khijha’s attention before
she gets too close to the fireplace. She reluctantly comes back
and rubs against my legs as if she isn’t the annoying creature
that her name implies. Fortunately, she follows me as I take in
the rest of the room.
A few pictures line the walls. Judging by the azure gazes
and the silver hair, it’s easy to tell these are paintings of his
family.
His father’s skin is dark as midnight, while his mother’s
pale complexion looks like a reflection of the pearlescent
moon next to him. There is no in-between, no various shades
of brown or peach or tan. Only these two magnificently
contrasting colors.
No wonder I stand out so much here.
The traits that tie them together, though, are the piercing
blue eyes and heads of silver-white hair that they all share. I
study each of the faces in the paintings and try to imagine
what it would’ve been like to grow up with a family related to
me by blood.
There were six of them. And he is the only one left.
I don’t know what happened, exactly. Just that it was an
accident, and they all died at once. It was sad to learn about, in
a distant sort of way, but it’s a harder pill to swallow when you
see their faces and stand in their home.
The mid-sized of the fair-skinned children, I decide, must
be Einar. There is something in his countenance that makes me
certain it’s the case, despite the lack of scowling and the
notable absence of that wild animal he calls a beard.
In each painting, it’s clear to see the kindness, love, and
adoration the family had for one another. The artists couldn’t
have added that on their own; this is too genuine.
If only Einar possessed a fraction of those feelings now —
I cut the thought off with another. I know full well what
losing family can do to you. How the pain can sever you from
your very core, from every emotion, and how it can prevent
you from forming new connections. It’s an agony that you
never really recover from.
I am proof enough of that.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, allowing the
sentimentality to pass. There isn’t room for that here, but it is a
good reminder for moving forward.
Tearing my eyes away from the happy family memories, I
study the other side of the large room. The entirety of it hosts
one giant bed. It is as massive as mine, but the frame seems
more regal, timeless, as if it was built for a king and queen
centuries ago.
 I run a hand across the plush white blankets, allowing my
fingers to graze the furs at the foot of the bed.
Only one wrinkled pillow looks as if it has been slept on.
The others are full and over-stuffed, as if they’ve never been
used.
A quick peek inside each nightstand shows that only one is
full, of course, with more books about plants. I roll my eyes.
At least he has a hobby, though not one that will be
particularly easy or fun to bond over.
The other stand is empty, and I can’t help but feel the
smallest bit of satisfaction that he doesn’t seem to be secretly
hoarding a mistress in here.
I glance through his closet anyway, just to be sure. Nothing
indicates that there is another woman.
I linger for only a few moments longer, disappointment
seeping through me. I may have some small bit of knowledge I
lacked before, but I’m not much closer to understanding the
man than I was before I came.
Khijha mews and sprints randomly across the room,
pawing at a tapestry on the wall. I’m quick to scoop her up
before her metallic claws can do any damage.
Just as I turn back to the passageway, a draft tickles the
back of my neck. I glance back in time to see it moving ever
so slightly, as if a breeze is coming from behind the art piece.
“Good girl,” I say, scratching the top of the cub’s head as
she purrs in satisfaction.
I toy with the idea of following it to see where it goes.
Reluctantly, however, I decide to save that for another day.
We’re pressing our luck enough as it is. And I have a feeling
that whatever is behind that wall will require more time than I
have at the moment.
 CHAPTER 15

I f I expected to wake up feeling rested or refreshed,

I am, once again, disappointed. If anything, I feel
worse than I did yesterday, my head pounding and
my stomach roiling.
Worst of all, I feel weak.
I gather just enough strength to plop the chalyx
unceremoniously onto the floor. If he did give her to me as a
tool to use against me later, I don’t want to let on that it has
been successful.
I’ve yet to see him be physically violent, but I’m not
willing to risk Khijhana being hurt.
She’s still glaring at me grumpily when the king stomps
his way into my room, as usual.
At least he doesn’t seem any moodier than he was
yesterday. Last night’s excursion remains a secret, then.
Sigrid’s now-familiar knock sounds in time with
Khijhana’s squeak of surprise as Einar scoops her into his lap.
I barely resist the urge to narrow my eyes at him.
The tiniest arrogant tilt of his lips has me thinking he
imagines he’s stirred up some jealousy within me, so I lay
back down and resolutely ignore him.
I realize that my behavior isn’t mature or productive, and
that I should be working to make things better between us,
especially given my revelations about him last night. But it’s
too early, and he’s too smug, sitting there with my cub and a
cocky grin on his face, so I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
He chuckles under his breath as I pretend not to care. And
I don’t care. Not really. I don’t have time to dwell on it for
long before Sigrid sweeps into the room, filling the open space
with the sheer volume of her presence.
Judging by the huff beneath her veil as her head moves
from facing the bed to the king’s chair, she isn’t terribly happy
with either of us this morning.
I reluctantly pull myself from the covers to join my
husband for breakfast, wrapping a robe around my sheer
nightdress. It’s warm and alleviates the cold seeping into the
soles of my feet from the frozen floor.
I tuck my icy legs under me as I take my seat at the table
where Sigrid has laid out our breakfast. Einar watches me, his
eyebrow quirking, but says nothing.
The older woman clucks her tongue lovingly at Khijha,
and she springs from Einar’s grasp, running to a saucer that
Sigrid sets on the floor. She is oblivious to the rest of the room
now, focused only on what appears to be milk and honey.
I can’t imagine that is good for her, but I’m too tired to
voice that thought aloud.
Besides, given the sickly-sweet smell wafting from what I
can only hope is Einar’s breakfast this morning, I’m beginning
to think this is how the woman feeds everyone.
Except for me. I notice with no small amount of gratitude
the flat, seeded bread, two medium-cooked eggs, and a
steaming cup of tea in front of me. I should at least be able to
stomach this, if I don’t watch my husband eat his own
ridiculous breakfast.
Once Sigrid leaves, the only sounds in the room are
Einar’s obnoxious chewing and Khijha’s gentle lapping of the
sweet milk.
My head is pounding, and each crunch or slosh of milk
grates my already well-worn nerves. I guzzle down the glass
of water before me and fill it again, drinking the entirety of it
in one go. Nothing seems to help the dryness of my mouth or
the ache in my bones that never goes away.
I stretch and start in on my breakfast when Einar finally
decides to speak up.
“You didn’t come down for dinner last night,” he says,
rather than asks, around mouthfuls of sweet cinnamon-filled
rolls.
“I had my meal sent up.”
Einar sighs. “Yes, I noticed.” He shovels in another bite. “I
suppose I was wondering why.”
I take a moment to decide how much truth to give him and
settle for the easiest answer.
“Well, I’ve never been much on forcing others to watch me
eat while their own meals grow cold. I figured it was simpler
this way.” Who knows? Perhaps he’ll finally explain the
masks.
“And yet, you have no problem making the servants walk
three flights of stairs to bring you your meal?”
Touché.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him before settling on
another bite of my meal instead of responding.
He studies me under his furrowed brow but doesn’t say
anything more as he dives back into his sickly-sweet breakfast.
“My apologies, I didn’t realize you had missed me so
much,” I tempt after a moment.
“I just found the room had entirely too much joy for my
liking, without you there to drain it away.” He speaks without
inflection, but I don’t miss the slight tilt of his lips.
I startle myself by laughing.
“I’m glad I could oblige you this morning, then,” I
respond.
“As am I.” There is something curiously close to warmth
in his tone, and I take it for what it is.
 If not an apology, at least a truce.
When our meal is finished, he isn’t as quick to leave my
room as before. He, instead, stays to play with the chalyx and
read next to the hearth while I bathe. I finish my bath quickly,
all the while wondering if he’ll be gone when I return, but he’s
still here, sitting in the same spot.
I pull another gauzy, impractical dress from my trunk and a
matching array of jewelry. An emerald-encrusted nose ring
replaces the pure gold one from yesterday, and I pair it with a
similar ear cuff. After deliberation, I connect them with the
gold chain again.
No one here knows its meaning, anyway, and I’ve always
liked the look of it. A teardrop-shaped pendant graces my
forehead, hanging from a chain woven through my hair.
I consider adding a set of bangles to my wrist, but I don’t
want him to think I am trying to hide the intricate artwork he is
too uncultured to appreciate.
By the time I finish dressing, I still feel out of breath and
light-headed, but I ask anyway.
“I’d like to see more of the castle today, to finish up that
tour.” I would like to see more of this place, but also, a do-
over would help to further our unspoken truce.
He eyes me for a long moment before answering.
“You don’t appear to be up to walking anywhere.”
“Are you implying I look unwell?” I raise an eyebrow at
him.
“I’m not implying anything. You look like hell.”
If by “hell,” he means the circles under my eyes are
turning a deep shade of blue, then fine. But I’m not the only
one.
“Well if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle haggard,” I
quip, gesturing to the signs of exhaustion on his own features
before adding, “You know, some women might be offended by
your thoughtless way of speaking.”
 “Of course not. I’m saying it outright. I truly think you
look like hell.” His expression turns thoughtful. “Besides,
you’re not like most women, are you?” There’s an
undercurrent to his tone that makes me doubt myself for a
fraction of a second, but I push it away.
I hold his eyes with my own, refusing to look away or
answer him directly. Finally, I make my way to the door,
resting my hand on the knob in a challenge. “Are you
coming?”
Khijhana is quick on my heels, and we wait for his answer.
He looks me up and down for several long seconds, then
shakes his head and stands.
“So be it.” He opens the door for me and gestures for us to
lead the way.
“That’s the spirit,” I add, and I swear I hear the masked
guards outside the door chuckle.

Any truce or good humor that I may have imagined in the

beginning of our tour is cut short when we reach a staircase
leading to the West Wing.
“Maybe we should wrap things up for today.” Einar
hedges, turning away from the steps.
“But why?” My curiosity is piqued. “Don’t you want me to
know my new home?” I have to force that last word, sure I
will never view it as any such thing.
“This wing is reserved for the staff and guests only. There
isn’t anything to see.” He proffers his arm and tries to lead me
away, but I press on with a light-hearted tone.
“Oh, come now, let’s just —”
The sounds of glass shattering and a cry ringing out from
the top of the staircase cut me off.
 Einar pales and dashes up the steps without hesitation. I
move to follow him, prepared to help in any way I can. My
heart is pounding in my chest, while I envision what could
have caused the sound, who might be in pain, injured, or even
being attacked.
“I said no, Zaina!” His booming voice echoes off of the
tall ceilings and bare walls. “Go back to your rooms.” His
words stop me on the second step. They are final, his
command clear.
He doesn’t wait to see if I will obey, only motions to the
guards nearby. They walk toward me to enforce his order.
Khijhana growls, and her ears go flat as the men approach.
They hesitate for only a second before I pick her up, forcing
her to obey as I have to.
I clench my fists around her fur in an attempt to fight down
the panic and fury rising inside of me. The guards are
thrumming with tension. Whether it’s for the person who cried
out or because of the king’s raised voice, I can’t tell. They
silently lead me back to my rooms, exchanging a few hushed
words with the guards who stand watch by my door.
Khijha paws gently at my face, her claws retracted, as she
tries in her own small way to comfort me. I scratch her behind
her ears, and she purrs, but it offers me little consolation.
My head is spinning, and my heart is thundering in my
chest. I’m not sure why I expected this tour to go any
differently than the last one, but at least it taught me some
things that I didn’t know before.
One. The king has no trouble raising his voice to women
or humiliating his own wife.
Two. He would rather keep things from me than accept any
assistance I might have to offer.
Three. I need to know what is in the West Wing.
If I am going to begin to unravel any of the secrets that
shroud this sands-forsaken castle, it will undoubtedly start
there.
 CHAPTER 16

F or all the king had said I looked like death

yesterday, I certainly feel like it today.
My mouth is constantly dry, and my bones always ache. It
seems that no matter how much rest I get, it’s never enough.
I’ll be damned if I’m in bed again when he flounces in
with his superior expression, though, so I force myself to
stand.
Besides, I know him well enough from our brief
encounters to know he will pretend nothing happened
yesterday, and I will not let that stand. Everyone has heard the
rumors of the beastly king and the castle full of people no one
has seen up close in years.
Now I’m here, in the midst of it, and it makes even less
sense than the convoluted stories. Someone is going to tell me
what’s going on.
My steps are unsteady on the way to the table as it is, and
Khijhana nearly topples me entirely in her haste to wait at the
door for Sigrid. She’s an intelligent little nuisance, I’ll give her
that. And she seems to be growing before my very eyes.
Surely, her paws weren’t that big yesterday…
Sigrid arrives before the king, for a change. He is late.
Worse yet, Sigrid has brought another of her horrid tonics.
With a sigh, I force the thing down. Every last salty, citrus
tasting bit of it. I’ve already determined it’s not actually
poison, and it does help, just as it did yesterday.
 “Shall I assume the king won’t be joining me this
morning?” I phrase it as a question, but I already know the
answer.
She hasn’t brought him a plate, and I’m not surprised he’s
avoiding me after yesterday. I am, however, curious to see
what she has to say about it.
“You need be drink more water. Your body is hungry for
liquid,” she deflects, picking up the wooden pitcher and
pouring me a large glass. “The mountain sickness, it sits with
you.”
“Sigrid?” I press, and she sighs.
“His Majesty has much things to do with the kingdom
today.” She is already moving toward the door as she answers,
uncharacteristically eager to get out of this room herself.
“I thought you said he had nothing better to do than spend
time with his wife?” I inject polite interest into my tone, but I
doubt she is fooled.
“The things are come up,” she answers.
Her tone has a ring of truth to it, but I can’t let it drop.
“Things like what happened yesterday? In the West
Wing?” I prod.
If I expect her to lie or hedge, she surprises me by doing
neither.
“Yes,” she says simply, her tone more accented than usual.
“Things like that. I must get to them as well, Mistress, unless
there is another things you need.”
There is nothing I can think of that wouldn’t be childish,
and I can see I won’t get any more answers from her. So, I
shake my head.
“I won’t keep you.” The words have less warmth than I
mean for them to, but Sigrid doesn’t bristle.
If anything, she practically deflates on her way out the
door, as though she’s exhausted and disappointed all at the
same time.
 That makes two of us.
I lived most of my life in Madame’s household, where it
went without saying that someone was hurting at any given
moment. It’s no different here. Still, people suffer, and I am
helpless to stop it.
I don’t even know what it is.
I shouldn’t be so concerned. That’s not why I’m here, but I
can’t seem to help myself.
I had assumed Madame chose this kingdom because Einar
is the only unmarried king this side of the Cerulean Sea, the
quickest route to a throne. But perhaps it was more than that.
Did she know they were weakened from within?
I heave a frustrated sigh.
It’s clear no one else is going to give me any answers
today, so I’ll have to find them myself. Though only a handful
of days have passed since my arrival here, it feels like a
lifetime. It feels like more than long enough to live in a castle
where I can’t see another human face, save for that of the
indecipherable king.
This has gone on long enough.
I dress in one of my many impractical gowns, this one a
pale shade of yellow with sheer sleeves that drag along the
stone floors, and I don my usual array of head jewels before
heading out the door. Khijhana is at my feet, as impatient to
escape this room as I am.
After yesterday, I wonder how the guards outside my door
will react, but I stride out of my room without giving them a
chance to doubt my right to be there. They let me pass,
following behind me on eerily soundless footfalls.
I wonder if the guards rotate, if these could be the same
ones I encountered yesterday. I only have small cues to go by
when their faces are covered by the beaked masks, but I’m
fairly certain they are different. One of their builds is a mite
too thin, and the other seems an inch or two shorter.
 My confidence in that assessment leads me to the West
Wing, where I hope they won’t know I’m not allowed.
It’s a feeble hope, and one that I am rid of as soon as I spot
the massive staircase with two frustratingly familiar guards
posted at either side. They stand a little straighter when they
see me, and I stop in my tracks.
“Are you lost, milady?” This from one of the two
following me.
I never get lost, but I don’t tell them that. Instead, I
continue past the staircase like I had always planned on going
this way.
Before I know it, I find myself nearing the room I had been
drawn to on my first tour of the castle. The study is smaller
than the other rooms I’ve seen here, the ceilings not quite as
cavernous, allowing the roaring hearth to actually inject some
heat into the area. The deep brown panels of the walls are as
appealing today as they were the first time, and there are a
number of plushy chairs situated in small clusters to allow for
conversation, if I was not the only one present.
What calls me here, though, are the windows. High, curved
structures that span nearly the entire height and width of the
outward-facing wall, they overlook the back end of the estate
where deep green, snow-capped cedars stretch as far as the eye
can see. Beyond the trees are mountains that dwarf even the
massive, imposing structure we are in.
I can imagine running through those woods, tiny glistening
snowflakes settling in my eyelashes. The sight is so much freer
than I will ever be, and I allow myself to sink into that feeling
while I stand here, surrounded by the rare warmth of the
crackling flames.
For the first time since I arrived at this place, I feel like I
can breathe.
It’s not a feeling I’m eager to let go of, so I search the
room for something to pass the time until dinner. The far side
of the study holds a small collection of books, but it’s nothing
I have any use for.
 There are playing cards and wooden puzzles on a few of
the tables, showing an interesting amount of use considering
the vacant state of the room. There is even a small wooden
chess board, pieces frozen in place halfway through a game.
Finally, my eyes settle on an ornate grand piano in the corner.
My heart falters for a beat.
It’s not my instrument. It never has been.
But it was my sister’s.
I have never been away from Melodi and Aika this long,
and the knowledge of what I left them to face alone is more
than I can bear to think about.
I move toward the piano and settle onto the bench. My
sentinels wait outside the door, but Khijhana follows at my
heels, sitting between me and the doorway as though she is the
one guarding me.
Hesitantly, I lift the lid that protects the ivory keys. I was
brought up as a lady — we all were — so I know how to play,
even though I generally choose not to.
There is sheet music here, but it is foreign and looks as
barbaric as the rest of this place feels. Instead, I let my fingers
play along the keys an achingly familiar tune. It’s not long
before I am lost in the notes, lost in my own head.
It’s warm on the balcony we share at the château, even
with the late evening breeze rolling in from the water. Madame
is in Bondé, and we are left alone for a rare change.
Aika plays her fiddle beside me, her shiny black hair
whipping around with the intensity of her motions. She is tiny,
shorter even than my shoulder, but everything she does is
intense and fiery and bold.
Melodi dances along as if there isn’t a care in the world, as
if we haven’t just watched a person be slaughtered for nothing
more than a show of power. She is swept up in this moment in
a way I am incapable of replicating, giving herself entirely to
the music while her tightly coiled red curls spin nearly as
gracefully as she does.
 Mel begs me to sing, and usually I would give in. Usually, I
can deny her nothing, but tonight I am playing the piano
because Rose is sleeping. I can hardly begrudge her the
escape I long so desperately for, not when she needs it so much
more than I do.
Her golden waves and deep blue eyes are even more
appealing than my own unique features, and that means
nothing good here. At least she doesn’t have to worry about
that right now.
So, I am grateful, but I am jealous, too. Jealous of Rose’s
sleep, and Melodi’s sense of self, and Aika’s endless supply of
passion…of everything that allows them to cope with the
unthinkable when all I can seem to do is disappear a little
more each day.
There is no relief now that I’m here, now that I’ve left
them to fend for themselves without even my dubious,
haphazard protection. Besides, it’s not as though I’ve escaped.
Not really.
Not at all.
 CHAPTER 17

I don’t know how long I pound my fingers along the

polished ivory and onyx before I finally force
myself to stop. Missing my sisters, worrying for
them — it solves nothing.
I am marveling at the rare feeling of a bead of sweat on my
brow in this icebox when Khijhana lets out a low growl. Her
ears fold back, and she lifts slightly off her haunches, as
though she’s ready to pounce.
I don’t have to wonder long what’s riled her up. Odger, the
man from the feast with the silver star on his mask, glides into
the room. His gloved hands are giving me a muted, polite clap,
and I am nearly off-kilter enough to tell him exactly where he
can put his praise.
But I still my tongue, because I may yet need him for
information.
Instead, I rest a placating hand on Khijha’s head and
incline mine in gratitude.
“I didn’t know our new queen was an aficionado,” he says
in his oily tone.
“Consort,” I correct with a bland smile, as though I don’t
remember him emphasizing the title at the banquet or don’t
realize that he is merely trying to flatter me now that we are in
private.
“Of course.” He feigns chagrin. “My mistake.”
“Think nothing of it,” I say, rising to my feet.
 “Allow me to make it up to you over a game?” he gestures
to a cup of dice at the nearest table.
He wants to play games, all right, but to what end?
Well, it’s not as though I have anything better to do.
“That does sound nice, but perhaps you would indulge me
with a different sort of game.” I choose my words carefully
and infuse my smile with more warmth this time, crinkling my
eyes and allowing my lips the slightest pout.
“What did you have in mind?” He stalks closer, like the
predator I know he is, and I fight the urge to cringe.
I point to the chess board.
“I haven’t played in ages,” I say truthfully, pushing back
memories of the man who taught me to play. “But it could be
fun.”
He hesitates before answering.
“I’ll go easy on you, I promise.” His voice drips with
charm, and I am certain if I could see his lips, they would be
tilted in false self-deprecation.
“Well, if you promise.” I glance demurely at him through
lowered lashes and take my seat.
Khijhana stays glued to my side, never moving from
between Odger and me, and it draws his attention.
He whistles.
“I had heard that he found you a chalyx, but I’ve never
actually seen one in person.”
Look at him, being useful already.
“I assumed they were common here,” I respond truthfully
as he sets up the board.
“They aren’t common anywhere,” he says. Then, he shakes
his head, likely because he realizes he nearly complimented
the king. “I’m surprised you chose this game. Most women
don’t play chess.”
 He means the words as a compliment, so I pretend to take
them that way instead of acknowledging that his tone tells me
he would feel the same way if I had told him Khijhana wanted
to play.
“I suppose I’m not most women,” I respond, the words a
curious echo of my conversation with Einar. “Though, you
hardly seem to be most men, either.”
“Oh?” He stills.
“You seem to have almost no accent. Have you always
lived here?”
He puffs out his chest before he answers.
“Jokith has always been my home, but I served as the
king’s ambassador for decades.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by his age when I know Einar’s,
but it constantly awes me how long the Jokithans live. It was a
mystery of their lineage even Madame could never solve, one
that seemed tied to the land itself.
Then, I register the rest of what he said.
“Are you the ambassador who chose me?” I ask, taking my
time moving my knight directly into his line of fire.
He laughs, a sound that slithers along my spine.
“I would never have wasted your beauty on a man like
Einar.”
I pretend to miss the way he leaves out the king’s title.
“You flatter me,” I say, because I can hardly tell him the
truth, that he revolts me.
We banter meaninglessly over a few turns, long enough for
me to confirm exactly what kind of player he is. He’s a
coward.
He’s all underhanded moves and defensive strategy,
waiting for even an unskilled opponent to happen upon one of
his many traps. It tells me all I need to know about how to
steer this conversation. All I have to do is wait for the opening
in his increasingly blatant flirtations.
 “Surely, you didn’t think I could let that move stand,” he
says, capturing the knight I’ve sacrificed for this very reason.
“Of course, with a face like yours, I doubt you’ve encountered
much resistance in the past.”
I shoot him a saucy look.
“And what of your face, Sir? Surely, it’s a travesty to hide
it away from the world.”
If there’s any resentment toward the king on this matter,
he’ll be showing it right about now. Instead, he goes still. I
think, perhaps, I’ve been too forward until he lets out a small
sigh.
“Indeed, I long for the time when I can display my features
before the world. But there are worse things, I suppose.”
I don’t think it’s my imagination that his banal chatter is
more subdued after that, or that he speeds up the game more
than he might have. I don’t push anymore, though, unwilling
to lose the only person who has actually consented to talk to
me.
Before he announces his win, my chalyx raises back up on
her haunches, only this time, her head is cocked slightly to the
side and her ears remain upright. This time, I have a feeling I
know exactly who is on his way in.
 CHAPTER 18

T he cozy room feels crowded as soon as Einar’s

massive form stalks in. Even the overly
confident man across the table from me shrinks
ever so slightly next to the king.
Still, he doesn’t turn to acknowledge the bigger man.
“Check mate,” he tells me, his tone more intimate than the
words require. “Truly, you played remarkably well, all things
considered.”
All things like my female anatomy, you mean?
“You’re too kind,” I say instead, managing the words
without a trace of irony. “Perhaps we’ll have a rematch soon.”
Very soon, if I have anything to say about it. Even if I do
feel like I need to scrub every part of my body the moment I
leave here, like his personality left a physical residue.
I don’t even glance at my giant brute of a husband as I
stand up to make my way out.
Odger doesn’t follow my lead, though. He stands up and
looks the king squarely in his marble face before bowing
several inches shallower than is appropriate.
“Thank you, My Lord, for allowing me the pleasure of
entertaining your wife.” He draws out the word pleasure, and
Einar’s face darkens infinitesimally.
The king looks to the spot where I have stilled to watch his
exchange with Odger, then to Khijhana, who stands facing
Odger with her features on alert. Finally, he turns back to the
slighter man.
A slow smile spreads across the bastard’s face, and I
narrow my eyes.
Something amusing, dear husband? I don’t ask, though,
not in front of Odger.
“I’m sure the pleasure was all hers,” the king responds.
The corner of my mouth tilts up ever so slightly. He
believes he has read the situation perfectly well, that he’s
caught on to my game.
But I haven’t even gotten started.
I close the space between Odger and me with two long
strides, placing my hand lightly on his arm.
“Indeed, it was. I look forward to next time.” I widen my
eyes just enough that he believes it is the king being made a
fool of rather than himself.
It works, if the way he struts from the room is any
indication.
I turn back to Einar in time to see an irksome shadow cross
his face, but he is already moving to the chess board.
“Care for a game that’s a little more your speed?”
Why does it always feel like he’s saying more than the sum
of his words?
“What makes you think the game with Lord Odger was not
my speed?” I ask, because two can play at double entendres.
“Just a feeling.” He shrugs arrogantly, as if my answer
couldn’t possibly matter less to him.
My pride nearly has me walking out the door before my
sense gets the better of me. Haven’t I been looking for a
chance to understand him better?
I take my seat across from him. He pulls a Jokithan coin
out of his pocket and moves to flip it.
“Heads,” he calls.
 “Betting on your own face?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“It’s the only one I can trust.” There it is.
An undercurrent of anger, and, if I’m not mistaken, even
jealousy.
I can’t pretend I’m not pleased to have permeated his icy
exterior enough to rankle him, but he isn’t the only angry one.
I haven’t forgotten yesterday.
“And here I was about to say the opposite,” I counter. “I’ll
take the wolf.” It’s the other side of the Jokithan silver.
He narrows his eyes but says nothing. The small silver
coin lands with his pompous face staring up at us, and he flips
the board so that the alabaster tokens are in front of him.
Though Odger had assumed I required the advantage of
going first, I actually prefer to let the king make the first
move.
He leads out with a pawn in a classic opening, one I get the
feeling is intentionally neutral. I counter with a move just as
bland, and our game begins.
We spend the next several turns in silence, each taking the
other’s measure, and neither gaining nor giving away the
advantage.
Finally, he pauses with his nimble fingers hovering over
his knight, the light catching on his silver wedding band.
“Am I to understand you meant to imply you would trust a
wild animal over your king?”
It’s an effective way to distance himself, though I hardly
think of him as my king. He moves his piece, and I wonder if
his question was as much to distract me as it was genuine.
I study the board. I see a solid dozen ways out of the trap
he is weaving, but only a handful that would trap him in turn.
I know I should let him win, but something in me itches to
play in truth, to pit my mind against his and see where it leads
us. Besides, I’ve thrown one game today already.
 Meeting his eyes, I slide my rook into position. The
moonstones on my ring dance under the golden candlelight,
like they’re celebrating the small victory with me.
“Check,” I announce, then respond to his question with
one of my own. “Am I to understand you would blame me for
such a notion?”
His glacial eyes don’t leave mine, but neither does he
respond. Anger rises in me, unbidden.
“Tell me, my king, how much trust you might have for
someone who fills the space in their marriage bed with secrets
and false niceties?”
He drops his gaze, features tightening with what I might
have thought was remorse, if I could have believed him
authentic.
“Everyone has secrets,” he responds quietly, deftly
maneuvering his king out of danger.
The hypocrisy of me arguing that statement is not lost on
me, but I do it anyway.
“Indeed,” I allow, countering his move before continuing.
“Does everyone also restrict entire sections of their home from
their wife?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but I barrel over him.
“For that matter, does everyone bark orders at a woman
they barely know in a room full of those who are strangers to
her? A woman who, if anything, he should show more than the
usual respect for?” I don’t expect him to apologize, but he can
damned well acknowledge what he did.
His face turns to stone again, but he isn’t too distracted to
make another move.
“Everyone does not have the responsibilities that I do.”
So much for remorse.
Whatever else had happened in that wing, he had no
problem with the way he belittled me, the way he shut me out
of everything that was going on in this castle, like I’m some
random intruder instead of his wife.
“I see.” It is an effort not to shake with the ire now
trembling through my veins.
Khijhana presses herself against my leg, and I soak in her
warmth gratefully, trying in vain to ground myself. I don’t
speak again until I’ve countered his move.
“I suppose that’s all the reason you need for your behavior.
I would hardly expect a man in as lofty a position as your own
to lower yourself by offering explanations to a woman who
will never be anything more than your glorified whore.” I
manage to keep my voice remarkably calm, but I spit that last
word out all the same.
He rears back as though I’ve slapped him.
“I’ve never touched you!” The way he says the words with
blatant disgust doesn’t help his overall case of being an
arsehole, but that was never the point.
He could have given me a hundred titles if he didn’t want
to make me Queen, but there is an ownership associated with a
consort. He may as well have snapped a collar around my neck
for all the pride he has afforded me, and I know it shouldn’t
matter. I remind myself of that constantly.
But it does, and it’s not the only thing I can’t get past.
“It doesn’t matter what you do once you call me that, a fact
we are both well aware of. So, tell me, my king, my master,
just how your consort should view you now, so that I may
follow that order as well.”
His face is red with fury, his mouth opening as though he
genuinely has no idea how to respond. If that’s the case, he’s
the only one who’s short on words, because I can’t seem to
stop mine.
“Is that why you wouldn’t permit me to bring my own
ladies or maids along? What need does a prisoner have of
companionship?”
 His flinch is barely perceptible, but I notice as he leans
forward, no doubt to defend himself. Still, I don’t stop.
“Perhaps you could force me to wear a veil as well.” I am
as close to shouting now as I ever come, closer than I can
remember being in years to losing the carefully cultivated
threads of my temper.
“Or have you already commissioned one? How much
fabric do you think it would take to obscure the hideousness of
my own features from Your Majesty’s untainted gaze?”
I have moved subconsciously closer to him with each word
until we are mere inches apart by the time I stop speaking.
This close, I can see that his eyes aren’t really blue — at least,
not entirely. They’re flecked with silver, like jagged shards of
ice. His lips are parted in acrimony or something I might
interpret as desire on anyone else.
We sit like that for another heartbeat, frozen in time but for
our furious breaths. Then he swallows, closing his mouth and
backing away from the charged moment.
“I would never force a veil on anyone, let alone my own
people.” He delivers the statement without inflection, his
attention solely on the queen he is now sliding slowly across
the board. “There are things beyond you here, things you don’t
understand.”
I take a deep breath, studying the minute changes in his
features. The slight furrow in his brow, the vein pulsing in his
neck.
To the untrained eye, he could appear emotionless, but
there is something there brimming below the surface,
something I can’t quite name. None of it makes sense, though.
If he doesn’t force his servants and guests into masks and
veils, then why speak so sharply to the girl cleaning the slime
that day?
And why hide their faces, if not at his command?
“How can I possibly understand something you refuse to
explain?” I finally interject, but he holds up a hand.
 “You can’t understand, but you can look outside the bubble
of your own making to acknowledge that much before
jumping to conclusions, something you have clearly not
bothered to do.” He stands up in a single, fluid movement, not
breaking eye contact with me.
“Check mate.”
I look at the board in disbelief, but he isn’t wrong. And for
once, I wasn’t pandering. He’s outwitted me.
By the time I glance back up, he has swept out of the
room, leaving the room feeling even emptier than it did when I
arrived.
 CHAPTER 19

I turn our exchange over and over in my mind,

dissecting it piece by piece, yet still, I come up
wanting. What was said and all that wasn’t is
spinning in my head like a carousel that never stops.
I am already tired of playing this game. Of waiting for him
to soften or change or to explain anything about this horrid,
frozen, soulless place.
Weeks go by, and Einar doesn’t join me for breakfast. I’ve
taken all of my meals in my room, alone but for Khijhana.
Even Sigrid has been keeping her distance, though the way
she gingerly helps me dress and insists on brushing my hair
tells me there is no ill-will between us. There’s only a wall of
secrets that neither of us can seem to breach.
I groan for the millionth time, and Khijha rubs her massive
head against my neck, nearly knocking me backwards on the
bed.
The chalyx never stops growing. In just the few weeks that
have passed, she is now the size of a full-grown wildcat. Her
purr practically rumbles through my bones, and I allow myself
to take comfort in her for a moment.
Today is another echo of each day since I argued with the
king. Sigrid draws my bath while I sip the special tonic she
makes me each morning. Then, breakfast. Then, I am left to
my own devices until lunch, and the same from the span of
lunch until dinner and all through the night.
 I return to the study most days, but neither Odger, nor
Einar makes an appearance. And I don’t touch the piano again.
My emotions are precarious enough without another trek down
memory lane. Instead, I pass the time by staring at the endless
mountains and wishing I was anywhere but here.
Khijhana and I are on our way back to my rooms after one
such visit when I turn a corner and stop dead in my tracks. A
man is walking from the direction of the king’s rooms. It takes
me a moment to realize that it is, in fact, the king. His face is
concealed by a black silk mask, but his arrogant posture and
his solid footsteps are impossible to hide.
Unlike the doctor’s masks of the guards flanking him, his
is fashioned after the head of a wolf. He freezes when he spots
me.
Several seconds tick by while we stand only strides apart,
facing each other without a word until I finally decide to
speak.
“Have you decided you’d like a taste of your own
medicine? Is this penitence?” I gesture to the face covering.
“I am holding Court today.” As usual, he responds without
actually answering my question, but he has revealed
something even more infuriating.
“So, you do allow people in the castle? Just not for the
sake of your wife?”
The guards shuffle uncomfortably, but the king only sighs.
“I allow those in need to petition their king for a short
period of time every other week.” His tone drips with
condescension. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the
difference, as that would require you thinking of someone
besides yourself.”
I stare down at the faded markings on my hands, so he
won’t see the truth in my expression.
That I despise him.
This is at least the second time he has called me selfish,
and it doesn’t sting any less when coming from a man who
essentially had me shipped here like I was little more than
livestock, a man who couldn’t begin to understand that I have
spent my entire life at the expense of someone else’s.
He hasn’t moved, but he is impossible to read, even when
his face isn’t hidden.
“I think I prefer this face,” I say at last, gesturing to his
mask. “The beast. At least there is honesty in that.” I walk
around him without another word, giving him a wide berth and
holding my head high until I reach the relative safety of my
chambers.

He is better at avoiding me after that.

Khijhana is at least my constant companion, speculating
and observing at my side. Even now, her ears twitch in
warning.
I listen for the telltale footsteps in the hallway. They pause
just in front of my door, their shadow stretching under the
frame for several seconds before he decides to move on.
I’m not sure if the way my heart thunders within my chest
is from relief or disappointment. Either way, his retreat is the
sound we’ve been waiting for.
I ease out of the bed and into my slippers, careful not to
allow a single floorboard to creak, in case he or a guard is
listening. Tying the plush robe tighter around my waist, I ease
open the panel in the wall and usher Khijha through before
following her. I slide the hidden door back into place and
pause, waiting to be sure Einar hasn’t decided to venture
through the passageways this evening.
When I hear the scrape of his desk chair on his floor, I feel
safe enough to creep down the hall in the opposite direction.
Many nights of this routine have taught Khijha and me the
ins and outs of most of the castle. I’ve even found a door that
leads to a back entrance of the castle. It’s solidly locked up,
but only from the inside. I think I have come close to
exploring all of Alfhild.
All except for the West Wing. There must be a passage
somewhere, but I have yet to find it.
Khijha purrs and presses her body closer to mine in a
gesture of comfort. I know she can feel the tension rolling off
of me in waves, just as she is curiously in tune with all of my
emotions. I’ve never had a pet, but the ones I’ve observed
haven’t appeared to be nearly this intuitive.
Once I solve the list of mysteries this castle has to offer, I
plan to learn more about chalyxes and why they are so rare.
We continue down several corridors, winding our way
through the shadowy silence.
It’s somewhat unnerving how much I prefer the dark,
hushed passageways to the light of day and interacting with
people with murky motives. The shadows are illuminating, in
their way, while the light offers so much brightness to hide
behind.
Sadly, while my spying has revealed some information, it’s
not the sort I was hoping for.
There seems to be an illness spreading through the castle.
Many of the staff have taken to their beds; some of the
courtiers as well. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not allowed in
the West Wing. I can hardly afford to fall —
The sound of whispering voices stops me in my tracks.
Khijha doesn’t need to be told to be still. Her glowing eyes
peer up at me expectantly, while her tail curls around my
ankle.
I find the small opening in the stones, just wide enough to
allow me to peer through if I squeeze one eye shut. I still my
breathing, straining to listen carefully to the quiet conversation
being held.
“…unimaginable.” A man’s voice comes from the other
side of the kitchen.
 It isn’t until the other speaks that I finally see them, two
beaked forms.
“I know, I know. But what is he to do now? They’re
already married.” This from the taller but far skinnier figure.
His voice is deep, with its own sort of built-in echo, as if he is
perpetually speaking in a cave.
The broader figure huffs. “Maybe. I heard they haven’t
even consummated yet.”
Gossiping cowards.
My pulse beats a heavy rhythm in my temples while heat
floods my cheeks.
“If you don’t consummate, the marriage can be annulled.”
The smaller man continues.
I clench my fists. They aren’t saying anything I don’t
already know. We are nearing a month as it is, and I am no
closer to the king now than I was before I got here.
“How he copes with being married to such a spoiled brat is
beyond me.”
“I agree. Too good to even leave her rooms, much less
speak to anyone.”
“He doesn’t deserve the likes of her. After all he’s done for
us, all we wanted was someone who would make him happy.”
Another reminder that I seem to be the only person he
chooses to unleash his ire on. Well, me and Odger. A duo I’d
prefer not to be part of.
“Here, here. She’s nearly as bad as the other one —”
“I beg your pardon!” Another more familiar voice echoes
off of the walls, causing the men to freeze.
Leif. His limping form comes into view, and the other two
men give a slight bow in greeting.
Interesting.
“We do not speak so cavalierly of that woman.”
 Somehow, I don’t think I’m the one he means, unless he,
too, holds a deep level of loathing for me. I sigh inwardly.
Perhaps he only hides it better than his king does.
“I would think the two of you had more to do than gossip
like schoolgirls,” he chides.
Both beaked faces sag toward the floor.
“It just isn’t right, Sir. After everything, that he would get
stuck with her. And after we all pushed him into this.” This is
from the wider one, his tone dripping with remorse.
Leif heaves a sigh and puts a hand on each of their
shoulders.
“You’re good lads, but you’re young yet. Marriage is hard
enough for anyone, let alone with a whole castle weighing in.”
He allows a moment for that to sink in. “Give them their time,
especially the girl. It can’t be easy for her.”
So, I hadn’t read him that badly. Between Leif and Sigrid,
at least there appeared to be two decent people within these
walls.
They bow again, and he nods before turning to leave the
room. All is quiet as the two men finish their cleaning until
Khijha sneezes and it catches me off guard. I jerk away too
quickly from the wall and crack my forehead against the
stones.
Sirens!
If they hadn’t heard her already, they most certainly heard
that.
A hush falls over the men.
“You shouldn’t say such things so publicly!” the taller one
whispers more quietly, while glancing around the room for the
intruder.
“Me? You had just as much to say as I did, to be sure.”
They continue in this vein for another minute or so before
the dishes are done and they vacate the kitchen.
 I rub the aching spot on my head. It stings, but not as much
as their words had.
I think back to the king’s words about how I am the only
reason the people are unhappy.
All this time, I thought I was doing them a favor by
keeping away, by not forcing my awkward, foreign company
on what was already clearly a complicated situation, but
apparently, I had done quite the opposite. They despise me.
They despise me, yet love their king? The beast of a man
who yells at women and forces — allows them to conceal
themselves from the world. Or, at least, from the rest of the
castle.
A thought pricks at the back of my mind, and a new train
of thought rushes in unannounced.
Maybe they’re hiding from me.
The very idea is unnerving and, if I’m perfectly honest
with myself, disappointing.
My chalyx paws at my legs, and I take her queue. I’ve
learned enough about the castle and the people in it for one
evening.
 CHAPTER 20

W hen I awake the next day, I decide to do things

differently. Sigrid fusses over the scrape on my
forehead and applies a pungent ointment that
she swears will help.
It’s certainly vile enough to rival the tonic she gave me for
the mountain sickness, so I can at least trust in its efficacy.
After my bath, I sit down to breakfast alone, but I’m not
quite ready to let Sigrid leave.
“I was wondering if you might be able to help me with
something?” I begin.
“Mistress?” Her voice is just a hair on the hesitant side,
bringing home the unwelcome realization that I’m considered
a wild card here.
“It’s been too cold for me to stray from my rooms very
much,” I explain, realizing full well how feeble my excuse is.
“But I was thinking, if I had warmer clothing, that I might be
able to get out more. You know, around other people.”
Sigrid stares at me silently, her veil concealing her
features. I’m not sure exactly what she thinks of what I’ve said
until she closes the gap between us in three long strides, takes
my face in her gloved hands, and presses her veiled face to the
top of my head.
“You make me so happy, today,” she says, her voice lighter
than it has been in weeks. “I have just the things for you.
Come.”
 She grabs hold of my hand and pulls me to the wardrobe
where she placed all of the clothes I brought with me.
Moving aside the gauzy dresses, she pulls open the lid to a
chest within the wardrobe, one that I had no idea was even
there, and removes several articles of clothing.
Laying them out on my bed, she fusses until I can see the
full outfit.
White and grey fur-lined pants accompany a long-sleeved
fitted top of the same material. What had looked barbaric on
our wedding day appears somehow softer now, more
welcoming and practical in a way that appeals to my own
pragmatic nature.
It must have just been the man wearing them who made
them so off-putting before.
What catches my attention and nearly steals my breath is
the hooded cape she has provided. Not only is it a practical
solution for the chill I can never seem to shake, something no
one has yet thought to offer me, but it’s red.
All this time, I’ve felt so…distant, so unseen, so very
different from the rest of the castle. But Sigrid saw my
wedding dress and the rest of my wardrobe and, instead of
trying to force me into the dreary gray way of life here, she
infused that gloom with color. My favorite color. And she
made it feel like mine.
I run my hands over it, studying every inch of the stunning
garment. Deep shades of crimson and ruby and garnet form an
abstract pattern of roses in the soft crushed velvet. My breath
hitches at the harsh memories and the constant reminder that
the flower brings to mind.
The whole glorious thing is offset by bright white fur
lining, lending the gorgeous cloak even more warmth.
Even if I can never gaze at the cursed flowers without
seeing my sister in their every stem, petal, and even each
thorn, I will wear the clothes with pride.
I will imagine her at my side, lending me her endless well
of optimism, her own brand of strength, in a world with far too
little of it.
I swallow, taking in the matching boots and thick, warm
socks that my toes can hardly wait to wiggle into.
“Thank you,” I say, choking back the emotion that has
come unbidden, as I hold the items close to me to compare the
sizes.
“I am have them made when you get here. But when you
stay in your bed so much, is no use.”
Normally, her chastisement might chafe, but I am too
grateful to focus on anything else now. Besides, she’s not
wrong.
“I know. I’ll be better.”
“You will.” She says it in that tone that’s half
encouragement, half command, but she definitely has to
swallow a couple of times to get it out.
“I thought I might start with dinner tonight…” I bait the
idea to see what reaction I will get.
“Yes. Wonderful!” She says the W like a V, and her
excitement would be contagious if I didn’t know it would be
another evening of other people watching while I eat.
I want to ask why they even meet for dinner, but she is so
happy and there is no tactful way to phrase the question. So
instead, I nod my head.
“Perfect. It’s settled, then. Will you be there, too?”
“Not this night. I rest. You go.”
Unexpected nerves assault my stomach like the persistent
flies down by the wharf, the ones that never leave you alone.
But I’ve already decided this is the best course of action going
forward. There’s hardly any sense in backing down now.
 CHAPTER 21

I walk down to dinner, feeling stronger than I have

in weeks. It’s amazing the difference it makes,
feeling dressed for the occasion. The pants and
tunic are soft and practical, fitted against me for the ultimate
balance of comfort and warmth. Now that I’ve stopped
shivering, it’s easier to focus on everything else.
Like how very badly I’ve gone about all of this.
My cloak, I wear like the armor I believe it was intended to
be. In it, I am impervious not only to the cold, but to the
judgments of everyone in this castle. Including him.
I refuse to think about the discomfort of sitting next to the
king at dinner when I’ve only spoken to him once in weeks. It
hardly makes a difference, I suppose, whether he’s ignoring
me from behind my door or across a table.
But when I stride into the room with Khijhana at my side,
my steps somehow weightier and more confident in the velvet
boots than I had managed in my sheer, soundless, slippers, I
realize I have no cause for concern.
No one is ignoring me, least of all the king.
A hush descends the moment my name is announced. The
room has been rearranged so that the thirty or so courtiers
gather around a single large table.
Every veiled and beaked face turns toward me in a unison
that is almost unnerving. The face I’m looking for is neither
beaked, nor veiled, but he wears a mask all the same, one that
conceals far more than the silken ones of the court.
 Even now, even after a lifetime of studying men for their
motives, I cannot guess at what lies in his pale blue eyes. The
rest of the court stands when I enter, but the king has not
moved his body any more than his unreadable granite gaze has
left my face.
There’s a subtle commotion. I realize the man next to him
— Leif, according to the silver wolf sewn into his mask — has
kicked him under the table. I’m sure I wasn’t meant to notice,
and it looks like I’m the only one who has. Einar shoots him a
wry glance and reluctantly gets to his feet.
For the sake of his people, I’m sure. It certainly isn’t for
mine.
Nonetheless, I dip my head at him as though I appreciate
his belated empty gesture and take my seat beside his.
I may not have understood before, how important it was
that I play this part, but I do now. And sands-be-damned if I’ll
let my pride — or his — stop me.
Though, his pride is a tricky thing to nail down. He is, after
all, dining next to a servant this evening. Einar gives me a
single, assessing glance before diverting his attention to Leif
without a word.
“It is good see you this night, Con - Lady Zaina.” A timid
voice comes from behind a veil with the insignia of a ship.
She stopped herself short of saying “consort.” Has
someone explained that it’s an offensive term in the common
tongue? Odger had certainly known that from the start, and I
suspect the king had as well.
It would be good to see her as well, but I can hardly say so
without being rude, so I settle on a thank you. She turns back
to her food, clearly embarrassed, even if I can’t make out her
features.
There’s another shuffling noise to my right, and I can only
surmise Leif has once again given the king a nudge toward
propriety when Einar opens his mouth to speak.
“Indeed. How kind of you to join us.” His tone is so
perfectly neutral, I can’t be sure if he’s being genuine or if it’s
a jibe at the fact that I hadn’t before now.
I decide to pretend it’s the former, beaming a bright smile
in his direction for the sparsely filled table to see.
“Well, Dear Husband, I figured I had left you in want of
my company for long enough.”
The table can assume I meant at dinnertime, but Einar
knows perfectly well that I’m referring to his noted avoidance
of me these past weeks.
His brow arches ever so slightly, but he doesn’t respond,
only motions for the servants to bring the first course.
It’s another evening of eating our meal while the scant few
guests at the tables wait. It’s just as upsetting as it was the first
time. But while I was concerned about offending Sigrid, I have
no such compunctions about the man sitting next to me.
“Why do you insist on dinner when they can’t eat?” I ask
him when the conversation swells enough to cover the
question.
His jaw clenches, like I knew it would. No matter, I’m not
here for him.
“I don’t insist,” he growls.
“Then why —”
“Because dinner is about more than food,” he says shortly.
Leif clears his throat, and I realize our voices carried more
than I intended.
“If I may,” his deep voice interjects, and again, I notice the
way he seems to linger at the end of each syllable before
moving on to the next. “It may seem strange with so many
people, but it is not unlike any other family dinner.”
I blink, trying and failing to imagine such a thing in
Madame’s household. Had my birth family eaten together?
Those memories are locked away so tightly, I can’t seem to
dredge one up.
I hide my horrified expression a moment too late. But
instead of the way Einar is close to crumpling his fork in his
irritation, Leif asks patiently, “What were they like, in your
home?”
The word home is nearly as foreign as the concept of a
family dinner, and the lie Madame told is more than enough to
keep up with, so I settle on the truth.
“We didn’t have family dinners.” I force a smile I don’t
feel, like the answer doesn’t matter.
The table around us is still engaging in low conversational
tones; Leif and Einar both go still. Then, Leif nods, almost
more to himself than to me.
“Then it’s a custom we will be happy to teach you,” he
says, and the kindness in his voice unravels something coiled
tightly within myself.
“And I would be glad to learn.” It’s impossible to be
anything but kind in return.
Besides, it may be the truest thing I’ve said all evening. I
would be glad to learn in a life I’ll never have with a man who
actually loved me. As it is, I focus on enjoying small things
about this moment, like how excited Khijhana is when I sneak
her bits of roasted fish.
The more peaceful I feel, the more relaxed the atmosphere
grows around us. The woman who spoke earlier asks if she
can feed the giant cat as well, and I oblige. Nearly everyone at
the table laughs when Khijhana, clearly having understood the
meaning, practically sprints the couple of seats to the mild
woman.
It isn’t long, though, before the arduous voice of Lord
Odger slithers across the table.
“Consort Zaina.” He certainly remembers my title today.
“How lovely to see you enjoying your meal with such…
pleasure.”
I fight not to gag on the last bite of vegetables, trying to
speak up before Einar can. He’s tense beside me, the energy
radiating off of him practically feral.
 For all that he doesn’t seem to want me, he certainly does
give off the impression of jealousy.
“Yes, Lord Odger,” I respond. “My compliments to the
chef.”
“Wait until you try the glazed snowbird legs at the festival
tomorrow.” He says the words just a hair too innocently, like
he already knows I’m not aware of any festival.
And I have a choice. Play into his hands and further prove
to the room that I am ill-matched for their precious king…or
cover for him.
I swallow my pride and do the latter.
“Einar — His Majesty,” I feign the intimate slip, and in the
corner of my eye, Einar’s gaze narrows slightly, “was just
telling me about it. I’m so looking forward to finally seeing
more of my new home and sampling… Oh, what was it you
were telling me I simply had to try, dear?”
A hush falls over the room, and the king’s eyes widen. He
manages to wipe the baffled look off of his face in time to
respond.
“The Sterling Eiswein. It’s the jewel of the festival, made
from our —”
“Icicle berries,” I fill in, picturing the deep purple oblong
fruit depicted in one of the books in the study.
He raises his eyebrows, and I turn back to Odger.
“But a glazed snowbird sounds delightful as well.”
He nods, but the disappointment is evident in his lack of
response.
The king’s knee presses against my own, sending every
neuron in my body on alert. He is thanking me, I realize,
having discerned Odger’s motives as well as I did.
And it may not be much, but that simple gesture feels like
a victory.
 CHAPTER 22

E inar shows up for breakfast the next morning as

though he does so every day. Only this time, he
comes through the front door.
I’m not expecting him, so I’m in the middle of teaching
Khijhana to pick an object hidden in a cup. Her brilliant eyes
follow the three upside-down cups with interest as I rotate
them around on the table.
After a moment, I space them evenly apart and back up.
She looks at me, then the cups, before nudging the one on the
far right with her nose. It clatters over, revealing the feathered
toy I have hidden inside.
“Good job, Khijha,” I praise her, scratching the fur under
her neck as she purrs in delight, while we wait for the king to
make his purpose in being here known.
I don’t have to wait long. He strides across the room until
he is a respectable distance away before speaking.
“I’m glad I found you,” he begins, but his tone is too polite
for me to take him at his words just yet. “I have good news for
you.”
“Oh?” I ask, suspicion overtaking me.
“Yes. I thought you might be pleased to know that Sigrid
has found a willing owner for the chalyx.” He nods at
Khijhana, and something between fury and panic seizes my
chest.
 Then, I catch the teasing glint in his eyes and realize I am
giving him the exact reaction he wants even before he speaks
again.
“You know, since pets are frivolous and all…” He leaves
his sentence dangling like a question.
I feign a yawn instead of taking his bait.
“Khijhana wouldn’t like that, I’m afraid. She’s grown
accustomed to my presence, whether I wish it or not. Besides,
from what I’ve learned about the beasts, they can be rather
temperamental when they don’t get their way,” I say in as
nonchalant a tone as I can muster.
He cracks a small grin.
“Indeed. Well, I wouldn’t want to enrage any
temperamental creatures.” His gaze lingers pointedly on me
before sliding over to Khijha. “So, if you’re certain it’s not too
much of a sacrifice, I’ll have Sigrid let the person know it’s
not necessary.”
“Very well,” I reply, even though we both know there is no
‘person’. “Did you come all the way here just to tell me that?”
“No.” He stands up a little straighter and clears his throat
but doesn’t say anything else.
“Then, to what do I owe this rare delight?” I prompt him,
smiling to show him I am teasing. Somewhat.
“Last night, at dinner.” He peers at me like I’m a riddle he
can’t quite solve. “You covered for me.”
“I did,” I confirm without offering an explanation.
“You could have let Lord Odger undermine me.”
“I could have,” I agree, mostly to annoy him.
It works.
“Why would you do that?” he finally asks outright.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I fight to hide my amusement.
“I’ve hardly given you reason to.” He looks distinctly
uncomfortable, and it’s an effort not to laugh when I respond.
 “Is that…an apology? Sands, I do believe I shall need to
make use of the fainting room again.”
He narrows his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts up.
“Kings never apologize,” he replies in a carefully bland
tone.
“Of course not. How silly of me,” I muse. “I accept,
nonetheless.”
He gives a couple of prolonged blinks, opening his mouth
as if to speak, then closing it again. Finally, he shakes his
head, but I don’t miss the sparkle of laughter warming his
eyes.
“If you truly wish to accompany me to the festival, we ride
out at midday.”
He turns to leave without waiting for my response, like the
imperious ass that he is.
I try not to let the relief show on my face that we’ll be
taking horses instead of another vomit-inducing carriage ride,
but my smile does turn more genuine.
“Noon, it is.”

When I spot sight of the king, I realize that, once again, my

relief has come too quickly.
We aren’t taking a carriage, that much is true, but we are
also not riding anything I am familiar with.
I stand several yards away from a small sled attached to a
team of what can only be wolves, though they are at least three
times the size of any wolf I’ve ever seen.
I glance between my beast of a husband, my ever-growing
cat, and the larger-than-life wolves before me.
Is everything in this kingdom massive?
 Einar beams at his lead dog, one with midnight fur and
gleaming amber irises, roughly scratching its ears and grinning
like a child.
His silver-blond hair is pulled back into a knot,
accentuating his high cheekbones, square jaw, and glacial
eyes. His beard is a bit shorter, freshly groomed, and he
donned the same shades of green that I wear now. The sunlight
catches on the glint of silver around his neck and on the
pommels of the swords strapped to his back.
By all appearances, he looks more like a warrior than a
king. However, the way he plays with the giant wolves brings
out a boyish charm in him that I haven’t seen before.
The canines range in color from deep charcoal to a
shimmering shade of pearl, and they appear to be somewhat
tame.
Not that Khijhana cares. She hisses again, bravely standing
between me and the dogs.
The king laughs, and I am struck by the way it rings pure,
unlike his mocking chuckles in the past.
He loves this, I realize. The blustery outdoors, the sled,
maybe even the festival itself, but he’s happier than I’ve ever
seen him. Only now that the fatigued lines around his face are
minimized do I realize the weight he carries with him the rest
of the time.
I find myself wanting to draw closer to the warmth of his
laughter, like a flame in this endless sea of ice. Before I know
it, I’m halfway to the precarious-looking sled, my black and
white, fur-lined boots making dainty footprints next to
Khijhana’s round ones.
Snowflakes are falling all around us, and I can barely even
feel a chill through the fur-lined pants and tunic. The cloak is
exquisite, the color of pine trees and the darkest parts of a
forest.
I pause a few feet away, unsure where I fit into this
mechanism. Einar stands in the fairly small space between two
raised handles. There is no seat and nowhere else to stand,
only a flat section of gleaming polished wood between him
and the wolves that I assume is for cargo of some sort.
Einar registers my hesitation, and he takes a small step
back, gesturing to the space in front of him. When I still don’t
move, he holds out a hand, as though it’s my balance I’m
concerned about.
“It’s tradition,” he says, but his outstretched hand feels like
more than the empty gesture of custom.
It feels like a second beginning I’m not entirely sure I want
at this point. I war with my emotions for only a split second
before I place my slim, gloved hand in his colossal one and let
him lead me into my place on the sleigh.
Riding a sled isn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve ever
done. It’s not even close. But, taking his hand in that moment
feels like something else entirely, something that sets my
nerves on fire and sends adrenaline coursing through me.
I push down the feeling, removing my hand from his, and
call out to Khijhana. She takes a moment to decide if she’ll
join us or not before reluctantly climbing aboard the cargo
hold of the sled. She doesn’t look pleased, but I get the feeling
she has no intention of leaving me with these wolves on my
own.
Once she’s situated, Einar settles in behind me. The heat
he seems to carry around with him spreads from every point of
contact. I realize this is the closest I’ve been to him since the
day he stopped my fall on the stairs, and it’s strange how I am
so unaccustomed to his closeness. Stranger still how tempting
it is to relax back into him, to steal some of his warmth and
laughter for my own.
His breath is hot when he leans down to talk into my ear.
“Lean into the curves.”
I give a sharp nod, and he calls out an order. The hounds
take off, jarring the sled with a motion that sends me hurtling
backward into Einar, who doesn’t so much as falter. They
move as one, their long legs crossing the snow-covered hills in
quick, graceful strides.
 I glance back at the castle as we leave the grounds. The
stained-glass window is once again what stands out the most,
but this time I notice the small difference in the shape of the
petals on the mosaic. They are not rounded or soft like a
normal rose. These have sharper edges with a subtle hint of
silver in the middle.
Maybe the designer took some artistic license, or maybe it
represents something so much more than a simple rose. It
hardly matters today.
We must come upon a curve, because I feel my balance
slipping and hear Einar’s chuckle as I quickly turn back
around.
I lean into the rest of the bend and focus on the journey
ahead of us. The wind whips around us, but I barely feel it.
I’m firmly caught up in our smooth glide across the terrain,
nothing like the bumpy, nauseating carriage ride from my
arrival. When I close my eyes, it’s easy to imagine that we’re
flying through the air.
It’s easy to imagine that I’m finally free.
 CHAPTER 23

A s we near the festival, he whistles for the wolves to

slow. His body, so carefree only minutes ago, is now
thrumming with tension. It takes me a moment to
figure out why.
Heads turn in our direction, starting with a handful of
people, then spreading until the entire crowd is focused solely
on us. It’s surprising to see so many faces after so long in the
castle, but hadn’t the people of Colby been maskless as well?
They continue to stare, and I wonder if it’s the wolves, but
the way they look at Einar… It’s more than that. Crown or not,
he is every inch their king.
The sudden, piercing blare of a horn sounds, and the
people bow in unison.
It’s a curious sight, dozens of villagers with pale-ivory or
deepest-ebony skin, men and women alike taking a knee. I
can’t see Einar’s expression, but I feel his breath whoosh out
of him in relief. Had he doubted his people’s response to him?
Still, his hand tightens around the steering bar.
The people rise with varying degrees of speed, their
expressions ranging from excitement to disbelief and even
confusion. More than one eyes us with suspicion, or even
anger. The former wave, while the latter stand stoically by.
I do my part and wave back, beaming and leaning into
Einar in a show of intimacy. He squeezes my hand in thanks
before stepping off the sled. I turn to face him, and several of
the people move to approach us.
 “Where are your guards?” I ask in a low tone, always
hyper-prepared for a situation getting out of hand.
“They’re already here.” He pauses, arching an eyebrow.
“Why? Are you worried about me?”
“Worried about myself, you mean.” My response is dry,
but he smiles.
I don’t mention that it is completely unheard of
everywhere else for a king to ride into a crowd without the
safety of his guard.
“My people are loyal,” he answers in a more serious tone.
“Even if they’re angry, they respect their leader,” he adds
confidently. “Besides, the axe I carry isn’t just for show.”
Then, he takes a deep breath, and I realize that, for all of
his bravado, he is still nervous. Maybe it’s not for his safety,
exactly, but the anxiety is there.
Einar plays his part better than I do, gallantly holding out a
hand to help me off of the sled, then keeping his arm firmly
around me even once I’m safely on the ground.
The crowd edges in around us, and I have to focus to keep
my breathing steady in a sea of humans who tower over me.
Congratulations are offered. Questions of the castle’s
welfare are asked, and evaded smoothly for the most part, I
note.
Some people make passive comments about not having
seen him in years, their suspicions and even judgment clear in
their tone, and Einar is nothing but diplomatic about it all.
When there is finally space to breathe and the crowd
dissipates a bit, I move back toward Khijhana, who has
successfully stayed away from the mob, but has been
unsuccessful in her attempts to extricate herself from the sled.
“You haven’t been here in a while?” I ask tentatively.
Einar sighs and looks around at the winter festival. Booths
and snow-covered hills. Torch lights and the smiling people.
“No,” he offers after a moment.
 “Why not?”
He breathes out, and the joy that I saw on his face as we
were leaving the castle is shadowed by sadness and
resignation.
“It felt wrong to enjoy the festival when my people could
not.”
Could not? I mull over his words in my mind, but before I
can ask for clarification, another man comes up to greet him.
I decide to let the subject drop for now. As much as my
curiosity wants me to push the issue, I also don’t want to ruin
whatever semblance of peace we’ve managed to wrangle
between us.
A man comes to see to Einar’s wolves, but I intercept him
before he can venture too close to Khijha. She’s trembling as it
is, eyes wide, while her claws bury into the woodgrain beneath
her.
I’m still coaxing her off the sled when the sound of
children laughing reaches my ears. I glance up to see a group
of them throwing balls of the fluffy snow at one another.
One dives for cover behind the sled near Khijha and me,
sending a sheet of snow flying up into our faces.
Khijha shakes her head irritably, letting out a low growl,
and I bite back a laugh at her uncharacteristic grouchiness.
“I have sorry, Lady,” the boy says, eyeing me with the
same wide-eyed fear and curiosity he gives my chalyx.
His cheeks are rosy, and he’s panting from the excursion of
their snow battle. The simple act of a child being a child with
no strings attached both fills and breaks my heart at the same
time.
A smile stretches over my mouth, one that is far more
authentic than any of the others I’ve offered recently. It’s one
that reaches my eyes and down to my very soul.
“It’s all right.” I lean down to help him up before wiping
the icy water from my lashes and hair.
 He gives me a toothy grin of his own before running off to
return to his friends. I wave at them while they giggle and
whisper to one another.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would suppose you were
almost enjoying yourself.” Einar’s deep voice rumbles through
my center as he approaches from behind.
“Well, I shan’t accuse you of ignorance in such a crowded
place,” I murmur back.
I’m only half paying attention to him, my concentration
flitting from snowball fights to ice sculptures. It amazes me,
the way these people have found a million uses and
entertainment from the one thing in their kingdom they will
never be short on.
“Indeed,” he allows, and I look up to find him observing
me closely. “My mistake. I see that now.”
I don’t know what to feel about what he sees on my face
now, so I turn the conversation around.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d accuse you of smiling.
That is, if that rabid animal on your face would move long
enough for me to actually be able to tell.”
Although, I can see now how common it is. If anything,
Einar’s beard is a bit shorter than those of the burly men
around us. He strokes the thing protectively and feigns
offense.
Before he can respond, someone calls his name from
across the snowy field. They’re holding two pints and
gesturing toward him with one.
“Go on. I’ll catch up with you,” I assure him.
Truthfully, I could stand a moment to collect myself. It’s a
lot. This crowd, standing at the king’s side, the way he and I
are almost…getting along.
He hesitates for a brief moment, his lips parting slightly.
Then, he nods at a man in the crowd and back at me before
walking away.
 The towering man he gestured to has dark skin, and his
hair is silver and pulled away from his face in a half knot. If
he’s the guard Einar was referring to, I can’t help but wonder
why he doesn’t have to wear a mask while the others do.
A tall woman who looks nearly identical to my guard falls
in line behind Einar. He keeps a female guard? Is she more
than that?
I shouldn’t care, but it’s hard not to wonder when I look
around. The Jokithan women are, as a whole, nothing short of
stunning. Strong, buxom bodies that move with a blend of
confidence and grace. Was this what he always pictured
himself with?
And, if so, what made him look outside his kingdom for a
bride who was so very far from what he wanted?
I push the thought away. We’re getting along today, and
that is rare enough that I hardly need to borrow problems.
Besides, it shouldn’t make any difference to me.
It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t.
The smell of roasted nuts and meats wafts up from the
center of the faire, beckoning me closer. I set out to explore
with my guard following close behind.
People call out from the booths, showing me scarves or
foods or cloaks. Some have simple jewelry, sweets, or even
weapons. Others have gear for animals, artfully made leads for
the dog sleds and the largest saddles I’ve ever seen.
I would probably be freezing even in my warm clothes, but
there are raised bowls of crimson stones emitting waves of
heat.
It’s overwhelming after being cooped up in the castle for
so long, but I can imagine my sisters would love it. So, I smile
in spite of myself, determined to enjoy this small moment for
them.
I meander slowly through the shoppes, stopping a few
times when something stands out. A tiny flame earring catches
my eye. As I’m examining it, thinking to bring it home to
Aika, one of Einar’s guards steps up, the one who had been
trailing me.
“I am Gunnar, Lady Consort.” His voice is deeper than I
was expecting, his teeth a sharp white contrast to his skin. “My
sister is Helga.” He gestures to the woman with the king. “The
king has sent funds for you.” The gesture is well-intended, but
it makes me feel like…a kept woman.
My title of Consort doesn’t help that.
I take the coins, trying not to notice the scrutiny the booth
teller sends my way. I can hardly blame her. Curiosity abounds
for the foreign bride with her exotic pet as we stand out like a
blood-red rose in the pristine snow.
 CHAPTER 24

“H ere.” Einar strolls toward us holding out what

looks to be a large turkey leg. “It’s a
snowbird. You promised Odger that you
would try one. We wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would
we?”
For how territorial he is in the man’s presence, he doesn’t
seem too concerned about my actually enjoying Odger’s
company. I can’t help but mess with him a little.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Then what would we have to talk
about the next time we play…chess?”
Einar’s eyes narrow, but he speaks with a deliberate
casualness.
“You plan to play lots of games with him?” A loaded
question, if ever I heard one.
“It’s what I live for.” I meet his eyes to let him see the
sarcasm in mine.
Einar grunts, but I don’t think I mistake the relief in his
eyes. He masks it by taking a bite of his own giant bird leg,
while thrusting mine at me.
It’s so heavy, I nearly drop it.
“Why does everything in this place have to be so large?
Aren’t there any normal-sized things, foods, or people here?”
He stares at me for a moment, laughter in his eyes.
 “Most women aren’t disappointed in that sort of thing. It’s
when things are too small that it’s a problem.”
I roll my eyes and look down, trying to hide the flush in
my cheeks. Gunnar and the female guard laugh freely.
“It’s nice to know some things don’t change, no matter
what kingdom you’re in. Men everywhere, king or not, are
little more than debauched teenage boys.”
The king shrugs, not bothering to deny it.
“Eat your food, wife.” He smiles around another mouthful.
I can’t deny that the glazed poultry looks and smells
divine. I pull a piece off with my fingers, as the warm juices
drip down my hand. Khijha is practically drooling, licking the
drops of grease from the snow near my feet.
When I finally pop the small bite into my mouth, my eyes
practically roll to the back of my head.
It’s delicious. Savory, with a hint of sweetness, but I don’t
even mind. Each of my tastebuds are grateful and over-eager
as I continue tearing chunks off with my fingers, refusing to
eat the leg in the same manner as my brutish husband, no
matter how tempting it is.
We walk as we eat, and I look up to find we’ve wandered
into a section with games and contests. Men and women alike
arm wrestle, shoot bows, or throw things at targets.
“Care to give it a try?” Einar’s wry grin is a challenge.
“After you,” I allow. “Didn’t you say that axe was for
more than show?”
I tell myself I am using the opportunity to size him up, to
learn more about him. Khijha nudges me with her head, and I
wonder what she senses from me in that moment or if she’s
only asking for food.
I decide it’s the latter and slip her the giant bone with some
meat still on it.
The king’s smug smile is his only reply before he makes a
beeline for the axe throwing booth. I follow, and of course,
Khijha trails along, her tail straight, a proud gleam in her eye
while she carries the snowbird leg. Even if people would have
crowded their king, they give the chalyx a wide berth.
“His Majesty cares to try his luck with the axes?” The
woman who mans the booth announces this loudly while she
sets down three axes in front of him.
Despite the cold, the cloak she wears over her tight-fitting
dress opens to reveal a triangle of cleavage. Her smile is brash,
and she eyes the mammoth of a man standing next to me
without an ounce of shame.
I can’t help but glance at Einar to see if he is returning her
look, but he has eyes only for the axes. Breath whooshes out
of me in what is most definitely not relief, just in time to see a
massive crowd gathering around us.
Gunnar and Helga ensure they keep their distance, though
the mood seems to be good-spirited. Still, I place a hand on
Khijhana’s head to keep myself from being overwhelmed by
the boxed-in feeling.
Einar’s face, however, is pure excitement, his eyes
practically lighting up when he meets mine.
“It’s not luck if you’ve got the skill,” he counters loudly to
the crowd, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
The people laugh and cheer, and the king’s grin is broader
than I’ve ever seen it. He throws the first axe, and it sinks
squarely in the middle circle of the target.
The crowd roars, and the woman gives a throaty laugh.
“Anyone can do it once, My King, but you’ve got two
more!” She is clearly enjoying the show she puts on for the
onlookers, and the king takes it in stride.
“Fair enough, my good woman.” He picks up the second
axe and brings it over his head.
This one, he throws with a flourish that almost makes me
laugh. The game-master isn’t the only one playing to the
crowd. I wonder if I will ever be that comfortable with so
much attention on me.
 Another cheer goes up when the axe meets its target. The
king looks at me, and I give him a begrudging applause,
though I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips.
Finally, he reaches for the third axe. He turns to face his
adoring fans before he throws this one.
“If I win this one, what shall I claim as my reward?”
Suggestions are thrown out from ale to eiswein, trinkets,
and more than a few lewd ones. The king listens and laughs
before pointing with the axe toward the side of the crowd. I
blanch, knowing full well what comment was just called from
that direction.
“A kiss from the lady it is!” he roars.
He very pointedly does not look at me as he raises the axe
over his head and turns to throw it in one fluid movement.
Without even the barest of a second to aim, he hits the center
solidly.
The onlookers shout ‘Huzzah!’ and laugh, but I curse
internally. Wasn’t one public kiss enough for the man, for his
people? My face is heated, from anger, obviously. I try to keep
my expression neutral for the sake of our audience and likely
fail.
He turns to look at me, his eyes shining with a mirth I
don’t feel. Then abruptly, he sinks to one knee.
“Well, my lady?” he says to Khijhana, putting his cheek
directly in her face.
She hesitates only a second before obliging him, dropping
her bone to slide her rough tongue against his cheek before
picking her treat up again.
Laughter breaks out among the crowd, and I marvel at this
man who has never so much as given a genuine smile in my
presence, entertaining half a festival’s worth of people with his
antics.
It’s more than that, though. All day, Khijhana has received
reverent glances, and terrified ones as well. Now, the people
smile in her direction. With one calculated move, he has
changed the way they look at both of us.
And suddenly, I am equal parts impressed and wary of the
man who sees so much more than I gave him credit for.
“Now, it’s your turn.” Einar looks at me, and I feel my
features go tight.
Is he going to kiss me in front of all these people, after all?
But he gestures to the booths around us after only a
moment.
“Choose your weapon, My Lady,” he says loudly.
I narrow my eyes at him, because I know he was off-
footing me intentionally, but again, I realize he is playing to
the people. They look at me with more warmth in their
curiosity already.
There is something refreshing in the way they take women
and weaponry in stride, something that emboldens me more
than it should.
Axes are out, because I could never outdo him there. I am
unlikely to win in an arm-wrestling match, and my skill with a
bow is mediocre, at best. That leaves knives and throwing
stars. I mull over my choices for a moment before heading
toward the stars.
The crowd gives us a wide berth, but they stay gathered to
watch my performance.
“The stars are harder than they look,” Einar warns, but the
challenge hasn’t left his gaze.
I shrug my shoulders innocently and stride over to the
booth, my fingers already itching for the familiar cold steel.
“Why this?” His voice is quieter now, the question only for
me.
They’re easy enough to maneuver, versatile and light
enough that there is no real danger in missing. But I give him a
different answer.
 “They remind me of my home,” I tell him in a low tone.
Or, at least whatever semblance of home I had with my sisters.
Why did I admit that? Aika loved any weapon she could
throw, and she has been on my mind today, but it’s more than
that. Somewhere between his challenge and his performance, a
feeling of recklessness is seeping in.
I should ignore it.
But I don’t.
“The King’s Lady at the stars!” the man at the booth
announces, though the horde of people around us could hardly
grow any larger.
I instantly like him for saying Lady instead of Consort.
The king hands over a small coin, and the man lays out three
silver stars, each uniquely engraved and freshly sharpened.
I pick one up on the pretense of examining the detail, but I
use the opportunity to take its measure, the weight and
balance, before I aim for the target.
I throw the first one in the most basic fashion. A light,
overhand toss that spins toward the middle of the target.
Applause rings out behind me.
“Beginner’s luck,” the man announces, but his smile is
kind.
The crowd’s response isn’t as rowdy as it was for the king,
but they are loosening up toward me.
The second one, I barely take time to aim. I throw it
sideways and it hits closer to the center, just across the
bullseye from the first.
This time, the reaction is more exuberant.
“Oho!” the man exclaims. “Let’s see if she can finish
strong!”
I turn to look the king straight in the eye, and for a fraction
of a second, I let my mask slip. I let him see the fire that burns
through me in an answer to the challenges he keeps throwing
out.
 He raises his eyebrows, and it’s like he’s daring me. A
long-hidden part of me rears up in answer.
Without breaking his gaze, without taking even a second to
aim, I pluck up the last star and throw it with a flick of my
wrist. Silence descends in the fraction of a moment it takes to
sail toward the dead center of the target.
Einar and I both turn to see the results. The final star
wedges itself between the other two, sinking a solid inch deep
into the sturdy wood.
Raucous approval meets our ears, but I have eyes only for
the king. For the expression that is tinged with awe, with
satisfaction, even, but not the slightest hint of shock.
I should be worried, but I am high on the energy of the
crowd, the win, the way that for the first time in as long as I
can remember, I didn’t have to hold a part of myself back to
make someone else feel larger.
“What does the lady claim as her reward?” the grizzled
man in charge of the booth asks.
The people’s enthusiasm is contagious, and that’s the only
excuse I have for what I do next.
“I think a kiss from the king should just about do it.”
They roar their approval, and I tell myself that’s why I did
it. For the people, for the show we’ve put on all day, to gain
favor with them and him both.
It’s not because I see myself mirrored in the man across
from me. Not because I think he sees it, too, and isn’t shying
away from it, isn’t emasculated by it. It’s certainly not the way
he looked while throwing that axe.
Besides, surely this gesture will be as empty as the first.
In the end, I tell myself a thousand different things, but I
know every one of them to be a lie.
I meet his gaze with the same challenging expression he
always has for me.
Your move.
 The cocky look he gives me is all the warning I have
before he puts his enormous hands around my waist and pulls
me toward him, lifting me up until our faces are level, then
pressing his lips heartily against mine.
I have a second to register that they are the warmest thing
at this entire festival, warmer even than the raised bowls of
stones, before he sets me down again.
“To the king and his lady!” The man at the booth leads a
cheer, but I hardly hear it.
All I make out is Einar’s voice in my ear.
“Your cheeks are red.”
“It’s freezing out here,” I murmur back, though we both
know the temperature hasn’t changed in the last minute.
“Of course. How silly of me to not have noticed the
sudden gale,” he calls me out.
I open my mouth to deny his implication, but then I see
something that makes me freeze in my tracks, effectively
eradicating every last vestige of amusement.
The face turns to disappear before I can look twice, but it
doesn’t matter. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
No.
But the denial sounds weak even in my head, because I
would know that shaggy black hair anywhere.
I try to follow the figure with my eyes, but he is a master
of blending in, better even than the sister who has been on my
mind so much today.
The villagers have come to congratulate Einar, and though
they are becoming accustomed to me, it is their king they wish
to see. It’s an easy manner to slip away and make my way
through the rapidly dispersing crowd.
I weave through the people in a zigzag fashion, both to
better spot the man and in an effort to lose Gunnar. When I
still don’t spot him, I duck behind tents and booths, in between
the large carts of the vendors, but all of my efforts are fruitless.
 He’s gone.
Khijhana mews, as if she’s wondering why we’re chasing
after a shadow.
Part of me is wondering the same. Surely, if it was him, he
would’ve made himself known.
“Is everything all right?” Einar’s deep voice sounds behind
me.
I don’t miss the underlying worry in his tone, so at odds
with every interaction we’ve had for weeks, and I turn to face
him.
Something in his eyes unnerves me. The way I want to be
honest with him, and the way he makes me feel like I could be.
But it isn’t real, not any of it. When we get back to the castle,
I’m sure he will be back to being his usual ass, and I’ll just be
the unwanted bride he was shackled with for reasons I still
don’t understand.
I shake my head, forcing a smile while I wrap my arm
around his.
“Of course. I was just exploring a bit. There’s so much to
see,” I say with more animation than I feel.
Whether or not he or the guards behind him believe me, he
plays along as we walk around and take in more of the festival.
By the time we leave, I’ve almost convinced myself that I
was imagining the familiar face. But even I know that would
be too easy.
Damian is here. And that means I’m running out of time.
 CHAPTER 25

B y the time we arrive back at the castle, I am frozen

solid from the evening snow and my shaken
nerves, and Khijha looks no better. She irritably
swipes away some snow that has settled into her whiskers, and
I stifle a small laugh at her expense.
The feeling of freedom from earlier had disappeared in the
wake of Damian’s appearance, and all the reminders it brings.
I am here for a purpose, one I am actively not fulfilling. It is
one thing to soften the king, but another entirely to allow
myself to be softened.
I shake my head, unreasonably furious with myself.
Einar watches me with an expression that is too probing,
too insightful, and though I know I should thank him for the
day, I find myself walking away from him with a hurried, “I’ll
see you in the morning, then.”
I am only a few footsteps away when his voice follows me.
“On the second day, the people usually stay past nightfall
to welcome in the lights.”
“What lights?” I turn, curious in spite of myself.
A slow, mysterious smile spreads across his face.
“I suppose you’ll have to go back to find out.” He is
teasing me, but it’s more than that.
I believe he genuinely wants me to come.
 I have a mission, one I can’t fulfill if we aren’t getting
along. I tell myself that’s the only reason I dip my head in
agreement before turning to shuffle up to my rooms.
When I arrive, Sigrid has a bath waiting for me. Since our
first disagreement over the water, she has never filled it more
than a hand span high, for which I am grateful. I splash the
warm water over myself, letting it slowly thaw me and trying
very hard not to think about the last source of heat I used to
warm myself.
It’s one thing, doing what I need to do. But life has taught
me better than to let my feelings get involved, even with a man
who is, technically speaking, my husband.

When the king joins me for breakfast, I am already awake and

dressed for the day in another of the outfits that Sigrid has
provided for me. Today, the accents are the same deep purple
as the outside of the berries that make the eiswein. Amethysts
sparkle on my nose and upper ear, connected by my usual gold
chain.
The jewelry helps to ground me when little else in this
place does.
Between that and the fact that I have finally started to
wake up at my usual hour, I’m feeling a little more like myself
each day. Not that feeling like myself is anything to be excited
about. But physically, I’m feeling stronger and more energized
than I have in quite some time.
For his part, Einar looks much the same as always. If he
feels any differently about me today than he did before our
outing to the festival, it doesn’t show in his carefully guarded
expression. Though, his eyes do linger on my face a little
longer than usual, and I can’t help but notice the way he angles
his chair more toward mine at the breakfast table.
When Sigrid comes bustling in this morning, she surprises
me by bringing more than food.
 “The post comes not as much far out here, but these letters
come today.” She holds out two envelopes addressed in
handwriting I know as well as my own.
Aika’s messy, hurried scrawl is on the top envelope, where
she hasn’t even bothered to put my full name, let alone a title.
It just says Zai, and I shake my head a little, grinning, before
looking at the second.
Melodi’s patient, careful hand has written out my full title,
even the part I hate. Lady Zaina, Consort to King Einar of
Jokith. I laugh a little at her unflinchingly straightforward
nature.
I can feel Einar’s gaze on me, and I force the expression
from my face.
A small, selfish part of me wants to keep their letters
untouched, unopened and exuding the essence of everything
that makes my sisters who they are. If I don’t open them, if I
don’t read them, then I don’t have to hear any dreadful news
they may contain.
But the wondering would kill me all the same. I have spent
my entire life protecting them. I could no sooner turn off the
part of me that worries than I could stop breathing.
The king is still studying my expression, so I set the letters
aside as though it doesn’t physically pain me to do so. He
raises his eyebrows.
“I should give you some privacy to read your letters.”
But there is an undertone there, and I wonder if by making
him think I wish him to leave, I will undo some small bit of
the progress we made yesterday.
“That’s not necessary.” I wave my hand as though it’s silly,
as though I wouldn’t love nothing more than a moment alone
to read these snippets of my sister’s voices. But he already
looks at me like I have something to hide, so I pick up Aika’s
letter first.
I note with some interest that it was postmarked ten days
ago from a post office in Bondé. She’s still in Corentin, then.
To my favorite older sister,
I’m her only older sister, I think with a pang. It’s so like
her to write such a thoughtless line, though.
You’ve always been difficult, but tracking you down has
been something else entirely.
Madame always played her cards close to her chest, so I’m
not surprised Aika hadn’t known her plans, but I can’t deny a
small tightness in my chest unfurling at having it confirmed.
And for all her blasé nature, she clearly went to a lot of trouble
to find me. Something in me warms at the gesture. I feel a
little less alone if my sisters at least know where I am.
I continue reading.
My life hasn’t been nearly so exciting as yours has been,
though I’m starting to suspect the boy is hiding something
from me. Not that I care, obviously.
Obviously, she does care about the only person in the
world who can best her at cards, and I wish I was there to tease
her about it. I resist the urge to rub the sudden ache out of my
chest.
Anyway, I hope you’re planning a trip home soon. We are
all starting to miss you, Mother in particular.
Instead of a signature, she has merely drawn her trademark
flame on the bottom of the page.
My mind flashes back to the man in the marketplace today.
Not for the first time, I curse this blasted castle being so far
from everything I have ever known, so far from the people
who are trying to get in touch with me. To warn me.
I glance over at the king, who is pretending to be busy with
his book, though his eyes have not moved in a few seconds.
“It’s only my sister. She misses me,” I add with a forced
smile.
Only when the uncomfortable expression crosses his face,
when I belatedly identify it as remorse, do I realize that he will
likely take that comment as a jab because he is the one who
has forbidden them from coming. Not wishing to put him on
the defensive, I quickly cover.
“She’s just bored because the social season is over.”
But his next response tells me I have blundered again.
“I thought you didn’t have any siblings.” His brow
furrows.
Whether he asks from suspicion or polite interest makes no
difference. It takes everything I have to keep my expression
neutral, to force air into my lungs and back out again as
though his simple question is not all it takes to send me into an
outright breakdown after the events of the past few weeks.
“Not by blood, but yes, I grew up with three sisters.” I
want to take the words back as soon as I say them.
He doesn’t ask why I have three sisters but only two
letters, and I am absurdly grateful for that. I practically tear the
next letter open in my haste both to escape the conversation I
am in and to see what my more practical sister has to say.

Dearest Zaina,
Please forgive me for not writing sooner. Your whereabouts
were only discovered this very morning.
I rarely worry for your safety, even half a world away, but
I hope you’ll grant me leeway just this once to tell you that I
worry for your spirit. I know you are shaking your head right
now, that you have always felt that it was your job alone to
worry. But I can imagine it would be easy to lose yourself with
no one there to ground you.
So, for my sake, remember that you have family. You are
loved. And you have hope. The darkness won’t last forever,
sweet sister.
I know, too, how much you hate talking of such things, so I
will move on now.
 Things here remain unchanged, as they always do.
Although with Aika out so often lately, and you not here, it
feels markedly bleaker than before.
Your absence is felt keenly, by none so much as Mother, I
think. Indeed, she grows more anxious by the day. I hope that
we will see you soon. I hope that you can feel my love even
halfway across the world, and I hope that you do not allow
yourself to become as frozen as the vast tundra around you.
Sincerely,
Melodi

I squeeze my eyes shut against the truth of her words. It’s

always been like this, though, my worrying for Mel’s safety
and her worrying for my heart.
If Aika worries about anything, she keeps it well hidden.
I turn my attention back to the king only to find his
expression has gone hard and he is rising from his chair.
“I apologize. I hadn’t meant to ignore you —” I begin.
“Not at all,” but the words sound oddly monotone. “I have
a few things to attend to before we can head to the festival. I
will meet you just past midday.” With that, he sweeps out of
the room.
I might have believed him, was I not so adept at discerning
another person’s lie. I glance at the table where his mug of tea
is still steaming and his sugary breakfast remains uneaten.
Even Khijhana stares after him suspiciously. I force myself
to finish my own breakfast as though nothing had happened.
After all, if I let every one of the king’s ever-changing moods
affect my own, I would likely never feel sane again.
 CHAPTER 26

B y the time I meet the king in front of the castle, all

traces of whatever mood had overtaken him earlier
have disappeared. Once again, I note how much
more carefree he looks out here than within the confines of the
castle walls. His posture is more relaxed, his expression less
guarded.
I take a step toward the sled, intending to stand where I
had yesterday, when he holds out a hand out to stop me.
“I apologize for not thinking of it sooner, but I wanted to
make sure you have this today.” His tone is still casual, but his
expression has closed off ever so slightly, enough that I can’t
tell exactly what he is thinking when he holds out his other
hand.
In it, he holds a sizable coin purse. It is made of white,
supple leather and tied together with a black velvet string in a
decidedly feminine design.
I hesitate before taking it from him. I have been showered
with valuable gifts before, but I can’t recall ever being handed
over the freedom of coin, something I can spend as I see fit.
“I noticed you eyeing a couple of the booths yesterday. I
assumed it went without saying that the castle’s coffers are
yours for use, but I thought this might be an easier way for you
to get whatever you desired.” He is babbling, I realize with no
small amount of amusement.
“Thank you,” I interrupt him to put his mind at ease, taking
the weighty purse.
 Though, truthfully, the words feel inadequate to express
what I am feeling. While money may mean nothing to him, he
has given me more than something valuable. He has given me
choices, something I have never had before.
My dresses have always been ordered for me, most of my
accessories gifted. But never chosen by me. I am reminded of
my feelings yesterday while shopping. Had my guard been
paying that close of attention to me? Had he noticed the way I
resented him paying for everything? Or was this truly an
oversight on the part of the king?
I doubt he realizes what this means, since it is unheard of
for a lady to care about these trivial sorts of things, but I
appreciate the gesture, nonetheless.
I press the purse against my chest, my nimble fingers tying
the strings around my left hand with my right, and it isn’t until
I notice him watching that I remember that isn’t something
most people can do.
More knowledge that was forced on me, tying and untying
knots with one hand.
Blasted sands…
This isn’t the first time he’s caught me off my guard, and I
realize I am slipping too often lately. I force a laugh.
“Well, you try to wrestle yourself into some of those
dresses without help.”
Whether he buys my excuse or not, the smoldering look in
his eyes tells me that perhaps he’s thinking more about
wrestling someone out of clothes instead of in them.
I should look away, but I don’t. I hold his gaze with each
step nearer until I’m standing directly in front of him, and only
then do I finally spin around, grasping the bars in front of me.
He settles in behind me, stepping closer than he had
yesterday.
Is it my imagination, or is he exuding even more heat than
usual?
 CHAPTER 27

T his time when we arrive, there are rows and

rows of people to greet us, and their smiles are
contagious. Einar and I wander through the
crowded passageways and alleys, taking in the sights and
reluctantly enjoying one another’s company.
I tell myself that it’s just for show when he holds my hand
as we walk, just as the other couples do. I tell myself that it’s
all right to pretend to enjoy the way it makes me feel to be so
close to him.
Something in the distance catches my eye, and we make
our way to the outskirts of the festival to examine it. People
are crowding around and building a dome-like structure out of
snow, solidifying the creation with cold water that forms an
icy glaze around each snow brick.
There are several more further down the hill, but this one
sits a little further back and looks a bit bigger than the others.
Einar notices me watching, captivated by the strange
creations.
“They’re called igloos.”
“Igloos?” I ask, trying to recall if I’ve ever heard the word
before in my studies of the country.
“Yes. They are basically natural huts that the villagers
camp in for the duration of the festival.”
“Aren’t they cold?” I ask, trying to imagine how miserable
it would be to sleep in a frozen room surrounded by snow and
below-freezing temperatures.
Einar chuckles. “No, it’s actually quite enjoyable.”
“Sure, it is.” My brows twist in disbelief, and he laughs
again.
It’s difficult not to completely lose myself in every sight
and sound and smell. It would be so easy to become attached
to this place and these people, if I could only let myself.
A vendor calls out and beckons us toward him, pulling me
from my thoughts.
“Eiswein! Eiswein for Your Majesties.” I don’t miss the
plural in the titles.
Einar doesn’t correct him, either, and I mentally tuck that
away for later.
When we approach the vendor, Einar speaks the common
tongue.
“Henrick! My good man!” Einar clasps wrists with the
man, their grins stretching wide. “What’s it been, forty years
since I last laid eyes on you?”
Henrick laughs and hugs the king tightly.
“I think this to be so, Einar,” he answers in the common
tongue as well, his accent thick and endearing. “Though, I
have been back to here for two year. You have just not been
coming to festival to know this. In fact, I hear it has nearly
been twenty years since you are come to festival.”
Einar sighs, but before he can respond, Henrick places a
hand on his shoulder and smiles.
“I figure you must be going through phase. You were so
young when you become the king. You are still young, my
friend. It would make the sense if you needed a few decades to
learn more about who you are.”
I swear I see a small flush in Einar’s cheeks at the words,
but my mind is spinning. Finally, Henrick looks at me and
introduces himself.
 “I am think this is more than phase.” He laughs again, but
bows to me, placing a kiss on my hand. “It is pleasure to meet
my friend’s bride. Welcome. You would try the Eiswein,
Lady?” he asks, holding out a delicate wooden stein with
intricate carvings and details of a winged woman with pointed
ears next to a tree.
“I would be honored, Sir.” I happily take the mug,
examining every gorgeous detail.
Henrick offers one to Einar as well, and they clasp hands
again, speaking Jokithan and catching up on what has been
happening in the years since they’ve seen one another.
It’s one more thing that’s strange to think about with these
people. And how young Einar is by comparison. A phase, for
twenty years?
I catch a few statements in their conversation that nearly
bowl me over entirely.
The man was his father’s best friend. And while his dark
skin is smooth, his eyes full of life, I nearly choke when I
realize that he is well over one-hundred-and-fifty years old.
I take a tiny sip of my wine, testing it while I wait for them
to finish catching up. It is smooth with a hint of spice, but the
aftertaste is sweet. Far too sweet not to be suspicious of, but I
can’t deny that part of me wants more, if only for its famed
warming properties.
After a few minutes, I take another slightly longer taste
and notice how it feels ice-cold at first, but quickly warms on
my tongue, almost like the heat of tea. The texture is smooth,
and while sweet, it has a kick similar to whiskey when it burns
at the back of your throat.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever tried. The complexities in the
flavor and temperature are baffling. I take my time drinking it
while the men catch up, but by the time they are finished, I
have downed the entire cup.
The vendor notices and gestures to refill my stein, but I
decline.
“As tempting as the offer is, I believe I should hold off.”
 His face falls slightly as if I have offended his generosity.
“But, if it’s alright with you, could I have some bottled for
later? I would love to purchase this stein from you as well. It’s
such magnificent craftsmanship.”
He beams and nods, happily filling several bottles of the
wine for me.
“I thought you didn’t like sweets,” Einar says.
“I don’t usually. But alcohol doesn’t really count.”
“I see. Maybe we’ll have to find something that makes you
change your mind then,” he says, inching closer to me.
There is something predatory in his eyes, the way he looks
at me when he says it, that makes me wonder if he’s even
talking about food at all. I glance away from his intense gaze,
not able to endure the million different ways it makes me feel.
The kind vendor hands us a leather bag with four bottles
inside. When I go to pay him for the stein, he shakes his head,
insisting that it is his gift to me.
I dip into my purse and dig out a couple of the heavier
coins. I don’t look at them too closely, because it’s still bizarre
for me that they hold the face of the man standing next to me.
I press the coins into the vendor’s hand, not wanting his
kindness to go unpaid, and he takes them graciously. Einar
watches wordlessly but shoots me an inquisitive glance when
we leave.
“I thought it was more than worth it to finally feel a little
bit warm.” I shrug as though it was nothing for me to be able
to give that man something for his trouble.
And indeed, I already feel markedly less frigid, like tiny
embers are being stoked within me to warm me from the
inside out.
“Perhaps I should go back and buy several more jugs since
you seem to be in a constant state of freezing at the castle,” he
offers, a hint of teasing in his gaze.
 “Perhaps you should. Or better yet, we could line every
inch of my rooms in these glorious thermal rocks.” I gesture to
the pits spaced evenly all around us.
The king laughs.
“Those are usually used to heat vast outdoor spaces,
specifically where they would be safer than a fire, but also
because they would be stifling in a smaller area.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take so that I might be able to
feel some of my extremities on occasion.” I wiggle my gloved
fingers for emphasis, giving him a wry smile.
He huffs out another chuckle, but it is drowned out by a
decidedly louder huff nearby.
I glance around him for the source of the noise, only to
find another tent, this one larger than any we have seen so far.
The wooden sign hanging from the open doorway has Jokithan
words and the image of a horse engraved on it.
“Horses,” I say aloud, angling myself toward the tent. I
have to admit I am curious what would merit them being
brought to the festival.
“You could say that,” the king mutters as he trails behind
me without objection.
Khijha growls in protest at the smell of the animals inside,
but I press on anyway, knowing she won’t stray far from my
side.
Ten stalls line each side of the tent. Most of them are
empty, save for a few.
The horses they contain, much like everything else in this
kingdom, are larger than the average steed. They have thick,
long white hair, like that of cows I’d seen once in the
countryside. Their hooves are taller, wider, and denser than
normal as well, no doubt to survive in this icy region.
Their manes are locked in knots instead of braids, the same
way many Jokithans wear their hair, and they all seem well-
behaved and tame — placid, even.
All but one.
 At the far end of the makeshift stables is a stallion covered
in the warmest chestnut-colored coat with a white blaze. He
bucks and bites at his handlers in an effort to be rid of them.
Each time he raises up, I can see the white stockings on each
of his legs.
He doesn’t belong here.
The thought harkens back to my own presence in this
place, and I can’t help but feel a kinship with the creature who
so clearly feels trapped by his circumstances.
The horse, if you can even call it that, towers over the
Jokithan handlers by several feet.
So, naturally, when I approach, they fear I will be flattened
by the anxious beast. The king makes no move to intercept me.
In fact, he leans against a pole in the center of the tent, as
though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Maybe he doesn’t,
for that matter. Maybe I would be doing him a favor if I got
knocked out by this crazy horse.
Though, I don’t think he’s crazy. Not really. Just
discontent. I move closer, shushing him and clucking my
tongue, which does a good job of getting his attention.
“Get back, Lady. It is too dangerous,” the women tell me
while throwing another rope around the horse’s neck.
Even Khijha hisses in warning, attempting to stand
between me and the behemoth.
I ignore them all. The steed locks eyes with me, and I can
sense his fear, his anger. He is a kindred spirit, wild and
untamable, locked into a fate he didn’t choose.
“How much?”
The trainers look at me as if I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I
have, but I ask again anyway.
“You do not want this one, Lady. Let us show you better
hestrinn. Ones that not try kill you.”
Ah, so that’s what they’re called.
 “I appreciate the offer, but I want to know how much for
this one.”
“Lady, this one is mutt. It is no good for you. It is no good
for anyone. We take him to the dragon.”
I assume something has been lost in translation since
dragons have been extinct for centuries, and I push again,
impatience quickening my movements.
Taking out a fair amount of the gold pieces in my purse, I
present them to the handlers.
“Is this enough? Or shall I ask the king for more?” I add
flatly.
Regardless of whatever this dragon is, I can only surmise
that this hestrinn’s fate is not promising.
Vaguely, I gesture to where I know the king still stands,
silently taking in this scene. I can’t decide if I am gratified or
frustrated that he doesn’t bother to step in, but I know that
reminding the handlers of his presence will stop their
objections in their tracks.
Sure enough, the handlers look to the king, then exchange
only a single glance with one another before nodding.
“We will have him brought to castle for you, Lady. But we
do not think this is so good idea.”
“Thank you,” is all I say, handing them the coins before
walking away, the king at my back.
Khijha hisses and growls to remind me of her disapproval,
so the king remains the only one not to have made his opinion
known.
Strange.
His long strides are at my side within a couple of steps,
and I peer sideways at him only to find him studying me
intently. I raise my eyebrows, inviting him to ask what’s
clearly on his mind.
“Why that one?” His face is inscrutable.
 “You disapprove?” I ask, immediately on the defensive
from the interaction with the handlers.
“I didn’t say that. I was just curious why you chose that
particular one out of the bunch.” He is careful to leave out his
opinion and avoid singling my purchase out as the worst in the
lot.
My guard subsides a bit when I realize he is genuinely
asking. I turn his question over in my mind, trying to give him
an answer that’s real.
“He is wild and spirited. But just because he isn’t bending
over in submission as their captive doesn’t mean he shouldn’t
have a chance to live a different sort of life.” I glance back at
the tent where he had been tethered to such a short lead, where
he would have lived out the rest of his life like that until they
fed him to this ‘dragon’ of theirs. “You never know what he
could be capable of without those chains.”
 CHAPTER 28

T he sun is falling behind the mountains, and I

realize this is the first time I have seen a sunset
since arriving in Jokith. I can’t deny that it is
uniquely beautiful, reflecting off the pristine white snow and
bathing the treetops in a golden glow.
The igloos around us have multiplied, and it occurs to me
that it’s a lot of work to put into something temporary. The
people don’t seem to mind, though.
“How can they see whatever lights these are from inside
the igloos?” I asked the king, noting the solid roofs of the
dome-like structures.
He chuckles.
“They can’t. We gather outside for that.”
“Then why…” I don’t finish my question, because the
answer seems painfully obvious now. They stay the night in
these tiny igloos. And likely, we are expected to do the same.
I’m not sure what expression flits over my face, but the king
takes note of it.
“We don’t have to stay,” he says in a low tone. “It isn’t
generally safe to travel at night, but I suspect your usual
terrifying expression will be enough to frighten anything that
would think to attack us.” He throws his head back and laughs.
“Indeed. If not, I’m certain that thing on your face would
finish the job.” I gesture to his beard with a small laugh of my
own.
 I see the townspeople shooting as surreptitious glances,
and I know I have only one real choice here, despite his words.
“You want to stay, don’t you?”
The corner of his mouth stretches upward as he
exaggeratedly shrugs his shoulders. It tells me everything I
need to know, and I laugh.
“Then we shall stay.”
He smiles, his eyes brimming with unspoken thoughts.
And for all my natural skill and careful tutelage at reading
the nuances of human emotion, I can’t for the life of me
discern his right now.

It’s well past sundown, and I haven’t seen any of these alleged
lights we are all waiting on. Something in my expression must
show how I am feeling, because the king shakes his head with
a soft laugh.
“I think it’s safe to say patience is not one of your many
virtues,” he comments.
“I’m flattered you think I have many virtues,” I respond
with a soft laugh of my own. “All I’m saying is, these lights
must be very impressive to be worth all this effort.” I gesture
around me to the hundred or so logs that have been set out
around the subtly glowing warm rocks. And beyond that, to
the igloos that outline the entire festival.
“Oh, they are unlike anything you have ever seen.” Not for
the first time, he looks at me when he says that, as though he’s
talking about something else entirely. Then, he glances around
at the camp and up to the sky. “Of course, it’s not just the
lights. We also come for the dragon.”
This is the second time a dragon has been mentioned, and I
can’t deny that my curiosity is piqued. I raise an eyebrow.
“You don’t believe in dragons?” he asks me.
 “You have to admit, it does seem a bit far-fetched…” But
even as I say the words, my eyes flit to Khijhana, the giant
tiger-like animal that grows twice as fast as anything in nature
should. I think about the king’s wolves, nearly as tall as I am.
The Jokithans themselves with their unnaturally long
lifespans. And even the Mayima, the race of people who live
in the water off the coast of Delphine.
I realize my skepticism is probably misplaced.
“All right,” I allow. “Let’s assume I do believe in dragons.
What would make this one so special?”
He looks around before taking a breath.
“Legend has it that this area used to be filled with dragons,
but as the humans came in, the dragons began to leave — or
were chased out or eradicated, no one really knows — but of
course, the first version is the more romantic tale, the one that
has made it down through history.”
I find myself nodding along, already caught up in his
unlikely skill as a storyteller and unwilling to break the spell
of his carefree and open disposition. It’s so unlike his usual
closed-off personality.
“No one knows where the majority of them went, but there
is one in particular who makes an appearance during the old
moon.” He gestures to the sliver of a crescent left in the sky.
“He — or she,” he adds, seeing my expression, “is
especially active when the lights are strongest, like during this
very festival.”
I cling to each word; whether or not I believe him is
irrelevant. I find that I could listen to him talk this way for as
long as he is willing.
“It is said that this dragon has the ability to tell a true soul
from a tainted one,” he continues. “And that there was a time
when the villagers would track it to its cave with their intended
to see if they would pass the test.”
By now, I am beyond enraptured.
“What happened if they…weren’t pure?”
 He pauses, arching an eyebrow, his expression full of
mischief as he takes another long draught of his eiswein.
“They were eaten,” he finally says as if it’s the most
natural answer in the world and not at all gruesome or awful.
I let out a surprised trill of laughter at his nonchalant tone.
“Oh, is that all?” I say between chuckles. “Perhaps I
should have brought you there then,” I intend the words as a
joke, but they sober me up quickly.
The more I learn about the king, the more I wonder if he
would’ve passed the test. Whereas, I know beyond all shadow
of a doubt that I would be little more than dinner for a dragon.
If the king notices my disquiet, he doesn’t comment. He
only chuckles along.
“That would certainly have been one way to get out of this
marriage,” he allows.
“There’s still time,” I grant, trying to pull myself back into
the amusement of the moment.
He stiffens, his expression morphing from contented to
something else entirely.
“Do you really want out of this so badly?” he asks, his tone
taking on a more somber note.
I pause, unsure of how to answer for both him and me.
He shakes his head, but doesn’t press for a response,
looking around again at the rest of the villagers. I look with
him when something that has been nagging at the back of my
mind once again occurs to me.
“What about the people in your castle?” I ask, changing
the subject.
“You mean, have they gone to the dragon?” He lifts an
eyebrow.
I almost smile in response, but I think of how many times
he has avoided this line of questioning so far.
 “No. I mean, they seem to know plenty about the festival,
but they aren’t here. You said they couldn’t enjoy it.” I leave
that thought dangling in the air between us, hoping he will
respond to it without having to ask a direct question.
He doesn’t, of course, so I probe further.
“Are they not allowed to come to the festival?”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, resignation
painting his features. He lifts his eiswein to his lips and takes a
long swallow before he finally turns his head to face me again.
“As I told you before, I don’t put that kind of restriction on
them.”
“Then why aren’t they here?”
“They don’t leave the castle.”
I know that the couples and families around us continue to
converse, some in low tones and some in loud, slightly
inebriated voices. But it feels like a tangible bubble of silence
descends with his statement. His words feel so final.
“Ever?” I finally clarify.
He nods.
“For how long?”
He is quiet for so long that I begin to think he is refusing to
answer. Finally, he takes another drink, staring straight ahead
into the glowing embers of the strange stones when he speaks.
“Seventeen years.”
I fight to feel something besides horror. Seventeen years in
that castle. That’s almost as long as Melodi has been alive.
Suddenly, Sigrid’s sadness when she tells me that she knows
what it is to be away from the people she cares about makes so
much sense. There are many things that make more sense and
so many more that don’t make any at all.
But where the king had been carefree only moments ago,
sadness is now etched into every line of his face, and for all
that I am a monster, even I cannot bring myself to ask him
more when he has finally revealed so much. This night means
something to him. And though these are answers I have
wanted, I suddenly hate myself even more than usual for
putting that expression on his face.
The visceral emotion frightens me, because he is far from
the first person I have hurt, and I doubt he will be the last.
Why should his pain matter more than anyone else’s?
But it does.
So instead of questioning him further, I find myself
stretching out my hand and placing it over his.
“Thank you for bringing me here tonight,” I say quietly,
and he entwines his fingers with mine.
The sky is growing darker, and couples are scooting closer
to one another as we wait for what will happen next.
“So, why did you come this time?” For reasons I can’t
explain to myself, I hold my breath for his answer.
“Well, you did announce that we were going to my entire
court.” He raises his eyebrows.
“Is that the only reason?” It has been half a lifetime since I
let my curiosity get the better of me this way.
He studies my face for a long moment, but he is saved
from making a response by a gasp going through the villagers
around us.
He flips his hand over to encircle mine and squeezes it, his
open eagerness almost childlike in this moment as he gestures
for me to glance to the sky.
When I follow his gaze, it steals my breath away. It’s like
the sky is putting on a show for us. Subtle at first, then sharper
in clarity. Lights brilliantly twinkle in a pattern I can’t guess
at. Bright, shining columns of green fading into a purple that is
more subtle but no less breathtaking.
The lights flow like waves on the sea, gently swaying but
far more striking.
A quiet settles over us like a blanket, while everyone
watches in awe at nature’s spectacle.
This may easily be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
That is, until the dragon appears.
 CHAPTER 29

A shadow grows in the distance, sailing toward us as if

it is following the movement of the light above it. I
squeeze Einar’s fingers, my mind running wild with
the possibility that I might see something as mythical as a
dragon.
Sure enough, the closer it gets, the easier it is to see the
silver and pearlescent scales reflecting the soft glow of the
torch light and fire stones around us.
Its large wings beat more slowly as it attempts to land
nearly fifty yards away, sending a strong breeze through our
makeshift camp.
It lands near the edge of the hill where several villagers
have thrown raw meat and carcasses for its meal.
I stare, mouth agape, and watch it devour every last ounce
of their offering, wondering how easy it would’ve been for the
dragon to make a feast of us instead.
Everything about it is captivating, from the glowing
embers in its nostrils to its shimmering white teeth and steely
blue eyes.
Even Khijha is in awe as she observes the mountainous
creature, her tail swaying softly, her eyes fixated.
It isn’t until the beast is finally flying away that I realize I
have been squeezing Einar’s hand tightly the entire time. I
relax my stiff fingers and applaud with the rest of the villagers
once the dragon is headed back toward its home in the
mountains.
 Einar’s deep laugh sounds beside me, drawing my
attention back to the moment.
“Amazing,” he says softly.
“It was. I’ve never seen anything like it.” I glance at him.
“Jokith just keeps on surprising me.”
He nods, and a smile tempts the corner of his mouth as he
hands me his stein of eiswein.
I debate for a split second before deciding to go for it. If
ever there was a time to celebrate with a drink, it is on a night
like tonight. Besides, it may be fascinating, but it is still
freezing.
We lay there under the lights, watching them dance for us
for several more hours.
The lights never fade, but they grow even brighter and
more spectacular, as does the canopy of stars behind them.
Some people around us eventually make their way into their
small huts for the evening, while others continue to sip their
wine and enjoy the heavenly phenomenon.
It isn’t long before I’m yawning, my eyelids becoming too
heavy to appreciate the beauty above us any longer.
“Come, wife. We should sleep.” Einar stands and, with no
notice, lifts me up onto my feet next to him.
My heart beats a heavy rhythm in my chest, and I blame it
on how quickly he moved me.
Khijhana yawns and stretches next to us, then heads into
the small igloo without any coaxing.
Einar scratches his head and chuckles. “She’s a smart one,
isn’t she?”
“Indeed,” I add with a smile.
He holds out a lantern and gestures for me to follow her
into the small frame. While I’m warm enough with my fur-
lined clothing, I’m not sure sleeping in the snow is sounding
all that appealing…until I see what’s inside the small frozen
hut.
 While the exterior is pure snow and ice, the interior is
something else entirely. The lantern shows a small shelf where
our eiswein has been stored and a small basin of steaming
water with a bar of soap for cleaning up. It is being heated by a
single tiny crimson rock.
I marvel at the detail of the engravings on the dome above
us. The lantern’s subdued flames highlight a story that has
been carved into the icy snow.
People gather to watch a dragon soaring through the stars.
If I follow the story around to the other side of the igloo, it
appears they are begging for its blessing and finally receive it
at a cave in the mountains.
An infinitesimal part of me wonders if these designs are in
every igloo here, or only ours. It warms my heart that whoever
made this hut for us was thoughtful enough to show me the
history of the festival. History I was able to be a part of
tonight.
An ache in my chest forms at the thought, and I push it
away.
Several furs and pillows lay at the center, forming one
gigantic bed. Or, it would be if it was only for me. I swallow
hard, realizing it will be the first time Einar and I have slept in
the same room, let alone the same bed.
Images of our first night together come rushing back, and
I’m grateful for the fading light. Red floods my cheeks as I
remember standing only inches away from him, naked. I could
feel the heat radiating off of him then just as it is now, and I
wonder if he isn’t remembering that moment, too.
Though, I also vividly recall the rejection from that night.
Does he regret that now? Do I?
Khijha paces back and forth before settling on the spot
directly in the entrance. I can’t be sure if she’s standing guard,
watching the lights, or giving us privacy, but her distance
leaves only the two of us on the makeshift bed that is far more
comfortable that it appears.
 Einar lays back with a sigh, his bulky frame taking up
more than half of the space. His hands are resting under his
head, and his eyes are closed, but he can still somehow sense
my hesitation.
“I won’t bite. Not hard anyway,” he assures me, and the
corner of his mouth tilts up.
Heat floods my entire body from what has to be
embarrassment…
“I’m not altogether certain I believe you.”
“That’s fair,” he adds with a sleepy sort of laugh that
makes my chest tighten. “But what if I promise?”
I bite my lip and shake my head in resignation before
deciding to settle in next to him.
“Fine. But just know that I bite back,” I say as he pulls the
blanket over us, his arm lingering around my frame.
“Oh, I’m counting on it.” His words are barely a whisper,
his warm breath tickling my ear.
My body tenses and tingles as my head spins. I barely had
any wine tonight, but I am completely intoxicated in this
moment. His fingers graze the curves of my hips, his hand
stilling as it cups the swell of my thigh. The anticipation of
what will happen next runs wild through every inch of me.
After a moment, he chuckles and removes his arm, resting
it against his stomach instead.
I stifle either a groan or a laugh, I’m not sure which. He
knows full well what he is doing, and I almost call him out on
it when I hear the soft rhythmic sounds of his even breaths and
realize he’s fallen asleep.
What. A. Bastard.
I shake my head slightly, trying to calm my racing heart
and still the embers within me that are begging to be set
ablaze.
Taking several deep breaths, I put out the lantern and try
my best to fall asleep.
 It doesn’t take long, for a change, but I’m haunted by
dreams of my sisters. Rose-colored blood pools at my feet, and
I cry out, but there is no sound. I’m helpless and trapped and
too far away to protect them, as a voice I know all too well
repeats over and over, “You have failed me again.”
I thrash and kick, trying and failing to let out a scream
when a heavy, comforting weight settles over me. A gentle
shushing sounds in my ear, and the images go black. All is
calm and still again.
Any peace that was found in the night, any respite from
those nightmares, however, is completely gone by the
morning.

I wake up shivering, despite being covered in furs. Einar is

gone and Khijhana has resumed her pacing.
I stretch and am about to make my way out of the igloo to
find my husband when he pushes his way in instead.
Something in his stance immediately puts me on edge.
His back is ramrod straight, his expression etched with
anger. He moves toward me, tension radiating off him like the
air just before a thunderstorm.
Khijha is quick to move between us, her eyes wide and her
haunches raised. I reach out a hand to touch his arm, and he
glares at it as if it’s offensive.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, pulling back my hand.
He stares at me, searching for something in my eyes before
grunting at whatever he sees there.
Suddenly, I feel like I am standing bare before him again.
But instead of the feelings the memory brought on last night, I
feel only the sting of rejection.
“Einar —”
“It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head. “I have things to
attend to before we head back. I’ll meet you at the sled in a
few hours.” With that, he turns to leave.
Any sign of the cold I felt upon waking is gone now. I
thought we made progress last night, that we might have even
drawn a little closer, but these walls he’s thrown up again in
the light of day remind me why I never wanted that to begin
with.
Once I’m finished furiously washing my face, brushing my
teeth, and smoothing my hair into a braid, I decide to head
back out to the festival. Though the last thing I want to do is
be in a crowd, it’s not like I have much of a choice unless I
want to spend my day hiding in this tiny space and giving the
people even more cause for judgment.
As soon as I emerge from the igloo, several shop owners
call out to me, displaying their wares and begging for my
attention.
I know Einar told me to spend all of the coin to help out
the villagers, but I can’t help the inclination to save some
back, just in case I may need it later.
I politely thank the vendors and keep walking, my
thoughts running rampant. I hate seeing the disappointment in
their faces, but I need to be smart.
It isn’t until I am walking away from the last tent that I
hear a raised voice and the whimpering of a young woman.
On high alert, I glance around until my eyes settle on one
of the vendors who I had refused. A young girl was trying to
sell grooming gear for hestrinn, and I had brushed her off, too
lost in my own thoughts to pay her much attention.
Her father, or employer, is now berating her. He raises his
hand to strike her, the blow landing before I can even cry out.
He’s careful, though; he thinks he’s hidden from sight behind
their tent and between the rows of other vendors.
It’s too much to take.
I stalk toward them, willing myself to be calm as I
approach, but under the surface lies a roaring blaze of fury.
 “Pardon me?” My tone is more forceful than the words
imply.
The abuser feigns innocence, pasting on a genial smile as
he nods. “Is there anything I can be help you?”
The young girl behind him is doing her best to wipe the
blood from her nose before turning and forcing a painful
smile.
“Yes, this lovely young lady had shown me some of the
grooming equipment and even a few of the saddles for a
hestrinn. At first, I told her no,” I pause as if I’m mulling it all
over, “but I recently acquired one of my own. I want to be sure
I have everything I need for him.”
I gesture to one of the saddles and the table full of
decorations for an animal I know nothing about.
“How much for all of this?”
The man’s mouth nearly falls open, but his eyes gloss over
with the lust of coin. “You are want all of this?”
I nod, and he gives me an exorbitant amount that even I
know isn’t worth it. But I agree anyway.
“Perhaps the young lady,” I pause, waiting for them to
supply her name.
“Sarah Agnes,” she offers quietly.
“Perhaps you would visit me at the castle, Sarah? And help
me with his care and grooming? I’d love to see what you could
do with his mane with these.” I pick up a few of the beads and
strips of fabric.
Tears brim in her eyes as she looks fearfully to the man
who just beat her.
“I know that the king would consider it quite a favor if you
would be so willing to help his new bride,” I add with a slow
blink of my thick lashes.
“Of course.” The greasy man bows. “Anything for His
Majesty.”
 I crack my gloved knuckles and memorize each line of his
oily face. I have no tolerance for those who use their size or
position to break another person’s spirit.
“She can be come on the next day,” he adds, motioning for
her to pack up the items.
Sarah blanches, and I speak up before I can help myself. I
know that look. That fear.
“Actually, it would be a great favor to me if I could have
her come sooner. You see, I could use someone trustworthy to
oversee his transport back to the stables and his settling in. I
would be willing to pay more for this, of course.”
I dump the remaining money from my purse on the table.
The man smiles, the expression all wrong on his repulsive
face, before nodding and greedily counting the coins I’ve laid
out for him.
An uneasy feeling forms in my stomach as I tell her which
stable number she will find my hestrinn in.
I know it’s thoughtless to invite her to the castle right now.
Sands know what Einar will say when I let another person
intrude on his palace of secrets. I will deal with that later,
though. I couldn’t just pass her by. I’ve been in her boots
before, and what I wouldn’t have given to have someone pull
me from that position.
The disquiet continues to grow, however, until I realize the
feeling is coming from another source. Someone is watching
me.
A predator.
I’ve hunted and been hunted enough to know the feeling.
The hair raises on the back of my neck as I look around,
searching the crowd. Einar is nearby, but the feeling isn’t
coming from him, nor does it abate when I see him.
It’s something else.
I continue to scan each person until I catch sight of the
familiar face again. Dark brown eyes stare at me from his
chiseled olive-toned face. His signature coal hair is tied back
by his neck, and a matchstick rests between his lips.
He is right next to their tent.
Watching. Waiting.
This time, he doesn’t run away. He wants me to see him.
He smiles before pulling his hood lower and slowly
disappearing back into the crowds.
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, and I want to be
sick.
If he’s here, not one of us is safe. Not even the king of
Jokith himself.
 CHAPTER 30

I try to collect myself, but I know Einar notices. He

doesn’t comment, though. The only words he has
spoken to me since we met back up at the sleds,
were to say that the girl can sleep in the stables and is not
permitted within the castle walls.
I don’t bother arguing. I know enough about him now to
see that there is no getting through to him in this mood. At
least Sarah Agnes will be safe until I can help her figure
something else out.
Despite the stormy disposition of the man behind me and
the appearance of Damian at the festival, it’s hard not to lose
myself in the feeling of the wind racing by as we take the dog
sled back to the castle. The wolves pick up speed, catapulting
me just a bit further back into his arms and his warmth for a
fraction of a moment before he stiffens, backing away from
the contact.
He dismounts the moment we are in front of the castle
doors, and I follow suit, coaxing Khijha to my side. We stalk
away from him without a backward glance, and he doesn’t
bother to follow.
Perfect. I try to tell myself how little it matters, how little I
care in the grand scheme of things. I try to busy myself with
one hundred other things, grateful that we have arrived well
after dinner and I won’t have to suffer his presence in the
dining hall tonight.
 But by the time I finally make it back to my rooms and fall
into bed, I can’t lie to myself any longer. Khijhana is warm,
but she is not the warmest thing I have slept next to lately. I
hate how my bed feels stupidly empty without him next to me.
But mostly what keeps me awake well into the night is that I
have never been more furious with myself.
Finally, I fall into a sleep even more fitful than last night’s
was.

By the time the king arrives for breakfast, I am awake and

dressed, no sign of last night’s lack of sleep marring my
features. I am practiced in nothing if not putting on a face.
Since I have no plans of venturing outdoors today, I have
dressed in a simpler outfit. Citrine stones at my nose and ear
bring out the pale blue embroidery on my silver velvet gown,
not that Einar seems to notice. I’m not sure why he has graced
me with his presence this morning only to stare stone-faced
ahead, nibbling at the breakfast Sigrid left with a decided lack
of enthusiasm.
Finally, I lose whatever fragile hold on my patience I had
to begin with, the façade breaking along with my desire to
play coy.
“One might think that sharing an igloo with your wife was
the worst thing to happen to you all year, dear husband.” I
don’t look at him as I say the words, but my ire is clear, all the
same.
He, however, sets his book to the side like it’s the opening
he has been waiting for. He looks straight at me before he
responds.
“You talk in your sleep.” He says the words like he is
pronouncing a death sentence.
I will the blood to stay in my face, in my extremities, to
not let him see how that pronouncement terrifies me. Racking
my brain for the details of the dreams I had that night, I try to
figure out what I could have given away.
“Is that what you’re so upset about?” I ask, mostly to give
myself a moment to think. “Tell me, Your Majesty, is that an
offense punishable by death, or shall the king grant me a
pardon, just this once?”
If I expect to goad him into acknowledging his own
ridiculousness, I am immensely disappointed. He glares at me
as though he fails to see the humor in his complaint. Then, he
narrows his eyes, studying me as though there’s something he
can glean from his perusal before he speaks again.
“You spoke of a rose.”
I blink, even my usual quick wit abandoning me as I
realize I have absolutely nothing to say. His eyes squeeze shut
in something like pain, and he shakes his head.
“So, you don’t deny it, then?” he asks me.
“Deny what? That I talk in my sleep?” It would appear I
have found my voice at last, though not to say anything
particularly useful.
“How peculiar, what appears to be on your mind. A rose.”
He says the word again, enunciating each sound. His eyes burn
with fury and accusation, and I know I have no choice but to
give him the truth.
Or at least a truth.
“Rose.” I repeat his last word, but I say it like an argument.
His eyebrows lift, and I clarify further.
“Not a rose. Just Rose.” I can’t seem to make myself say
anything else.
“Would you care to explain the difference?” He says it in a
tone that makes it clear he does not see a difference. But to
me, there is every distinction in the world.
“You asked before about my sisters. I told you that I had
three. Yet, only two wrote to me.” I haven’t put the pieces
together for him, but he surprises me by not interrupting.
 Something in his expression tells me he had already been
curious about that and reminds me what a fool I would be to
underestimate the man who bested me at my own game.
So, I continue, treading carefully.
“Melodi is the youngest. Aika is only a year older than she
is. And Rose,” I stumble over her name, it’s been so long since
I said it out loud. “Rose was two years younger than I am. She
would have been 20 this month.”
His face crumples in sympathy, in remorse, and it’s more
than I can take from him right now. All at once, I am done,
with this conversation, and with this king, and with every
sands-blasted bit of this kingdom.
He opens his mouth, and I’m sure the next words out of it
will be an apology, but it’s one I can’t bear to hear.
Without another word, Khijhana and I flee the room and
all of its unsettled emotions. I don’t know exactly where I’m
going, but I know that the walls around me feel more
suffocating than anything. I have to get out of this castle.
 CHAPTER 31

T he guards outside don’t wear masks, so

whatever the reasoning on that, it only seems to
apply to those within the castle walls. It’s a
stark contrast to the isolation of being within the castle, but
their expressions are just as impassive as the covered faces
indoors.
They walk the grounds, keeping an eye on me from a
distance as I find my way to the stables, despite never visiting
before. When I left the castle doors, I didn’t stop for
directions. I simply left, and no one cared to stop me.
The sun is high above, casting a soft warm glow, but it
does nothing to heat my frozen skin. I was too angry to grab
my cloak, and too prideful to return for it.
Instead, I take a deep breath of the icy air, allowing it to
burn my lungs, bringing pain to some other part of me than the
constant agonizing throbbing in my heart. Khijhana presses
against me, lending me some of her warmth until we get to the
stables.
Then she stands in the doorway, watching over me but
declining to come closer to the hestrinn.
Examining the stables proves to be interesting all on its
own. Every other type I’ve seen in the past isn’t nearly as
accommodating as this one is. Maybe it’s the colder climate,
maybe it’s the adoration for animals that the Jokithan people
seem to possess, but either way, the stables are more of a
luxurious home for the steeds and their caretakers than
anything.
Not a bad alternative to the castle for Sarah, I think,
grateful that she hasn’t been uncomfortable out here.
The inside is heated and sealed off from the harsh elements
of the constant winter. There are special quarters for the
handlers and groomers and even breeders. Apparently, the
castle prides itself on having one of the finest and purest lines
of hestrinn in the northern region.
At least, it did until my latest purchase. I smirk.
My anger dissipates, and my curiosity grows as I stroll
through the stalls and watch the groomers carefully at work.
So far, everyone in here is also maskless. I have to wonder if
they have lived their lives in the same stasis as the rest of the
castle, or if they have been able to move about more freely.
One of the hestrinn huffs behind me, her muzzle appearing
over my shoulder. I laugh a little as she lips at my hair and ear.
When I pull away, she reaches toward me again with her
giant head, and I stretch out an arm to rub her neck. She
happily leans into my touch, whinnying in delight.
As I continue my stroll through the aisles, I can’t help but
marvel at how exquisite they all are. To call these magnificent
beasts horses feels dishonest. They are more like a distant
relative of the species. A cousin that you can see some family
resemblance in but only if you look closely.
They stand at least twenty hands, maybe more, dwarfing
their smaller relatives. The handlers are all far taller than me
and still have to stand on small ladders to brush the tops of
their coats.
Their coats are a glimmering silver or shining onyx with
alternating long manes, many of which are artfully braided.
For as much as I had begun to hate the lack of color here, I am
beginning to find the beauty in it as well. Because it isn’t a
lack, so much as a perfection of these two shades in particular.
I run a hand over another one of the hestrinn’s muzzles
when he dips it down to greet me. His long hair is silky and
smooth. He’s a gentle giant, and it’s easy to see the love that
has gone into them from their caretakers.
It’s truly awe-inspiring to see such docile animals being so
tenderly cared for. That is — until I make my way toward the
back of the stables where sounds of frustration are coming
from.
Young Sarah’s fair skin is flushed with red, and her silver
tresses are slick with sweat as she tries and fails to climb the
ladder to brush the hestrinn’s mane. Each time she gets close,
he lifts a leg and kicks the ladder over, causing her to fall to
the ground.
“Andskotinn kúkalabbi!” she curses as she wipes the sweat
from her brow.
I can’t help but laugh and immediately regret it when she
hears me.
“Beg pardon, Lady. I have sorry. I do not mean to speak so
freely.” She bows and nearly loses her balance again.
I hold up a hand to stop her, moving closer to her and the
beast, who is obviously amused with himself.
“No, forgive me for laughing. He seems like quite the
andskotinn, indeed,” I say, grinning.
She blanches at my understanding of her language before
nodding in agreement with a smile of her own.
“He is, Lady. He is mad with me now, because I will not
give more frosted sugar. I keep have to go out the side door
when he gets too angry.”
I notice for the first time how my hestrinn’s stall is
conveniently placed by a back entrance, making it far easier
for her to make a quick getaway if he decides to kick.
“Frosted sugar?” I echo back. “What is that?”
Sarah Agnes smiles and opens a bag to reveal small wheat
flakes coated in sugar.
“He likes these?” I ask, taking one out to examine it.
 The hestrinn breathes out hard and looks at my hand
eagerly. I hold up the treat for him, and his lips are covering
my fingers immediately, threatening to take my whole hand
into his mouth with the snack.
He makes an awful sort of chomping sound, his lips
smacking loudly as he devours it.
We both laugh, and, while the noise is disgusting,
somehow it also just endears me to the creature more. Once he
is compliant again, we are able to brush and groom him with
ease.
“I have want to ask,” Sarah speaks up after a moment.
“Why do you choose him? There are so many better hestrinn
here for you.” She tilts her head to the side, genuine curiosity
in her features.
I reach to place a hand on his mane, and he leans into my
touch as if he understands what I did for him.
Or more likely because he knows I will cave and give him
more sugar.
“Because no one else would,” I answer simply, and she
nods.
We finish grooming him in silence, and he seems happy
with the two of us paying him so much attention. When we’re
finished, we offer him some more frosted treats, and he once
again devours them.
We can’t help but laugh at the sucking sounds he makes as
he savors each piece. Drool comes pooling from his mouth,
and he snorts in delight when he’s done, shaking his head and
sending the droplets everywhere.
“Well, that was disgusting,” I say, thoroughly amused as I
wipe the spit from my cheek.
“Aye.” Sarah laughs as well. “You chose crazy one, Lady.
But it appears he is good sort of crazy.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I finally ask.
“Apart from the obvious mannerisms and temper he displays,
everyone else seemed to know he was crazy from one glance.”
 Sarah nods and wipes the sugar remnants on her pants
before pointing to the white rim around his eye.
“There. That is sign he has crazy. When you see this, you
stay away.” She studies me for a moment before continuing.
“But not you. You invite him home. You are good to him. That
says something about you in here.” She points to my chest.
“That I invite drama?” I ask playfully.
Sarah shakes her head.
“No. That you love deep, and you save helpless.” Her
smile fades. “You save me, too. Thank you.”
My eyes begin to sting as I take in her words. I can’t be
vulnerable here. Not here, not anywhere.
“No, you saved me,” I finally say. “I needed someone to
help with this guy, and it was a favor you were doing me.
That’s all.”
The corner of her mouth tilts up in understanding and she
dips her head.
“Even this, I am never going back to him. I cannot.”
She doesn’t need to say anything else.
“You will always have a home here,” I add quickly,
making a promise I shouldn’t. “I could use some help reining
in his crazy, if you don’t mind staying on.”
She nods and begins braiding his hair to match the other
hestrinn in the stables.
“I suppose we should give him a name.”
“Yes, he is needing something to match his personality.”
I chuckle and agree, running through a list in my mind
before landing on a name I heard ages ago.
“What about Gideon?”
Sarah puzzles it over, repeating the word to get a feel for
the pronunciation. “I like it. What does it mean?”
“Bruiser. Or destroyer.”
 The girl throws her head back in a fit of laughter before
adamantly agreeing, pointing to the few marks he has already
left on her body.
“Bruiser. I like this. It suits him.”
 CHAPTER 32

T he fresh air and time with Sarah and Gideon

have served the purpose of calming me down
somewhat. That, and the reminder that I have at
least done a single decent thing in my life.
The horse is safe, and she is safe, and it’s more than I can
say for most of the people that I care about, certainly more
than I can say for myself. But it’s something.
I’m not ready to go back to my rooms yet, so Khijhana and
I find ourselves once again in the study. It is vacant, as usual,
and the king’s words from my first week here come back to
me.
Despite my efforts, the people are definitely still avoiding
me. It’s clear this room has seen plenty of use, and with the
newfound knowledge that they have been here for seventeen
years, I am sure they are all familiar enough with the castle to
feel perfectly at home utilizing its many spaces.
Whether it’s personal or it’s about their secrets, it’s clear
that I am the reason for the emptiness in this wing of the
castle.
I sigh, pausing near the piano, running my fingers gently
over the keys.
None of it matters. It feels as if I spend half of my life
reminding myself how little anything here should affect me
lately.
I am still pacing the room, trying to thaw from my venture
outside, when footsteps sound from the entryway. I freeze in
my tracks, but don’t bother to turn around. They are familiar
enough to me by now, having heard them outside my room
every night for weeks.
Khijhana casts the king an irritable look, and I am absurdly
grateful for her support. He says nothing, neither to her, nor to
me. He only walks in his usual cadence, confident steps that
border on arrogance.
He has never had to doubt whether he is wanted in a room,
has never had to mitigate himself for the sake of others.
I still refuse to face him, but I hear the sound of chair legs
scraping against the stone floor. From the distance, I can
surmise that he is sitting at the table where we played chess
before.
Finally, his voice rings out behind me. It’s deep and, for a
change, contains the emotion he so rarely infuses into it.
“I thought we might play another game.”
I spin around before I can cover the resigned expression on
my face.
“Don’t we play plenty of games already?” I ask him flatly.
He studies me for a moment, taking in more of me than I
want him to see, as usual.
“A different sort, then.” He gestures to the chessboard.
I think about the man I saw at the festival and the way the
time is slipping through my fingers so precariously, and I want
to say that it’s for all of those reasons that I agree.
But I know what a liar I am.
Because mostly, I just want to know him better, to explore
the inner workings of his mind. So, I take my seat across from
him. Once again, he flips the coin.
“I’ll take your head this time,” I say with the barest tilt of
my lips.
He doesn’t respond verbally but proceeds to flip the coin
and show me the wolf’s head. His move, then. I feel a satisfied
smile tug at my lips, and he narrows his eyes.
 “If I didn’t know any better, I would swear you were
playing to lose.”
A small, sad laugh escapes my lips.
He doesn’t know how right he is. How it feels as if I have
spent my entire life with little choice but to play to lose. How
there is no real winning here. No real winning for me
anywhere.
But he’s also wrong, because in our last game, he beat me
fair and square, which is something that few men can boast.
So, I say nothing.
We take our turns in a tangible sort of silence, the kind that
feels louder than conversation would. The kind that says more
than words do.
It isn’t until we are at least twenty minutes into the game
that I hear his voice again.
“There is a sickness in the castle.” The silence shatters into
a thousand scattered pieces. He has broken it to tell me
something I already know, and that isn’t like him. So, I wait
him out.
He makes a move, and I counter. Back and forth we go
until he speaks again.
“It isn’t new. But it is getting worse.”
I turn his words over in my head, flip them around, and
study them for the answers I have wanted so desperately.
“What do you mean, worse?” I press.
Einar rubs his temples, pretending to study his knight even
though we both know full well that he only has one viable
move if he wants to protect his king.
“It’s progressing, and they are…suffering,” he says
reluctantly as he forms a castle.
It isn’t just his move that makes the pieces he’s given me
and the ones I’ve observed click together in my mind. His
people haven’t left this castle in seventeen years.
 I wasn’t allowed to bring anyone with me, and I have
encountered so few of the staff or courtiers except from a
distance, across a vast dining table. None of their families
visit. They are closed off behind their gloves and veils in their
own private wing of Alfhild.
“That’s why they wear the masks?” I phrase it as a
question, but it isn’t, not really. It’s the only thing that makes
any sort of sense. He meets my eyes, nodding.
“And yet you seem concerned neither for my safety, nor
your own.” I gesture between our clearly unmasked faces.
“You are not at risk,” he says firmly. His pupils don’t
change in size, and his gaze does not waver.
The truth, then.
In a much quieter voice, he answers the second part of my
question. “And neither am I.”
Guilt overtakes his features, and I wonder at that
statement. He doesn’t appear to be lying, but there was a small
note of falsehood as well. And then, there’s his
disproportionate remorse.
Did he cause this sickness somehow?
I open my mouth to ask him, when a flurry of footsteps
interrupts what I was about to say.
Sigrid sweeps into the study without preamble. I
reluctantly pull my attention from the king to the woman who
is shuffling much faster than usual to reach me.
When she draws closer, I notice the large ivory envelope in
her hand.
My heart races.
I know who it’s from before I catch sight of the address.
But I stall anyway.
“I thought the post did not run often here?” I strive and fail
for nonchalance in my voice.
Sigrid steps beside me, and I wonder what is in my tone or
my expression that causes her to place her free hand on my
arm with concern.
“It is not, but this letter is from private courier.”
She doesn’t have to tell me how expensive something like
that would be, how extravagant, how very rare it would be to
pay for such a service without an urgent need.
But she does not know the unnecessary excess with which
Madame fills her life. The king’s lips begin to form a question
of his own.
It’s a question I don’t wish to answer, so I reach out with
fingers that have gone numb from lack of blood flow, fingers
that feel nearly as leaden as my insides, and somehow manage
to grasp the envelope.
I don’t look down. I can’t bear the sight of her seal, a
conch shell pressed into crimson wax that drips around the
edges like rivulets of blood.
I think I mutter an excuse to the king before I clamber up
from the small table, heading straight for the room I was so
desperate to escape only hours ago. It’s not subtle, but it’s all I
can manage. I shut the door behind me and tear open the
cursed envelope, heart thumping out an accusation with each
thunderous beat.
To my most valuable daughter, she has begun her letter.
Not cherished. Not loved. Valuable. Given no less and no more
weight than one of the many priceless, pretty things she has
draping every surface of the château.
I trust everything is going well, though, I confess, I had
expected to hear from you by now.
I know how you still mourn your sister, especially this time
of year. It pains me to think that if you go too long without
checking in, something may befall one of the other two before
you have the chance to see them again. These times are so
uncertain, as we both know.
My fingers tremble so violently, the letter falls to the floor
and I scramble to pick it up so I can finish reading whatever
vile things she has written for me.
 Of course, they are perfectly fine at the moment. And I am
sure with as resourceful as you have always been, you will find
a way to ensure they stay that way.
See you soon,
Mother

Footsteps sound behind the panel to the passageway, and I

throw the letter into the fire on instinct. It gives me no
satisfaction to watch it burn, though, not when I know nothing
can rid me of that woman as easily as I destroy her letter.
I think of what my sisters wrote to me, of how her anxiety
had begun to heighten even weeks ago.
I squeeze my eyes shut just as the passageway creaks open.
I want to acknowledge the king’s presence, to pull myself
together before he sees me this way, but all I can see are
golden curls soaked in a pool of blood.
Solid, steady hands cover my own, but even the king’s
significant warmth is not enough to chase away the chill that I
can feel deep in my bones.
I force myself to breathe, in and out again, while my brain
races through a thousand possibilities. Like the fact that she
has set me up for failure and how she will enjoy punishing me
for it.
Like how every lesson in my life up to this point has
taught me not to let my emotions get the better of me, yet here
I am.
“Zaina.” The king uses my name so rarely, it pulls me out
of my stupor.
I open my eyes, and he is so much closer than I thought.
His eyes are peering down at me with none of his usual
guardedness, only a look of real concern.
“What is it? Have you received bad news from home?” His
voice is so soft, it threatens to break me.
 I open my mouth, then close it again. I’m not sure what the
right answer is. I’m not even sure what the truth is. All I know
is that I’m so cold, and he is so warm, and his lips are inches
from my own, and I never seem to know what’s going to
happen next in my life or when the next tragedy is going to
strike.
I don’t think. I close the space between us, pressing my
lips against his. And for all the times he has rejected me in
small or large ways, I don’t worry about that this time.
Nor should I. He wraps his massive arms around me and
pulls me closer, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. I take
his invitation, running my hands along the broad chest I’ve
wanted to feel under my fingertips since that first day I saw
him.
And for all that I have teased him about this thing on his
face, his beard is rough against my skin, contrasting with his
soft lips, and it is perfectly him. Perfectly us, I amend.
Isn’t that all we are? Rough edges around smaller, softer
pieces of ourselves?
He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around him while he
walks us backward until he is seated in the middle of my
enormous carved bed. His hands go for the buttons at the back
of my dress, and I lean into him to allow him more room to
maneuver.
All I want in this moment is my skin against his skin, to
leach away some of the heat he carries around with him when
every part of me feels so very cold.
He unfastens one button and then the next, and I am
coming undone as surely as my dress, each ragged breath
coming faster, mingling with his in the tiny pockets of space
between our frenzied kisses.
His mouth moves down to my chin, and then my neck, and
I arch my back to allow him easier access. An animalistic
sound I never thought to hear from my own lips escapes me as
his tongue flits across the side of my neck.
 Then I see it, out of the corner of my eye, the envelope I
forgot to toss into the fire along with the letter it contained.
The blood-red conch shell — a promise from across the
continent. And I remember what happens to the people who
get close to me.
I scramble back from him, too off guard to hide my
carefully honed agility. His arms stay frozen in the air for a
fraction of a second before he lowers them to his side, blinking
his eyes against whatever haze he is still in.
“Zaina? I’m sorry, I —”
I throw up a hand to stop him, because if there is one thing
I know, it is that I cannot handle an apology from him right
now.
“Just go.”
He opens his mouth to argue, and I feel my resolve
crumbling.
“Please,” I add, realizing it is probably the first time I’ve
ever spoken the word to him. I can barely get it out past the
tightness in my throat.
His expression shutters, and whatever he was thinking is
now as much a mystery to me as it ever is. Without another
word, he goes to the passageway and shuts the door quietly
behind him.
I wish he had slammed it. I wish I could slam it. I wish I
had some outlet for all of this rage and panic and frustration.
Hell, I even wish I had a bottle of that eiswein in here right
about now.
Anything would be better than this sinking feeling, like I
am deteriorating before my own eyes and am powerless to
stop it because I know that I have no choices going forward.
This is the cycle my life will take, protecting the ones I
love at the cost of literally everything else
 CHAPTER 33

K hijha makes a pitiful sound as she follows my

pacing through the room. I want to scream.
To cry. To allow myself the emotions that
everyone else has a right to, but me.
“I’ve messed it all up,” I say to the empty air around us.
“I’ve ruined everything.”
“Ruined what, dear?” Sigrid’s voice is startling, though it
is softer, sadder than normal. Much different from her usually
plucky tone.
I see red as unbridled flames of fury fill me. Fury that I
hadn’t heard her, hadn’t noticed another person’s presence or
heard the door open or close. Fury that I had let my guard
down and that every time I turn around, I make mistakes that I
cannot afford.
“Do you never knock? Am I not allowed a sands-damned
moment of privacy or peace in this place? Do you all think
you have a right to me, that you own my time and attention?” I
am yelling, something I never do, and it’s almost a relief to
finally vent an emotion until Sigrid clutches her heart.
I close my eyes, instantly regretting that I have hurt her.
She doesn’t deserve my ire. Whether anyone else does is a
different story, but she certainly doesn’t.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —”
The sight of her crashing to the floor stops the words in my
mouth. Her head cracks loudly against the stone floors,
echoing through the room.
 “Sigrid?”
She is limp and unmoving, aside from a small twitching in
her gloved hand.
“Sigrid!”
I rush to her side, unsure of where to touch her, of what
hurts aside from her head. Pained breaths come from beneath
her thick black veil, and I don’t even consider what I’m doing
until my hands are on the gauzy material.
Einar flies through the panel in the wall. His lips are still
swollen from our encounter, and worry is etched deep into
each line on his face as he takes in the sight of Sigrid lying
motionless on the floor.
My fingers are still grasping her veil, and I continue to pull
it up when he shouts for me to stop and runs toward us.
But his words are too late.
I gasp in horror as I get my first glimpse of what she has
been hiding all this time.
Her face is covered in white feathers, with a strip of black
ones from the bridge of a red beak-like nose back to her scalp.
They grow from open wounds, some scabbed over and some
very fresh. Whatever transformation is happening to her, it is
not painless, and it breaks my heart.
Her small round eyes are red-rimmed and unblinking as
her pupils contract and expand repeatedly, and the wheezing
sound that escapes her mouth has me terrified.
“She’s barely breathing!” I cry out to Einar, who has begun
removing her gloves.
Sigrid’s slender fingers cringe and twitch in what appears
to be pain as sleek black feathers slowly sprout from her
knuckles, drops of blood dribbling from the wounds.
“What is this?” I ask, horror-stricken.
“The illness.” The king’s voice is gentle as he answers
without hesitation.
 There isn’t any urgency in his movements, just anger and a
hint of sad acceptance of this horrible situation.
But she seemed so healthy.
No sooner does the thought cross my mind than I realize
that’s not likely true. I think on how she’s been more absent
than normal lately. Her touch, softer. Her voice when she
entered, I had thought I’d heard sadness, but I realize now that
it was frailty.
She wasn’t well and hasn’t been, and I’ve been so caught
up in my own selfishness that I didn’t pay her enough
attention.
“What do we do? How do we help?” Tears burn in my
eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Now is a time for action.
“Tell me what to do,” I demand.
Einar looks at me, and there is no wall concealing his
emotions this time.
Shock, anger, fear, and even something like hesitation war
within his gaze
“You’re not…disgusted?” he asks hesitantly.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and quickly shake
my head in disbelief.
“I’m not a monster.” I wonder if the insistence in my tone
is more for his benefit or for my own. “She’s been my only
friend here, my only friend in a long time. She’s in pain and
we have to help her.”
Feathered fingers wrap around my own as Sigrid
acknowledges that she can hear us. The gesture nearly undoes
me entirely.
“What do we do?” I ask again, more resolutely.
The guards helped move Sigrid to my bed, and the castle
physician has come and gone, giving her an elixir to help with
her breathing and overall pain.
Einar paces as he waits for the courier he’s summoned. He
left the room only once to grab writing materials and scribbled
furiously on them, cursing everything under the sun as he
glanced back at Sigrid every other sentence.
Despite his knowing that this illness has been here for so
long, it pains him to see her suffer. To see them all suffer. That
much is clear.
A knock barely sounds at the door before the guards open
it and Leif enters.
“The courier is here,” he says with an anxious tone before
casting a glance my way, his beaked mask lingering on
Sigrid’s helpless form.
Einar doesn’t hesitate or take the time to respond. Instead,
he thrusts the sealed envelope into Leif’s gloved hands, and
Leif quickly hobbles from the room to deliver it to the waiting
messenger.
Einar still refuses to make eye contact with me, and he
hasn’t said a word in the past hour.
Not that I am trying very hard to communicate, either. I am
more focused on Sigrid, propping her up with several pillows
in my bed and trying to get her to drink a bit of tea. She tries to
shoo me away, but she can barely even lift her hand for the
gesture.
I level her with a stern look.
“None of that,” I say, insisting on her taking another sip.
“You have spent weeks waiting on and being kind to a perfect
stranger, all while your own health deteriorated. You will let
me do this now.”
I push away the images of what Madame would have done
to me and any servant she found me acting so familiarly
toward. Though her reach seems to have no end, she is not in
this room, and she has already left me so little room for
kindness in my life that she will not rob me of this as well.
 I feel Einar’s gaze on me now, but he doesn’t comment.
He speaks only to Sigrid.
“Is there anything else you need?” He stokes the fire with a
poker, as though she will get better if only he can make her
warm. “Anything at all?”
“No, Ùlfur.” It’s the second time she has called him little
wolf, and it almost makes me smile. But one look at the state
she is in effectively rids me of that notion.
Then she thinks again and asks the king to have someone
bring her to her bed.
“No,” I break in without thinking, ignoring the
disbelieving look Einar sends my way.
I am sure he provides well for his servants, but I doubt
even Sigrid has a bed as nice as mine, and I’m not certain I
trust that anyone would be capable of carrying her so far. This
thing they have could attack them, too, and they could wind up
hurting her if they fell.
“You can recover here for the time being.” I squeeze her
feathered hand gently. “Just rest, please.”
Leif returns, this time without knocking, and he moves a
chair to Sigrid’s bedside, grasping her other hand in his.
She nods at me weakly, and I stand up, pulling the thick
covers a little closer around her shoulders before finally lifting
my eyes to the king’s.
He stares at me with an expression I don’t have the energy
to try to decipher.
I gesture my head toward the panel, and he follows my
gaze before letting loose a sigh, his shoulders falling slightly
with the movement. He nods.
I know the feeling. Truthfully, I would rather stay in this
room with Sigrid if it was not for the fact that I’m certain it
would only be to watch her die. Something I am not willing to
let happen if there is another way.
 Besides, I am no fool, and the king has been doing more
than keeping secrets. Once again, he has been lying.
 CHAPTER 34

W e are standing in the middle of his room, the

silence filling the space between us as I watch
his chest rise and fall with each grieving breath
he takes.
He’s leaning against one of his bookshelves with his head
tipped toward the ceiling, and the quiet continues to stretch on.
Part of me wants to reach out and touch him, hold him, be
held by him. Only hours ago, we were locked in a moment
where nothing else existed, and I can’t deny a selfish part of
me that wishes we could be in it again, feeling only each other
and drowning out the world and its problems and its pain.
But that won’t make them go away.
So, I try very hard to ignore the oppressive presence of his
massive bed, even larger than mine. I try not to remember how
I felt the last time I was in a bed with him, or the way his lips
felt against my bare skin, or how he tasted like cinnamon and
honey.
I try to ignore the traitorous part of me that just wants to
crawl back there with him, even if we are just a couple of liars.
I shake my head to clear those thoughts, looking him
straight in the eye when I call him out.
“An illness?”
He says nothing, his gaze settling slowly on the bed as
well, and I can feel the tension stretching between us like one
of Aika’s fiddle strings about to snap.
 “Funny,” I pull his attention back to the conversation at
hand. “It’s like no sickness I have ever seen. In fact, if I didn’t
know any better, I might even think she had been —” I stop
before I finish my sentence, unabated horror washing over me.
“Think she had been what?” Einar’s voice is reserved,
curious, as he moves away from the bookshelf and angles
himself toward me.
“Poisoned.” I breathe out the word through lips that have
gone numb.
All at once, I feel like an idiot, like even more of a pawn
than I have always been.
“And what would you know of it?” He narrows his gaze,
cocking his head to the side.
It isn’t hard to summon the anger I need to lift my chin,
my own eyes burning with rage when I respond.
“Only that it is like no sickness I have ever seen, nor heard
of. Or would you like to double down on your lie and pretend
that it is some rare Jokithan plague?”
Instead of so much as a flicker of remorse crossing his
features, indignation widens his eyes.
“You wish to speak to me of lying?”
I distantly register that his lips aren’t moving exactly as
they should, but my mouth outpaces my mind when I answer.
“And what have I lied about?” Plenty, but I mostly want to
know which of them he has figured out.
But he doesn’t answer. He only looks at me with a waiting
expression, like he expects me to deduce the answer on my
own. And belatedly, I do.
Because we aren’t speaking the common tongue.
I realize now what his sharp glance in my room had meant.
Not because I had refused Sigrid what she had asked for, but
because she had been speaking Jokithan when she told the
king to have her moved.
 Inwardly, I curse my thoughtlessness. Outwardly, I remain
calm.
“Are you expecting me to apologize for picking up some
of your language in the several weeks I have lived here?
Would you rather that I remain ignorant of my own people?”
“Your knowledge would suggest far more than picking up
some of the language,” he shoots back at me, using my own
phrase.
Again, I pull from the substantial supply of rage and
injustice swirling around in my mind and infuse it into every
one of my features, my posture, and my voice when I speak.
“If you’ll recall, I had very little else to do when you
brought me to your castle, alone, then refused to see or speak
to me for weeks.”
Shame crosses his features, just as I had hoped it would.
“None of this is helping Sigrid,” I add in a softer tone.
“Why don’t you tell me what you know, so at least I can better
care for her. Maybe I can help.”
He sinks into his armchair, letting his head fall into his
hands.
“There’s nothing anyone can do to help.” He gestures
around at the books, and I realize that this is the first time he is
aware that I have been in his room.
I take a moment to study it ostensibly.
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“Research. Seventeen years’ worth. I’ve been looking for
an antidote, and I am no closer than I was when I started. And
I’m running out of —” He cuts off, looking at me sharply.
Seventeen years.
“Running out of what?” I prod him.
“Time,” he says at last, his fingers tugging at the chain
around his neck that he never takes off.
 I suppress a scowl. He might be running out of time, but
that’s not how he had planned to end that sentence.
What is he running out of?
He is still keeping secrets, though probably not as many as
I am.
Before I can ask anything else, a loud knock sounds at the
paneled door.
“Enter,” Einar says, his eyes still locked onto mine.
“We’ve had word,” Leif says, limping toward us to hand
Einar a rolled-up piece of parchment.
“Already?” I ask.
Though, in a country with dragons and magically growing
fantastical cats, I’m not sure why I’m surprised.
The king quickly unfurls the letter, his eyes scanning its
contents before he nods.
“Right. He’s close, then. I’ll be leaving immediately.”
Leif nods and opens the main door to the king’s room to
signal something to the guards before heading back to Sigrid.
“Who did you write to?” I ask while Einar throws a few of
his journals and vials with various plants into a satchel.
“My ambassador. He has been helping me. Last I heard
from him, he believed he might be on to an antidote, but that
was months ago —” He pauses, sighing. “When they took a
sharp turn for the worse.”
I nod, but then something strikes me, and the room begins
to spin.
Right before I got here. Right before I was sent here, last
minute, more like it, by an ambassador. Like the one allegedly
helping him.
He casts a sideways glance at the tapestry on his wall
before turning away.
“I’m coming with you,” I announce as he reaches for the
door.
 “The hell you are,” he commands with finality before
slamming the door shut behind him.
I feel frozen in a flurry of emotions. My pride makes me
want to chase after him and insist. My fear makes me want to
stay with Sigrid. My rage wants to shatter everything in this
room. But Madame’s voice in the back of my head is telling
me something else entirely.
It makes sense now, why Madame had chosen this castle.
How she knew it had been weakened from the inside. How
many people in the world have the knowledge to turn a person
into an animal, or even a version of one?
Haven’t I seen her do this before, or at least something
similar?
So many things are clearer now. I wish they weren’t. I
wish I could go back to when the king was just a cold bastard
and I was just the bride he purchased. Because all of this
knowledge and insight, even though it feels like it changes
everything, it changes nothing in the end.
But when has wishing ever gotten me anywhere? That was
one of the first lessons Madame taught after she obtained me.
After she stole me.
Khijhana presses herself against my leg as though she
senses my despair, and I let her, because I lied before when I
told Einar I am not a monster.
I’m just not nearly as much of one as the creature who
made me. The one who plucked me from my home and
molded me to suit her needs.
The one who poisoned this entire castle.
 CHAPTER 35

I t doesn’t take long for me to decide to explore the

passage in his room again. The way he looked at it
before he left told me enough to know that it’s
important.
I must have missed something.
I push the tapestry aside and scan the wall before my eyes
snag on the stone brick that sticks out just a bit farther than the
others. I press it, and it gives way to reveal a solid stone door. I
open it to the winding staircase, this time feeling the walls
along the way for anything I may not have seen the first few
times I was here, during all those weeks he left me to my
devices.
Khijhana mews and tentatively climbs the steps while I
slide the heavy door back into place. The motion brings
Einar’s words back to mind.
The hell you will as he slammed the door.
Slammed the door. Ordered me to stay.
He doesn’t even realize the web that’s being woven around
him, and the stubborn bastard refuses to trust me, refuses to
believe that I might be able to help him.
My blood boils as I make my way up the private stairs.
I don’t even know who I’m so furious with. Einar for
shutting me out again, or myself for deserving it. Or, most of
all, Madame.
I can still help him, I tell myself.
 I can’t risk outright disobedience, though. Images of my
sister’s fair skin and golden hair reappear, as they always do
when I contemplate the very notion.
The sound of her laugh. The way she smiled and followed
my every move without question, for better or worse.
Worse, as it turns out.
I push the memory away. This is different. I wasn’t given
any direct orders about this.
Unless…I think about the second set of instructions I was
sent with. It had seemed so trivial, weighed against marriage
and a baby.
Steal something valuable and replace it with something
worthless. He’ll never know the difference.
A betrayal, but a relatively minor one, all things
considered.
I have been so, so stupid.
Desperately, I focus on my surroundings.
What did I miss?
The staircase ends in a vast room with a domed ceiling and
rounded windowpanes.
Each wall is full of books, plants, and alchemist’s tools.
There are graphs on the wall of various plants and their
anatomy broken down piece-by-piece with a small description
of the medicinal or toxic properties. But most prevalent are
drawings and notes on one flower in particular.
A rose.
The reminders of her are endless, even as the pieces of this
twisted puzzle click horrifically into place.
Several vials line the walls with papers next to them. I had
largely ignored them before, but this time, I shuffle through
each paper.
1 Rose petal - 3 ml of lavenaia berry juice - claw of raven -
Turned to a combustible black substance.
 1 Rose petal - 7 drops puffin blood - stardust - Boiling acid
that rots flesh.
1 Rose petal - 8 ml wolfsbane - tail of scorpion -
Promising at first - but seems to accelerate effects of poison.
They go on and on in this way, all of them with slashes
drawn through them, notes and warnings scribbled next to
them. There must be hundreds of variations here that he has
tried, and all have failed.
I hastily search the drawers and cabinets and vials for
answers, but I come up empty. And the longer I’m here, the
more I realize that I will only find what I need if I’m with him.
He’s not the only one running out of time.
With those thoughts, I sneak back into my room and
discreetly change into the warmest clothes I can find, packing
an extra cloak in a small bag along with whatever food is left
over from earlier, as well as a canteen of water. It isn’t much,
but it will do in a pinch.
The memories reappear.
I’m thirteen again. Rose and I are packing what few
belongings we have to escape from the window balcony of the
villa.
I had just arrived home and found her sleeping. Her eyes
were red and swollen from tears. She knew I hadn’t wanted to
go. She knew I was scared.
It was the night I became a woman. It was the night that
whatever was left of my childhood had been sold to the highest
bidder.
‘You’re of age now. Let’s not let this go to waste.’
When the first signs of womanhood appeared, the bidding
started.
I had fetched a very high price — enough to pay for the
burden of keeping me housed and fed. Or so I was told.
I couldn’t allow her to do the same to Rose. Not my Rose.
 I’m creeping past my bed when Sigrid’s voice reaches my
ears.
She motions for me to come closer, and I do, in spite of the
time I’ve already lost. I ignore the voice in my head that tells
me this may be the last time I see her.
“Where?” she barely croaks out, but I understand her
meaning.
“I am going after him,” I answer honestly, careful to keep
the emotion from my face.
She swallows hard, and I help her take a sip of water.
Her frail fingers apply the slightest pressure to my hand as
she nods in understanding.
“So…so many —” Her words are interrupted by a
coughing fit, so I help her sit up for another drink. It isn’t until
she’s laying back down that she finishes.
“—thorns, but less than before.” She reaches for my face
with a shaking hand, smiling through her pain while she
touches my cheek.
This simple gesture nearly breaks me in two. I don’t
deserve her kindness, but I treasure it, nonetheless.
Her words are an echo of what she’s said before. But this
time, it’s different. It’s an unspoken understanding that there
are layers to each of us. Broken pieces that make us who we
are. And on some level, I get the feeling she understands me
better now than she did then.
I’m just not so sure it’s a good thing.
Leif clears his throat behind me, the physician at his side
once more.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, quickly removing myself from
her side and heading out the door without looking back.
 CHAPTER 36

W ith all of the commotion in the castle, it doesn’t

take much for me to sneak away into the
stables. Maybe the guards don’t think I will
actually leave, or maybe they don’t care.
I find Sarah at Gideon’s stall, where the latter is shuffling
around impatiently. Khijhana casts Gideon another look that
borders on disgust, clearly feeling that his behavior is beneath
her. Her head reaches my elbow now, and I mentally amend
my list of reasons why the guards didn’t bother stopping me.
Sarah doesn’t question me when I ask her if Gideon can be
ridden, and she doesn’t mince words or waste time helping
me. She seems to sense my urgency, which isn’t altogether
surprising. How many times has she been desperate to escape
a situation?
While she helps me saddle my hestrinn, a look of warning
fills her eyes, and she speaks in hushed tones.
“He is good horse, Lady. But he likes to lead. Let him run
and he will stay behaved,” she cautions, showing me the best
way to mount him and get back down again. She teaches me a
few of her commands, easy ones that he is likely to follow, and
gives me a final word of advice before I leave.
“He is fastest hestrinn here, faster than any I know, but he
is wild. Listen to him, and let him tell you what he has need.” I
don’t miss the worry in her voice, but I also don’t have time to
stay to learn more.
Gideon may be a wild card, but he is fast, and he is mine.
 We head in the direction of the freshest horse hooves,
toward the mountains. There are two sets of tracks, so he
likely took one of the guards. At least he isn’t completely
reckless.
Gideon seems pleased to be free from the stables and
running through the snow. Sarah wasn’t wrong. He is fast,
faster than even his size accounts for, faster than any horse
I’ve ever ridden. If I was worried about the hour or so I had
lost exploring in the king’s absence, I’m not really nervous
about it now.
Fortunately, the snow has stopped falling, so their hestrinn
have left deep, clearly marked hoof prints in the blanket of
snow, easy for even me to follow.
Gideon is remarkably easy to steer, as long as I let him set
his own pace, and he soon seems to see that we are following
the marks left by the other hestrinn. There is little for me to do
but keep my seat, leaving my mind free to wander.
Which is never a good thing.
I held her small hand in mine as we ran down the beach
toward the village. Every part of me hurt and felt dirty and
ashamed. I fought back the tears and ignored the pain,
because I couldn’t let that slow me down. Not when we were so
close to freedom.
I told myself that I would be back, though. I would find a
way to save Melodi from this hellish prison, too. Just because
her fate wouldn’t be as awful as ours, didn’t mean she
deserved to be stuck in this place with that horrible woman.
Rose tripped and fell so many times, her sleep-deprived
body unable to keep up with my pace.
We were almost there, though. I could hear the lapping of
the water against the wharf.
We turned a corner, and the cargo ship came into view. I
had been eyeing it for months, but it was a risk, one I hadn’t
been willing to take until tonight.
We made it all the way to the loading bay before I saw him.
Damian. Relief whooshed out of me. He had gone ahead to
pay our passage. This was it. We were almost free.
But his expression was all wrong. A slow, malicious smile
spread across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but I
knew what he was going to say before he got the words out. I
had already lost.
“I’ve found them for you, Mother.”
I’m not even trying for stealth, though I don’t know what I
will say when I catch up with Einar. Even if I could trust him
with the truth, I’m not even sure what that is anymore.
Regardless, he doesn’t get to order me around like one of
his dogs and expect me to sit and stay where he tells me to.
As usual, it’s easier for me to focus on my anger than any
of the other thoughts competing for first place.
Gideon flies down a small embankment, pulling me
momentarily out of my vicious thoughts. It is clear that he
struggles with changing speeds. He is all or nothing, and we
begin to slide and stumble more than we were before. The path
ahead is getting steeper and slicker, and if I was on any other
horse, I know we wouldn’t have made it this far. Though, I’m
not certain Gideon will make it much further, either. Or at
least, not with me atop him.
My balance clearly isn’t what it used to be, and I seem to
be tilting or sliding far more than normal.
But in spite of all this and the incline, Gideon is undeterred
and continues upward.
I lean forward as far as I can to lighten my weight in the
saddle, which propels him forward even faster. My core and
lower back burn from the strain, but I somehow keep my seat.
I turned to run, knocking on doors at random in a plea for
help. But the islanders knew who we were. Who we belonged
to. They couldn’t risk their lives for ours, and in the end, they
sealed Rose’s fate.
We seem to be going in a nearly straight line northwest,
toward the snow-capped mountains in the distance that already
feel so much larger as we approach them. It makes sense why
they don’t bother with regular horses here. None of them could
manage this terrain or the freezing temperatures.
With Gideon’s thick coat, he doesn’t seem even the
slightest bit fazed. Even Khijha was made for this. She has no
trouble keeping up, though I worry that we are making our
presence too obvious.
If my hestrinn and cat are larger than life, then whatever is
potentially lurking within this forest could be as well.
But they can’t be any worse than other monsters I’ve
faced.
By the time we were back at the château, my tears were
spent. I was silently resigned to the punishment we would face.
I held Rose’s head to my chest as sobs wracked her body,
assuring her that she wouldn’t take any of the blame. It was my
idea, after all.
We bolt around towering spruce and fir trees, up
increasingly steep trails. I want to trust that Gideon knows
what he’s doing, as he has so clearly taken the lead, but I get
anxious every time we come too close to the imposing trunks
and branches. This is the last place I want to be injured.
I am neither weaponless, nor defenseless, but I won’t
pretend to know how to escape or kill any predator here.
And I haven’t forgotten the dragon.
Gideon has not slowed even for a moment, though. He is
spectacular, even with his eyes rolling around in his head a bit
and the crazed noises he makes on occasion. I have no way of
knowing how much faster he is than an average hestrinn and
no way of gauging our progress, though.
All I can do is hope we are gaining on them and hope I
will catch up to the king in time to get some sands-blasted
answers.
 CHAPTER 37

N early three hours have passed, according to the

position of the sun, when Gideon starts to act
fidgety. He even slows his pace without my
tugging on the reins.
I am already nervous, because I’ve heard the sound of
streaming water for the past half hour. I try to trust Gideon, try
to believe that he won’t come upon a river and stop so
suddenly that I pitch forward, but my trepidation won’t quite
buy it.
I look to Khijhana, and she is fixated on a space beyond
the trees, but not necessarily on guard. Have we caught up
with them at last?
Sure enough, we follow the overgrown trail a few more
meters and spill out into a small clearing with a narrow river
running alongside it.
The king and Gunnar stand in front of it, their two hestrinn
lapping up the water rapidly. Both men are facing me,
weapons drawn.
The barest hint of relief washes over me, but I ignore it. I
refuse to entertain the idea that I am relieved either to find him
here safe or to find him in a man’s company rather than
Helga’s. Or any other woman’s. With everything at stake, it
isn’t something that should matter at all.
But with all the secrets he keeps, hadn’t I wondered more
than once if that was one of them? And who would he trust to
make this journey with him when he so clearly did not trust
me?
My reluctant relief is short-lived in the face of Einar’s
anger. He throws his axe to the ground, where it lodges itself
in the frozen earth. Jaw clenched, he brings his fingers to the
bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut like he can will me
away just by wishing it.
I tug on Gideon’s reins, a little surprised and grateful when
he actually stops. Despite Sarah’s lessons, I struggle to
dismount him with my stiff legs.
I know mounting him again will be even more difficult,
but it’s worth it to give my body a break. Once I convince him
to drink alongside the other hestrinn, I finally look up at Einar.
The king’s glance travels from my frustrated hestrinn to
my chalyx, who is calmly removing debris from one of her
paws, and finally to my face, which I have ensured holds not
the slightest sign of remorse.
For all the times I have thought that his expression was
inscrutable or difficult to read, I have no problem discerning it
now. White-hot fury paints every single line of his face. From
the corner of my eye, I can see that his companion is more
flummoxed than anything, but I have eyes only for my
husband.
The seconds tick by with only the whistling of the icy wind
interrupting our standoff. Along with his rage, disbelief and
what I could even swear is disappointment make appearances
in his kaleidoscope of emotions.
But I don’t back down.
After what feels like a lifetime, he runs a hand over his
braided silver hair, acting for all the world as if I am nothing
but an annoyance to him.
“Gunnar,” he addresses the guard without turning his head.
“Please ride ahead to the ambassador, let him know that I will
be delayed —” He looks at me irritably. “For an indeterminate
period of time.”
“Right away, Your Majesty.”
 The man mounts his steed with a frustrating ease and gives
a polite nod in my direction before he rides away at full speed.
I’m sure my husband would be thrilled if I would address
him with the same level of easy acquiescence, but I’m afraid
he has another thing coming.
Once Gunnar is well on his way, Einar begins pacing back
and forth. The tension is rolling off of him in waves as he
scratches his beard and shakes his head.
I roll my eyes before noticing that Gideon has stopped
drinking and is staring at Einar’s movements. His ears are
flicking back and forth, and his lip curls up. I follow his gaze
toward my husband’s stomping feet making deep tracks in the
snow and shake my head.
I remember what Sarah said about his disposition.
“You’re making him nervous. You need to calm down,” I
say while stroking Gideon’s mane, making gentle shushing
noises.
Einar stops and stares at me, righteous indignation clear on
his features.
“I need to calm down?” He laughs, and the sound is
wholly without humor. “What do you think you’re doing
here?”
“I told you I was coming with you.” I inject a little extra
nonchalance into my tone, because he may be furious, but he
is not the only one.
“And I told you that you were doing no such thing.”
I have already been forced to give the control in my life
over to one person, and I will be damned if I give a shred of
what I have left to him, even temporarily.
Gideon continues to huff, and even Khijha moves to stand
between us.
“You may command your subjects, but you do not
command me.” My voice is quiet, with a lethal timbre I rarely
let anyone hear.
 But then, he pushes my buttons in a way few people do,
and I am already standing on an edge.
Einar only shakes his head.
“And we’re back to this.” He has the nerve to sigh. “Does
everything come down to power with you?”
Spoken like a man who has never had to fight for it. I rear
back at his accusation, having lived my entire life without a
shred of power at the whim of a woman who wants nothing
more.
“If, by power, you mean the basic dignity afforded any
adults,” I spit back at him, “then yes, I suppose that it does.
Did it ever occur to you that I might be able to help?” I add,
mortified by the way my throat begins to feel thick on the last
word, because honestly, my reasons for coming are jumbled in
my head now.
His eyes widen in understanding, and I look away, because
he doesn’t get to treat me as though I am beneath him and then
have the nerve to look like he cares.
And because he doesn’t begin to know what it is he thinks
he understands.
His voice is every bit as forceful, though, when he
responds.
“Help in what way, Zaina? Unless you have some
knowledge of poisons and cures, or some magical way to stop
time, then how exactly did you expect to help?”
He barrels forward without waiting for me to answer,
which is just as well, because I don’t have one.
“You take off into a countryside you’re unfamiliar with,
handling an animal you know nothing about, one that could
kill you if you’re not careful. You’re reckless and
thoughtless.” There are only inches between us as he speaks
down to me. Gideon stomps his feet and paws at the ground,
clearly upset by our argument. Einar backs away, taking a deep
breath before he continues.
 “Did it ever occur to you that I had my reasons for telling
you to stay behind? That you have no experience riding a
hestrinn, that speed was of the necessity, that I might have
wanted you there with Sigrid for a reason?”
His pain and his worry seeps through on those last words.
But I know how to spin emotions and use them to my
advantage, and I will not be on the receiving end of that.
“I think it’s clear that I was not a hindrance to your speed.”
I gesture to Gideon, who is already anxiously shuffling his feet
in anticipation of our next run. “Sigrid had many capable and
willing hands at her side when I left, as you well know. But if
you had wanted me there as well for whatever sands-blasted
reason, all you had to do was explain that —”
“There was no time!” He cuts me off, practically yelling
now.
“There was no need, is what you mean,” I correct him.
“Because no one expects the king to explain himself to
anyone, least of all his lowly consort. Do not pretend to me
that the handful of seconds it would have taken you to ask me
to stay rather than to order it would have perilously delayed
your journey.”
Einar opens his mouth to respond, then closes it. I have left
him speechless, at least momentarily, though no less angry. We
are both breathing heavily, angry white puffs of breath
appearing and then dissipating in the air before our faces.
Gideon backs away slightly, and I put a calming hand on his
neck.
The king takes in the horse’s fidgeting movements and
Khijhana’s otherworldly stillness, but he still says nothing. His
face has gone carefully blank.
Finally, I speak up.
“For all that you were worried about your precious time,
we are certainly wasting a lot of it staying here to argue.” I am
not without feelings. I can read between the lines and see that
he wanted someone to be there with the woman who was
obviously like a mother to him, and in another world, in
another life, I would be the kind of person who could sit at her
side and do nothing.
But I don’t have the luxury of being that person. There is
more at play here than I think either of us fully understands.
One thing is clear, though.
I need to see this ambassador.
 CHAPTER 38

I stretch to grab hold of Gideon’s saddle, trying and

failing to pull myself up. Before I can try again,
rough hands grab hold of my waist, tossing me
upward with such force that I nearly sail over the other side of
my hestrinn. I grind my teeth as I situate myself.
Gideon stomps and paws at the ground until Einar finally
moves away to mount his steed as well.
Einar doesn’t agree for me to come with him, but he does
not argue when I prod Gideon into a trot behind him.
In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all for nearly an hour.
I can tell it is an effort for Gideon to let the king’s hestrinn
lead the way, and even more so for him to stay at this careful
speed. He stamps his hooves and huffs every so often, shaking
his head a bit in frustration.
I can’t pretend I don’t relate. I also don’t have an easy time
lessening myself for the sake of those around me.
Khijhana is happy to take up the rear, likely sensing that
my anger at the king has ebbed away into something a little
less potent. As the sun drops behind the mountain, I beckon
her closer to me. I am grateful that she wants to protect me,
but for all her size, she is still a kitten, and a domesticated one
at that. I don’t know what’s in these woods that is bigger than
she is, and I don’t want to find out the hard way.
If the king is trying to ignore me, he is doing a poor job.
His shoulders are hunched, and he tosses several half-glances
over his shoulder. When the path finally widens, I let Gideon
pull forward to ride at Einar’s side instead of his back.
I am just debating whether I should bother to try to break
the silence when he slices clean through it.
“I realized that as long as we’ve been married, we’ve never
really taken the time to get to know each other.” The words are
innocuous enough, but his tone is all forced pleasantness,
bordering on mocking, and I am immediately on edge.
“No,” I agree. “That was never something you seemed
interested in.”
“An oversight on my part.” His voice is darker now, and I
know I won’t like what he says next. “So tell me, where did
you grow up?”
“I’m from the Eastern Lands, near the Mirrored Desert.” I
hesitate, still wondering what his game is. “But I have spent
the better part of my life in Bondé, in Corentin.”
It’s not a lie. “And yet, you speak the common tongue
without the trace of an accent?” He startles me from my
thoughts.
This is an interrogation — that much is clear — but his
tone is polite enough that I can’t call him on it without looking
like there is a reason I don’t want to answer his questions.
“I have a gift with language, as you have already noted
yourself.” I let my irritation show in my tone, hoping he will
drop this line of conversation.
He doesn’t.
“Don’t sell yourself short. What you have is more than a
gift. You speak my own language as though it were your
mother tongue. Why hide such skill?”
An irritable sigh escapes me, sending plumes of smoky
condensation from my nose.
“Perhaps a lifetime of suspicious and easily emasculated
men has taught me better than to flaunt my particular set of
skills.” I eye him pointedly, though I don’t actually put him in
that category.
 I need a moment to think, but he doesn’t give me one.
“Exactly what is your particular set of skills? You throw
stars, you play chess, you —”
“Do everything a man can do? Have I offended your
sensibilities, or merely wounded your pride?” I shoot back,
still trying to gain the upper hand.
“You’re so good at flipping a conversation on its head,
Zaina, and I might even believe you, except…” He pins me
with a stare that has the blood draining from my face.
“Except what?” I say with all the false bravado I can
muster.
“Why, if you were teaching yourself my language, would
you refuse to speak to a sick woman — a woman you called a
friend — in her own tongue? Unless you had something to
hide.”
I scramble for a response that makes sense, something that
won’t feel like a lie. Hesitation is the first tell, so I open my
mouth before I’m even sure what I will say.
Just then, Gideon stamps his feet again, but this time, he
doesn’t seem to go any faster. If anything, he’s moving
sideways and even backing up slightly, his ears twitching.
“Something’s wrong,” I say, looking to Khijhana and
noting that while she doesn’t look exactly anxious, she is
looking intently off to the side.
“Are you that desperate to change the subject?” Einar asks
me sharply.
My jaw clenches, and before I can respond, Gideon
whinnies and shakes his head, rearing up a bit as he moves
toward the side of the narrow trail. Finally, the king deigns to
look in our direction. His eyes widen, and he reaches out a
calming hand toward my hestrinn, rubbing his own clearly
better-trained one on the neck.
I don’t understand the panic widening his eyes since he is
looking behind me and whatever Gideon is backing away from
is clearly up ahead.
 But it’s dark now, bathed as we are in the shadow of the
mountain, and I have been more focused on the king than our
surroundings. I realize my mistake a moment too late, when
Gideon rears up again, backing up until his back leg slips
down further than it should be able to.
The jolting motion makes me lose my precarious grip on
his reins and my seat in the saddle. I’ve never been much of a
screamer, but I let out a yelp as I sail through the air until my
foot catches in one of the stirrups.
Gideon’s feet are back on the ground, but now he’s bolting
down the trail, and it’s all I can do to wrangle my foot out of
the stirrup before he tramples me to death. I hit the ground
hard before rolling back down the mountain.
My chest aches, and I can’t breathe. The wind is knocked
from me as I continue to flip and roll for what feels like an
eternity.
By some miracle, I finally crash into a snowbank near the
edge of the cliff, just before sailing clean over it.
I gasp and choke when air forces its way into my lungs.
Stars line my vision, but I still see Khijhana’s form taking
hesitant steps toward me.
When the ringing in my ears stops, I hear Einar’s voice in
the distance, but I can’t make out the words he’s saying. He
has dismounted and is waving frantically. I strain my eyes
until they can focus a little more on his lips, which are moving
emphatically and forming two words.
I roll to my side and try to sit up, my head still spinning,
when I finally make them out.
“Don’t move!”
The earth begins to shift beneath me, and Khijhana’s eyes
widen as she tries to back away.
A crack has formed in the snow around us, and, for all of
her scrambling, she is now sliding toward me at an alarming
rate.
 Einar’s face is panic-stricken as he races forward, his arms
grasping wildly at the empty air. But he is too late. I am
already falling.
 CHAPTER 39

T he side of the mountain isn’t kind as Khijha and

I fly down it. I can’t focus enough to see how
she is faring; instead, all I feel is blind panic as
we careen toward the bottom of the cliff on a frozen slab of ice
and snow.
Flurries race all around us, obstructing my vision in a
blanket of white. With each glacial mass that is knocked free,
our speed increases. We’re sailing faster by the second,
hurtling toward the base of the mountains.
I don’t even see that we’re nearing the bottom until I hit
the ground with a thud, the several feet of snow beneath me
barely cushioning the impact as it forces me forward now.
Khijha’s growls ring out, and I let loose a breath, relieved
that she’s still alive and nearby.
I’m scrambling, digging my nails into any surface I can
find, but my frozen fingers can’t find purchase. They burn and
ache, and I keep sliding until I skitter onto a sheet of pure ice.
A pop and snap ring out, and Khijhana’s growl is cut off
by the sounds of splashing and gurgling water.
I dart a frantic look toward the noise, even more terrified
than before as the sound of more ice cracking echoes around
me.
Falling to my death would have been horrific enough, but
no, the world would never be that kind. I’m going to drown
instead.
 An even louder crunch sounds, and the ice beneath me
begins to splinter as my momentum slows.
When I finally come to a stop, the fractures beneath me
worsen, and icy water pools all around my frame.
There is nothing I can do, I realize with a swirling of
varied emotions.
If I could force my aching body to move, I would crawl
away from the danger, but the fissures stretch too far.
It wouldn’t matter anyway. Or so I tell myself as the water
deepens and the ice continues to thin.
Madame’s words fill my head.
“You are such a disappointment, Zaina.”
How many times have I replayed that moment? How many
times has that memory haunted me?
The ice finally splits wide open, and I drop down into the
arctic lake. I take a final gasping breath as it pulls me under,
its biting tendrils stabbing at my skin as I thrash and kick and
try to make my way back to the surface.
Everything around me is the deepest shade of blue, so blue
it is almost black, save for the one fading circle above of
rapidly dimming light.
The oppressing glacial temperature freezes each of my
joints and muscles, slowing my movements.
The cold burns like fire, setting my skin aflame.
I want to scream out in agony, but I fight to hold the
remaining oxygen in my lungs as I continue to sink even
deeper to my watery grave.
“You are such a disappointment, Zaina.” I hear her again,
and images and scenes of those painful memories come
rushing back.
Rose is lying on the ground. Bruises cover her face, and
her once-golden hair is sticky with fresh blood pooling from
her nose and scalp.
 Her chest refuses to rise or fall, and her thick lashes are
closed and unblinking.
The pressure in my chest is too much to bear. I’ve reached
my breaking point. My mouth opens in a gasp, and the air
rushes out of me while frigid water fills and chokes my lungs.
I’m suffocating, just like all those people Madame punished.
It’s pure agony.
My vision goes completely black.
I’ve never felt so much pain.
I deserve this.
The stabbing pains grow more intense, and it’s as if knives
are piercing my flesh. Then, there is nothing but the memory
of the sister I once knew.
I tell myself that Rose is sleeping. Even now she is
beautiful, the bruises unable to steal that from her completely.
Part of me is relieved. My perfect sister will never have to face
another day in this hell we were forced into.
She will never again have to miss the family she was stolen
from. Her fate has been kinder, because she didn’t have to face
the true horrors that Madame had planned for her future.
Her sentence is over at just eleven years of age.
And now, mine is, too.
 CHAPTER 40

I gasp, and water heaves and spews from my

shaking body. I steal desperate breaths, eager to
take in as much oxygen as I can.
My body works to expel the icy water, and every part of
me throbs and writhes with the effort.
Once I’m finished, gentle hands cradle my head.
“Zaina? Can you hear me?”
I force my eyes open, but the movement is slow. Painful,
even.
“Zaina?”
A blurred figure stares down at me. It takes several more
moments to register that it’s Einar who is holding me. I must
say his name aloud, because a hushed prayer of thanks escapes
his lips as he pulls me closer.
Even with the relative warmth emitting from the king and
Khijhana’s fur on the other side of me, I am racked with
violent shivers. Einar manages to keep a hold on me, though,
gripping me almost too tightly as he clambers to his feet.
“I need to get you to the caves,” he says, and I’m not sure
if he’s explaining where we are going or asking for my
permission, but I can’t seem to make my eyes stay open or
stop shivering long enough to nod.
I slip in and out of consciousness, cognizant of nothing but
the jolting motions of my own tremors and the king’s rocky
trek through the snow. Khijhana lets out a noise between a
whine and a meow, and it sounds far away.
I fade again, the world going black around me.
When I come to, the smell of damp earth fills my lungs
and I’m lying on a stone floor.
My heart races, and I can practically hear the clinking of
my chains and the screams of the prisoners in the other cells.
Breathing is difficult, and I gasp and scramble until my fingers
find something soft. Something that shouldn’t be in the
dungeons of Villa Paradís…
Khijhana?
I force my eyes open to see the chalyx pressed against me
on a rock-hard floor. She doesn’t seem to mind that my fingers
are tangled in her silver fur.
Taking a steadying breath, I focus on the world around me,
confident that I am not in Madame’s dungeons. My muddled
thoughts puzzle through the last thing I remember, and I come
up short again.
I should be dead.
But instead, I am staring at the ceiling of a cave. I force my
weary gaze to the right. Khijhana is nestled against me,
blocking a significant portion of my view, but I can see the far
edges of the cave walls and notice that they are bathed in a
greenish glow.
Rather than flicker like firelight would, this light seems to
shimmer and swirl on the walls, though that could just be the
way my eyes still jump around from the jarring motion of my
shivers.
The room smells like damp rock, like the stones near the
beach by the château, only not as salty.
Vaguely, I register that it is warmer in here than it should
be, warmer than I would think the shelter of the cave accounts
for. Not that it matters, because the heat isn’t penetrating my
skin. I still feel like I am freezing from the inside out.
 With some effort, I turn my head to the left side, and what
I see makes me wonder if I have woken up at all, or if I am
merely dreaming this entire bizarre scene.
The king is frantically stripping his clothes off, laying
some of them out on the floor and putting others in a pile
nearby. Again, I think how this cannot be real, because no one
is sculpted as perfectly as he appears to be. Each chiseled
muscle is accentuated by the shadows in the hazy green light,
lending him an ethereal quality.
“What?” I breathe the word out through my chattering
teeth.
He turns to face me wearing nothing but his silver chain,
and I focus my eyes on the key dangling from the end, the way
the light glints off of it, rather than his taut body.
Some distant part of my brain is absurdly grateful that my
blood refuses to flow well enough to flood my cheeks. There
is no trace of embarrassment on his features, though, only
determination with the barest edge of fear around his eyes.
“We need to get you warm.” He says it like it’s an
explanation, like somehow his nudity correlates to my warmth,
and the whole exchange lends itself to the unreal quality of
this moment.
But the sharp pain, like a thousand needles stabbing me all
over my body, manages to permeate even through the
numbness brought on by the cold, convincing me of how very
real this is.
My eyes close again, and when they open, he is kneeling
next to me. His hands go to the hem of my shirt.
“No.” The word comes out weakly, but he stops and meets
my eyes.
“Zaina, you have hypothermia. Your body is freezing, and
if we can’t get it warm, you will die. It is warmer in here than
it is outside, but that will not be enough to save you.” He says
the words bluntly, firmly, and whether that’s a compliment to
the fact that he thinks I can handle it or he is trying to scare
me, I’m not sure.
 And I don’t have the energy to explain to him how it seems
that death is constantly courting me, seducing me, and pulling
me under with its quiet promises of peace in a world where all
I seem to know is pain.
“Zaina!” His tone is urgent, and I realize I have drifted off
a little.
“Please,” he says in a softer tone, and I think it might be
the first time he has ever said that word to me.
Why is he saying it now?
He pulls urgently at my shirt, and I remember.
“Go ahead.” I grant him my permission, telling myself that
it’s only because it’s easier than arguing with him, that I know
he will do this regardless, and not because a part of me wants
to stay here in this moment with him, in this world with him.
He makes quick work of removing my clothing, and there
is nothing sensual about it. His gaze rarely leaves mine, and if
he has to glance down quickly to find a button or clasp, his
eyes move right back to my face.
I don’t know what to make of that, because I have not seen
this side of a man before, but it feels like, for all I have
accused him of not respecting my privacy or my wishes,
perhaps in this moment he has lent me more respect than any
single male who has come into my life since I was six years
old.
Images assault me, like a portrait flashing before my eyes
in between each violent rock of my body. A hand that lingers
too long on my arm, another man’s voice sounding in my hair,
whispering crass and obscene things while his breath is too
hot, too moist, and too close to me. Rough hands shoving me
against the wall while a much larger body presses against
mine. My sister’s katana at the man’s throat.
That last image almost makes me smile, and I feel my head
loll.
“Stay with me.” Einar’s voice is less controlled than I have
ever heard it, and it almost strikes me as funny, because I
couldn’t go anywhere now if I tried, but I can’t stay with him,
either. Not really.
All of these thoughts flit around my head like the wraiths
my mother used to talk about, my real mother, the one I never
allow myself to think about and will never see again. The one
who probably doesn’t even know that I’m still alive.
Or was, anyway.
“Please.” He says that word again, startling me from my
reverie, and I feel his arms come around me.
He lays me gently on the cloak he has spread out on the
floor. He presses himself against me, his skin against my skin,
and takes the clothes he has piled next to us. He puts
something over our feet and another under our head, then pulls
the cloak as tightly around us as he can, cocooning us inside.
So many times, I have noticed the way he seems to
emanate heat from within, and that was through the fabric of
his clothes. With his bare skin next to mine, he is a solid
source of warmth, searing its way into my skin and chasing
away the ice that has settled down into my bones.
Khijhana’s weight settles in behind me, and I allow myself
to surrender consciousness again at last.
 CHAPTER 41

S creams echo off the cave walls, and it takes me a

moment to register that they are mine. I force my
eyelids to open, then try to take a breath so I can
calm down. The king is looking down at me with concern
from where he has me cradled against him, carrying me, both
of us still undressed.
As soon as I am quiet, I am able to hear the other sounds
around me, Khijhana’s low growl and the king’s murmured
words of comfort.
I don’t put the pieces together until I realized that my feet
are wet.
Why are my feet wet?
Frantically, I look down only to realize that the king is
standing hip-deep in a shimmering pool of water.
No, no, no.
I open my mouth to scream again, but I’m startled into
silence by Khijhana’s snarl and Einar’s hiss of pain.
“Zaina, I need you to calm down before your chalyx gives
me more than a warning bite,” he says softly, fixing me with
his pale blue gaze.
“No,” is all I get out through my trembling lips.
What I want to say is, No, I will not calm down. No, I will
not go in this water. Or any water, ever again. A pained
expression flits across his face.
 “You are warmer than you were before, but you are still
shivering. It is not enough, and we have no way home without
going back out into the cold. This water is warm.”
Steam rises from the glowing pool, so I’m sure he is telling
the truth about that, but my answer doesn’t change.
“Please,” he says again. “These are supposed to be healing
waters, and you need to heal.”
“No.” I shake my head rapidly. “Out,” I order him.
His face is resigned, but he turns and sits me on the cave
floor.
“Khijha,” I call, and she comes exactly where I want her,
between myself and the king, her large furry body covering
mine from his view. I don’t need to feel more vulnerable than I
already do.
I burrow my face into her side, taking deep, ragged
breaths, fighting against the shivers that threaten to consume
me.
“Zaina.” Einar says my name softly, once, then twice,
before I finally lift my face to meet his eyes.
There is worry there, and fear as well. Emotions I had
wondered if he was capable of, let alone would bother with for
my sake.
“What?” I breathe out.
“I know you don’t want to go back into the water, but
please don’t make me watch you die.” For the first time, his
mask slips completely away, and instead of seeing tiny
fragments of the emotions he tries to hide, I am hit by the full
force of his anguish.
And I want to tell him yes, but I can’t.
“I can’t,” I say that last part out loud. “I feel better now,” I
tell him, and it’s not quite a lie.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a prolonged blink, then leans
in closer to me. Khijhana lets him. She stiffens and settles
protectively on my lap, her body covering my torso. Even
standing in the waist-high water, he looms over my seated
form.
“You can’t go back out there like this.” He shakes his head.
“I know you don’t trust me. Truthfully, Zaina, I get the feeling
that you don’t trust anyone entirely, and also that you probably
have good reasons for that.”
His stare burns straight through me, and I feel naked in
more ways than one.
“But I need you to believe that I would never let anything
happen to you. I need you to know that I meant what I said on
our wedding day when I promised to protect you. Don’t make
me go back on my word.”
He holds my gaze steadily, waiting for me to respond, but I
have no words. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. If
anything, I wonder what my face reflects, because his eyes
widen a fraction in what looks a lot like hope.
“Do you believe me?” he asks me in a strong voice.
I find myself nodding, a single, traitorous dip of my chin.
Slowly, he holds out a hand.
“Then, please.”
I gently tap Khijhana to move, and she is off of me in one
quick, graceful movement. I am bare before the king, but my
nudity feels like the least of it. I slide closer to him, one tiny
millimeter at a time until my feet are hovering just above the
water.
He moves slowly, broadcasting each motion as he places a
massive hand on either side of my waist. I let him pull me
toward him, never breaking his gaze.
I don’t look down.
I don’t trust myself to stay calm once my toe hits the water.
All I see are the shards of ice in his eyes, how they remind me
of the icicles hanging from the roof of the castle and the
branches in the forest around us, a combination of beauty and
danger that resonates down to my core.
 I am knee-deep in the water now, and he is right. Already,
it is the warmest I have been since my fall. Then, he lifts me
with no effort at all, pulling me in until I am inches from him
and the water reaches my waist.
I make the mistake of glancing at the surface, and that’s
when the panic hits. I scramble back toward the ledge, sure the
water is already back in my lungs.
I can’t breathe.
My lungs are burning, and my chest is tight.
I can’t breathe.
Distantly, I hear Khijhana let out a warning growl. The
king’s hands disappear from my waist, and, for a moment, I
am furious, panicked, betrayed.
Didn’t he say he wouldn’t let anything happen to me?
Why is he letting me go?
Then, his arm comes around me, and he pulls me until I
am flush against him, using his other hand to steer my face
gently until it is turned toward his again.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
My cheeks burn with shame, and I hate him for seeing me
this way. More than that, I hate him, because he has made it
impossible to hate him, and in doing so, has complicated my
life in a way he will never understand.
He takes one of my arms and pulls it until my hand is
around his neck, then does the same with the other. It should
be awkward, the two of us standing naked in this pool and
staring at one another while I have a series of panic attacks,
but I can’t seem to care.
My chest is pressed solidly against his, and I focus on
matching his steady breaths and the even rhythm of his
heartbeat. My body finally begins to thaw. Even the pain in my
throat lessens.
It takes minutes or hours of him holding me, breathing
with me, before the last vestiges of ice leave my veins. As the
panic finally subsides, a different sort of thought comes
creeping in, the kind that makes my heart want to race for
entirely different reasons.
He has been more of a gentleman than I would have
thought possible, but my own intentions don’t feel nearly so
pure with his rock-hard body flush with mine, our faces so
close that our breaths are merging into a single puff of air.
I know I should get out of this pool, should remove myself
from him rather than break the propriety he has worked so
hard for.
But good decisions were never my strong suit.
My lips part, and I let him see the wanting in my eyes. His
mouth drops open in surprise, his pupils widening, and just as
I am debating whether or not to close that distance, he makes
the decision for me.
He moves with an agonizing slowness until his lips press
against mine, more gently than I would have expected from
him before today. But there is nothing tenuous or cautious
about it.
He is taking his time, like he is determined not to miss a
single sensation as he explores my mouth with his. He lifts me
up until I am seated on the edge of the smooth cave floor, and
it seems impossible that I have all but forgotten we were in the
water, but there is no space in my mind for anything but Einar.
He tastes the way sunshine feels against my bare skin. He’s
sweet like spiced honey or warm mead on a winter’s day. I
could drink him down forever and never tire of the way his
mouth feels against mine.
With my knees on either side of him, our faces are level
for a change. I take his bottom lip in between my teeth, and his
grip on my waist tightens. Awareness courses through every
inch of my body, and there is no part of me that is even the
slightest bit chilled anymore.
His lips skate from mine down the side of my neck and
lower, his fingers roaming my body, leaving a trail of liquid
fire in their wake. I tug on his biceps, and that’s the only
invitation he needs to come up out of the water.
He lays me back gently, his body over mine, and I am
shocked by the force of my desire when I have spent my entire
life avoiding situations like these.
“Are you sure?” he whispers against my lips, his blonde
hair spilling down around his damnably handsome face.
“Yes.” The word comes out as much of a plea as an
affirmation, but I can’t summon the energy to care, because
there’s nothing I want more in the world than to lose myself to
him and this moment right now.
But as with everything else I have wanted in this world, it
is not to be.
 CHAPTER 42

K hijhana lets out a high-pitched sound and

scrambles across the cave, startling us both.
Einar pushes himself up, further away from
me, already looking in her direction.
Before I can wonder what my chalyx is doing, a faraway
voice reaches my ears.
“Your Majesty!” A panicked voice is calling for him, over
and over again.
It’s his guard.
“Gunnar,” the king confirms. He squeezes his eyes shut,
something between regret and aggravation passing across his
features. I almost smile at the mirror of my own thoughts, but I
am in too much shock from what I have almost done willingly,
assaulted all at once by memories of the last time a man
claimed that much and even more of me.
I shiver, a different sort of cold settling into my bones as
the embers of my desire have morphed into something more
like revulsion now.
I barely register when the king throws his cape around me
to cover me, pulling on his own clothes and calling back out to
the man. He walks toward the mouth of the cave, Khijhana at
his side, calling back and forth with Gunnar.
I wish I had something more than this cloak to cover me,
but my own clothes are still damp, and I am in no hurry to
revisit my hypothermia.
 Einar walks back toward me, stopping a few feet away to
pull on his boots.
“I’m going to meet him outside.” He pauses, and I can
sense that he’s assessing me.
I nod, not quite meeting his gaze. He kneels down and
cups my cheek in his enormous hand.
“Are you all right, Zaina?” His voice is quiet with concern.
“Yes. Just getting a bit cold again.” And I do feel cold, just
not in the way that he thinks.
I try for a smile, but it doesn’t meet my eyes. I can tell he
doesn’t quite buy it, but he doesn’t push me, either.
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He presses his lips to my
head before turning to leave.

I wrap his cloak tighter around myself and allow Khijha to

comfort me as I test the feel of the water on my toes.
Forcing down the panic that comes, I remind myself of
how different this pool was from the icy lake that tried to end
me.
Images of people being lowered to their watery graves in
cages intended to make them suffer as long as possible come
to mind. I want to vomit, but I force myself to keep my foot in
the warm spring anyway.
I need to do this.
The water is warm, and luminescent somehow. If I ignore
my aversion, it is pretty. In a haunting sort of way. The sound
of boots slapping against the cave floor startle me, and I jerk
my foot out.
Khijha’s ears flit and she cocks her head to the side in the
opposite direction before she gets up and goes to inspect
whatever is back there.
 “Zola and Gideon found Gunnar, and he followed my
tracks here.”
“Gideon is alright?” I interrupt him, realizing with
everything that happened I hadn’t even given my hestrinn a
second thought.
“He’s fine. Gunnar said they won’t come any closer than
the tree line, so he’s going back to grab our satchels. I have a
spare set of clothes in mine that we could make work for you,
for now.”
A pale imitation of a smile tugs at my lips, both at the
image of me trying to make Einar’s clothes fit and at relief for
my hestrinn.
“Because we are so similar in size?” I glance up at him.
He gives me a tentative smile in return.
“I packed some spares as well, though,” I tell him.
“Perfect.”
We sit there in silence, both unsure of what else to say to
the other. In the wake of what happened between us, any
conversation feels strained and awkward now.
When Gunnar approaches with our things, I’m relieved for
the chance to do anything other than think.
Einar blocks my body from view while he speaks with
Gunnar, even though I’m wrapped in his cloak. The sounds of
their voices fade as it strikes me that his clothes aren’t frozen
icicles as mine are, a fact I should’ve noted earlier.
We hadn’t discussed what happened or how he found me,
but this whole time, I had thought he was the one who pulled
me from the lake.
I run fingers over the small cuts in my shoulder where
some of the most searing pain had been felt. Two puncture
wounds are on one side of my collarbone, and two matching
ones are on the other.
The sound of Khijha’s purring drifts from around the
corner of the cave. Immediately, I remember the four gleaming
metallic canines that she possesses, and I’m awestruck, if not
confused. I rub my fingers over the puncture wounds, shaking
my head in disbelief.
They are smaller than they should be, and already scabbing
over. Maybe the springs really are healing. It would hardly be
the strangest thing I’ve seen in Jokith.
Einar has dug my clothes out of my satchel, and he hands
them to me as he and Gunnar turn away to give me a modicum
of privacy to dress.
My body has been on enough display for one day, so I
decide to take it a step further and travel around the corner
where I know my chalyx is waiting. It doesn’t take me long to
don the new trousers, tunic, and boots. Then, I wrangle my
tangled hair into a braid.
Despite hearing Khijha’s purrs, she isn’t in this corridor. I
follow her sound further down and tentatively turn the corner,
my path lit by the strange glowing water of the hot springs,
when a warm gust of air comes wafting toward me.
Even more curious how a breeze made its way this far into
the caves, I continue on. The purrs are growing louder as I turn
another corner, and I am about to open my mouth to call for
my chalyx when I come face to face with a different mythical
creature.
It’s the dragon.
 CHAPTER 43

I gasp and skitter back against the wall, pressing

myself flush against the rock, as if that will
somehow prevent the creature from seeing me.
Khijha looks up in curiosity before she goes back to
rubbing her nose and whiskers against the dragon’s scales. I
open my mouth to beckon her away, but no sound comes out.
I thought I knew fear — I’d faced my worst one when I
was drowning — but this is something else entirely.
The dragon’s eyes are closed and, each time it exhales,
glowing embers alight in its nostrils and a gust of thermal air
comes wafting toward me. It smells like campfire and is oddly
soothing for a creature purported to eat the impure.
I shudder, but Khijha continues to cuddle close to the giant
beast while it remains asleep and blissfully unaware of our
presence.
This close, it’s the size of two houses stacked atop one
another.
Its pearly-white and silver scales glisten like starlight, like
the moonstone in my wedding ring, while its massive wings
cradle its body almost like a blanket. I cannot deny its beauty,
but I also cannot deny the way my mouth has gone dry or the
rapid rise and fall of my chest. Or, the strange longing I have
to reach out and touch it but run away at the same time.
I hear footsteps nearby and barely turn in time to clasp my
hand over Einar’s mouth before he speaks and wakes our
inevitable doom. His eyes are wide, and his body is tense as he
follows my gaze to the firedrake behind me.
When he nods in understanding, I remove my hand from
his mouth. Khijha glances back at us, and I silently urge her to
come to me. She tilts her head in confusion, then looks back to
the dragon like she doesn’t want to leave, but she eventually
follows me as Einar and I tiptoe away.
When we make it back to Gunnar, Einar’s voice is far
quieter than it had been before as he insists we be on our way.
I’m still in shock, speechless, and terrified, but I don’t miss
how he neglects to mention the dragon. The king has always
been a man of few words, but I sense that it’s more than that.
The glance he shoots me confirms it.
He is protecting it. And he doesn’t have to tell me why.
Whether Gunnar is trustworthy or not, there are always
people out there who are willing to pay for information, who
are willing to hurt the innocent for what they can get out of it,
and I can only imagine what someone might pay for
something so exotic. Or its parts.
Besides, it’s only fitting. I think about what I have seen in
Jokith thus far — the massive wolves and the giant horses and
my rapidly growing kitten — and I can only imagine what
manner of beasts lurking in the forest and the mountains, any
one of which might have wandered into a cave to seek heat.
Yet, we were unbothered last night. Unintentionally or not,
the dragon had protected us, too.

.*************************************

I understand better now why Gideon had thrown me, why he

wouldn’t come any closer. He had sensed the dragon. I
certainly couldn’t hold that against him. A shiver runs through
me as I think of the massive dragon.
 I press my face into his enormous neck, letting him nuzzle
me in return before mounting him again. This time, when
Einar lifts me up, it doesn’t elicit the same feelings as before.
His touch is gentler, more tenuous, as he helps me right myself
on the saddle.
All the while, I can feel his eyes on me, but he hasn’t said
a word since we left. I grab one of the snacks I had packed
from Gideon’s saddlebags, and the king does the same. I am
not hungry, not really, but I know that I need to eat even more
after everything that happened last night.
And this morning.
When Gunnar rides ahead and Einar still says nothing, I
finally break the silence for a change.
“You were right, before.”
He looks sharply at me.
“About the language. I knew Jokithan before.”
“Then why lie about it?” His face is closed off, but not as
angry as I expected.
“When you refused to let anyone accompany me, I was…
concerned. Curious, even.” I meet his eyes to let him see the
truth in mine. “I wasn’t sure how much you would be willing
to share, and I didn’t want to be kept in the dark.”
None of that is a lie. In fact, it’s a perfectly accurate
accounting of what did happen.
He nods, accepting what I tell him.
“You were right, also. I’m not used to sharing my load
with another person. When I didn’t want you to come —” he
begins, but I cut him off.
“Please, don’t explain. I see now that it was valid, you not
wanting to be slowed down.” I look at Gideon’s saddle, at
Khijhana, anywhere but the king, while the truth comes
crashing in like the frigid waters of the lake last night.
Sigrid is sick, probably getting worse, and I have delayed
her help by several precious hours. I have no doubt that Einar
would have ridden through the night to get back to her,
something I can still barely wrap my head around. A king who
cares so deeply for a servant. But then, the mistress of my
household never cared for anyone at all, so it’s hardly as
though the servants were unique.
“What happened last night was not your fault.” His eyes
are wide with disbelief, as though he can’t believe I would
think such a thing.
But he’s wrong in so many ways.
“If I hadn’t come, Gideon would not have been here. Let
alone the obvious fact that I’m the one who fell in the lake.
I’m the reason you lost time. You told me not to come.” Even
in spite of everything that’s happened, I still have to grit that
part out between my clenched teeth. “And I did anyway, and
now Sigrid might pay the price.”
Is this the cycle of my life? An innocent person paying for
my disobedience in an endless continuum of death?
He studies me a moment before responding.
“My people have been ill for a long time, and it was only
happenstance that you were here before Sigrid got as bad as
she did. Besides,” he tilts a corner of his mouth up with
considerable effort, “you could hardly have known there
would be a dragon interrupting our journey.”
I take the out he has given me, because the other does not
even bear thinking about right now. What’s done is done, and I
will pile it on the list of my substantial sins back in the darkest
parts of my mind where it can keep the rest of my mistakes
company.
“Why do you think it didn’t attack us?” I remember what
he said about the dragon sparing people who are pure of heart,
but even if I did believe in fairytales, no description has ever
been less apt for me.
He answers without missing a beat, as though we hadn’t
just been talking about someone dying who he clearly cares
for. Perhaps I am not the only one in need of a distraction.
 “I’ve been thinking about that,” he says. “The dragon was
sleeping, and in the old legends, the people would only seek it
out under an old moon. Maybe there’s some truth to that.
Maybe that’s the only time it’s awake?”
I shrug, because that sounds implausible, but I don’t have a
better explanation. Before I can come up with another topic of
conversation to fill the empty chasm that seems to be
stretching between us, we round a corner and a sprawling
mansion comes into view.
“So your ambassador has been, what, travelling the world
to look for a cure?” I ask as we draw nearer.
Einar scrunches his face in confusion, then understanding
dawns on his face.
“I suppose I didn’t mention the important part. He is more
than my ambassador. He’s also an alchemist.”
I mull that over for a second.
“Is he the one who chose me?” The words are barely
audible.
“He is,” Einar confirms.
“And you still trust him?” I try to say the words as a joke,
but they come out as sharply as I had thought them.
Einar shoots me a cautious grin.
“He could have chosen worse.”
I return his smile, but mine is weak in comparison.
Because now I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the
man we’re going to see is a traitor.
 CHAPTER 44

S himmering black stones makes up the base of the

house, sparkling like tourmaline, stones that
shouldn’t even be used in this manner. There was no
expense spared for the architecture of this place. The stones
lead to wide windows that stretch around the expanse of the
building.
The main door is a large, ornate thing with metal details
that form arcs and whorls nailed into the spruce egress.
“A bit over the top,” Einar tells me in an undertone.
“Says the king of a castle,” I tease, and he smiles.
It takes a moment before I can tear my gaze from his lips,
which only makes his grin widen.
I’m not really surprised at his excess, so like Madame’s.
For an ambassador, maybe, but alchemists can name their
prices. That level of understanding of the properties of each
everyday thing which surrounds us is rare and valuable, so, of
course, he would live in a place like this.
“I can’t say much for the man personally, but he has
worked with my family for generations,” he adds as we make
our way toward the elaborate staircase.
It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s offering up
information I didn’t ask for, and I look at him askance.
“I suppose a king explaining himself on occasion isn’t the
worst thing in the world.” His expression gives nothing away,
even as he uses the words I hurled at him only yesterday.
 “I suppose not.” I give him the barest hint of a smile.
In spite of the snow falling around us, the flurries melt on
each of the steps as soon as they land. Heat radiates from each
one, preventing any ice from forming that could cause us to
slip.
It’s probably impressive for most people, to see things
such as this. But considering my history with alchemists, the
showy display only nauseates me.
Khijha takes tentative steps in front of us, her tail twitching
and her ears perked on high alert.
Einar gestures with a hand for me to precede him to the
front door, but he doesn’t hold out his arm or his elbow, and I
realize he has not touched me since the cave.
I witnessed plenty of displays of affection at the festival,
so I doubt it has anything to do with Gunnar’s presence. The
king is an enigma, but not one I have time to contemplate right
now.
He knocks on the frame, and a voice calls for us to enter.
As soon as we open the door, I can see that the man is not
Jokithan. His back is to us as he muddles something in a
wooden bowl. His hair is a mousy shade of brown; it’s sparse
and balding atop his menial frame unlike any I have seen here.
The hands at work are several shades darker than Einar’s,
but not as dark as even mine, let alone the other Jokithans. It
must be something in his alchemy that has kept him alive this
long.
But where he comes from is the least of the surprises the
alchemist has in store for me. When he turns around, I take a
step back. Shock stills my movements and steals my breath.
Khijha steps between us, a low growl coming from her
chest.
I always knew that there was a chance I would see him
again, but I assumed it would be on an errand for Madame. I
wouldn’t have even put it past her to invite him to the château.
 I am utterly unprepared for the sight of him before me
now.
A thousand images flash through my mind, each more
haunting than the last. I have had nearly a decade to train my
mind not to go back to that night, but his unexpected presence
here threatens to slither through my defenses.
I force myself to look anywhere in the room besides his
small round spectacles and my reflection in them, so different
than it was then. But he hasn’t changed at all.
I can practically feel his hot breath on my neck, and I want
to vomit. My gaze lands on the king, who is already looking at
me with some concern. Fighting for composure, I focus on
him and think of our conversation on the way in.
I can’t say much for the man personally, but he has served
my family for generations.
The king trusts this man against his better judgment, and I
know it is a mistake, just as I know I have no way of telling
him that without damning us all. Khijha’s body ripples, and I
swear she grows another several inches as her lips curl back to
display her metallic fangs.
I put a hand on her head, shushing her while my mind goes
back in time.
Aika is maturing quickly. Each day she grows nearer to
womanhood, my panic grows. I know that I cannot protect her
any more than I could protect myself, any more than I
protected Rose, but I have to try. I go to Madame’s sitting
room — Mother, I correct myself. She refuses to be called
anything else by us. Her ‘daughters’.
“Zaina, this is Dvain, Jokith’s most renowned alchemist.”
Einar gestures toward the man, but his words sound far away.
Her sitting room is set up more like a throne room from
where she holds court for all those who dare to win her favor.
“Whatever price you will fetch for her, I will get it for you
another way.” I keep my tone neutral as I approach, though
sheer panic bubbles at the surface of my façade.
 “You had such potential. It’s a shame you turned out to be
such a stupid girl.” Mother shakes her head. “And such a
drama queen, at that. What I barter for your sister will be
worth more than money. And honestly, it’s one night. Why must
you make such an issue out of every little thing?”
I am stunned into silence for a fraction of a second before
fury rears its ugly head, edging out the fear I can never seem
to move past with this woman.
“Little thing?” The words are barely a whisper.
Madame notices the tiniest shift in a person’s emotions,
and my anger is no small thing right now. She fixes me with a
brutal stare that dares me to go on, and I belatedly tried to
collect myself, but I can’t seem to stop the words from pouring
forth.
“My Lady.” Dvain steps forward, a grin stretching over his
vulgar mouth. “What a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve
read so much about you from your aunt’s letters, it feels like I
know you already.”
“What did you get in exchange for me?” I had only ever
dared ask that question one time, and she had been vague.
But this time, she smiles, like the memory makes her happy
even now.
“For you, my dear, insolent, wretched girl, I received
something no amount of money could buy. Loyalty.”
I had never truly understood what Madame meant that day,
and she had refused to explain any more. But I think of how it
has taken one of the world’s most renowned alchemists
seventeen years to find a cure for a poison he has access to the
source of.
And whatever Einar is paying him, I know that money is
no object for this vile creature, nor much of a motivator. No,
he takes his rewards in an entirely different fashion, one that
the king I have come to know would die before offering him.
Dvain stretches out a hand for mine, and Khijha’s jaw
opens wider in a hiss. His beady eyes narrow ever so slightly,
his mustache twitching under his sharp, long nose as he
chuckles under his breath.
“Does it?” I force the words out, breathing as much calm
into them as I can muster while placing a comforting hand on
Khijhana instead. “Sorry for my cat. She’s not too fond of
strangers.”
Einar shoots me a look, but I ignore it. I ignore everything
and will myself to imagine scenes of the death I promised
myself I would give this perverted monster. Instead of the way
he’d robbed me of whatever innocence I’d had left. Instead of
the way he cut into my flesh, one shallow, stinging slice after
another.
He had taken everything from me that night, things I can
never get back.
Dvain breaks his eye contact and turns back to Einar,
patting him on the back in congratulations for the match.
I let out a shaky, silent breath when they are no longer
looking at me.
What the hell do I do now?
 CHAPTER 45

E inar leans over the small table with Dvain while

Gunnar stands guard at the door. Every part of me
wants to run or slit the man’s throat, but that’s not
what I’m here for. Not yet.
I approach the men, standing at the opposite side of the
table from them. They’re examining several vials and notes
and some of Dvain’s personal journals.
“So, no more of the petals have fallen?” he asks, and Einar
shakes his head.
I paste a look of polite confusion on my face to cover the
torrent of emotions I am only barely controlling. Because
seeing this man again, unexpectedly, is its own sort of hell.
And then there are the petals.
“There are still two left. It should happen any day now, if
the pattern holds.” There is a sadness in his voice, and Dvain
rests a placating hand on Einar’s shoulder.
I force down my revulsion at the false kindness.
The king sighs.
“There are still the stem and thorn. It’s not a method we’ve
tried yet.” But even he doesn’t sound overly optimistic.
“We’ve been over this, Son.” Dvain sighs. “The poison is
far too potent there. You could die in the process. You could
kill yourself and them if you’re not careful. Alchemy is an
exact science. Not magic. There are only facts in this case.”
Einar nods, his eyes pinching tighter.
 I feel my chalyx stiffen beneath my hand, her body
rumbling from the perpetual low growling she’s been doing
since we got here.
It’s more than her not liking him. It seems every time my
feelings intensify, hers do as well, as if we’re linked on a
deeper level. If I’m not careful, she’ll give away every single
one of my thoughts, even if my carefully controlled
expressions don’t.
I focus back on the conversation at hand and desperately
try not to allow myself to feel anything. Good or bad.
“Besides, as you said, there are two petals left. That means
we have two more chances at this. I am working with my
contact in Socair to see if we can get our hands on another
rose. We have time yet.”
Einar’s fists slam down on the table, making everyone in
the room jolt from the sheer force.
“That is the one thing we do not have.” His voice is full of
rage, sadness, and something else…defeat.
“I wish you would just allow me to test the flower myself.
With the equipment I have —”
Einar cuts the man’s words off with a shake of his head.
“I appreciate the offer, but the rose stays with me.”
Dvain and Einar speak about several of the recent
ingredients he has tried, and the one they settle on having the
most promise is the ‘hydrolysate extract’. The alchemist hands
a large vial of the sparkling blue-green liquid over to the king
before we turn to leave.
Which isn’t soon enough for me. Every second we spend
in the man’s presence makes me feel like I have another layer
of grime on my body that I’ll never be able to wash off.
We take an alternate route home so as to not pass by the
dragon’s cave again. Einar says that it adds an hour onto our
journey, but I am too distracted by my thoughts to notice.
Besides, it is still so much shorter than the journey here was.
 We ride the hestrinn as fast as we are safely able, which
leaves little room for conversation.
It’s just as well. I can hardly form coherent thoughts in the
wake of everything I have discovered in the past two days.
More than once, I shudder at the memory of the vile man’s
bespectacled face, prompting Einar to ask me again if I am
cold.
I assure him I am fine, but I am certain he sees it for the lie
that it is.
All the broken pieces of my life are converging in the
worst possible ways, swirling around me like one of the deadly
sandstorms I remember from my childhood, and I am standing
in the middle, as I did then, powerless to stop it all.
I am anything but fine.
“I’m surprised your ambassador is not Jokithan,” I finally
manage when we stop to water the hestrinn.
“He practically is. My grandfather gave him citizenship for
services rendered, and that was several hundred years ago.”
My jaw drops. Several hundred years of terrorizing
innocent victims. Einar notes my surprise.
“The average Jokithan doesn’t live nearly that long, but I
imagine he has concocted some sort of fountain of youth for
himself.”
I think of Madame, the way she hasn’t aged even as much
as Einar has when she has undoubtedly been alive longer, and
I nod my agreement.
“But he’s here,” I muse aloud. “Not in whichever country
he is an ambassador to.”
“That was only luck on our part,” the king responds. “He
comes back every few months.”
Luck. Madame’s scheming, more likely. For someone so
brilliant, Einar can be so incredibly naïve sometimes.
I want to tell him the truth, or at least that he can’t trust the
disgusting little man. But…the alchemist is in contact with
Madame, and he will be on alert now for any sign that I have
betrayed her.
If I tell Einar, and he acts on it — which he surely would
— my sisters will be punished. Probably even killed.
If I don’t tell him, Sigrid might die. And not only her, but
his entire castle.
I think back to what my Madame had told me. The
alchemist doesn’t work for her as much as they make deals
together. He could be genuinely working toward a cure in
exchange for his opulent life here.
It’s a slim chance, but more of one than my sisters will
have if Madame takes out her wrath on them.
There are no good choices here.
Einar sets me back on my saddle, but his touch is markedly
gentler this time, and it breaks something inside of me. I am
silent again for the rest of the journey.

When we arrive back to the castle, we leave the hestrinn for

the stable hands to care for and head straight inside. I do my
best to acknowledge Sarah Agnes as she takes Gideon’s reins,
but I don’t have the energy to pretend right now.
I hold my breath, scrambling to keep up with Einar’s
longer strides, though I understand his urgency. Guards push
open the enormous doors, and a figure is hurrying down the
stairs as fast as his uneven gait will allow.
It takes me a moment to place him as Leif, because he is
not wearing his mask. He’s nothing like I expected, though I
should’ve known by now to expect nothing at all.
Leif’s skin is green and yellow, like the deepest colors of a
bruise. His eyes easily take up a third of his face, and large
boils — no, warts — cover his cheeks and head.
When he opens his mouth to speak, it widens a hair too far,
revealing a clear lack of teeth.
 “Your Majesty,” he croaks and begins to bow, but Einar
waves it off as unnecessary.
“Please, how is she?” the king asks.
“She is stable, but she is not well.” Grief emanates from
him in a cloud that soon consumes me as well.
“The alchemist has given me another solution. I should be
able to try it any day now,” the king tells him.
I look sharply to Einar.
“Why would you wait?” I have to believe that there is
some hope in the solution the alchemist gave us, as much as it
is difficult to attribute anything good to that man.
But surely, he wouldn’t go so far as to kill an entire castle
full of people he’s known for generations…
Leif’s gaze travels between us, understanding and maybe
even a trace of satisfaction in his features. Einar, for his part,
studies me a moment before answering, and I wonder what it
cost him to be open or honest about something he has fought
so hard to conceal from me. From everyone.
“It’s not that simple. We have to wait until the petal falls
on its own,” he explains. “Or we risk killing our only source
for an antidote.”
He says that like it should make sense to me, but it doesn’t.
“And you risk killing Sigrid if you don’t,” I say quietly, in
case there is a chance he has missed the obvious.
“Don’t you think that I know that?” he growls.
“I hoped that you didn’t know that rather than that you
knew and just didn’t care,” I bite back.
There is no part of me that comprehends why he is willing
to let her die when there’s something he can do to save her.
“Of course I care, Zaina.” He steps closer to me, staring
down at me with a mixture of hurt and disbelief.
I almost feel guilty before I remember one of the few
decent people I have ever met is upstairs painfully dying, and
he is just going to sit by while it happens on the off chance
that something bad will happen if he doesn’t.
“You don’t understand,” he grits through his teeth. “I have
a castle full of people depending on that, depending on me.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” Because I would burn the rest of
the world down for the people I love.
I practically have. I probably will, by the time this is all
over.
“And that is why I declined to make a stranger a queen.
There is more to ruling than putting on a crown and ordering
people around!” His jaw is clenched, and his pale blue eyes
are burning like the hottest part of the fire.
A beat of silence passes before Leif cuts in smoothly.
“If I may, Your Majesty, she has been asking to see you.”
“Of course.” He takes off toward the stairs without so
much as a backward glance
I briefly debate following him, but she hadn’t asked for
me. I’m just a girl she has known a handful of weeks who was
fortunate enough to be the recipient of her kindness, and I
won’t intrude on this moment.
I can’t quite bear the thought of heading back to my rooms
alone, knowing she will not be there to welcome me as she has
each time I have come back here, something I have taken for
granted. So instead, Khijhana and I head up to the study.
I pass more servants than usual today, but I’m surprised by
how many of them are still wearing veils or masks.
I am seated at my favorite sofa, the one closest to the fire
but facing the window, away from the door, when Khijhana
abruptly stands up from where she was already seated between
me and the entryway. A split second later, I hear a set of
footsteps gliding across the floor toward me.
I sigh. Odger is the last person I am in the mood for.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your spontaneous visit?”
I try to keep the sarcasm from my tone.
 I am expecting Odger’s oily tone, but the voice that
answers freezes my bones to ice as surely as the lake had.
“Come now, Zaina. Is that any way to speak to your
brother?”
 CHAPTER 46

M y hand freezes in the air on its path to calming

Khijhana.
“What are you doing here, Damian?” How I manage the
words when I am not even breathing is a mystery to me.
I knew that I was running out of time, but his presence
here means it is already up. That’s the only reason Madame
would let him risk coming to me directly.
And he does nothing without her approval.
“I figured you would be expecting me after you saw me at
the festival,” he says.
I still haven’t turned around to see his face, but his voice is
all false pleasantries.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you weren’t
happy to see your favorite brother.” Bile rises in my throat as it
does every time he bastardizes that term for his own use.
I may claim the other girls Madame owns as my sisters,
but I do that by choice because they are as trapped as I am.
Damian, though, he lives for this.
He moves toward me, and Khijhana growls. “Control your
beast, or I will do it for you.”
In the decade I have known him, he has never sounded
anything but collected. Whether he is taking someone’s life
while they beg for mercy or asking how you like your tea, his
tone is the same. So, although his voice is calm, I know that he
means it.
I take a deep breath, forcing a calm I don’t feel while I
reach out to comfort Khijhana.
“Good girl,” he directs the words at me, not the actual
animal in the room, but I am just as happy if he never
acknowledges her presence again.
Growing up with Madame, there are few people in this
world who scare me, but I would be a fool not to be cautious
around the boy she collected only shortly after she found me.
Whether he was born this way or shaped by circumstance
and molded by his dear adopted mommy, the fact remains that
he is ruthless and deadly and entirely without remorse.
They are two sadistic peas in a pod, except that while
Madame has a purpose for everything that she does, whether it
is to further her own power or exact revenge, Damian inflicts
pain for the fun of it.
He sidles up next to me on the couch, each point of contact
a distinct pinpoint of revulsion. His cruel, flawless features are
covered with a beaked mask identified by a small lightning
bolt, one I have noticed in passing at dinners.
As much as I would like to believe he stole it or had it
replicated, I am sure I can guess what he has done with its
original owner.
“Dare I ask how many people you had to kill to get in
here? Surely you know that will raise suspicions.” A lifetime
of practice ensures that I ask this question with little more than
irritation in my tone.
He studies me, as though he can sense whatever shred of a
conscience I have left, and his posture relaxes a bit.
“You know that I would never be that sloppy.” He refuses
to answer the part I care most about.
Instead, he takes one of my hands in his. I am absurdly
grateful for the thin stretch of leather keeping his actual skin
away from mine, but it’s still an effort not to yank my hand
back. I fight to keep my breathing even, to stay calm so that
Khijhana will as well.
He brings his other hand around and places it on top of
mine. To anyone else, it would look like an affectionate
greeting, but I feel something jagged press against my palm.
It’s a short-stemmed rose with a single thorn, to replace the
one I am supposed to steal. It feels so much heavier than the
sum of its parts, laden down with the weight of the betrayal it
symbolizes.
I slip it into my cloak pocket before he speaks again.
“Switch them out and meet me outside with the original. I
leave for the old man’s house tonight.” It isn’t hard to guess
who he’s referring to, though Damian generally disdains
anyone else Mother works with.
He means the alchemist.
My mind is racing for a way out of this, but every path
seems to lead to the same inevitable destination.
“I haven’t found it yet.” I track each falling snowflake as
they drift to the ground, lulling myself into a false sense of
serenity to keep Khijha focused on anything but the despair
that sinks deep into my bones.
“I told Mother you weren’t ready for this,” he sneers. “Too
busy letting the king warm your bed and the chambers of your
fragile heart to do what needs to be done?” His words are
barely above a whisper as his hand finds its way to my upper
thigh.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap back. “We both know I no
longer have a heart, let alone a fragile one.” Does he hear the
lie for what it is?
I search the skies for answers, staring at the fading crescent
moon before I speak again.
“It’s a delicate project. I need another week, at least.”
“I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you until tomorrow
night.” He reaches up, caressing my cheek. When I keep my
gaze transfixed ahead, he jerks my chin toward him more
forcefully.
“What do you say?” Condescension drips from his tone,
and I want to slap him. Better yet, to push him backward into
the fireplace and watch him burn. I wonder if his tone would
be so calm then.
But there’s no way Madame sent him here alone. She has a
system, one man to keep an eye on another, and without
knowing who the other person is, I can’t risk upsetting her.
Not unless I want my sisters to die, or worse.
So, I grit my teeth and say what he wants to hear.
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t move from his perfectly poised position with
his hand on my face, doesn’t huff, doesn’t show any outward
sign of impatience. He just sits next to me with an eerie
stillness until I say the rest.
“Brother.”
He looks me up and down with a gaze that is equal parts
predatory and lustful, and I wonder if he fantasizes about the
myriad of ways he might kill me as often as I dream of his
untimely demise.
And maybe I’m as broken as Madame always wanted me
to be, because a small, twisted part of me almost hopes that he
does.
 CHAPTER 47

I don’t leave, even when Damian finally does. I

remain seated on the elegant sofa, angling my
body toward the dancing fire that has become so
familiar to me.
I watch a thousand possibilities for my future play out in
the flames and then dissipate into the smoke. In this rare, brief
space, I acknowledge the life I might have had, something I
have not done since my sister died and with her, whatever tiny
part of me dared to dream of something different.
I let myself linger in this moment, in this fairytale world
where I am just a girl who was reluctantly wed to a man who
turned out to be so much more than she expected.
Then, taking a deep, fortifying breath, I bid farewell to all
that might have been. I rise from the sofa, grim determination
edging out every single unwanted, irrelevant emotion from a
moment ago.
No matter how it sickens me, I have known what I had to
do from the moment Damian appeared. Before that, if I’m
being honest with myself.
The first step is finding Einar to give him the apology he
needs to hear. I head to my rooms first, but they are empty. I
almost smile, because I should have known Sigrid would insist
on being moved again as soon as I wasn’t here to stop her.
I remove my cloak and hang it on the stand but pull the
false rose out of the pocket. It has a black stem at the base of
four pointed red petals, and a single jagged thorn. Never
having seen the original in person, I can only assume this one
is a close enough match to pass for it. I don’t think any
servants will be coming in here, but I conceal it just in case.
I deliberate for a moment when I hear the footsteps of a
familiar, confident stride. Not wanting to have this
conversation in front of anyone else, even the guards, I take
the passageway to his room instead of intercepting him in the
hallway.
Khijhana follows, of course, as she always does.
The door opens to reveal the king looking twice as haggard
as he had on the road. Surprise widens his eyes when he sees
me, but not before I catch the grief in them.
He closes the door behind him, then walks over to a
cupboard in the corner of his room without speaking. He
doesn’t question what I am doing here or order me out, which
I take as a decent sign. Instead, he pulls down a decanter and
two glasses, filling his own substantially higher than mine.
It shouldn’t mean anything to me, that he has noticed what
a moderately observant person would, but the way he has
grown to know me tears at something inside of me that I am
already barely managing to keep together.
I take the glass he offers, bringing it to my lips and taking
a tiny burning sip before speaking at last.
“How is she?”
The king takes a much longer dreg before answering.
“She’s stable, for now,” he says simply, echoing Leif’s
assessment, but I can see what the words cost him, and it
makes this next part easier for me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, walking closer to him.
He nods, a mechanical response to a situation that has no
words. I peer up into his endless blue eyes and make my
meaning clearer.
“I’m sorry about Sigrid, and about what I said earlier. You
were right.”
 He raises his eyebrows, likely because I’ve said something
he never thought to hear from my lips twice in one day. I give
him a half smile.
“Truly, though,” I say, placing a hand on his arm. “You
have to make the kind of choices no man ever should, and I…
I have never had choices.” I admit what I am sure he has
already guessed.
But he surprises me with his answer.
“Everyone has choices, Zaina.” He pierces me with his
stare like he understands far more than I have ever
intentionally let on. “There aren’t always good choices, and
sometimes all we can do is choose the lesser of two great and
terrible evils.” He takes another sip, backing away from our
contact. “But still, there is a choice.”
For a fraction of a second, I wonder if my cover is blown.
If he knows, if he discovered Damian this very evening. I
stand frozen, robbed of my breath, waiting for him to pass
down the judgment I know how deeply I deserve.
But then, he lets out a slow sigh and abruptly changes the
subject, setting his cup down.
“You didn’t come to see her,” he says, sinking down into
his chair and reaching down to unlace his boots.
I am weirdly transfixed, watching him perform casual,
everyday tasks in front of me like we are an ordinary husband
and wife, so it takes me a moment to respond.
“She didn’t ask for me.” I tell him the truth, but as usual,
not the entire truth.
And, as usual, he sees more than I mean him to. He looks
up at me with more sympathy than I deserve.
“She would have been happy to see you.”
“Tomorrow,” I promise.
He picks his cup back up and drains his glass before
setting it back down, but he doesn’t refill it, something I
appreciate about him. He traps me with a pondering gaze, one
I return without quite understanding it.
 “Stay,” he says the word softly, somewhere between a plea
and a command.
Either way, I am powerless to refuse him. I nod wordlessly,
my gaze sliding unbidden to his massive bed.
“We are both exhausted. I only meant to sleep.” His voice
is cautious.
I haven’t turned to face him, and I know that he has
misread my anxieties entirely, but I don’t correct them.
Because as close as we came in the caves, I don’t know if
that’s something I can give him, or something I can take from
him when I know so much better than he does how our story
will end.
There’s no way I can sleep in my heavy furs, though. I
debate for a moment going back to my room for my
nightclothes, but he has shown me a rare moment of
vulnerability. I am unwilling to burst this precarious bubble
we’ve found ourselves in, to do anything that might change his
mind.
Besides, he has seen me bare more than once already, lain
next to my naked form, and has never made a comment about
my scars.
All of those reasons make sense, but I am not a good
enough liar to convince myself they are why I don’t leave this
room.
 CHAPTER 48

M y hands snake around to the buttons at the back

of my shirt, and I hear a muttered curse. I turn
to face him only to see that he is digging
around in the drawer of an armoire. He holds a hand out
behind him with some sort of garment in it.
“I said I was tired, Zaina, not a eunuch,” he groans. “At
least wear one of my shirts.”
An unexpected laugh escapes my lips, because he has still
not turned to face me. I have been forced to use my body as a
distraction, a lure, a weapon. I never thought I would find
myself feeling gratified by a man’s reaction to it.
Still, I decide to show a little mercy on him and take the
shirt he has offered. I finish disrobing and throw it over my
head. It reaches to my knees, and the gap with the laces is
nearly at my belly button. I am still drawing them in to tie
them when he turns around.
His lips part, and he shakes his head.
“I’m not sure that’s better.” He rubs a hand over his face,
letting out a low chuckle. “Just… Get under the covers.”
It’s freezing in here, so I am quick to oblige him. The furs
on his bed aren’t as heavy as those on mine, but they are still
exponentially warmer than the air outside. Khijhana crawls up
into his plush armchair as if she owns it, and he groans but
doesn’t tell her to move. It offers the tiniest fragment of relief,
knowing that he will take care of her when I am gone.
 I am providentially distracted from that line of thought
when Einar reaches for the hem of his own shirt. He may have
been a gentleman when the tables were turned, but I greedily
soak in the sight of him, knowing what a limited time I have to
admire the hard planes of his abdomen and the clearly defined
V that leads into the soft trousers he decides against removing.
I force my eyes to travel upward, my gaze snagging on the
small, unusual golden key that hangs from his silver chain,
before finally lifting to meet his own amused eyes.
I smirk at him, and he sighs, looking skyward as though
looking for assistance. Finally, he climbs into bed. He stays so
close to the edge, I almost laugh again at the lengths to which
he is going to behave. For my part, I’m somewhere between
appreciating the gesture and being utterly baffled by it, but I
also know that the last thing I need is something else coming
in to complicate my feelings even more.
We stay like that for a moment, both lying on our backs
and gazing up at the ceiling, neither of us anywhere near sleep
from the sounds of his breathing, before he abruptly rolls over
onto his side to face me.
He is still a solid couple of feet away, but I swear I can feel
the heat emanating from him. He studies me, and I can see a
question in his eyes.
I shuffle a bit closer, close enough to be within arm’s
reach, rolling over as well to face him.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper.
His behavior tonight has made me bolder than usual.
Instead of answering right away, he cautiously moves a
hand toward my face. His fingers gently play along the chain
that leads from my nose to my ear.
“I was wondering about this. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever
seen, even in pictures from the Eastern Lands.” On the way to
the alchemist’s, he had been interrogating me, but I sense
nothing but genuine interest from him this time.
“It’s…a symbol of purity,” I try to phrase it delicately.
“Normally, it would be removed on the wedding night.” I
hedge, trying not to think of the way I stood naked before him
and the way he’d refused me, trying not to think of every inch
of his bare body pressed against mine in the caves. “But since
ours didn’t go exactly according to plan…” I can’t help the
small wry laugh that escapes my lips. “I suppose I have just
gotten used to having it on. Besides, I assumed no one here
would know the difference.”
He matches my laugh with a chuckle of his own.
“Nothing about our wedding went exactly according to
plan, though, did it?” He grins down at me. “It didn’t help that
you were late.”
“I was not!” I say with some offense.
I am never late.
“You most definitely were.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why
did you think the thing was already in progress when you
arrived?”
I think back to that day and how angry I had been that no
one had given me even a moment to rest or freshen up.
“I just assumed you were a thoughtless ass.” My tone is
teasing, but we both know it’s the truth.
I should have assumed Madame’s hand in it, as it is in
everything else, but I wasn’t exactly in a mind frame to think
critically that day.
“And I just assumed you were a selfish, spoiled heiress.”
He smiles to soften the blow, but I don’t blame him,
considering his side of the situation in hindsight.
He moves his hand from my face to my shoulder, running
his fingers gently up and down my arm.
“Is that why you insisted I come alone?” It’s something
I’ve been wondering about. If he was willing to let one person
into the castle, I wonder what harm a couple of servants or
companions would have done.
But his hand stills.
“You’re freezing,” he comments, shifting to get out of bed.
 I get the impression he’s buying himself time to respond,
but I let it slide.
“A hazard of living here,” I comment wryly.
He pulls several thick furs from a chest at the foot of his
bed, then walks around to spread them over me, tucking the
ends around my feet.
My throat clogs at the unexpectedly tender gesture,
something no one has done for me in at least fifteen years, but
I manage to croak out a thank you.
He nods, then gets back into bed. Only when he is settled
back in on his side of the bed does he finally answer my
question.
“In hindsight, perhaps that was…overly rigid of me.” He
sounds uncomfortable again, and I realize he is on the verge of
another apology. “There was so much going on here in the
castle, so much at stake. My people were clamoring for me to
find a wife, but it seemed imprudent to add anything else on
top of that.”
His reactions at the wedding, his fierce anger, make more
sense in the light of that revelation. The subject is clearly
making him uncomfortable, though, so I settle on another one.
“You are one to talk about interesting jewelry. I haven’t
noticed any other men here wearing a chain.” I reach my hand
out toward his chest, grabbing hold of the small worn key on
his chain.
With lightning-fast reflexes, his hand closes over mine.
The motion is gentle, but the sentiment is clear. His grasp
relaxes a bit around mine, an apology in his eyes.
“That is a longer story.” He sighs, moving his hand away.
I let go of the chain and entwine my fingers with his.
“Then I suppose it’s fortunate we have time.”
Einar studies my face for something before his gaze travels
to our linked hands and he takes a deep breath.
 “You’re not what I expected.” His eyes flick back up to
mine, a question lingering in them and something that looks
like hope.
It’s the second part that breaks me, but I can’t let him see
that.
“Oh? And what did you expect?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “It hardly matters now.”
I nod back at the chain around his neck.
“Does it have to do with that?”
“It does.”
I wait for him to continue, allowing the silence between us
to grow until he’s ready.
Visibly steeling himself, he removes his hand from mine
and examines the key he always has on him.
“Seventeen years ago, I was engaged.” He begins to weave
a tale of intoxicating beauty and parties, exchanged letters,
stolen kisses and laughter. And of how he truly believed
himself to be in love, in spite of the fast and furious way he’d
found it.
I listen intently. I know this story doesn’t have a happy
ending. Not only are they clearly not together now, but I recall
the comments I overheard from the servants that day about
“the other one.”
“She came to Jokith to finalize our engagement, and it
must’ve been the fact that she felt our alliance was so assured
that she could allow herself to let her guard slip so much.
“Before, I had been so distracted by her beauty. By her wit
and charm. But when she arrived, her disdain for my people
was shocking. Her vanity and pride were overwhelming. And
her cruelty…” He takes a steadying breath, his knuckles going
white from his grip on the key.
My stomach churns. I’m getting a sick suspicion of who
this woman was, is, and I hope against reason that it’s one of
the many things I’ve been wrong about lately.
 “She slapped Sigrid.” He pauses again. “She often abused
or ridiculed the servants, forcing them to bend to whatever
ridiculous whim she had. She had no respect for anyone she
viewed to be beneath her.”
My heart beats a furious rhythm, and heat rises to my
cheeks. I don’t have to feign anger on his behalf. I know there
has to be more than one heartless woman in the world, but the
coincidences are mounting. And if I’m right, I have had half a
lifetime of watching Madame mistreat those she considers
beneath her.
“She wanted to push the wedding up, but something was
telling me not to. She was in such a hurry.” A humorless laugh
escapes his lips. “She wanted more than that.”
Of course, she was. I do the math in my head. She was
pregnant with Melodi, the only one of us who actually belongs
to her. With that, I lose my last shred of doubt that the woman
he was engaged to was Madame.
My anger mingles with an abrupt surge of jealousy. The
man in front of me, the one who would never truly belong to
me, had belonged to her for some period of time.
The realization shouldn’t come as a surprise. Hadn’t she
always taken what she wanted? Hadn’t she left nothing for my
sisters or me that was untainted by her?
“She was desperate to climb into my bed. She threw
herself at me at every turn. But something about it never felt
right. It was never genuine or real with her.”
My cheeks flush at the memory of our wedding night, but
now for a wholly different set of reasons. No wonder he hated
me. I hate myself for bearing any resemblance to Madame that
night. Or ever.
“Anyway… one night, I went to confront her about it all,
went to tell her we were through, but she must have already
known. When I arrived at her chambers, she wasn’t alone.
Odger was with her.”
“No.” My eyes widen, and my mouth pops open in
surprise.
 Not because I would put it past her, but because it’s so
unlike Madame to be careless with her plans. Unless it was
part of her plan? My head hurts from analyzing this.
“Yes. And I’m sure I don’t need to explain the
compromising position he had her in up against the wall.”
I actually cringe. His disdain for the weasel makes so
much more sense now.
“Were you terribly upset?” I ask, unreasonably afraid of
his answer, and he shakes his head.
“Not in the way you would think. It stung, but I had
already planned to break off our understanding. That she slept
with Odger was just a slap in the face after the fact. But I
never imagined that she would be so cruel…” He closes his
eyes as he fidgets with the smooth key.
I try to put myself in his shoes, to somehow believe that
the woman who now goes by Madame had a shred of kindness
in her. That he could believe himself in love with her.
Was she softer then? Her very essence unmarred by every
black and twisted thing that she would do in the years to
come?
It’s no use. It’s impossible for me to imagine a version of
that woman who is anything but a liar and a monster.
 CHAPTER 49

I hate the turn this conversation has taken. I hate

everything about Madame and the way she
manages to slip her way into every last nook and
cranny of my life, spreading her particular brand of
devastation like wildfire.
But for all that I hate her, in this moment, I think I hate
myself just a little bit more for asking him for this story.
“She poisoned them?” I phrase it like a question, although
I already know the answer.
How better to punish the man who refused her advances,
who refused to acknowledge her unearthly beauty, than to
surround him with ugliness. There’s only one thing I still don’t
understand.
“But she didn’t poison you?”
He looks up at me with such fathomless remorse in his
eyes that I am hit with a fresh wave of self-loathing for forcing
him to relive the moment of his castle’s downfall.
“Not for lack of trying,” he mutters. “It was the day of the
midwinter feast that I caught them. She told me she would
leave quietly while everyone was preparing for that night. I
thought she was protecting him. What Odger had done was
punishable by death, but not without dragging her into it as
well. I should have known she would never give up that
easily.”
He shakes his head, and I can tell he hasn’t forgiven
himself, even after all these years. Another thing we have in
common, I suppose.
“For that matter, I should have seen how little she cared for
anyone but herself. But I was so anxious to be finished with
the whole affair, so I let her go.
“In the weeks she had spent here, we had dined every night
in the hall together with my courtiers and staff, as was my
father’s custom, eating and drinking from the same table. She
despised it, of course.”
I can only imagine.
“She put it in the wine?” I guess.
“And the water,” he adds. “But midwinter feast is the one
time a year where I don’t eat at the same time as my people, or
before them. I wait until they are finished eating to get my
own plate and drink. It’s symbolic, putting their needs before
mine.”
He pauses, lost in the memory.
“To this day, I don’t know if she knew that. If she was
trying to punish me by inflicting something on my people that
I was unable to protect them from, knowing how I feel about
them.
“Or if it was an oversight, if it was only timing or a flair
for the dramatic that made her choose that night and she was
unaware that I would not be partaking.” He lets out a huff of
frustration.
I wish I could help, but truthfully, I’m not sure, either.
Even if I was, I could hardly tell him without explaining my
connection to her.
Madame had gleefully passed along stories of what a beast
the king was, but she never offered any insights of her own,
never indicating for a moment that she knew him personally.
It’s not surprising, since she hoards each of her precious
secrets like a single drop of water in the center of an endless
desert.
“In hindsight,” he interrupts my thoughts. “I see that she
must have been plotting it all along, at least as a back-up plan.
She never could have gotten it together so quickly, otherwise.
Part of me even wonders if she wanted me to find her with
Odger, to blame myself for putting it in motion.”
Another question I can’t answer, though I wouldn’t put it
past her. The woman deceives as easily as she breathes. There
is nothing solid I can tell him.
What’s worse, though, is realizing how many more
unanswered questions I will leave him with when I go.
He seems to have lost himself in his thoughts again. I
speak to pull him out of his reverie.
“And this?” I ease my hand out of his and move it back
toward his chest. This time, he allows it, though his gaze
carefully follows the movement of my fingers.
“This,” he says, entwining our fingers together around the
key. “Is all the hope we have left.”

I hadn’t fallen asleep until well after the king, but I still wake
before he does.
My subconscious has clearly indulged in every craving my
conscious mind denies, fusing my body so closely against his
that I can hardly tell where one of us begins and the other
ends. I am warmer than I have been since I arrived in this
place, maybe warmer than I have been since I was taken from
home all those years ago.
I gently disentangle myself, yawning and stretching my
limbs. I open my eyes to find Einar’s appreciative gaze on me.
I’m sure I don’t mistake the hungry look I find there, but
before either of us can act on it, my stomach growls with an
entirely different sort of hunger.
I let out a small laugh, but he looks at me with concern.
“When was the last time you ate anything?”
I am so used to going without meals that I haven’t honestly
thought about it, but I’m not about to explain to him, so I just
shrug.
“On the ride back yesterday?” I guess.
He frowns, and I try not to be disappointed when he rolls
out of bed. He strides to the door, opening it a couple of inches
to speak to whoever is on the other side. I catch the word
breakfast before Khijhana interrupts him, putting her nose in
the space and shoving the door open wide enough to allow for
her frame.
I appreciate Einar’s attempts at discretion, but they will
certainly know I slept in here now. Though, why I should care
when we are husband and wife is beyond me.
“She needs to go outside,” I call quietly to the slightly
bewildered-looking king. “Usually one of my guards does it,”
I offer.
He blinks a couple of times, and then nods and finishes his
brief conversation before closing the door and coming back to
me.
“I suppose I never thought about how she was taking care
of her business,” he says.
“Speaking of…” I trail off, padding toward the door to his
privy.
He looks at me strangely, and for a moment, I wonder if he
objects to my using his facility. Then I realize, I shouldn’t
know where it is. It is in the most obvious place, though, so I
pretend not to notice his scrutiny and head in, shutting the
door behind me.
I had only popped my head in for a moment when I was
snooping through his rooms before, but now I can truly
appreciate the opulence. Although there is a large bronze
bathing tub, similar to the one in my chambers, there is also a
curious section in the corner.
Stone covers the walls in a large rectangular area a few
feet high, and a bronze faucet of some sort hangs from the
ceiling.
 “What is that in the corner of your bathing chamber?” I ask
him when I come out.
“I’m not sure there is really a name for it. My father liked
to design things, so he had the faucet installed for when he
came in from a day of outside work. The water drips down
from the top and gathers into a drain so that the dirt and grime
don’t sit in the tub.”
That was all well and good, but there was something far
more enticing to me about the structure than the cleanliness of
it.
“And no water pools in it?” I reiterate hopefully.
“Right, it all goes right down the drain.” He takes in my
expression, and his lips draw into a slow smile. “Would you
like to try it?”
My mouth goes dry, because I’m not sure if he is offering
for me to use it or asking if I would like to try it with him, and
I’m not at all sure that I trust myself to choose the right option
if I am presented with both. He solves that problem for me,
though.
“I’ll get you some clothes from your room and wait for
breakfast,” he says, leaving and pulling the door mostly
closed.
That’s the right answer. I’m sure it is. Then why is there a
tiny, ugly thing inside of me rearing its head…something that
feels a lot like rejection?
 CHAPTER 50

T his is glorious. Einar explained it to me while

he was turning it on, something about how the
water travels through the same kind of rocks
that were at the festival in layers so that it’s warm coming out,
but I was only half listening, because he still hadn’t put a shirt
on.
Steaming water cascades from the faucet, falling like one
of the warm rain showers on the island. Einar has an array of
soaps on a raised tray, so varied that I am almost amused.
There is a bar that smells like citrus and has a grainy feel, and
a lavender one so soft it is already losing its shape.
I wonder if someone else stocks these for him or if he
specifically requests soaps in seven different scents at all
times, but I take a moment to sniff each one before I decide on
sandalwood. The one that reminds me of him.
I staunchly refuse to think about how today will end, about
the fact that I have less than twelve hours left with the only
person who has made me feel safe in sixteen years.
Instead, I focus on collecting little pieces of this place to
take with me, to wherever I will go next. Einar’s voice
surprises me out of the line of thought.
“Shall I plan to serve your breakfast in here, or do you
think you might be finished anytime soon?” There is laughter
in his voice, despite the high-handed words.
“The former, thank you,” I shoot back.
 He chuckles, a deep, growling sound that I react to low in
my abdomen.
“I’m not sure how to turn this off,” I offer more seriously,
though that is hardly the reason I’m still in here.
“That’s all right. I was going to rinse off once you are
finished.”
I frown, although he can’t see me. Last night, he was right.
We were both tired. But I am beginning to wonder if he regrets
what happened in the caves.
I know that I should, but I can’t quite bring myself to.
With all the boldness of the ticking clock my life has
become, I call out before he shuts the door.
“You could just rinse off now.”
I can’t see him, but the door freezes in its path. One beat of
silence, and then another, an interminable stretch that makes
me wish I could pluck the words back from the air and
swallow them before they reach his ears.
The door eases shut, and I am certain my humiliation is
complete. But then, I hear solid footsteps, the whisper of cloth
sliding against skin, and then he is standing before me.
His gaze is fixed firmly on my face, and what was
respectful before is beginning to feel insulting in the wake of
the past couple of days.
I don’t know how to put into words what I want to ask
him, though, so I say nothing, only move aside to make space
for him under the wide stream of water.
He steps under the cleansing rain, but carefully keeps a
solid couple of inches of space between us. And I know I’m
not imagining it, the way he is trying so hard not to touch me.
I just can’t figure out why.
I stare, transfixed by the rivulets of water rolling down his
body, by the way he moves the cedar soap he chose in a
circular motion across his chest. His eyes burn into mine, and I
am so caught up in this moment that I find myself asking what
I want to know in the bluntest way possible.
 “Why won’t you look at me?”
His eyes widen, and the soap falls to the floor.
“I am looking at you,” he replies with a strained sort of
calm.
Slowly, pointedly, I let my eyes roam from his tousled
white-blonde locks down the muscled planes of his chest, all
the way down his body before dragging them back up again. I
raise my eyebrows.
His lips are parted, questions and lust vying for attention
on his features. Then, his face hardens in resolve.
In a challenge.
It’s the face he gets when we are playing chess, and every
part of my body tightens, even before he lets his gaze drop.
And though I am the one who initiated this, I suddenly feel
very unsure, because I have spent the better part of a decade
keeping a tight rein on my emotions. I am not used to feeling
so out of control.
A frenzy of feelings runs wild through every inch of me.
Desire and revulsion war with one another while I drink in all
of him, soaking this image into my memory to save and hold
on to, but nevertheless being terrified of wanting him. Of
wanting this.
But that’s what Einar does; he makes me want things I
never thought I would.
His eyes linger on each inch of my skin like a caress. They
travel down, and he doesn’t stop or pay any extra attention to
the stark white scars decorating my abdomen.
Which is just as well, because I don’t want to pay any
attention to them right now, either. By the time his eyes meet
mine again, they are filled with a heat so intense, it is more
like lightning. He leans down, his mouth hovering just above
mine when he whispers.
“Because when I look at you like this, it’s all I can do to
keep my hands off of you.”
 I hold his stare, my chest going tight and every fragment of
me burning with desire.
Then don’t. For as bold as I thought I was feeling, I can’t
seem to voice the words aloud.
Slowly, he reaches toward me, and I have a moment of
panic before I realize he’s reaching around me to turn off the
stream of water.
Einar steps out of the space and grabs a towel to wrap
around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he
does so. Somehow, the gesture makes me want him even more,
even as I wish I could crawl into a hole and die.
After wringing out his hair, he grabs one for himself as
well, quickly wiping down his muscled body before wrapping
it around his waist. He gestures to where he has left my clothes
on a vast counter before turning to leave.
I am unreasonably irritated by his thoughtfulness, by the
way he seems to know my mind better than I do. Heart still
racing, I take my time getting dressed.
By the time I emerge, I tell myself there will be no more
encounters like this. I tell myself I don’t care, that I never did.
I lie harder than I’ve ever lied before, and still, I don’t
believe it.

I study Einar over breakfast, and I sense his scrutiny in return,

but neither of us speaks until we are both finished eating. We
had gotten dressed in a charged silence, one with more
questions than answers, questions neither of us had voiced
aloud.
Khijhana is back, but she is curled up in his chair again,
napping. There are no sounds aside from the scraping of his
spoon against the bowl and the sharp crack of me breaking off
another piece of my flat bread.
“I don’t regret the caves,” Einar says out of nowhere.
 Sometimes, I feel like he really is reading my mind.
“You just aren’t anxious to repeat them?” I don’t look at
him when I say that, because I don’t want him to see whatever
emotions are swirling in my eyes.
Besides, you don’t care, I remind myself again. And it soon
won’t matter, even if you do.
But he reaches over and tilts my chin up until I am looking
into his eyes.
“I am not anxious to do anything you are not entirely ready
to do.”
My lips part in surprise, both at his words and the
sentiment that no man has ever expressed to me before.
“Perhaps I have misled you.” I point to the chain on my
face. “I know I said this was to symbolize purity, but I’m not
— I haven’t been considered pure in some time.” Nine years,
to be exact.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m not
concerned about your past.”
I look at him for a long, drawn-out moment, long enough
to think that life is even crueler than Madame for showing me
a man like this and making sure he can never truly be mine.
“You never asked about the scars,” I say quietly.
His expression doesn’t change, not a single trace of
consternation at my abrupt change of subject.
“And I never will. As I said, your past is your own, Zaina.
You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.”
He says the words with such sincerity.
I want to tell him everything, give him every truth that’s in
me, but I know that isn’t possible. So, I settle for this one.
“Someone gave them to me… on the same night he took
something else from me.”
I thought I had seen the king angry, but the rage that enters
his gaze now is on another level entirely. I’m grateful. If it was
sympathy, I’m not sure I could go on.
 “I was thirteen.” I don’t know why I said that except that I
know how he feels about choices, and I want him to
understand how very few I had.
“I see,” he bites out in an ominous tone. The words sound
more like a death sentence than anything, and I wish I could
tell him who was responsible to watch him carry it out.
When was the last time someone was furious for me rather
than at me?
My sisters and I empathize with one another, but we hardly
have the energy for the kind of righteous indignation the king
shows now.
Khijhana growls, and I wonder if she is picking up on his
emotions instead of mine for a change before I catch the
telltale trembling of my fingers. Not with fear, but a singular,
all-encompassing rage that always seems to thrum just below
the surface.
“So, you see,” I finish up, fiddling with the chain at my
nose to hide my reaction. “I never should have worn this to
begin with.”
He blinks several times, the fury in his eyes warring with
another emotion I can’t quite put my finger on, and all at once,
it is too much. I shake my head, sliding my hand across the
table and reaching up to touch the chain around his neck.
“More importantly,” I force my tone to be breezy. “You
never did tell me what this was.”
He stares at me for another moment, and I wonder if he
will give me the out I am practically begging for. Finally, he
nods.
“It would be easier to show you.”
 CHAPTER 51

E inar pulls back the tapestry on his wall, and I pretend

to be surprised, as if I haven’t already explored the
room beyond it.
What piques my curiosity, however, is how once we are in
the large study at the top of the stairs, he heads straight to the
bookshelves lining the back wall. With his left hand, he runs
his fingers over seven of the spines in a seemingly random
order, quickly pulling on them but not removing them from the
shelf. Then, with his right hand, he pulls an older copy of a
book on the history and properties of Pennyroyal all the way
out before replacing it again.
My brows furrow as I try to remember the books he
touched and in which order when, suddenly, the entire wall
vibrates. A doorway appears in the middle of the shelf next to
him, completely disguised to the untrained eye.
Khijha’s eyes widen, and she scrambles back a little. I
can’t help but be a little shocked as well. I am genuinely
amazed as I follow him through the corridor into a hallway.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he removes a torch from
the wall to light our way.
“The West Wing.”
The way he says it sounds so final, and I’m taken aback a
little.
The West Wing.
 The one place I was refused entry and have been trying to
get to since I arrived.
A million thoughts flit through my mind, and my heart
races as it always does when I think of what awaits us there.
Instead of saying any of those things, though, I simply nod
as he leads the way.
We’re fairly silent as we walk the length of the hall,
twisting and turning down each passage. It’s nerve-wracking
to have only my anxious thoughts to keep me company, but
I’m not sure what to say. Everything that comes to mind, every
question I want to ask, feels wrong.
So, I keep them to myself until we eventually come to a
stop at a dead end.
Einar rests his torch on the hook next to us and runs a hand
along the right side of the wall until his finger finds purchase
in a nearly invisible crevasse. He pulls out another key and
uses it to grapple with a small lock.
A red light filters in, revealing a rectangular frame.
Fascinating.
He pushes it open wider, and, suddenly, I know exactly
where we are.
A rose-shaped mosaic lights the floor and walls around us,
casting a haunting reminder of every reason I was sent here.
There are even more alchemist’s tools in this room than in
his private study. Beakers and metal frames, small candles,
and mortar and pestles line the long table in the center of the
room. Along with shelves holding hundreds of jars of
ominous-looking substances.
Einar looks back at me with a sad smile.
“This is where I spend most of my free time,” he says,
finally breaking the tense silence between us. “This is where
I’ve spent nearly two decades searching for a cure.”
I marvel at that, at him, at how dedicated he is to his
people, and at his endless amount of hope.
 “Once I realized what had happened, I went to search her
rooms.” He doesn’t need to clarify the her; I know too well
who she is. “On her bed was this single, blood-red rose, along
with a note telling me it was my only hope for a cure. After
that, she disappeared. Even the substantial resources of a king
couldn’t find so much as a trace of her.”
Madame can change her features on a whim. The resources
of all the kings in the world couldn’t find her if she didn’t
want to be found, but there’s no point in telling him that now.
So I say nothing, because there are no words to express my
fury or the overwhelming sadness that has crept its way into
my bones at her callous calculations. Even sending me here,
knowing he possessed a flower with a rare poison she required
for reasons only she knew.
She knew he had it because she gave it to him. And now,
she wanted to take it away. To ensure he didn’t find a cure? To
keep punishing him?
Or was this her plan all along. If she truly had meant to
poison him the first time, perhaps she needed more of this to
finish the job in a way no one would be suspicious of.
Your first task is simple. Marry the king and produce an
heir.
I swallow back a fresh wave of revulsion. But really, what
had I expected? How would she possibly control a kingdom
still in the possession of a strong-minded king?
The second one might be trickier. I need you to steal
something valuable. My sources say it is well hidden. You’ll
need to gain his trust, first.
I had been relieved when she had sketched it out. A flower.
It seemed simple enough. But now…
The sound of Einar’s footsteps forces me back to the
present. He walks directly toward the stained-glass window I
noticed when we first arrived and removes the chain around
his neck. He inserts it in an ordinary looking pane in the
window frame. I understand the basic mechanics of lock
picking, a skill I picked up courtesy of Aika, but I don’t think
even she would be able to tackle this one.
The pane swings open to reveal a single, black-stemmed
flower in a small vase. Or what is left of one. The mosaic
above the rose, of sorts, is an exact replica, far more accurate
than the loose sketch I was shown before leaving. Except the
glass version still has a full array of petals, whereas the flower
before me is down to two.
It is identical to the one Madame sent with Damian. That
must have been quite a challenge, even for her, but then, her
mind was never the broken part. It’s her soul that’s been rent in
pieces.
Of course. I sigh, cursing him internally for showing me
this place, even as I know that I set this all in motion.
This is why I’m here, is it not? The whole cursed thing that
started this mess, the reason for every damned thing I’ve done
and am about to do.
“Why would you trust me with this?” I can hardly hide the
note of accusation in my voice, even though I know, rationally,
he isn’t the one to blame.
Even if he has sealed both of our fates.
“After what happened with Ulla, if that was even her
name, I’ve learned to trust my gut. I’ll admit that when you
arrived, I allowed my suspicious nature and the weight of all
that was happening here to cloud my judgment…but for better
or worse, I do trust you now.”
Worse. It’s for worse, I want to tell him.
Instead, I offer him a wan smile that barely reaches my
eyes, tainted as it is by the sick feeling in my own gut.
He studies the rose for a moment before placing it back in
the vault.
“No fallen petals today,” he says, resigned.
I walk toward him slowly, wrapping my arms around
myself. My heart is breaking for him. For his people. I hate the
despair that is permanently etched into his ruggedly handsome
face.
Einar takes in my expression and moves his hand toward
my face.
“I still have the flower, and it still has petals.” He gently
caresses my cheek, his own features turning sympathetic, as if,
against all reason, he wants to comfort me in this moment.
“There is still hope to be found.”
And that’s what undoes me completely. I squeeze my eyes
shut, closing the gap between us and hiding my face in his
chest. She has made a game of torturing him, with me as her
most recent pawn, and still, he tries to offer comfort rather
than receive it.
“I’m so, so sorry that she did this to you,” I say, my voice
breaking.
I’m sorry for all of it. The poison, the rose, and so many
other things that I will never be able to explain to him.
He stills in surprise for a fraction of a moment before
wrapping both of his arms around me, holding me tightly to
him while I steal the comfort I don’t deserve.
 CHAPTER 52

H e holds my hand, his fingers interlocked with

mine the entire way back to his rooms. I can’t
find the strength to let go of him, to allow
anything to separate the connection I have with him in this
moment.
My time here is running out. Damian will be waiting for
me tonight, and this bubble I’ve allowed myself to linger in
will burst, raining down around me like a thousand jagged
shards of glass.
When we get back to his room, there is a note from Leif
that Sigrid is asking for Einar. I make the excuse that Khijha
needs to be taken outside again and that I will meet up with
him after. His brows raise, but he nods wordlessly as I take the
passageway back to my rooms.
Throwing a cloak around my shoulders, I grab the small
coin purse that I have been saving and stuff all of the jewels I
brought with me inside it before making my way toward the
stables.
I close my eyes against the cold, taking deep gulps of the
crisp, fresh air. When I open them again, I spend a while just
soaking in each and every snowflake, admiring the way they
shimmer under the sunlight.
While the icy landscape doesn’t have the bright, flashy
colors of the island, it’s hard to believe I missed the way it
sparkles with a kaleidoscope of subtler shades.
 Images of a vast desert crawl back out from the recesses of
my mind. The light would glint and glimmer on the dunes the
same way it does on the vast snow-covered hills, shining like
gemstones all around me.
While the Mirrored Desert had sandstorms that you could
see from miles away, Jokith has something majestic in its own
right, like the way the storms roll off of the mountains,
billowing clouds of fog, and snow streaming down to the
ground in a wave of icy air.
Khijha makes a show of rolling around in a pile of snow,
and I can’t help but smile at her as she shakes it off and does it
again. She was made for this. A small part of me wonders if,
after all of my protesting, I could have been, too.
It hardly matters now.
When I reach the stables, Sarah Agnes is overjoyed to see
me. She prattles on about how hard she’s been working with
Gideon and the new tricks they’ve been mastering.
Her sincerity is overwhelming, and it’s all I can do to hold
up a hand to stop her.
“Sarah, thank you for taking such good care of him. But I
need you to do me one final favor, and please, I’m begging
you, do not ask why.”
When I’ve finished giving her instructions, she pinches her
eyes shut, but nods stoically.
If any of this is going to work, I need to be able to trust
her. It doesn’t escape my attention that the last time my plan
hinged on trusting someone else, my sister died.
But I am not that girl anymore, and when Sarah promises
me she will do this, I allow myself to trust my gut and believe
her. I pull her into a hug, surprising both of us, before I force
myself to leave.
The next stop won’t be nearly as easy.
I take a deep breath as I approach the staircase that leads to the
West Wing. The guards, who I am used to seeing in masks,
stand there far less imposing now than they were before.
Now, instead of fearing the men who tower over me, I pity
them. Their faces are misshapen. One has scales and bony
plates covering his skin, his mouth and teeth jutting out at an
elongated angle, the skin around his lips reddening with the
effort. The other is covered in a thick pelt of coal-colored skin
with sparse, matching hair, and his eyes are small round orbs
that match, while his nose turns up into a snout with two large
tusks on either side.
Under the guise of their masks, they are intimidating,
terrifying even. But without the covering, it is easier to see
their isolation. Their pain and their fear.
I take a tentative step past them, and they do not stop me.
Instead, they shrug their shoulders and nod.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I’m not quite sure what
to do with myself. I follow the halls to the left, and several
doors are shut to me, while a few are cracked open, revealing
more pain and unnatural changes happening to the people
inside.
A richly dressed woman with fawn-colored fur, freckled
with white spots stares at me from the end of the hall. Round
eyes that are too large for her head blink slowly; her pointed
ears flit forward and to the side. I gesture for her attention.
“Excuse me,” I speak in a hushed tone, not willing to
intrude on their obvious grief unnecessarily.
“Yes?” She takes a couple of small, hesitant steps toward
me.
I recognize her light voice as the veiled noblewoman who
spoke kindly to me at the dinner table, and I curse Madame all
over again for inflicting her twisted brand of vengeance on
these innocent people.
“Do you know where I can find Sigrid and the king?” I ask
her.
 “Yes, Lady. I lead you there.” She gestures for me to
follow her down the bleak hallway.
One door reveals a man with wilted wings like a butterfly’s
and a woman with a round, furry face and small slits for her
nose. They cry at the foot of a bed while its occupant takes
stilted, wheezing breaths.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the desperate words and the
soft cries, imagining myself back in the dungeons of Villa
Paradís all over again.
We reach the end of the hall, and she points me to a
smaller set of stairs leading upward again. I’m barely on the
first step when I hear Einar’s deep voice resonating and filling
the floor above.
I follow the sound up to the servants’ quarters, nearly
slipping on the last stair. A girl slowly moves ahead of me, her
tall, filmy antennae wobbling from side to side with each step
she takes. I don’t miss the way that her feet drag slowly along,
leaving a trail of green slime on the floor in her wake.
I take in each of her movements, and the sound of her
labored breaths. Then it clicks for me — that day with Einar
on the tour. Him telling the servant to keep her mask on. What
I thought was rudeness on his part was kindness instead. He
didn’t want to add to her pain with my reaction.
I watch the snail-like girl head toward her room before I
continue to follow the sound of Einar’s voice down the hall.
The servants’ quarters are far grander than the ones
Madame has given hers in either of her houses. The rooms are
fairly spacious, from what I can see, and along the far wall is a
small lift that looks newly installed. A scale-covered servant is
cranking a lever that lowers it downward.
I’m certain that the contraption has a practical use, but I
know the castle’s owner too well now to imagine that it wasn’t
a sentimental reason that motivated him to install it.
Einar’s voice floats from further down the hall, and I
follow it, passing more of what I had seen on the other level.
Pain. Mutations. Suffering.
 When I arrive at the room I’ve been looking for, the door
is open, revealing Sigrid sitting up on her large four-poster
bed.
Her feathered fingers are cupping Einar’s cheek, and he
leans into her touch. The gesture is so matronly and so foreign
to me. I debate whether or not to interrupt their moment when
she catches sight of me and waves a weakened hand. The king
turns and smiles when he sees me, and it is all I can do to not
to break down and tell him everything.
“Come, dúllan mín.” Her voice is scratchy, but she’s
smiling. Or trying her best to.
Einar chuckles and, in Jokithan, asks her why she calls me
this.
“Because, inside, she is a sweet little girl, still. Underneath
her defenses, she is good,” she answers back, and the words
she thinks I cannot understand cut deeply.
If only she knew there was no part of me that was good or
sweet left. There isn’t room for those things in the world I
grew up in.
I force a smile and walk toward them, keeping my darker
thoughts to myself.
Einar nods and continues to speak in their language, but
his eyes never leave mine.
“Yes. I believe she is,” he says in the common tongue,
offering me a smile that I do my best to return.
“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you,” I say
when she turns to face me.
I don’t want to confuse her or invite too many questions by
speaking Jokithan, not when this is the last time I’ll see her.
“Am I?” Sigrid follows suit, speaking the common tongue
as well.
She chokes on a laugh, examining the feathers that now
cover her all of the skin on her arms and hands.
 “Yes. You’re talking and even laughing.” I push away
images of her collapsing on my floor and gasping for air.
Einar’s smile fades, and Sigrid wraps a loving hand around
his.
“That is the gift and curse of this poison. Some days, we
are have pain and others we are better.” She coughs, and the
sound is raspy.
I grab the glass of water on her bedside and offer it gently
to her dry, cracked lips.
She takes small sips and thanks me before continuing.
“But I have know it will be over soon.” She looks at the
king, and they have a brief, unspoken conversation between
the two of them.
Whether she is assuming he will find a cure soon or that
she will be gone, hardly makes a difference. Either way, the
look on Einar’s face tells me he is still desperately clinging to
hope.
 CHAPTER 53

“I should get you two some lunch.” Einar stands

up.
His excuse is feeble. There are plenty of people who could
help with that, but I don’t fault him for needing a moment to
collect himself. When he’s gone, Sigrid stares at the doorway
and sighs.
“He is have too much pain for someone so young.” She
squeezes my hand that still rests within hers. “When his family
passed, he was still just a boy. I sit with him every night while
he grieved them, while he wish he passed, too. I sing his
móðir’s lullabies to him, so he could find sleep.”
I hate the part of me that asks her for the rest of the story. I
don’t deserve to know something so personal about him, but I
can’t help myself when the question bubbles from my lips.
“What happened to them?”
“Einar was very sick. He had the rashes and fevers and he
need isolation. His family went for ride to visit mountain
villages. There was avalanche.” She pauses to cough. “They
never come home. The dogs find them buried in snow weeks
later.”
Again, my heart fractures and breaks apart in this very
room. The fear he had when he found me alive after falling
down the mountain. The way he is so reverent of the peaks, his
caution. It isn’t just respect for nature that made him that way.
It is also that he has seen firsthand what the mountains can
claim for themselves at any moment.
 And I had selfishly followed him, triggering one of his
worst fears.
“What are you think, child?” Sigrid pulls me from my
thoughts, her face carefully examining everything she sees on
mine.
I’m too tired to hide my feelings at the moment, too tired
of death and loss and pain. So, I give her a truth.
“I was thinking about how sad I am for him. For all of you.
I know what it is like to lose family…” I hesitate about how
much I want to give away before settling on the loss I feel
most keenly. “My sister died very young.” It is a struggle to
keep the emotion from my voice. “I used to sing to her, too.”
Sigrid’s head tilts to the side, her eyes softening. But when
she opens her mouth, what she asks isn’t at all what I was
expecting.
“Would you give this song to me?”
I startle and feel the heat rise to my cheeks.
“I haven’t sung in ages.” I attempt to dodge her request,
not sure if I am capable of singing Rose’s lullaby after so long.
“Please?” she asks again, and I freeze.
I deserve to relive the pain of losing my sister. I deserve to
now associate it with the pain I have suffered and inflicted
here.
So, I take a steadying breath and close my eyes and listen
to the melody in my head from so long ago. My father holds a
sitar, his fingers strumming and plucking my mother’s, my
true mother’s, favorite song. And it’s her voice I hear when I
open my mouth to echo the words.
The lyrics speak of the love of a man and how it makes
this woman whole. They run away in the night and are married
by dawn. She needs him like the ocean needs the moon, and he
needs her like the desert needs rain. Their love is limitless, all-
powerful, and complete.
As the lullaby continues, their love creates a child. This
child fills them with so much joy they nearly burst. In spite of
the storms around them and the terrible creatures that want to
steal the child away, the parents’ love protects it and keeps it
safe from all harm.
Each note and every word remind me of how much I wish
love was capable of such a thing.
I see Rose’s limp body. I remember being terrified when
strange hands pulled me from my parents’ sides in the
marketplace. I think of Aika and Melodi and every reason that
I have to do my part to protect them, because no one did that
for me.
By the time I sing the final note, I open my eyes, but my
vision is blurry. I reach a hand up to rub them, and my fingers
come away wet. I’m not sure how long I’ve been crying, but
the tears I’ve shed are reflected on Sigrid’s face as well.
She says nothing as she gently pulls me closer to her,
wrapping her arms around me, and it’s all I can do to pull
myself away.
When I sit up, I see Sigrid’s sad eyes fixed on something
behind me.
Einar has returned. He’s holding a tray of food, but his
gaze is utterly transfixed on me. I don’t ask how long he’s
been standing there. I don’t need to. It was long enough,
regardless.
I finish wiping my face, and he silently approaches, resting
the food on the middle of the bed. I feel far more vulnerable
now than I ever have before. I would rather be naked in a
room full of strangers than face the way my soul feels so
exposed in this moment.
Einar helps Sigrid with the bowl of stew he’s brought up
for her while I silently pick at the bread and cheese.
“Thank you, Ùlfur,” she says after a few bites, her eyes
flitting back and forth between the two of us. “But I am so
tired now. Please, let me rest. You two finish your meal
together.”
Her hand grasps mine, tugging it gently, and I follow her
lead by leaning in to hug her again.
 “Thank you,” she whispers in the common tongue.
I smile, but the gesture feels empty. Just like everything
else about me.
 CHAPTER 54

E inar and I walk silently down the halls of the West

Wing. Halls I now realize he kept me from for very
particular reasons.
These people deserve their privacy. They deserve to have a
place of their own to rest and grieve and cope.
No wonder they despise me.
I‘m the monster who tried to force my way in, who took so
many things for granted while they suffered and fought just to
trudge on with their lives.
And it is here that he keeps their hope for a cure, protected
by and for them.
We eventually find ourselves back in his rooms, and I’ve
been so distracted that I’m not even sure how we got here.
“Are you all right?” Einar’s deep voice rumbles through
me, cutting through the silence.
The timbre of his voice coupled with the sincerity in his
stare threatens to unearth the catacomb of emotions I’ve
worked so hard to bury.
“What helped me get through the years after I lost my
family was talking about it,” he steps closer. “Sharing the pain
and finding a way to let it go.”
I’m not breathing. My mind does not begin to fathom what
that is like, because I came from a house of suppression and
avoidance. I can’t speak or find the words to express what this
offer means to a person who has never been allowed space for
their own emotions.
I want to say no, to shut down and close myself off, but as
his eyes search mine, my lips begin moving of their own
accord, and nothing I do can make them stop.
I’m so tired of the pretense, and of keeping everything in
and pretending the pain away.
“My childhood has been very different from yours.” I
begin with the obvious. Einar doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.
“Where I am from…family doesn’t mean the same thing as
it does here. Family is ownership, not love.” I try to break
down my sordid tale, in the pieces that are safe to give.
“You are more valuable to the family if you have
something to offer.” I swallow hard, thinking of the pieces I’ve
already given him and how to present the rest. “My value was
my age, my virginity.” I pause, not looking at him when I add
the last part, because it’s not something he has ever
specifically commented on. “My beauty.”
Einar clenches his fists and his jaw, his entire body going
taut with fury, but he stays silent.
“These are things that are highly sought-after. After mine
was sold, I knew they were going to do the same to my sister.”
“Who did this?” His voice is strained. “Where was your
aunt?”
I close my eyes for the briefest of moments, willing away
the images of them before I answer his second question. I can’t
give him an answer to the first, even though a selfish part of
me wants to.
“She was the one who brokered the deal,” I say flatly. “I
tried to run away, and I took my sister with me. I had planned
it out, down to every last detail, but nothing went exactly right.
We were found right before we would have boarded a ship to
freedom.”
Einar’s face is pained. He moves forward like he wants to
touch me, but then pulls his hands away as if he is afraid to.
 “She was furious.” I carefully choose my words while the
reality of the situation plays on a loop in my head.
“Rose —” I nearly choke on her name. “Rose wouldn’t
stop crying.”
She was afraid and wailed, as a child should be able to do.
“The family guards,” Madame’s soldiers, “were too rough
with her… They beat her. At Mother’s orders.”
Madame knew they were going to kill her. She played God
as if she had the right to, then forced me to watch as the
sentence was carried out.
Einar’s eyes are wide as he soaks in every word, and I
wonder if he can read between the lines to everything I still
can’t say. Some small part of me wants him to.
“It’s my fault that she died.” I speak the words aloud,
giving life to the guilt I have carried with me for so long.
She was calculating. She chose which of us was most
valuable to her and decided how she could prevent something
like this from ever happening again. And she was successful.
Einar walks toward me, his voice calm, his eyebrows
gathering inward as he speaks.
“No. You were a child. Your family was supposed to
protect you. This is not your fault, Zaina.”
“This is the price of your disobedience, child.” Madame’s
voice was cool, no hint of anger as she sat back to watch her
orders being honored.
“I haven’t been a child in a very long time.” My chest
aches, and I rub absently at the pain that I know will never
fade.
She forced me to watch as the soldiers tortured my
helpless sister, my only friend. She forced me to listen to
Rose’s cries while her men held me back, preventing me from
helping.
“Do not fail me again.” Madame said coldly when it was
all over. She handed me a picture of Melodi in an unspoken
promise of the fate she would share if I did.
And then she found Aika, and no amount of sense or
reason kept me from growing attached to her as well. My
sister.
That was my punishment. Reliving Rose’s death, knowing
I was powerless to stop it.
“I try to remember our happiest moments,” I add after a
while, doing anything to quell the misery that accompanies the
memories of that sands-forsaken night. “I try to remember the
sound of her laugh, the music she played on the piano, the way
she begged for one more lullaby.” A bitter smile tugs at my
mouth.
“The song you sang for Sigrid,” Einar says, and I nod. “I
can see why she loved it.”
This time, my smile is a little more genuine. “She did. She
was learning to play it on the piano.”
“I would have loved to meet her. I am certain that her life
was better for having you in it.”
This time, I look up at him, truly seeing him. Realizing
that there isn’t a single thing he has judged me for, things other
men would have. But it’s more than that.
For so long, I have thought only about the death Rose
suffered because of my incompetence. Because of my bad
decisions. It never occurred to me what kind of life she would
have had before that if I hadn’t been around to protect her. For
the first time in nearly a decade, the squeezing pressure around
my heart eases just enough for me to breathe.
“How?” I ask, baffled by everything that he is. “How are
you like this? Full of hope and life after what happened to
your own family? After what happened to your people?”
Einar takes hesitant steps toward me, slowly moving his
hand to my cheek, giving me plenty of opportunity to stop him
if I wanted.
“Because there is more to life than pain, Zaina. We just
have to find those moments.” He tucks a strand of hair behind
my ear. “And hold fast to them.”
I close my eyes and try to think of the moments he’s
referring to. The music and the laughter, and, most of all, the
love. All of the little bits of her that I can keep for myself,
even though she’s gone.
“Thank you,” I say when I open my eyes.
He nods, and his body is still so close to mine.
I don’t deserve his kindness, but I am a sea sponge, and I
take this, too. I close the space between us, wrapping my arms
around his waist, pressing myself against him as though I can
force an ounce of his goodness and hope to seep into my
tainted soul.
 CHAPTER 55

I don’t know how long I stand wrapped in his

embrace, but he doesn’t make me feel rushed or
awkward. He doesn’t falter at all.
He never seems to.
He was right, though, about the relief in saying the words
aloud. The grief I have held on to for so long has edged out
just enough to make room for another emotion.
Enough for me to realize his shirt laces have loosened,
revealing the dark-blonde hairs on his solidly muscled chest.
Before I can stop myself, my hand has traveled upward, my
fingers drawn like a magnet to that space of skin.
I tilt my head up, meeting his eyes, letting him see
everything that is burning in mine for a rare change.
“Zaina.” His voice is hoarse when he says my name.
“Yes?”
But he appears to be at a rare loss for words, staring down
at me with a thousand emotions swirling in his eyes.
I war with myself, because I will be gone tomorrow and he
will be here, left with only the memory of this and a thousand
questions he will never have answers for.
Does this make me as cruel as Madame?
There is one thing I can clearly discern from his
expression. I see my own desire mirrored in his features, and it
is larger-than-life, like everything about him. Imposing and
overwhelming and, just for the tiniest fraction of a lifetime,
mine.
I close the gap between us, standing on my toes and
wrapping my arms around him. I pull his head down until my
lips reach his. My fingers go to the laces on his shirt, untying
them in record time. I tug on his hem, and he stills.
Opening his eyes and placing his hands over mine, he fixes
me with a steady gaze.
“Are you sure you want this?”
For everything I am uncertain about, never once have I
doubted the depth of my wanting for him.
“Yes.” One word, breathy and barely audible.
His expression morphs into something far less controlled,
white-hot desire edging out every other emotion on his face.
But he reaches up with gentle hands, placing two fingers on
my chain.
“How do I take this off?”
My eyes widen in surprise.
“I told you, it doesn’t matter. I’m not —”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence with the word ‘pure’.
He does not get to take what you did not offer and change the
way you see yourself.” He says the words with such
conviction.
Tears stab at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill down
my face with the overwhelming weight of all the emotions I
can’t quite identify. I put my hand over his, guiding him
through the motions of unhooking the chain. He places it on
the small table next to the bed, then returns his attention to me.
My fingers have traveled back to the hem of his shirt, but
there is no need. He pulls it off with one swift motion, then
sets to work on mine. His hands are surprisingly deft for their
size, and he has undone each of my tiny, complex buttons in a
matter of moments. Our pants follow, and we are soon
standing bare before one another.
 I try not to think of all the time we have wasted, time we
could have been together that we will never have now. Instead,
I stay in this moment of perfect intimacy.
He backs against the bed, pulling me toward him. Gently,
he lifts my knees up to either side of his torso, and my lips
meet his with urgency. I tilt his head to the side and kiss his
neck, then push him back against the bed. I take my time
exploring his shoulders, his chest, making sure to memorize
every line and scar on his perfectly shaped body. He finally
groans and flips us so that he is on top to do some exploring of
his own.
He starts with my mouth, then moves downward, leaving a
scorching trail of kisses all the way down my body. When he
makes his way back up to my lips, he pulls back and asks me
again.
“Are you sure you want this?”
Last time, the words were quiet, but this time I say them
earnestly.
“Yes, Einar.”
The sound of his name on my lips must be his undoing.
But for all I have robbed him of his self-control, every point of
contact is a gentle reverence. He moves with a deliberate
slowness, broadcasting every movement and giving me every
opportunity to stop him, opportunities I would die before
taking at this point.
I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way, like another
person is an extension of your very being. I didn’t think I was
capable of loving a man in this capacity.
But in this moment, belonging to each other wholly, I
realize just how much I have been fooling myself, because I
could spend the rest of my life tucked inside Einar’s protective
arms.
In a way, that’s what I am doing.
I lie awake for an hour after Einar falls asleep, memorizing the
steady sounds of his breathing. Sixty minutes of silent tears
that won’t stop falling, of soaking in his endless supply of
warmth and using it to bolster myself for what’s ahead.
My eyes are finally drying by the time the clock chimes
midnight. I give him another few minutes to make sure the
sound didn’t wake him, but he doesn’t stir, his breathing deep
and even. Content.
I snake my hand between us to the key around his neck,
and deftly maneuver it over his head, going slowly to avoid
the chain clinking. His breathing stills, and for a tense, awful
moment, I wonder if all of my plans have been for nothing.
I place my free hand against his chest where the pendant
would usually be, and his breathing evens out again. But it’s
too soon to sigh with relief, because that was only the first
step.
Besides, there is no relief to be found in any of this, only a
sick revulsion that creeps all the way through my being to my
very core.
I wait another moment before easing my way off the bed
and crossing the room to where Khijhana sleeps in the chair
near the door to the privy. I stand there for a solid moment
where I would have a convenient excuse to be, but he doesn’t
stir, so I slip my clothes on as quietly as I can, keeping my
gaze fixed firmly on his face the whole time.
I tell myself it’s so I will know if he has been alerted, but
the truth is that I want to linger in every last second I have
with him.
Slipping my unmarked hand into a glove, I feel an
unreasonable wave of sadness over that, too. The wedding
markings are gone. It will be like I was never here at all.
When there is nothing else that could possibly give me an
excuse to stay here, and I know time is running short, I tap
Khijhana on her nose to wake her.
She is silent as a wraith and intuitive as ever as she slides
off the chair and stands at my side. It is fortunate that I have
already eked every last bit of moisture from my body, because
her loyalty would finish me.
I pick up my boots and cross the room on soundless
footfalls, opening the panel just as quietly. With a final glance
over my shoulder to see that Einar sleeps soundly, I ease the
door to the passageway shut.
Speed becomes as important as stealth as I make my way
to my rooms. Hastily, I throw on my boots and grab the
artificial rose from its hiding spot. I pull off three of the petals,
and they fall to the ground like droplets of blood from the
shattered pieces of my soul.
I have to backtrack to Einar’s room. I give him a quick
look to ensure I haven’t disturbed him, but I don’t allow my
gaze to linger beyond that. If I focus on him for too long, my
resolve will crumble and this will all be for nothing.
Quickly, I slip across his room, all the way to the
passageway on the other side. Hurriedly, I pull the books in the
exact same order he had, and the bookcase slides open. I hate
myself for how easy it is to betray a man who deserves it less
than anyone I know.
I am back to my room with the real rose in a matter of
minutes. I slide my boots on, then scrawl a quick note at the
small writing desk. I put the flower and the note in a small
black satchel, then slip it into the pocket of my heaviest cloak.
Finally, I turn to Khijhana on knees that will barely support
me, wrapping my arms around her neck.
“You can’t come with me where I am going,” I whisper as
if she understands.
And maybe she does, or maybe she merely senses my
anguish, because she lets out a tiny, keening mew. Damian
thinks I am handing off the rose to him, but I have an entirely
different sort of plan in mind.
“I would take you if I could, but he will kill you, and I
couldn’t bear that on top of everything else. You’ll be safe
here.” I thought my tears had dried away, but I have to fight
back a sob as I kiss the top of her furry head.
 “Besides, Einar is going to need someone when I am
gone.” I stand up, brushing the fresh wave of tears off my face,
because I know Damian, and I know that none of this will
work if he senses the slightest hesitation from me.
“Take care of each other,” I say in a calmer tone.
Khijhana follows me to the passageway door, but I slip
through and close it behind me, ignoring her forlorn meow. I
know how soundproof these walls are, how I can only barely
hear acoustic sounds like footsteps through them, but I hear
Khijhana’s cries echoing in my head all the way until I reach
the outer door.
When the icy blast of air hits me from outside, it seems to
freeze everything inside of me as well. Because this is it, the
only way I could see through the thousands of possibilities I
walked down. Even if walking out this door means I can never
return, never see my sisters or Einar again.
This is the only way to save them.

End of Book One

 APOLOGIES FOR THAT CLIFFHANGER….

We feel the need to explain ourselves a bit.

Of Thorns and Beauty was supposed to be one book. A
standalone in a series of standalones, if you will. But the
characters and the story became so much more than we
planned for, and we were left with no choice but to follow this
story where it led us.
So much of our sanity, feelings and personal experiences
went into shaping these characters, giving them lives of their
own and the will to defy what we wanted them to do.
We hope you understand, and that you continue to enjoy
Zaina and Einar’s story in the next book:
Of Beasts and Vengeance.
 A MESSAGE FROM US

We need your help!

Did you know that authors, in particular indie authors like
us, make their living on reviews? If you liked this book, or
even if you didn’t, please take a moment to let people know on
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Remember, reviews don’t have to be long. It can be as
simple as a star rating and an: ‘I loved it!’ or: ‘Not my cup of
tea…’
So please, take a moment to let us know what you think.
We depend on your feedback!
Now that that’s out of the way, if you want to come
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 ELLE’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Where do I even begin? I feel like this part is always difficult

because there are so many unsung heroes that go into making a
book what it is.
Robin, this is our sixth co-write! Can you believe we’ve
made it this far? Six books down and a million more to go. I’m
so grateful that we’re in this together. Even when writing is
hard, and we’re arguing about non-essential plot points, I can’t
imagine it any other way. Thank you for being my forever
octopus, my Stardew Valley co-farmer, my best friend and co-
author!
To my husband, my main squeeze, the love of my life and
father of my children… There are never enough words to
explain how grateful I am that I have you in my life. You are
my rock, my warm blanket and my shoulder to cry on when I
am overwhelmed. Thank you for always listening to me, for
helping me sort through frustratingly difficult plot-holes with
ease. Thank you for always boosting my confidence and
listening to me go on and on and on and on and on about
bookish things. But mostly thank you for loving our children
and taking care of our family while I’m crumbling under the
pressure of deadlines and edits. I love you more than waffles.
Jamie and Brianna. You two… I seriously don’t know
where we would be without you.
Jamie, your constant reassurances and insight mean the
world and I am so grateful that I know you. Thank you for
putting up with us, forgiving us, and fixing us when we need it
most. I miss you and love you more than you used to love
peanut butter whiskey. ;)
Brianna, this book would never have made it to the release
date if it hadn’t been for you. Thank you for helping us with
plot issues and errors and being so very methodical and careful
with our book baby. You saved it from the mess it was and I
will always love you for that.
To Jill, my bestie and second biggest supporter. Thank you
for always having Marco-polo dates with me when I’m up
working at 4 am. For listening to me complain when the
characters wouldn’t do what they were supposed to do. And
for re-reading so many times and even when this story wasn’t
very good. You have been here since the very start of this
whole author journey of mine and your insight, support and
swooning over our stories is invaluable. Thank you, from the
bottom of my heart for being you.
Ivy, you are a rockstar and a wonderful human. Having
your friendship has meant the world to me, and having you on
our team has been so so so helpful! You keep us organized and
in check and are constantly slapping us around (verbally, of
course) when we are too hard on ourselves. Thank you for
jumping into the middle of our chaos and helping us to make
sense of it all. Also… you deserve a medal for all of times you
re-read the beginning of this book. I love you to the moon and
back! <3
Lissa, you are irreplaceable! You have been a loyal reader
from book one when our writing was new and rougher around
the edges. Thank you for the fan art, the gifts, the messages of
encouragement and support and reminding us that we can do
this, even when we don’t believe it ourselves. <3
Joy, Charlee, Amanda, Michelle, Allyssa, LeAnn - you
ladies are the best bookish friends a girl could ask for. Thank
you for listening to us complain, check for errors, support us
and believe in us. You each played a different, but very vital
role in helping us get this far, even if you didn’t realize you
were doing it at the time. So thank you.
 Kate, thank you for being so kind and supportive and for
actually wanting to help us with this story! You are an
amazing human. Blessed be the fruit…
Sarah, thank you for pushing so hard to win a spot in this
book. But really, we were the real winners here… This story
would not have been the same without Gideon! We needed
him, Zaina needed him and our readers need him too. I’m so
happy that we were able to include him in this story, quirks
and all. <3
And finally, our ARC team and reader group…
Where would we be without you?? Thank you for offering
hours of entertainment and laughs when we were losing our
sanity. Thank you for gushing over Zaina and Einar and even
for your anger when we left you with another ridiculous
cliffhanger… That just means you’re invested, right?
We love you all and are grateful for the loving support
you’ve given us. You make us feel like real authors!
 ROBIN’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It’s always hard to remember who to thank at the end of a

book when it’s such a huge team of amazing people making it
all possible, but I’m going to give it a shot.
First and foremost, my husband is amazing for being so
patient when this book took longer than expected, for keeping
my babies occupied with board games and anime while I spent
yet another day in my writing/editing cave. Thank you for
listening to me rant about plot-holes in my permanently
exhausted, nonsensical haze. You are the most supportive
husband anyone could ask for and, without a doubt, the best
daddy ever!
To my co-author, the icing to my cupcake, the jelly to my
peanut butter, you also deserve a thank you for patience. This
book was rough around the edges, and we had to work long,
frustrating hours to make it come together. Thank you for not
giving up on this project or me, even when neither of us (me
or the book) was at our best.
To my big sister and Auntie-bear to my children, you also
have had the fun of hearing me talk endlessly about this book
in the months it took to finish. If that wasn’t fun enough, you
even read the bad iterations and watched my wayward
monsters while you were at it. You are the best. <3
Jamie, I will thank you in every book from here to eternity
because without your unending well of optimism and fantastic
eye for errors, nothing I write would be what it is. Did I
mention I love you for putting up with me even when I can’t
stick to a deadline or remember to book you in advance?
 Brianna, you have once again saved my butt with your
uncanny ability to root out plot-holes and inconsistency errors.
I think sometimes your sheer determination on my behalf is
the only reason I don’t throw in the towel. You’ll never know
what your straightforward nature does for my motivation.
Thank you!
Ivy, I honestly don’t know how you forced yourself to read
at least four iterations of the beginning of this book, but it was
impressive, especially when I happen to know one of them
was very, very bad. You are seriously awesome for all the hard
work you put into helping us shape this story and everything
else you do. I’m so glad you’re on our team!
Lissa, Jill, and Joy, you guys are the best betas anyone
could ask for! Laughing and crying and swooning with your
comments was hands down, the best part of writing this book.
Kate, you came in late and threw on a cape and helped us
perfect this story! Thank you for still loving us even after we
kept you awake at PennedCon.
Sarah, thank you for lending us Gideon and helping us to
do him justice! He became such an unexpectedly spectacular
part of this story, all from your invaluable input.
Michelle, you’re still my favorite mentor, even if I thrust
you into that title without your desire or permission. :P Thank
you for always being a listening ear when writing gets rough!
We had so many amazing readers and author friends who
got us through this story, it’s impossible to name them all, but
I love our Drifters and Wanderers! You guys encourage me
even when you don’t know it, you vote on things we can’t
decide on, and you are generally entertaining when I need a
boost. Here’s to hoping the road to the next book is a lot less
bumpy!
 ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Elle and Robin can usually be found on road trips around the US haunting taco-
festivals and taking selfies with unsuspecting Spice Girls impersonators.
They have a combined PH.D in Faery Folklore and keep a romance advice
column under a British pen-name for raccoons. They have a rare blood type made
up solely of red wine and can only write books while under the influence of the full
moon.
Between the two of them they’ve created a small army of insatiable humans and
when not wrangling them into their cages, they can be seen dancing jigs and
sacrificing brownie batter the pits of their stomachs.
And somewhere between their busy schedules, they still find time to create
words and put them into books.
 ALSO BY ELLE AND ROBIN
Coming Soon:
Of Beasts and Vengeance - Twisted Pages Book Two
Shadow Kingdom - Assassin of the Isles Book One
Ready to read now:
Our first co-written series is complete! Check out the box set here:
The Lochlann Treaty
We had so much fun participating with several brilliant authors for this anthology.
And don’t tell anyone… but we plan to turn Rapunzel’s story into a series next year
too!
Aurelian Skies - Princess Bachelorette Anthology
And finally, the reason this whole journey started… Robin D. Mahle began as a
husband and wife team to create Clark and Addie and their amazing story. Check
out the first book in their fantasy romance series here:
The Fractured Empire