Fantasy and Fairytales

The Complete Series

M. Lynn

Fantasy and Fairytales © 2019 M. Lynn

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Edited by Melissa Craven

Proofread by Patrick Hodges

Cover by GermanCreative

Contents

Also by M. Lynn

Free Book!

The Six Kingdoms

The Castle of Gaule

Golden Curse

Golden Chains

Golden Crown

Glass Kingdom

Glass Princess

Noble Thief

Cursed Beauty

Edmund

Free Book!

About Michelle

Also by M. Lynn

Acknowledgments

Also by M. Lynn

Legacy of Light

A War For Magic

A War For Truth

A War For Love

Fantasy and Fairytales (Written as M. Lynn)

Golden Curse

Golden Chains

Golden Crown

Glass Kingdom

Glass Princess

Noble Thief

Cursed Beauty

Free Book!

Don’t forget to get your copy of Memory of War by signing up here to keep in touch.

Reviews are always loved and appreciated. Authors can’t author unless readers read - (we’re just going to pretend author is a verb.) - so thank you for reading!

For everyone who has believed in these stories. Your faith is powerful.

The Castle of Gaule

Golden Curse

The true story of rapunzel, book 1

1

Magic was evil.

That’s what they’d been told when it was scrubbed clean from the face of Gaule. Alexandre Durand’s father-the king- made sure it couldn’t hurt them any longer.

"Brother," Camille said sharply from her spot in the doorway. She stood as proof of magic’s cruelty with her twisted leg. Magic folk did that to her the night the purge began.

Alex tuned her out and listened to his lead scraping against paper as an image began to form bright and hopeful. It represented everything the prince could want. He scrunched his face in concentration to apply the final strokes of the magnificent landscape.

It wasn't the palace or the lands surrounding it. When he was a boy, he'd taken a trip across the border into the outer edges of Bela, the forgotten kingdom. The beauty he'd seen there stayed with him. He knew it wasn't real. A friend of his created it. Her magic could make whole fields of flowers bloom.

Not anymore. She was most likely dead. He hated her magic for making her an enemy of Gaule. Persinette. His childhood friend. All he could do as she fled the palace was watch.

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Magic was a plague on their land. It was eradicated with good reason.

He set his drawing aside face down, not wanting his sister to see the things he yearned for. He was always on guard around her, lest she report him to their father. She was his favorite little pet.

"What?" he snapped. Exhaustion made him short and dealing with his sister was never easy.

She held up her hands, palms facing him. "I'm just the messenger. You're summoned to the throne room."

"Of course I am." He let out a low growl and ran a hand through his long jet-black hair, tying it back as he did.

His sister watched him with the eyes of a hawk.

He stood and smoothed his tunic before shrugging on his jacket over his surcoat and fastening the gold buttons. It was too warm for the jacket, but his father would know if a single thing was out of place.

He didn't say another word to Camille as he brushed by her and marched down the hall. Velvet carpet muffled his steps while servants and guards ducked out of his way.

The sound of Camille's cane echoed behind him as she struggled to catch up. Guilt twisted his gut, and he slowed. Camille brushed by him without a word.

His fists clenched at his sides and he let out a long breath as he pushed the doors to the throne room open and stepped inside. The opulence soothed him. It always had.

Gaule was doing well with their closed off borders. Without a war to keep them busy, the army had spent years rebuilding roads and cultivating farmland to make the kingdom self-sufficient. They didn't need the rest of the world. Not with the dangers out there.

Servants bustled by, some catching his eye as he stood at the back of the hall, waiting to be called forward.

His brother strode up beside him.

"Where have you been?" Alex asked. Tyson had slipped his guards two days before and no one had seen him since.

The teenage prince laughed and Alex envied his careless freedom. His brother had been too young to be affected by the events of their past. He'd only known peace and prosperity.

"Should I have even asked?" Alex matched his grin.

"Promise not to tell Father?"

"Do I look like Camille?" He glanced to the side to make sure she wasn't near. She'd found some ladies and joined them.

"Fair point. Some friends and I found a tunnel from the palace that goes all the way to the sea."

Alex stopped walking and turned to his brother. "The sea is past the wards."

"Only just. We didn't go through them ... yet." Tyson shrugged.

"Ty, you are not to go there again."

"Wow, way to sound like Father."

Tyson’s words stung, but Alex only shook his head. A serving girl stopped in front of them.

"Sires." She dipped into a curtsy.

Alex shifted as she scanned him from head to toe without a word.

"Louisa." Tyson stepped forward and took her hand to place a light kiss on the back. "It is always a pleasure to see you."

Amusement lit in her eyes. She had the grace not to laugh at the prince who was at least ten years her junior. "Thank you, your Highness. I must get on with my duties."

She left and Tyson elbowed his brother in the ribs. "You're too shy, brother."

"I'm a prince. It isn't for me to dally with servants."

Tyson barked a laugh. "Alex, you're a prince, you can dally with whoever you'd like. And I thought you liked blondes."

Alex gasped as if greatly offended. “I can’t believe you would think I’d discriminate.”

Tyson’s laugh bounced across the room, garnering stares from more than a few people. “Good on you, brother. You’re an equal opportunity slag.”

Alex threw his arm around his brother’s neck and locked it there. “I am not having this conversation.”

Tyson tried to wrestle out of Alex’s grip and failed. “You are too predictable.”

Alex released him with a friendly shove. "And you're not? Disappearing for days. Again."

"Being that no one could find me.” Tyson grinned. “I don't think I'm predictable at all." He pushed Alex back.

Their father stood abruptly. “It would be nice if the two princes of Gaule could stand in the throne room without acting like idiots.”

“He means acting like normal people,” Tyson whispered-hissed.

Alex jabbed him with his elbow. “Now would be the time to shut up.”

Their father nodded, and they strode forward, stopping in front of the golden throne. A throne that would one day belong to Alex. Every time he saw it, a chill ran the length of his spine. Some said La Dame crafted it herself. She'd been their ally once, before distrust of magic became the law of the land.

Tall pillars of wood lined the red velvet carpet, creating a path to the king. Their mother was nowhere to be found, but she typically opted out of standing by the king’s side.

The king regarded his sons coolly before a smile spread across his face. "My boys," he boomed. "We are to have a tournament!"

Alex straightened and Tyson let out an excited gasp. They loved tournaments. The knights. The swordplay. Alex couldn't help but hope he'd be allowed to participate this time.

"Father, I would be honored to fight for the glory of the crown." Alex kneeled and yanked Tyson down with him.

The king scowled. "Not that kind of tournament."

Alex's heart crashed.

"It is time we find you a protector. Every king has their oath-man." He didn't mention that the man who'd once sworn an oath to him had to flee from the palace to avoid being murdered for his magic.

Hearing the title woke something in Alex. Tradition was important to the Durands and to the kingdom.

Tyson laughed and his father glared at him.

"What is funny?" the king snapped.

"It's about time you got someone to protect this oaf." He gestured to Alex. "He's shit with a sword and you won't win many battles if all you can do is shoot an arrow." His grin stretched across his face. "Maybe he should have been a hunter instead of a prince."

His father’s expression darkened and Alex wanted to tell his brother to shut the hell up, but before he could, the king rose.

"You're a fool, Son. Do you know our history at all?" He trapped everyone in the room in an attentive trance.

Tyson's smile finally slipped.

"The role of a protector is purely symbolic. As long as Gaule's wards are in place and La Dame cannot cross the border, there will be no need for them to fight for you. They are to provide the appearance of protection and if need be, a sacrifice. Their life is only worth something if you are alive. They will take an arrow for you. They will face death. Your protector is your shadow, your right-hand man. They are an icon of strength."

The thought came unbidden to his mind that Viktor, his father's champion, had been much more than a symbol for many years. Alex got to his feet. He would never betray those loyal to him as his father had, and it was time he had people of his own he could trust.

"Tell me," Alex said.

"Notices have been put up in every village in Gaule. Any fighter can compete in the melee."

"How do you know the winner will be loyal to the crown?"

"Because if they're not, they would not face their ends to be at your side."

"Their ends?" He swallowed hard.

The king nodded. "The tournament will be a battle… to the death.”

2

"I thought we'd agreed you wouldn't use your magic," Viktor Basile growled as he sliced through the vines spreading rapidly across the forest floor.

Etta circled him. "You've said yourself that the people we'll have to fight won't be playing by the rules. Why should I?"

His hand shot out, and he grabbed a fistful of her shirt. “Carelessness will get you killed.” He released her and she stumbled back. “You’re soon going to take a place inside the palace of Gaule where magic will tie the noose. Don’t forget that.”

“How could I forget my life is not my own?”

His voice hardened on his next words as he took up his fighting stance again. “If La Dame comes for you, are you going to hesitate? Are you going to fall back and let her take everything you have? Everything you are?”

Etta let the vines still and dodged the path of her father’s staff. “No.”

“What?” he yelled.

“No!”

The sorceress who’d controlled her family for generations wouldn’t have her.

“La Dame won’t control me,” she growled.

Her father shook his head, regret flashing in his eyes. “Then you have already lost, my daughter. Because she does control you. She does own you. She already has everything you are. That’s what it means to be cursed.”

“We can fight back.”

“No. That’s the point. You cannot fight her. If you do, she will own your death as well. I must prepare you to take up the curse and the hardest part is learning not to fight it. Learning to accept that we must serve our enemies.”

He came at her again.

Hate. It drove her, begging to be released on her opponent as she jumped, using the toe of her boot to kick off a tree. Only after she spun and landed in a defensive crouch did she raise her eyes once again to her father. No. She couldn't unleash her hate on him no matter the words that left his mouth or the burning inside of her they caused.

She should have seen it coming, but her eyes were so focused on his blazing stare she didn't notice his arm jerk to the side seconds before the staff snapped against her back. She crumpled to the ground face first, groaning into the dirt.

"Get up." Viktor Basile's voice was hard, commanding. The voice of a man who was once the crown's protector.

Persinette shifted her hands beneath her chest and pushed up. It wasn't pain or exhaustion that slowed her movements, only annoyance.

Her father clucked his tongue. She glared at him, knowing she could beat him if he didn't rely on petty tricks.

"Etta," he barked. "Stance."

She bent to retrieve her staff and felt the air move to make way for another surprise strike. Spinning out of the way, she twirled her staff and closed her eyes to listen with her magic to the sounds in the earth. Each attempted blow followed a tiny whistling as the wood sailed through the air. Each shift of feet accompanied a change in the earth.

He jabbed at her legs and she jumped, catching her father's weapon between her feet on the way down. His hands lost their grip on it and he looked to the ground.

The grass grew over his worn boots. Etta grinned as he tried to break free. They held him firmly in place.

"You have your tricks, Father. I have mine." She jabbed his chest lightly. "Do you concede?"

"Pull your magic back, Persinette.” His face reddened.

She stepped back to lean against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest.

The silence between them was almost as vast as the forest surrounding them. The Black Forrest struck fear in the hearts of many people. They believed a danger lurked among the trees. Magic. Evil. For Etta, the danger sat in the castle beyond the Northern edge of the woods.

Finally, her father spoke in his low, dangerous way. "Because using magic will get you killed."

"You say that, but they do not dare come for us here."

He took a knife from the leather sheath on his belt and bent to cut the grasses entombing his feet. When he was finally free, he looked up at her once more. "Soon you won't have the protection of the legends." He started to walk toward the one-room cabin they called home.

She ran after him. “I don’t need legends to protect me.”

He spun, and she stopped to avoid running into him. “From the crown, maybe. But what about when she comes for you?”

“La Dame can’t cross the wards as long as magic runs in her blood.”

He shook his head. “Have I taught you nothing? You can’t rely on forever. Magic does not stretch into eternity. Those wards may not always protect you.”

“Then I will fight her. I am a Basile. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“And La Dame is a queen!” His shriek scared a bird from a tree and in the stillness that followed, the flap of its wings were deafening. He breathed out slowly, gathering his control like it was an unraveled rope. “She has ruled Dracon for generations. She can’t be destroyed. Her power is unmatched.” He put a hand on Etta's shoulder. “Enemies are everywhere, my precious girl. The time for me to protect you is almost past. The best you can do now is follow the path that lies before you. La Dame holds the strings and our family has danced to her rhythm for years. It has been many generations since she destroyed our ancestors and created our curse.”

He turned and began walking again. Without looking back, he called, "I'm heading to town for some supplies. You are not to leave these woods. Not like last time."

Etta shivered. Last time she'd journeyed to the market of Gaule, she'd been caught stealing. Two burly men carrying jagged axes had chased her all the way to the edge of the woods. They hadn’t dared to follow her into the trees though. No one did.

La Dame would. Etta doubted anything frightened the sorceress queen of Dracon.

The Black Forrest was said to be haunted. Those were the legends Etta’s father claimed protected her. The few townsfolk brave enough to venture into the woods, returned with reports of strange sounds—when they returned at all. The forest held many secrets. Chief among them pertained to the last remaining magic in the kingdom. When the great army came all those years ago to destroy any who possessed it, the woods and the protection of her father's wards there had been the only place for many of the magic folk to go.

Her father had shielding magic. The magic he wielded allowed him to craft strong wards to keep people safe, to keep a kingdom safe. That gave him power and made him valuable to the king. And it was why the king tried to kill him. He just hadn’t realized killing him would have brought down the wards surrounding Gaule. Wards that kept magic folk both in and out of the kingdom since none could cross the border.

Etta strolled to the river until her pace grew steady and she began to run. The warm summer wind brushed against her cheeks, lifting her long, braided hair off the back of her neck. The clearing came into view and a grin stretched across her face as the sight before her became clear. Vérité stood on the bank with his head dipped low and his mane covering his eyes as he drank.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who could use a wash." She scrunched up her nose and waited for the beast to react to her presence.

He let out a short snort and continued to drink.

Shaking her head, Etta loosened the ties of the armor at her throat. She struggled to pull the thick leather off her sweat-coated skin and over her head.

Vérité picked up his head and his brown eyes met hers. She would've sworn there was amusement in them.

"Yeah?" she said. "I'd like to see you fighting in leather in the heat of the day."

He struck his hoof against the ground and she narrowed her eyes. He was mocking her. Wooden-headed beast.

When the winter freezes came, she'd go a month or more without bathing, even with the constant training that coated her in grime. In those months, she didn't smell much better than Vérité.

But in the summer, she could escape to the river daily. There wasn't enough soap for the ritual, but the water washed away much of the day's filth.

She removed the rest of her clothes and unbraided her hair. It fell down her back in waves. Her fingers dug in, separating the strands. Sometimes, when all it seemed like she’d ever do was train and fight, her hair grounded her. It reminded her she was a woman. It calmed her and made her feel human in a world where they were treated as less than human.

Etta took one more look at Vérité before leaping into the water and let herself sink for a moment before giving a strong kick and breaking the surface. The water hugged her as she floated and flicked it at the horse. He shook his head violently, and she laughed.

Training was hard, but she knew her father was preparing her to take up the family curse, and to be able to protect herself from the enemy she'd serve. He was trying to find a way to get her into the palace household. Soon, the curse would tie her to the Gaulean prince. She was losing time before she’d have to spend her life protecting him.

There were few women in the guard and none so young. Soon, she'd begin feeling the curse tighten around her like unwelcome bonds, only to be loosened when she was in the presence of the one she was destined to serve.

A sigh left her lips. No one had charge of their own fate, but few had theirs set in stone generations before they were even born.

Etta rubbed at her skin until it reddened, wanting to remove all memories of the day. Her father had beaten her too many times. She was better than that. If they'd been sparring with knives instead of poles, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

She stepped from the water and climbed up the bank, wringing out her hair as she went. It had gotten long again, reaching past her waist, but sometimes it was the only thing that made her feel like a real person. Every time her father made her cut it short, she lost a part of herself. The women in town didn't wear their hair short.

It wasn't the first time she realized her father should have had a son. She was the first female forced to take up the curse since it was laid on her ancestors.

She pulled her clothes on over her damp skin and stood beside Vérité. "Feel like a ride?"

Vérité lowered his nose to her shoulder and nudged.

She laughed. Gripping a handful of his mane, she hauled herself onto his bare back. He knew exactly what she wanted without direction. They galloped through the woods. They passed a few houses, and she waved at the magic folk she saw. The people of the forest mostly kept to themselves in the years since escaping among the trees.

Etta closed her eyes, trusting the horse. She remembered that night that brought them here. Eight years ago. The night they'd been forced to flee the castle and run for their lives. The night her mother died. She shook her head and opened her eyes as Vérité slowed. They'd arrived at their favorite place. Every time her father went to town, she escaped to this tapestry of flowers laid out before her. Reds and yellows and blues dotted the landscape as far as she could see.

If outsiders knew the kind of gems the Black Forest offered, they'd never fear it. They'd want it for themselves. Outside people were selfish. She'd seen it first-hand. People living in the streets with no one to help them. Children without families. Armies who would hunt down anyone blessed with the gift of magic.

But the thing only Vérité knew was Etta made this place. While the king called her power evil, she made flowers bloom. While he was only death, she was life.

Yet the hate she held for them filled her with emptiness. The magnificence of this place had no effect on her because even as her magic begged for beauty, she trained for darkness.

She patted Vérité's neck and slid down. "The first born of every generation will be given to the enemy to be their protector. In the shadows or in the light, they will serve day and night." She looked into the wide, chocolate eyes of the beast beside her. "In seven nights I’ll be eighteen, my friend, and I must find a way to fulfill the edict of the curse. Only then shall I discover its destruction."

He snorted as if he understood and she sat down among the flowers, drawing warmth from the air into her frozen heart.

* * *

Young Etta perched atop the outer wall of the palace, lost in the sounds of daily life. Her father hadn't been home in days and she was anxious to see him ride through the gates. He rarely left the king's side and that meant many journeys throughout the kingdom.

She’s gotten in trouble in lessons for telling stories of La Dame.

To most of the children, the sorceress was nothing more than a dark figure used to scare the children. Yet none of them knew the things Etta understood. That La Dame would come for them. She was the most powerful woman in the world, not a simple bedtime story.

But none of the other children had magic. They hadn’t grown up with the legends of Bela as they were forbidden in most households of Gaule.

Etta scanned the streets of the outer castle.

She stood from her crouch and ran along the wall. Her mother would be furious if she saw. Arms flung out to her sides, Etta balanced perfectly, pride puffing out her chest as she looked down on the rooftops along the wall. Small houses lined the outer edges of the castle.

The jangling and stomping of many armored boots sounded against the cobblestone street below and she froze, trying to think if she’d stolen anything in the past few days. No. They couldn't be there for her. She peered down as they yanked a man from his house along the wall. His nightgown clung to his legs as the soldiers hauled him further from his waiting bed. Terrified wailing sounded from inside the house and Etta couldn't take it any longer. She ran the length of the wall and jumped onto the corner roof that belonged to her family. Sliding down the angled tiles, she gripped the edge and jumped down onto the crates that held their chickens.

A loaded wagon sat by the door.

Father must be home. He'd want to hear what she’d just seen.

The wooden front door swung open on rusted hinges and Etta stopped moving, her mouth hanging open. A metallic scent hung in the air, so thick she could taste it. A guard stood near the roaring fire, warming his blood-soaked hands. Waiting. Just waiting.

Etta silently scanned the room, immediately finding the deep red blood as it soaked into the wooden floorboards. It moved and swirled like it was a living thing. But how could it be living when the woman it came from was so obviously dead?

The body on the floor couldn't have been her mother. She didn't have her mother's kind smile. The iciness in her eyes wasn't right. The woman had been the warmth in their house.

Etta held in a sob as the floor creaked beneath her. The guard didn't turn.

"I know you're there," he said. "And I know you possess an even greater magic than her." He glanced sideways and nudged the body with his toe.

Power tingled in Etta’s fingertips. If they were outside, she'd have him flat on the ground already. But there was no living earth to manipulate inside.

A horse neighed outside and fear sparked through her. More guards? She knew she should run, but her eyes stared into her mother's empty gaze and she couldn't move.

The guard finally turned to her. He opened his mouth to speak again but shut it as his eyes widened.

"Leave her alone," a high-pitched, but strong voice commanded behind her.

Tears dripped down Etta's cheeks as she turned to the newcomer and ran to him. He caught her in a hug.

"Are you okay?" Alex, the Crown Prince of Gaule, asked her softly.

She sobbed against his chest.

Alex was a few years older than her, but they'd been friends since she was born.

Another figure appeared behind Alex and lunged at the guard. He'd been too stunned by the prince's presence that he hadn't been ready for an attack.

Etta watched without emotion as her father ran his sword through the man's neck. The guard dropped and her father didn't bother to clean the dripping blade before shoving it into its sheath and marching toward her.

"I came to warn you," Alex said. “My father is coming for magic folk.”

Her father's face was frigid as he ripped her like a ragdoll from the prince's grip. "We don't need a warning from you," he spat, looking back at his dead wife. "I save the kingdom and your father betrays me." He pointed one long finger. "There will come a day, Alexandre Durand, when my family will be the death of yours."

The threat sat heavy in the air as Etta's father lifted her into the wagon. She wept as she looked back at the place where they were forced to leave her mother. As she met the prince's gaze, he too had tears in his eyes.

Etta woke gasping for air. She wiped at her damp face and sat up. Darkness enveloped the woods around her. It was the time most people locked themselves inside, away from roaming spirits. For her, she reveled in the silence of the stars that could be seen through gaps in the trees, glittering like rare gems. She liked to believe her mother was among them.

They hadn't traveled far from the castle the night of her death. Her family's curse tied her father to the king, as it would soon tie her to Alex, meaning they had to stay close, lest the invisible tie tighten around her father's neck like a noose.

Alex was the boy born into the wrong family. He'd been too good for them, but he'd been a child. Now, with older eyes, she saw him as no different from the rest of his cruel family.

The night of their escape, her father told her everything about the curse.

La Dame set out to ruin Bela and its rulers in the cruelest possible way.

She knew her future led to Prince Alexandre. She would protect him. She would fight for him. But he was the prince of the kingdom that killed her mother and continued to hunt her people, so her trust, her friendship, was something he would never have again.

3

The taut string of the bow quivered against Etta's fingers as she lined up her shot and tracked her target. She pulled her arm back, feeling the soft feathers of the arrow against her skin. Loosing the arrow, she cursed when it flew wide of the fox. The animal ran off, probably to harass someone else. She'd been tracking it for hours, because it had been causing havoc for a few of the families nearby.

She threw the bow down in frustration. It was a skill she'd never been able to master. A stick snapped to her right, and she caught sight of a deer, its head bent, lost in its own hunger.

Etta slid a knife from her belt and flipped it once in her hand. With the stealth of a thief, she stalked toward it unseen. Only the soft crunch beneath her feet told of her presence.

The deer snapped its head up, but before it could run, Etta flicked her wrist and sent the knife flying end over end. It struck the deer in the chest. The deer ran and Etta chased it for a few paces before gripping the second knife and throwing it as hard as the first.

There was no satisfaction as there would have been with the fox. The deer did not mean any harm, but resources were scarce and this meat might fetch a price at market. Etta knelt beside the dying creature and told the grasses to rise up to create a softer bed for it to die on. She stroked it between the eyes and a quiver ran through him before his chest failed to rise.

He wasn't a sizable deer so Etta was able to heft it up across her shoulders, grunting from the effort. She trudged the short distance to her cabin and by the time she arrived, her shoulders screamed from the strain. She dropped the deer on the ground outside the door and shook out her arms. The deer’s eyes bore into her but there was no life behind them.

Her father hadn't returned. Sometimes he would leave for many days at a time, needing to be close to the castle to soothe the strain of the curse. He tried to hide it, but even the short distance from the king pained him. Would she feel the same crushing agony every time she left Alexandre’s side?

She pulled at the collar of her shirt as her breaths thickened. She had to get out of the forest if for no other reason than for the distraction. Her destiny rushed towards her faster than she could stop it and she wasn’t ready.

Her eyes flicked back to the deer. She hadn’t expected to find one and as much as she wanted to climb on Verite and ride away, she couldn’t leave the meat to spoil.

She raised her hand to brush her hair back and paused, the corners of her mouth tipping up and a plan forming. The meat would fetch a fair price at market if she made the journey to the village.

It had been too long since she left the forest. She’d barely spoken to anyone other than her father or Vérité. Her father would be furious until she dropped the money from her sale into his hands.

Wanting to get moving, she clutched her knife. Without her father’s help, she couldn’t hang the deer, and she was too anxious to get on the road to let it age. No, she’d have to do this the bloodier way.

She didn't enjoy butchering, but she preferred to get it done quickly. Some things were just necessary for survival. Her father taught her that blood was nothing to be scared of. One day, she'd be asked to spill a lot of it.

It was well into the afternoon when she finished and wrapped the meat in paper. The market would be closing in a few hours. She'd never make it in time so she'd need to leave in the morning.

As she got to her feet and shook out her stiff legs, she looked down at her shirt and trousers, both covered with blood. With a sigh, she headed off toward the river.

* * *

Etta woke early and donned a simple dress that would make her blend in rather than stand out. It was a commoner’s dress. The merchants would think her a farmer or merely a hunter's wife. No one would ever guess the true line she was descended from, the kingdom crushed by a curse.

Outside, Etta whistled a single high note and waited. Vérité appeared in no time. He never roamed far. "I'm sorry, my friend," she said. "We cannot stand out. As I must wear this ridiculous dress today, you must dress the part as well."

She took a saddle from its hook on the wall. Vérité snorted but offered no further resistance. He was smarter than most people she'd known.

Placing her wares for the market in the saddle bags, Etta climbed on and squeezed her legs against the horse's sides. They communicated through subtle shifts and slight kicks, but for the most part, the horse understood what she wanted. Theirs was a special bond. He was a wild horse, untamed. She'd had the wildness trained out of her. She was lethal, but Vérité was understanding. Together, they were complete.

They rode for hours before leaving the safety of the woods behind and cantered down the path toward town.

Rows and rows of stone and wood structures stretched out before her. The dirt path gave way to smooth brick roads. Shops were plentiful. While magic folk were hidden away in the forest, the people of Gaule thrived. She shook her head and urged Vérité forward. Disgust twisted in her belly for these people. Every time she ventured among them, it was the same. Their ancestors had destroyed her family's kingdom generations ago and now they'd destroyed her people.

Pushing it away, she pasted a pleasant look on her face, not the look of a thief or trained fighter. Just a girl enjoying a ride on her horse. She came to a stop in the middle of the market square. Merchants busied themselves setting up booths for the day. She could take it directly to the butcher shop, but he'd most likely try to underpay her. His people working the booth were easier to manipulate.

A woman lifted her gaze up from where she set out a display of dried and salted meat as Etta slid down from Vérité’s back. She was the butcher's wife, but no more pleasant than him.

They were too near the cobbler she'd been caught stealing from last time she came to town for her comfort. Her shoes were once again worn to the point of discomfort, but they were better than the ones she'd had that day.

Poverty didn't bother her. She wasn't on this earth to live in comfort. Her training and hard circumstances were meant to prepare her. She was only born to fulfill the curse.

Silently, Etta unhooked the bag from Vérité’s saddle and walked forward.

The butcher's wife eyed her suspiciously and opened the bag.

"Steal this, hmmm?" Her voice cracked as she wheezed.

"What?" Etta leaned forward to begin taking the packed meat out. Her braid fell over one shoulder. "I made the kill with my own hands."

"You always say that, Darlin', but that don't make it so." She picked up a pack and sniffed at it. "This don't smell so fresh."

"That's bullshit. I butchered it yesterday."

"Probably did a hack job on it."

Etta gripped the edge of the booth in fury.

The butcher's wife continued. "Where you find it? We don't get much venison around here. Sometimes the hunters find deer in that meadow east of town."

She was testing her. The meadow east of town held nothing more than a patch of grass. No hunter would bother with it.

Etta narrowed her eyes. "The Black Forest."

The older woman's eyes widened. "Don't you lie to me, girl."

"I have never lied to you." She leaned toward her. "Some of us don't fear the spirits." She didn't mention that the spirits were just people, her people, cloaked by her father's wards.

"Simpleminded girl."

Etta shook her head. "How much for the meat?"

The woman put a handful of coins down on the table—half its worth.

Etta growled. "You must think I really am a simpleminded girl. I won't sell it for that." She reached for the packs of meat to put them back into her bag.

The butcher's wife stopped her with an iron grip on her wrist. "Guards," she yelled, looking around for the guards that were a constant presence in town. "Thief!" She gave Etta a wicked smile before false panic crossed her face.

Etta yanked her arm free and scooped up the coins from the table. Vérité neighed nearby, and she whipped her head around to watch a guard grab his reins, preventing her from escaping on horseback.

Cursing the dress she wore, she lifted her skirt and took off. Reclaiming Vérité would be a problem for later, once she got out of this mess. The guards would believe the word of that wretched woman over a girl with no connection to the town. As she ran through the streets, two guards crashed along behind her, shoving stunned people out of the way.

A sense of deja vu hit her as she turned into a narrow alleyway between two shops. She knew the underside of this town almost as well as she knew her forest. Her chest heaved, but her legs could keep going all day. Glancing quickly behind her, she knew that wasn't the case for her pursuers. Her lips curved up at the thought. Easy.

Feeling for the knife hidden in a sheath down the front of her dress, she picked up speed. The alley narrowed further and ended with a stone barrier that blocked it from the next street.

Pumping her arms, she did a running jump, landing on top of it. Her feet only touched briefly before she sailed toward the other side where another guard waited for her. She bowled him over as she flew through the air and they both crashed to the ground. Her shoulder screamed in protest when she deftly rolled to her feet and freed her knife.

The guard was slower getting up, but drew his sword as he did. A knife could never match a sword and as the steel flashed before her, all she could do was duck.

"Madam, you are under arrest." He grunted as he tried to force her against the wall to end the fight. She whirled to the side, but his sword stopped her, slicing across her arm in the process.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming and spotted a place where weeds broke through the brick on the ground. Without thinking, she willed the weeds to keep growing. The guard looked at her curiously, still pinning her against the wall, as she narrowed her eyes in concentration.

"What?" His eyes widened at the growing weeds tangling around his ankles. "Magic."

She paid him no mind as her power overwhelmed her, buzzing through her like a brilliant high. The weeds traveled up his legs, and he released her to slash at them with his sword. They didn't stop until they were tied about his shoulders, holding him in place. For good measure, she flicked her finger, causing a weed to grow over his mouth just as he began to scream.

Her father's voice entered her mind. He'd be furious, but adrenaline rushed in her veins.

"Someone is sure to find you." She shrugged and slid her knife back down the front of her dress as she turned to walk away.

A teenage girl stood at the far entrance to the alley, her eyes like round saucers.

Fear surged through Etta. Two people had seen her magic today. They would come after her. It was the law. Only then did she realize her idiocy.

She raced toward the girl and as she neared, she realized the girl was older than she first appeared. Probably only a few years younger than Etta herself.

Etta opened her mouth to speak, to plead with the girl for secrecy, but the girl held up a hand.

"Come with me," she said.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I know who you are, Etta. And unless you want them to catch you, come.”

Etta had no choice but to follow her to the healer’s shop.

"I know what you think you saw out there," Etta began. "But it wasn't what it seemed."

"Things are never as they seem." She smiled kindly, pushing her black curls away from her shoulders. Her golden-brown face was round and soft, holding none of the sharp angles hard living had created in Etta.

"My name is Maiya," she said.

Etta snapped her gaze to the other girl. "How do you know my name?"

Maiya laughed and it had an airy quality to it. "Everyone in town knows you. You're the girl who shows up on occasion and causes a ruckus. No one knows where you come from or who your people are. You're a mystery." She paused. “You’re also Viktor’s daughter. I saw you enter the village.”

Etta grunted.

"Your arm is injured." Maiya gestured at the blood trickling from a shallow cut. "Have a seat, I can fix it." She led Etta to a stool that sat in front of a table littered with various healing tools and potions. Grateful for the first bit of kindness she'd experienced from anyone in town, Etta accepted the help and held out her arm. She expected Maiya to pick up one of her needles or ointments. Instead, the girl ran her palm down Etta's arm and closed her eyes.

Etta’s skin began to shift and pull together. Heat seared into her arm. She yanked it away in shock and a twinge of pain, but Maiya was done. Where there had been a red, seeping slice a moment before, it was now only pink skin, a bit paler than the weathered skin surrounding it.

"You ..." Etta stuttered. "You have healing magic."

Maiya smiled. "We all have secrets, my friend. Now you hold my life in your hands as much as I hold yours."

Before she could respond, two loud voices sounded outside the front door seconds before two men pushed it open. She recognized her father immediately and slid from the stool.

"She must do it," her father was saying.

"Do you think this is really the way? The risk is—"

"Acceptable. If she doesn't fulfill this curse, the pain will be too great. I live with this distance between myself and the king—my charge—every day and I wouldn't wish it on her."

"Father." Etta stepped forward and the two men noticed their daughters for the first time. "What risk is too great? I can handle anything."

Her father smiled proudly for a brief moment before he charged forward angrily. "What are you doing here, Persinette? You know you aren't allowed to leave the forest."

"But I killed a deer. We've been running so desperately low on supplies, I decided to sell it." She held out her hand to reveal the coins.

He cursed under his breath. "When the guards started charging into the market, I saw you. If I hadn’t sent Maiya to find you, what was your plan?”

When she didn’t respond, he continued. “They found a guard near here tangled in weeds. Know anything about that?"

She shook her head. “No father.”

"Well, apparently he doesn't either. We just passed by someone questioning him and he claims no magic was involved, but dammit! He was tied in weeds. Who is going to believe that? I don’t even have time to contemplate why that guard is lying when I have to worry about what happens if he suddenly becomes truthful. I taught you better."

She hung her head. "Yes, Father."

He took the coins from her. "How did you get here?"

"Vérité."

He cursed again. "I told you to stay away from that horse. He can't be tamed."

"Well, they took him. I need to get him back."

"Not happening. Confiscated horses belong to the crown. He's probably already on his way to the castle stables."

She couldn't believe she'd let him down. Vérité was her best friend. He deserved to be free, roaming the woods at will, not cooped up in a stall.

"Remove it from your mind." Her father looked to the other man and then back at her. "This is Pierre. I see you've met Maiya. Read this." He shoved a folded paper at her.

She carefully opened it. Scrawled in black ink were instructions for a tournament.

One week.

A battle of the kingdom’s greatest warriors.

To the death.

The winner will become the prince's champion.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply to calm her erratic heart. To the death. Who would give their life willingly to stand at the prince’s side? Fools. All of them.

She jerked her head up, reading the sign again. She wasn’t a fool, but she was cursed.

The day after her mother’s death- the first day of their lives in hiding, Etta’s father had begun training her. Sometimes it was all the two of them had. The past was gone. The future was dark. They’d lived each day to become the best they could. It was perfect. Her way in.

“How is it that just as I need a way into the palace, this opportunity arises?”

Her father studied her for a moment. “Tradition.”

“Yes, but what does that mean, father?”

He rubbed his chin. “Every king, or king-to-be in Alexandre’s case, has a protector. Someone to stand at their side and fight for them. The royals of Gaule don’t even know the origins of their own traditions. This one arose when the first to bend to the curse abandoned Bela to swear allegiance to Gaule. Since that time, no king has forgone their oath-man. Basile’s have been finding ways to hold the position, not all under the Basile name. Now it is your turn.”

"I can do it," she vowed, raising her eyes to look at her father. "In one week, I will begin my fulfillment of the curse, but Father, I am the last. It ends with me. This is my promise. I will break it. Only death can stop me. And then I’ll bring them down. The family Durand has controlled the Basiles for far too long."

"Greater than you have tried and failed."

His words hammered into her, his lack of faith sending a spark of pain through her heart. Etta squared her shoulders and held her head high. "This ends with me."

4

The palace teemed with activity in preparation for the tournament.

Alex sat atop the outer wall, looking across the grounds surrounding it. Guards marched up the road from the wide-open iron gates. It was rare that they closed them. There were no threats to the kingdom while the wards held around their borders.

The wards. It struck him as ironic that the kingdom’s only protection was the very magic they'd done their best to eliminate. The man who created the wards spent years in service to the crown before his magic made him a threat.

That wasn't what clouded the prince's thoughts today, though. Many men were going to die. All to have an honored place at his side. He kept telling himself they entered willingly. None of it would be his fault. He would observe the tournament as if it was the great entertainment it was supposed to be.

Tents stretched across the horizon, their pointed roofs reaching toward the brilliant sun. People traveled from all across the kingdom for the spectacle. Entertainers had livened up the evening for the past few days and flooded the markets in the afternoons. Knights and other warriors arrived in droves.

"Thought I'd find you here," Tyson said, taking a seat and dropping his legs over the edge of the wall. "Today is going to be epic."

Alex shot him a forced smile and looked away. His brother saw such events with a child's excitement. He didn't remember a time when Gaule was sending its soldiers out to die across the border.

Alex didn't know why he needed a protector when they were at peace. But the people needed the tournament. As awful as it was, it brought them together, and they expected it.

"Have you checked out those tunnels I told you about?" Tyson asked.

"I haven't exactly had time, little brother." Alex glanced sideways at him.

"Don't tell Father about them until you do, because you have to see them before he destroys them."

"That’s what should be done, anyway."

"Why? With the wards in place, it's not like magic folk can use them."

Alex couldn't fault his brother's logic, so he let it go and got to his feet. "I need to prepare."

Tyson snorted. "I know you, Alex. You're about to go down into that madness and you're going to ditch your guards to do it." He gestured toward the crowds. They crowded around the arena that had been built specifically for the event. "Can I come?"

Alex laughed. "Father is going to be pissed."

Tyson shrugged, a mischievous shine in his eyes.

Alex laughed again. "Let’s go."

The two princes changed out of their padded silken surcoats, replacing them with shortened tunics made of plain woven fabric. They removed every bit of gold jewelry and discarded the solid gold circlets their father insisted they wear atop their heads. Alex donned his chain mail despite the heat. He'd look like just another man arriving for the fight. His jeweled sword would be too obvious, so he strapped a sheathed knife to his waist instead, not like he would use it. Tyson hadn't been wrong. Alex’s fighting skills left a lot to be desired. He tried, he did. He just lacked the interest his brother had. The last thing Alex did was pull his chain mail coif over his head. He grimaced as the weight settled around him, but it would help him go unnoticed.

"Your Highnesses," someone called as they stepped back into the courtyard.

Alex groaned and turned toward Geoff who was hurrying toward them. He served in the prince's guard and thought that meant he had full control of Alex. He hadn't tried to hide his disdain for this competition. He thought he should be named protector. The king obviously hadn't agreed. And Geoff hadn’t entered into the competition. He wasn't brave enough.

"I'm afraid I must ask where you think you're going?" he asked.

"Relax, Geoff." Tyson sidled up beside him and flung an arm across his shoulders. The guard stiffened. "I think you just need some rest."

Confusion clouded Geoff's face, and he tried to shrug off the adolescent prince.

Before he could respond, Tyson's free arm flew through the air and connected with the side of his head with a loud crunch. The guard collapsed against the wall and slid down, unconscious.

"Told you sleep would help." Tyson shook out his fist. "That guy's head is hard."

Alex stared at his brother as he tried to contain his laughter. "What..."

Tyson grinned. "Always wanted to hit that guy."

"You do know Father is going to punish you for doing something that won't even help us get out of here?"

"What's he going to do? Lock me in my room again?"

"It was a week, and he barely sent any food up." Alex shook his head in disbelief.

"Good thing my maid is in love with me."

Alex barked out a laugh. "She's got many years on you."

"Doesn't make a difference when you're this adorable." He looked around. "Come on."

Tyson caused all sorts of trouble in the palace and he was a thorn in their father's side, but at times like these, it was good having him around.

Alex followed him to an empty chamber at the back of the palace chapel. A door led them to a tunnel through the outer wall.

"I don't want to know how you know this is here," Alex started. "Or how you have a key to that door."

"You'd be amazed at the secrets this place holds. Before the wards, Father had many spies. He met them in the chapel, using the tunnel to smuggle them in and out."

The wall wasn't terribly thick, so they were outside in no time.

Tyson started running down the hill toward the rows of tents. "Come on. I want to see the fighters before the festivities begin."

The crowd engulfed them. Two large soldiers passed Alex, jostling him. He spun to keep from falling and lost sight of his brother. People beckoned to him as he walked, selling everything from jewelry to swords to various foods. Spices wafted through the air, assaulting him from all directions.

A knight rode by atop a mountainous horse, larger than many in the palace stables. His armor crashed together as he moved.

Even with his headpiece obscuring his dusky hair and forehead, Alex avoided looking directly at anyone lest they recognize him as he went in search of Tyson. He walked toward the clusters of fighting men, knowing that was where he’d find his brother.

Tyson appeared up ahead, weaving in and out of people, so he picked up his pace. Alex opened his mouth to call to him and came to a jolting stop as he collided with someone.

He barely moved but the other person went sprawling onto the stones. His eyes caught the long golden hair and traveled down to the girl's face. She looked up at him and the softness faded away as her green eyes flashed.

Her strange beauty stuck him momentarily. "I'm terribly sorry, my lady." He extended a hand to help her and smiled kindly. "I was not watching my steps."

"I can tell." Ignoring his offered hand, she jumped to her feet with a surprising agility and brushed her hands down her plain dress.

A peasant. The prince made the distinction immediately. The hard lines of her face suggested she was accustomed to tough work. A farmer's daughter, perhaps. Maybe even a farmer's wife, although she was awfully young.

She looked behind her as if she would run and a stroke of familiarity struck Alex.

"Have we met before?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't have cause to visit the palace."

He grinned. She recognized him. That was a start. "Your Highness."

"What?"

"You obviously know who I am, so it's customary to show your respect."

She laughed, finally cracking a smile. It wasn't kind exactly, but it was there. "I'll show my respect when you've earned it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "All you've done is run me over."

"I am your prince."

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like "Not my prince" and it made him smile wider. He couldn’t remember the last time someone was so blatantly rude to him. He found it quite amusing.

“Why are you smiling like that?” She scowled.

“Like what?” His eyes widened innocently.

She pointed to his face. “Like I’m a child who just spoke for the very first time.”

He laughed. “I like you.”

“I don’t like you,” she countered.

“Believe it or not, that is what I find so enchanting.”

“I am not enchanting.” She pressed her lips into a flat line.

“No.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re… fierce.” His eyes lit up. “That’s it. Well, fierce lady…” He bowed, sweeping one arm out to the side. “May I have the pleasure of your name?”

“No.”

He should have walked away. He needed to forget about this overly bold girl. But his feet wouldn't move. An invisible pull kept him there. Their eyes connected, hers pleading with him to go.

"Alex." Tyson's voice cut through the tension as he stepped between them. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" He smiled easily.

"I am not his friend." The girl turned and walked toward the rows of tents.

Alex watched her until she disappeared.

Tyson clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think she liked you, Brother. Did you tell her you were a prince?"

"That made it worse."

Tyson laughed. "I like her already."

Alex shook his head, not sure what happened. He didn't even know her name. She was only a peasant. But more than anything, he yearned to speak to her again.

5

Shaken by her run-in with the prince, Etta sat in her tent with her head in her hands. Alex hadn't recognized her. If he had, she'd be in chains by now.

As soon as she’d seen him, she’d wanted to run, to get away from this entire curse. Her feet hadn’t let her. Her entire body hummed at the closeness.

As soon as the thought filled the space in her mind, she conjured up an image of the boy she'd known all those years ago, finding it hard to believe that he would ever hurt her.

But she knew what his family did to hers. Eight years was a long time. He'd been by his father's side as they hunted the magic folk throughout the kingdom.

The entire plan relied on him not knowing Etta was the same person as the Persinette he'd befriended. She’d never be allowed a position in the palace if they knew she had magic. She didn’t know what they’d do to her.

Maiya pushed through the tent flap with her father in tow. Etta's own father wasn't there. She'd shed no tears when they said their goodbyes in the early hours of the morning. If she managed to survive the tournament, she'd move into the palace to serve at the prince's side and seeing her father would be a near impossibility.

Viktor Basile was the most notorious outlaw in Gaule. He risked everything every time he went to town. There was no way he could show his face amid the crowds here for the tournament.

Etta looked up at Maiya, the girl she'd befriended only a week ago. There were tears in her eyes. "Are you sure you have to do this?"

Etta glanced at Pierre and he nodded, letting her know his daughter could handle the truth.

"I am a descendant of Bela, just as you are, but I am also more than that." She stood, straightened her shoulders. "I am from the royal line."

Maiya's eyes widened. "You're the cursed." Her gasp reverberated around the space.

Anger ripped through her heart. Not at the girl in front of her. Not even at her father. The anger was for her ancestors. King Phillip and Queen Aurora destroyed the kingdom of Bela and doomed their future generations to forever be under the control of La Dame.

Her father would tell her to push that anger away. Emotion only hindered in a fight. But she was not her father. She would use it to win this championship and to bring this kingdom to its knees.

"Do not cry for me, Maiya." Etta softened her eyes. "Many before me have taken up the curse." She looked at each of them. "I will be no different. If I have to fight my way to that heinous prince's side then I will do it. I can do it. If things were different, I would be a princess of Bela. It is my duty to represent our people well."

The alternative was too sad. She’d watched her father go through the separation from the man he’d been cursed to protect. It wasn’t the kind of life anyone wanted. Even a future inside the palace of Gaule, a future of hiding her magic, was better than that.

Pierre's eyes glossed over, and pride shone through. It was not the grudging pride her father showed when she mastered a new part of her training. It was something else. He lowered himself to one knee and Etta froze.

Maiya followed her father's lead.

"Bela is no more," he rasped. "But I see it in you." He placed a hand over his heart. "Princess."

Etta stumbled back, fighting tears. These were her people, people of Bela, the kingdom she'd never known but always carried in her heart.

They weren't the first Belaens she'd met. The forest served as home to many of them. But they were the first who knew her for a Basile, a descendant of the last kings. And they loved her for it. Their kingdom was gone because of the curse of her family, yet here they knelt.

Despair crashed into her and she couldn't breathe. Clutching at her chest, she gasped until her lungs expanded. It was too much. All of it. Reality was suffocating. Any minute, she would walk out among those people and fight for her life. She couldn't use her magic.

Maiya stood and rushed forward to wrap her arms around Etta.

Pierre was slower getting to his feet. "Persinette Basile, the strength of Bela runs through your veins. You only have to find it. You must prepare. I’ll wait outside."

"We believe in you," Maiya whispered, releasing her.

Belief. It was like an infusion of power. This was happening. By the end of the tournament, she'd either be the victor or nothing at all.

She refused to be nothing.

Drying her face, Etta nodded to Maiya, unable to voice her gratitude.

Maiya didn't speak as she helped Etta dress to be better suited for the fight to come. She donned a lightweight mail shirt that wouldn't help much against heavy blows, but also wouldn't hinder her speed. She bound her hair up tight against her head and slid the helmet into place. Her sword hung heavy at her waist. They were allowed two weapons. She preferred the simplicity of staffs, but it wouldn't be enough. Many of the others would choose spears, but her greatest skills resided with the knives.

Running her fingers over the curved blade, she caught her reflection in the shining steel. Glacial eyes stared back at her.

Cold was better than dead.

"Come on." She sheathed her knife and pushed the tent flap aside.

Maiya walked on her right and Pierre joined them on her left.

Laughter erupted around them as they pushed through the crowd.

"Look who's trying to play soldier," someone yelled.

Another was bolder. "Girl, you don't need to die to get our attention. I'd be happy to give you some back at my tent."

Etta scowled but otherwise ignored them. She had no intention of dying. The walk to the newly built arena stretched out before her as the catcalls faded from her mind. All she could see was the wooden rail and the place behind it. An open space was surrounded by barriers and platforms. Wooden structures spotted the arena, built to make the fights more entertaining.

Etta's bottom lip curved up. It was perfect. She could do this.

Placing her hands on the smooth wood of the rail, Etta leaped over it and turned back to Maiya and Pierre. Opening her mouth to say something, the words failed her, and she closed it again.

Pierre gave her a fierce stare before ushering his daughter away. They would be watching. Along with everyone in the kingdom.

The men standing in the center of the arena glared at her and she faltered when she saw them. A few laughed, others ignored her entirely.

A horn sounded and the people lining the rails began to cheer. The fighters turned toward the raised platform as the king stepped up, followed by the queen and their three children.

The king kept all emotion from his face as he scanned the ranks of warriors, most of whom would be dead by tournament’s end. The queen couldn't look at them at all.

Alex seemed conflicted, almost scared. As a boy, he'd never cared for blood.

Princess Camille looked very much like her father. She was more suited to follow in his footsteps than her older brother.

Tyson had a child's excitement in his eyes. But then, he'd probably never seen anyone die.

Etta watched them, searching for something, anything, to fuel her hatred. They gave it to her. It was easy for them.

None of this was supposed to be easy.

Hiding at the back of the group, she waited.

"Today is a great day." The king's voice boomed. "A protector is an oath-man. It's a sacred partnership between king and warrior."

Etta clenched her teeth. It was so sacred that the king tried to kill his own oath-man for his magic.

The king continued. "To all of the men here to fight today, you are the best our kingdom has. Each and every one of you has an unmatched honor." He motioned to Prince Alexandre.

Alex stepped forward, clearing his throat nervously. Then his nervousness disappeared and a cool mask settled over his features.

"Good luck." He flicked his hand toward the warriors, barely even sparing a glance. "Let the first battle commence."

Thankful she wasn't first, Etta followed the others out of the arena to wait. A large man in full armor passed, and a shiver ran through her. She clutched the hilt of her sword at her waist.

The first battle ended in minutes and two guards dragged the body away. The second went much the same way. In the third, both men ended up killing each other.

When Etta’s name was called, she barely heard it over the pounding in her ears. The drums began as they had for each pairing before her. The beat vibrated in her chest, matching the heavy rhythm of her heart. The blood-thirsty crowd yelled and chanted as she stepped forward. Lost in her own mind as she walked by a trail of blood, she barely heard the laughter and jeers thrown her way.

Her opponent dwarfed her and wore a guard’s uniform. He’d been trained at the palace. The thought comforted her. Her earliest training had been there as well. In the years since, she'd studied the guards, knew their patterns for one day she knew she'd be among them.

Normal armor had weaknesses—the neck, the joints. The king tried to fix those, having armor made for his guards that protected their most vulnerable spots.

It was brilliant craftsmanship, but it sacrificed free movement and speed. Etta might have been thought foolish for her light armor, but she’d exit the arena with her life because of it.

The guard faced her. The drums stopped. The crowd leaned forward.

He bowed to her, and she hated that she had to kill him, even if he was a guard.

She inclined her head and drew her sword. He attacked, shifting his weight onto his front foot to jab his sword forward.

She knocked it aside and cursed herself for being on the defense right at the start. He lunged and their swords crashed together, his strength against her will. She spun to the side and ducked another blow with a low roll. Popping back up to her feet, she ran, ignoring the laughter of the spectators as she ducked behind a barrier.

His footsteps thudded against the ground as he searched her out. Sheathing her sword, she pulled her knife and tucked it between her teeth as she reached up with both arms to grip the top of the barrier and pull herself up.

Crouching low, knife in hand, she waited for him to get near before flinging herself off and slamming into him. He roared as her knife bounced off his armor and he flung her off. She took his helmet with her, revealing a scarred face, the face of a man who'd been in many battles before.

He ran to where he'd laid his spear and dropped his sword to retrieve it. Etta grinned, knowing she must look crazed. The guards loved their spears and Etta loved that they were easier to beat than a sword.

He ran toward her and lunged. She ducked away from the spear and spun to deliver a hard kick to his back. He stumbled forward but didn't fall.

"I'm going to gut you, girl," the guard yelled, moving slowly.

If there hadn't been eyes on them, she could've bested him in an instant with her magic.

He backed her up against the barrier and she looked for a way out. His knee came up and knocked the knife from her fingers. He brought his spear forward and she dropped low. The spearhead embedded itself in the wood, stunning him for a moment. Before he could yank it free, she sprang back up and jumped to kick both her feet at his chest. He fell back and she pulled his spear free, not hesitating before spinning it around like she'd done with her pole against her father so many times before.

Her father's voice entered her mind. When it's time to take the killing blow, hesitancy will end you. There is no mercy in war.

The guard's hands reached for the spear, but she knocked them away seconds before plunging the tip into his neck. Blood spurted past the steel head and she gave one final shove before letting go and stepping back.

The crowd stayed silent for a long moment before they roared in approval. Approval of her, of what she did. Her hands shook, so she clasped them together and turned to the royal family. Their eyes were wide. Her armor didn't hide the fact that she was a woman, but her size hid her skill.

The king rose once the crowd quieted to hear him speak. "Congratulations. Please, remove your helmet and give us the honor of your name."

She obeyed. Her sweat-soaked hair clung to her head as she pulled the helmet off.

"I am Etta."

"Do you have a last name, Etta?"

"No."

The king accepted that, but the prince sprang from his throne and his eyes burned into her.

Her curse tugged at her, wanting to be near him.

She sucked in a breath and shifted her eyes away.

If she won, would he accept a woman as his protector?

They were going to find out.

6

Etta heard no remarks as she walked back to her tent. Exhaustion weighed her down, making every step harder than the one before it. The crowd parted for her, a stunned wariness among them. Etta wasn't supposed to survive the first round. Certainly not against one of the crown's own guards.

Maiya and Pierre followed at a distance, for which Etta was grateful. She did not have any words for them. She craved the solitude of her woods, the calm company of Vérité. Her magic pulsed in her fingertips, wanting an escape. Fingertips that were now stained red.

When Etta pushed into her tent, she could still hear the commotion from the arena. A new fight started. Her breath wheezed in her chest and she clutched at her armor as the adrenaline left her body and reality came crashing in. She was alive. The first of four fights were over and there she was, standing tall.

Only, she didn't feel like she'd won anything.

Tears stung her eyes as she tried to lift the chain mail off her shoulders. Maiya and Pierre entered quietly.

"I can't get it off," Etta yelled. "Get it off me!"

Maiya moved toward her silently and gripped the bottom of the mail shirt, sliding it up. Blood ran between the links. Etta's clothing underneath had sweat sticking it to her skin.

"Father," Maiya said softly, signaling him with her eyes.

He lowered his head and left the way he'd come.

Etta dropped to her knees in front of a basin of water and plunged her hands in. Blood swirled on the surface as she scrubbed. A sob escaped her throat and she didn't stop until her skin was raw.

It wasn't deer's blood this time.

How was she supposed to fulfill the curse when she'd be asked to do this time and again? Years ago, when she was barely more than a child, she'd thought it would be better to be dead than to kill for her enemies. She wouldn't have been the first curse bearer in her line to consider it.

But she was not them. The day her father told her of the curse was the day she'd decided she'd be the one to break it. First, she needed to obey it.

Maiya laid her hands on the back of Etta's neck and calmness flowed into her as she bowed her head, trying to steady her breathing. The girl's healing magic acted as a tonic to her tarnished soul.

Etta let her power flow in harmony with Maiya's, a bright green bud sprouting through the dull and lifeless ground. Her heart calmed and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she’d regained control of her own emotions.

Etta finished cleaning herself as best she could with the small basin and changed into a simple dress. After her fight, she doubted anyone would underestimate her anymore, but it wouldn't hurt for them to see her as just a girl.

Maiya finished putting flowers in Etta's hair as Pierre returned.

"Come with me." He led them from the tent, but not back toward the crowds. Instead, they went further into town, not stopping until they reached the healer's shop.

"Father," Etta gasped, running to him as soon as the door slammed shut.

He gathered her into his arms, squeezing her tightly in relief. They'd never been very affectionate, but for the first time since before her fight, Etta felt safe.

"I couldn't stay away," he said.

"But what if someone recognizes you?"

"I know how to keep out of sight." He released her. "I saw you fight today."

"I didn't hesitate."

"No, my daughter. I am so very proud of you."

He'd never uttered those words before and the strength she'd felt before the fight began to return. "I wish I could return to the forest."

His face fell. "This curse takes everything we love." He cupped her cheek. "Don't hold on to the forest. Don't wish after me. It will only lead to despair."

"Maybe I can beat it."

"No, Persinette. It cannot be overcome, only endured."

"But you don't have to fulfill it. You're cursed and you live in the forest, away from the palace."

He closed his eyes briefly. "And I feel like I'm dying. If I could be at the king's side, I would. Every day apart takes something more from me. I am in pain, Etta, and so very tired. I want more for you than a life of misery."

"We should be returning lest anyone miss us." Pierre stepped forward.

Her father nodded. "I am afraid our lives are very much without hope, but don't let them beat you. Keep vigilant. Never trust a Durand and try to find some happiness anywhere you can."

"Why do you sound like you're saying goodbye forever?" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Because your path is only beginning. It isn't safe for us to speak again, but during the fights to come, know that I am watching. I am here."

She shook her head. "I'm going to find a way, Father. I'm going to free us both."

"Don't spend your life working for something that can't be done." He stepped away from her and she felt Pierre's firm grip on her arm.

She stopped at the threshold of the door. "Believe in me, Father."

No words followed her as she stepped into the street and made her way back to the place where it was all beginning. She dried her face and vowed that she would see her father again.

* * *

If the first fight had been a raging battle, the second was a pure slaughter. The compact man she'd been paired with had no hope. She disarmed him only minutes into the fight and held out her sword as he lunged for her with his fists. He impaled himself on the blade without even a thrust from her. His eyes met hers in surprised anguish and she held his gaze, giving him that bit of respect.

He didn't deserve to die.

None of them did.

When she faced the king for the second time, her face transformed into a cool mask of indifference. She dropped her sword to the ground as the crowd began to cheer at her back. She hated them for it.

The king didn't speak this time and the queen’s face held a sickly pallor. Prince Alexandre leaned back in his seat wearily as if this tournament was taking a toll on him personally. Etta narrowed her eyes. He'd never had to look death in the face and end up delivering the killing blow.

"Well done, Etta." Princess Camille spoke after a few moments of silence. She clutched her cane as she stood, her mangled foot dragging as she stepped forward.

Etta didn't respond, knowing a thank you was expected for the compliment. She refused to be grateful for anything. The killing skill was not something to be proud of.

Camille waited for an acknowledgment. Etta’s gut churned. She'd heard the stories of the cruel princess who wanted nothing more than vengeance on the magic folk for her disability. On the night the purge began, a guard with magic took it upon himself to direct his power at the princess’s horse in the moments before his death. The horse threw her to the ground and trampled her leg as he pranced wildly with the magical energy.

Dark eyes narrowed, but she gave a jerk of her head, dismissing Etta.

Etta breathed out and scanned the crowd, looking for any sign of her father, knowing there would be none. He was a ghost. Undetectable.

The killing move was not a shock as it had been after her first fight. She didn't break down. There were no tears. She steeled herself, ice running through her veins, and let the anger take over.

She didn't return to her tent right away. Instead, she stayed for the next fight. A mountainous man stepped into the arena. He held a mace in one hand and an imposing broadsword hung at his waist.

A hush fell over the crowd as a spry man in black armor walked up and faced off against the larger man. Instant recognition lit in Etta's mind. He was the guard who'd chased her through the streets only the week before. If he somehow recognized her, she was as good as dead. She'd used her magic on him.

She stepped close to the wooden risers where the crowd was cheering and pressed herself into the shadows.

The man wore no helmet and his long blond hair fell freely around his handsome face. He nodded to his opponent and took up his fighting stance—bent knees. Both hands tightly gripping the hilt of his sword.

The battle began. It was strength against speed. Etta clenched her fists, at war with herself over who she wanted to win. The young man swung his sword in a graceful arc as he spun and ducked away from the mace whipping toward him. There was a beauty in the way he fought.

All movement seemed to stop in an instant. No wind. No carrying sounds. Etta narrowed her eyes. Magic. She could feel it.

The black-armored man ducked behind the barrier, waiting. The other man shifted. If he played it right, he could end this as soon as the other man came back into sight.

He stepped forward, turning to one side, just as the other man sprang out and pierced his foe where his armor failed to meet his helmet at the neck.

Etta didn't watch him go down. Her eyes were glued to the victor. His hand flicked at his side and a breeze blew through once again as if it had never stopped.

She'd seen enough. As the man went to receive his accolades from the king, Etta ducked around the corner, out of sight of the people pouring from the stands, and waited.

When he left the arena, she stepped out to block his path. His easy smile dropped at the sight of her.

"Do you recognize me?" she asked.

He nodded.

She leaned forward and dropped her voice. "I know what you can do."

A breath hissed out between his teeth.

"Come," she ordered.

He didn't argue as he followed her.

Maiya and Pierre were nowhere to be found, so they had the tent to themselves. She struggled with her mail but managed to remove it herself this time and then knelt to wash.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He hesitated.

"You know what I can do." She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not going to turn you in."

"Edmund," he finally said.

"Feel free to remove your armor. We need to talk."

He brushed back his sweaty hair and considered her with dazzling blue eyes. Coming to a decision, he began to remove pieces of his armor, sagging in relief as he did. It took a while before he stood in front of her in only his dirty tunic and trousers.

"Now that you've seen me," she started. "Are you going to turn me in?"

He leveled her with a stare. "I would never."

Before they could go on, Maiya entered in a rush, stopping when she saw Etta's company.

"Sorry," she squeaked.

"Maiya, could you keep watch outside? I can't be interrupted." Etta pleaded with her eyes.

Maiya nodded and left them once again.

"I can keep us from being overheard," Edmund said.

Just as before in the arena, all moving air came to a halt and the noises from outside disappeared.

"That's what you did in the arena." Etta's eyes widened.

"My power isn't very strong, but I can control the winds. When I'm fighting, the only good it does me is to keep me focused. I pushed all the distractions in the crowd away, allowing me to hear every tiny movement of my opponent."

"But you're a guard. You work for the king."

He shrugged. "I was raised by a man who has no idea of my magic. He works in the palace and that has been my home for years."

"Yet now you want to be the prince's protector."

"Alex ... I mean the prince, is a good man." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as if the words physically hurt to say. "I don't want one of those brutes by his side." He gestured in the direction of the arena.

Etta bit her lip, watching him closely. Something was off. There was something he wasn't saying. When his eyes met hers, a hint of fear sparked in them.

She shook the feeling away.

"I've been watching your fights.” He scratched the back of his neck. “The king must be terrified."

"What would he have to be scared of?"

"You might just do it. He put enough men he trusted in this tournament to keep an unknown factor from coming out alive, but you're different."

Etta's mouth pressed into a flat line. To win, she'd have to kill Edmund, and something inside of her knew he could have been an ally.

Too bad they'd never get the chance to find out.

* * *

Edmund scrutinized Etta, and she wondered if he was looking for weaknesses. If both of them made it through their next fights, they would face each other in the final melee.

"Why are you here, Etta?" he asked. "Why do you want to serve the prince?"

"I don't." The words were out before she could stop them.

A growl ripped through his throat and he lunged for her, his hands holding her in place by her shirt. "Are you here to harm Alex?"

"You mean the prince who sits by his father's side while he hunts down our kind?”

"You know nothing. I would lay down my life for Alexandre Durand before I let any harm come to him."

Grass started growing at his feet, but he was ready for it this time. He released her with a shove and ripped a knife from its sheath to slash at the new growth. Etta pulled her magic back, her chest heaving with heavy breaths.

His loyalty to the prince struck something in her, bringing up the same loyalty she'd once felt for the same man, only he'd been a boy still. Trying to hate that Alex was like trying to catch a single drop of rain in a storm. Impossible and overwhelming.

She despised the king and wanted nothing more than to be free of his family forever, but the boy who'd held her hand as they watched her mother's body drain of blood had never left her. He'd been the only friend she'd ever had.

Her shoulders dropped and Edmund relaxed his stance, letting his magic fade away. Sounds from outside the tent drifted in once again and the heat was pushed away by a slight breeze that lifted the flap at the entrance.

Maiya's voice rang out in surprise. "Your Majesty," she squeaked.

Etta snapped to attention and peered toward Edmund with panic in her eyes. "What is he doing here?"

Edmund shook his head. "He can't find me here. He already questions my closeness with the prince. He'll think we're conspiring."

Footsteps sounded closer, stopping right outside the tent.

"Too late," Etta whispered.

The tent flap shifted, but before anyone entered, Edmund crossed to her and pulled her against him before slamming his mouth down on hers.

Etta froze.

"Play along," Edmund whispered against her lips.

She tried to loosen her lips and brought her arms up to wrap around his neck. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. She'd never kissed anyone before and Edmund's lips were soft and warm.

There was an amused chuckle behind them and then a throat cleared. Edmund broke away with a sheepish grin on his face. He turned to the king and bowed.

"Your Majesty." Throwing a wink to Alex behind his father, he bowed again. "My prince."

Alex didn't respond, but the king laughed again and placed a hand on Edmund's shoulder. "Celebrating, are we?"

Edmund nodded to Etta, and she gritted her teeth as she too bowed. The only reaction she got for the manly gesture was a raised eyebrow from the prince.

Edmund pulled her against his side and when she tried to protest, his grip tightened. "You know how it is, sire. Fighting riles the blood and you need to find yourself a good dame to—"

"We get the picture," Alex growled.

Etta looked between the two, noticing the curious glint in Edmund's eye and the scowl marring the prince's face.

"Go get cleaned up," the king said to Edmund. "You'll dine with us tonight, but first I need to have a talk with this girl." He turned to his son. "Alexandre, wait outside."

The prince opened his mouth as if to protest, but sighed instead and did as he was told.

Alone with the king, the hair on Etta’s arms stood on end. She'd never been so close to her enemy. The congeniality from moments ago vanished and fire blazed in his eyes.

"I know who you are, girl."

The air left her chest, creating a void where feeling should live.

"I am Etta," she said. "Daughter of a farmer in the northern part of Gaule."

"You think you can lie to me?" He leaned toward her. "I am king. Viktor Basile was seen in town today."

Her heart froze. "I ..."

"I know you know the name." He narrowed his eyes. "Persinette."

Her face turned to stone as fear morphed into loathing. This man had no right to utter her name or her father’s. Denial sat on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back. It would do no good.

"What happens now?"

Surprise flashed across the king's face. He hadn't expected her to give in so easily. He tapped a finger against his chin. "I can't kill you. Yet. You can't just disappear from the tournament. But this is my warning to you, if you somehow survive, you will never serve my son. I know about the curse, but Alexandre will never be a part of it. Your grave is waiting, Persinette. Your wretched magic won't save you." He walked toward the door and a guard held open the flap. Without looking back, he issued one final warning. "You're being watched so I wouldn't flee if I were you."

His words shook her, fueling the rage inside her. He'd meant to sow fear, but he didn't know her. Etta did not fear death. She feared a life in chains. A life cursed.

Her hands were shaking as she left to find Pierre. She had to get a message to her father. He needed to go back to the forest.

Maiya was waiting outside and to Etta's shock, the prince stood with her.

He turned toward her with a smirk. "You did not tell me when we met that you would fight to be near me."

Etta brushed his ill-timed joke aside and looked at her friend. She grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away to tell her everything that transpired. "Find your father. He must tell mine to leave tonight."

She started running and Etta was glad for her haste. The prince was still waiting for her when she returned. He watched her expectantly.

"You would have laughed in my face." She dared him to contradict her.

"No. Something tells me you can handle yourself." He stepped closer to look at her. "You intrigue me."

"I intrigue you?"

"And worry me." He held his thumb and index finger up. "Just a tiny bit."

"Why is that?"

"Edmund is the warrior who is supposed to win this and I don't want him to die."

"Is that a threat?"

"No." He began to walk backward and spread his arms wide, a grin stretching his face. "It is not a threat, fierce Etta. It's a compliment."

His guards who'd been hidden moments before formed up around him and they were gone, leaving Etta more confused than ever. She ached to go with him, tied to him as she was. Did he feel the tug of the curse? Or was she alone in that as well?

7

Alex considered the warriors who'd made it to the third round of the trials. Most had either been eliminated or fled. Five men stood before him and one woman. They were all talented, all unique. Maybe they were all even worthy of being his champion.

But only two held his interest.

He'd always thought Edmund would win. He'd never seen a man more skilled with a sword. He'd wanted him to win. The man had been with him since they were both just thirteen-year-old lads. He was the only guard brave enough to befriend the prince, to spar with him and drink with him.

But that girl. He shook his head. No, he didn't want her to kill his friend, but he didn't think he could stand to see her fall either. He was impressed she hadn't run, awed by her skill. He knew all the highborn ladies in the realm, the only ones who'd be able to afford the kind of training she'd so obviously had. But he couldn't place her.

He got the distinct impression she wanted nothing more than to make a fool of his father. To be the woman who bested his brightest fighters. To weaken him. When she looked at the king, there was something simmering beneath the surface of her blank look.

"Congratulations," Alex finally said. "You have made it this far. By today's end, only three will remain. Tomorrow there will be a final fight. Chaz and Ward, you're up first."

He looked back to his father, who gave a nod of approval. Alex didn't want to be there. He didn't want this to be happening at all. But sometimes there was no other road.

His mother had not joined them for the day's fights, begging sickness instead. She was a kind soul, not suited for the husband she'd been given to. Even Tyson's excitement had waned after that first day. He hadn't shown up to join them and instead was probably hiding in his tunnels.

Camille was there, stone-faced as ever. Nothing rattled her.

Alex sat in the wide-backed throne next to his father and sister as the first fighters lined up across from each other. His posture feigned indifference, but he wanted nothing more than to look away.

Only, princes didn't get to hide from the things done in their name. They had to face the consequences of royalty. His hands gripped the arms of the chair as the fight began. The two were evenly matched and continued to fight until Marcus got lucky when Chaz stumbled back. Ward arced his sword over his head, slicing through the neck of his foe.

He raised his arms in celebration.

Bile rose in Alex's throat and he swallowed it down as the body was dragged from the arena. He didn't hear the words Ward spoke to the king as he watched Edmund walk out for his fight.

This one was much quicker and less bloody. Edmund knew how to make the killing blow in the easiest and most humane way. He didn't enjoy the fight as so many others seemed to, but he would forever do what was necessary to protect the prince. To him, that meant earning the title of champion.

He had a goodness in a palace that didn't seem to know what that meant anymore.

Alex breathed a sigh of relief as Edmund issued a single bow and left. One more for the day. But it was the one he'd been dreading the most.

When Etta walked out, the crowd roared. Commoners were fickle. She'd been a laughing stock only days ago and was now heralded as a favorite. Her golden hair rested against her mail-clad back in a braid. Two green stripes were painted across her face, giving her a feral look. She was a warrior, come to prove herself.

But as her eyes met the prince's, they narrowed. Fear gripped his chest. Was he about to see her end? He wanted to jump down to protect her, but that wasn’t how this worked. And he’d seen her skill. She’d probably just quarter him instead.

A wiry fellow named Gray came to face Etta. He had at least twenty years on her. He'd trained in the mountains before the wards were in place, cutting them off from Gaule. The mountain warriors were legendary.

Etta gave the king a mocking bow and Alex heard a growl rumble in his father's chest. He glanced sideways to catch the predatory stare coming from the throne. Did his father feel threatened by a mere girl?

Gray took up a fighting stance and Etta crouched low. She closed her eyes as if needing to listen rather than see.

Alex leaned forward, pulled by some invisible force.

Gray made the first move, lunging forward. Etta spun out of the way and the two began to dance, their blades crashing together as their feet shuffled.

At first, it seemed they were evenly matched, but then Etta ran. Her feet carried her swiftly to the other side of the arena with Gray in pursuit. She took her advantage and spun on him with a jump-kick he wasn’t prepared for. He flew back into the dirt and rolled aside to avoid her blade.

Jumping to his feet, he slashed his sword so quickly, she barely blocked it, and the dance began again.

It was a brilliant show.

"It's a shame," the king began. "That we can't keep them both. They'd make great additions to the guard."

Camille snorted in laughter. "You'd make her a royal guard?"

Alex ground his teeth together, unable to take his eyes from the fight.

"Camille, dear, sometimes you have to recognize talent."

A note in his father's voice sounded off, but Alex was too entranced by Etta as she kicked off the barrier and flipped. Gray was waiting for her and the next moments happened in slow motion.

Alex stood and walked to the edge of the stage before even realizing what he was doing.

The tip of Gray's sword pierced Etta's chain mail. She let out a cry and dropped to her knees, her sword falling from her grasp.

Pain shot through Alex. His heart thudded in his chest as he clutched his side that now radiated pain. His eyes found Etta again. She laid on her back, looking up at Gray as he prepared to take the final blow. He raised his sword. When he brought it down, Etta rolled to the side and whipped a knife from a sheath at her waist. Lunging up, she jabbed it into Gray's leg. He fell, screaming.

She reached for her sword and jumped to her feet before dragging it across his neck in one fluid movement.

His body stilled as his blood stained the surrounding ground.

Etta let the sword fall. Her knees buckled, and she tilted forward.

Alex, still in pain, jumped from the raised platform into the arena to sink to his knees at her side. She rolled onto her back, breathing heavily.

"I'm okay," she said, giving him a tentative smile. She'd never smiled at him before and as he pressed his hands against her shallow wound, he feared she never would again. Others ran out to help, but he didn’t want to let her go.

"Your Highness," someone yelled to him. "Come away." His guards pulled him away from her as the healer arrived. They lifted him to his feet as he stood in a trance.

A young girl with caramel skin and ebony corkscrew curls peered up at him with soft eyes. "My father and I will care for her."

Edmund appeared at his side and an image of his friend kissing Etta flashed in his mind. He wanted to throw himself over her protectively.

"Alex," Edmund said into his ear. "We must leave."

The crowd pushed in and Alex finally stood.

"Are you hurt?" Edmund gestured curiously to where Alex still pressed a hand against the pain in his side.

"I ... I don't know what happened."

Edmund glanced between Etta, who was being helped to her feet, and Alex. His eyes held unspoken questions. Questions Alex wouldn't have known the answers to.

Edmund pulled him away and started toward his tent. The pain got worse with every step Alex took.

8

A scream tore through Etta's chest as she was carried through the camp. Pierre laid her down on the small pallet in her tent and another shock of pain jolted her.

Instinct had her pressing a hand to her side. It came away sticky with blood. Pushing her breath past her clenched teeth, she stared up at the ceiling. One. Two. Three.

Dammit, counting was no help.

She couldn't picture the moment Gray died. Everything after she was stabbed became a blur of motion. Maybe that was a mercy. She'd seen and done enough in the last couple days to haunt her for a lifetime.

This was not her. She'd spent her life training to be a protector. Not a killer. Maybe they were one and the same?

"Ahhh." She clutched the edges of the pallet, rocked by dizziness, as everything went fuzzy before her eyes.

"Breathe, Etta." Maiya's calm voice came closer as she knelt down. "You're going to be fine."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to fight again tomorrow with your guts spilling out of your side."

Maiya smiled. Smiled! Etta wanted to strangle her. The pain sent bolts of anger through her mind.

Etta groaned as Maiya began to remove her mail shirt.

"This is going to hurt," she said. "But I need you to raise your arms."

Etta screamed as her skin pulled where she'd been wounded, but she managed to raise her arms enough for Maiya to wrestle off her mail and the shirt beneath it, leaving Etta with only the cloth she'd used to bind her breasts for the fight.

Maiya ran a soft hand over the planes of Etta's stomach, sending pulses of warmth into her skin. The pain began to abate. She closed her eyes when her fingers found the edges of the gash. The skin began to stitch together. Etta stared in amazement as her wound healed. When it was closed, all that remained was the blood streaking across her skin.

Maiya opened her eyes and pulled back her hand. "I'm going to leave the bruising. If anyone asks, that is what felled you, but the sword only nicked your clothing."

Etta sat up and stared at her friend. "Your magic is so much more useful than mine."

Maiya laughed, getting to her feet. "One day there will be use for all of it."

Before Etta could respond, Pierre's voice sounded outside. "Your Highness, you can't just go in there."

Apparently, a prince doesn't have to listen because he barged in moments later and froze, his eyes finding Etta. "You're okay."

"Of course I am," she snapped.

His eyes widened as he took her in and then Edmund joined them.

"Etta," Maiya whispered, gesturing to her lack of clothing.

Etta scrambled for her shirt, only realizing how much blood was soaked into it when she put it on.

"Whose blood is that?" Alex demanded.

"Obviously not mine." Etta stood up as if to prove she was fine but stumbled.

"But I saw him stab you."

"Your eyes deceive you, Your Highness. Or maybe they just show you what you want to see."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're an educated man. Think about it." She picked up her mail and carried it to the basin of water to clean it. "Tell me, my prince, do you visit all of your warriors?"

"I ... I just came to see if you'd be withdrawing or fighting tomorrow."

"I don't withdraw." She dropped the mail and turned to face him. "I'm going to win. You can tell your father he bet against the wrong girl."

"My father?"

"And when I win, I won't be so easy to get rid of. Tell him he doesn't need to send his son to keep me in line. Because it won't work. I don't bow down to threats."

Confusion crossed the prince's face, but she didn't believe for a second that he wasn't in his father's inner circle.

Edmund glanced between the two nervously. Her victory would mean his failure.

Alex opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Where were the jokes or pretty smiles he was known for? Gone. Cool aloofness sat in their place as he turned on his heel and left the tent.

Edmund hesitated, his eyes finding Maiya. He pointed to her in question and Etta nodded.

"So you were stabbed?" He rubbed his chin. "In the very same place Alex had pains."

"Out with it, Edmund,” Etta said.

"Be careful."

He followed the prince and Etta went back to cleaning her mail in silence.

* * *

They made a show of the final fight. It was entertainment on its grandest stage. Etta stretched her muscles as she stood off to the side of the arena. Her entire body ached from three days of fighting men who were at least twice her size. But she'd made it. Her father would be proud.

She scanned the crowd as she’d done before every fight, looking for his familiar face. The rational part of her hoped he’d fled after her warning about the king. It wasn't safe.

She'd barely thought about what would happen beyond this fight. The king said he wouldn't let her become champion. Would Alex have any say? Would he want her after she'd killed his man?

Her eyes found Edmund's. He gave her a toothy grin, seemingly unfazed by the events about to unfold.

Loud, booming drums beat slow and steady. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. The rhythm was punctuated by chants from the crowd.

Banners waved in the breeze. Would Edmund use his powers today? She wished more than anything she could use hers.

The three competitors had already been introduced. Edmund was the favorite, loved by the king and the people alike, with his brilliant smile, easy charm, and deadly skill. Etta was the underdog, beloved and hated at the same time. Ward, the third competitor, was the villain. He was a hulking brute with a pox-marked face and a snarl on his lips.

Together, they represented the three tenants of a good warrior. Cunning. Speed. And strength.

They were about to see which one of those prevailed.

Edmund walked toward her, all hint of a smile gone from his lips. He looked at her somberly and bowed his head to speak softly. "I'm sorry we met this way."

"This wasn't how we met."

He barked out a laugh that was devoid of humor. "Then I'm sorry this is how we end."

Something cracked inside of her. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"I think I've always been afraid."

"Fear is a part of life when you are a child of the kingdom of Bela."

She reached for his hand and gave it one quick squeeze. "Forgive me for what I have to do today."

He nodded. "We do what we must. I only wanted the chance to protect Alex. If I am not the victor, promise me you will never leave his side. He is a good man surrounded by bad people."

She studied him for a long moment. His loyalty was constant, unwavering. She envied him. Dipping her head, she uttered, "I promise."

He blew out a breath. "We would have been great friends, you and I."

"If we weren't fated to kill each other."

"Fate has nothing to do with this. Only a king with a thirst for blood."

He backed away after giving her a glimpse into the man she was about to fight. A man who hated the king, but loved his son.

She fingered the knife in a sheath on her wrist and then felt for the solid weight of her sword.

Edmund walked into the arena first, twirling a spear, much to the delight of the crowd. He waved to them and smiled wide.

Ward lumbered after him, carrying a heavy iron sword and spear.

Etta was last. The stands shook as people stomped in time with the drums.

They quieted when the king stood. "Today we will name my son's protector. These three before me have battled the best warriors in the kingdom to be standing in for the final fight. Three enter, only one will survive. They fight for all of us, for the protection of Gaule, and for your prince."

Alex gripped the arms of his chair and leaned forward anxiously. Etta knew he'd be wishing for her death. Only then would his friend survive.

"Warriors," the king shouted. "We will honor you in death. Take your places."

The three formed a triangle. Etta bent her knees, ready for an immediate attack. The king raised a hand. When he dropped it, the fight could begin.

Ward charged first, going after Etta, the perceived weakest competitor. She spun out of the way and his sword hit nothing but air.

The noise around them dimmed and Etta glanced briefly at Edmund. He gave no indication that he was using magic.

Ward came at her again and Edmund jumped into the fight. His sword blocked Ward's swing, and they locked in a struggle of strength. Etta circled around behind Ward, but he spun, kicking a foot back to catch Edmund in the stomach. He went down hard.

Etta ducked another arc of his sword as he brought it down with one hand, his other gripping his spear. He jabbed it toward her and she jumped back. Then it became a battle of his strength verse her speed. He threw his spear aside so he could wrap a second hand around the hilt of his sword.

Etta swung out wide, using her sword to block his, as she turned to kick her leg out. Her foot collided with his stomach, but he barely budged.

Then Edmund was back. For a few moments, it was as if they were on the same side, both against Ward. Ward jabbed his sword toward Etta, catching it in her mail, but unable to plunge it in further as in that moment, Edmund made a killing blow. He pierced Ward's armor and jammed his sword in as far as it could go. Ward stumbled back and Edmund jumped out of the way. The sizable man went down, twitched once, and then fell still.

Etta stared at Edmund for a moment, her chest heaving. He shoved a hand through his sweaty blond hair. Neither wanted to make the first move. Edmund's sword was stuck in Ward. He lunged for his spear, spinning it between his hands. She’d seen him fight before. She’d never get past his spear with a knife. Her sword could knock it away with ease, but if she was forced to fight a man she respected, at least she'd make it a fair fight.

She dropped her sword, eying him to see if he'd make a grab for it. He didn't.

Walking toward Ward's discarded spear, she leaned down slowly.

Just like training. She breathed in. A spear was nothing more than a staff with an iron tip. She'd complained to her father about the hours they spent fighting with a useless weapon, but now it might be the thing that saved her life.

Issuing a short prayer of thanks to her father, she turned and faced Edmund. His expression was grim, his face dripping with sweat.

There was no one there but the two of them. Nothing but their spears.

Etta held the weapon aloft, waiting.

Edmund struck first, using his spear as she was, ignoring the pointed tip. She blocked him easily, pushing him back on his heels.

They slashed at each other, their weapons cracking together. It was the only sound either of them could hear other than their own frantic breathing. Edmund's cloak of stillness continued to hang around them. She searched for any sign of distraction in him, but he used his magic as if it was just another part of his battle plan.

He jabbed, and she spun to hit it away before cracking her spear against his back as her father had done so many times to her.

He didn't go down. He turned to face her once more, and she leaped, delivering a swift kick to his torso. He fell, rolling as he did before popping up once again. His style mixed strength with quick feet. A deadly combination. The thought struck her that maybe Edmund deserved to become the prince's champion. He was loyal and brave and skilled.

The one thing he wasn't was cursed. He was tied to the prince by love, not magic.

But she didn't want to die. And the only way for Edmund to win was with her death.

She dove into the fight more avidly than before. Every strike of his was blocked, every move anticipated.

This was not how she ended, a puppet of the king.

Edmund slowed as exhaustion took hold and Etta pressed on. Something inside her told her Edmund would win any battle against the great Viktor Basile.

His magic allowed him to concentrate, but it was no real advantage.

His advantage had been that he was fighting for something he believed in.

Well, she was fighting for a greater reason than that. Revenge. Hatred. Because she had no other choice.

He went for her stomach and she grabbed his staff, throwing hers to the ground, and twisted. His fingers held fast until she jerked it back toward him, jabbing him in the stomach. The breath was knocked from his lungs and he fell back, releasing her.

Etta spun the spear around, angling the tip at Edmund's chest where he lay panting on the ground. She met his eyes. He deserved that much.

The sounds of the crowd began to close in around them once again.

Etta narrowed her eyes in question.

"If I'm to die," Edmund explained. "I don't want it to be in silence."

He raised his chin, ready to face his fate. His words from earlier entered her mind. Fate has nothing to do with this. Only a king with a thirst for blood.

Etta put a foot on Edmund's chest to keep him down and raised her gaze to the king. He stood on his platform, gripping the rail in front of him in anticipation. Edmund was a favorite, but that didn't mean the king's desire for a gruesome ending was any less.

Etta's chest ached, her stomach churning with disgust. This wasn't her. She didn't kill good people. Her hands had too much blood on them already.

"What are you waiting for?" someone in the crowd yelled.

"Kill!" another screamed.

"Finish this," the king finally commanded.

He met her stare, a smirk turning up one corner of his mouth. She knew that if she made this kill, no one would be leaving this fight alive. The king made it very clear she would never be champion.

"Etta," Edmund said, his voice quivering. "I'm ready."

"I'm not," she whispered.

She lowered the spear as the crowd howled in disappointment.

"I'm not going to kill you, Edmund."

Relief flooded his face, mixed with confusion.

She leaned down, extending a hand. "What's the point?"

He clasped her hand and hauled himself to his feet. "I don't know if you're really stupid, or really brave." He jerked his head toward the king who was climbing from his platform. The royal guards entered the arena. "He won't let this happen."

Etta shrugged. "What's done is done."

The guards marched toward them first, followed by the king. They surrounded Etta and Edmund, their swords drawn.

Etta's hands were shaking. She felt pressure on one of them and glanced down to see Edmund holding it.

Alex joined his father in front of them. He stared at Edmund and Etta's clasped hands with a furrowed brow, but it was covered with the pure relief on his face to have Edmund alive.

"Guards," the king ordered. "Restrain her."

A strong grip ripped Etta from Edmund.

"No," Alex protested.

His father turned to him. "Son, it is time I tell you and everyone else who this girl really is."

Etta bucked and kicked against the guards as they took her knife and held her arms in their iron holds.

"People of Gaule," the king raised his voice, facing the confused crowd. "Etta -"

His words were cut off as an arrow flew toward him, embedding its shaft in his throat. Chaos erupted as the crowd tried to get as far away as possible while their king crumpled to the ground, blood gurgling from his lips.

Etta was released as the guards ran toward their dying ruler. Alex dropped down beside him, holding his head in his lap. He looked up at the guards and pointed.

"It came from that way. Go."

Three of them ran off to find the attacker.

Edmund joined his friend, but Etta couldn't move.

Then she heard her name. "Etta! Etta!" Maiya ran across the arena. "It's your father. You must come now."

The king forgotten, Etta streaked after her friend, her protesting muscles not enough to stop her from getting to her father's side.

9

Pierre hovered over her father when Etta arrived. He'd collapsed near a crop of trees on the far side of the arena. People stopped to gawk, but Pierre held them back.

Etta crashed to her knees as her father tried to lift his head.

"Persinette," he whispered.

She leaned closer and took his hand. "I'm here, Father."

"Persinette, the King knew of your magic." He let his head fall back. "I was cursed to protect him, but I chose. You can choose. Protecting you was more important."

Etta's gaze snagged on the familiar bow laying nearby. She looked back to her father, shaking her head as tears poured down her cheeks. No blood stained his skin, but in the same spot where he'd shot the king, Viktor’s skin glowed red.

Etta put a hand on her father's chest and bent her head. "Your curse is broken now, Father."

He smiled weakly.

"Etta." Maiya appeared at her side. "The prince comes."

"Find another way to break your curse, Persinette." Her father heaved a wet sigh. "I was wrong. You can’t live your life chained to them. You’ve always been meant for more." They were the words she'd longed to hear during their many hours of training. She'd wanted to know he believed in her. Only at the end could he truly see.

As the guard's footsteps came closer, Etta scrambled to her feet and wiped her face. Prince Alexandre's guards pushed through the crowd and then he was there with Edmund at his side.

Alex took in the sight of her father and his eyes widened.

Her father stared back at the prince.

"Viktor Basile," Alex said under his breath as if his name were a curse.

His red eyes were the only indication that his father had just died.

Alex stepped closer before turning to look at Etta. "Already doing good work for me, Etta. I see you found my father's killer."

"I am sorry for your loss, Your Highness." Etta stepped back and lowered her head to hide her tears.

To her surprise, Alex crouched down next to her father and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's been a long time, Viktor."

Bile rose in Etta's throat. She wanted to demand the prince stop touching him. It wasn't his right. The Durands ruined her family, killed her mother, and now even took her father.

And yet, they still held the noose around her neck. They just didn't know it.

Alex didn't ask Viktor why he did it. He knew. They all did. Viktor Basile was the man who'd protected them from La Dame and been hunted as a reward. He'd been the king's greatest friend turned most horrifying nightmare.

"Is the king dead?" Etta's father asked, his voice fading.

Alex nodded.

He closed his eyes. "Then I am free."

His body shuddered as he took one final breath and then went still.

Alex bowed his head, and a cry broke free of Etta. She stumbled forward as the ground beneath her feet began to shake. A groan tore through the earth. Townsfolk began to run as the hastily built arena nearby broke apart and crumbled.

The guards shoved Alex ahead and his eyes darted around frantically as Etta watched the world fall apart around them.

"Camille!" Alex yelled.

Edmund grabbed Etta’s arm, jolting her from her frozen state.

Camille limped over. "What's happening?"

Etta reached out with her magic, letting it course through her body. Her magic forged a connection between herself and the natural world around her. She could feel the pain of the earth. The way the ground ripped apart, shrieking in agony at the death of her father. And then it struck her. Eyes flashing open wide, she gasped. “The wards!” She dodged a rock surging toward her head. "They're coming down!"

Understanding dawned in Edmund's eyes. A person's magic died with them. If Viktor Basile was dead, his magic couldn't hold the wards. If the wards were gone, there was no protection against La Dame.

Etta searched frantically for Maiya and Pierre, but they were nowhere to be found.

“You’re coming with us,” Alex said, taking his frightened horse from a guard.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She fell back.

“Etta.” She jumped at Edmund’s touch. “You won the tournament. Your place is at the palace now.”

Her eyes flicked to her father’s still form, and she held back the tears that built in her eyes. If her connection to Viktor Basile was known… she shook her head. Her father killed the king.

She searched Alex’s face for any sign of his own distress. She may hate the Durands, but she wasn’t heartless.

He looked too stunned to process it.

Edmund flung out a jolt of calming wind to the horses, noticeable only to Etta. He climbed on behind Camille. Alex mounted his horse and extended a hand down to Etta. She didn't have time to think before she accepted the help and wrapped her arms around his waist.

They rode as fast as the horses could take them. The guards were left behind to try to find and calm the remaining horses.

Tents collapsed in on themselves as they galloped by. Panicked people ran to avoid the falling structures. The ride to the palace was a thunderous pursuit of hooves and fallen debris. The gates stood open when they arrived and they raced through. They didn’t slow as they passed through the outer castle and bypassed the stables entirely, making for the inner palace gate instead. Once inside the courtyard, the rumbling began to calm, and the ground stopped shaking.

Etta bent over to catch her breath and they slid from their horses.

Camille paced back and forth, her cane echoing across the stone courtyard. She stopped every few feet to shoot a glare at Etta.

"We should get inside," Edmund said softly.

Neither of the royal children responded, stunned as they were by the day’s events.

Tyson came barreling across the courtyard. "What's going on? Are you okay?" He caught sight of Etta. "You won? I knew you would. I bet on it with a few of my guards."

Edmund cleared his throat and Tyson turned his way.

"Edmund." He beamed, walking forward to slap him on the back. "I didn't mean that I wanted her to beat you ... wait, how are you both here?"

"Father is dead," Camille wailed suddenly. She pointed one long finger at Etta. "And it's all her fault." She stomped inside, leaving the rest of them in shock.

Alex’s eyes clouded with anger and he set his jaw.

“Alex?” Tyson asked.

“Father is dead.” He turned to his brother. “But make no mistake, it was no one’s fault but his own and now Gaule is once again at the mercy of magic.”

Tyson opened his mouth in question and then shut it.

“Did you feel it?” Edmund asked. “The wards are gone.”

Alex shook his head and walked up the steps as a host of guards and servants descended upon him. He waved them off, but they wouldn’t be deterred. “I’m fine,” he bellowed, marching past them.

They turned their attention to Tyson, ignoring Etta and Edmund entirely. The young prince didn’t cry, although he looked like he wanted to. The boy who was known for his easy smile and bright eyes had dulled.

With the wards now gone, Etta wondered what the coming months would take from all of them.

She was luckier than most. She had nothing left to lose.

* * *

"What do you mean the wards are gone?" The portly Lord Leroy yelled, his voice echoing around the council chamber. The room was purely ornamental since no council had been in use in the years of protection under the wards. But Lord Leroy held a high status with Alexandre's father. He was already trying to exert his influence with the new king.

Duchess Moreau put a hand on his shoulder to calm his pacing and turned to the prince who would soon be a prince no more.

"Your Highness." Warmth flowed from her voice. "Are you certain?"

Alexandre's father's voice filtered through his mind. One of his many lessons. Never trust the Moreaus. The Duchess will manipulate your sword straight through your back.

Gaule had a long tradition of keeping enemies close to the crown, but he had trouble seeing her as an enemy. The Moreaus controlled vast swaths of lands and towns near the border. The Moreaus had a long history of protecting magic folk. That in itself was a good enough reason not to trust them, but there were so few people he could trust. He shook her hand off his arm and stepped back to gain some distance.

Alex glanced around the cavernous room. It was a good place to have private conversations with advisers, but it only made him feel inadequate for the position he was now forced to take. It should have been his father dealing with broken wards and advisers.

A week had passed since that sickening moment in the arena when his father crumpled to the ground as if he wasn't the most powerful man in Gaule.

Then again, maybe he wasn't. Not when Viktor Basile lived.

Now they were both dead. Gone.

And he had a kingdom to run.

"I've sent an exploratory force to the border to see about the wards. That’s why I haven’t called on you until now. The unit I sent was due back yesterday." The prince scrubbed a hand across his face. "There was substantial damage from the quakes. I've put a few units to work in town to make repairs. I've sent others to the towns farther out from the palace to see how they have fared as well." He turned toward the door. "Now, you are informed and I must see about finding my men."

He turned to go but Lord Leroy called him back. "Your majesty, we must plan a coronation."

Alex sighed. He knew the duke was right. "My father is not even in the ground. Coronate me if you must, but no ceremony."

No one argued.

"And your protector?"

"What about her?" he snapped.

"She won the tournament, but it was non-binding. There has been no ceremony yet. With your father now ..."

"Dead?"

"Yes, well, you could choose a protector who projects a certain image. A certain strength."

He narrowed his eyes. "And with him gone, I could also choose an adviser with half a brain."

Lord Leroy reeled back.

"I am not legally bound to accept Etta as my protector, but she has won the tournament. I will not tarnish my honor or that of this crown by lowering the worth of my father's word. If the position is symbolic, let it symbolize the strength of our character. Besides, she bested some of our most accomplished men in combat. I'd say she's more than capable."

He walked from the room with heavy steps. He couldn't remember the last time he slept or ate, but there were more pressing matters. Edmund and his men were missing. He'd sent them to the border the day following the quakes and expected them back yesterday.

If this worry was what it meant to be king, he wished he'd been born a pauper.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, he knew it wasn't right. His entire life, all he'd wanted to do was protect his people. He'd been raised to think that meant keeping magic from their lands, but if the wards were gone, only magic could replace them. He wouldn't know where to start.

Captain Anders fell in step beside him, giving a slight incline of his head.

"Do you have to follow me?" Alex asked tiredly.

"Sire, I know you had your own guards who gave you more ... space before, but you are to be king now and must be guarded more closely."

"By the captain of the guard?" He raised an eyebrow.

Anders grunted, a scowl crossing his face. It wasn't what he wanted to be doing, but he'd do his duty. Anders was good for that. As long as you didn't try to get a conversation out of him and could live on snarls, he'd do. It wasn’t like Alex minded. He hadn't been one for talking in the past week.

"I’ll have a personal guard selected by week’s end, assuming Edmund returns by then."

"No. My son is not suited to guard the king. You have more tested soldiers to consider."

Alex stopped abruptly and turned toward the tall man. His broad shoulders and blond hair were the only things he had in common with his son. He raised Edmund on his own, but where Edmund was quick to smile, Anders was eternally sour. Anders rose through the ranks, gaining the trust of Alex's father, but maybe it was time for the captain of the guard to be a man Alex trusted.

"Captain," Alex said coldly. "Your battle-tested men failed my father."

Anders' face blanched.

Alex held up a hand. "I do not hold them to account. But the next time you try to give me an order, you will find yourself with no men to lead."

Was any of it going to get any easier? He started walking without waiting for an answer. Anders followed without a word, his heavy steps sounding against the stones beneath his feet.

Before he knew it, Alex found himself heading toward Etta's room. His steps faltered. He hadn't been able to face her since arriving back at the palace. Officially, he'd been too busy. Unofficially, she barely knew him and had been the one person who seemed to see straight through his facade. Unable to deal with more changes, he'd given the task of her well-being to Camille, but she was to be his protector and it was time he looked her in the eye. As protector, she might have no real role, but she'd be with him always. The thought soothed him. Maybe that was the point of a protector—so the king didn't have to be so alone in ruling.

"Was it really Viktor?" Anders asked.

Alex hid is surprise at the blunt question. He'd almost forgotten Anders was there.

When Alex nodded, Anders' eyes darkened. "That man was dangerous from the first time he set foot in this palace. I told your father that many times, but ..." He shook his head.

"But the man was his closest friend." Alex gave him an icy look. He wanted to despise the man who killed his father, but part of him remembered the Viktor who tried to teach him how to wield a sword. He'd spent more time with Viktor and his daughter than he had with his own father.

"Evil is what he was. He had the magic."

Alex couldn't disagree with that sentiment. None of them were safe when magic ran rampant in the kingdom.

Geoff was sitting outside Etta's door, dozing off, when they arrived. Anders stopped in front of him and kicked at his legs. Geoff awoke with a start.

"What are you doing here, Geoff?" Alex asked.

Geoff wasn't quick enough to hide his scowl. He hadn't forgiven Alex and Tyson for knocking him out before the tournament.

"The princess put me here," he snarled. "I'm to keep anyone from going in or out."

"My God, man." Alex shoved him aside. "You mean to tell me we've been keeping her locked in her rooms?"

"Princess Camille's orders." He shrugged.

"Go back to my sister and tell her I demand her presence in the throne room first thing in the morning." He paid no more attention to the guard as he knocked on the door.

"I told you, I'm not hungry," an angry voice yelled from inside.

"Etta, it is Prince Alexandre. May I come in?"

"No."

"Please. I must speak to you."

He heard her stomp across the room moments before the door cracked open. "Come to check on my prison cell, Your Highness?"

Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying, but all tears were dry as her pupils blazed when she met his gaze. She shifted her eyes to the guard and scanned Anders from head to toe.

He stared with open distaste.

He didn't know why, but it caused Alex's anger to rise.

"Anders," he snapped. "Show your respect to the woman who saved your son's life."

Anders' jaw clenched as he bent at the waist for the slightest of bows. Alex pushed down his irritation. It wouldn't do to make an enemy of the captain of the guard.

"Your son would be ...?" Etta asked.

"Edmund." Alex scratched his cheek.

Etta's cheeks reddened. "Oh."

Oh? What the hell did that even mean? Did their kiss mean more than Alex thought? He'd had his reasons for believing it to be a ruse. But then what was Edmund doing there that day?

"Anders," Alex ordered. "Leave us."

"But, Your Highness ..."

"My new protector is not going to kill me. Out."

The door thudded behind him, locking them in a silent stand-off. Etta's eyes flitted around the room, anywhere but at him. She turned and walked back to busy herself straightening the blankets on the bed in the center of the room. Directly next to her, silver moonlight streamed in through a three paned window, framed in gold. The moonlight illuminated her strong features.

"I didn't order you to be locked in here," he finally said.

She didn't look at him. "Does it matter who gave the order? I'm still a prisoner."

"You're not." He stepped toward her. "I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing to me."

She sniffled and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Am I okay?" A laugh pushed past her lips, but it sounded wrong somehow. "What does that mean? Are any of us okay? Your father just died, thrusting you onto the throne. You're not okay, but you must look like you are." She rested her elbows on her knees. "I ... lost someone close to me recently and I have no way to mourn him. My hands have been bathed in blood on the command of the crown I now must serve." She finally met his stare. "Have you ever killed anyone, Prince?"

When he shook his head, she continued. "No, you wouldn't have. You give the order for people to die, but you never have to feel their life seep out. For a moment it feels good. There's a kind of power in taking a life. But that power comes at a cost. Each kill breaks apart the soul."

She gestured to the door. "That man out there would have lost his son if I'd have obeyed your father. So, your Highness, I will serve you. I’ll give my soul. But if you ever again ask me if I'm okay, I'll break that pretty face of yours."

10

The next morning, Etta’s dress dragged along the ground as she trailed the prince and Anders through the labyrinth that made up the palace. She stepped on the hem, catching herself before pitching forward and uttering a curse. Camille had provided her with a few worn dresses belonging to one of the servants. None of them were truly her size, but the princess didn't seem to care.

Her icy demeanor fit much better with Etta's opinion of the Durands than Alex's flirtations or Tyson's more youthful exuberance. The princess had it in for Etta.

Being inside the palace again had Etta's skin crawling with nerves. Since leaving when she was young, it had represented an enemy, a fear. Now it was supposed to be her home.

Alex demanded she accompany him to a meeting in the throne room. She'd be at his side for every meeting going forward. Alex would be her constant companion. She didn't hate the idea, and then she hated herself for not hating it.

Keeping those two ideas in her mind kept her sane in an insane world.

They turned yet another corner and Etta made note of every step she took. It was a habit instilled by her ever-cautious father. Notice everything. Forget nothing. Know your surroundings. Plan an escape route.

She could use his wise counsel or even his stern teachings right about now, but she'd cried too many tears for him. Alex seemed unaffected by his own father's death. How much of that was just him playing the act of prince? Camille burst into tears every few minutes when she wasn't scolding some poor soul, and Tyson had disappeared altogether.

A group of onlookers waited in the throne room for their first audience with the prince since the king's death. He barely glanced at them. His focus stayed on his sister who stood on the platform next to the throne as if she too would rule.

Anders put a hand on Etta's arm to hold her back as Alex walked up and stared at the throne. More than a few people sucked in their breaths. Was he going to sit in it? So soon after his father's death? His shoulders tensed as he took the steps slowly and then turned, fanning his cloak around him, and sat.

His face held no emotion, but his posture was rigid.

Was this the moment? Etta wondered. She didn't know why Alex insisted she come when they hadn't yet done the ceremony making her official, but she'd been waiting for someone, anyone, to reveal her identity. Could it be possible that the king hadn't told anyone who she really was?

Alex swept a measured gaze across the room and she breathed deeply, positioning herself for easy access to the door.

But his next statement wasn't about her at all.

"Camille," he snapped, gesturing her down off the platform.

Camille's face went slack, but she obeyed, stepping down to stand in front of him.

"Tell me why you've had my protector locked up."

"I ... I..." she stuttered before straightening up and brushing a hand down the front of her blue lace dress. "Father didn't trust her."

Alex leaned forward and lowered his voice. Etta waited.

"Father didn't trust anyone."

Camille's mouth dropped open. "You would speak ill of a man who has not yet been buried?"

"It is those alive who are important now. We have bigger problems than Father not wanting a woman by my side."

"Are you so blinded by her beauty that you can't see something isn't right?"

"Beauty has nothing to do with it." He raised his voice so those at the back of the room could hear. "My protector has won the tournament and I will honor her victory. There will be consequences for those who try to interfere again."

People murmured, but none had the courage, or stupidity, to voice their concerns aloud. Instead, they cast suspicious glances toward Etta.

Camille turned her back on her brother.

"I did not dismiss you," Alex growled.

She turned back toward him, her eyes an unforgiving cool. "You are not my king yet, Brother."

She spun and snapped her cane against the floor as she marched away. As she passed Etta, she said, "My father knew something about you and I'm going to figure out what it was."

When she left, Alex removed himself from the throne, ignoring the others who wished to speak with him. As he walked to Anders, he scratched the back of his neck. "I hated that."

"That girl is very much like your father," Anders said.

Alex ignored the way the captain referred to the princess, but the reverence in his tone did not pass his notice. Giving Anders a long look, Alex spun on his heel and marched from the throne room—the seat of his new power—weighed down with the responsibility of a kingdom.

Etta left conflicted. The Durands had destroyed generations of her family. She wasn't there by choice. But with each word out of the prince's mouth, the edges of her hate began to crumble. She worried that once that was gone, all she'd have was utter emptiness.

* * *

Plush comfort surrounded Etta. After living in a shabby cabin in the Black Forest, how could her circumstances have changed so drastically?

Sleepy thoughts drifted through her mind as the morning sun lit her face. Her eyes took in the oversized canopy bed with silky fabric draped from high above. It was heavenly. An aroma filled the air, cinnamon tendrils dancing below her nose.

She bolted upright as her mind cleared and she realized where she was. The palace. Her new home. The sweet smell from before turned her stomach as she set bare feet onto the woolly carpet surrounding the bed. Soft fibers gave way to chilled stone as she walked toward the sitting area that consisted of a sofa, two chairs, and a fireplace that went unused during the summer months.

A tray sat on the table before one of the chairs, piled high with various pastries and a pot of tea. Another familiar smell stabbed through her awareness and she lunged for a covered dish, pulling the lid free. Bacon.

Her father would bring bacon home from the market when he went to town, and it was her favorite food, not because it was delicious—even though it was—but because it meant he'd returned safely. And that he'd remembered her while he was away.

He never ate any of it.

She closed her eyes to keep the tears from flowing as she chewed her way through each glorious piece. She'd barely eaten the day before and her stomach protested so much activity.

Ten days. He'd been dead for ten days now. And she still didn't know what her role at the castle was to be. A knock sounded from her door and she jumped to her feet to run toward her wardrobe for a shift to cover her nakedness. Nightgowns tangled in her legs when she twisted in her sleep. Only when her father was home did she wear them.

Opening the door, she blinked in surprise, recognizing the queen standing before her.

Recovering from her momentary stupor, she dipped. "Your Majesty."

"Oh, my dear," the queen said warmly, holding out her arms that were piled high with clothing. "Help an old lady out."

"You aren't old, Madame."

A wide smile spread across her face. "If I wanted constant compliments, I'd spend my days with the highborn chirpers in their sewing rooms."

Etta stepped back, and the queen rushed into the room, her sapphire blue, silk dress swishing about her legs. Etta stared. When the wards had been in place, certain trade items like silk weren't coming into the kingdom. They’d only had access to the goods that were made in Gaule, becoming self-sustaining. That would change now.

The queen set her pile of clothes on the bed and followed Etta's sightline with a laugh. "Do you like it? I had it made from some old drapes that were in my room. Hideous drapes, but they made a gorgeous dress."

Etta just shook her head. The queen was not often seen outside of the palace and this was not what she'd been expecting.

"Do you speak, girl?" she asked with a laugh.

Etta coughed. "Yeah, I mean yes, my lady. It's an honor to meet you."

"Me? You're the woman who just beat the kingdom's best fighting men in combat." She leaned in. "I was probably the only one in the palace actually rooting for you." She winked. "Although, I couldn't watch. It was just dreadful. I abhor violence. And that tournament was unnecessary."

"I am ..." Etta cleared her throat. "I'm sorry how it ended."

Sadness swam in the queen's eyes for a moment before she shut them and breathed deeply. "One good man died that day. And one monster." She opened them and pierced Etta with a look that cut straight through her.

Their eyes met, and some meaning passed through their connection, but Etta broke it before the queen saw too deeply.

"Anyway." She brightened and in an instant, all trace of sadness was gone. "I heard you could use some clothes."

Etta held the laugh that escaped her as she walked back to her wardrobe and opened the door. Yesterday's dress hung in the front, but the entire bottom hem had been slashed with a knife. "If I'm going to protect the king, I need to be able to walk without falling on my face."

Queen Catrine's answering laugh bounced off the high ceilings. "That you are. It would have been easier if you'd have been able to gather your belongings from your tent, but alas ..."

"I didn’t need anything in that tent." Her only possessions that mattered were the sword resting against the wall, the mail shirt on the chair, and the knife hidden underneath the mattress of the bed for easy access.

The queen pressed her lips together. "Well, find something in that pile to wear. I must return to my rooms for a dull tea with Lady Leroy. She will busy my ear with worries about her equally dull daughters." Her sigh was exaggerated. "You’ll get to know them soon enough. Her eldest, Amalie, is betrothed to my Alexandre.”

Etta jerked her head up before looking away suddenly to hide her curiosity. No doubt she’d have to protect this highborn priss who was to be queen. What kind of woman would they marry to the king?

The queen continued talking, unaware of the questions rolling through Etta’s mind. “Tonight you have an invitation to dine in the king's rooms.”

“I do?” Protect, yes. Attend meetings, sure. Follow the king around, she’d survive. But socializing with him? Dining with him? Was every part of her life to be dictated by the curse?

“He'll send someone to retrieve you."

Alone again, Etta rifled through the clothing, trying to get her mind off the impending dinner and the future queen. Simple trousers and tunics made up the lot, and she'd never been more thankful for clothes. As she pulled a pair of black pants from the pile, a scrap of paper fluttered through the air.

Her fingers snatched it before it hit the ground.

If you are in need of a friend, look to the stables.

-Edmund

Why would Edmund send her to the stables when he wasn’t even here? The first time she'd ever met Edmund flashed in her mind—the day she'd left him tied up in an alley. Her heart rate picked up. Vérité.

She pulled on the pants and a shortened white smock with a hood before stepping into her boots and lacing them up. They still had dried blood spattered on them from the tournament, but they were the best she could do.

Walking to the door, she ran her fingers through her hair to untangle the knots and pulled up her hood. The awful guard no longer sat outside her door, but that room would never be more than a prison. As she hurried away, freedom bloomed within her.

The walk was familiar. Wood paneled halls, adorned with pastel paintings and golden archways. The guards at the palace doors paid her no mind as she pushed out into the bright sun. It'd been over a week since she experienced its warmth on her face. She was used to being outdoors for all things except sleep. But life in the forest seemed like a faraway dream now.

She closed her eyes to soak in the moment but was brought back to reality when a man carrying two buckets of water bumped into her, splashing it across her stomach. Her eyes snapped open, and she scowled, but he'd already moved on.

"Wonderful," she muttered as she marched through the courtyard and out into the lifeblood of the castle: the people. Houses lined the streets, each one looking like the home she'd tried so hard to forget. They backed up against the inner wall, crowded together like the petals of a dying bud with no room to breathe.

The gate to the outer part of the castle stood open, but she knew it could be closed at a moment’s notice. She'd seen it happen before. When she was ten, a group of men and women used magic to terrorize the outer castle. They'd closed the inner gate to protect the royal family. She could still hear the screams.

That was the first time she knew not all magic was good.

The outer castle was like a town in itself, crowded and bustling with activity. She avoided the most familiar places and went directly to the stables. There, nothing had changed in the years that passed. A wooden structure that had seen better days was surrounded by a pen in which horses wandered about. It was closed off by a fence made of solid steel bars.

If she was right about Edmund's reasons for sending her here, she knew what to do.

She whistled a single high-pitched note and waited.

For the first time since setting foot in the palace, a genuine smile stretched across her face. She heard it. The unmistakable neighing of her best friend. But she didn't see him.

Etta stepped toward the pen where other horses trotted to and from the door that led to their stalls. Whistling again, she grabbed one of the sun-warmed bars of the fence and hauled herself up to stand on another.

.A substantial chestnut stallion tore past the door and out into the pen, rearing up as he did.

Etta laughed. "Show off."

Vérité skidded to a stop in front of her and nudged her roughly with his nose.

"Mademoiselle," a stable hand called. "I'd stay away if I were you. That one bites."

As if to prove him right, Vérité nipped at her. She smacked his nose, staring into his eyes.

"Thank you, sir," she called back.

The man leaned his shovel against the fence and walked toward her. Vérité stomped his foot.

"Shhhh," she whispered against his neck.

"I ain't seen that horse get close to nobody without sinking his teeth in. He's a mean son of a bitch." He kept his distance from Vérité's back legs.

"Maybe that's because he's not meant to be kept in a cage," she snapped.

"Honey, this ain't no cage. These here animals eat better than I do."

"Maybe it's not a cage, but he isn't free." Just like her.

She slipped from the fence, knowing she'd said too much. She couldn’t risk exposure by having them connect Vérité to the thief he was taken from.

She sucked in a breath and rubbed Vérité's nose. Leaning in, she whispered, "I'll be back."

As she walked away, her heart was lighter than before. Vérité was a part of her and it was nice to know that some piece of the girl she was before had remained.

11

She'd worn the plain clothes his mother gave her instead of the dresses from Camille. Alex noticed it as soon as she appeared at his rooms. He'd sent the captain to get her, a job that was so below him it would have been comical if Anders had any sense of humor.

Etta's golden hair flowed down her back as she peered up at him from the doorway.

"People are going to laugh at me." Was the first thing she said.

"I'll challenge anyone who does," he joked.

She laughed. The first laugh he'd heard from her. "Your reputation precedes you, Your Highness." She walked past him into his suite. "I've heard that there aren't many people you could best in a fight."

"Who speaks such lies?"

"Everyone." She walked toward the sitting room, examining everything as she went. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was memorizing the place to rob him.

He shut the door, allowing them privacy from his guards outside. He'd gotten off on the wrong foot with Etta and it was time to get to know her. When he'd invited her to dine in his rooms, part of him just didn't want to be alone. Before his father was killed, he ate in the hall with the guards, usually with Edmund. With his father gone and Edmund missing, he no longer felt like he belonged with them.

He walked toward the dining area and poured two glasses of wine before stepping beside Etta and handing her one. His eyes widened when he saw what she was flipping through. He'd left his book of sketches out for anyone to see.

"Are these yours?" she asked.

The surprise in her voice niggled at him. "Well ... uh ..." He tugged at his collar and took a sip of wine.

"They're quite good." She flipped the page and stilled as she took in her own face staring back at her.

Alex scratched the back of his neck. "I ... um ... that was after your first fight in the tournament."

She continued to stare at it in silence.

Nervousness was not something Alex was accustomed to experiencing. He tapped his finger against his wine goblet and breathed out heavily.

"I see." She closed the book and looked up at him as she brought her glass to her lips.

Alex's heart thudded against his ribs. She continued to stare. Wishing he could read her mind, he cleared his throat to break the spell and took the sketchbook from her.

“I don’t show my drawings to people.” He set it on the bookshelf. “I’d appreciate your discretion.

Her lips parted, and a beat passed before she spoke. “You’re quite good.”

The sudden kindness in her eyes stole the breath from his lungs. In the short time he’d known Etta, she’d been fierce, brave, strong-willed, and even cruel at times… never kind. The minute he began to think he understood her, she proved him wrong.

She blinked, and the coldness returned to her gaze. He’d do anything to see that other girl again. He raised his hand and reached out to tuck a strand of soft golden hair behind her ears, letting his fingers drift down over her cheek.

She held in a breath and the world stopped.

All too soon, Etta jumped back out of his reach. "Any word from Edmund, Your Highness?"

"Please don't call me that." He cleared his throat. "What I mean is that we're going to spend a lot of time together. I want to be friends."

"Friends." She tested the word and a pained look he didn't understand crossed her face. "People are still going to laugh."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're going to be king. I'm just a girl, only eighteen-years-old, and I'm supposed to be your protector."

"Are you saying you want me to release you?"

"No, I'm just preparing you. I've been laughed at for much of my life. No one takes a woman warrior seriously in Gaule. I can handle it. You, on the other hand, are used to ass-kissers."

He suppressed a smile. There was the girl he’d met among the tents before the tournament. It warmed him to think the fights didn’t take that away. "The people that matter know what the king's protector really is."

"And what is that?"

"Someone to take an arrow for the king."

She set her glass down and planted her hands on her hips. "So I'm to be your shield? Are you going to cower behind me if we are attacked?"

He drained the last of his wine.

"Make no mistake," she said, stepping forward to within arm's reach. "I am more than a shield. In the tournament, you saw only part of what I can do. I have been training for this my entire life."

That didn't make any sense. They'd only announced the tournament weeks ago.

She realized she'd said something she shouldn't have and tried to back up, but he grabbed her arm, his touch scorching her skin.

"Who are you, Etta?" he asked.

"I am no one."

"Oh, I very much doubt that."

Her mouth parted, but she didn't speak, the spell holding them in place once again.

A throat cleared behind them and Alex ripped his hand from her arm before turning to face his mother.

The Dowager Queen Catrine was clad in an elegant green dress that flowed out from her hips. Her midnight black hair was done up as if she was going to a ball. As always, she played the part of queen well when in the public eye. She hadn't been letting anyone other than her maids into her rooms since the king's death. Her grief surprised Alex because she'd always seemed resentful of his father.

When he'd asked her to go to Etta, he'd been surprised by her eagerness. When she'd suggested this dinner, that surprise turned to wariness.

"Mother." Alex hurried toward her and pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his back. Of his parents, she'd been the affectionate one.

"My boy." She pulled back to look at him.

Before he could say anything else, she pushed away from him and faced Etta.

"Dear girl, I'm glad you decided to join us."

Etta bowed lower than she'd ever done for Alex or his father. When she rose, she was smiling.

"Mother," Camille said from the doorway. "Don't bother talking to her. She won't be here long."

Alex started to speak, but his mother held up a hand. "Camille, she won your father's tournament. She beat many fully-grown men with years of training in the palace guard. I think she deserves our respect."

Camille huffed, pitching forward as Tyson knocked into her on his way into the room.

"Sorry, Sis." Tyson grinned, throwing a wink to Etta.

"And where have you been?" Alex asked tiredly. "I haven't seen you all week."

Tyson stole a roll from the table and shoved it in his mouth with a shrug.

Alex groaned and rubbed his eyes. When he looked back to Etta, she was watching his family in wonder. What kind of family had she given up to enter the tournament and move to the palace? He didn't know which would have been worse. Giving them up, or not having anything to give up at all.

* * *

Etta never had any siblings. She'd been a solitary person and never wished for any, but as she listened to the chatter of Alex’s family, she saw what it could be like to have a family.

Her father had been everything she needed. When her mother was alive, she'd given enough love for ten families. But their dinners were never like this. There was no Tyson roaring with laughter. No Alexandre grinning as if no one was watching. Even Camille played her role well, scowling at her brothers.

And just as this morning, Queen Catrine was everything Etta remembered. When she was a girl—before her father allowed her to begin training with a sword—her mother would drag her along to tea with the queen. Their families were close, once upon a time.

Camille never paid her much mind despite being the same age, but Alex ... she stole a glance at him before looking down at the fowl on her plate. Some part of her deep inside wanted to be recognized, to be remembered.

"Children," Catrine said softly, ignoring the fact that none of them were children any longer. She set her fork down and pushed her plate aside, folding her hands on the table. "This is the first time we've all been together since your father's death."

"Whose fault is that, Mother?" Camille asked harshly.

The queen bowed her head in shame. "I am sorry. I have been overcome with grief for ..." she swallowed hard. "The man I loved."

Etta watched her carefully, seeing everything as she'd been taught. The sheen across her brow spoke of nervousness, but the strain around her eyes was proof of her grief. What was she hiding?

The queen went on. "Tomorrow we bury your father and begin a new chapter in this kingdom's history." She smiled at Alex. "Alexandre, my boy, we've been preparing you for this your whole life. It is your birthright. May you do better for our people than your father."

All eyes snapped to her and color rose in her cheeks as her words came back to her.

Camille rose from her chair and threw her napkin on the table, glaring at her mother. "Father was the greatest king Gaule has ever had. Alex couldn't shovel his horse's shit." She stormed from the room.

A stillness descended until her footsteps faded away.

Alex barely breathed.

"Don't worry, Alex," Tyson said. "I'm sure father would have let you shovel his horse's shit."

Alex laughed at the joke but his face was strained.

Catrine smiled and fixed her warm eyes on Etta. "We have an uphill battle to climb, my dear, but you are now a part of this family as my husband's protector was before."

Etta wiped her mouth, the movement hiding her shaking hands. The way the queen was looking at her ... it was as if she knew something.

"Well." Catrine finally tore her eyes away. "We must discuss the ball.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Alex cut in. “I canceled it.”

“And I uncancelled it.”

A grin spread across Tyson’s face, but Alex shook his head.

“Father just died. The kingdom is still in mourning. We cannot have a ball.”

“Son.” She reached over to cover his hand with hers. “The coronation ball is a tradition—one your father would have wanted us to keep. The people need this.” She tilted her head to the side. “You love balls and now you’re becoming king. However you got there, whatever we’ve been through, that is something to be celebrated and honored.”

Alex nodded, his eyes shining.

“In the weeks after the ball, you must also journey into the village among the people. You’ll spend time with them, speak with them, and show them that our kingdom is still in good hands.” She smiled. “Because it is, my boy.” Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment as she breathed deeply. “Oh what a king you will make.”

Alex cleared his throat in embarrassment, flicking his eyes to Etta for a second.

The queen pushed back her chair and stood, straightening her dress. “It's late. Tyson and I will be going."

Tyson shrugged and stood to follow her, leaving Etta alone with Alex once more.

Neither spoke for a moment before Alex leaned back in his chair. "Who are your people, Etta?"

"I don't have people." Since her father's death, it was the truth.

"Everyone has someone." He thought for a moment. "Is it so wrong to want to know the person who is going to stand at my side in the years to come?"

"I'm sorry, your Highness."

"Alex."

"What?"

"Call me Alex when we are alone."

That was a line she refused to cross. He asked for friendship when he did not know the barrier her history created between them. A Basile and a Durand couldn't be friends. Look where it had gotten her father.

"Your Highness," she said sternly, pushing back from the table. "As you so graciously put it before, I’ll be standing in front of you as the dangers come, not at your side." She stood and stepped around her chair. "You say you wish to know me, yet you do not listen. From your seat of privilege, you're incapable of seeing what's truly in front of you. When I say I have no people, I am not lying." She turned her back on him and walked to the door. As her hand grasped the metal knob, she spoke once more. "Everyone I've ever loved is dead."

* * *

The moon was high in the night sky by the time Etta made it outside, its silver glow settled over the castle grounds. As a child, she'd loved night within the walls. The stillness was captivating. Candlelight lit the windows of houses as she passed by. She'd spent her younger years thieving, never truly needing the items she stole. It was for the fun of it. So, she knew every alleyway, every low rooftop, every hiding spot.

Her eyes flitted between them as she walked. It took a while to feel comfortable with the fact that she didn't need to hide. She was no longer a child sneaking out of her house.

Each of the guards knew who she was. They'd seen her cut down their comrades in the tournament. As she walked, they kept their distance, but their eyes followed her.

The stables were quiet with the horses in their stalls for the night. A single stable hand sat dozing on a bale of hay near the hanging saddles against the wall.

Horses snorted and stomped their feet as she passed their stalls, looking for her beautiful boy. The white triangle around Vérité's eyes stood out against the dark. She smiled when she saw him and held up a finger as if he'd understand what that meant.

Walking on light feet toward the sleeping hand, she took the lantern that was positioned on the floor by his feet and went back to Vérité.

"Better?" she asked.

Vérité kicked at the door to his stall.

"Hold your horses, would you?" She laughed at her own joke. Vérité didn’t seem amused. Clutching the lantern in one hand, she unlatched the door to his stall with the other and then grabbed a fist-full of his light mane to keep him from running off, not like she thought he actually would.

She led him out into the pen and let go. He trotted in a circle around the open space before returning to her. She kissed his nose.

"I'm surrounded by enemies, Vérité." She paused. "But they don't look like enemies." She backed away and hauled herself up to sit on the fence. Vérité moved close once again.

"I thought they'd all be like the king, but it isn't that simple." She cocked her head. "Remember Father? You know, the man you kicked once." She laughed at the memory of her father trying to control Vérité. He was a wild horse. The only way to tame him was to realize he was the one in control.

"Father told me that my head and my heart would disagree sometimes, but that the thinker, rather than the dreamer, begged obedience because only he was not susceptible to pretty fantasies." She scratched the horse’s soft nose. "I think father obeyed his heart and the pretty fantasy turned into a vicious nightmare." A long breath whistled past her teeth. "I wish he was here to advise me. I'm so tired. My entire life has been spent in preparation to serve someone I've been bred to hate just on the basis of my name. It would be so much easier if ..."

Before she could finish, Vérité broke away from her and reared up, his neigh breaking the stillness of the night.

Etta whipped around to find Vérité freaking out on a travel-stained blond man.

"Edmund," she whispered, jumping from the fence.

She whistled once and Vérité began to calm. One more whistle and the horse stopped completely and walked back to her to give her shoulder a nudge. She stepped around him to see Edmund standing there with a wild look in his eye.

"Keep that thing away from me."

She laughed. "I don't think Vérité likes you."

"Yeah, well I've heard he doesn't like anyone."

She buried her face in the horse's flank.

"You are a sight for tired eyes." He smiled. "I didn't know you knew how to laugh."

She snorted. "Because there was so much to laugh about as we were hacking our way through the tournament?"

"Wow, you sure know how to make us sound horrible."

"Aren't we horrible?"

"I don't really know." He scratched the back of his neck.

Looking at Edmund, she couldn't believe she'd planned to kill him. It was the rules of the tournament, but his kind eyes would've haunted her for the rest of her life. Instead, here she was, standing in front of someone who seemed very much like a friend.

“How did you get me that note when you’ve been gone?” she asked, kicking at the ground.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I left it with the queen, expecting her to get it to you right after I was sent on my mission. Catrine has a soft spot for me.” He winked.

Etta rolled her eyes. “Well, I didn’t get it until today, but thank you.”

“The great warrior, protector of the soon-to-be king is thanking me?”

At the mention of Alex, she grew serious. "He’s been worried."

"Alex is always worried about something." He shrugged it away as if it meant nothing.

"Edmund, I don't think he's been sleeping and he barely touched his dinner tonight."

"Are you and he getting on then?" He raised his brow, but something else hid in his tone. Was it jealousy?

"No," she snapped. "But if I am to live here, the least I can do is share a meal with the man. I may not like him, but he's just lost his father and his best friend has been missing."

"Compassion. Not something I'd expect from a trained killer."

"I wasn't trained to kill. I was trained to protect." At the admission, she clamped her teeth down on her lip.

"And what, pray tell, were you trained to protect?"

Her eyes darted around, knowing full well there could be listeners anywhere. Then the world stilled. The sounds of cicadas faded away with the breeze. Vérité's snort of surprise rang loud in the bubble of quiet Edmund created.

"You have many secrets, Etta."

She wanted to tell him everything. The curse. Life in the forest. Her mission. But to do so would reveal her identity as the daughter of the man who killed the king. The kingdom was in mourning because her father was protecting her.

And Edmund was loyal to the crown. So, she began to spin a tale.

"I grew up in the Black Forest." At least that part wasn't a lie even if her earliest years were spent in this very castle. "That's where most of the magic folk who escaped the purge live. They couldn't escape Gaule because once the wards were in place, no one with magic in their blood could cross the border."

"How did no one know you were there?"

She breathed out a long breath, shoring up her lies with bits of truth. "Viktor Basile."

A flash of anger crossed his face. He hated the king's assassin. He took a step away from her and she continued.

"Viktor had wards around the forest to hide us. My father was a friend of his. He trained me to be the protector of the forest."

"Then why enter the tournament?"

"Some things are more important. I wanted to get close to the crown to protect my people on a grander scale."

Edmund rushed at her, pushing her up against the fence.

Vérité reared up and ran the length of the pen in a panic.

Edmund's hand closed around her throat. "Are you here to harm Alex?"

She shook her head, unable to speak.

"Do not lie to me!"

She'd only seen this side of him once, when he’d attacked her in her tent. Head swimming from a lack of oxygen, she brought her arms up in a flash, aiming for his throat. He released her and reeled back, coughing.

He came at her again and she sidestepped him. He grabbed her arm and spun her back to meet him. "It should have been me," he growled. "I should be the one protecting him."

"But you couldn't beat me." She kicked her leg out, catching him in the knee. He released her and threw a jab.

Any normal day, he could probably win in hand to hand combat. Speed was only a match for strength when weapons were involved. But he was exhausted and stumbling from his travels. He'd arrived back from his mission and found her when he was stabling his horse.

She danced out of his reach. "Edmund, stop."

"Alex is the best man I know," he snapped, reached for her again. "I'll kill you before I let you hurt him."

She caught his next punch between both of her hands and twisted his arm as she rammed her shoulder into his stomach. He flipped over her back and landed on the ground, face up. She pinned him there with her knee and scowled down into his red face.

"I'm not going to hurt him." Her curse made sure of that. Hurting Alex meant hurting herself.

Every interaction she'd had with Edmund rolled through her mind. Him risking his life in the tournament. The promise he'd pulled from her before the final fight. He'd been willing to give his life. Not for king and country, but for Alex.

She stumbled off of him, landing hard on her rear. "You're in love with him."

He refused to look at her as he lay on his back, breathing heavily, his eyes raised to the stars above.

"Does he know?" she asked softly, sympathy blooming in her gut.

"Of course not." He rolled onto his side and the light from the lantern lit the fear in his eyes. In the magical community, it wasn't uncommon for one man to love another. The stories said that Bela had been a place where love was celebrated in any form it took. But Gaule was different. Alex's father hanged men for it.

Edmund must have sensed the direction her thoughts took, because he said once again, "Alex is a good man."

"God, I hope so." For the first time in her life, she wanted more than anything for Alex Durand, her enemy by birth, to be a man she didn't have to hate.

12

Death didn't come like a spirit, quiet in the night. This time it was the bludgeon, pounding into Gaule until there was nothing left but rubble.

The king was dead.

Killed by the most notorious magic man.

It was no wonder that the people were in disarray. There was danger coming. Alex could feel it. With the wards gone, there was a danger he never thought he’d have to face. They’d been protected, and it made La Dame Dracon into a bedtime story, a figure from history. But now she could be just biding her time. Would she come for them?

The sun had barely risen, but Alexandre was preparing. Today he would bury his father. A man who'd kept them safe.

A knock sounded on his door and he finished lacing up his shining black boots before answering it to reveal Edmund. The pressure in his chest eased upon seeing his missing friend.

He stepped back to allow him in and as soon as the door was shut, he pulled him into a hug, pounding a fist on his back.

Edmund chuckled as Alex stepped back uncomfortably.

"Sorry," Alex said. "I'm just... I expected the worst."

"Sorry for the delay."

"When did you get in?"

"Late last night. I was on my way to report to you when I ran into the queen. She said something about you not sleeping much so if I woke you up, I was a dead man."

"Now that you're back, the captain of the guard won't have to follow me around like a puppy. That'll be your job."

"Cute, your Highness." Edmund grimaced. "Just don't let any of your other guards hear you call us puppies. And there are many more senior guards than I to be placed as head of your personal guard. I'm sure my father would rather appoint one of them."

"Your father will listen to his king."

Edmund bowed deeply. "That's right. It'll be hard to get used to you as king."

Alex swatted his head. "Stand up, you idiot." He turned toward his bed to pick up his jacket from where it was draped and a twinge of pain shot through him. He stiffened.

"You okay?" Edmund asked.

"Yeah, it's just strange. I woke up feeling like I'd gone a few rounds in a fight."

Edmund barked out a laugh. "You? Right."

Alex glared. "Come on. My advisers want to meet before the proceedings today and you can report there so you don't have to do it twice."

Edmund and three other guards followed Alex to the council chambers.

Duke Leroy and Duchess Moreau stayed seated when he entered. That would change soon enough.

"Good morning," Alex said stoically. "Well, terrible morning actually. In a couple of hours, we bury my father, but before that, I will be crowned. No large ceremony. Your attendance is required, and it will take place in the chapel.”

"Fine, fine." Duke Leroy waved a hand in front of his face.

Duchess Moreau considered him thoughtfully before turning to Edmund. "I see that Edmund has returned. I'm sure his reports will coincide with the ones I have received from the border, but let's hear what he has to say."

Edmund cleared his throat nervously. He could face a man twice his size in a fight to the death, but being involved in the Crown's business made him shifty.

"There's nothing there, sire. We journeyed to the border and tested the wards using the prisoners we'd taken. They were able to cross over despite being of magic stock. The wards are gone."

Nothing he said was a surprise, but it still sucked the air from Alex's lungs.

"What of Dracon?" Duke Leroy asked. "Are they preparing to invade?"

"Not that we could tell. That's what struck us as odd. Our orders were to inspect the wards and return, but we couldn't come back without a glimpse into what was to come. When I said there was nothing there, I didn't only mean the wards. Bela is abandoned."

"Bela has been abandoned for generations, boy." Leroy rolled his eyes dramatically.

Alex growled. "Edmund is the head of the king's personal guard. He will be spoken to as such."

Leroy’s expression turned sour, but next to him Duchess Moreau suppressed a grin.

Edmund coughed briefly and continued. "The towns of Bela have been abandoned, yes, but the roads are still used by travelers." He met the prince's intense gaze. "If the wards are gone, why aren't the people in Gaule with magic in their blood running for their lost kingdom? Or any safer kingdom, for that matter."

"There are no more magical folk in Gaule." Leroy leaned back in his chair smugly, crossing his hefty arms over his chest and nodding to Alex. "Your father and I saw to that."

Alex shivered, remembering the days of the purge. His father rode with Duke Leroy on one side and Anders on the other to lead the army against their own people. A necessary evil.

"Don't be an idiot, Leroy," the Duchess said. "Many escaped those awful days and then were trapped by the wards. This young guard's question is a valid one. Why are they staying?"

"Not only that," Edmund went on. "We didn't go as far as the abandoned castle of Bela or any of the towns, but we did go to the border of Dracon and walked along the wall surrounding the kingdom. They don't appear to be mobilizing."

Alex tapped a finger against his chin and contemplated his advisers. "You two would remember La Dame more than I would. I was a child when we broke off our allegiance to her."

The Duchess leaned forward. "She would have known the instant the wards fell. She's been watching us since the day Viktor Basile crafted them. She's dangerous, your Highness. More dangerous than you can imagine. As a child, I had a magic woman for a tutor and she taught me much. Magic is passed down through a family, but it doesn’t appear the same way in two people. One person may be able to heal while another controls one of the elements. Some can conjure light. There are many different manifestations. La Dame can mold her magic into whatever form she needs it to take. No one knows how ancient she is, but if you look back on many of the events in history, her side usually came out on top. The tragedy of Bela is probably her biggest achievement. Through subtle moves over many generations, she destroyed an entire kingdom."

Alex paced the length of the room before stopping near her and sitting in the open chair to her left, forgetting decorum for the moment. Teachings of Bela were prohibited from the prince's education, but it was more important than ever that he knew all the facts.

"The only thing my tutors told me of Bela was that it was destroyed by magic," he said. "And that Bela was once our enemy, crushing entire armies with their power."

"Your father was a foolish man then. He probably thought the wards would hold indefinitely so Bela and Dracon would forever be on the outside." She smiled briefly. "Viktor either didn't explain that one's magic dies with them or your father was too blinded to listen."

"Annette," Lord Leroy warned.

Duchess Moreau barely glanced at the duke before continuing. "Bela was once the greatest kingdom of them all. It prospered and flourished." She smiled. "My grandmother told me of her journeys there and the beauty she beheld. Their most celebrated king and queen were Aurora and Phillip Basile."

"Basile? You’re telling me the king and queen of legend were Basiles?"

She nodded. "Some people suspected Viktor's line, but the Basiles were said to have the only magic that could match La Dame. Viktor didn’t have the families power. Basile isn’t an uncommon name in Bela and no one could be sure. Aurora and Phillip fought against La Dame with everything they had—yes she is even older than that—and it eventually destroyed them. People speak of a curse, but that is just lore. Their eldest son died before he could wear the crown. A kingdom's magic is only as strong as their rulers and this son was the strongest of them all. It is said that in each generation after, the firstborn child was lost. Eventually, the kingdom weakened enough for La Dame to crush them."

"If she's so powerful, why did she have to wait until they were in a weakened state?"

The Duchess met his eyes, the corner of her mouth dropping sadly. "Because, my prince, the only thing that can defeat La Dame is a fully-powered Basile."

"Then we must find the descendants of this Aurora and Phillip."

Duke Leroy shot to his feet, his face going red. "That is enough. We will not be using evil to defeat evil. Magic has no place in Gaule and it never will. What you speak of is blasphemy." He stormed from the room.

Duchess Moreau hadn't moved during his rant, but her shoulders dropped and her focus shifted to her hands. "I am sorry, your Highness. Even if Viktor was a Basile, we don’t know where his daughter is. Hidden, no doubt. I'm afraid we are very much on our own."

Alex left the room with Edmund by his side. Today was an important day, but his mind was not on his coronation, or with his father. It was with his people. The border was quiet now, but they were no longer protected. One day soon they would face their greatest fears and La Dame would have no mercy.

13

The wooden dummy stared with accusing eyes. You shouldn't be here, it said. You don't belong. A curse does not a protector make.

Crossover. Jab. Jab. Lunge. kick. That would teach it. Etta wiped the sweat from her brow as the sun beat down on the top of her head. She should've stopped already. She was dressed for the ceremony and sweat-soaked hair wasn’t anyone's idea of acceptable. She ran a hand over her high ponytail. The golden ends brushed against her lower back.

Freedom. Her few last hours. Soon she'd be even more tied to the prince than she already was. The curse would be fulfilled. She was prepared, but it didn't mean she liked it.

She jumped, twisting to the right, and delivered a hard kick to the abdomen of her dummy. There. That was enough. She wiped her face on her sleeve. One of the maids had tried to get her to allow her face to be painted. Ha. That'd be a mess now.

Looking across the practice yard, her eyes caught movement beneath the archway. Camille stood beside Anders. She leaned close, but not in an intimate kind of way. It was more of an "I'm up to something" way. They both glanced toward Etta, matching scowls on their faces. Did Alex know his sister was obviously planning something with the captain? Probably not.

But it wasn't her business. Etta was there for a singular purpose. It wouldn't suit her to get involved in court business. She was here to protect the king’s body. That was it.

Etta started walking, her eyes still on them. She rammed into something and stumbled back. Looking up, she came face to face a grim Tyson. In that moment, he looked every bit his fifteen-years.

"Etta," he said, his voice thick. "I didn't see you."

"It's okay, your Highness."

He let out a long breath.

She waited for a moment, remembering her promise from a moment ago to stay out of court business, but then Tyson's eyes began to swim.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." He wiped angrily at a tear.

"No, you're not." She glanced around, knowing the prince wouldn't want the nearby guards to see him in such a state. She grabbed his arm. "Come on."

He didn't protest as she led him from the palace and out to the outer castle grounds. His eyes stayed focused on his feet as he attempted to hide his face.

They reached the stables. A few horses were in the pen for their morning exercise. Vérité's head snapped up as she approached the fence.

To the stable hand nearby, she said, "Leave. Now."

He took a look at the prince behind her and obeyed.

"Why are we here?" Tyson asked.

She spun to look at him. "Look, I don't know you, but I do know the sadness in your eyes." She didn't say it, but it matched the sadness in her heart for her own father.

He nodded and looked away.

"Do you ride much?" she asked.

"Of course. Every time I go into town."

"Ah, but do you ever just spend time around horses? Talk to them?"

"Talk to a beast?"

"There's no better listener. Want to know a secret?"

He nodded, and she leaned closer.

"I think horses have magic."

"I hope not. My family would probably kill them." He clenched his teeth in disapproval and Etta cocked her head, surprise rushing through her.

The littlest Durand didn't approve of the purge. Interesting. She filed that away for later use and climbed over the fence into the pen. "Come on."

Vérité was at her side as soon as she dropped to the dirt. She reached out to pet his nose, and he nipped at her fingers.

Tyson had been around horses all his life, but Etta wondered what he actually knew about them. She liked to believe she could sense what was in Vérité's heart.

"Careful," she warned. "Vérité here doesn't like strangers."

The most trusting of the Durands, he didn't ask how she already knew the horse. In fact, he didn't ask any questions at all. He moved cautiously toward Vérité. The horse snorted but remained still as Etta rubbed his neck with gentle, soothing strokes.

Tyson's fingers ran along his back and Vérité seemed to shiver in pleasure.

Etta laughed. "I think he likes you, and he doesn't like anyone."

Tyson pulled his hand back and leaned against the fence. The lines around his mouth relaxed, but he squeezed his eyes shut. Another tear escaped his left eyelid and his entire body shuddered.

"Thank you, Etta," he said. "For bringing me here. You aren't as unfeeling as you try to seem."

He hadn't meant it as an insult, but Etta deserved the ill feeling it gave her. Her emotions had been so twisted up since setting foot past the castle gates that she hadn't been able to show anything of herself. If she allowed the Durands to see her as a friend, allowed them to care, what kind of person did that make her? They didn't know her family and how they were supposed to be at odds.

"And I guess you aren't quite as cheery as you attempt to portray." She pointed a finger at his down-turned mouth.

"Do you want to know something awful?"

Etta only responded by pressing her lips together.

"I didn't know my father. Not really. He never had much time for his youngest child. In Alex, he got an heir. In Camille, he got a daughter who worshipped him. But me ... I was only a nuisance. Yet, I seem to be the only one who cares that we will bury him today."

"Your brother has a lot on his mind."

"I know that." He met her eyes. "But he was our father." His head swung from left to right slowly. "And that's not the worst of it."

Etta raised an eyebrow.

"I’ve always wanted to love him. I don't think I have to know him to love him." Another tear fell. "But he did so much wrong. I just can’t. "

Etta's heart ached for the young prince. She leaned against the fence next to him. Vérité, sensing something was amiss, bumped his long nose against the side of Tyson's head. The horse approved of the youth and Etta was beginning to agree. Maybe Tyson was the best of them all.

Tyson rubbed Vérité's neck absently. "I hope my brother is a different kind of king."

"Me too, your Highness."

"I've just spilled my guts to you, Etta. Call me Tyson."

She smiled, her mind still back on what he'd said before. The truth was she didn't know who exactly Alexandre Durand was. Except that in an hour’s time, he would be king.

* * *

The chapel hummed with anticipation. It hadn't been decorated and the only guests in attendance were the king's advisers, family, and guards. A priest stood at the altar, waiting. This was not a celebration. This coronation wasn’t supposed to take place for another ten or twenty years. When a king reached his later years, he planned a coronation for his son as a lavish affair with feasts and tournaments. Now they were hidden away.

Etta stood as the prince walked down the narrow aisle. He wore a perfectly pressed jacket and trousers. A Durand family crest—three intertwining trees with a sword through the middle—was emblazoned on the jacket's arm. Ironic considering Etta's power.

His hair was neatly tied back and shining, and his eyes held a strength she hadn't yet seen. He looked like a king. Etta held her breath until he reached the front and knelt.

She released it in one long puff of air as that invisible thread binding her to Alex tightened. She barely heard anything the priest said and before she knew it, a crown was placed on Alexandre's head and her name was being called.

Her feet moved of their own accord until she was by the new king's side. He'd risen and now watched her expectantly. Her knees bent and hit the stone hard but the pain barely registered. This moment was what her entire life had been about. For she was Persinette Basile, and she was cursed. Her life was not her own. It belonged to the man who now stood in front of her with a golden crown atop his head.

The curse tugged at her, begging to break free. It wanted this. It wanted her pledge, her promise. Magic was a living thing and La Dame's magic lived inside her, tying her to Alex. She looked up at him. Her childhood friend. Her captor. Her enemy. Her king. He was everything and nothing. Important and inconsequential. One day, when her story was told to a future cursed generation, they'd learn of the enemy who was no enemy. The conflicted one. The good one. Everyone told her he was a good man, and now she saw it. His eyes told the full tale.

He smiled in reassurance. Comfort.

She'd been fighting against the hate clawing at her heart, and now she'd won.

So, she lowered her head and touched her forehead to the ground in the greatest sign of respect. She'd killed to be here. Her soul was in tatters. But maybe something good would come from the darkness.

Alex cleared his throat. "I am here to honor my father's last wish. The winner of his tournament is to serve by my side. Etta."

She raised her head to look at him.

"Do you vow to protect the king, to remain at his side, to be a loyal and trustworthy steward of Gaule?"

"I do," she said.

"Do you promise to be honorable and honest."

"Yes."

"Are you prepared to do what is necessary?"

"I am."

"Then rise, Etta, and stand at my side." He extended a hand down to her. "Always."

As she took his hand, the world around her shifted. Energy flowed through their connection as the curse held them together. His eyes swirled as they connected with hers and held fast. Their skin tingled where it met, but neither let go until the power began to subside. As quickly as it rose in them, it was gone.

Something she hadn’t known was broken inside her slid into place as if her world was now as it should be. She’d been prepared for pain, for torment. She’d watched her father live with the curse for years. What he hadn’t prepared her for was… joy. Completeness. The curse didn’t feel like magic, but rather the most natural thing in the world.

Alex's wide eyes held hers for a moment longer, before he dropped her hand, breathing heavily.

She missed his touch instantly. Raising a hand, she trailed her fingertips down his arm. He sucked in a breath.

“What is this?” he whispered.

The truth was on the tip of her tongue, but uttering it would have wide-reaching consequences. She lowered her hand. “I don’t know.”

He shook himself out of the daze, his eyes never leaving her.

“Alexandre,” his mother urged.

He marched down the aisle, throwing one final look back over his shoulder. Etta followed, shifting her eyes to her feet.

How much would Alex question? Would he make dangerous guesses? His father hadn’t known the extent of Viktor’s curse despite spending years in his company. Etta could keep it hidden as well. She didn't know any of the answers to her million questions. All she knew was that she wanted to feel it again.

Taking note of the crown he wore, people in the palace halls bowed low as Alex passed by. He hurried toward the great hall but Etta knew he only wanted all of this ceremony to end.

Queen Catrine, Camille, and Tyson followed them and their guards with the rest of the nobles bringing up the rear. People were waiting in the hall when they arrived. A platform had been erected in the front of the room and the king's preserved body lay out for all to see. Alex's steps slowed as he neared his father.

Etta looked down on the man, remembering the threats he'd spoken to her. Those threats got him killed. Her father wouldn't have sacrificed his life for any other reason than to save hers.

The dead king's face morphed into that of her father’s. Had anyone buried him? Of course, Pierre and Maiya would have seen to it. She'd have to find a way to visit Maiya to ask where he was laid to rest.

Alex shook his head sadly. "I could use your advice, Father."

Etta glanced at Tyson who was slow to hide a look of disgust. His eyes were red, but she now knew it wasn't because his father was dead. It was because he couldn't bring himself to love the dead man and the guilt gnawed at him.

Camille blubbered behind them, but Queen Catrine was eerily calm, almost uncaring, as she stared at her husband. They took their seats, and the priest began to speak, but Etta's mind was once again in a far-off place.

The man on that platform had at one time been as much as a brother to her father. She remembered her days as a child of the court, trying to tag along after her father. The king had no patience for children. She touched her cheek where all those years ago he'd struck her.

And Alex had come to her defense, striking out at his own father. He'd received a beating for that. It was hard to imagine that boy as the same man who believed in the things his father did as king.

Their arms brushed and her chest tightened. This curse was going to be the death of her. But nothing had ever felt so good.

* * *

Alex was looking forward to a steaming bath and a soft bed. A funeral and a coronation in the same day took a lot out of him, but he was king now. He didn’t get to be tired. He kept his shoulders from sagging as he made his way down the long corridor. Show no weakness and you will have none. It was a lesson from his father.

Etta was silent beside him. She hadn't left his side all day, and it surprised him what a comfort that was. It wasn't the protection aspect; it was just her.

He didn't know what had passed between them during that ceremony, but he wanted more than anything to feel that way again. He'd never been so connected to someone than he had in that moment. His skin hummed with remnants of the energy. Had he imagined it? Was Etta questioning it as well?

He watched her walk with soft, purposeful steps, her silky hair bouncing with each movement. She was the only woman he knew who preferred pants to skirts and embroidered sleeves, but the style suited her. She looked fierce, deadly, his weapon waiting to be unleashed.

Her finger tapping against her leg was the only sign she was nervous.

"Etta?" he asked.

"Your Majesty?" she answered.

He ignored her formality, shaking off the odd sense of it. As much as he was anticipating sleep, he wasn't ready for her to leave him.

"There are things about Gaule you must now learn as protector."

"Tonight?" She narrowed her eyes.

"There may be trouble coming. Follow me, I'll explain." Not wanting to discuss Bela and La Dame where other ears could hear them, he turned in the direction of his rooms. He’d kept his prince’s quarters which consisted of a suite of rooms for various purposes- sleeping, eating, bathing, meetings.

When they were inside with the door shut, he lit a lantern and set it on the table before turning to her. She unstrapped her knife sheath and set it aside, offering him a smile.

Something was different about her. Was it the ceremony? He ran a hand over his face. He didn't understand anything. What was happening to him? He was the king and now he had no words to give his protector.

His gut clenched as something fluttered inside it. His cool mask dropped and the heat in his eyes shone through.

Etta bit her lip. "What's going on here?"

He stalked toward her. She retreated up until her back hit the door.

"I don't know," he breathed, his face inches from hers. "All I know is that from the moment I met you, I knew you were special. But today ... do you feel it?"

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Sometimes it's the only thing I feel."

He closed the distance in an instant, claiming her mouth with his. She opened for him, hot and eager. He closed his hands around her wrists and slammed them to the door above her head before sliding his palms down the lengths of them.

She brought her hands down around his neck and he pressed closer, unable to stop himself. An invisible force held him in place as he gripped her hips and kissed her harder. Her fingers tugged at his hair.

"Alex." Her voice cracked against his lips.

He spun her around and pinned her roughly against a bookshelf, knocking a few books to the ground.

They didn't notice. Nothing mattered but them. Nothing existed, save for that moment, that tie binding them together. Their chests rose and fell as one, perfectly in sync.

Then the spell broke, shattering the perfect moment at their feet. Etta pushed Alex away from her, her eyes wild.

She heaved in a few breaths, shaking her head, before rasping, "I'm your protector."

"That doesn't mean anything." He reached for her again and she stepped away. "I told you, it's symbolic."

She shook her head again.

"Etta," he pleaded. "I ..."

"You don't get it." She pointed a finger from herself to him. "This isn't real."

He shook his head in confusion. "Nothing has ever felt more real."

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. "I'm your protector now. And the first thing I must protect you from is me."

He stepped toward her and gripped her shoulders to force her to stand still and look at him. "When I kissed you, this entire hellish day vanished. The pull you've had on me since that first day of the tournament it’s like… magic."

"In your kingdom, Your Majesty, magic only leads to death."

He released her abruptly, and she bowed formally.

"Sleep well, sire. Morning always brings with it new clarity."

She left, and he sank into a chair next to the bookcase. As he dropped his head into his hands, a rush of emotions from the day threatened to push him under their currents.

He yanked the crown from his hair and threw it with a yell. It clattered to the floor and rolled to a stop.

In your kingdom, magic only leads to death.

Her words were true. Is that what he’d felt between them? Magic? But how was that possible?

His father rid the kingdom of magic during the purge. He closed his eyes as the image he’d never forgotten flashed across his mind. He’d always associate the purge with his friend Persinette and her dead mother on the night it all began.

14

The last time Etta attended a ball was for the queen’s birthday. She’d been ten-years-old and was only invited because Queen Catrine had a fondness for the children of the court. Normally, they were kept away.

No children would be present tonight, but every noble of the kingdom would go out of their way, some traveling for days, to be there when their new king gave his first toast. There was to be no more mourning for dead kings. It was Alexandre’s wish. If the realm was to withstand the challenges to come, they must look to the future, not the past.

That future had Etta wearing a gown that was much too tight, and rouge that made her look like someone else. She ran her hands down the soft fabric of her pink dress. It hugged every curve before flaring out at the waist. The neckline dipped low into the cleavage of her breasts, leaving her favorite place to stash her knife unavailable.

She lifted the hem of her skirt and strapped a sheath to her thigh. There. Now she didn’t feel so naked.

She wished she could wear her sword, but even the protector wasn’t allowed a weapon tonight.

She didn’t understand how they expected her to protect the king in such a silly frock. And she wouldn’t be able to run in the horrid shoes they forced on her. Not like she could breathe enough for that, anyway.

She left her room behind and made her way next door. One of the guards knocked for her.

The face that greeted her wasn’t the king’s. Camille sneered from the doorway, her eyes narrowing like a predator finding its prey.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the princess said after a beat of suffocating silence.

“I should be anywhere the king is.” Etta cocked her head to the side. “Tell me, how is Anders?”

Shock registered on Camille’s face just long enough for Etta to realize she wasn’t wrong. They were up to something.

“I won’t even pretend to understand what you’re talking about.” She lowered her voice. “Commoner.”

“Camille,” Alex snapped, appearing behind her. “I’ll never understand why you always have to be a bitch.”

Camille reeled back and turned her scowl on Alex. “Watch it, Brother.”

“Or what? Father is no longer here to praise your cruelty. I am king and you will treat me as such. Etta is my protector. She will be shown respect.”

Camille huffed and stalked back into the room. Alex’s eyes met Etta’s and flashes of the night before appeared before her eyes.

Don’t you feel it?

Sometimes it’s the only thing I feel.

She shook her head and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“Etta.” He swallowed hard, his eyes roaming from the tops of her breasts pushing against the dress down her long torso and toned, bare arms.

She crossed her arms over her chest to cover herself. “I didn’t have a choice in dress.”

“It’s uh…” He pushed a hand through his hair, knocking his crown off kilter. “You’re perfect… I mean, it’s perfect.”

He startled when Edmund stepped up behind her, still in the doorway. A laugh rumbled through his broad chest. “I can’t remember the last time I saw Alex flustered.” He pressed a light kiss to Etta’s cheek. “I think he’s trying to say you look ravishing.”

Alex shot him a forbidding look.

“My king.” Edmund was still grinning when he inclined his head. “Are we ready to depart?”

“Let’s get this over with.”

The royal family lined up to walk to the hall together—the dowager queen, the king, the prince and princess. Etta was a step behind them. Edmund and the other guards formed a protective barrier.

The large double doors to the hall stood open and as they entered, the room fell silent. It was packed with people in their finery and every one of them bowed immediately. Gaule was a realm that thrived on structure and tradition.

Alex’s voice boomed out. “Rise.” He gestured to the string quartet to resume playing and nodded to people on his way to the high table. Queen Catrine took her place to the king’s left and Camille moved for the seat on the right. Alex held out a hand to stop her. “That seat belongs to the protector.”

A low growl sounded in Camille’s throat. Her father used to let her sit in the honored place next to the king. She moved to the other side of her mother. Etta walked to the chair and Tyson nabbed the seat beside her.

She was officially entrenched in the Durand family.

Sweat slickened her palms as she scanned the gathering of Gauleans. These were the very ones who hunted magic folk. As they clustered together, were they conspiring against her people? Were their hearts so filled with fear and hate?

She studied each exit, making note of where the guards stood. It would take her less time to reach the doors than it’d take for them to realize what was happening and draw their weapons.

She shook her head. She wasn’t a prisoner, as much as she felt like one surrounded by the nobles of Gaule. But these weren’t the people, not truly. They were the ruling class. The armies might have carried out massacres and mass arrests during the purge, but they had orders. A breath shuddered out of her and she gave a weak smile to the man who leaned over to fill her wine glass.

With shaking fingers, she grasped the stem of the glass and brought it to her lips, in need of some liquid calming.

The first course came, but the food was too rich for her sour stomach. Alex barely spoke to her as the night wore on and more food was set in front of them. He looked like he wanted to be there even less than Etta did.

As the final dishes were whisked away, a hushed silence fell over the gathering and expectant eyes turned on the king. This was what they’d been waiting for; why they’d traveled so far. Their king was about to give his first speech.

Alex stood, clasping his hands in front of his chest. “Lords and Ladies of Gaule, I am honored by your presence.” His voice held a depth she hadn’t heard before. “My reign has begun during a trying time. My father, may he rest in peace, kept this kingdom safe for many years.”

Etta stared down at the table so her rolling eyes couldn’t be seen. Her father was the one who’d provided that protection.

Alex continued. “Darkness is coming. There is no stopping it this time. We have no wards and the ones who will come for us are armed with a far greater power than we could hope to have. It’s going to take the entire realm working together. We must root out this pestilence. We must defend our land from dark magic.”

A cheer rose up from the crowd and Etta’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the table. They didn’t hear what she did. Dark magic. Not magic. She watched him, this conflicted king.

“We must kill the magic folk,” someone yelled. Others voiced their agreement.

Alex’s face paled as more people spoke up and he lost control to his blood thirsty nobles. Gaule was more far gone than anyone thought and Alex was at the mercy of their desires.

“We must be careful,” he said. “Prepared. We do not want to repeat the horrors of the purge.”

“Why not?” a rotund man with graying hair said. “The purge was a great event in our history. You would do well, sire, to be more like your father.”

Alex reached for his wine goblet and raised it up. “To Gaule.” He drained it and set it heavily on the table as those in attendance followed suit.

Collapsing back into his chair, he ran a hand over his face.

“Don’t let them beat you down, My king.” A man led two rosy-cheeked girls toward the high table. “We all know you will carry on your father’s legacy and rulings. Your father was good at acting unaffected. You’d do well to practice that skill.”

Alex sat up straighter. “Lord Leroy,” he said. “It is a pleasure.”

“That’s better.” Lord Leroy nodded.

Alex pasted his usual charm across his face and looked to the girls with a wink. “Ladies, you both look like rare gems tonight.” One of the girls giggled, but the other only stared at the ground.

“That’s Alex’s betrothed,” Tyson said, leaning toward Etta to whisper. He pointed to the girl studying the ground. “Amalie.”

“Is she always so …” She didn’t need to finish.

“When she’s around my brother. She’s scared of him. She’s only fifteen, my age. They won’t be married for years yet, but my father and Leroy tied them to each other when she was a child.”

“You sound fond of her.”

He thought for a moment. “She’s kind–unlike the rest of her family. Her older sister, Liza is a friend of Camille’s. She’s married to a lord up North who is too old to travel to things like this. It was a cruel match, but it brought the Leroys a lot of money. She travels on his behalf and beds half the nobles while she’s at it.”

Etta let out a laugh, getting the attention of Lord Leroy and his daughters.

“Have I introduced you to my protector?” Alex asked.

Amalie raised her gray eyes to Etta’s and smiled softly. She had pale skin and a light dusting of freckles that created a delicate beauty. Etta was entranced. But if this girl was to be queen, she too would be an enemy of the Basiles.

“Hello.” Her voice held a musical lilt. Etta glanced sideways at Tyson who seemed to be under some sort of spell.

Liza grunted out a greeting.

Lord Leroy said nothing to her before turning back to the king. “Why don’t you and Amalie enjoy yourselves, sire. The dancing has begun.”

As if the speech and response were already forgotten, Alex stood and walked around the table before offering his betrothed his hand and leading her away. Her family followed them.

Etta was still watching them when Edmund stepped up to the table and ushered an exaggerated bow. “My lady, would you care to take pity on a poor guard and dance with him?”

Etta grinned. “I don’t know. I quite like my feet and don’t enjoy the thought of being trod over.”

He feigned insult and placed a hand over his heart. “I promise you will return with your feet intact.”

“In that case.” She let him guide her to the dance floor and take her into his arms.

He hadn’t been lying. As soon as he began to move, she knew he was as skilled on the dance floor as he was in the fighting arena. He moved with an impressive combination of power and grace.

The music sped up and exhilaration rushed through her as they glided through the steps. Her father spent many hours teaching her the court dances. He’d done everything to prepare her for life in service to the crown.

“I would have rescued you from your table sooner.” Edmund grinned. “But I got sidetracked. I didn’t want you to have to endure the boorish company of the king any longer than necessary.” He laughed and she realized the king and Amalie were next to them, moving in sync. Edmund glanced over her shoulder. “Oops, I’m afraid the king heard me.”

“You’re terrible.” Etta laughed.

“And you’re having a good time.” He spun her so they were out of hearing range from the king. “But seriously, he’s too worried. He loves these things. You know his reputation. It’s well-earned. He’s the smiling prince turned dour king. I’m worried about him.”

“Edmund, I admire how much you care. But he’s king now. He was bound to change. The weight of the kingdom rests on his shoulders.”

“The nobles don’t take him seriously yet. That’s his own fault, of course. He preferred parties and women to meetings at his father’s side. He’d rather have been sitting atop the walls with his sketches than in the practice yard. He was always seen as the joke. Even among the guards. He was supposed to have grown up and been more settled by the time he had to rule them.”

“We don’t choose our fates. It isn’t for us to decide when our destiny is upon us.”

“Then there’s the problem of having a beautiful woman following you around.” He winked. “But then, he’s royalty. He’s always been surrounded by alluring women. But the way he looks at you…” There was no pain in his voice. Edmund knew he was in love with a man he could never have, but all he wanted was the best for Alex.

Etta had never met a more honorable man. She took her hand from his and squeezed his shoulder. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“And you, Protector, are either going to be his salvation or his destruction.” He flicked his eyes toward Alex. “I’m going to go save both him and Amalie. Neither of them want to be forced together.”

He led them over and bowed slightly. “My king, may I dance with your betrothed?”

“That’s not up to me,” Alex said.

Edmund turned to Amalie who gave him a grateful smile and placed her hand in his.

They left Alex and Etta standing in the middle of the dance floor. Alex cleared his throat. “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

He leaned in. “And why not? Afraid to be seen having a good time? It might make people fear you a bit less, and we couldn’t have that.” He chuckled.

“You find yourself quite humorous, don’t you?” she asked.

He grinned and slid his hands around her waist to draw her in. “Humorous, no. Charming, absolutely.”

“Hmmm,” she said, allowing him to take her hand.

“No more excuses,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “I’ve been wanting to dance with you since you appeared at my door.”

A blush crept up her neck and her feet began to move.

Etta slid her free hand around his back, feeling his muscles bunch beneath his jacket.

He spun her across the dance floor as if they were the only two present. Her heart beat frantically and she wanted to be closer, so much closer. But she couldn’t. It took everything she had not to get lost in his touch.

Movement at the corner of the ballroom snapped her back to reality.

He slowed his dancing and caught sight of his sister and Anders conspiring in the shadows. There was no surprise in his eyes. “Camille has Anders using his men to search for magic folk inside Gaule.”

“Aren’t his men also yours?”

“Yes.” He snapped his eyes to her. “I’ve known about their arrangement since my father died. I know everything that goes on in this palace.”

A shiver raced through her. There were some things he didn’t know.

“Camille doesn’t trust me to deal with the problem. If she wasn’t family, she’d probably be in the dungeon.” He ran a tired hand over his jaw. “I need to find her a noble to marry and remove her from the castle, but she’s my sister. I don’t want to banish her.”

Etta touched his arm. “You have to weigh the harm she’ll cause against your love for her.” She hesitated. “The line between being a good man and a foolish one is drawn in sand. Easily erasable. Always movable. Never where you expect it to be.”

“Did you just call your king a foolish man?” One corner of his mouth curved up. “I could have you punished for that.”

“Then who would protect your dim-witted ass?”

His smile grew, and she matched it.

Looking toward the highborn ladies waiting along the wall, Etta shook her head. “There are others you should be dancing with.”

He followed her line of sight and she didn’t miss his grimace.

She hid her smile as she released him and stepped back. “Would it be okay for the protector to retire for the evening?”

“Yes, but you will leave behind a jealous king who most likely won’t be seeing his bed for some time yet.”

Etta laughed and inclined her head. “Have fun, your Majesty.”

15

After his first few weeks as King, Alex had accomplished nothing more than putting out fires among the nobles. Money had to be raised to repair the damage from the quakes. People flocked to the castle to regale the king with tales of those intimidating them with magic. It seemed the villages had a problem, but the rural areas suffered worse.

There were more magic folk still living in Gaule than he’d realized. Part of him was pleased that the purge wasn’t a complete success. He’d never advocate murder. But a greater part of him recognized the danger they now faced.

It was to be his first trip into town since his father died. The first with a crown nestled in his inky hair.

Sleep had eluded him much of the night. When it did come, it was interrupted by images that left him gasping and clawing at the bed. He leaned against the fence where horses watched him curiously.

Memories flashed before him and he was twelve again.

"Father," he'd asked. "Why are you doing this?" He struggled to keep up with his father's long strides.

The king stopped when he reached his waiting horse, held in place by an older stable hand. He stepped into the stirrup and vaulted up into the saddle.

"Father." Tears ran down the young prince's face. "They're gone. Viktor. Persinette."

The king's eyes cut through his son. "Don't worry, boy. We won't let them get far. We will rid this land of magic once and for all."

He kicked his horse and thundered past the gates with a stream of soldiers following.

Alex fell to his knees. Magic was evil, but his friend wasn't. Persinette and her father were on their side. He was sure of it. He called after his father, but he was long gone.

That night, and many that followed, saw blood run through the streets of Gaule. There'd been no turning back. He was bred to distrust the power he didn't understand, bred to obey and worship his father. So much so, that now he didn't know who to trust. He didn't know how to protect his kingdom.

"Sire," Edmund's voice broke through the haze in his mind. "The horses are ready."

Alex regarded him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Edmund."

Etta led her horse from the stables. She'd chosen one no one else would have. The beast was wild and angry, much like her. Alex sighed. She hadn't spoken more than a few polite words to him all morning. Neither had acknowledged the closeness they felt since their kiss. Dancing with her the night before was the only time during the ball that he didn’t want to throw his crown across the room and make a mad dash for the border.

It was one of the many things Alex no longer understood.

Why was he so drawn to her?

She was difficult and rude. She had an obvious disdain for his father. Nothing about her was simple. Her features were strong and hardened, instead of the delicate faces he’d experienced among the women at court.

He shook his head and climbed onto his shining black steed. His bow—his weapon of choice—was tied to the saddle.

Etta snorted when she saw it.

"Is there a problem?" Alex snapped.

"No, your Majesty." She suppressed a grin as she checked the ties on her horse’s saddle. "It's just that I didn't know we were going hunting."

"I suppose I don’t want to know what you’re talking about, but curiosity has gotten the better of me. Explain."

Edmund walked his horse up beside the two. "I think she means that if you want to protect yourself, a bow is as useful as a knife when eating soup."

Etta laughed and Alex’s irritation subsided as he lost himself in the sound.

"Edmund." Etta looked sideways. "Maybe you should help his majesty with his sword-skill."

"Me? Why not you? You're the protector." He feigned indignation and hauled himself onto his horse.

"Because if I were to harm the king, my daddy couldn't get me out of the dungeon." Her horse snorted as she pulled herself onto him and swung her leg over.

He held a hand to his heart. "That was a low blow, lady Etta."

"I'm no lady."

Before either of them could respond, she kicked her horse, and they started down the path.

People crammed themselves along the sides of the streets to get a look at their newly crowned king. There were cheers and excitement. All nerves drifted far away as Alexandre Durand took in his people. They'd come for him. Only him. Not his father. He couldn't remember ever seeing this kind of reaction for his father. It was so very different from the reception he’d received from his nobles.

He sat up straighter in his saddle and lifted his arm in a wave.

Edmund snorted beside him. "You're enjoying this."

Alex shot him a grin. "After the public flogging I received at the ball, why shouldn't I?" He glanced back to where Etta sat perfectly atop a horse that no one else had dared to ride.

She caught his eye as he laughed. "Is there a problem, your Majesty?"

"I can't believe you haven't been thrown from your horse yet."

She drew her lips to the side. "Is that a challenge?"

"I would never issue you a challenge you couldn't win."

Etta smirked and bent forward to whisper to her horse. Her legs squeezed in tighter and she jerked the reins. The damn horse began to prance as if they'd been practicing the move their whole lives.

The crowd let out a roar of approval, egging Vérité on. He went on for a few moments before returning to his stance and continuing on with the guard’s horses.

Alex threw his head back in laughter. Etta didn't look at him. Her eyes shifted toward the people, but her lips twisted as she tried to hide a smile.

The bright sun beat down on them as they came to a stop in the center of town. The market was teeming with villagers who'd followed them through the streets.

Alex slid down from his horse gracefully and his guard did the same. As he watched the people surround him, he breathed out heavily. How was he to lead these people when he didn't know how to keep them safe? Today he'd make the announcement that could change their fates, the fate of the kingdom of Gaule. Today, he'd tell them that their worst nightmare was here. That they were vulnerable.

Those cheers would turn to gasps, the joy to fear. They were about to break.

He clenched his palm tight, fingernails digging into skin, and looked to Etta. She'd been right. Morning always brings clarity. She was meant to see this through with him. Her eyes lifted to his and that same electricity from that night in his room flowed between them. She nodded once, and he knew he could do it.

He was ready to be king.

* * *

"The king has an announcement to make," Edmund's voice rose above the rabble and the crowd quieted.

Etta glanced around for a familiar face. A few in this town could point to her as the thief with magic. Then there were the two who could put her mind at ease about her father. But Maiya and Pierre were nowhere to be found.

Alex stepped onto a platform and she followed, scanning for possible dangers.

He cleared his throat. "Hi." He coughed as words failed him.

Uncertainty marred his features, and she stepped closer and dropped her voice. "Honesty, your Majesty. That's what they deserve."

He swallowed and began again. "Our period of mourning for my father has ended. It must. As a kingdom, we must move on to the dangers we face. I am no longer your prince." One of the guards handed up Alex's crown, and he placed it on his head. "I am now Alexandre Durand, forty-second king of the great kingdom of Gaule. And I am here to tell you of the dangers we face. The wards have been destroyed."

A cry rose up from the crowd as panic set in.

"Hear me now—" But before he could continue, a burst of wind blew through the market, stronger than any natural force.

Etta yanked Alex down off the platform.

"What's going on?" he yelled over the deafening noise.

"Magic." She wasn't sure he heard her, and it was probably better if he didn't. She could feel the magic in the air, swirling down upon them. She scanned the rooftops for the source of the wind and found a stocky man with bright red hair. His arms were raised as he called his magic.

More screams rose up as fires erupted out of nowhere. There was no doubt in her mind. Gaule was under attack.

She kept hold of Alex's arm to keep from being separated. Edmund took his place on the other side of the king. "We need to get him somewhere safe."

Edmund was right. They had to get out of there.

"Come on." She patted Vérité's side, and he turned to follow them. They ran into an alleyway and the sounds from the market square faded.

The rest of the king's guards were lost in the mess behind them.

They reached the end of the alley and jogged up the street until they arrived at a familiar shop. Etta yanked on the door but it was locked.

"Maiya," she yelled, pounding her fists against the solid wood. It was cracked, probably from the quake after her father's death. The wood groaned beneath her steady drumming. "Pierre." Sounds came from the alleys nearby and her fists slowed. "Please. Let us in."

As she stopped and turned back to look at the king, considering their next move, the door swung open.

"P-Etta," Maiya cried, flinging her arms around her friend.

"Maiya, we need to come in."

She stepped back and finally noticed Etta's companions. "Of course. Come in. Come in." They rushed inside, shut the door, and latched it.

Maiya dipped into a curtsy. "Your Majesty."

"We owe you a debt," Alex said as he tried to even his breathing.

Etta grabbed Maiya’s arm. "I need to talk to you."

She nodded and led Etta to the back room. Alex tried to follow, but the door shut in his face.

As soon as they were alone, Etta's shoulders sagged, and she leaned against the wall, running a hand through her hair.

"I knew it was coming," Maiya confessed suddenly. "The attack. There's a group of magic folk who've been planning it since the wards came down."

"Why didn't you warn me?"

"How was I supposed to do that?" Etta had never seen Maiya look so angry. "I haven't heard a word from you until today. We didn't know if you were dead or if your magic had been found out and you were rotting in their prison." A sob escaped her. "Things have been bad here, Etta. So much of the town was destroyed in the quake. It's not safe to roam the streets."

"Then why don't you pack up and move to the forest?"

"You forget, the forest is no longer protected; the people no longer hidden. They wait for the day they're found and rounded up by the very king you bring to my house tonight."

Etta hesitated. "I don't think Alex is the man his father was."

"But what if he is? This curse will be the death of you."

Etta stepped forward and gripped Maiya's shoulders, craning her neck to look down into her eyes. "I won't let it."

"Will you let it be the death of our people?"

She sucked in a breath. "Of course not. But our people are not saved by launching attacks that only brew anger."

"Then how are our people saved?" Maiya asked.

"I don't know."

"That’s ... reassuring."

A tired laugh burst out of her and she pulled Maiya in for a hug. "I missed you." They stood that way for a few moments before Etta pulled back to ask the question that had been tearing at her. "My father ..."

"We buried him in the Black Forest where he would've wanted." She paused. "By the most enchanting stretch of wildflowers. It's strange. I don't recall seeing those anywhere else in that forest." She gave Etta a knowing look.

A weight lifted from her heart. Her father was home. Better yet, he was in her sanctuary. She'd never shown it to him in life and now she wished she'd had. There were many things she wished she'd said to her father.

When they rejoined Alex and Edmund, Pierre was with them.

"Etta," he said warmly, opening his arms. She hugged him as she never had before. Pierre and Maiya were all she had left of her father.

Alex had a grim look on his face as she approached. "My father was right," he said. "Magic is evil. I will do my best to crush it.” He glanced around at the others in the room. "This I promise you."

Etta exchanged a look with Edmund, a silent conversation that needed no words.

Alex spun toward the door. "We should be out there fighting the bastards." Red crept up his neck as he tried to contain his anger.

Pierre shot Etta a pleading look.

"Your Majesty, there's nothing you can do."

A scream from the street pierced the air before it was abruptly cut off.

Alex glanced wildly between the door and Etta's calm face. He tore his eyes from her and made it to the door before they could stop him. "They're my people," he growled, yanking it open. "I will not hide while they are cut down."

"Shit." Edmund pulled his sword from its scabbard before looking to Etta. "I guess we're doing this." He rushed after Alex.

Etta took a step to follow them.

"They're your people, Persinette," Pierre said to her back. "Don't forget that as your sword cuts them down."

She didn't turn to look at him. "I don't have a choice. They may be my people, but I'm the cursed one. I fear my life will be spent fighting those I should be fighting for."

She ducked out the door and immediately found Edmund and Alex. They were locked in a battle with a man who was shooting sparks from his fingertips. They stood no chance. Etta ran around the side of the building, hidden from view, and called her magic forth. The stones beneath their feet began to shake and crack as they rose up. Alex stumbled back, his eyes wide. Edmund used the momentary break to push a burst of air at their attacker. He rose up slightly before slamming back against the face of the building.

Alex was too stunned to see Edmund's power. Etta ran forward as if she'd just arrived. Vérité joined her.

"We can't stay out here in the open," she said.

"You two need to get out of here." Edmund gestured to the horse.

"How?" Alex's eyes were still wild, but his breathing returned to normal. "They'll have blocked the road back to the palace."

"Go North."

"But that's ..."

"Through the Black Forest," Etta finished for him, shaking her head. She couldn't take the King of Gaule through the forest. For one, it wouldn't be safe. For him or the people that lived there. It was too close, too risky. Her secrets hung by a thread and Edmund was asking her to expose them even more.

"It's the only way." He glanced down the ally as footsteps reached their ears.

Etta shook herself. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine as long as the king is safe. You're his protector. So, protect."

They shared another one of their unspoken conversations, knowing they'd both risk it all to keep Alex safe. For him, it was love, loyalty. For her, it was the curse, but it was becoming so much more. After a lifetime preparing to hate him, she couldn’t grasp the feelings swirling inside of her.

"Come on." She swung up into the saddle, motioning for the king to climb up behind her. He had no more objections. It was written in his eyes. He was no match for the magic these people held. He never would be.

As soon as he was up, Etta gathered the reins and Vérité took off without prompting. They cantered through the eerily empty and broken streets. The sounds of fighting from the market center died on the wind until all they heard was the steady drumming of the horse’s hooves.

Neither of them spoke as they left the town behind them and rode on. The ride was long, and the forest stretched before them, shadowy and impenetrable. Only now, it was no longer protected. It was no longer held ghostly voices that echoed among the trees, or guarded the people hidden among the wards. Now they were visible. Their houses there for everyone to see.

Etta longed to go back to a simple time among the trees. Training with her father. Rides with Vérité. She could sense the horse's excitement as they neared.

Alex, on the other hand, tightened his grip on her. He'd been raised on stories from the forest. To him, it must have represented everything that was evil in Gaule.

He sucked in a breath loudly.

"You'll be okay," she said.

"I know that, but it doesn’t make me any less desirous to be here. I should be heading back to the palace or fighting in the town."

"You’d never make it." She touched his hand gently. “You can’t be a good king if you die before getting the chance to try.”

His teeth ground together. "How long will we be in the woods?"

She thought for a moment, considering how far out of the way they’d have to go to avoid where she knew people lived. She wouldn’t reveal them to the king for expediency’s sake. "Maybe two days." Glancing at the waning sun behind her. "We entered at a far edge and will have to avoid all paths that lead into town or get any kind of traffic. It's around two days to the far side of the palace walls if we only take the safer paths."

"Safer paths?"

"Most of the stories about this place you've heard are ... untrue. But we still need to be cautious."

"How do you know so much about these woods?"

He was too close to the truth. Think. Think. She closed her eyes, thankful he couldn't see her face. "I used to hunt with my father here."

"You were brave."

She ignored that. If she were brave, she'd have ridden to Dracon to confront La Dame about breaking her curse instead of bowing to it.

Etta looked over her shoulder, considering if it was safe enough to stop. "Vérité needs a break." They were as safe as they could be after an attack in the village. She sighed and slid down. Alex followed her.

"I think we should travel without stopping,” Alex said. “I need to get back to the palace as soon as possible to deal with the attackers and lend support to the village.” He spoke rapidly. "Where did they come from? Are they working for La Dame? How many did they kill? Did they take hostages?"

"Slow down, your Majesty." She scanned the surrounding forest. "I know you've been relatively sheltered most of your life, but we can't be stupid. If we travel straight through, we'll be no use to anyone when we show up. We should find a place to set up camp soon. We'll need something to eat as well."

He considered her for a long moment, the side of his mouth quirking up. "Are you giving me—the king—orders?"

"Out here, there is no king, only the ones who survive and the ones who don't."

"I didn't know you had a bossy side. I've seen angry. Quiet. Unsure. Even kind. Never bossy."

She pushed by him, bumping his shoulder as she hid her smile from him.

"I like bossy."

* * *

They avoided any houses they passed, keeping to the paths Etta knew only too well. When she'd lived there, she'd avoided any contact with the others residing among the trees. Or maybe they'd avoided her. Whichever it was, she'd spent most of her time alone. Her father was always off, secretly watching the king from afar. The king he hated with everything he was. The king he'd never truly stopped serving.

The image of her father as his back hit the dirt played through her mind. She wiped away an angry tear before Alex could see how this place affected her. Her magic buzzed in a way it never did inside the castle walls, surrounded by her concrete prison. Out here, she knew every leaf, every flower that struggled to bloom. They called to her.

As the light faded, the trees became shadows, wrapping the travelers in a cloak of darkness. A warm night breeze lifted the hair off her neck and she turned, half expecting to see Edmund there, running to catch up. There was no one but Etta and the king, something she was acutely aware of.

"Etta." Alex's soft voice echoed through the space. "If you insist on us resting, we should find a place before we lose anymore light."

"Not yet." It was a dangerous thing to countermand a king, yet she continued to walk, pulling Vérité along behind her. They were close, she could feel it.

Her eyes lifted as they crested a hill, her glen laid out before them. A sigh hissed from her lips as relief flooded through her. She was home.

Her old shack was nowhere near, but this place meant more to her than her home ever had. The ground was soft under her feet and her eyes only caught the outlines of flowers stretching into the distance. But she didn't need to see them. She felt them.

"We’re staying here for the night." She removed her scabbard and mail shirt. Her shoulders flexed as they enjoyed their freedom.

A drop of water hit her face, and she tilted it up to watch more break through the tree cover. She smiled despite herself.

Alex stopped beside her, droplets landing in his hair. "Just our luck."

She turned to face him.

He sucked in a breath. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile like that."

"You haven't known me long, your Majesty." She slipped into formality to put some distance between them. "Our time together has been fraught with turmoil. Even now. I shouldn't smile under these circumstances. I apologize." She dropped her gaze.

"No." He lifted his hand to trace the outline of the frown she now wore. "Please. When you smile, I feel like my entire world isn't crumbling down. Just for one moment." He snatched his hand back. "I just ..."

She looked to him, still torn between wanting to be rid of him forever and wanting something ... different. Maybe the key to the curse was not giving in to its demands, but in realizing she could make demands of it. She couldn't ignore it any longer. Whether it was the curse, that damn kiss, or something much, much more. She was drawn to this enemy of hers and she was tired of fighting it.

They both acted in the same moment. She gripped his shoulders as he slammed his mouth against hers. Desperation tugged at her. The rain began to come faster as her lips parted and his tongue met hers in a wave of ecstasy, a wave of fantasy. Because that's all it could ever be. Away from the castle, in the depths of her forest, a fantasy was born. They weren't ancient enemies. He knew her full name and everything she could do. And he was still there, kissing her as if none of it mattered.

A sob threatened to break their kiss because it did matter. If he knew, he'd have her hauled away.

He moaned into her mouth, pressing closer, and she pushed down her wretched despair. Gripping the edge of his shirt, she bunched it in her hands and skimmed the skin just beneath. He broke away from her long enough to tug it over his head.

His chest was slick with rain as she traced his muscles, warm under her hands.

"Etta," he growled.

It was pointless to try to stop as his mouth claimed hers once again.

"I've wanted you since the very first time I saw you at that tournament." His words vibrated against her lips.

She didn't tell him of the naive girl who'd, once upon a time, had a crush on a prince who was so very kind to her. She hadn't yet known how his fate would be tied to hers.

So, she tied it further.

It didn't matter that none of it was real—what he was feeling. It only mattered that for the first time since the tournament, she felt something other than the hole where her soul should be.

He captured her lips again as he pulled her down to the soft earth, pinning her beneath him. A puddle formed around them, but neither noticed as a stillness entered their hearts. Joined as one, the curse's constant pull fell silent.

None of it could last though and she'd never been more thankful for the darkness that hid her tears.

16

A shiver ran the length of Alex's body as a groan from his empty stomach woke him. The sun was beginning to rise, obscured by the trees overhead. It took him a while to get his bearings, and then it all came flooding back to him. He sat up with a start. They'd been attacked the day before. He'd been forced to flee like a coward. Being king held no power when faced with magic.

He scrubbed a hand across his face and opened his eyes as two new realizations hit him. He was naked. And he was alone. They'd been soaking wet by the time they took cover from the rain in a dense patch of trees. All through the night, water dripped down onto them, but they’d used each other to stay warm.

Etta.

Where was she? His eyes scanned his surroundings. In the light, he could see for the first time where she'd brought him. Wild flowers of varying colors stretched in every direction. He climbed to his feet to get a better look and sucked in a breath at the beauty before him.

Nothing like this was supposed to exist in the Black Forest. It was supposed to be haunted, dangerous. But nothing was as it was supposed to be anymore.

Etta was no longer only his protector. There'd been a moment the night before when he felt her cede complete control, complete trust, and he'd done the same. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved her. He had since the very first time his eyes met her fierce ones.

But he was king.

He shook his head to clear the fog he felt creeping in and searched the ground for his discarded clothing. His pants were still sopping wet and now covered in dirt. He had no choice but to put them on. His shirt was a different matter. It lay on the ground, not two feet from where Vérité was tied.

Holding out a hand in front of him as a sign of friendship, he edged closer. The horse threw his head back, his mane catching in the breeze. He snorted and stamped his feet.

"Come on, Vérité," Alex said cautiously. "I thought we made progress yesterday when you saved my life." He bent to retrieve the shirt, but before his fingers could latch on to the fabric, Vérité snapped his teeth and the king jumped back in surprise.

"Vérité," he snapped. "I am your king. You will do as I say. Let me have my shirt."

The horse's nose flared, and he lurched forward with another snap of his teeth, almost nipping his king's arm.

"Treasonous bastard." Giving up on his shirt, Alex turned to go find Etta.

She was kneeling among a patch of bright yellow flowers with her head bent. Her words carried toward him.

"Father," she said. "This is so much harder than I thought it'd be. Things are falling apart."

Alex edged closer. Getting a glimpse into the real Etta was a rarity he couldn't pass up.

"I'm so lost. I don't know how to tell the difference between what I feel and what is being forced upon me."

Forced upon her? He thought about last night. Did she think she couldn't refuse him because he was king?

"I wish you were here to guide me." She got to her feet revealing a pile of stones that marked a gravesite.

She turned and her eyes widened upon seeing him. He suddenly felt like he'd intruded on an intensely private moment.

Etta wanted people to see her as a warrior. Someone without emotion. Without regret. She kept her past hidden.

But in that place, in that moment, her eyes held a vulnerability that nearly broke him. He closed the distance between them and pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her back to keep her there. For once, she didn't resist the tie between them. Instead, she sank into it, pressing her face to his bare shoulder and breathing in deeply.

Their touch felt more intimate than what they’d done the night before. Their breath lined up, perfectly in sync, as they took comfort in one another.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked softly.

"No," she replied.

"Did you know them?" He gestured to the grave. He already knew the answer, but he wanted her to confide in him.

She pulled back to look at him.

He brushed the blond hair from her face as she hesitated.

Finally, she nodded. "My father."

"I have so many questions about you, Etta."

"Please." She pressed her cheek back to his chest. "Don't ask them. I don't want to lie to you."

He shook his head. "I'm the King of Gaule and I can't even get my protector to share her family name. Her father is mysteriously buried in the Black Forest. I don't know how she learned to fight or why. All I know is that I feel drawn to her, like kissing her gives me life."

"Is that enough?" The question was no more than a whisper.

He kissed the top of her head and spoke into her hair. "For now, but not forever."

She broke away from him. "We should get going. You are needed at the palace." She stopped walking when she reached Vérité and her fingers worked to untie him.

She bent down to retrieve Alex’s shirt. "Missing something?"

"Damn horse wouldn't let me near it."

Etta shook her head, the hint of a smile appearing on her lips. "Will you two ever stop fighting?"

"It's his fault."

"Sure, your Majesty." She lifted the saddle and slid it into place before he could help her. As she reached below to buckle it, she glanced back at him. "I'd put that shirt on if I were you. We can't have the king showing up at the palace half-naked."

He laughed and pulled it on over his head, hoping it would dry quickly.

Etta climbed up and Vérité stomped his foot as Alex tried to do the same.

"Stop that." Etta smacked the horse’s neck, and he stopped long enough for the king to pull himself up.

Then he took off. As Alex looked back, part of him didn't want to leave that place behind. A tranquil peace existed among the trees that would be gone as soon as they were far away. Because he knew. When he made it home, he'd be returning to a country at war.

* * *

Urgency made the trip long. Vérite could only canter for so long before slowing.

The air surrounding them was fresh and clean from the night’s rain. It was full of life, but Alex could only focus on the woman in front of him. Her warmth was nestled between his thighs, and his arm rose and fell against her stomach with each breath she took. She shook her head and her golden braid fell over one shoulder. He pushed the remaining hairs aside and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. She leaned into him.

“Alex,” she breathed. “Last night was…”

“Perfect?”

She shook her head and when he ran his hands down the lengths of her arms, she shivered.

“Stop smiling,” she said.

His laugh rumbled against her back. “How do you know I’m smiling?”

She twisted in the saddle to look back at him and touched the dimples in his cheeks. His smile widened. “I know you, Alex.”

She dropped her hand and turned back around as if she’d said something she shouldn’t and Alex didn’t stop her. She was holding back from him and soon they’d return to the palace where he’d have to be king and she’d be his protector. There was a storm awaiting them. Flashes of the battle the day before played in his mind as he closed his eyes.

Edmund would be okay. They’d left him in the middle of the fight, but he could protect himself. They’d walk through the gates and he’d be waiting with a grin on his face, a misplaced grin after an attack, but it would suit him.

What of the people in the village? The healer and his daughter who’d helped them? The people in the market square who’d come out just to get a glimpse of their king?

“The attack is only the beginning, isn’t it?”

He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Etta responded. “I didn’t always think the wards were a just means of defense.” She paused. “I don’t know how freely I can speak to the king.”

He spread his fingers across the flat plains of her stomach. “Say what you wish.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “Your father wasn’t a good king.”

“You didn’t know him.”

She hesitated. “No, but I know this country a little better than you.”

He took his hands from her. “I am the king,” he growled.

Verite snorted and he would have sworn the horse didn’t appreciate his tone.

“You said I could say anything,” she said boldly. “I will not indulge you in useless flattery.”

He breathed deeply to calm the defensive words on his tongue. “Go on.”

“Your father was a tyrant who hunted his own people. The wards allowed him to do that without any avenue for them to escape. Any with magic in their blood could not cross the border. It kept Gaule safe, but it also cut the country off from the outside world. Those without magic didn’t cross for fear of capture.”

“A very real threat.”

She nodded. “I know and that is why my heart is torn. The wards imprisoned magic folk, but kept everyone else safe. La Dame is out there.”

“I saw her once,” he said.

Etta went still. “How?”

“It was before the wards were put up. I was only a boy and my father took me to the border. She was our ally.”

“Why would she ally with Gaule?”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve been wondering that myself. She’s ancient and power emanates from her every pore.”

“What was she like?” Etta’s voice held a hint of fear, the first fear Alex had seen from her.

“Wonderful.”

Etta shifted. “Wonderful?”

“And terrifying. She didn’t look much older than I am now, but what I remember most were her eyes. When I looked into them, all that I was, all that I’d ever be was rendered unimportant. There was only her. I lost any sense of myself. All I wanted was to please her.” He leaned his chin on Etta’s shoulder. “It was both the best and worst day of my life.”

Etta laced her fingers with his where they rested against her stomach and snapped the reigns with her other hand.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You were just a child.”

“I shouldn’t have been so enchanted. She did the same thing to my father. I heard the guards talking the next morning about how my father had been found in her bed. He had many mistresses, but that night changed him. It struck a fear in him. As we were leaving, a voice sounded in my mind.”

“What did it say?”

He squeezed her tighter against him, needed her warmth to push away the numbness brought on by the memories. “She told me I’d come back to her one day. It didn’t matter. The next day, my father had Viktor construct the wards.”

Etta gasped as the realization came to her. “The wards were the ultimate betrayal.”

“Yes, Etta, when you said my father was a horrible king, you didn’t know how right you were. He betrayed the most powerful woman in the world. A woman who has destroyed greater men and brought entire kingdoms to their knees. And he had Viktor use his magic to prevent her from setting foot in this kingdom again.”

“And Viktor helped him,” Etta whispered. “They left us with this.”

“She’s going to come for us,” he said. “The question is when. I think we still have time to prepare. When she makes a move, it will be calculated, planned. Look at the legends of Bela. If those are to be believed, her plan took generations to complete.”

“The difference,” Etta began. “Is that Bela had its own source of power. The people had magic, just like La Dame’s people in Dracon. Gaule doesn’t stand a chance.”

“While I am king, it will always have a chance.”

* * *

They left the woods at the edge of the Black Forest, nearest the far side of the castle walls in the late afternoon. Neither of them knew the state of the little town behind those walls. It wasn't safe for the king to show up at the front gate.

"We have to separate," Etta said as they neared the walls.

Alex led them to a hidden door that went mostly unused. There was no need for secrecy in times of peace.

"Not a chance."

"Vérité can't enter that way and I'm not leaving him. As soon as you're inside the inner palace, you'll be safe."

"What about you?"

"We don't know the outer palace has been compromised.” Her eyes roamed the length of the walls.

"We don't know it hasn't."

"This is non-negotiable, your Highness."

"You don't give me orders," he growled in irritation.

"I do when it comes to your safety. My job is to protect you and that means getting you somewhere safe, regardless of my own safety."

He started to argue, but she reached down to grip the hand he had on her stomach as they rode up the grassy hill. Her fingers threaded between his and he squeezed.

It still wasn't real to her—everything she was feeling. It was a part of the curse. But she no longer cared. For the first time since her father died, she didn't feel completely and utterly alone. She wanted the feeling to last until the time came for her to break the curse. That was still the mission, even if it took her entire life to do it.

And when it was gone, the King of Gaule would marry his betrothed, the decorative, highborn Amalie. If they all survived that long.

They dismounted as they came up alongside the tall, outer wall of the castle. Etta glanced up. "Once inside that door, there's a secret passage that'll take you past the inner wall."

"How do you know that?"

"Your brother told me all about his tunnels and passages."

That made him smile.

She walked him toward the door, her eyes scanning for trouble, hand on the hilt of her sword.

Alex brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed them before looking down at her. "Promise me that inside those walls, nothing will change."

She removed her hand. "You are the king."

"Nice of you to notice."

She bit her lower lip. "It's the palace. Inside those walls, everything changes."

His shoulders sagged in resignation as he put a hand to the door to push it open. "I need you safe. If anything happens to you, it'll kill me."

Literally, she thought.

But he didn't know that. So, she hardened her eyes and pressed her lips together. "I am your protector, your Majesty, not the other way around."

Hurt flashed in his eyes and then he was gone, leaving Etta on that grassy hill outside the walls with only her temperamental horse for company.

"Come on, boy." She hooked her foot into a stirrup and pulled herself up before swinging her leg over his back. "Let's see what kind of mess we're walking into."

Vérité jerked his head to the side as Etta slid her sword free. He wasn't used to weapons yet. They cantered the length of the wall, turning toward the massive steel gates that stood as a barrier to those wanting to break through.

Closed? They never closed the outer gates.

Hoping it meant they hadn't been attacked, she nudged Vérité forward. As she neared, a line of soldiers appeared atop the wall, bows in hands. The tips of their arrows were aimed directly at her.

There was no doubt in her mind, they could take her down in one shot. Gaule's archers shot true.

She infused steel into her voice as she raised her gaze. "Open the gates."

A man pushed through the line of archers to look down at her. She recognized him immediately. Anders. Could he recognize her from afar?

"Who demands entry?"

Well, that answered that question.

She drew herself up, sitting as straight as she could. "I am Etta, Protector of King Alexandre."

A beat of silence passed. Then another.

"Put away your sword," Anders demanded.

She did as she was bid, and watched the heavy gates open slowly.

Anders rushed down the steps to meet her. She slid from Vérité's back as the gates closed behind them.

"Where is the king?" Anders demanded, his harsh eyes boring into hers.

"Safe," she responded. "He should be in the inner palace by now."

"You shouldn't have separated him from his guards during the attack."

"I didn't separate him. The men and women attacking us did."

"He's been presumed dead. You both have."

She studied him, unable to tell if Anders was satisfied they were alive or not. "Your son could have told you we escaped."

He scowled and a flash of pain crossed his face. "Edmund is no son of mine." With that, he turned and stomped off, his steel-toed boots slamming against the stone road.

What is going on?

Etta gripped Vérité's reins tightly in her fist and tugged him along behind her. The soldiers at the gate returned to their watch, not looking at her as she went by. The streets were deserted, an uncommon sight while the sun still hung in the sky.

Occasionally, a head would poke out of a house or a shop she passed, but they always ducked away in fear. Who were they afraid of behind these walls?

In the silence, the sound of someone running toward her was deafening. The armor-clad soldier stopped when she reached Etta.

"Protector," she said, inclining her head. "The king sent me to fetch the horse so you could go straight to the palace."

Etta nodded, ceding the reins gratefully. "Fill me in on the way."

The girl didn't need further explanation. "The village is all but destroyed. Many lost their lives. The others seek refuge behind our walls."

"How did the palace fare?"

"We were not attacked. By the time the royal guard was ready to move toward the village, the magic wielders were already gone. We lined the walls in wait, but nothing ever came."

"Who were the attackers working for?"

"As far as we can tell, themselves. There seems to be no outside force involved."

It was La Dame. It had to be. She refused to believe the magic community in Gaule would sanction such bloodshed.

They reached the stables and Etta nodded a goodbye to her before quickening her steps. She breathed more easily once she was past the inner gates and into the training yard.

Tyson was sitting in the courtyard on the steps leading to the large doors with his head in his hands. He started as Etta neared and jumped to his feet.

He ran forward and threw his arms around her. "Thank you for keeping him safe."

"I'll always protect him." She let him hug her for a moment longer before pulling back.

"I know you will." He wiped at his face to try to hide his tears. There was an innocence to Tyson that she feared would soon be broken. Just as Alex's was all those years ago.

He stepped back, suddenly self-conscious. "Mother told me to wait for you out here. Alex is in there throwing things."

"Why would he do that?"

His eyes dropped, and he sank back down on the steps. The next three words out of his mouth sliced through her like the sharp edge of a knife.

"Edmund's been arrested."

17

Etta's feet carried her through the empty palace halls. The servants hid in alcoves near the kitchen and she knew why. The king's screams permeated the walls.

She followed the sounds to the throne room where two guards waited outside a closed door.

"Open it," she demanded. "Now."

They didn't hesitate in letting her through before closing it behind her.

Alex stood against the wall, near a table laden with food and drink for those in attendance. His mother stood a fair distance away, as did Princess Camille. Various lords and ladies watched him warily.

He had yet to bathe or change, his clothing still crusty with the same dirt that streaked through his hair. He did not look like a king.

A roar ripped through the room as Alex threw a goblet against the wall. It shattered and burgundy wine ran down the stone.

No one made a move to clean it up. Etta's eyes took in the room, noting that it wasn't the first thing he'd thrown.

His face reddened as he took two heavy steps toward a guard who was cowering near him. "Lies," he spat. "You speak lies."

He shook as he averted his eyes from the irate king. "Sire. We have many accounts."

Alex growled. "Get out of my sight."

The guard ran from the room as if chased.

Etta stepped up next to Queen Catrine. The queen’s face relaxed in relief. "You're here."

Etta nodded.

"Thank you for bringing him back."

Etta watched Alex pace the room as she spoke to his mother. "What has Edmund done?"

"Eyewitnesses say he was using magic during the attack."

She bit down on her lip as all the possibilities raced through her mind. God, Edmund. Did they know about her? What would they do to him? A lot of that would depend on the king who was currently growling at anyone who looked his way.

She leaned closer to the queen. "But he only used it to save the king."

If Catrine was surprised Etta knew about Edmund's magic, she didn't show it. "That doesn't matter in Gaule. Just possessing the magic is a crime punishable by death."

"Alex wouldn't ..."

"Alexandre was raised by a man who had his own protector hunted." She looked toward her son. "I honestly don't know what he'll do. He must keep his nobles content."

Before Etta could respond, Camille stepped forward, her words to her brother ringing throughout the room. "Brother, you know the punishment for magic."

Etta couldn't stay quiet any longer. "Alex, it's Edmund."

"Your Majesty," Camille snapped.

"What?"

"You will address the king as 'your Majesty' as befits your position, Protector."

Etta narrowed her eyes. "Your Majesty, Edmund saved your life in the attack."

"How do we know he wasn't a part of it?" Camille asked. "Wasn't it Edmund who pushed to go into town?"

"Attack or not, going to the people was the right thing to do. A king cannot rule if he does not know them." Etta pinned the princess with a stare.

Camille marched toward Etta and glared into her eyes. Etta wanted to push her away, but to lay hands on the princess was a crime.

"You're just a protector. Your knowledge goes no further than the tip of your sword. Don't pretend it does."

"And your knowledge, Princess, ends at pretty dresses."

Etta's cheek stung before she even saw the princess draw her hand back in preparation for the slap. The sound of their flesh meeting clapped through the space.

Jaws hung open around the room, but Etta remained still. She couldn't react. That was what Camille wanted.

She stared into the girl's cruel eyes as all air left the room.

Then Camille disappeared. Alex stood behind her, several feet away, gripping her shoulders. He shoved her, and she stumbled before righting herself.

Etta lifted her eyes to the king, but he didn't meet them. Instead, he walked by her, slamming the door open and leaving them all in shock.

"Etta, dear," the queen said. "Go."

She was right. Her job was to be at his side whether he wanted anyone there or not. Now was not the time for him to be wandering the palace alone.

She followed him, not sparing one more thought for the people she left behind.

* * *

Alex tore through his room, rage rising up from the pit of his stomach. How had he missed it? His entire life, Edmund had been there. When magic was purged from the realm, he'd stayed. He was the captain of the guard's son. If magic passed down through blood, how did it get into his?

It must have been his mysterious mother.

The bookshelf by the door shook as he slammed his foot into it, scattering books across the floor. He needed something to hit, someone to take the blame.

This could not be happening.

He flipped open his sketchpad, the first page showing Edmund sitting proudly atop a horse in full armor. He'd been sixteen at the time and allowed Alex to use him for drawing practice—back when Alex was under the delusion that it was okay for a future king to skip his training to hide away with his sketchpad.

A smile stretched Edmund's face. It wasn't the best drawing, but the joy was there. He was his best friend, his brother.

And he'd lied to him their whole lives.

He was tainted. Evil.

Nothing about magic could be good. Not when they attacked his villages.

His best friend was nothing more than an enemy in disguise.

A cry lodged in his throat as he tore the page to shreds and threw the book across the room as hard as he could. It landed with a thud right in front of two worn boots. His eyes traveled up to find Etta watching him. She cocked her head, her eyes showing the only sign of weariness from their journey.

They had no time for weariness.

She bent to pick up the sketchbook before walking forward to set it on the table beside him.

"You should go." It came out more as a sigh than the growl he'd intended.

"I am your protector."

"There's nothing to protect me from in here."

"There's plenty."

Alex walked across the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His dark hair spilled forward, covering the torture in his eyes.

"My best friend is sitting in my dungeon." The words released from him in one long stream as if an admittance of guilt.

What was he guilty of?

Not hating the man who'd been like a brother to him? Failing to act swiftly to rid Gaule of his magic?

"He's not the man I thought he was."

Etta dropped to her knees in front of him. "Of course he is. He's the same man who risked his life entering the tournament, just for a chance to be at your side."

He tore his gaze from hers and stood abruptly, the anger from before returning.

"How could you say those words to me? Edmund is no better than the people who attacked us in the village, no better than the man who killed my father."

Etta rocked back to sit on her heels, not rising to face him.

Why wasn't she agreeing with him? The opinionated Etta was quiet, avoiding his eyes. When he was a lad, and his playmate possessed the magic, he'd sometimes envied her. He wanted to feel that power. But that was before. Before they flocked to La Dame's forces and tried to ruin Gaule. Before they were hunted down by his father.

He'd ridden out toward the end of the purge when there were few prisoners left to take. His father had forced him. Edmund hadn't been there. Why hadn't he found that strange?

How hadn't he known?

"I need to see him," Alex said, moving toward the door.

"Now?" Etta hurried after him. "You aren't in the right mind for this." She moved to block him. "Maybe you need a bath, dinner, and some sleep. He'll still be there in the morning."

"Move, Etta, before I make you."

She took in the stubbornness on his face and stepped aside. It was as if the night before was a distant memory. An icy chill returned between them as they walked through the palace, the king and his protector. Servants bowed and scurried out of the way to avoid the fierceness of his gaze.

The dungeons were across the palace. They descended the sharp, narrow staircase as the air grew cooler, and moisture stuck to their skin. Lanterns hung along the walls, casting a dim, yellow light across the darkness. Two guards sat at the bottom of the stairs with a table between them.

One cheered as a pair of dice clacked together, but the other spotted the king and stood immediately.

"Sire." He said as the other guard finally noticed them and jumped to his feet.

"Take me to the magic man."

They turned and led Etta and Alex down a long hall. Cells lined each wall, most of them full of poor, wretched people. Alex couldn’t look as their moans and pleas reached his ears.

Most of these people had been arrested by his father, their crimes unknown to Alex. But he only had his sights on one criminal.

They turned the corner into another room in the labyrinth beneath the palace. Only one cell there was occupied.

Edmund sat against the wall, chains keeping him in place. His legs were spread wide in front of him and bent at the knee. He rested his arms on his knees and hung his head.

Without lifting his eyes, he spoke.

"Come to tell me my fate, your Majesty?"

* * *

Edmund’s fair blond hair was matted with blood that streaked down the side of his face, drying in clumps. A purple bruise stretched across his jaw.

He finally raised his eyes, still not acknowledging Alex. Instead, he looked to Etta, and the chains rattled as he lifted a hand to touch his jaw gently. "It's okay, Etta. I deserved it."

Etta shook her head. He didn't deserve any of it.

As if reading her thoughts, he smiled slightly. "I may have resisted arrest a little."

Alex stepped forward to grip the bars of his friend's prison. "How could you?"

"How could I what?" He finally snapped his eyes to his king's. "Be what I was born? Keep it a secret when I spent all my teenage years listening to how much you and your father hated my people?" Fire burned in his eyes, but also something else. Betrayal?

Alex would be too blind to see it, but Etta recognized the source of Edmund's anger. Love. Alex meant everything to him and now they stood on opposite sides of prison bars.

"Edmund," Etta said softly. "Why don't you show him what you can do. Show him that it isn't something evil."

When she tried to put a hand on Alex's arm, he jerked away from her and turned his accusing stare on her, realizing for the first time that she knew.

"You," he said.

"I didn't want this to happen to him." Panic clawed at her throat. How much more was she going to accidentally reveal? It could have just as easily been her in the dungeons. Edmund shot her a warning glance. She reached for Alex's hand and this time he let her take it. "I couldn't put that on you." She nodded to Edmund. "Do it."

The world around them quieted in an instant. The moans from the other prisoners faded away and it was just the three of them. A small wind blew through the enclosed room and Alex jumped, his eyes rounding. His mouth moved as if trying to speak, but words failed him.

Etta squeezed his hand as Edmund pulled his magic back. The wind stopped abruptly.

Alex shook his head, incredulous as he stared at Edmund, a new distrust in his eyes. Before, he'd only heard about it. Now, he'd seen his friend's power for himself.

"I've felt that before," the king admitted. "Many times." His eyes zeroed in on Edmund. "You’ve used your magic on me."

"It wasn't like that." Edmund scrambled to his knees and moved closer until his chains tugged him back. His anger was gone, replaced with desperation.

He needed his friend to understand, but Etta knew better. A Durand would never understand. She released Alex's hand. That was why they were enemies of the Basiles. The fantasy of the last day shattered around her as she saw what could never be.

"Alex," Edmund pleaded. "You’re the only thing in my life I care about. You have enemies, but I am not one of them. I want to help keep you safe."

"You are wrong, Edmund." Alex turned away. "You became my enemy the day you were born."

A sob tore from Edmund's chest as Alex walked away from him without a single glance back. Etta stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes never leaving the broken man in front of her.

"How are we supposed to keep him safe if he won't let us?" she asked.

"Stay hidden, Etta. He needs you."

"He needs both of us." She watched him for a moment longer. "I love him too, you know."

He burned his eyes into her. "Then we're both in trouble.”

18

I love him too, you know.

They'd been her words, coming unbidden and unwelcome. Etta tried to tell herself they were to comfort Edmund. That they hid some deeper meaning about protecting the king.

She couldn't love a Durand. She couldn't even be friends with one.

Her footsteps followed closely behind Alex as he made his way to his room, his head ducked to avoid looking at anyone they passed. She felt for the comfort of her sword at her side, brushing the back of her hand across the hilt.

Alex's guards opened the double doors to his rooms, and he walked through before turning back to her. Gone was the anger of only moments before. His tired eyes held hers for just a moment before he sighed.

"Goodnight, Protector."

His formality struck a pain in her chest, but she managed a short bow. "Your Majesty."

The door slammed shut, leaving her staring at the solid wood in front of her face.

That was how it should've been. The king and his protector. Formality kept a distance between them, a distance they'd breached when everything in her said it was a bad idea.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned, ignoring the curious looks from the guards at the king's door. Her feet took her down the hall to the room she'd been granted, near the king. Never far.

In case someone needed to fight for him.

Not for her to feel his body against hers.

She shut the door behind her and leaned her back up against it, closing her eyes as a long breath forced past her teeth.

She opened them and pushed away from the door to look around her room. The maids had been there in her absence. Her bed was made. The room was spotless. As she walked forward, she scanned the tray they’d left for her. Hunks of bread and cheese with thin slices of meat sat beside a pitcher and two cups. She grabbed a piece of bread and sank teeth into it, her stomach rumbling in anticipation. She hadn't eaten since the day before.

The trip through the Black Forrest seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then, so much had changed.

Her fingers closed around the cool handle of the copper pitcher as she lifted it to pour a cup of water. The water soothed her aching throat.

Water trickled down her chin as she gulped it before setting the empty cup down, too tired to eat more. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and made her way to the bathing area where a bath had been drawn. Sticking one finger into the full tub, a smile curved her lips at finding it still warm.

Etta's sheathed sword clunked when she unbuckled it and let it fall to the ground.

She bent at the waist and pulled her mail shirt over her head, feeling lighter for it. The rest of her clothes followed to the pile on the ground before she stepped into the tub and sank down with a sigh. The water enveloped her, soothing every ache except the one in her heart.

Did she deserve to enjoy this while Edmund was in the dungeon? It could just as well be her.

The answer never came, but she was too tired to care.

Sliding lower, she dipped below the water, letting the rest of the world fade away. When she finally broke the surface again, she gasped for air.

Holding her hands in front of her face, she examined them. Each line. Each digit. They held so much power. Power that could destroy her.

If this day had taught her anything, it was that she couldn't stay in Gaule. It was time to search for something that could break the curse.

A scar ran up the side of Etta's right arm, her sword arm. She fingered it, knowing it was not unlike the scars on her back. Had Alex seen them? One could not become a master with the sword without suffering for it. Her father taught her that. He hadn't held back, and neither had she.

But the deepest scar had nothing to do with a sword at all. It was on the back of her leg. When she was a child, young Prince Alexandre dared her to climb the outside of the north tower. Infatuated with him as she was, she agreed. She could climb anything. But she'd been caught and in an attempt to get away, she'd fallen, landing on one of the blacksmith’s tools.

Her fingers traced the edge of the scar as memories overcame her. She closed her eyes to will them away.

* * *

Alex wasn’t so lucky. Every time he closed his eyes, he was transported into the past. A past he now knew to be filled with lies.

"I'm Edmund." The gangly teen flipped his too-long blond hair out of his face and held out his hand to the prince, either forgetting or not knowing proper formalities.

Alex didn't mind. He hated all the titles and pretensions.

He took Edmund's hand and squeezed, their eyes meeting. Edmund grinned. It wouldn't be long before Alex learned that smiling was just his natural expression.

They released each other as Alex looked to his father who was speaking to the new captain of the guard, Edmund's father. They'd moved into the palace after Anders spent the past few years on assignment at the border.

The forces at the border had been reduced to almost nothing now that the wards were in place.

The wards. Viktor.

Persinette.

They'd been gone a week, and each day they weren't dragged back in chains lightened Alex's heart a bit. He missed his friend.

Guilt was a powerful emotion.

Even if Persinette wasn't found, plenty of other magic folk had been captured. Some imprisoned. Others executed.

Edmund seemed to sense a cloud hanging over Alex so he nudged his shoulder. "Think we can sneak out of this dreadfully boring meeting?"

Alex smiled and nodded slowly. No one noticed as the boys crept from the throne room and went running toward the inner gate of the castle.

"Where do you want to go?" Edmund asked.

Alex began leading them to the one place he wanted to be without even thinking about it. The North tower was unmanned, allowing them to approach. It was surrounded by the blacksmith's shop on one side and a grassy hill on the other.

Alex tilted his head back to peer up. "A friend of mine tried to climb the outside one time."

Edmund laughed. "That's like suicide."

"I may have dared her."

"A girl?"

His incredulous stare made Alex laugh. "She had no fear."

"I think I'd like to meet this girl, then."

Alex's eyes shuttered, all humor leaving as if it never existed at all. "She's gone."

Edmund thought for a moment. "I like you—even though you are a prince."

"I'm glad you can overlook my faults," Alex answered dryly.

"I think this is the point where I pledge myself to you or something? Isn't that what people do? I'm only fifteen, but already better than most with a sword." He puffed out his chest. "I don't want to serve your father like my dad. I’m hilarious. The girls can't resist my easy charm—but you're a prince, so they probably flock to you anyway."

As he listed his best qualities, Alex held in a laugh.

When he finally let it out, he shook his head. "Why don't you just be my friend?"

"Oh, that I can definitely do. I'm a very good friend."

Alex rolled over, a blinding headache jolting him from sleep.

When Edmund was selling himself, he’d failed to mention he represented everything the Durands were against.

He'd felt it. Edmund's magic. There was no denying it now.

He covered his head with his pillow and begged for unconsciousness to take him once more.

19

Three heavy knocks jerked Etta awake. She'd fallen asleep in the tub and the water had long gone cold.

The persistent knocking grew louder.

It couldn't possibly be morning.

She stood, letting the water run from her body and stepped from the tub. A puddle formed at her feet. "One moment," she grumbled, lunging for a robe that hung on the end of her bed. She glanced out the window on her way by, noting the darkened sky and full moon still shining brightly.

Her footsteps quickened as she realized something urgent must have happened for someone to wake her at this hour. When she pulled open the door, her mouth fell open at the sight of Queen Catrine and Prince Tyson before her.

"Please," the dowager queen began. "Let us in before Alexandre's guards see us."

Still in shock, Etta stepped back. "Is everything okay? Has something happened?"

"Hold on." The queen scanned the hall once before stepping in and shutting the door. "We can't have anyone knowing we were here."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"You will." She breezed through the room. "Do you have anything to eat? Poor Tyson has been hiding in my rooms for the better part of the night and I couldn't have anyone know he was there." She spotted the mostly full tray of food and wine and went to it. "That's why I had this sent here."

"My queen—" Etta began.

"Dear." The queen pinned her with a look. "You may as well call me Catrine. Tonight I must spill all my secrets to you."

"Why me?"

"You'll understand in a moment." She handed Tyson a piece of bread she'd slathered with jam and he attacked it hungrily.

Tyson looked ... different. His eyes darted around nervously. His clothing was a rumpled mess. All mischief was gone from his expression. Etta had never seen him look so ... scared. What was he scared of?

The queen poured herself a goblet of wine and then offered one to Etta. "Trust me, you're going to need it."

Etta accepted the cup and sipped hesitantly, her eyes never leaving mother and son. "Do I need to fetch Alexandre for this?"

Tyson's head snapped up at the same time his mother issued an emphatic "No!"

Warning bells rang in Etta's mind. She set her wine down and crossed her arms. "I take it I'll need to sit for this."

"Please," Catrine said. "It's going to be a long conversation."

Etta walked around to the front of the sofa and sat, her posture rigid. The silence stretched before them as Tyson continued to eat and Catrine closed her eyes as if gathering her will.

She studied her son. "Ty, are you ready?"

His eyes widened, but he set his food down and nodded. He poured himself a cup of water and clutched it in his hands as he walked forward.

His voice shook as he began speaking. "There's a tunnel from the castle that ends at the sea. I told Alex about it once, but I think he's forgotten. That's where I first learned what I could do."

"What you can do?" Etta leaned forward.

He lowered himself so his knees hit the stone floor and bent forward. Etta almost reached out to stop him as he deliberately poured the water onto the ground. It puddled in front of him.

He set the cup aside and raised a hand above the puddle. The water began to expand and spread. He didn't move as it slinked between his knees and before long, he was encircled.

Etta sucked in a breath as her head shook of its own accord. Her eyes had to have been deceiving her. A prince of Gaule couldn't have magic. He just couldn't.

The water continued to move, hitting the edge of the carpet beneath her bed and pushing up over it, moving through the rich fibers. The carpet darkened as it became saturated.

"How?" Etta whispered, sure no one else heard her.

Catrine watched her face for any reaction. All she must have seen was complete shock.

When the water hit the wall, Tyson flicked his hand, and it began to retract. The carpet became bright as it dried instantly. The puddle shrank and contracted, the molecules moving as a single organism. Finally, when it was back to its original size, Tyson pushed it over the rim of the cup and it was as if it had never left at all.

Etta's legs shook under her as she got to her feet. Silently, she walked toward the bed and bent to run her fingers across the carpet. Completely dry.

She turned to the queen and prince who had so many secrets and asked the one question that terrified her more than any other.

"Why did you come to me?"

* * *

The air hung heavy with impending confessions and Etta found it harder to breathe with each passing second. So, the prince had magic. It was hard to even begin to comprehend what that meant.

Etta focused on the Queen, her question forgotten for the moment as realization struck her. The magic must run in Tyson's blood. One of his parents must have been a descendant of Bela just as she was. Or worse, Dracon.

"You have many questions, Etta," Catrine said. "Let's start at the beginning. I have brought my son to you because I know who you are."

Etta's heart pounded like a battering ram trying to rip through her chest.

Sympathy flooded Catrine's gaze, and she moved closer to Etta, placing a calming hand on her arm. "It's okay, Persinette." She smiled. "I have been wanting to call you that since the day my husband told me your true identity."

That day flashed through her mind. If the king hadn't been killed, she'd have been arrested and probably executed. After she won, and no one came for her, she assumed he hadn't shared his suspicions with anyone. But, of course, the queen knew.

When Etta sat paralyzed, Catrine went on. "I warned your father."

An emotion flashed in her eyes and Etta couldn't make sense of it.

"My father," Etta whispered.

Tears glistened in Catrine's eyes but didn't fall. "Viktor did the only thing he could to keep you safe."

"I know."

Catrine scrutinized her son who was listening avidly. "I wish you could have known Viktor Basile, but you were only a child when he left."

"He didn't leave." Steel entered Etta's voice. "His wife was murdered, and he was forced to flee with his daughter. Then he was hunted for years by the very man he'd served loyally."

Catrine wiped a hand across her face and seemed to grow older with every word she spoke. Her mouth turned down, and she glanced away. "He didn't deserve any of that."

"Does Alex know who you are?" Tyson asked suddenly.

She jerked her head up. "No. And he can't. Not ever. Just like he can't know about you."

"He's my brother."

"He's also the man who at this very moment has his best friend in the dungeons." Etta sighed. "He isn't a bad man, not like," she looked to Catrine then back to Tyson, "your father. But he's conflicted, and he thinks magic is evil."

"Isn't it?" A boyish vulnerability entered his voice and Etta couldn't take it. She got to her feet and went to crouch in front of him, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"You are not evil." She sat back on her heels. "People will say differently, but it isn't the magic that makes a person good or bad. It’s how they use it. You have a choice. Use it for good and you will be good."

Tyson nodded wordlessly and when she returned to her seat, Catrine shot her a grateful, almost proud, smile. There'd been a time when she’d idolized the queen. Her mother would take her to tea and she'd sit there in awe. That was before she began wanting to watch the guards in the training yard instead.

"Persinette." The queen said her name as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if it didn't tug on Etta's heart to have someone, anyone, know who she really was.

"We came to you tonight because we need your help, but first, before I put another son's life in your hands, I have so many questions."

Etta knew this day would come, the day she'd need to reveal herself. Unexpected relief flooded through her at the thought of unburdening herself.

"I'll tell you everything I can," she promised

Catrine leaned closer and Tyson got up from where he still sat on the floor to perch on her other side, both eager for the truth.

"First," the queen said. "Tell me why you want to protect Alexandre."

Etta breathed deeply and began the only way she knew how. "It started with a curse."

She had their rapt attention, so the story spilled out of her.

"Many generations ago, when Queen Aurora of Bela was dying, she was put into a deep sleep. King Phillip knew that the only way to wake her and save her was a magical plant called rampion – some called it Rapunzel- that grew beyond the walls of Dracon. He took his men to procure it, but they were captured by La Dame, the very same La Dame who poses a threat across the border now."

Catrine sucked in a breath.

"Thinking it was an invasion—Phillip had brought a sizable legion of his army—her only thought was to destroy the royal line of Bela in the most painful way possible."

"A curse?" Tyson asked.

Etta nodded. "Aurora and Phillip could have the rapunzel, but they must give up their first born, a son. This prince, upon his eighteenth birthday, would go to serve as a protector to their greatest enemies, the Durands of Gaule."

"What does this have to do with you?"

"Giving up their son was not the cruelest part of the curse. Every generation until the end of the line would repeat the same process, the first born of each generation would serve the Durands. La Dame connected us. We can feel when our charges are far away. When they're hurt, we hurt." She paused, meeting Catrine's eyes. "When they die, we die."

"Viktor." Catrine lifted her hand to cover her mouth before pinning Etta with her gaze. "You and Alexandre?"

Etta nodded slowly.

The queen leaned forward, breaking the perfect posture she'd always had. Placing her elbows on her lap, she covered her face as her back began to shake.

And that's when Etta knew. She was watching a queen break right before her eyes. The people you worship as children seem as something other than human. They're strong, impenetrable. They aren't supposed to shatter like a pane of glass, leaving shards to mirror the destruction.

Tyson stood and moved closer to his mother before sitting beside her and folding her into his youthful arms.

Etta drained her wine, needing the heady buzz to keep from breaking down herself.

When Catrine finally lifted her eyes once again, her face was streaked with tears. "How much you must hate us, child."

Etta bristled. There was truth to those words. She did hate the Durands. She hated everything they stood for, everything they'd done. But the woman sitting in front of her was not her husband. And everything inside of her begged not to hate Alex.

"The Basiles and Durands are the greatest of enemies," she said carefully. "Bela may be no more, but its royal line lives on in me." The corner of her mouth tilted up. "If Bela stood, I’d be queen. Maybe that means there's still time for reconciliation."

The queen's answering smile was warm.

"But not while your son keeps my people in his dungeons."

Her smile fell. "Alexandre is his father's son, but I have hope for him yet."

Etta kept quiet, but her hope for Alex was the only thing that kept her from leaving right then to go search for a way to break the curse.

Another question entered Etta's mind and her eyes flicked to Tyson. "How did he come to have magic?"

Catrine closed her eyes briefly, tears coming once again, and ran her fingers through her son's hair. "Tyson is not a Durand. Many years ago, I fell into love with a man who could only give me my boy in return." She opened her eyes. "But it was as if he gave me the whole world."

She'd had a lover. Enough to have her executed if the king so chose. Etta found herself suppressing a smile, glad the queen found some bit of happiness.

"Now that we all know enough to get each other killed." Catrine gave her a pointed look. "The reason for coming. I need to get Tyson out of the palace."

Tyson uttered a grunt of protest, but his mother pinched him. They'd obviously already discussed what was necessary.

Etta waited for more explanation.

"With the Edmund situation, it's best he be sent into hiding."

A pang of sympathy squeezed Etta’s chest, but she didn't disagree. She nodded slowly. "I take it you already have a plan?"

"He will go to the estate of Duchess Moreau."

"Is that wise?"

"Yes. She is a dear friend and has many descendants of Bela living on her land under her protection. She has offered Tyson a place for the time being."

"Then what do you need me for?" Etta cocked her head.

"You're the only person I trust to get him there safely."

She understood now. She was to be the escort. But that wasn't possible. "I'm not supposed to leave the king."

"Alexandre will be given a temporary replacement. He doesn't think he can trust any of his people after Edmund's arrest. So, I will convince him he needs to send the person he trusts most to the border for a report on La Dame's movements."

"Are you sure he'll send me?"

Catrine put a hand on Etta's shoulder. "My dear, Alexandre is in love with you, what greater trust is there than that?"

Etta shook her head violently. "All he's feeling is the curse bringing us together."

The queen stood and looked down at her as she straightened out the pleats of her dress. "Then where are the stories of your cursed ancestors falling in love with their charges?"

Etta's fingers shook, and she reached for the wine again. The pitcher slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor. Red wine spread quickly across the stone.

"Shit." Realizing what she'd said and who she was with, Etta’s face reddened. "Sorry."

"Oh dear." Catrine laughed. "Don’t apologize. This whole curse business is about as twisted as they come."

Etta nodded her agreement.

Tyson bent over the spilled wine. The red liquid began to retract and return to the pitcher.

Catrine clutched her chest. "I am never going to get used to that."

"No shit." Tyson grinned.

Catrine cuffed him on the back of the head. "Language, boy."

20

What changes in a palace after the king's most loyal friend is arrested? Nothing apparently. Business as usual.

When Etta dragged herself from bed after only a few hours of sleep, she swiftly dressed and twisted her hair into a braid before walking the short distance to the king's room.

She didn't know what she expected to find. He'd still been devastated when they parted the night before. After the revelations in the night with the queen and Prince Tyson, or not prince as the case may be, everything else felt so far away. There'd been only her past and her family's history on her mind.

Now the king was front and center in her head, where he belonged. She hated the thought of leaving him, especially when he was so hurt. She didn't trust anyone else to protect him. That was her job. It would hurt to be away from him, physically and mentally. She hadn't had to go through that since the curse kicked in, but she'd suffer it to protect Tyson. He was one of her people.

A guard at the king's door pushed it open for her and she was shocked to find Alex sitting on the end of his bed, pulling on his boots. He looked up when she entered, his expression bland.

"Protector," he said, standing up and squaring his shoulders. "Thank you for joining me."

She narrowed her eyes, confused. "My pleasure, your Majesty."

He gave her one short nod and grabbed his crown from the table. As he placed it on his head, Etta couldn't help the thought that it was so very odd. He never wore his crown unless he was sitting on his throne addressing his people or leaving the palace. She thought about today's schedule, realizing she didn't actually know it. There'd be a lot to do, considering it was only a day after the attack.

Alex began walking, and she fell in step behind him.

"What’s first on the agenda today, your Majesty?" she asked.

His tone was neutral as he responded without looking at her. "We have a meeting with many of the nobles of Gaule. Then a private meeting with Lord Leroy. I had hoped Duchess Moreau would attend, but she has returned home to deal with a border skirmish. Then lunch ,with my mother. She's been begging for that. This afternoon is a series of meetings on the next steps to safeguard Gaule from magic folk.”

“You mean from La Dame.”

“Yes, that too.”

Etta glanced at him skeptically, but kept her worries to herself. She knew what the nobles would want him to do. Most of them wanted the magic folk gone from their lands and they had considerable power over the king. What would he do while she wasn’t there? Would she return to another purge?

Trying to have more faith in Alex than that, she pushed the thought from her mind. He was not his father.

They hurried down the hall, neither of them saying anything more. Alex seemed ... detached. Some would say he looked kingly, but that wasn't the sort of king she hoped he'd be.

The morning meetings went about as well as could be expected. There was a lot of yelling from scared nobles. They should've been terrified. Their towns could be destroyed as easily as the village yesterday. They said the crown wasn't doing enough to protect them. Alex met their accusations with a cool aloofness.

When they left, the nobles were still fighting among themselves. Etta put a hand on Alex's arm and pulled him into another hall for privacy. He stopped moving but didn't look at her.

"Alex," she said, squeezing his arm tighter.

He finally met her stare, and she searched his eyes for something, anything to tell her what was going on in his head. There was nothing but blue iciness.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked.

A flash of the man she knew entered his eyes, and he leaned forward, his voice low. "Someone once told me that if I asked that, they'd break my pretty face."

She smiled. He was there, down past the stoic king. "Are you going to break my face, then? Because I won't stop asking until I get an answer."

His expression closed off once again. "Leave it alone, Etta."

He shook his arm out of her grasp and stepped around her. Lord Leroy appeared in a rush, gasping for breath. He heaved, placing a hand on the wall.

"My lord?" Etta asked.

"Your Majesty." Lord Leroy found his voice and turned his eyes to his king. "I've been looking for you."

"We were on our way to meet you," Alex responded.

Lord Leroy smiled, and a chill raced up Etta’s spine. "We found them. Lots of them."

"Magic folk?" Alex asked eagerly.

"They've been living in the Black Forest this whole time."

Etta's pulse spiked. Her father protected those people with his wards until his death. Her neighbors. Trying her best to conceal the panic on her face, she coughed. Alex paid her no mind. Instead, he watched Lord Leroy's excitement with something akin to resignation.

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Okay. Send out the royal guard."

Etta opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The people of the forest were not the magic folk attacking villages and hurting people. They couldn’t be, but in Gaule, all magic folk were treated the same. They’d be judged by the worst of them and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. She clamped her mouth shut and made a silent promise to her people that she’d find a way to help them. She had to.

* * *

Magic. It affected everything in Gaule. It controlled their fear and their strength. Alex didn't understand it. He didn't trust it.

His mother was speaking, so he turned to face her. "What?"

"Who do you trust most in this palace?" she asked again.

"What kind of question is that?"

"The kind I'd like you to answer."

He didn't have to think twice about who he trusted most. Other than his mother, it was Etta. Only Etta. His sworn sword. His lover. His ... well, he wasn't sure what she was.

He'd been walking around all day in a fog. Yes, your Majesty. No, your Majesty. No one questioned him. He was king. His wishes were law. So, why was Edmund still in the dungeon? Because of magic.

Instead of answering her, a growl sounded low in his throat. "I don't know why you're asking me this."

A hand landed on his arm and he looked down to stare at her long fingers, unable to meet her eyes. "Because, my son, you know as well as I that things have changed. Loyalties cannot be trusted. We don't know who our enemies are and who our friends are. And someone must go do a survey of La Dame's movements, inspect the wall surrounding Dracon. See how much time we have."

He finally looked at her face, trying to read what she wasn’t saying.

“That isn’t a one-person mission,” he said.

His mother cocked her head. “It is if you’re trying to mask the true objective.”

Understanding struck him. She was making a plea for a man she also thought of as her son. She was giving him a way out of the dark place he’d been stuck in. A lifeline.

He leaned back with a sigh. She was right. They didn't have any more time to waste. He knew who he'd have to send, and the truth twisted in his gut. She wasn't supposed to leave his side, but he had no other choice.

"Etta," he said. "It has to be Etta."

A smile he didn't understand appeared on his mother's lips. "You trust her?"

With my life, he wanted to say. Instead, he just issued a short nod. Before, he wouldn't have hesitated to send Edmund.

Alex pushed back his chair and stood, suddenly unable to even look at the food in front of him. He'd sent Etta into the outer castle to procure a new bow as his had been lost in the attack. In truth, he'd needed some breathing room.

As he walked from the hall, he called to his page who'd been waiting for him outside the doors. "Cancel my afternoon."

There was no need for kings to explain and he brushed past the page on his way toward the cold stairwell. Emptiness had replaced his anger, and he was prepared to face his once-friend again, ready for answers.

Edmund didn't look at him when he entered the dank room. Taking the keys he'd gotten from the guards, he unlocked the door to the cell, knowing Edmund's chains kept him in place.

"Are you afraid I'm going to harm you?" Edmund snapped his eyes to the king and the coldness in them made Alex stop.

"You have magic, Edmund." Alex folded his arms. "I don't think the bars of your cell would stop you from harming me."

Edmund's expression thawed before his cool mask shifted back into place. "Here to give me my execution date, your Majesty?"

Alex began to pace the cell. "I'm so angry, Edmund."

"Clearly."

"Don't do that. Don't treat me like we don't know each other at all."

"I'm not the one locking friends in the dungeon."

"What would you have me do?" Alex yelled, running a hand through his hair, knocking the crown off his head. It clattered to the ground at Edmund's feet. "I am the king, Edmund. In Gaule, it's illegal to have magic."

"How can I be a criminal for something I didn't choose?"

Alex stopped moving and sat down, not caring how filthy the ground was. His shoulders sagged, and all power left his voice. "I don't know." He looked up into the eyes of his friend, eyes that were no longer cold as they flooded with sympathy. "Do you remember the first day we met?"

Edmund's lips tugged into a smile and he nodded.

"You told me everything there was to know about you in a single conversation." He looked away. "Everything except this."

"You'd have arrested me on the spot."

"The irony is that back then I probably wouldn't have."

"Why did you come down here today?" Edmund asked; his chains rattling as he shifted.

Alex rubbed the back of his neck. "I ... I didn't want last night to be the last time I saw you." He paused. "I ..." He closed his mouth, deciding against the words he was going to say.

"So, I am to be executed, then." Edmund’s voice shook as he spoke.

Alex got to his feet and snatched his crown off the floor as he walked past the bars. While locking the cell once again, he looked down at his friend. "No, Edmund." He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the ends. “No … you knew I’d do this.”

“Do what?”

“Risk everything to save you. If the nobles find out…”

The hope that sprang into Edmund's eyes was too much for Alex. He turned away to walk back down the long hall. Before his feet began to move, Edmund spoke at his back, his words almost too quiet to hear.

"I love you, Alex. If I'm never going to see you again, to look into your eyes, then I guess this is the time for confessions." He laughed softly. "I think I've loved you since that first day when you asked me to just be your friend."

Alex closed his eyes. He'd known. He'd always known.

"I love you, too." It wasn't the same. Alex knew it. Edmund knew it. Alex's love was that of a friend, a brother. But it was powerful all the same.

As he walked away, two words floated on the air behind him.

"Thank you."

21

Etta felt eyes on her as she made her way back to the palace; bow firmly clutched in her hand. She didn't understand why Alex was so attached to the thing. She'd only ever used them for hunting. For fighting, a bow and arrow were no good. She'd rather be in the middle of the fray rather than taking down enemies from afar.

She wondered if her father would tell her she'd lost her objective, entrenching herself so far into the Durand household. But that was her job, wasn't it?

Someone moved in an alley to her left and she suddenly wished she had arrows to go with the bow. She walked closer to the alley, leaning the bow against the side of the building to free her hands. She opted to draw her dagger instead of her sword.

As she rounded the side of the shop, someone moved and she spun to launch a kick right into their stomach. They let out a squeal and sagged against the building. Grabbing the person's arm, she twisted and brought up her dagger. Breathing heavily, her eyes began to clear from the haze of fighting. Chocolate curls swam in her vision.

"Maiya?" She released the girl and shoved her knife into its sheath along her leg. "I'm so sorry."

Maiya bent over, holding her stomach, wheezing. "It's okay, Etta. Everyone's a bit jumpy these days."

Etta examined her friend from head to toe. She was real. She was alive. She was there, within the castle. Before Etta knew what she was doing, she'd pulled the smaller girl into a crushing hug.

"Were you following me?" Etta asked, releasing her.

"No. I only spotted you moments before you attacked me."

"I did not attack you."

Maiya laughed. "Then what would you call that?"

Etta huffed. "I've been so worried about you. I didn't know if you'd made it out of the village or if ..."

Maiya grabbed her arms. "Look at me. I'm fine."

Etta examined her again and released a sigh. "You are."

"I've been trying to find a way to contact you, but they aren't letting anyone past the inner gates."

"It's too dangerous for us to be seen together, you know that."

"I do, but ..." Tears shone in Maiya's amber eyes.

"But what?"

"They have my father."

Etta closed her eyes for a brief moment. She knew exactly who “they” were. Alex's men. Pierre was in the dungeons.

"Tell me everything."

Maiya did. Standing in that alley, she talked of watching the fight rage along the street in front of her shop. She thought they were goners. Then Etta and Alex escaped, leaving Edmund to fight all on his own. Pierre joined him in an attempt to save a handful of families who were being terrorized. The guards saw them both and when the fight was over, they took them to the dungeons.

"Etta, you have to get him out of there," Maiya pleaded.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Talk to the king."

Etta met the other girl's unblinking stare. "The king won't even help his friend." Etta was surprised at the resentment in her own voice. Maybe Alex was the man she'd thought he was all along—his father's son.

"Please."

"Maiya, I can't plead for every magic man's life, especially when the only thing it will do is cast suspicion onto me."

"You won't even try?"

"I'm sorry."

Maiya backed away from her, shaking her head as tears coursed down her dark skin. Without another word, she turned and ran down the alley, disappearing around the corner.

Pierre weighed on Etta’s mind as she picked up the bow and made her way back to the palace.

The king was in the garden with Lord Leroy when she approached.

Lord Leroy saw her and took his leave. Alex barely noticed her as something foreboding brewed in his eyes.

When will it end? Etta thought, looking at him. This battle. This heartbreak.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Even after clearing his schedule, nobles and advisers insisted on meeting with the king. Alex only spoke when he had to. He refused to meet Etta’s eyes and shrank away from her touch. So, she stopped trying, very aware that if he knew the real Etta, he'd hate her just as much as he now hated Edmund. And that thought stole the breath from her lungs.

She was supposed to hate the King of Gaule. Now she couldn't stand the thought of any ill will towards him.

Etta sank into her bed that night feeling weary and confused. The night she first took up the curse, her soul fractured from the weight of it. Now those cracks were widening with each passing day. Soon, the fragments would no longer fit together and that was when the curse would win. When La Dame could claim her victory. When she would destroy the newest in a long line of Basiles.

Persinette would become the newest in the long line of Basiles to descend into the dark pits of pain and despair.

* * *

Alex's mind was not on any of his kingly duties as days turned into nights. The soldiers brought people in from the Black Forest almost daily now. The dungeons were nearly filled to capacity. No one had realized so many magic folk still remained in Gaule.

Most thought it was the work of Viktor Basile, keeping them hidden. That man saved countless lives, but they were people who shouldn't have been in Gaule at all. The purge was meant to exterminate them.

A shiver ran up Alex's spine.

Edmund was still a prisoner, but Alex had made up his mind. He'd chosen the kind of king he wanted to be. He just needed a little help.

Running his hand over the smooth wood of his bow, he marveled at the simplicity of such a weapon. How could something made simply of wood and string kill a man? How could it pierce armor or feed a family?

Shooting calmed him. It allowed his mind to go blank. He lined up his shot, raising his elbow, and breathing in as his finger pulled the string taut. As he exhaled, he sent the arrow flying toward the target. It hit the center with a thud.

He knew his guards mocked him when they thought he wasn't watching because of his lack of skill with a sword. They thought it made him less of a man. Less of a warrior. Who wanted a king that wasn't a warrior? His father had been able to best almost every man in his guard.

Except for Edmund.

A smile curved Alex's mouth. The day Edmund beat his father in a duel had been one of the greatest days he could remember. Alex's father punished Edmund for the embarrassment by making him work in the kitchens during the evening meal. Alex helped him and thought nothing could be more worth it.

Alex stepped in front of a new target, this one a farther distance. The arrow sailed just as true as the first, landing exactly where the king planned. He laughed to himself, feeling at ease for the first time in days. This, he was good at. This, he could do. Unlike being king.

He didn't know what he was doing. For the first time since his father was killed, he wished he were still here. Not out of any sense of love—he knew what the man had been—but because Alex didn't think he was strong enough to lead his people against La Dame, or any of the other magic folk for that matter.

His finger shook as he drew back the string again. This time when he fired, the arrow wobbled in the air before arcing toward the ground, just short of the target. Like him, it hadn't had the power to do what was necessary.

How could he fight magic while considering what he'd been thinking about doing? Did it make him a hypocrite or worse, a traitor to go through with his plan?

"Brother."

Alex sighed as his sister's voice permeated his sanctuary. He'd been alone for the past hour, the guards giving him the practice yard to himself. Camille didn't exercise the same courtesy.

He lowered his bow and turned slowly. "Camille."

She looked to the ground as if trying to force vulnerability into her face. But Alex knew his sister. Behind her mask of fragile porcelain skin, was steel, cold and uncaring. He hadn't seen much of her in the time since their father's death. She'd been in mourning for the one man who didn't see her for the heartless princess she was. Or maybe he did, but he would have enjoyed that quality in a daughter.

Her voice was meek when she spoke, but she wasn't fooling him. "I have come to see what you plan to do with the traitor, Edmund."

"I don't see how that concerns you," he snapped.

"Of course it does. It concerns all of Gaule. Your punishment will set a precedent. There should be no special treatment. All magic should be treated equally."

Alex turned away from her to face the target once again. "Leave me, Camille."

"Not until you realize that you are king of Gaule. Not Dracon. Not Bela. The people of Gaule are the ones counting on you to erase the scourge in our lands. To keep us safe." She put her hands on her hips. "Anders and I have been discussing it. If you cannot sentence Edmund, as you should, we can take care of the problem for you. Discretely, of course."

Alex barely spared a moment to think before charging at her. She at least had the decency to appear afraid as his hands closed around her upper arms and he bent to force her to look into his eyes.

"If you touch one hair on his head, Camille, I swear ..."

"You'll what?" She pushed him away, and he dropped his arms. "He isn't your brother, Alexandre. But I am your sister. Maybe it's time you re-examine where your true loyalty lies." She narrowed her eyes, preparing to land the killing blow. "The guard in the dungeons tells me we have more than one reason to sentence him harshly."

"Spit it out."

"A confession he made to you today. The guard heard everything. He will serve as witness." She stepped closer and dropped her voice dangerously. "Loving another man is punishable by death, here in Gaule. Even if the man you're screwing is the king."

Alex's hand flew through the air, striking Camille’s cheek with more force than he’d intended. The edge of her lip burst open and as she stuck out her tongue to test the cut, they stood in stunned silence.

Alex gripped her chin so hard he was surprised she still hadn't made a sound.

"Sister, I'd watch your tongue before I have it cut out. I am still your king and I'd rather have Edmund by my side than a twisted princess." He released her with a jerk and her head snapped back.

When she pinned him with her eyes again, hatred swirled in their depths.

"You are dismissed," Alex growled.

She picked up the hem of her long skirt and limped from his presence, her curses ringing in the night air.

Alex ran a hand through his hair and released a long breath, feeling somewhat better about what he had to do. He wasn't betraying everything Gaule stood for. He was preventing himself from becoming like his sister.

"Don't do it." The voice came from behind him and he turned to see Tyson. His brother must have heard the entire conversation and his eyes shone as he hurried forward in complete contrast to their sister. "Alex, please. It's Edmund. I don't care what Camille says or if he has magic. I don't care who Edmund loves. Wouldn't you rather keep someone around who is loyal to you out of love rather than duty? You can't execute him, and you can't keep him in those dungeons either."

"Tyson." Alex put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "No one is being executed."

"Really? Because they've been building gallows outside the walls."

Alex cursed. Safety reasons kept him from traveling past the inner walls to discover what his captain had been doing. He didn't want to lie to his brother. There'd be people calling for the heads of every magic man or woman they captured. The only thing he could tell Tyson for certain was that Edmund wouldn't be one of them. Alex had a plan.

"I’ll take care of it, Ty."

Tyson scrutinized Alex, unconvinced. Alex gripped his shoulder and pulled him into a hug, thumping his back roughly. "It's going to be okay."

Neither of them believed the words, but they felt good to say anyway.

22

Etta paced the hall outside Tyson’s door. They should have left already. Tyson needed to be out of the palace before his secrets were revealed. Days. Etta had been waiting for days for Alex to bring up a mission to the border. Surely the queen would have succeeded in convincing him.

What the hell was taking him so long?

She'd been kicked out of a meeting. She was supposed to stand at the king's side for all things, but Anders blocked her as she’d tried to enter. He had a need to speak with the king alone. The distrust was evident in his eyes. When Alex assured her he'd be safe with his captain, she didn't argue.

She was so damn tired of the secrets; the hatred pointed her way.

Just like days ago when she'd walked through the outer palace, she felt eyes watching her every move as she removed her sword belt and set it on the long wooden table to the side of the practice yard. She spun to find Princess Camille glaring at her from the steps.

Trying to ignore the harsh stare, Etta ran a hand over the knives before her, choosing one at random. She spun again, and with a flick of her hand sent the knife flying end over end, watching as it sank into the farthest target. She looked back just quickly enough to see the princess flinch.

Etta smirked and picked up another knife, balancing it in her palm. She took her time weighing it, considering its direction. When she released it this time, she used her full arm to gain momentum; throwing the knife with such force its impact rang throughout the yard.

Etta threw the remaining two knives before walking forward to retrieve them. When she turned back, she realized she had an audience. Men and women in guard's uniforms paused their training to watch the enigmatic king's protector. The girl who'd bested and killed some of their comrades in the tournament.

Etta never had much to do with the guards. They were as mysterious to her as she was to them. As she scanned the curious faces, she couldn't help but wonder who among them had been sent into the Black Forest to find her people. Who'd arrested Edmund? Were the older guards around when her father had been hunted?

Her lungs tried to expand, but she couldn't breathe. Despite the friendly looks sent her way, these people weren't her friends.

Enemies, she thought. I'm surrounded by enemies.

She lurched toward the table and slammed the knives down so hard it shook.

They parted for her as she ran through the crowd, panic building in her chest. Camille was gone by the time Etta's feet thundered up the steps. She didn't stop until she'd reached her room and slammed the door behind her. She leaned back against it, breathing heavily.

She had to get out. Why wasn't she gone?

Tonight, she had to find Queen Catrine. Something was wrong.

She slid down the door until her butt hit the floor, sending a shockwave up her spine. Her breath returned to normal, and she wiped the sweat from her hair.

After a few minutes, she climbed to her feet and made her way to the washbasin. She splashed lukewarm water on her face and over the top of her hair. It ran down her scalp, soaking into her shirt.

She'd have to meet the king after his meeting, but she couldn't make herself go back out that door.

Pulling the damp shirt over her head, she found a dry one and laid back on her bed to get her muscles to loosen. She'd just stay there for a moment and then she'd go to the king. Just a moment.

* * *

After hours of listening to Anders go on about his plan for dealing with the magic folk, Alex left to find Etta, to apologize. Anders had no right to treat her so poorly, and she'd had every right as protector to be in that meeting.

But what was he to say to her? They'd been acting like nothing more than a king and his subject since returning from the forest, since that night. Did he have to apologize for that too?

Etta wasn't in the practice yard, nor the hall. As he was looking, he was pulled away by Lord Leroy and then it was time for dinner. His mother thought he needed to eat in the hall with his men. Show them his confidence; that he believed in them and in Gaule.

Dinner lasted into the evening with his men drinking and telling stories. Some of them reminded him of Edmund and then guilt stabbed at him every time he laughed.

The wine buzzed in his veins, but his head was still clear.

One of the older officers stood up to make a toast and raised his glass. "To the king." The men cheered. "To Gaule. To destroying magic within our borders once and for all." He looked to Alex. "I am sure his majesty agrees that we must begin upholding the laws of Gaule. The gallows are finished, although a hanging is more humane than these animals deserve." A rumble of agreement made its way around the room. "I say we start with the man who pretended to be one of us."

Alex's heart stopped as he heard what the men were asking for.

Someone else yelled to be heard. "Two days and then we can kill the bastard on the anniversary of the day the great purge began!"

Alex struggled to keep a calm expression as everything in him ripped to pieces. If he pardoned Edmund now, they'd call him a sympathizer. He'd lose support. His eyes found Anders and the man's expression hadn't changed with the calls for his son's death.

Didn't his son mean anything to him?

There could be no further delay. Unless he wanted to watch Edmund dangle by his neck, he had to do something.

He pounded his fist against the table to capture the attention of the room. Once. Twice.

They quieted and turned to look at him. He stood and pushed his chair back. They waited for him to say something important, kingly. "I must retire." As he walked away, he heard their confused whispers follow him from the hall.

His personal guards followed him and when he reached Etta's door, his scowl sent them scurrying away.

She couldn’t avoid him forever.

He closed his eyes. Despite the distance growing between them, he'd missed her.

But this visit was not about him.

He raised his fist and pounded on Etta's door. No one answered, so he did it again.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and Etta stood before him with sleep-clouded eyes and her golden hair hanging wildly about her face.

Alex sucked in a breath. She was the most exquisite thing he'd ever seen. The invisible tug inside him that he'd been trying to ignore for days, pulled him in closer, until he could smell her sweet scent. She rubbed her face and considered him with guarded eyes.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty," she said. "I ... fell asleep." She stepped back away from him, an invitation to enter the room.

He slammed the door behind him, wanting nothing more than to take her into his arms. But he couldn't. This was too important.

"Etta," he rasped. "I need you to do something. It's important and you can't tell anyone."

Relief flooded her features, and he didn't understand why.

"Of course," she said softly.

"Officially, I'm going to send you to the border where you'll meet up with a contingent of Duchess Moreau's soldiers to see what you can find out about La Dame's movements."

"And unofficially?"

"You're taking Edmund to the border." Once the words were out, there was no taking them back. If he wasn't king, this would be treason.

If Etta were caught, she'd be charged.

A smile appeared on her face, transforming quickly into a full-blown grin. She stepped closer. "We're getting him out?"

He nodded.

"When do I leave?"

"As soon as possible." He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and set it on the table. "That will get him out."

"I'll leave in the morning."

A weight lifted from his chest, but it was soon replaced with a new one. Worry? He shook the thought from his mind as he watched Etta continue to grin at him. As if moving of its own accord, his arm lifted. He had to touch her. His fingers brushed along the curved line of her lower lip.

"I like that I finally did something to make you smile again," he said.

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "I'm just glad my king is doing the right thing."

"Your king. Is that all I am to you?"

Her eyes snapped open, and he was lost in their intensity.

"No. You're my Alex. Still the boy I've always loved."

He raised his brow in confusion, but that was pushed aside with the new realization that he was so irrevocably in love. It didn't matter that she was a commoner or that her hands had been bathed in blood. She was his.

His hand slid around to the back of her neck and he pulled her to him. She came willingly, her mouth inviting him to fall deeper. She kissed him with all of the softness he hadn't known she possessed. His lips moved slowly over hers and when her tongue met his, a growl sounded low in his throat. He pulled her closer, their bodies flush, needing to touch her in every way he could.

His hands inched up beneath her shirt and over the warm skin of her back. She sighed as his fingers traced the curve of her spine. They broke apart and stared for a moment before removing their shirts. Etta placed a palm against Alex's bare chest.

"I still don't know if this is real, but even if we only have this moment, I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything." Sorrow filled her gaze, and he wanted to wipe it away but he let her continue speaking. "Whatever happens, Alex, you have to know that I love you."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "What's going to happen?"

She looked down, uncertainty written across her posture. His chest ached to see the confident Etta in such a state. He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. "Nothing is going to tear us apart."

She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pressed her chest against his and kissed him like it was the last thing she'd ever do. Her words vibrated against his lips. "I wish that were true."

“It is. You’ll get Edmund to safety and then return to me. I’ll break off my betrothal. For you. I want you, everything you have to give, everything you are.”

Her breath shuddered as she wrapped her legs around his waist and let him carry her to the bed. They never lost contact as they removed the rest of their clothes.

It was different from their night in the Black Forest. Etta was different. Desperation charged the air as she moved over him with every ounce of power and need she held. When he flipped her over to worship her in the way she deserved, she held him close, never wanting to let go.

As they drifted off to sleep that night, Alex held her tightly. She laid her head on his chest as their legs tangled together.

He closed his eyes as her breath evened out.

He didn't know if her final words were from her mouth or a dream.

"You're not the man I thought you'd be. You’re a good man, Alexandre Durand. But good men aren’t meant to be kings.” She pressed her lips to his forehead. “I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you."

When he woke in the morning, she was gone.

23

She wasn’t coming back. The realization had struck her the moment she told Alex how she’d felt the night before. If she was to take Edmund and Tyson to Duchess Moreau near the border, she’d cross it and make the journey into Dracon. That’s where La Dame would be.

It was the only way.

She couldn’t go on loving him when it might not be real. The truth was precious and must be found. If she still loved him when they were no longer tied, she’d find him.

But she knew that wouldn’t happen.

Kissing him goodbye in the middle of the night had nearly broken her heart, and she’d barely registered where she was going until her feet stopped outside Queen Catrine’s door. The queen pulled her in and scanned for other onlookers. Seeing a deserted corridor, she came back into the room.

Catrine had been preparing for days, not knowing when they’d leave, and everything was ready.

Before Etta could explain her presence, Catrine was on the move. "I'll wake Tyson."

Nerves battled in Etta's chest as she waited. She hadn't wanted to leave Alex sleeping. They deserved a better ending than that.

Her feet scuffed along the floor as she paced. This was her chance. She didn't know if she could break the curse, but she had to try.

It was time to see La Dame. Would the sorceress speak to her? Maybe she’d kill her on the spot. But if there was even the slightest chance she was the key to breaking the curse, Etta had to take it. It was the only piece of the puzzle she knew.

Closing her eyes, she pictured Alex back in her room, his face relaxed in sleep. He'd never forgive her for this.

The real question was about what happened after. Once the curse no longer tied her to this place, where would she go then?

Before she could dwell on too many what ifs, Tyson stumbled into the room, pulling on a shirt. His head popped through the hole with his dark hair flopping into his eyes. He looked so much like his brother, but there was something about him that was also very different. Knowing the dead king was not his father solved many riddles.

He shot her a nervous smile. "Hey, Persinette."

Her shoulders dropped. "We should probably stick with Etta for the time being."

He nodded, but didn't say anything more. The usually energetic, talkative prince was gone, replaced by this nervous boy who looked even younger than his years.

"We should head out. We need to get to Edmund."

That perked him up, and he blew out a puff of air, clearly relieved. "Alex?"

"The king wants us to get Edmund out of Gaule."

"I knew he'd never let anything happen to Edmund."

Queen Catrine walked up, handing each of them a pack stuffed with food for the journey. Etta stiffened when she pulled her into her arms.

"Be safe, Persinette," she whispered.

Etta rested her chin on the queen's shoulder. "Take care of him."

"Same goes to you." She released Etta and gestured to Tyson.

"I will. With my life."

"I know." The queen smiled. "You've always been a warrior, Etta. Even when you were just a girl running along the walls or climbing towers to entertain my son." Her smiled tightened. "I hope there comes a day when you won't have to fight anymore."

The words sank into Etta and she turned away. The day she no longer had to fight would be the day she had nothing. Her hand grazed the hilt of her sword. Sometimes it was the only thing that made sense.

She moved to the door as the queen said a tearful goodbye to her son. He bowed his head as his mother kissed it and then pushed him toward the door.

Etta peered into the hall. When she didn't see anyone, she hiked the bag up on her shoulder and started to run. Tyson followed her, and she craned her neck to see around the corner. The palace halls were abandoned, making it an easy trek to the dungeons.

The two guards could be heard at the bottom of the stairs.

"Stay here, Tyson," she whispered. Her sword scraped as she drew it slowly and inched down the stairwell into the dark. The steps were illuminated by small lanterns hanging on the wall. Her steps were light, and she managed to make it to the bottom without a sound.

The guards were standing in front of one of the cells, laughing about the poor soul inside. Rage boiled up inside her and she wanted to gut them right then.

No. No more killing.

She released a growl as she burst from the stairwell in a speed of fury. The guards turned but weren't quick enough. She lunged at the first, knocking him out with a swift rap of her hilt. The second came at her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. She lunged back, slamming him into the wall. One arm remained around her wrist while the other tried to cut off her air supply, closing tightly around her throat. She gasped and kicked as a knifepoint dug into her back.

Slamming her head back into his nose, she broke his hold and spun with her sword in hand. Dark blood ran from his nose.

"You're asking for it, bitch," he growled.

Etta bent her knees, preparing for his attack. When he finally came at her, it was a slow and feeble attempt. She flung out her arm and sliced her sword through his side. He fell back against the wall and slid down. She waited for him to make another move, but it never came. So much for no killing.

After wiping her blade on the man's shirt, she sheathed it and headed into the darkness among the cheers from prisoner's who caught her fight.

The queen's words came back to her. What would she do if she weren’t fighting? That was what she was good at. She kept going until she turned and stopped outside Edmund's cell.

He lay on the ground, unmoving. His facial hair had grown, adding to his raggedy look. His blond mop was matted and streaked with dirt. A bruise faded along his jawline. He didn't look like he'd been touched since—probably on Alex's orders.

She pulled the key out of her pocket and fumbled with the lock before stumbling through and falling to her knees at Edmund's side.

"Edmund," she whispered, reaching out tentatively to grab his shoulder and shake it. "Wake up." He was so still she'd worry he was dead if not for the pulse beating in his neck. "Come on."

His crusty eyes fluttered open, and he moved his mouth as if to speak. No words came.

"I'm getting you out of here," she whispered. "Alex wants you safe. Come on, I have water just up the steps."

She pulled on his arm and he finally gathered the strength to push himself slowly to his feet. Etta draped his arm over her shoulders and they made it back to the stairs and past the two guards she'd fought. It took quite a bit more time for them to reach Tyson at the top.

His anxious face greeted them. "Etta, someone heard the fight. They've sounded the alarm."

24

Boots crashed against stone with a loud rhythm as guards ran throughout the palace, roused from their sleep by the bell ringing overhead.

Tyson helped Edmund stay on his feet as the three of them waited, hidden in the darkness of an unused hallway. They'd look there soon enough. The entire palace would be scoured for the escaped prisoner. Then the search would spill out into the outer castle. The king couldn't stop it.

They needed to be gone by then.

Etta knew where they needed to go and her heart kicked into overdrive. She hadn't been there since the night she and her father escaped all those years ago, but there was no way they were getting past the inner gates. Not with Edmund slung between them as if screaming, "It's me! Arrest me again!"

Etta blew out a breath and studied the broken man and the prince beside him. What was she doing?

Shaking her head, she looked away. "Helping you two is going to get me killed. Come on."

They slipped out a little-known door at the end of the hall. Like Tyson, Etta spent her younger years sneaking around the palace, usually chasing Alex, and finding new ways to get into trouble in the outer castle. She knew where she was going.

As they skirted the courtyard, hidden in the shadows, Etta paused. Alex walked down the steps, still rubbing his face from sleep.

Three guards ran up to him. Alex's eyes scanned the courtyard, widening when he saw them crouching near the entrance. One of his guards turned to see what had caught the king’s attention, and another entered, stopping right in front of Etta.

"Soldier," Alex barked.

Both guards snapped to attention.

"Report."

"Sire, they aren't in the palace. My men are being sent past the inner gates. I'll send someone to check the stables to see if they've taken horses, and the others will begin a house by house search."

Alex's face hardened. "I've sent someone to the stables already. Commence with the search. Someone must be hiding them."

They bowed and ran past him to give their orders. Alex stayed in place for a moment longer. His eyes burned into Etta. He gave a single nod of his head and turned to go back inside.

There was no time to dwell on goodbyes. Etta led Tyson and Edmund from the courtyard.

"He just cleared the stables for us," she whispered. "But we still have to get there."

Their destination wasn't far. It was the only place that could take them into the outer castle without passing the gates. The house was the same. It was a two-room shanty squished up against the wall as if it never really belonged there. The thatched roof sat in need of repair, but there was a glowing candle in the window, signaling the fact it had new owners. Owners who weren't her parents. They'd been untroubled there. At least, that's what her child eyes had seen. Now she wondered if anyone could truly be content when they were cursed. Had her father pretended during all the years they lived within those walls?

"When I was little," Etta began, looking at Tyson out of the corner of her eye. "I had a penchant for thievery. It got me in a lot of trouble with my father, but I discovered how to get in and out of the outer castle so I stayed off the king's radar." She smiled at the memory. "Although, your brother was usually egging me on."

Edmund made a sound deep in his throat, but there was no time to explain. Honesty would come later.

She ran on silent feet to the side of the house. The crates they'd kept their chickens in were still there. She turned back to the boys. "Okay, we need to try this as quietly as possible. There are people sleeping in there."

The sound of a door opening, made her spin, coming face to face with a small girl with wide eyes. She tugged on her blond hair and stared.

Etta held her breath, waiting for the girl to scream or cry or do something to wake her parents.

Tyson moved forward. "It's okay, I'm the prince."

She hesitated and stepped back.

"Please don't wake your parents," Etta said.

The girl finally spoke. "Momma and Daddy went in to work when the alarm sounded. They're guards."

Etta didn't waste any time. "Tyson, we have to go." She climbed the crates that no longer held chickens and jumped like she'd done a thousand times before. Her fingers gripped onto the edge of the roof and her legs dangled beneath her before she managed to pull herself up, her adult body able to do this more easily than before.

"Edmund is next." She kneeled at the edge and reached her hand down. "He won't make the jump in his state. Tyson, you'll have to hoist him and between the two of us we can get him up here."

Tyson bent, gripping Edmund's legs and strained. He was a strong teen and Edmund was lean. Edmund's reached up and she gripped his arms, using the roof as leverage to pull. By the time he was up, her chest heaved. Tyson made the jump easily.

The wall was only a step up and as they went over the top onto the smith shop's roof on the other side, Etta glanced back to see the girl still watching them.

* * *

They made it to the stables without a problem, thanks to the king. He kept the guards busy with a house to house search. The stable lad on duty for the night was asleep against the wall, and with one thump from Tyson, he wouldn't be waking to see them saddling the horses.

Vérité kicked at his stall in excitement as Etta neared. She smiled. "We're getting out of here, boy. You and me. Freedom, how does that sound? But first we'll have to go break this curse."

The horse snorted.

"I don't care if you don't believe me," she snapped, hoisting his saddle off the hook outside his stall. She ran a hand along his back. "You and me, buddy."

Once Vérité was saddled, she led him from the stall among a chorus of snorts and neighs coming from the other stalls. Tyson was waiting for her beside an all-white stallion. Edmund pushed away from the wall he'd been using to prop himself up.

"You're with me," Etta told him, gesturing to Vérité.

"You expect me to ride that thing?"

"Edmund, shut up. You know as well as I that you'd fall off if you tried to ride on your own right now." She shot him a smirk. "I promise he won't bite you."

He cursed and walked toward her. Tyson and Etta both steadied him as he got on. Etta attached the bag Catrine had given her to the saddle and stowed her sword behind it. She pulled herself up in front of Edmund and gave Vérité a kick. They thundered from the stable. Tyson followed close behind.

Guards ran out onto the street yelling, but before they could get the outer gates closed, the two horses slipped through.

Etta turned off the road to gallop across the open ground, wanting to put as much distance between them and the castle as she could.

They rode for hours with no sign of pursuit, though she was sure they were coming after them. It'd be three days of hard riding to reach Duchess Moreau's land.

Rolling fields gave way as trees enveloped them. They ducked to get under a branch and had to slow on the uneven ground.

Edmund clutched her tighter around the waist as he swayed.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Never better, Persinette." He bit off her name with disappointment in his voice.

Her hands held the reins so tightly her knuckles turned white. "You know."

"I should have seen it before."

"How? You didn't know me when I lived here before."

A tree stretched across the path in front of them, blocking their way. Etta lifted her hand, and the branches began to bend and shrink until there was a wide enough gap for the horses.

She barely noticed she'd used her magic until she saw Tyson's stunned face. "And I thought my water thing was cool."

Edmund jerked his eyes toward Tyson. "You have magic?"

In answer, Tyson took a seemingly empty water canister and focused on it before handing it to Edmund, water sloshing over the side.

"It seems I missed a lot." Edmund shrugged and took a long drink before handing it back to Tyson and returning to the earlier topic. "I may not have known you, Etta, but I felt like I did." He shook his head. "I met Alex the week after you and your father ran. He was a mess and talked about you ... a lot."

"He was probably just a little traumatized."

"I take it he doesn't know who you are?" he asked.

She shook her head. She hadn't wanted him to recognize her, but the fact he hadn't still hurt. She would've recognized him anywhere.

"Right." Bitterness tinged his words. "Or else you would've been in that dungeon with me."

Etta's shoulders began to shake as the truth of his words rang in her mind. Edmund nudged her.

"Hey," he said. "Alex also got me out."

"In a way that no one would know he was involved. I worry that without us there, he's going to follow in his father's footsteps."

"But you're planning to go back, right?"

As she contemplated his question, a jolt of pain shot through her. It threw her sideways as she screamed out. She fell from Vérité's back before Edmund could catch her.

A burst of wind slowed her descent, courtesy of Edmund.

Edmund and Tyson jumped from their saddles and rushed toward her as she writhed on the forest floor. Her breath came in gasps.

"Etta, what's happening?" Edmund winced as he knelt, trying not to fall over next to her.

"Is it the curse?" Tyson asked.

Edmund jerked back, his voice no more than a reverent whisper. "The Basile curse? The legends are true?" He didn't wait for an answer as he leaned forward. "That's it. Why you came back. You're tied to Alex."

She scowled up at him as the pain began to dull to a low throb. "I'm glad you're having an epiphany, because all I feel is pain."

"Everyone knows the stories of a curse that brought down an entire kingdom, but that's all they were. Stories. Pretend."

"Well, I'm not pretending. This fucking hurts." A growl ripped from her throat as she laid back and raised her eyes to the sky. Tears pricked the edges of her lids. The farther from Alex she got, the worse it would feel. That pain was only the beginning.

He must have been feeling it too, and she was strangely glad for that. It meant she wasn't alone.

Tyson pulled her to her feet. "We're far enough from the palace now and you look like death, so we should rest for the night."

She nodded, not having the will to argue. She used her last bit of strength to create logs for the fire before curling up next to its warmth.

That night, Tyson told Edmund everything. About him. About her. Etta closed her eyes, too drained to care as her world shifted once more, the balance she'd fought so hard to keep ebbing away.

25

Would the betrayals never end?

Alex stormed through the castle, nothing in his head but rage. He couldn’t see the people he passed or the guards that followed at a distance. The only thing on his mind was his destination.

His fist sounded like thunder on the door to the dowager queen’s suite. She let him in but didn’t shrink away from his ire.

“Mother,” he growled. “Tell me why I just saw Tyson accompanying Etta out of the palace?”

The queen’s eyes widened as she gasped. “You didn’t stop them, did you?”

He slammed the still open door and charged farther into the room. “Of course not. If I had, I’d have sent both Etta and Edmund to the hangman.”

She released a breath she’d been holding, and the anger began to drain from him as he studied his mother’s worried face.

“Mother, tell me what’s going on. Where is my brother?”

She shook her head and backed away, fear finally entering her gaze.

“Are you afraid of me?” The question hurt him to ask.

For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. She sank slowly onto the couch. “Tyson is not a Durand,” his mom choked out.

Alex’s first instinct was to deny her words. Of course Tyson was a Durand. He was a prince of Gaule. Beloved brother of the king.

“It’s true,” she said. “His father had magic.”

Alex collapsed into a chair, his legs no longer able to hold him up. He hung his head as his mother’s words sank in. Tyson had magic. And he’d just run because he feared what his own brother would do to him. Just like Edmund.

Everyone expected him to bring a new purge. He thought he hated magic. He’d seen the evil it could do. But he also knew Edmund and Tyson and he couldn’t hate them.

And they’d believed the worst of him. He raised his tortured gaze to the queen. “Mother,” he croaked.

She jumped to her feet and rushed toward him, bending to wrap him in her arms.

“I would have protected him.” Alex’s voice shook. “He didn’t need to run from me.”

“You would have tried, my sweet boy. I believe you would have tried.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“None of us do.”

She released him and he wiped at his face.

“Who is Tyson’s father?”

“Someone I cared for very much, but it isn’t important. He is lost to us.”

“Did you love Father?”

She smiled sadly. “I loved the man he was before his obsession with magic consumed him.”

“I don’t want to turn into him.”

“Then don’t. Just be careful, Alexandre. Gaule is not ready for a king who does not bow down to tradition.”

A knock rapped against the door and when the queen opened it, Anders entered, dragging a young girl by her arm. Alex stood.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

Anders shoved the girl forward, and she stumbled before righting herself. Instant recognition sparked in Alex. He’s seen her at the tournament and again when the village was attacked.

“Tell him,” Anders ordered.

“Sire,” the girl stuttered, pushing curls out of her face. “I have information.”

A warning blared in Alex’s mind. He remembered exactly where he’d seen her and who she’d been with.

The girl raised her chin. “I want to trade it for my father.”

“Where is your father?” the queen asked.

“The dungeons, my lady.” She averted her eyes. “He’s a… magic man. But he’s a good man. Kind. He’d never hurt a soul. I swear it.”

“What is this information?” Alex bent to meet her eyes.

The sorrow that filled her face was heart wrenching. Tears dripped from her lashes onto her cheeks before running down the expanse of her caramel skin. “There’s a…” She hiccupped a sob. “A traitor in the palace.”

He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. “Tell me.”

“Etta.”

The name sent the room spinning and he almost couldn’t hear the rest of her words.

“She’s the daughter of the man who killed the king.”

He stumbled back as a wave of nausea rushed through him. Persinette Basile.

“Get her out of here,” he growled to Anders.

As soon as they were gone, his mother grabbed his arm. “Alexandre.”

He ripped his arm away as white-hot pain thudded through his skull. Only hours ago, he’d been hopelessly in love. He felt every ounce of love being ripped away, replaced by the burning embers of another betrayal.

He should have known. Should have recognized the girl who’d meant so much to him at one time. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. Was she in on the murder of his father? Why was she even at the palace?

“She’s plotting against me,” he muttered.

“Alexandre, no,” his mother said.

“Then why else would she be here? She should want to be far away from any of us after everything father did.” He turned on his mother, his eyes widening as he took in her worried expression. Worried, not surprised. “You knew. You knew and yet you still begged me to trust her. You sent Tyson with her. The only thing that would please the Basiles is our downfall.”

“Then why is she getting Tyson and Edmund to safety?”

He didn’t respond as he turned from her to wrench the door open. He began to understand his father in that moment, because he knew what it felt like, being king, and realizing that the only way to rule was alone.

He called to the guards waiting for him in the hall, pointing to one of them. “The queen is not to leave her rooms. Her maids will bring her food here. Only they are allowed in. As of this moment, Catrine Durand is confined by my order.”

His mother didn’t speak another word as he marched away with his remaining guards.

“Sire,” one of them said. “The search of the castle is complete.”

He’d given them a rather large head start, but he’d never regretted it more. “Take a contingent of men and begin the search between here and the border of Bela.” He swallowed hard. “The girl is your top priority. Her name is Persinette Basile, and she has been deceiving us for too long.”

“And the others?” he asked.

“They are no threat. Do not arrest them.” Alex stopped as a strange pain radiated in his chest. “She is the one I care about.”

He hoped they let Edmund and Tyson get to safety. Their only crimes were in their birth.

Persinette was different. All the questions he’d had about her since the tournament suddenly had answers. But they were no longer about Etta, for that girl didn’t exist. He’d fallen in love with someone who wasn’t real.

His old friend Persinette was the one who’d betrayed him. He wanted to feel anger. He wanted to hate her. But all he felt was a hole where his heart had been, and the suffocating truths laid bare before him.

26

"I sort of expected to see someone come after us by now." Etta winced as she bent to tie the laces of her boots.

Edmund glanced up from where he'd been scrubbing at his skin. Tyson created a warm pool of water for him and he was beginning to look like himself now that much of the grime was gone. "Don't jinx us, dear Persinette."

Etta straightened and turned to tighten the straps of Vérité's saddle. "Don't call me that."

"It's your name." His eyes narrowed as he reached back to tie his now wet hair away from his face. Thick blonde hair still covered his cheeks, but underneath it all, he was Edmund, the first person who had befriended her at the palace. Her partner in turning the tournament on its head, and in keeping Alex safe.

Etta lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I haven't been that girl in a long time."

"But you are she. Whether you've changed or not. Whatever people call you. You are Persinette, daughter of Viktor Basile."

She flinched at her father's name. "The man who killed your king." She was thankful for her father's actions, but she knew he'd go down in history as nothing more than a king slayer.

Edmund got to his feet, still moving slowly in his weakened state. He crossed the distance between them until he was right in front of her. "No," he said lowly. "The man who protected our people."

She remained frozen as he walked by. Our people. It'd been so long since she had been around anyone that knew the truth. They shared a connection, and it eased some of the pain she was still feeling.

Tyson bounced toward them. "So, are we going to ignore the fact that Etta is the only living descendent of the royal line of Bela?"

It took everything she had to keep her voice steady. "It means nothing to be heir to a country that no longer exists."

A grin brightened his face. "See, that's where you’re wrong. It does exist. Bela itself may be unoccupied, but aren't all of us magic folk descendants of Bela?"

"Or Dracon," she said grimly.

"My mother told me I'm Belaen." He stopped moving and dropped to one knee.

"What are you doing?"

Edmund stood behind Tyson, shaking with laughter.

Tyson only smirked. "You're my queen. What do you think I'm doing?"

"Tyson, a prince of Gaule doesn't kneel to anyone."

He spread his arms. "Then it's a good thing I'm not really a prince of Gaule."

Etta clutched her chest as another tremor hit her. Tyson jumped to his feet and grabbed her arm. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Stop asking me that. The answer isn't going to change." She walked toward the horses. "We should get moving."

Edmund was able to pull himself up this time. He'd grown stronger as she'd weakened. She barely managed to climb on behind him and then they were off.

They reached the farming district around noon and Etta was consumed by thoughts of Alex.

“Can you tell me about it?” Tyson asked her. “About magic.”

“What do you want to know?” She winced from the pain.

“Everything. I’ve never talked to anyone who had it before.”

She forced a smile though she felt as if her insides were being ripped to shreds. Tyson truly was an innocent in all of this. She supposed she had been too when her father explained it to her. She tried to recall his words. “No two people’s power manifests the same way. Some may seem similar, but there are always little differences.” She thought for a moment as he nodded eagerly.

Edmund jumped in before she could continue. “Most people’s power is quite weak actually.”

Etta nodded. “Some have the ability to do great things, but most can’t. That’s why it’s foolish for the people of Gaule to fear all magic. Take Edmund for example. The most he can do is push sounds on the wind or give you a slight breeze.” She pinched his side in jest.

He took the bait. “And Etta here can annoy you by making the weeds in your gardens grow.”

She laughed. “I seem to recall being able to trap you with my ‘weeds’ when we first met.”

He shrugged. “You got lucky. I wasn’t expecting the thief I was chasing to have magic. I would have beat you without it.”

“Like you bested me in the tournament?”

Tyson howled in laughter. “She kicked your ass.”

“Barely,” Edmund grumbled.

Etta laughed. “If you’d like, I can go drop you back in that dungeon.”

He twisted in his saddle to shoot her a grin. “Not a chance. I’ve heard the legends of what the last Basile descendant is supposed to be able to do and I’m not going to miss the show.”

“What will she do?” Tyson asked.

Edmund shot her a wink. “They have a power that can do battle with La Dame. That’s why I never considered Etta could be Persinette.” He lifted one shoulder. “Unless she plans to tie her up in weeds and hit her over the head with a tree branch or something.”

His back shook with laughter. Etta dug her fingers into his side and hid her own smile.

As they skirted the edge of a rural town, the noise they'd been dreading reached them. Horses. Many of them. They thundered down the road. Edmund kicked Vérité as Etta looked back.

"I count six," she yelled.

"Think we can outrun them?" he called back.

"Normally, I'd say Vérité could outrun anyone."

"But ..."

"He's carrying a double load."

Etta reached behind her and pulled her sword free. Her weakened hand could barely hold onto it. Vérité lurched forward, and she swayed in the saddle.

"Don't let go," Edmund yelled. "Promise me, Etta. We're in this together." She didn't respond. Instead, she looked to Tyson. As the soldiers grew closer, he jerked his hand back to shoot water into the horse’s eyes, but his aim was off.

Etta held out her hand, feeling her magic begging to burst free. It crackled but then fizzled out.

"Dammit!" she yelled.

One of the guards raised a bow and fired. Tyson dodged the arrow deftly.

Edmund tried to whip up the air to prevent arrows from reaching them, but his magic failed him as well.

They were close. So close. If they reached Duchess Moreau’s lands, she’d protect them. That was what Catrine told her.

Another arrow narrowly missed Vérité's flank. That was it. She knew what she had to do. She leaned in as close as she could to Edmund. "Get the boy to safety."

Edmund yelled a protest, but she didn't hear him as she threw herself from the horse, landing with such force, it knocked her out for a brief moment.

When she opened her eyes, everything hurt. She could barely lift her head to see Edmund and Tyson hesitating. "Go," she croaked. They couldn't have heard her, but they did as she wanted, leaving her in the dirt, surrounded by Gaule soldiers.

The soldiers let Edmund and Tyson go, a fact she found odd, until one walked forward and sneered down at her. "Hello, king slayer’s daughter. You are under arrest by order of the crown."

Her head hit the ground with a thunk as she let it drop. They knew who she was.

"Are you going to kill me?" She had to know. If they killed her, Alex would die as well.

"We have orders to bring you in alive."

She was hauled over someone's shoulder and then draped across the back of a horse. None of it mattered to her as relief rushed through her veins. She was going back a prisoner, but at least the pain would end.

A thick fist flashed in front of her face before darkness overwhelmed her.

* * *

Etta came to as they rode past the outer gates of the castle. How long had she been asleep? Days, most likely. Her stomach attested to that fact as it lurched from emptiness.

The pain had faded away now that she was close to the king once more, but it left her weak still.

As her eyes took stock of the goings on inside the castle walls, she realized nothing had changed. But her whole world was now different. She didn't come through those gates as the king's protector. She came through as a prisoner, an enemy.

People threw jeers at her as they passed.

The once friendly faces were now twisted in rage.

None of it mattered to her. She'd lost. She hadn't broken the curse as she'd promised her father and now she'd never get the chance. Their family line ended with her.

But then, that meant so did the curse.

Etta raised her eyes as best she could as they neared the inner gates. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and sweat began to bead across her brow as she took in the sight. The king awaited them, surrounded by his personal guard. They stood in formation around him as if they feared she'd make an attempt to harm him.

They didn't know she was too weak to use her magic.

They didn't know how intertwined their lives were. That hurting him would hurt her. That she loved him.

All they knew was that she was a Basile and a descendant of Bela. That was enough for them.

Her eyes drank in the sight of Alex. After these long days of pain, the curse no longer burned through her. It rejoiced at their nearness, like it was a living thing.

Alex stood tall, but as they neared, she noticed the pallor of his skin, the half-moon circles under his eyes. He'd been feeling it just as she had. His crown sat straight on his head, but it shifted as his body lurched forward involuntarily. He covered up the movement with a cough, but she'd seen.

Her cracked lips parted as she was dragged down from the horse and dropped to the ground. They tried to form his name, but only air escaped her.

The guards shifted as the king moved forward. A guard behind her grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back so she was staring directly into the king's hard eyes. He had no smiles for her, or words of comfort. He bent to push up the leg of her loose pants, his hands searing into her. When they grazed the jagged scar, he ripped them away.

Breathing heavily for a moment, he glowered down at her, betrayal in his eyes. "Let the girl have her father, it's her. It's Persinette Basile."

And that was when she knew. She'd been given up, traded. Maiya.

The anger appeared in a flash before it was gone. Maiya did it for her father. At that moment, Etta probably would've done anything to have her father back as well.

That wasn't the betrayal that mattered.

Alex knew who she was. He knew she'd been lying even as she shared his bed.

A sob escaped her. "Alex."

He shook his head and bent to look directly into her eyes. "I am your king. Speak to me as such."

As he continued to look at her, uncertainty and something she almost mistook for sympathy entered his gaze. But love? That was gone.

He wiped a hand across his face and she watched his heart breaking in two, feeling the same pain in her chest.

"Etta," he whispered so softly she almost didn't hear it. Then, as if he hadn't said it, he straightened and pulled his cloak around him.

A drop of water hit her face as rain fell like the tears she refused to cry. The king and his men turned and marched toward the dry palace.

Etta managed to push herself off the ground. As she stood, she lifted her face to the sky, letting the rain wash away her regrets.

A guard wrapped his meaty hand around her arm as another followed. They pushed her toward the stairs that would take her to the dungeons, her new prison. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, holding her head high against the oncoming captivity.

For she was Persinette Basile. Daughter of the king-slayer. Descendant of Bela. Heir to the Belaen throne. She was cursed, and the cursed always had greater battles to wage.

——

I hope you enjoyed the book. Good news! You don’t have to wait to find out what happens next. Flip the page to start Golden Chains now!!

Golden Chains

The true story of rapunzel, book 2

Prologue

Freedom was a dream from a far-off place that no longer existed. It was a concept that made no sense to Matteo Basile. What was choice? He’d never had any. His life was a series of orders, unspoken but wholly felt.

His queen stared down at him with unforgiving eyes. What were they doing past the border? It was his first time setting foot in the kingdom that once belonged to his family, in Bela, but he couldn’t fight the warmth that spread through him. He was home.

“Madame.” He bowed low as he’d been doing his entire life. For he served La Dame of Dracon and would no doubt serve her until the end of his days.

“Matty, my boy.” Warmth filled her voice and when he finally rose to stare into her dazzling emerald eyes, he was transfixed.

Was it her magic? Or simply her beauty?

“How does it feel to be home?” she asked.

What was she expecting from him? His eyes flicked to his father who stood at her side. He gave his son a pleading look.

Warren Basile had been in La Dame’s household since Matteo was a child. He served as an advisor, consort, even a lover. He was known to sit calmly on his seat by the throne as his son was beaten before his eyes. Not with fists. No, nothing in Dracon was ever done without magic.

Matteo inclined his head. “Bela is not my home, your Majesty.”

A smirk spread across her face and she nodded. “It is now.” Raising a hand at her side, she snapped her fingers and her horse was brought forward. They’d camped on the border spanning Dracon and Bela for the night and now stood overlooking a grassy plane.

La Dame leaped into her saddle with a grace that gave no indication of her age. No one in Dracon knew how old their mistress was, but Bela was destroyed centuries ago and the stories claimed she was the one who finally bested the Basiles.

His ancestors.

He climbed into his saddle slowly, his bruised ribs screaming in protest. He’d tried to fight her, escape her magic as it pounded into him the previous night and it only ended in bruises.

As he rode down into his ancestral homeland, he didn’t feel like a Basile. He never had. They were said to be powerful, but his magic sputtered and died every time he tried to call it forth.

La Dame pushed her long, shining black hair over her shoulder and regarded him once again. Her kindness was a lie.

“Soon, Matty, all will be explained.”

“Why are we in Bela?” he asked.

She raised a brow at his audacity in speaking without permission. Her magic whipped over him, slamming him forward against his horse.

“How would you like to meet your family?”

“My…” He didn’t have any family other than his father. They were the last of the Basiles. It was why La Dame kept them close. The legends spoke of power he should have as the first in his generation of the Basiles. Where was that power? Each night, he lay awake praying for it to come. To set him free.

“Your family, yes. You see, there is something your father never told you.” She scrutinized him. His expression must have satisfied her for she nodded. “Your father had an older brother.”

Matteo pulled up on the reins and his horse jolted to a stop. “I have an uncle?”

The familiar pull of her power forced his horse to begin moving again.

“Had. Your uncle is dead.”

The hope that’d risen up in Matteo shattered in his chest. For a moment, he’d thought maybe there was someone to save him from this life.

La Dame continued. “Viktor evaded me his entire life, but his daughter won’t be able to stay away.”

His daughter?

La Dame laughed, all kindness gone, replaced by the wickedness he knew too well. “Yes, my boy. You are not the oldest of your generation. Persinette was born two weeks before you. But, don’t you worry. You will reunite with her soon. I am going to bring Persinette Basile home.”

Home? If the girl had any sense, she’d stay away. Why didn’t La Dame send someone to force her to come?

As if sensing his question, La Dame sighed. “I don’t know what Phillip did, Matteo. When I first issued the curse, he managed to twist it somehow. I cannot bring the cursed one to me against their will. She must choose to come.”

La Dame kicked her horse to speed up, throwing a few final words over her shoulder. “I’m counting on you to show her how to grovel. You’re good at that.”

Matteo raised his face to the bright morning sky. This Persinette must have the power he’d never had. He didn’t know where she was or how La Dame would get her to come, but he hoped more than anything she was stronger than he’d ever been.

1

The overwhelming reek of urine swirled in the damp air. Etta sat in the same cell she’d helped Edmund escape from. How was that for fate?

How long ago had that been? Days? Weeks? Day bled into night in the underground dungeons.

Heavy footsteps sounded against the stone as they neared. Her first instinct was to press herself against the wall, letting the dark hide her cowering frame.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She was Persinette Basile. She didn’t fear anything.

If only that were true.

Since her capture, the guards tried their best to break her, and they nearly succeeded. She wasn’t the same girl who’d left with Tyson and Edmund in tow.

Her mind drifted to them, trying to block out the guard who’d stopped outside her cell.

Were they okay? Alex might hate her, but at least he hadn’t ordered their capture.

A key rattled in the lock and Etta kept her gaze firmly planted on the ground. She pulled in her knees and hugged them to her chest to protect herself.

The guard laughed. She recognized the cruel sound. He’d been there often.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t cry for her bruised skin or aching limbs, but for the king who ordered it. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was.

She knew the pain was coming before the guard’s boot slammed into her. “That’ll teach you to use magic against us.”

She cried out and clamped her teeth down on her lower lip, tasting blood. She’d never used her magic against any of them. Her greatest crime was being born.

He kicked her again, and all strength left her as she fell back. A meaty hand wrapped around her arm, wrenching her off the ground. She struggled to get her feet beneath her as a fist pounded into her stomach.

She’d taken beatings before, mostly when fighting her father, but she hadn’t been helpless then. At the thought of her father, a sob racked her body.

“Lance,” a voice cut through the dark. One she recognized as well.

Lance released her and her legs shook, but she remained upright. He turned to Geoff.

“You’re relieved for the night,” Geoff said. “Go get some sleep.”

Lance grunted and left the way he’d come.

Etta refused to be grateful to Geoff because she wasn’t any better off with him than Lance. He stepped toward her in a flash and she pressed her back to the wall.

One side of his mouth curved up, and he cocked his head. “The king’s protector is scared.”

She tried to shake her head but it wouldn’t move.

“Fitting. You should fear me, girl. Your father killed my king. You betrayed yours.” He slammed his palm against the wall next to her head and pressed himself up against her. His sour breath was hot on her face as he leaned in. “It’s my turn to be at the king’s side now.” His hand skimmed down her arm, inching over the front of her filthy shirt. “I can see why he liked you though.”

She stood stock still as he continued to explore her. His touch sent a shiver down her spine and her breath lodged in her throat.

“Don’t touch me,” she spat.

He laughed and pushed away from her. “You aren’t worth it. Even the king agrees.”

Her lip quivered, but she held in her tears.

“He hasn’t come to see you, has he?” Geoff asked, spreading his hands wide. “I’m all you’ve got.”

Another guard appeared and dropped a wooden bowl of grainy mush at her feet. It spattered her legs, and she stared down into it until her cell was locked once more.

When she was alone again, she sank back to the floor and curled around herself. In her state, she couldn’t even feel her magic. The only thing that broke through the numbness was the tug of the curse connecting her to a man she hoped she’d never see again.

She wished he wasn’t the same man she dreamed of every time she closed her eyes.

Strip back the layers of lies she’d lived her life by, take away the persona she’d crafted, and all that was left was a shattered girl with nothing left to give.

* * *

The inner gates of the palace remained closed, cutting them off from the people living beyond. King Alexandre knew it was a matter of security, but it didn’t seem right. He nodded to the guards in the tower to open the gate before marching through.

Geoff walked at his side as he’d been doing for weeks. He wasn’t officially the new protector. Alex couldn’t yet bear to name him that, but he’d taken on the role.

“How is the prisoner?” He didn’t need to voice her name to be understood.

Geoff shrugged. “She’s a hard one, your Majesty.”

“Geoff, for weeks we’ve been offering to move her from the dungeons and for weeks she’s refused. I’m at the end of my patience.” Unable to face her himself, he’d set Geoff to make a deal with her and he’d failed. Just the thought of Etta sitting in that cell was enough to steal his breath. “What more can we do?”

“Do, sire? Her crimes are grave. You’d be better served by letting her rot.”

Alex suppressed his growl. Geoff voiced what many of the people thought. But she was Etta. He stopped walking and stood at the crest of the grassy incline. A narrow road meandered along the hillside connecting the palace with the ruined village beyond. He closed his eyes and saw her as she’d been that day in the forest. Her rare smile. Her golden hair. How was he supposed to reconcile that girl with the one he now kept as prisoner?

Anders joined Alex and Geoff as Alex surveyed the land beyond the castle, reminding himself what it was he was protecting.

“We must command the nobles near the western border to gather their forces.”

Anders shook his head with a scowl. “The village is already lost to us.”

They’d received a messenger that morning who informed them of an attack on one of the villages near the western edge of Gaule, near the border of Bela.

“There are still people there and they need aid.” Alex turned back to look up at the great walls of his castle. How long would they remain intact once the magic folk came for them?

“Sire.” Anders put a hand on Alex’s arm to stop him. “Let Duchess Moreau deal with the people. No need for others to call their men from the fields quite yet.” He paused. “There’s more. The attackers seem to have taken up Persinette’s name as some sort of rallying cry. They know you have her and to them, she is a symbol. It’s best to distance yourself from it. Once it is dealt with and the crops are in, you can have your army. Your nobles will see to it.”

Alex shielded his eyes against the sun and regarded his two guards. Were they right? Waiting could cost them dearly.

“He’s right, your Majesty,” Geoff said. “There are more pressing matters than attacks on the border. Our reports indicate activity in Bela.”

“Bela is a desolate land. No people reside there.”

“That used to be true, but we now know La Dame has moved her court to that so-called desolate land.”

Alex breathed out slowly, reminding himself he was king. It didn’t matter if he was prepared for it. War was coming. A war they couldn’t win.

“Why the devil would she be in Bela?”

“Recruitment?” Anders asked. “Maybe she’s hoping the magic folk flood from Gaule to her forces.”

Alex considered that. The histories claimed La Dame was an even bigger foe of Bela than Gaule. It didn’t make sense.

“We need eyes across the border. Send someone.”

“Yes, sire,” Geoff said. “I think Lance will suit.”

Alex turned to walk back through the gates and pressed a hand to his side. It still ached with phantom pains. For weeks, he’d been sleeping fitfully and then waking in agony. Part of him thought it was guilt. Another part knew it was magic.

“Are you well, sire?” Anders asked.

Alex ignored his question. “Have Duke Renoir send a small force to aid Duchess Moreau in the villages that have been attacked. Make it known that he must also provide healers. Then I’d like one-hundred royal guardsmen prepared to march.” He met his captain’s gaze. “You will lead them.”

“But you need me here,” Anders argued.

Alex shook his head. Getting the captain away from his scheming sister would do both of them good.

“I gave you a command, Captain.”

Anders scowled as he issued a short bow and walked back the way they’d come.

“I tend to agree with the captain.” Geoff didn’t bother with the respect Alex deserved. “The people near the border have long harbored magic folk. We should leave them to their fates.”

Alex’s eyes blazed as he rounded on his guard. “Get out of my sight.”

“But, sire, I’m your protector.” His words cut through Alex.

He took a step toward Geoff and placed a hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. “Say that again and I’ll run this straight through your heart.”

Geoff’s jaw dropped open. He stood still for a stunned moment before turning and walking away with quickened steps.

Alex scrubbed a hand across his face. Protector. Only one person could hold that title and she’d betrayed him.

He didn’t understand how the Etta who’d been at his side was actually Persinette. His oldest friend. The girl who had grown up with him only to be exiled and hunted. But she wasn’t a girl any longer, and she’d come for her revenge. Only, he still didn’t know what that revenge was. She had appeared loyal. She saved Edmund and Tyson. How did that fit into the monster he wanted to believe she was?

Alex’s stormy face made servants scurry away as his feet took him to the stables. They seemed empty now without the two horses that should have been there. Tyson’s was a prince’s horse, beautiful and strong. Verité was a shit.

Weeks had passed since they left and he still couldn’t adjust to a palace that now seemed devoid of love.

He hadn’t visited his mother, but she remained confined to her rooms for hiding Persinette’s true identity and sending Tyson away from the palace under the traitor’s care. Yet, she wasn’t the one who plagued his thoughts day and night.

It was the girl who sat in his dungeons. The one he’d thought he loved. The one he didn’t know at all.

He stood beside the horse pen, gripping the metal fence so hard his knuckles turned white. “Dammit,” he breathed, hanging his head. “Etta.” He needed to see her, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when he was still so angry. He hated himself for leaving her there for weeks. Alex wanted to move her back into her palace rooms to continue her confinement there, but he hadn’t issued the plea directly to her himself.

“Your Majesty,” a small voice sounded behind him.

He sighed and turned to take in his betrothed. Amalie held such a delicate beauty it was as if she might blow away in the wind.

“Lady Amalie.” His voice softened. “I’ve told you before to call me Alex.”

Her forehead scrunched, but she nodded. “My father told me to seek you out.”

“Of course he did.” Alex rubbed his chin. Lord Leroy had been pushing them together since Amalie came for the ball more than a month before. Her sister had been sent back to her husband, but the younger girl was forced to stay. Leroy probably thought Alex was going to back out of the betrothal.

He had to admit, it’d crossed his mind. He’d even planned the words he’d use. But that was when he thought he wanted to be with Etta. Now he didn’t know what he wanted, but the kingdom needed a queen.

“Would you like me to leave, si—Alex?”

Guilt warred inside of him as he watched her guarded expression. He’d never treated her poorly, but he hadn’t exactly been kind either. And she was still young. Like his brother.

That thought kicked him in the gut and he leaned forward with his hands on his knees. His brother was wholly unprepared to be out in the world, magic or no. Part of Alex knew he’d never see Tyson again. Another part told him to do anything he could to change that.

But he was king and must rule a kingdom that harbored an extreme hate for magic. Weeks ago, he’d hated it as well. Then he learned three of the people he loved most in the world had a power he couldn’t have even imagined.

“Are you okay?” Amalie asked tentatively.

He straightened and closed his eyes for a brief moment, breathing deeply. “No.”

“Oh.” Her lips pursed. “Okay then.”

“Would you walk with me, Amalie?” He told himself it was because he’d feel bad about sending her away, but in that moment, the truth was he couldn’t bear to be alone.

She nodded and looped her arm through his when he held it out to her. Her loose fitting, yellow dress blew in the wind as it whipped through the streets. Their steps took them through the outer castle grounds.

Neither of them spoke as Alex led them to his favorite spot. Near the abandoned North tower, there were steps leading up to a section of the wall. In war, archers lined the top. In peace, there was nothing but ghosts.

Alex helped Amalie up the steps. Her breath caught as she took in the view of Gaule.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Alex asked.

“Sometimes I forget about the Gaule that exists beyond the walls of the castle or my father’s estate.”

He dropped her arm and sat atop the wall. She lowered herself beside him and took off her shoes to place them next to her.

“I don’t spend much time out there either,” he admitted.

“But you’re the king. Surely you could if you wanted to.”

He laughed harshly. “You’d be surprised how little freedom I have.”

She smiled sadly and raised her eyes to the horizon where the sun was beginning to set. The Black Forrest stretched toward the edge of their view and memories assaulted Alex. He couldn’t escape them.

“I went into the Black Forrest,” he said. “Even spent the night in there.”

Amalie’s eyes widened and her tiny mouth fell open. “That must have been terrifying.”

Alex shook his head as images flashed in his mind. Etta standing before him, vulnerable. Her blond hair shining as slivers of moonlight illuminated the night. They’d just escaped the attack on the village and yet, he couldn’t remember a night so insanely perfect.

“There’s this part of the woods where bright flowers decorate the ground as far as the eye can see. I’ve never seen anything as magnificent as I did that night.”

“Is everything we’ve been told a lie?” she asked.

His eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“The Black Forrest is not a place of nightmares. The people we’ve trusted are not what they seem. Magic… it’s not really evil, is it?” Tears shone in her eyes and she wiped them away quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying this to the king.”

Something in her eyes told him to trust her and he was desperate for anyone to trust. He put his hand over hers. “I don’t know.”

“I know some people with magic are bad, horrible people. La Dame is evil. But Tyson… Do you miss him?”

“Every day.”

“I was there when he found out about his magic.”

Alex turned to her. “How? You didn’t come until the ball.”

She smiled sadly. “No, your Majesty. The ball was the first time you noticed I was here. I’d been living at my father’s palace residence for months.” She studied her hands. “I may have been avoiding you.”

“Why?” When she continued to look down, he hooked his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head up. “Why?”

Truth warred in her eyes before it finally broke free. “I don’t want to marry you.”

He took his hand away and released a low chuckle. “Is that all?”

“Sire… Alex, we are betrothed. We don’t have a choice in that. The ceremony was done when we were children. It is binding in the laws of Gaule.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a long moment before her voice broke through again. “Do you think Tyson is okay?”

“I have to believe he is. And don’t forget, Edmund is with him.”

She blew out a heavy breath. “I wish Etta still was.” Her eyes widened at her own words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know she’s the daughter of Viktor Basile. Like I said before, some magic is evil.”

Her words didn’t sit well with him. He’d never even seen Etta’s magic. She’d never used it on him or anyone in the castle. Was it evil?

The words were out before he could stop them. “I loved her.”

She slid closer and tucked her arm into his. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Everyone in the palace knew. I’m so sorry, Alex.”

“As my betrothed, aren’t you supposed to be jealous?” He laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

“I loved Tyson.” She sighed. “I do love him, present tense. You should have seen him when he first used his power. He was so happy. I pretend he still is, and that smile haunts my dreams.” She peered up at him. “Do you still love her?”

Words caught in his throat, thickening his voice. He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Loving someone is something you can always do. It’s the hate that takes effort.”

“You’re not nearly as shy as you seem to be.”

She smiled. “And you’re not as frightening. Can I give you a piece of advice?”

He nodded.

“Release the queen mother from her confinement. I’ve been spending time with her in her rooms and I think you could both use each other.”

“You’re right. She’s all I have now.”

Amalie squeezed his arm. “Not all. Whatever the future holds for our marriage, right now we can be friends.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I could use a friend.”

2

“Persinette,” a tiny voice whispered from the cell next to hers. “Are you awake?”

Etta crawled toward the far wall. She couldn’t see those on the other side, but it helped to feel close to the other magic folk being held in the cells.

Henry and Analise shared a cell next to hers and at times, they were the ones who kept her going.

They were her people.

They knew who she was and the hope they’d spoken of in those first days still burned in her mind.

“Henry.” She placed a palm against the stone. “Are you okay?”

“Yea, I just wanted to hear your voice.” A beat of silence stretched between them. “I’m scared.”

Her breath shook as she blew it out. “You listen to me,” she said. “We’re going to be okay.”

In the weeks since her arrest, Etta had learned a lot about the people held in the dungeons.

Footsteps echoed through the cavernous halls and Etta scurried back into the corner of her cell.

“No,” Henry yelled before they could see the visitor. “Leave her alone.”

“Henry, don’t,” Etta called. She couldn’t have Geoff or Lance’s wrath fall on the boy.

Henry tried to yell again, but his words were cut off as Analise quieted him. Geoff hadn’t been there in over a day and he was due. But these steps were off; they weren’t made by heavy boots. Etta listened closer and when the queen mother rounded the corner, she leaped to her feet, regretting it instantly.

Nausea overwhelmed her, and she doubled over as a wave of dizziness threatened to drag her under its current.

“Persinette.” Her name was a whisper on Queen Catrine’s lips.

Etta collapsed onto her knees and raised her eyes to take in the familiar woman, relief surging through her. She’d been prepared for another beating.

“Your Majesty,” Etta croaked. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t bow.”

The breath hissed from the queen mother’s lips as she stepped closer. The orange glow from the lantern in her hand struck Etta, illuminating the discolored skin where old bruises faded and new ones stood dark.

“Alex promised me he’d ordered you to be made comfortable.”

Hearing his name sent a chill over Etta. “Don’t I look comfortable?” She waved a hand around her bare cell. “Your son would like nothing more than to see me sent to the hangman.”

“That isn’t true.”

“I’m surprised to see you. It’s been weeks since I was put here.”

“Oh, Etta.” Catrine sighed. “You must feel so abandoned. I hadn’t forgotten about you. Alex has had me confined to my rooms for concealing your identity and your magic from him. He released me tonight.”

Etta collapsed back onto her heels. “I should have known. The curse exists for a reason. The Durands and Basiles have always been enemies. How could I let myself trust a Durand?”

“My son is not like his ancestors.”

“Your son has kept me locked in here. He’s had me beaten again and again.” She scooted toward the cell bars to look into the queen mother’s face. “If he ever lets me out of here, I’ll kill him.”

A smile tilted one corner of Catrine’s mouth. “I’m glad to see this place hasn’t broken you, Etta.”

“No matter what you people do to me, you won’t break me.” She raised an arm to point one finger to her head as she struggled to stand. “Bela exists in here. It goes beyond physical pain. It’s who we are.” Anger rushed through her and she sucked in a breath. “Bela is everywhere. In your villages. In your armies. We’re hidden and we’re ready. We’re tired of persecution. Bela is coming for you and you don’t stand a chance.”

Catrine seemed unaffected by the words. “You should take the king’s deal.”

“I know nothing of any deal.” Confusion tempered her anger.

“He’s been offering it to you for weeks—since the day after you were brought here. He wants you moved to your rooms in the palace and you have been refusing. He only asks for your cooperation in the war that’s coming.”

Etta stared at the queen mother in blank accusation. She stepped toward the bars. “You Durands might have shifting loyalties, but I’m a Basile and I won’t leave my people in these cells. I will suffer what they suffer. You can’t take that from me.”

Catrine lifted her chin and scanned Etta’s cage with a shake of her head. “We could be great allies, Persinette. I know the stories. A fully powered Basile can defeat La Dame.”

Etta’s stomach clenched. She’d thought of little else since her imprisonment, but she was not who they wanted her to be. She gestured to her surroundings. “Do I look fully powered?”

“No.” Catrine’s dark eyes bore into Etta’s. “But your words are that of a queen.” She turned and left, her steps echoing through the stone prison long after she was gone.

Etta laid back against the cool floor and looked up to the pitch-black ceiling. Catrine’s plea had been desperate but Etta wasn’t ready to give in.

“Etta?” Henry asked after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Are you our queen?”

If it hadn’t been for the curse, she’d have been born in the palace of Bela and raised to rule. Instead, all she could do for her people was stay in that cell in solidarity with them. Her one act of loyalty was to be a symbol. But she wanted to do more, give them something to fight for. Something to believe in. Whether the Belaen people ever had true freedom or not, it could never be taken from them.

She rolled over. “Yes, Henry. I am your queen.”

Maybe she wasn’t born to serve the curse. If she made it out of the dungeons, she’d lead her people against those who would oppress them.

But she’d practically declared war on Gaule, so who was she kidding?

She’d never make it out.

* * *

Alex enjoyed spending time with Amalie. She reminded him of his brother. Amalie began accompanying him to many of his meetings and helping with kingly duties. She was especially good with the people, a skill he sometimes lacked. She was going to make a good queen, and that thought sent his head spinning.

Her arrow flew wide of the target, yet again, as he attempted to instruct her.

“Brother,” Camille said, joining them. She gave Amalie a harsh look that was then turned on Alex.

“What is it, Camille?” he asked.

“Why did you send Anders to the border?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

She huffed. “He’s the captain of your guard.”

“And he’ll serve me well at the border.”

She stepped closer and leaned in, dropping her voice. “You’re going to regret this.”

“Watch yourself, sister.” He stepped back. “Dine with me this evening. I think it’s time we discuss an advantageous marriage.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re eighteen years old. It is time.”

“What about your marriage?” She eyed Amalie.

Alex sighed. “Amalie has a few more years before she is of age.”

“I’m not leaving the palace. I’m next in line to your throne.”

“And you can be next in line from your husband’s estate. The matter is decided, Camille.”

She narrowed her eyes and used her cane to push Amalie aside so she could hobble across the training yard in a rush of fury.

A piercing pain shot through Alex’s skull and he cried out. His guards came running as he doubled over and the pain traveled down through his abdomen.

“Your Majesty,” one of his guards said, gripping his arm. “Is everything okay?”

Alex shook his head. “I need the healer.”

“The royal healer went with the troops.”

“Then take me to the outer castle.” He gritted his teeth as his head throbbed like he’d smacked it against a wall.

His legs were suddenly too weak to support him, so his guards lifted him and rushed out of the inner palace and through the streets. Amalie followed close behind.

By the time they arrived at the healer’s shop, Alex could barely lift his head. They barged through the door and a dark-skinned man jumped to his feet.

“What is this?” he asked, eying the guard’s uniforms. He stepped closer. “Your Majesty? Put him there.” He pointed to a bed along one wall.

The guards set Alex down and pain shot through him. His breath came out in short pants as he grit his teeth to keep a scream at bay.

The healer shooed the others out. “You can remain, my dear,” he said to Amalie. “Tell me what happened.”

She wrung her hands together. “We were practicing archery and then suddenly he was overtaken with pain.”

Cool fingers pressed against his forehead and the healer spoke. “No fever. Good. We can begin to rule out illness as the cause of your pain.” He leaned in toward Alex’s face and seemed to be examining one spot.

“Why is it red?” Amalie asked.

The healer straightened and stepped back to run a hand through his hair. Alex watched him with glazed eyes. What did he know? There was fear in his voice.

Another presence entered the room.

“Father,” the girl snapped. “What is he doing here?”

Alex recognized that voice, but he couldn’t place it. All his mind could focus on was the pain.

“I couldn’t turn the king away,” the healer whispered to his daughter.

“You should have.”

“No,” he said. “Don’t you see what this is?”

The next time the healer spoke, it was to Alex. “Sire, can you describe what has happened.”

Alex groaned. “I get these sudden bouts of pain and weakness. I’ve never experienced anything so horrid as these last few weeks.”

“This is not the first time this has happened?” the healer asked.

“No. Sometimes I wake up in pain, other times it hits randomly.”

“No,” the familiar girl sobbed. “What are they doing to her?”

Her words made no sense.

The healer shook his head. “This is why you should have left me there, Maiya. That girl is too important.”

“Father, I couldn’t.”

“You betrayed your people. I won’t say you didn’t.”

Maiya hiccupped back another sob.

“What’s wrong with him?” Amalie asked.

Both father and daughter flinched as if forgetting they weren’t alone. The healer thought for a moment. “I have a tonic that will help for the time being but it won’t prevent it from happening again.”

He went to a table laden with bottles and began to mix them. “It will also put you to sleep so you’ll be spending the night here.”

He turned to Amalie. “Dear, you can return to your residence. We have him from here.”

Amalie hesitated before nodding. She brushed a hand over the top of Alex’s head. “Feel better.”

When she was gone, the healer helped Alex sit up, and he was face to face with the healer’s daughter. It was her. The girl from the village. The one who’d turned Etta in. If he’d had any energy, he’d despise her for taking his Etta away, even if that girl never existed.

But she’d also helped him during the village attack. “It seems you save me once again.”

Maiya smiled sadly, tears still hanging in her lashes.

The healer held a cup to Alex’s lips and the most delicious liquid slid down his throat. It tasted of honey. Drowsiness overtook him immediately, and he laid back. Hands pressed into the bare skin underneath the collar of his shirt and the pain began to ebb away as warmth filled him. He’d never felt so at peace as he drifted off.

* * *

Two people spoke in hushed tones as Alex woke and everything came rushing back to him.

“Do you think she’s okay?” the girl asked.

“I think the extent of his injuries last night gives us the answer to that,” her father answered.

“We have to get her out of there.”

“We must be patient. Our queen will not forgive us if we act in haste.”

Queen? Were they speaking of his mother? In his half-awake state, none of their words registered. He shifted on the bed and the voices stopped immediately.

The healer rushed toward him. “You’re awake, your Majesty. Good.”

“What time is it?” Alex asked.

“Nearly noon.”

“What?” Alex shot up, marveling at being pain free for the first morning in weeks. He’d missed dinner the previous night with his mother and sister, not to mention a full morning of meetings.

“The girl who came with you last night returned earlier, but you needed your sleep. That tonic is strong.”

“I have to go.” Alex jumped from the bed and pulled on his boots.

“When it happens again,” the healer began, “return to us.”

Alex stopped at the door and turned, finally taking in the healer and his daughter with a lucid mind. They had magic. They were breaking the law with every breath.

The healer met his eye, not in challenge but in question. Pierre. Alex remembered him now. Maiya revealed Etta’s identity to him to save her father Pierre.

What was Alex going to do? They’d risked everything in helping him.

Alex shifted his eyes away and shook his head as he ducked out of the doorway and hoped he was doing the right thing.

His father would be ashamed of him. First, he’d let Edmund go. Then he didn’t chase down his brother. Now these two. It seemed everyone he was protecting went against the laws of Gaule and the will of his father.

But his father was no longer there. Alex was king and he wouldn’t condemn the innocent to die.

It was for those reasons he’d instructed his guards to remove Etta from the cells. She had magic. She was the daughter of his father’s killer. But he wouldn’t leave her to rot.

If only she hadn’t refused his mercy.

He waved to the guards manning the inner gate as he strode by and crossed the courtyard to the front steps. Once inside the great entryway, his duties beckoned for his attention. Geoff was speaking to two of the servants when Alex spotted him. He took his leave of the girls and ran toward his king.

“Sire, we had no idea where you were.” He bowed.

“Amalie didn’t tell you I was with the healer in the outer castle?”

“We questioned her, your Majesty, and she swore she didn’t know. She was quite adamant.”

Alex suppressed a smile. He’d have to thank her later.

“A few of the nobles have been looking for you. Lord Leroy has been yelling at all the servants to find you.”

Alex adjusted his sleep-wrinkled clothing and began walking. “They can wait. I must see my mother.”

Geoff motioned to two other guards and the three of them escorted him to his mother’s door. Her personal guard stood outside of it. He was a young man, no older than Alex, and the queen mother trusted him. But Alex had learned not to trust anyone. Including his mother.

The guard opened the door to her rooms and Alex shut it behind him, keeping Geoff from following him.

His mother sat on her velvet couch with her needlework in her lap. She looked up as the door shut and her needle fell from her grasp. She pushed the material off her lap and stood.

“Alexandre,” she breathed. “You missed dinner last night and I wasn’t sure I’d see you.”

Alex walked toward her and some of the cracks that’d formed over the last few weeks began to fill. He hadn’t visited her in her confinement. He’d been too angry. All remnants of that anger faded away as he watched her.

“I released you days ago and I’m told you still haven’t left your rooms.”

She lowered her gaze. “That isn’t exactly true. I went to the dungeons last night.”

Alex froze, his heart pounding in his ears. She’d seen Etta. He sank down into a chair across from her. She sat back down slowly.

“You went to see her.”

“I did.”

He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “What did she say?”

A flash of fear crossed her face, but she shook it away. “I’m not going to tell you what you’ve done is right, Alexandre. You want me to say she revealed some evil plan, that she truly is our enemy. She was angry, I won’t deny that. She said some things I won’t repeat to the king. I’m afraid, son.”

“You’re scared? Of Etta?”

“Aren’t you? That’s why you had her brought back here and locked up. We all know the stories of the Basiles.”

His eyes snapped to hers, remembering what he’d been told after Viktor’s death. “You’re saying it’s true? You’re telling me they’re those Basiles? It’s a common enough Belaen name.”

She reached out to place her hand on his. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Persinette and Viktor Basile are the last descendants of the legendary line.”

“The line that has been true to Gaule for generations… before the magic purge.”

“Not by choice. The legends are true. The Basiles have been cursed to protect the Durands for generations. Etta is tied to you.”

He jumped to his feet and stumbled away from the chair to pace the length of the room. “How is any of this possible?”

His mother’s somber eyes bore into him. “Our world is one where impossibilities rule the land. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is forbidden. There is no true good or wholly evil. Everything we think we know is about to be challenged, my dear boy. Gaule is no longer protected. Now all we can do is survive.”

She got to her feet and walked toward him. “Persinette Basile could have been our greatest ally. Now I’m not so sure.”

“I have to see her.”

“Be warned, she has not been treated well. That was the main reason I wanted to see you. Please, Alexandre, tell me you did not order such rough treatment.”

“What are you talking about?” he snapped.

His mother sighed. “You will see. Go. Make it right.”

3

Etta woke feeling better than she had in weeks. Warmth flooded her body throughout the night, putting her into a deep slumber. Her limbs no longer ached as if she’d been run over by a herd of horses.

She sat up slowly, expecting the pain to come. Scanning her pale skin, her eyes widened at the sight of unmarked skin. The bruises were gone. Her fingers probed her face gently and found it healed as well.

Even the weakness that constantly plagued her was gone. She felt like the old Etta. Her hands itched for a sword or a staff to train with. Not there. When she was free, she’d have all the time to practice.

Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps hurrying her way. Crouching in the shadows of her cell, she waited.

The guard who appeared was not the one she expected. He was an older man with a kind, weathered face. His armor spoke of his high rank in the Gaule forces. He peered through the bars, his eyes finally finding her.

“Persinette,” he said quietly.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“A friend.”

“I don’t have any friends in the palace.”

He laughed, a sound that was foreign in the dungeons. “You’d be surprised. Come here.”

She straightened out of her crouch and walked tentatively toward the bars.

He reached his arm through and flipped his hand to open his palm, revealing a meager yellow flower.

A sob broke past her lips as she hesitantly took it. Her magic had been quiet for so long and now it buzzed in her veins. A tear fell from her lashes, tracking down her cheek.

“That’s from another friend of yours,” the old man said. “She said it would give you hope.”

“Maiya,” Etta whispered, holding the flower to her chest. Maiya was the reason she’d been caught, but she’d given Etta up to save her father. As hard as she might try, she couldn’t fault her friend for that. It felt good to know she wasn’t alone, wasn’t forgotten in that dreadful place.

The world continued on outside those stone walls and she was no longer part of it, but she would be.

The old guard leaned in and dropped his voice. “I am Simon of the king’s own guard. Don’t lose faith, Persinette Basile. Descendants of Bela are woven into the very fabric of Gaule. We’re everywhere and we have not forgotten our queen.”

She thought about the words she’d said to Henry, but he was just a boy. She shook her head. “I’m no queen.”

“You’re right.” He winked. “First, we have to regain our kingdom and then we can have a queen. Your family has our allegiance and we will get you out of here.”

Her voice was barely audible as she said, “Thank you.”

He inclined his head and left.

Etta stared at the flower in her hands and let her magic flow into it as if it had never stopped. The yellow brightened to a vibrant shade as it began to grow. The wilted petals strengthened and smoothed. Her body hummed with contentment.

She spent hours shrinking it and growing it and crafting the flower to perfection. Her mind was so lost in her magic, she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone anymore until a throat cleared.

The flower fell from her grasp as her eyes locked onto Alex’s. How long had he been there?

He looked the same as he had weeks ago, but what had she expected? Her heart squeezed traitorously, and the curse pulled her toward the bars. She wrapped her hands around them.

Neither of them broke their silent standoff until he stepped closer. “My mother led me to believe you’d been mistreated.”

She snorted. “Because being locked in here is treating me well.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He ran a hand over the top of his head nervously. “I thought my guards had been hurting you, but you look… well.”

She tightened her grip on the bars. “I look well? Don’t let my lack of bruises fool you into thinking you aren’t an evil bastard.”

He growled. “I have been trying to save you from this fate for weeks.”

“Liar.”

“You’re the reason you’re still here. You’ve been refusing the offer from Geoff.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stepped back. “You don’t, do you?” His jaw tightened. “I want you moved into the palace.”

“Oh, your mother mentioned that.” She leaned forward with an icy smile. “I refused.” Pushing away from the bars, she stepped farther back into the cell.

“Be reasonable. You don’t belong here.”

“I’d still be a prisoner in your household, correct?”

He winced. “I can’t release you.”

She hummed deep in her throat as she studied him. “I belong down here with my people more than I do with you.”

He swallowed hard. “Etta.” His voice hardened. “Tell me. Was it all fake? Was it just the curse?”

Her momentary shock at his knowledge of the curse faded quickly, and she averted her gaze. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he growled.

“Why did you come here, Alex? Was it to finally look into the eyes of your old friend, Persinette? Was it to see if your lover was still here? Do you even know who I am?”

“Persinette Basile.”

“You can’t even begin to understand who I am. La Dame was our enemy before yours. She destroyed my kingdom and my family. She tied us to you. Only a true born Basile heir can challenge her.”

“How am I supposed to believe a legend that has never been proven true?”

She turned her back on him. “When we were children, I knew one day I’d have to serve you. I’ve known my entire life you were meant to be my enemy, but I was a naïve girl, thinking it was your family name and not you I’d have to hate. I thought you were different from your father.” She twisted to face him once again. “But then you continued jailing magic folk, and I told myself it was because you couldn’t change a kingdom’s laws all at once. Next you imprisoned your best friend, a man who still loves you for reasons none of us can fathom. I forgave you because you also helped him escape—as long as no one knew you did it. You allowed the Black Forest to be raided. Then your own mother sent your brother away for fear of what the king—you—would do if you learned of his magic.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I no longer see you with Persinette’s childish hope, but with Etta’s more experienced perspective. I loved you, Alex. I don’t know if it was because of the blasted curse but it blinded me. Now I finally see. You will always be an enemy of Bela, an enemy of mine.”

He sagged back against the wall, breathing heavily. His eyes latched onto the flower on the ground behind her and then rose to her face. “You created the meadow of flowers in the forest.”

She sighed and bent to lift the flower, holding it to her nose. She inhaled and closed her eyes.

“Etta,” Alex pleaded.

“My name is Persinette.” Her cracked lips pinched together. “The Etta you knew does not exist.”

“Persinette, my mother claims we could be allies.”

“We could have been.”

“Let me take you to more comfortable quarters. Please.”

“Will the rest of my people you’ve imprisoned be given those same ‘comfortable quarters?’”

The expression that crossed his face was answer enough.

“Then I will stand by what I said. A gilded cage is still a cage, is it not?”

“Please, Et-Persinette. Work with me.”

“No. You no longer have my trust, your Majesty. I have said all I’m going to say. You may go.”

She lowered herself to the center of her cell and crossed her legs as she focused on the flower once again. He hesitated for a moment before storming away.

She wanted to get out of her cell, but her people would come for her and she believed in them more than she did the king.

As his footsteps faded away, she folded in on herself, her back shaking with sobs. The curse pulled and strained, wanting to go after him. She wanted more than anything to be able to hate him, but Alexandre Durand had embedded himself in her tattered soul.

* * *

Hollowness threatened to overwhelm Alex, and it was his own damn fault. He stormed into his room and slammed the door shut in his guard’s face. He deserved everything she’d said to him. What kind of king was he? He couldn’t protect his people. He couldn’t uphold laws he wasn’t sure he even believed in anymore.

He collapsed onto the couch in front of the barren fireplace. The days grew colder and soon it would be roaring with life. He longed to feel its heat. As boys, he and Edmund played games with the fire, daring each other to touch the flames in a bold show of strength. He’d never been burned, but he’d been filled with joy as he sat in that very room vibrating with laughter. Everything had been simple back then.

Even when he was missing his friend Persinette, Edmund had been there. He’d thought of her often, hoping she was alive. He’d never had to doubt wherever she was, she was a survivor. It had killed him to wonder if she hated him for everything his family had done.

Now he knew she did, and it hurt worse than any pain he’d ever felt.

His torn sketchbook taunted him from the table and he ripped his eyes away, remembering the night he’d flung it, vowing he was done with the useless trade. A king didn’t have time for pretty drawings, especially when they reminded him of everything he’d lost.

Unable to sit in that room any longer, he sprang to his feet and strode purposefully toward the door.

It was nearing evening, and the palace was buzzing with activity. His guards kept their distance, but others were not so courteous. A servant in the royal livery rushed toward him. “Sire, Lord Leroy has been looking for you all day.”

“He can keep looking.”

No such luck. As he descended into the practice yard, Lord Leroy was waiting at the bottom of the steps with Camille.

“Where have you been, your Majesty?” he asked sternly.

Alex bristled at his tone. “That is none of your concern.”

“It is when there are important matters you have been neglecting.”

Alex continued walking toward the swords leaning against a wooden table. He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his collar. Rolling up his sleeves, he turned back to the serpents behind him.

“Brother,” Camille began. “We must discuss the prisoners.”

“Yes,” Lord Leroy agreed. “We must have a show of strength to prove Gaule isn’t so easily attacked.”

Alex barely heard them as he turned back around to pick out a practice sword.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Leroy snapped.

Alex kept his back to the upstart as he spoke. “Tell you what, my lord, why don’t you and my dear sister do something for a change. Before my father, the kings didn’t rule alone. Their councils actually did things to help the realm. You’re my council. You can begin forming a plan without me and I will join you. Now go.”

“Alexandre,” Camille chastised.

“My entire life, all you people have tried to get me to take my training seriously. Now that I finally have enough anger to stab something, you won’t leave me alone.” He gripped the hilt of a sword and swung it once to test its weight.

Lord Leroy grumbled as he walked away. Camille followed him and the air became much less suffocating.

The soldiers in the training yard were so wrapped up in their workouts they barely noticed him. His reputation preceded him and they didn’t expect their king to be there with a sword in his hand.

The steady drumming of knives and arrows hitting targets rang in his ears. Wooden swords crashed together with constant thuds.

Stepping up to the straw dummy, he shifted his feet and brought the sword down on its neck. He repeated the gesture with more strength than before and his chest squeezed. He went to work beating the dummy as hard as he could, releasing every bit of pent-up frustration. The dummy couldn’t fight back. It couldn’t look at him with accusing eyes. It couldn’t break him.

He swung his sword again and again, but it didn’t make him feel any better, any stronger.

“Sire,” a gruff voice called through his haze.

He stopped abruptly and turned to see the crowd he’d drawn. How long had he been at it?

The man who’d spoken was a member of Alex’s guard but he didn’t know him well. Simon. Yes, that was his name. He was an older fellow who barely spoke.

“What?” he asked more harshly than he’d intended. The onlookers didn’t bow to him as decorum demanded. He got a few nods, but for the first time in months, he didn’t feel like the king. He didn’t feel like he was above them. On the battlefield, everyone was an equal and in the training yard, it was the same.

Respect there wasn’t given based on the nature of one’s birth. It was earned with the sword in your hand.

Simon stepped forward. “Your Majesty—”

Alex cut him off. “Not here. Please don’t call me that here. I’m just Alex.”

A smile split the older man’s face, and he nodded, accepting the plea easily. “Well, Alex, would you prefer to continue bloodying that dummy or do you want a partner?”

“It’s a dummy, there’s no blood.”

Simon’s grin widened. “Come on.” He led Alex to a clear space in the yard and took his stance. When Alex did the same, Simon laughed. “You’re really as terrible as everyone says, aren’t you?”

Alex couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so honest with him. Other than the words Etta flung at him, it was… new. He shrugged as Simon walked toward him.

“First, you need to relax,” Simon said. “Shift your feet farther apart and bend your knees slightly.” He scanned Alex’s form. “You hold the sword quite well. But you need to be aware of your feet at all times. They will allow your opponent to predict your next move, but they’re also the quickest part of you that can move away from an attack.”

Simon nodded once and backed away. “Come at me.”

Alex shifted his weight and lunged. Simon evaded the attack easily. “Come on, Alex. When your attack misses, don’t back off. Attack again quickly.”

All light was gone by the time they slowed their sparring. For the last blessed hour, Alex hadn’t thought of anything but his next move, the arc of his sword. His arm ached from holding the heavy wooden sword and sweat dripped down his face, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good.

Simon was faring better as he grinned at Alex. “I dare say we’ll make a master swordsman of you yet.”

“I’d settle for adequate.”

Simon laughed. “I guess in the fight to come, you’re of more use as an archer. Though, as king you’ll be kept from the worst of it.”

“You think it will come to war?”

Simon set his sword down and scratched his jaw. “You’re the king. You know better than I.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

The old guard studied him for a moment. “When I was younger, magic wasn’t outlawed in Gaule, so we had descendants of Bela living right out in the open.” His voice was wistful. “They had a saying. Do you want to hear it?”

Alex nodded.

“Good men aren’t meant to be king.”

Alex’s lungs refused to expand. He’d heard that before. He’d thought it was a dream, but Etta whispered it to him before she left to rescue Edmund.

“What does that even mean?” he hissed.

Sadness washed over Simon’s face, pulling down the corners of his lips. “Phillip was said to be a good man, and he began the destruction of his kingdom when he went over the wall of Dracon, risking himself to protect the woman he loved.”

“That’s a fairytale. Bela was destroyed by La Dame, not King Phillip.”

“Some call it a fairytale. Others name it history. But the same lesson can be learned. Being king is much harder when the heart in your chest beats true.”

“How do you know mine does?”

“I’ve worked in this palace since you were born.” He smiled softly. “But we do not choose our roles in life. You were born to be king, good man or no. It only makes your path forward more difficult.”

“Good men aren’t meant to be king, huh?” Alex laughed at the absurdity of the statement.

Simon clapped him on the shoulder in a camaraderie Alex hadn’t felt since Edmund’s departure. His guards weren’t friends, but he was grateful Simon broke free of that thinking.

He was about to say something else, but the rumbling of a considerable crowd on the move sounded outside the inner gates.

Alex dropped his sword and didn’t bother grabbing his jacket as he jogged across the now empty training yard. Simon picked up his real sword and followed him. Once at the inner gate, he watched the torch-bearing mob march through the streets.

What the hell was going on?

He traveled past the gate and pushed himself into the crowd, getting lost among the faces. No one recognized him in the dark. They followed a cart that bumped over the stone road. It had a covered bed concealing its contents.

People stepped outside their doors as the mob passed, some joining them and others running back inside and slamming doors.

The cart blew past the open outer gate, the driver not bothering to acknowledge the guards on duty. Simon stepped up beside him and stayed close.

Alex knew where they were headed now and fear twisted in his gut as the newly built gallows loomed before them. He hadn’t had the chance to have them torn down yet. Anders and Camille had them built in secret. It was their way of dealing with the magic problem.

Two people stood on the platform with nooses around their necks.

When his eyes found his sister standing with Lord Leroy, he bulled his way through the crowd. Amalie stood with them, tears streaming down her face.

“You must see this,” her father was saying to her. “I will not allow you to turn a blind eye to the magic pestilence. Amalie, next time you’ll obey me.”

Alex grabbed Amalie roughly and forced her behind him to protect her from the man he now saw truly for the first time. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Your Majesty,” Leroy said smoothly. “You told me to take care of the problem of people from the Black Forrest.”

His face reddened, and he clenched his jaw. “And this is what you decided? This isn’t right. I told you to begin forming a plan.” He didn’t notice Camille stepping away from them.

“The punishment for magic is death. That is the plan.”

A blast of air blew straight for them, knocking them away from each other. It was all Alex could do to stay on his feet. He looked up at the gallows in time for the air to be cut off when the floor beneath the prisoner’s feet dropped away. Camille stood by the lever.

“No,” Alex screamed. The two unlucky souls struggled, their bodies jerking and flailing. Their faces changed color as they began to still.

Amalie’s sobs rang through the night, but Alex couldn’t look away. One of them was a girl who couldn’t have been much older than Amalie.

He reached back and pulled her forward to tuck her into his side. Her body shook. Lord Leroy moved toward the back of the wagon they’d followed and opened it to reveal three more wretched people.

“They’re too weak,” Amalie whispered. “Dany told me they can’t call their magic when they’re so weak. They can’t get themselves out of this.”

“Dany?” he asked.

Amalie began to cry again, pointing to the young girl still hanging from the rope. “She was my maid. Father caught us playing a game with her magic.”

Alex squeezed her tighter before releasing her. He strode up to the gallows and stepped onto the platform. The crowd quieted as soon as they realized their king had arrived.

He clenched his fists at his sides but forced his voice to remain calm. “This is not how we do things in Gaule.”

A cry rose up from the crowd as they threw accusations at him.

He didn’t stop. “There will be no more death here today.”

“You’re weak, brother,” Camille yelled. “Father would have had them all executed.”

“Father is dead. I am king. You will obey me.”

Leroy narrowed his eyes before taking off back toward the castle.

“Sympathizer,” someone in the crowd yelled. Others echoed the statement.

“And we wonder why the magic folk hate us?” Alex’s voice boomed over the shrinking crowd. “Why they attack us? Maybe we deserve it.”

Those were the wrong words to say, and he knew it as soon as they left his mouth. Too many of his people had died. There was an anger in his kingdom that threatened to tear it apart. The crowd shouted insults and tried to push forward, but Simon appeared, holding his sword at the ready. That seemed to deter them. Eventually, they dispersed, leaving Alex, Simon, and Amalie with two dead bodies and three prisoners.

Alex surveyed the prisoners. Clean them up and feed them and they’d look like any of his people.

He made a quick decision. “Go.”

They stared at him, stunned and disbelieving. Simon reached into his pocket and procured a few coins, pressing them into their hands. He nodded, and they began to half run, half stumble down the hill that led away from the palace.

“Simon, I need you to go back into the castle for a few guards, a horse, and supplies. We need to bury them.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine here. Give me the knife on your belt. Will you take Amalie back?”

“I’m staying with you,” Amalie cut in.

He wouldn’t argue with her so he nodded to Simon. When the guard was gone, Alex balanced on the platform and began to saw at the first rope with his knife. They’d used fraying ropes, so it didn’t take long before both bodies were sprawled on the ground. Amalie held her friend’s lifeless hand.

The crowd dissipated as a handful of palace guards rode towards them. Simon returned a few minutes later.

It was quick work to drape the bodies over the back of the horse. Alex’s mind immediately went to the meadow in the Black Forrest where Etta’s father was buried. He now knew that meant he’d been at Viktor Basile’s grave. These two deserved to be buried there as well, but it was too far.

Instead, they buried them at the edge of the woods.

A heaviness settled on Alex’s heart as they re-entered the castle. The streets were deserted, but he felt his people’s condemnation, anyway.

“I can’t go back to my father’s palace rooms,” Amalie said.

Alex felt for her. She’d been a good friend and had a good heart. Lord Leroy didn’t deserve her. Instead of taking her to her father, he led her into the family wing of the palace and stopped at his mother’s door.

The queen mother greeted them, her eyes showing her surprise at their dirt covered clothing. “You two smell like death.”

Amalie burst into tears.

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean that literally. Come in.” She placed an arm over Amalie’s shoulders. “They’ve drawn up a bath for me, why don’t you take advantage of it?”

Amalie sniffled and nodded, letting one of the maids take her away.

When she was gone, Alex ran a hand through his filthy hair and fixed her with a broken stare. “Mother.” His voice shook.

“Tell me what has happened.”

So he did, not sparing any detail. Pain flashed in the queen mother’s eyes when Camille’s role in the day was revealed, but her only other reaction was to wrap her arms around his shoulders, no longer caring about the smell.

He sank into her embrace. Even after he’d kept her confined in her rooms, she’d forgiven him easily. She always did. She was the one person in his life he could count on.

“Amalie can stay in Tyson’s room while you decide what to do with Lord Leroy.”

He nodded against her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Always, my boy.”

He let himself relax for a moment longer before standing. “I’m going to seek my own bath and then fall asleep. Maybe when I wake, all of this will have been a bad dream.”

4

When had his sister grown so cold? Alex sat on his throne in a perfectly fitted leather tunic. Silver rings were sewn along the collar and his crown sat nestled in his hair. He looked like a king. Good men might not be meant for ruling, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do his duty. He didn’t consider himself a good man. Etta didn’t think him true.

He shook his head. Today was not about Persinette Basile. It was about Gaule and the kind of kingdom he wanted to create.

He gave his sister a hard look, and she stared back unblinkingly.

“Kneel.” His voice reverberated around the room. There was always a crowd when he handed out judgments. Their curiosity irritated him, but he had no eyes for anyone but his sister. She was the last sibling he had in Gaule, but that wouldn’t save her from his wrath.

When she didn’t move, he cleared his throat. “Get on your knees, sister, before I make you.”

She pushed her dark waves of hair away from her face to reveal hard lines. His sister was considered a great beauty, but an untouchable one. She gripped her cane tighter and forced her knees to bend. Watching her sink down was painful. She moved slowly, but she hid the discomfort from her face.

Her knees hit the velvet carpet in front of the throne and she fixed her gaze on his face, challenging him. When she spoke, it was so low only he could hear. “You should not be the one sitting on that throne. You shame father. You shame our family.”

He lurched to his feet to stare down at her. “I am not the one tearing us apart.”

“If you’re bent on siding with the magic folk, why is your dear Etta still locked away?”

He refused to tell her Etta chose to stay in the dungeons. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how wrong that had gone. Instead, he crossed his arms and scowled. “I am not siding with anyone.”

She spat on his boots. “You should be siding with the people of Gaule.”

Enough. He didn’t want to stare at her face any longer. He’d never gotten along with his harsh sister, but she was family. He’d spare her the dungeons not for herself, but for their mother.

He sat down with a rigid spine and flattened the wrinkles in his trousers. “Camille Durand, I hereby rescind your place in the order of succession.”

She gasped. The king had the power to reorder the line of succession but it hadn’t been done in a hundred years.

He continued. “A marriage contract has been drawn up. I’ve been quite generous with your bride price.”

She shook her head violently. “Who?”

Alex smiled. Even in punishment, he couldn’t be cruel to his sister. He’d chosen a nobleman twice her age, but one who was known to be kind and not a frequenter of court. His estate was in the far northern corner of Gaule where his sister would no longer be a problem to anyone. He wanted her to be happy, but he also needed her gone before he was forced to imprison her.

“Duke Caron,” he said finally.

“Caron? But he’s old enough to be my father!”

Alex sighed. “It’s a good match, Camille, and better than you deserve. He has already begun his journey here and should arrive within days. You will marry and then accompany him to his estate in the North.” He broke their locked gazes. “You may go.”

She shot him a final stricken look and stormed from the room as fast as someone with a lame leg could.

Alex resisted the urge to sag back against his throne in relief. Instead, he gestured for Simon to bring Lord Leroy to the front. Simon jerked the hefty man down onto his knees. Alex had no kindness for Leroy as he had for his sister.

Leroy hung his head and kept his eyes firmly focused on the ground.

Alex was out of patience. “Lord Leroy, I hereby condemn you for carrying out executions without the crown’s consent. You circumvented me. We do not practice cruelty here in Gaule. Do you deny this?”

Lord Leroy lifted his eyes pleadingly. “I was doing what was necessary to protect my kingdom, sire.”

A sigh pushed past Alex’s lips and his voice softened. “I know you believe that.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne and looked out at the nobles who’d come for this. Amalie stood at the back, her face scrunched with nervousness.

He looked back to Lord Leroy. “You will return to your estate. Focus on the running of your lands and the people under your care. You are no longer welcome at court. If you return, you will be arrested. If I hear of you perpetrating cruelty on your lands, you will be arrested.” He paused. “There is an ancient codicil in the laws of a betrothal. If one family falls into disgrace, the other need not honor it and disgrace their name as well.” He hoped Amalie would understand. “This betrothal is broken. The Leroy family and the Durands will not be tied by this bond.”

He grew silent and Lord Leroy fell forward, his hands curling in the carpet. “Sire,” he croaked. “This will ruin us.”

Alex stood and walked down the steps to stand over the man. He bent and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, my lord, but there is more. You were a great friend to my father, and your time here must be finished, but not your family’s. I hereby take the guardianship of Amalie Leroy. She will always be your daughter, but she is no longer bound to you, nor you to her. Her financial well-being, including her future bride price, is now the direct responsibility of the queen mother. Amalie will stay here at court, separate from your own disgrace.”

Tears broke free of Lord Leroy’s eyes. “You would take my daughter as well?”

Alex squeezed his shoulder again. “I am not taking anything, my lord. This was her request.”

With a final pat to the man’s shaking shoulder, Alex strode down the carpet. The doors were opened for him and Simon stood at his side as he stepped through. Geoff and a few other guards joined them.

Alex knew the people of Bela were wrong. A good man could be a great king as long as he stood by what he believed in and made sacrifices. That was where King Phillip of the stories turned dark. He made the wrong choice. He sacrificed his people and his future descendants for one woman.

Alex would do anything to keep his people safe. Gaule wasn’t only made up of non-magical folk. If they were all going to survive La Dame’s forces, they had to do it together.

He wished he’d figured that out sooner before the people he cared about were hurt or driven away.

* * *

There’d been no assaults for days and Etta didn’t want to get used to it. In fact, she hoped someone tried to come at her if only so she could have someone to punch. She’d been weak each of the other times, but since her magical healing night, her body felt whole.

The food had increased since the king’s visit, but she wouldn’t be grateful. His offer to move her to a more comfortable prison had been insulting. If he wanted to keep her under lock and key, then he’d have to face her in this wretched place. He didn’t get to soothe his conscience. Especially not when the other poor people in that place didn’t have the option of luxury. He’d done this and she wouldn’t let him forget.

She straightened her arms, pushing herself up from the ground before lowering herself and doing it all over again. She had to remain strong and ready.

“What are you doing, Etta?” Henry asked.

She grunted through another push-up. “Preparing.”

“For what?”

“For whatever comes next.”

A bowl rattled as it was slid through the bars and a chunk of stale bread was thrown unceremoniously into the cell. Too hungry to care, she dipped the bread into the chunky stew she’d grown used to. It softened it enough so she could take a bite but it still scratched her throat on the way down.

She didn’t want to know what was in the stew to throw off such a wretched smell, but she wolfed it down like the animal they thought she was. Throwing the bowl to the ground, she swallowed the last bit of bread and sat in the corner of her cell. It was the farthest spot from her chamber pot. There was no lid to keep the stench at bay.

Every time she’d thought she was growing used to it over the weeks, some new inconvenience would bring her back to reality.

She wiped her face on her filthy sleeve, dreaming of a nice bath. Even a dip in the freezing river in the forest would do. She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander to images of her with Verité at the river.

A throat clearing tore through her distraction. She opened her eyes to find Duchess Moreau standing on the other side of the bars.

“Hello, Persinette,” she said kindly.

Etta scooted away from her shadowed corner, confusion drawing her brow. She hadn’t expected a visit from one of the king’s advisers. Then she remembered Tyson. Queen Catrine told her to take Tyson to the Duchess.

“Tyson?” Her scratchy voice couldn’t get much else out.

The duchess passed a cup of water through the bars and Etta gulped it down greedily.

“Tyson is safe,” she said. “As is Edmund and that petulant horse he arrived on.”

A laugh burst out of Etta and she clapped a hand over her mouth. It’d been ages since she’d laughed. “Verité has been good to me throughout the years.”

“Yes, I suspected he was yours.” She pressed her lips together. “You two seem made for each other.”

Etta nodded.

“I can’t stay long, child, but Catrine tells me you’ve refused to be moved.”

Etta’s eyebrows knitted together. “I can’t leave them.” She pointed to the hall where her people were caged just as she was.

Respect shone in Duchess Moreau’s eyes. “You and our king seem just as suited as you and that blasted horse.”

Etta scowled. “I think I’m tired. You should go.”

The duchess didn’t move. “Alexandre has had a busy few days. He sent both his sister and Lord Leroy away from court as the punishment for their treatment of magic folk. He broke his betrothal. Many in Gaule are angry with him.”

Etta’s mind whirled faster the more she thought of him. He was protecting her people? Why? And he’d broken his betrothal to that sweet, shy girl. Would his kingdom turn against him?

No, she couldn’t allow herself to care. Not when he continued to keep her from her own people.

Etta shrank back into the shadows of her cell. “The king is no concern of mine.”

The duchess nodded in understanding, but a sadness entered her gaze. “When I met you before, I thought you loved him. I saw it in your eyes. But love does not end, and it does not give up.”

“It also doesn’t forgive.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, child. The most important thing love does is forgive.”

“I can’t love someone who would imprison me for my magic.”

“I was under the impression it was because of your betrayal and that the reason you’re still here is your own stubbornness.” She ran a hand down her dress. “Edmund sent me with a message. I am to tell you La Dame has taken control of Bela.”

“Bela no longer exists.”

“But the land is still there. She has seized it and if you want to get it back, then you will need Gaule. You will need to make peace with Alexandre Durand.”

With that final thought, the duchess left. Etta folded in on herself. How had Edmund done it? He’d forgiven Alex for his own imprisonment, loved him still. Now La Dame had her ancestral home and she couldn’t be allowed to keep it.

Edmund was right. A sob shook her body. How could she forget these awful weeks? She felt the curse strong in that moment. It wrapped around her heart like a clamp, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe.

Her tears hit the stone beneath her and she watched their trail, numbing herself to the war raging inside of her.

* * *

Alex couldn’t stand the sight of her in that cell, but he had a plan. He needed to start releasing some of the prisoners who’d been locked up since his father was king.

He hurried toward the one person in the palace he knew he could trust. The late hour allowed him to slip away from his room without any guards. His mother’s guard barely glanced at him as he knocked on her door.

He hadn’t expected her to be sleeping, night owl that she was, but he’d at least thought she’d be alone. When Duchess Moreau answered the door, he stepped back in surprise.

“Your Majesty.” She smiled. “Just the man we need.”

He followed her into the sitting room where his mother sat with her fingers curled around a mug of tea.

“Alexandre,” she said. “Good news. Your brother is well.”

Relief flooded through him as he walked toward the pot of tea and poured some for himself before turning to the duchess. “I didn’t know you were back at court.”

“I just arrived. I’ve had a few people to see tonight and was planning to present myself in the throne room tomorrow.”

He sipped his tea and nodded, considering her. “How many magic folk have you been hiding?”

She reeled back, her jaw dropping.

“Alexandre,” his mother warned.

Duchess Moreau recovered quickly, busying her hands with the wrinkles in her skirt. “I am a loyal subject of Gaule.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything less,” he said as he took a seat across from her. “You’re protecting Tyson and I assume Edmund as well.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“Then it isn’t a far leap for me to guess you are a sympathizer.”

“Sounds like an accusation to me.”

He flicked his eyes to his mother and back. He’d learned he couldn’t trust his other adviser. Was the duchess different? His mother gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and he took a deep breath.

“I want to be a good king.”

“You are, son,” his mother said.

“Bela has an expression.”

“Good men aren’t meant to be king,” the duchess finished for him.

“It’s time I begin proving them wrong.”

The duchess frowned. “Sire, that saying refers to a specific king—Phillip. It isn’t a phrase to take to heart.”

“My father wasn’t a good king.” He turned to his mother. “After his death, you said one good man died that day and one monster. Viktor Basile was not the monster in your mind, was he?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she shook them away. It was all the confirmation he needed. He set his cup down and reached for his mother’s free hand. “I don’t want to be like father.”

“You could never,” she gasped.

“That’s a nice thing to say, but nothing has changed since he died. We are still persecuting those with magic. Our dungeons are full.”

Duchess Moreau studied him carefully, tilting her head to the side. “What do you plan to do?”

He swallowed. “I can’t free Etta. I want to… but she’s now a rallying point. The attackers in the border village claimed they were doing it in her name. She won’t allow me to move her somewhere more comfortable.”

“That’s what she told me.” There was pride in the Duchess’ eyes.

“You’ve seen her?”

“That was the first place I went.”

“How was she?”

She sighed. “Angry. Prideful. Stubborn.” Her lips curved up. “She was a Basile.”

The queen mother laughed. “Sounds like her.”

“I need to begin releasing people,” Alex said.

His mother leaned forward. “Son, that’s noble of you. But it’s best done with caution. Gaule is ready to go up in flames. Any action that can be perceived as aiding the magic folk will threaten your rule.”

“Maybe my rule isn’t the most important thing.”

She gave him a disapproving look. “Of course it is. You can only help this kingdom while you sit on that throne.”

“Before father consolidated the crown’s power, the king did not rule alone. Grandfather had a council of citizens to help him lead. So, no mother, my rule is not everything. Not even close. Gaule can survive without me. The question remains—can it survive me, my rule. Because, right now, my people want to tear me apart.” He set his cup down and began to pace in front of them, clasping and unclasping his hands.

He kept moving as the words spilled out. “I have a plan. It may make the people hate me more and I don’t want the entire kingdom sinking into rebellion if they think I am aiding their enemies, but we may need allies in the time to come. Keeping them caged like animals will not turn them into such. It’s a balancing act. I need to free the magic folk, but I don’t want word of our activities reaching the villages of Gaule. Not yet. We must only use trusted allies. If we can get the prisoners to Duchess Moreau’s lands, they’ll be as safe as they can be in Gaule.”

His mother got to her feet and set her cup down before stepping into Alex’s path and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m worried for you, son.”

“I never wanted to be king, but we do not get a choice in all things. Just like I don’t have a choice now.”

She leaned back and patted his cheek. “You’re a good boy. I’m also thankful you chose a kind man for Camille. She is difficult, but she is my daughter.”

Duchess Moreau stepped forward. “Duke Caron was a wise choice.”

Alex nodded. “Caron will be quite different than she expects. Rumor is his sympathies lay across the border as well and I will have need of him in the future.”

Leaving the two of them with vague details of his plan, Alex ducked out into the darkened palace. As a child, he’d never been allowed near the dungeons. Now it seemed as if they were a staple in his life.

The guards on duty bowed as he passed. It was damper than usual due to the heavy rains that’d begun earlier in the day.

He stopped outside Etta’s cell expecting to find her intense stare burning into him. Instead, she was curled up in the corner farthest from the waste bucket that sent putrid smells dancing in the air.

Her elegant golden mane was tangled and covered in so much filth it appeared almost brown. Her face was hidden from him, but her tiny body was skinnier than before. Her hipbones jutted out harshly under her torn clothing.

But her chest rose and fell, giving him some sense of comfort. She was still alive and that meant there was hope.

He gripped the bars separating them, wanting to be close, knowing he’d never be close again. He’d seen it in her eyes the last time she’d glowered at him.

Despite the fact she’d been the one who lied and betrayed her king, he’d been the one to break them. To break her.

Turning away, he vowed to himself he’d make it right and walked back to his room where sleep was elusive, but memories ran rampant.

* * *

The charcoal scratched along the paper, leaving delicate lines in its place. Alex moved his hand rhythmically as the trees took shape. He blew away the excess charcoal and studied his drawing. He couldn’t get it right. The edge of the Black Forest held a darkness he couldn’t draw no matter how many times he tried.

“That’s a pretty picture.” Edmund dropped down beside him in the grass past the outer wall of the palace.

“Are you mocking me?” Alex raised his eyes to study the trees, barely paying his friend any mind.

“I would never, your Highness.”

“Edmund, if you insist on bothering me, can you at least be quiet while you do?”

Edmund grinned and shook his head. “Why are you so fascinated with that forest, anyway?”

Alex sighed in exasperation and pushed his sketchbook aside. “Guess I’m done for today.” He glanced back longingly at the trees.

“Come on, Alex. I know something is going on. You’ve been moody lately.”

He needed to say it. Needed to get it out. But something stopped him. He thought he could trust Edmund, but what if he was wrong? He looked into his friend’s eyes. They’d been inseparable since Edmund came to the palace a few years before.

“I think I saw Persinette in town last week.”

Edmund whistled a long note. “That’s…”

“Crazy? I know.”

“Alex, in the three years since she left, there has been no word. No one can find them. Why would they remain so close to the palace? From what you’ve told me, her father is smarter than that.”

Alex lowered his chin to his chest. “I tried to reach her, but she turned into an alley and came out on the back of a horse. I watched her ride toward the forest.”

“No one lives in the forest.”

Alex’s fingers traced the lines of the drawing. “Wouldn’t it be the perfect place to hide if the king is hunting you?”

Edmund gripped Alex’s shoulder and squeezed. “You know as well as I your father has scoured the kingdom for them. They couldn’t have gotten out past the wards. They’re probably—”

“Dead?” He brushed off Edmund’s hand and stood. “Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps saying. I know you won’t believe me, but I feel like I’d know. If she died, I mean. Edmund, before you, she was the only person…” He wiped his hand across his eyes to hide the sudden moisture. Teenage boys weren’t supposed to cry, much less princes.

Edmund nodded like he knew what he meant, but he couldn’t. Being a prince was lonely especially as a young boy. But it hadn’t been when she was there. He’d always felt connected to her, like she was the person who mattered most.

A horn blew from the front gate as a line of soldiers on horseback crested the hill. They rode two abreast and were followed by a wagon. Edmund jumped to his feet.

Alex started to walk forward, but Edmund held him back as they got a better glimpse of the wagon. It was sizable with metal bars creating a cage in back.

His stomach churned as he saw the people crammed into the cage with barely any room to move. He’d seen it before. For three years, the purge brought magic folk to their dungeons in droves.

“Come on,” Edmund said. “Let’s go into the palace another way.”

The two boys were silent as they added that sight to the list of scenes they’d never forget.

5

Light flashed through the night moments before a crack of thunder shook the walls. Alex startled from his sleep. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes and sat up. Getting to his feet, he walked to his window. Rain pounded furiously against the glass.

Another crash of thunder made him jump.

Gaule was no stranger to storms, but they’d had a calm summer. It was only a matter of time.

There was no way he was getting back to sleep. When Tyson was younger, sometimes he’d make his way to Alex’s room when a storm raged. He hadn’t wanted to seem like a baby and go to his mother.

Alex smiled at the memory. Ty always tried to act bravely.

Alex missed his brother. It didn’t feel the same without him down the hall, without him causing trouble.

He crossed the room and poured himself a glass of wine to soothe his frayed nerves.

A knock sounded on his door and he was surprised to open it and find Amalie standing there in her nightgown. Simon was the guard on duty and he raised an eyebrow.

“My lady,” Alex said, inclining his head.

She bowed. “Your Majesty, may I come in?”

He stepped aside to let her by and gave Simon a tiny shrug before closing the door.

Amalie dropped all formality and turned to him. “I’m sorry, Alex. I know I shouldn’t be here. People will talk and—”

“Simon won’t tell anyone you came.”

“Oh.” Color rose in her cheeks. “Well, that’s good. Your mother put me in a room down the hall and I couldn’t sleep because…” She hesitated, casting her eyes on the floor. “I hate storms.”

His smile spread from one side of his face to the other. She was young, like Ty. He poured her some wine and she took it gratefully.

“Is it okay that I’m here? I worried you might be sleeping.”

“I’m glad for the company.” He sat and gestured for her to do the same.

“Oh.” She sat as directed and crossed her legs. “Then I guess that’s good.”

Thunder struck and she jumped to her feet and walked the length of the room before turning to come back again. After a few moments, he set his glass down and stood to still her pacing. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to stop. “Amalie, it’s just a storm. You’re safe inside the palace.”

Tears shone in her eyes and he pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his chest as he rubbed circles on her back. When he spoke, his words were muffled by her hair. “You remind me of Ty.”

A laugh shook her. “Ty is more terrified than I am of storms. One time, we were in the tunnels when one struck. It lasted into the night and all through to the morning. He tried to put on a brave face, but we ended up clinging together in fear for hours.”

He matched her laugh but stopped abruptly when something slammed against the window and it cracked. He turned his head just in time for the glass to shatter.

He threw Amalie to the ground, covering her body with his as the howling wind roared through the room. It sounded like a vortex, ready to suck them through the now fragmented window. Glass flew through the air and he covered both their faces.

The door banged open as Simon barreled through. “Alex!”

Neither Alex nor Amalie could move.

More guards would have heard the window break, and they’d be there to help soon, but all Alex could focus on was the wind ripping through his belongings. Papers flew past them as rain streamed in through the window, soaking everything. A puddle began to form around them.

Simon rushed forward, but before he could get to them, a sharp pain slammed into Alex’s abdomen. His body jerked away from Amalie as his head felt like it smacked into something invisible. Something hard. Simon pulled Amalie into the hall and came back yelling for Alex to get to his feet.

He couldn’t. It was like a knife slicing through his leg. He searched frantically for the source of his pain, knowing he wouldn’t find it in that room.

Simon reached him and pulled him to his feet as he rammed his shoulder under Alex’s arm. He all but carried the king into the hall. He used all of his weight but still couldn’t shut the door against the wind. Giving up, he turned to the king.

“Are you okay?” he yelled.

Alex jerked back against the wall as another wave of pain hit him. Amalie’s eyes widened as she reached toward his face.

“Did you get hit with something?” Simon asked. “You have a strange mark on your face.”

Alex couldn’t answer him as he doubled over. “Healer,” he croaked.

“I’ll wake the new palace healer.” Simon started to walk, but Amalie ran after him.

“No,” she called. “He needs to go to the healer in the outer castle.”

“Are you mad, my lady? The sky is breaking apart out there.”

She tugged on his arm. “We don’t have a choice.”

Simon rubbed his forehead. “If anyone learns I took the king out into this, it’ll be on me.”

“Simon,” Alex wheezed. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then just get me there.”

Simon slung one of Alex’s arms over his shoulders and Amalie went ahead of them. Guards appeared behind them at the king’s door and they ducked into another hallway. The palace was deserted as people hunkered down for the storm. The alarm would be raised soon because the king was missing and his room was trashed. They’d have to make it out before then.

Alex breathed through the pain as they pushed into the courtyard. A gust of wind blasted into their faces and battered them at an angle.

Simon’s graying hair clung to his forehead. He shifted Alex and unfastened his cloak, reaching it toward Amalie. “Take this, my lady.”

She wrapped it around her shoulders gratefully and charged ahead of them.

The streets were eerily empty and the guards at the inner gate didn’t step out into the rain to see who passed by. Walking was a chore as each new step brought pain. It was everywhere, straining Alex’s every movement. He thought he must now know what it felt like to be trampled by a horse.

Why was it happening to him?

Desperation clung to him, shielding him from the worst fears of the storm. Amalie jumped with every bolt of thunder. Even Simon was on edge.

Amalie stopped in front of the healer’s door and banged her fist against the solid wood. As Simon and Alex caught up, the door cracked open.

“Please,” Amalie begged. “He needs the healer.”

The door opened wider and Maiya stood there in shock. Her father appeared behind her. “Maiya, move.” He pulled her aside. “Come in. The storm is wicked out there.”

They practically fell into the room.

Maiya snapped out of her daze and pointed to the empty bed. “Put him there. I’ll make the potion.”

“No,” Alex said through clenched teeth as he was helped onto the bed. “Just heal me. No sleeping.”

“I don’t … what?” She looked to her father and then to Simon and Amalie. “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but we brew healing potions.”

A scream escaped Alex’s mouth as a new pain broke free.

“Please,” Amalie said. “Just help him. We don’t care if you have magic. None of us will say anything.”

“You have our word,” Simon said.

Alex groaned. “I knew it before. That’s why I came back to you.”

“Father.” Maiya shook her head. “You know what his pain means for her?”

“Who?” Alex writhed, remembering the conversation he’d overheard last time. “Persinette?”

“Maiya,” her father said. “Go ahead.”

She swallowed heavily and moved to the head of the bed. Closing her eyes, she set her hands on his shoulders and pressed down. Warmth flooded through him and the pain receded. He sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The skin of his neck began to tug and then tighten. His muscles contracted. “Maiya,” he cried.

“What’s happening?” Amalie jumped toward him frantically.

Alex pulled at his neck as an invisible hand tightened around it. His lungs cried out for breath.

Maiya’s father was the first to act. “It’s Persinette.” He yanked his door open. “We need to get to her.” When no one moved, he yelled, “Now!”

Alex scrambled from the bed and darted out into the rain. It became harder to breathe, but his pace picked up and he ran through the night. Amalie, Simon, Maiya, and her father followed him. He stumbled as he became lightheaded when he reached the inner wall. He tried to gulp air and managed insufficient gasps. His head swam, and it was all he could do to keep from falling as he crossed the courtyard. Simon was ahead of him now, but he kept looking back. When Alex reached the interior of the palace, he braced himself against the wall.

“Simon,” Alex tried to yell, his voice failing him. Somehow, his guard heard him and turned. “Get to her. Please.” He fell to his knees.

“I’m not leaving you.” Simon lifted him like he had before without even straining. Amalie, Maiya, and her father had been stopped by a guard, but Alex didn’t have time to go back for them. He didn’t know what was happening, but he had to get to Persinette.

The stairwell to the dungeons stretched down into the darkness and with the thunder still shaking the world outside, they went down, not knowing what they’d find.

They heard it before rounding the corner. Geoff’s voice.

“I’m going to make you beg, you little magic whore.”

Simon practically dropped Alex and ran ahead to where the door to the cell stood open.

Geoff had Etta pressed against the wall with one hand wrapped around her throat and the other down the front of her shirt.

He didn’t see Simon before the mammoth guard yanked him away. The pressure on Alex’s throat eased immediately, leaving a slight ache behind.

Persinette slumped to the ground, unmoving.

Simon knocked Geoff unconscious with two swings of his heavy fist.

Alex crawled across the floor, weakness flowing through him. He hovered over Persinette.

“We need to get her out of here.”

Simon nodded. “Think you can walk on your own?”

“Yes.”

Simon lifted Persinette into his arms and Alex used the bars to pull himself to his feet.

She had to be okay. He couldn’t live in a world where Persinette Basile was not okay.

As he passed Geoff, he hung his head. It was his fault, his guard.

At the top of the stairs, Persinette coughed weakly.

“Get her to my mother’s rooms,” Alex ordered. “I need to find Maiya.”

Simon began to run, the girl bouncing in his arms.

Finding Maiya was easy. She sat with her father and Amalie inside the front door of the palace.

“What is going on here?” Alex asked as he strode forward, trying to keep the weakness he still felt from his voice.

The guard did a double take. “Your Majesty, we’ve been searching for you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” His voice was cold. “I don’t have time for this. They come with me. You, go to the dungeons. There’s an unconscious guard, and he is to be arrested.”

When they were free of the guards, Alex turned to Maiya. “We have to hurry.” She nodded and the four of them began to run.

They pushed through the door and into the queen mother’s rooms without knocking. His mother sat on the bed next to a still unconscious Persinette.

“How is she?” he asked, rushing to her side.

“Not well.”

Maiya ran forward. “Let me see her.”

No one questioned her as she set her palms on Persinette’s chest. Etta coughed and shifted, but the red line around her neck faded and disappeared.

Alex felt his own lingering pain drift away. Amalie’s eyes widened. “Your neck was red as well and now… it’s gone.” Her eyes flicked between him and Etta. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand across his face.

It was a never-ending night, but he wasn’t tired. As he watched Etta, all he felt was relief. She was going to be okay.

Simon stepped up beside him. “If it’s okay, your Majesty, I’m going to go alert the guard you’re safe.”

“Good idea. Also, see what’s being done with Geoff. I want him to pay for this.”

“I’ll see to it, sire.” With a smooth bow, he left.

Maiya backed away from Etta. “She should be okay now. She needs to rest.”

Her father put a hand on her shoulder. “We will return in the morning.”

Maiya’s face scrunched in consternation. “Look, your Majesty, Persinette is important to us. I betrayed her once, but for the one person in this world I love more than her. She is everything, so you better—”

Her father cut her off. “Maiya.”

Alex’s mother moved off the bed and Alex took her spot. He stared down at Etta and cupped her cheek before meeting Maiya’s stare. “I promise. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Maiya,” her father warned. “He is the king.”

“I don’t care. I know I played my part in all of this. I gave her up.” She stepped forward and pointed one finger at him. “But you put her there. It was your guards that hurt her. Do you even know who she is? This is Persinette Basile, and she is my queen more than you will ever be my king.”

Her father dragged her toward the door. “I apologize for my daughter, sire. She doesn’t know what she says.”

“She won’t forgive you,” Maiya said as she was pulled from the room and the door slammed behind her.

The queen mother guided Amalie to the door. “We will give you some time, son. Amalie and I will sleep in the guest rooms.”

Alex barely heard them leave. He was too focused on the girl next to him. Even in this state, she was exquisite. It wasn’t the delicate beauty Amalie had or even the classic looks of his mother. It was as if the fierceness in her heart shone through.

The people rising up in the villages were calling her name. Even those doing so without violence were demanding her freedom. How did she instill such loyalty in people who’d never laid eyes on her? Did legends hold that much power? Or had stories of her traveled wide?

He could see it now. The honor. The nobility. She was meant to lead her people.

She shifted and curled closer to him in her sleep. “Alex,” she whispered.

His heart pounded as her hand reached for his. He entwined their fingers together.

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded.

He leaned down to kiss her forehead, wishing her words weren’t a product of sleep. He put his lips to her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighed and all he could do was watch her sleep, his heart tearing itself to shreds at what he’d done to her.

* * *

Etta jerked awake, her eyes snapping open as she felt the comfort of the bed beneath her. She wasn’t in the dungeons anymore. Her gaze darted around the room, recognizing it immediately. The queen mother’s rooms.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping when she opened them again she’d be back in her dusky prison cell. No such luck. She couldn’t be there. The palace was no place for her. Not when the dungeons were full of other magic folk.

She sat up, kicking off the covers, and that was when she saw him. Alex. The King of Gaule was asleep in a chair next to her. He had his feet propped up on the corner of the bed and his chin rested against his chest. His dark hair fell forward to cover his eyes. She had the sudden urge to brush it out of his face and that only angered her. She set her feet into the plush carpet and stood before crossing to the door as swiftly as she could. It was unlocked. She heaved a relieved breath and pulled the door open before slipping into the lit hall. The guard at the door didn’t move to stop her as she padded by on bare feet.

Farther along, the door to Alex’s rooms stood open and workmen came and went. She peered in noticing the mess immediately. With a minute shrug, she kept moving. She had to get as far as she could before they came after her.

What happened last night? She couldn’t remember how she got to the queen mother’s rooms. Had they drugged her?

None of the maids scurrying around stopped her. They stared and gave her a wide berth. She didn’t know what they knew or how she appeared to them, but she didn’t care. The only way she was going to get her people out of the dungeons was to get back there, preferably with help. She’d storm the place if need be.

Maiya and Pierre were somewhere in the outer castle. Would they help her after giving her up? She couldn’t trust them, but she didn’t trust anyone. Not anymore.

For a while, she’d trusted Alex. The boy she’d known. The king she’d served. But like father like son. Betrayal came easily to the Durands.

The thought raced through her mind. Not all of them. Tyson. She wished he and Edmund were there to help her. She reached the doors to the courtyard that stood open, the sun bathing her face in warmth. She sucked the fresh air into her lungs and her magic tingled in her fingertips. She wanted more than anything to get outside where she could unleash her power and feel whole again.

As she stepped out, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She spun, ready to fight, and came face to face with Simon. Her body relaxed.

“I thought you were going to drag me back there.”

His grip on her tightened.

“Simon,” she said slowly. “I have to get out of here.”

“How far do you think you could get?” His eyes bounced around wildly.

“Let me go.” She yanked her shoulder from his grip.

“Persinette, you look like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Your magic is out of practice. You’re alone. And…”

“What?”

His lip curved up. “You have no shoes.”

She eyed her feet and dropped her shoulders. “I have to help them.” Her sorry eyes locked on the man who was supposed to be her ally. “You didn’t have to sit there night after night listening to their moans… their screams. I thought I’d go mad.”

He put a hand on her back and guided her away from the door where a steady stream of soldiers could hear them. He dropped his voice. “The king is going to help them.”

“Let me tell you something about the Durands. They’re liars. They want nothing more than the destruction of magic. We’re descendants of Bela. They’d murder every one of us if they could.”

“You don’t know what has been happening around here while you were—”

“A prisoner?”

He scowled. “Not everything is simple.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I wouldn’t get far tonight.” Not with the blasted curse holding her back. “But tell me this. When the time comes, will you choose Alex or does your loyalty lay with me?”

He dipped his head to meet her eyes. “You are the last remaining Basile. You are meant to save us. My allegiance is forever with you, my queen.”

She nodded and squeezed his arm as she walked back the way she’d come.

Alex was no longer in his mother’s rooms, but two maids awaited her there. They smiled hesitantly.

“Queen Catrine thought you might enjoy a bath,” the one on the right said.

“The tub is full,” the other chimed in. “The queen mother’s own lye is in there for your use.”

Simon dipped his head before following the two maids out.

Etta removed her crusty clothing and examined every inch of skin. Not a single mark. As she sank into the tub, it all began to come back to her in flashes.

Geoff, the guard who’d been brutalizing her for weeks, with his hands on her. She scrubbed as hard as she could. She could feel his touch and no amount of healing took that away. Her skin turned red as she continued to rub it raw.

He’d closed his hands around her neck with such a look of pleasure on his face. She brought her hands up to her neck, finding it hard to breathe. Her chest heaved. She sucked in a long breath before sinking beneath the water. All sound ceased almost as if Edmund was there using his magic.

Bubbles floated in front of her face as her lungs began to ache. But she didn’t want to rise, to face the world. Not when she still felt him. Her attacker.

Then she’d been saved. Before her world went black, Alex had been there. He’d come. He’d been choking as well, their curse giving him her pain. It had all disappeared after that.

She broke the surface of the water, gasping for breath. Tears stung her eyes, and she wiped them away angrily.

She wanted to go back to minutes before when she didn’t remember. She wanted to forget. She stood, letting the water run from her skin. Grabbing a bath sheet, she wrapped it around herself and stepped out. She barely dried herself before crawling into bed, not bothering to dress before doing so. She wrapped her arms around her chest as she tried to keep herself from falling apart.

* * *

A curse rolled off Alex’s tongue as he stepped into his mother’s rooms. Etta hadn’t answered his knock, so he’d let himself in. It was freezing. After the storm, the entire palace was cold, but most of the rooms had fires roaring. No one had thought to start one in here. He’d have a word with his mother’s maids.

He went to the fire and began poking around. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d started a fire himself.

“Dammit,” he snapped, his own uselessness stinging him. Could he do anything for himself? Apparently not. He was every bit the spoiled king people thought he was. Giving up, he walked to the bed to make sure Etta had enough blankets. She was curled up in the velvet covers, but her entire body shook.

“Etta,” he whispered. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she whimpered. “Please… go away.”

He didn’t listen to her, instead taking a seat next to the bed. She rolled over to glare at him, keeping the covers tucked under her chin. Her golden hair was slightly damp and drying wildly around her face.

When her scowl deepened, he realized he’d been smiling.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” he said.

“I was feeling just fine in your dungeons.”

“I tried to bring you here ages ago.”

“You still don’t get it.” Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. There was no anger in her voice this time, only resignation.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Etta, I do. I want to help the rest of the people down there.”

“What’s changed? Some of them were put there by you.”

“Me. Everything. I don’t…” He rubbed a hand across his face. “If I can trust one person with magic, why can’t I trust more?”

“You trust me?”

“Well… yeah.”

“I lied to you,” she argued.

“I’ve heard.” He winked.

“My father killed yours.”

“We are not our parents.”

She paused for a moment. “I don’t trust you.”

His smile dropped. “Etta, so much of what you’ve gone through is my fault and I will never forgive myself for that. I can’t even imagine what I’ve put you through.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment and when she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper. “But you can, can’t you?”

“Can what?”

“Feel it. Feel me.”

He released a puff of air. “I feel everything.”

“Your father hunted us for years—”

“Etta—”

“Let me finish. He was cruel and ruthless. But I once asked my father if he hated him. You know what he told me?” She stopped, struggling to get the words out.

Staring into her eyes was like looking into his own soul, tarnished and bruised and when she continued, her voice had lost its strength. “He said your father was still like a brother to him. It would have broken his heart to have to kill him. He did it to save me. But do you see the point? This curse of ours makes me care for you whether I want to or not.”

“That’s why you told me it wasn’t real that first time.”

“Because it’s not.”

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and looked down into her face. “It sure feels real.”

“Alex.” Her voice broke on his name. “You held me in your dungeon for weeks. Last night, your guard almost … had me. I should despise you. When you aren’t around me, that’s easy. In my cell, I planned what I would say to you if I ever got free. But now you’re here, now that I’m looking into the eyes of the boy I’ve known since I was little, all I want is for you to kiss me.”

He stretched his arm out to brush the hair from her face but she flinched away from his touch.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty.” Her formality was like a punch to the gut. “You should go.”

Dark anger flashed across his face and she scrambled back away from him. “I want to kill him. Geoff is lucky he still has his head. He’s lucky I didn’t gouge his eyes out just for looking at you. Etta.” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “If he’d …”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know it wasn’t you. But I can’t separate it.”

“You blame me.” He got to his feet, not taking his eyes from hers. “You should. It’s my fault. All of it. But hear me in this—if anyone ever touches you again, I’ll gut them myself.”

She looked away as he crossed the room. He shut the door behind himself and leaned his head against it. He had duties to attend to, but he set off to find Simon. He needed something to hit.

* * *

As soon as Alex left, Etta wanted to call him back and tell him to kiss her until she could forget, until the memories no longer broke them apart. But that was not how her story could play out.

What had she been thinking trying to escape? The curse wouldn’t have let her get far from him without the pains. Sometimes she failed to remember who she was. Persinette Basile. The girl with nothing to her name but a curse. She didn’t even have a horse anymore. No family. Just an empty kingdom that La Dame had taken from her and her people.

The door opened again and her traitorous heart leaped at the thought of Alex returning. But it wasn’t him. His mother walked in carrying a tray. Her maid scurried in behind her trying to take the burden, but the queen mother shooed her away.

Another young girl entered and Etta recognized her immediately. They’d met at the ball.

She released the edge of the blankets no longer caring what these people thought of her. Alex was the one the curse tied her to.

She climbed out of bed and the girl’s mouth dropped open at Etta’s brazen nakedness. Etta smirked. “Amalie, right?” She didn’t need to ask. She knew. This was the girl betrothed to Alex.

Etta stretched her half-starved body as Amalie’s head bobbed. God, she was young. It was almost too easy. Looking around the room, her eyes latched onto the vase of flowers on the table next to the bed. Her lips curved into a smile and she reached it. Power surged through her, warming her chilled limbs. It writhed just underneath her skin as she held her hand over the selection of flowers. Her index finger rotated of its own accord and her body relaxed into the flow of power as the flowers grew. And grew. She stepped back as they shot up past her head. The vase cracked and broke apart around the stems. They didn’t stop until they reached the ceiling. Etta pulled her magic back, leashing it once again. Using it on the flowers was not the same as being outside, but it sated her for the moment.

And if it freaked these people out, that was a bonus. They already knew who she was so she might as well show them what they were dealing with.

When she turned again, Amalie was so pale guilt worked its way in. She didn’t run though. Something blazed in her eyes. Curiosity?

She seemed to forget about Etta’s bare state as she hurried toward her to examine the flowers. “You did this with your magic?”

“Yes.” Etta narrowed her eyes.

Amalie touched the overgrown flowers in awe. “That was…”

Etta knew what she would say. An abomination. Frightening. Illegal.

“Beautiful.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“Etta,” Catrine snapped as she walked toward them. “Put some clothes on.”

Etta turned to the queen mother with cold eyes. She hadn’t put her in that dungeon, but she was still a Durand and not to be trusted. Not anymore. “If I make you uncomfortable, release me.”

Catrine huffed. “Why? You have to stay near Alex, regardless.”

“I could live in the outer castle instead of as a prisoner.”

She shook her head. “You don’t even know what’s been happening. It isn’t as simple as releasing you.”

Etta sat in one of the chairs and took an apple from the tray Catrine had brought in. It crunched as she took a bite. Wiping juice from her chin, she pinned the queen mother with a stare. “Tell me.”

Two short raps sounded from the door. Catrine answered and spoke in low tones to Simon. His eyes widened slightly when he glanced past her to see the naked Etta.

Embarrassment bloomed in Etta’s cheeks. Catrine said nothing to them as she left to follow Simon.

Etta rubbed the goosebumps on her arms, trying to keep the cold away as the maid started the fire.

“Persinette.” Amalie’s voice was shy.

“Call me Etta.”

“Alex told me you said everything about Etta was a lie.”

She bit into her apple again to give her time to think. Did Alex tell his betrothed everything? No. She shouldn’t care. They would live happily ever after and she’d… she’d break the curse. She set her apple down and pushed away from the table. Clothes had been laid out for her on a chair in the corner. Loose fitting pants and a warm, suede shirt. She dressed and turned back to Amalie.

The girl’s face was so honest, Etta couldn’t help her sigh. She’d lose that, eventually. Etta didn’t know if she’d ever had it herself.

There was no use for lies anymore. “I have been preparing to be Etta since I was eleven years old.” She dragged her hands through her hair so she could twist it into a braid. “I guess you could say that Persinette is the part of me that no longer exists.”

Amalie stepped closer, excitement in her eyes. “But they call for you. It’s Persinette they want.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The people. There have been attacks in the border villages. The attackers call for you, but I hear the rumors. The other magic folk call for you too. Why?”

Etta tied the end of her braid. “I don’t know why any of them would think I can do a damn thing.”

“Is it true? Are you their queen?”

Etta’s eyes sharpened. “That’s dangerous talk, girl.” She scanned the room for the maid but she was gone.

Amalie cast her eyes to the ground. “You helped Tyson. I think that means I can trust you.”

“One thing you’ll learn if you survive long enough is the only person you can trust is yourself.”

When Amalie lifted her gaze again, her eyes no longer betrayed her age. They were hardened beyond her years. “It sounds to me like you don’t even trust yourself.”

Amalie sat and busied herself with putting food on each of their plates. Was she right? Etta lowered herself into the chair and leaned back. The truth was Etta felt like a past she couldn’t shake, but Persinette was a future she wasn’t yet prepared for. Where did that leave her? Sitting across the table from the woman who was betrothed to the man Etta didn’t want to love. Separated from her people. Unable and unwilling to lead.

They called for her release based on her name alone.

She had to prove herself a worthy Basile.

6

A hand clamped over Etta’s mouth, jolting her from sleep. She struggled against the restraint and Geoff’s face swam in her vision. Her body thrashed as panic clawed at her chest and she lashed out with her teeth, catching the fleshy part of the hand holding her down.

“Ow, dammit, Etta.”

The voice wasn’t Geoff’s. Her vision cleared and Alex peered down at her. He removed his hand and held it to his own lips.

“You drew blood.”

She shrugged and scooted up in the bed so she was sitting. The blanket fell from around her shoulders, revealing bare arms and the low cut of her sleeping gown. She watched Alex’s eyes skim her chest. His breath hitched before his heated gaze connected with hers. She quirked an eyebrow.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she hissed.

He grinned. “You won’t be saying that in a moment.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

He laughed, and she wanted to strangle him. “Is your mind constantly on sex?”

She scowled. “You’re the one breaking in here in the middle of the night and staring at my chest.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“I guess you didn’t look any longer than your betrothed did when I was walking around naked.”

“She’s not… you were just walking around without any clothes?” He smirked. “Why?”

Etta shrugged. “She blushes easily, and I was in a mood.”

“You’re always in a mood.”

“Tell me why you’re here or leave me be.”

His eyes lit up. “I have everything planned. Tonight, I don’t have to be king.”

“What do you mean?”

“Put these on and I’ll prove I’m not your enemy.”

He set the clothing on the bed and shut the door to wait for her. Curious, she scrambled to her feet. He’d left her tight black pants and a black linen shirt. There was even a pair of shiny black boots. It was her kind of outfit. She finished tying the laces and pulled on a black cloak, using the hood to cover her golden hair.

When she met him in the hall, he eyed her and nodded in approval. He was dressed similarly. Simon joined them and the three walked through the empty palace. Outside the main corridor, a familiar face greeted them.

“Maiya,” Etta gasped. She knew Maiya must have been the one to heal her, but hadn’t spoken to her.

“Etta,” Maiya cried, rushing into her arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh, I understand. You had to save your dad.”

“This is great and all,” Alex cut in. “But we don’t have time.”

“What are we doing?” Etta asked.

“Fulfilling a promise,” Alex answered vaguely.

Maiya looped their arms together. “We’re setting our people free.”

Alex explained. “I had a friend in the kitchens put a sleeping drought into the guard’s food. I know personally that it works like a charm.” He looked to Maiya who shrugged.

Shaking his head, he went on. “It’s easy, really. When you’re the king, at least. All we have to do is let them out. Maiya is here to heal any that need it. I have the list of crimes to differentiate between dangerous criminals and magic folk. We’ll get them into the outer town where they’ll disperse and hide out until morning when they can get past the outer wall. There’s a wagon laden with packs of food waiting on the other side. After that, they’re to be on their own.”

Etta looked from Maiya to Simon. He nodded with a smile on his face. When she turned to Alex, there were tears in her eyes. She gripped his arm and stretched up on her toes to press her lips against his cheek. “Thank you.”

He took a knife from the sheath on his belt and stretched it toward her. “You may need this.”

Since becoming a prisoner, she’d felt naked without her weapons. Her entire worth had been tied up in her ability to handle them. As she curled her fingers around the hilt, a small smiled spread across her face. She nodded once, and they headed down into the dark.

* * *

Memories assaulted Alex as he walked farther into the musty dungeons that sat beneath his palace. Only days ago, he’d stumbled down those same stairs choking and gasping for breath. That wasn’t what haunted him, however. It was the image of Geoff holding Etta against the wall.

She’d stopped fighting and the girl he knew had more fight in her than any man in his guard. He thought he’d been too late. Regret washed over him as he covered his nose against the smell of filth.

They walked around the sleeping form of the guard and made their way down the long hall toward the back. Etta gripped the bars at the end of the hall and spotted an older woman who was huddled in the corner.

“Analise,” she whispered. “It’s me.”

“Persinette?” The woman clambered to her feet, swaying slightly. She moved closer and looked into Etta’s face. “I told them you’d come back.”

Etta smiled. “There’s no way I’d leave you down here.” She turned to Alex expectantly.

He tossed the keys, and she caught them mid-air before spinning and jamming them in the lock. The iron door opened on rusted hinges and Etta rushed in. She didn’t go to Analise, but to the other corner that had been hidden in shadow. Alex hadn’t seen the man curled on his side. No, not man. He was only a boy.

“Henry,” Etta cooed, brushing damp hair back from his face. She knelt and pulled him into her lap. He went like a rag doll, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “He’s burning up.” She turned pleading eyes on Maiya.

Maiya knelt beside her and placed her palms against his cheeks. She closed her eyes. In moments, the boy’s breathing evened, and he opened his eyes slowly.

Etta let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh. “I wasn’t too late.”

“We saw them take you,” Henry said, looking up at her. “We thought you were dead.”

She hugged him. “I promised you I’d get us all out of here.”

Alex finally understood why she refused to come with him when he’d tried to save her from this place. These people. She’d told him and he hadn’t listened. They were hers and she was theirs. He got it because he was a king and he belonged to the people of Gaule.

“Sire,” Simon said, stepping forward. “I don’t think we want to linger.”

He took the keys from where Etta had left them in the lock and walked to a nearby cell. After unlocking it, he handed them to Simon. “You and Maiya start releasing the prisoners on the list. I have something else I need to do.”

Simon scrutinized the list in his hands and nodded before disappearing around the corner with Maiya.

Geoff hadn’t yet woken, but he mumbled in his sleep. A perverse sense of pleasure warmed Alex as he studied the filthy form of the once guard before him. If he woke, he’d see his king and be able to tell anyone who would listen of how the king freed the prisoners.

Alex clenched his fists at his sides. He wanted more than anything to just kill the man. Etta appeared at his side.

She didn’t speak as she walked forward and knelt down to look into his face.

Finally, she spoke. “You need to get out of here. He can’t see you.”

“Or you.”

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment as she saw the truth in his words.

Geoff began to stir and Alex pulled her back. “A time will come for you and him. We can’t just kill him.”

He released her and stood over the stirring cretin. With one swift kick to the head, Geoff went still. Alex bent to feel his pulse. “Good. Just knocked him out.”

“You and I have different definitions of good.” Etta turned to leave the cell and Alex followed.

Joining the group, he turned to Analise. “Do you need healing?”

“No.” Her voice was frigid as she stared at him. “I just want to get my grandson out of here.” She pushed past him weakly and focused on the boy. “Henry.”

“I’m okay, grand-mere.” He got to his feet as if he’d never been sick at all. Alex had seen Maiya’s healing enough to not be surprised by it, but there was still something otherworldly about it.

Analise crushed him to her and Etta jumped to her feet. She went to where Simon and Maiya were helping the others.

Alex hung back as Maiya healed those who needed it, providing much-needed strength. Etta spoke to her people in quiet tones, reassuring them. Simon stood silently by her side.

Alex glanced at Geoff’s cell once more before moving toward the stairs. His father would be ashamed of him for choosing magic folk over those he’d call “his people.” But his father hadn’t taught him how to rule. He’d taught him how to avoid his mistakes.

There was no possible way to silently move a crowd of this size. Alex found himself wishing for Edmund and his magic. His friend would be by his side if Alex hadn’t betrayed him as well. The power that had frightened him once would have helped them now.

Etta met his gaze and he would’ve guessed she was thinking the same thing. “Henry,” she said.

The boy came toward her and she regarded him, putting a hand on each shoulder.

“I need you to be brave for me, Henry. Let your magic free.”

His eyes, round as saucers, flicked to the king in fear. Something tightened in Alex’s chest.

Etta shook her head. “It’s okay. Pretend he isn’t here.”

Henry gave a bob of his head and closed his eyes. A weight settled around the group and all outside noise was snuffed out in an instant.

“Does he share Edmund’s power?” Alex whispered.

“No. Edmund controls the wind… to an extent. His magic is quite weak, but he can push sounds away. Henry’s is more like a cloak settling around an area, a cloak of silence. Magic is specific to each person. No two people will have identical powers.”

She threw an arm around Henry’s shoulders and kept walking. Alex hadn’t seen her like this since she returned to the palace. A smile lit her face, replacing the intensity he knew her for. Even though they were far from safe, the tension drained from her posture as she talked to the people she’d been locked up with.

It reminded him of when they were young and she was carefree, stealing from the market, climbing roofs, and running along the tops of the walls. He’d been mesmerized by her then and couldn’t take his eyes off her now.

She said it was the curse, but he refused to believe in that cruel reality. Maybe he’d believed it at first, but then he’d seen Etta locked in a cell and he knew. His feelings went much deeper than a string of magic tying them together. She may not see it yet, but he wasn’t ready to give up.

At the top of the stairs, Simon made sure the coast was clear. At the late hour, only the night guards roamed the palace grounds. Alex had made sure specific guards were on duty to avoid any unforeseen problems.

They only had to get past the inner wall.

Etta removed her knife and flipped it once in her hand before pulling up her hood and nodding to Alex.

The first group began to run.

“Remember, if we get caught helping magic folk, they’ll rise up and demand my crown,” he whispered.

She gave him a blank stare and mimicked his tone. “Remember, if we get caught, they’ll demand my life.”

She took off and the corner of his mouth curled up as he followed her. Out in the courtyard, the moon shone bright, lighting their path as they made it to the far wall. Footsteps sounded in the night.

A young man in the group of free prisoners stepped forward and held out a hand. “Hold still,” he hissed.

A guard he hadn’t assigned to the night watch walked through the courtyard and Alex held his breath, waiting to be seen. Why was he roaming the grounds? Was someone looking for him? The guard kept moving, turned, and returned to the palace.

Alex released a breath.

Etta leaned close. “Torrence saved our asses there, making us blend into the wall.” She pushed away from him. “How does it feel to be at the mercy of magic, King?”

She took off again, and he followed. They wound their way through the streets and he began to recognize where she was leading them. He grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt.

“We can’t use your old house, guards live there now.”

She ripped her arm from his grasp. “I’ve used it before.”

She picked up her pace and before long, the group was standing beside the old crates that once held Viktor Basile’s chickens.

So many of Alex’s childhood memories were attached to that house. He’d avoided it since Viktor and Persinette were run off. A long breath escaped him. She was back. Standing right next to him. But none of it was how he’d imagined it would be.

The small two room house stood pushed up against the inner wall as if it wasn’t meant to be there. Ragged wooden walls tilted back, getting support from the stone structure behind them. Thin wooden boards has replaced the old thatched roof.

Henry’s cloak of silence descended on them once again and people started to climb from the crates onto the roof before leaping onto the wall. It wasn’t an easy climb, and many struggled. An older gentleman was dangling from the wall when Simon stepped forward to help. The man Alex trusted more than any other guard, pulled himself onto the roof with ease. Alex watched in fascination as he did the same on a high stone wall that rose next to the roof. His eyes widened when Simon bent and grabbed the man by the back of the shirt before hauling him up. He didn’t even strain. Alex closed his eyes.

“Of course,” he said to himself. There were even magic folk in his guard. He pushed the initial anger down. That wasn’t him anymore. Simon lifted his head and pierced Alex with a sympathetic look. Was that pity? Alex’s gut churned. Did they all pity him? The idiot king who imprisoned friends and betrayed allies. He shook his head. Now was not the time for doubt.

Simon pulled each person over the wall before helping them climb down the roof on the other side.

When it was Etta’s turn, she jumped with a grace he’d forgotten she had. Her fingers caught the edge of the roof and she climbed over. Before she could make a jump for the wall, a door opened and out walked a young girl.

Alex stepped forward, his mind spinning for an explanation of their presence. Before he could give it, Etta leaned over the edge. “Hi there,” she said. “It seems like you catch me in this situation a lot.”

The girl jutted out her chin, taking no notice of Alex. “Did you save them?”

Etta nodded. “I’ll keep saving them.”

“Good. You can’t let the king destroy magic.”

The words hit Alex with the force of a bludgeon.

Etta winked and then kicked off the roof, landing smoothly on the wall.

“Hey,” an angry voice yelled as a sizable man stepped out the door. “You.”

Alex scrambled from the roof to the top of the wall. “Go,” he hissed to Etta. She disappeared down the other side as bells began to clang. “The alarm.”

“Stop,” the guard yelled as his wife joined him.

Alex didn’t hesitate before dropping onto the roof on the other side. He leaped to the ground and landed in a roll before popping back up. He tried to catch his breath as his eyes found Etta. “They must’ve found the empty cells.”

“And soon they’ll know you’re missing.” She walked hurriedly away from the wall. The rest of their group had already dispersed through the town as planned. There were people in place who would help them and give them fresh clothes and supplies.

Etta sped up and led him around the corner. “Would they believe you were just out for a midnight stroll?” She pressed herself into the shadows at the side of the building but he could still see her smirk. “You could go back to the palace as if none of this ever happened.”

He shook his head and peered around the corner. Light spilled onto the street as the door to the tavern opened. A group of men exited, their drunken voices carrying on the night air.

“Come on,” he said after they’d passed. “We need to find a place to hide out for the night.”

She gave him a curious look, but he didn’t have time for explanations. When he’d decided to help the people in the dungeons, he’d made a promise to himself.

It was time to let her go.

Even after everything, the thought of not having her near broke something inside of him. But she was Persinette Basile. She wasn’t meant to be a prisoner and if they had any hope against La Dame, she needed to be free.

They crossed the street, careful not to make a sound. Where was the kid with the gift of silence when you needed him? Oh, right, on the run.

Alex shook his head. Etta led them on a winding path through the town that made up the outer castle. They passed the stables, and he saw her eyes flick to them sadly. Would Etta get to reunite with Verité when she left? He hoped so.

He knew where she was taking them and as they neared the northern edge of the castle walls, the tower rose up over them. He smiled at the memories of the girl who’d claimed she could climb the outside of the imposing structure. The smith’s shop down below was closed up for the night, but he could still hear Persinette’s howl as she fell. She’d refused to cry, but her face showed her pain.

Etta met his eyes as she stood in the entrance and he knew. She was remembering too.

The tower hadn’t been in use during his lifetime and a layer of dirt covered the stone floor on the inside. The staircase spiraling toward the upper levels was crumbling and broken.

When Alex spoke, his voice echoed through the tall chamber. “Why did you choose this place?”

She shrugged as if the memories meant nothing to her. It was her way. Brave, fierce, uncaring Etta. Only, he’d seen the other side of her. The one who created a beautiful meadow of flowers. The girl who was kind to children and saved his brother.

His biggest fear in this world was that he’d killed that girl. Locked her up and released her when she’d lost all that was good.

Etta cleared her throat. “This is as good a place as any to hide. No one ever comes here.”

He tore his eyes away from hers, unable to bear the coldness any longer. She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms underneath her cloak.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

He walked closer. “No, you’re not. You’re freezing.” He began to unfasten his cloak to add it to hers, but she stopped him.

“I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.” Her voice lowered, and he wasn’t sure her next words were meant to be heard. “I got used to the cold in my prison.”

He turned away from her and sat down against the wall, resting his arms on his knees and leaning his head back.

Etta sat against the opposite wall.

After a while, he finally spoke again. “Can’t you make a fire or something?”

She leaned forward and drew her finger through the dirt on the ground to reveal a crack in the stone. “That’s not how magic works. My power is growth, enhancement. I could turn a twig into firewood, but making it catch fire is beyond me.”

“The stories say the Basile’s have immense power, and that’s why only you can defeat La Dame.”

She sighed sadly and held her open palm over the crack. Grasses began to grow through it and a hesitant smile appeared on her face. It was mesmerizing. Her face shifted, and the smile grew. “This is all I can do and I’m fine with that.” She snapped her hand shut, and the grass receded immediately. She turned blazing eyes on him. “I know what the stories say. They’ve been a weight on my shoulders since my father died and I became the heir of the curse. I can’t be the only hope. You can’t put that on me. If you do, we’re all doomed.” She crooked an eyebrow. “Unless I can get close enough to strangle her with weeds.”

A laugh burst out of Alex. “I’d like to see that.”

“Wouldn’t we all?”

“Who would’ve imagined after all these years and everything that has happened, a Durand and a Basile could end up on the same side.”

She grew quiet for a moment and hugged her knees to her chest. “I’m not going to forgive you.” She rested her chin on her arm. “If that’s what tonight was about. I’m glad you helped them, but it doesn’t change anything you’ve done.”

She hardened his resolve to release her. As much as he wanted her, if she didn’t want him, there was no point.

She shifted so she was lying on her side and turned away from him. “Goodnight, Alex.”

He sighed. “Goodnight.”

Her breath soon evened, but there’d be no sleep for him. Not when Etta was just feet away. Not when he didn’t know if she ever would be again.

The bells from the palace still pierced the night, and he knew the panic that would’ve ensued upon finding the king missing. They’d turn over the whole damn palace looking for him, assuming he’d been taken by the escaped prisoners. By Etta. She’d be blamed for releasing them. And he’d be blamed for letting her betray him yet again.

Alex’s power was slipping through his fingers. His father’s power lay in the fear his people had for him. The nobles who didn’t fear him were his greatest allies against the magic folk. When blood ran through the streets of Gaule during the purge, he’d solidified his support. No one dared to go against him.

Alex was not his father. He couldn’t sit by and watch his people suffer just to keep his nobles happy. His father’s voice rang in his head. “The King of Gaule serves at the pleasure of his people.” He could be removed. Replaced.

One day, they’d force him to take a side. Publicly. Not in the dark of night. There’d be no more hiding from his choices. It was easy to do the unpopular thing in the shadows.

The ones who’d had their villages destroyed by magic folk wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t differentiate between good magic and evil.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. Was he doing the right thing?

A whimper sounded from Etta’s lips and a shiver wracked her slight frame. He blew a puff of temperate air onto his hands to thaw his frozen fingers and crawled across the floor to her. Her entire body shook in her sleep and blue tinged her lips.

“Etta,” he whispered, touching her cheek. It was ice cold.

She groaned, and he ran his hand over her long hair. Unclasping his cloak, he draped it over her as a frigid breeze blew in through the door. The chill settled in his bones.

Making a decision she would hate him for in the morning, Alex lay next to Etta and pulled the cloak over them both. He looped his arm over her and dragged her back to rest against him for warmth.

He told himself they were just sharing their heat, but he couldn’t deny the way his body reacted to her. She fit perfectly with him and a sense of rightness hung in the air. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he breathed in her scent and closed his eyes.

As he fell asleep, he couldn’t help the tightening in his chest. How was he supposed to let her go?

“Alex,” she murmured, her lips turning up into a smile. Sleep added a softness to her words. “I missed you.”

He kissed her cheek, and she still didn’t wake. “I don’t care if you say it’s fake or if you’ll always hate me. I love you Etta and that’ll never change.”

She hummed in contentment and he knew that come morning, she wouldn’t remember his words at all.

* * *

Something heavy sat across Etta’s chest as she woke on the cold stone floor. Sunlight streamed in through the door, illuminating Alex’s sleeping form next to her. She let herself relax into his hold for a moment, remembering the times before he’d found out her true identity. They’d cared about each other, but that wasn’t enough.

Slowly, she slid out from under his arm and the cloak that was wrapped around them both. She smoothed her braid as she walked toward the door to look out. It was early enough that the smith wasn’t yet in his shop, but they didn’t have long.

Rubbing her arms for warmth, she walked back over to Alex and nudged him with her foot. He grumbled and rolled over. She wasn’t in the mood for this.

Narrowing her eyes, she considered him. How had they ended up curled together? It didn’t matter now. They had to go.

“Come on, you royal ass,” she snapped, nudging him harder.

His eyes snapped open, and he jerked up, his gaze bouncing around the room. “Have we been found?”

“No, you idiot, but we have to go.”

He climbed to his feet and shook out his cloak before pulling it around his shoulders. She adjusted her hood to cover her hair, and they joined the rest of the castle that was just waking up.

Keeping their heads down and hoods up, they made it past the guards searching houses for any signs of the prisoners. They passed unconscious men lying outside the tavern door and stable lads giving the horses their exercise. No one spoke to them and they were able to slip into the stream of people exiting past the outer gates.

As soon as they were free, Etta pushed back her hood. “That was way too easy.”

“Etta,” Maiya’s voice reached them and she turned to see her friend. Pierre was beside her.

Fear struck her. Maiya had done her part. She shouldn’t be risking herself further.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“We feared for you,” Pierre answered.

Etta touched Pierre’s arm. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

His lips tipped up into a hesitant smile. “We always worry for you, my dear.”

Maiya turned to Alex. “They searched our place last night.”

Alex nodded. “I’m going to have some explaining to do.” He grabbed Etta’s arm and pulled her along the outside of the wall. “Past the edge of the forest, there is a wagon laden with food. That is where your people are meeting you.”

“Me?” She stopped, glancing from Alex to a surprised Maiya and Pierre. “Alex, what are you talking about? We’re supposed to meet them together.”

He reached out to cup her cheek and for once, she didn’t want to pull away. “I’m setting you free.” His other hand came up to hold her face in place. There was nowhere to look but his eyes. “You never should have been a prisoner.”

“No—” she breathed.

He stopped her, resting his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled and Etta gulped back a sob. He didn’t know. He couldn’t. He knew of the curse, but he didn’t understand. Freedom was so close. He was handing it to her, but it wasn’t his to give.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “You say you won’t forgive me, but it is I who won’t forgive myself for breaking the thing I love most.”

“Alex—”

He stopped her words with a kiss. She didn’t know if it was the curse or some lingering love for him, but she gave him every ounce of passion she possessed in that one moment. She never wanted it to end. But a kiss couldn’t change the past and she broke away.

“I can’t go,” she said, her breath coming heavily. She pushed away from him for some much-needed distance.

“You have to.”

“You don’t understand,” she yelled as she put her hands on her head. “I-“ The words clogged in her throat.

Alex glanced around to make sure the four of them were still alone.

Pierre stepped close to Etta and laid a calming hand on her shoulder. “Help him understand.”

How was she supposed to do that? How could she tell him the only reason she’d first wanted to be by his side was because she’d had no choice. There was never another option. And she’d hated him for it. For imprisoning her long before he ever locked her away. It wasn’t his fault, yet she blamed him.

When Etta’s eyes met Alex’s again, they shone with tears. “This curse.” She pounded on her chest. “It exists right in here and has more control over me than you know.” She wiped her eyes and turned away from him, kicking at the ground. She flicked her hand, and a vine snaked up the wall angrily.

“Etta,” Pierre warned.

She pulled her magic back. She’d tried to escape the curse once when she went with Edmund and Tyson. And it had almost torn her up inside.

She turned to face him again, and the tears were replaced with fire. “La Dame knew what she was doing when she cursed my family and tied us to our enemies. You, Alex, are my enemy and this wretched curse won’t allow me to leave you. You must have felt it when I left the first time.”

His widening eyes told her he had.

She shook her head. “It was the cruelest fate of all. Your father hunted us for years, but we could never go far. We couldn’t escape. My father had to leave me for days, sometimes weeks at a time whenever your father left the castle to go into the far reaches of the kingdom. He had no choice and now I don’t either.” Her voice softened to a whisper. “My freedom was never yours to give.”

7

Many of the prisoners had made it to the forest, but the group before Alex was considerably smaller than the one that left the dungeons. Many likely hadn’t made it out of the palace without being caught. There was nothing more he could do for them.

Alex examined the people he’d freed. Some of them were just children. He shook his head. How could he have kept them locked away?

His eyes found Etta. The same way he’d been able to imprison her. He’d learned long ago to separate himself from his feelings. A lasting lesson from his father. But what was a king without feelings? Without loyalty, empathy… without love?

Simon passed food around. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was all they could do. It was up to these people now to save themselves.

They’d begun to regain their strength and there in that haunted forest, they were able to use their magic once again.

Analise raised her arms to the sky, and it was almost as if she pulled the rays of light through the tree cover. How was that possible? And more importantly, how could that be evil?

Alex closed his eyes as the warmth of the sun struck his face. A stillness resided over the freed magic folk and that peace was where joy lived. Where it thrived.

He’d never seen anything as astounding as the sight before him. Magic swirled in the air, wrapping them in its wonder. It was a sight to behold. A young girl shot sparks from her fingertips, making Henry jump to miss them. She did it again, and the children laughed. True laughter, not like the polite guffaws of those at court.

Etta walked up beside him. “They trust you, your Majesty.”

He tilted his head in question.

“We’ve been taught to hide our power with every fiber of our beings. You are witnessing what few others in Gaule ever have.”

“What is that?”

“True freedom. Not the kind that is forced upon you or given reluctantly. There is no greater force than complete freedom.” Her lip curled sadly. “That is what this forest has always represented. Until recently.”

He couldn’t meet her eye. He might not have given the direct order, but it was his men who raided the forest.

Her last words were so low he almost didn’t hear her. “I envy them.”

He wanted to call her back as she walked away. To promise he’d devote his life to finding freedom for her. But his feet stayed in place. He glanced down to see roots wrapped around his boots, preventing him from going after her and making promises she knew he couldn’t keep.

He crouched down and sawed at the roots with his knife. By the time he was free, the group was beginning to disappear farther into the trees.

“Where are they going?” he asked.

Etta looked up from where she stood with Maiya and called back, “Home.”

Her smiled dropped slowly. No one knew what they’d find in Bela. La Dame was said to be there, but was she any more dangerous for magic folk than the people of Gaule? Alex regretted the things his people had done and knew it wasn’t over.

Maiya stepped in front of Etta and pulled her into a hug. “We’re going with them.”

Etta nodded as if she’d been expecting this, but tears shone in her eyes when she followed Maiya back to Alex.

Pierre held out his hand to Alex. The king stared at it, unable to remember the last time he’d shaken someone’s hand. He took it tentatively, still expecting a bow from the man.

“It isn’t safe for us in Gaule anymore,” he said, “but you have done our people a great service.”

Alex nodded and released his hand. When Pierre turned to Etta, he bowed low and Alex understood. Etta was his queen even if she’d never worn the crown.

Etta touched his cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

He stood and kissed the top of her head, not as a subject would, but as someone who cared. “Your father would be proud.”

A tear dripped down her cheek. “You think so?”

Pierre smiled and nodded. “We will be waiting in Bela for the day you come home.”

“Be safe,” Alex said. “Stay far from the palace. La Dame controls that territory now.”

When they were gone, Alex turned to Simon. “Sure you don’t want to go with them?”

He grunted. “My place is by your side.”

Alex squeezed his shoulder as he turned and began the trek back to the palace. How was he going to explain his absence? The entire palace was surely searching for him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and glanced at Etta. She added another complication.

How were they tied together and he’d never known? The pain he’d felt after she’d left with Edmund and Tyson was unlike any he’d ever felt before. He’d felt as if his heart was being ripped through his body.

If they found a way to free her, he knew what that meant. She’d leave. Even after everything, he didn’t think he’d survive that. Would she even remember him once she was with her people again?

Who was he kidding? Breaking La Dame’s curse might not even be possible. But what was worse, Etta staying only because she had to or leaving because she could go where she wanted to be – and it wasn’t by his side.

She’d never wanted to stand with him.

Everything made so much sense now. The tournament. Her entry. The way she fought. She’d been forced into all of it. His stomach churned. A young girl made to fight experienced warriors against her will.

But she’d won.

And what had her prize been? A chance to obey her family’s curse. What kind of cruel fate was that? He glanced sideways at her, but her stern face gave nothing away. What was she feeling? Angry? How could he blame her?

Maybe they’d been broken long before she’d kept her secrets from him. Long before they’d even met.

They returned to the castle where a line of guards stretched through the outer castle’s streets. They busted through doors of the shops and homes that kept the palace running, turning people out of their beds.

Had they seen the king? Did they have any information on the escape from the night before? Were they traitors?

Those that answered no weren’t believed, but the ones who’d been a part of the escape stayed silent. Both sides were doing it for their king – they thought.

Alex didn’t have a plan. No explanation. But he was the king. He didn’t need to explain anything.

If only that was the way it worked in Gaule. He was only as powerful as the strength of his noble’s support.

Before they passed the gate, he held his hand out to Etta. “You can’t walk through the castle with a weapon.” She stared at him in open hostility. “You’re still a prisoner in their eyes.”

She scowled. “Then how am I going to protect you?”

“You aren’t my protector any longer. Simon is here, and I have gained some skill with the sword.”

She snorted, but hurt flashed in her eyes as she handed over her knife.

Simon stayed close to his side as they walked forward. The guards saw him immediately.

“It’s the king,” one shouted excitedly. A murmur worked through the rest of the guards at the gate and when Alex passed through, he was peppered with questions.

“I must get to the inner palace,” he said, ignoring their inquiries.

He stood tall and pushed the cloak aside to reveal the hilt of his sword as he strode through the outer castle with purpose. Residents gawked at him. Some cheered. Others whispered. Tension and unsaid accusations filled the air. Did they know what he’d done?

His people wouldn’t forgive him for freeing magic folk. He’d known that.

They passed the healer’s shop that now stood vacant. Someone would claim it soon enough. The stables were busy with activity but it ceased as the grooms stopped to watch the king pass.

“Not the triumphant return you hoped for, is it?” Etta asked.

Alex didn’t answer, but Simon edged closer. “They know.”

As Etta searched the faces, she knew Simon was right. Did they think their king a traitor?

A familiar face waited for them outside the inner walls and Etta hissed. Camille clung to her cane as she leaned against the wall, her damaged foot curled back. When she saw them, her eyes immediately went to Etta and narrowed before landing on her brother once again. She pushed away from the wall as they neared.

“Camille,” Alex snapped, anger swirling in his dark gaze. “What are you doing here? And where are your guards?”

“We need to talk, brother.” She turned, and they followed her. To their surprise, she didn’t go through the inner gate, but around the corner instead. Camille ducked through a doorway.

When they joined her, her eyes bounced between Etta and Simon.

“They shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“They stay.” Alex crossed his arms and leaned against the door. His sister’s shit was not what he needed to deal with.

She bit her lip. “Fine. I obeyed you, brother. In fact, Duke Caron and I decided not to wait for a wedding and said our vows in front of a priest.”

“Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be on your way to his estate?”

“I was getting to that. We were prepared to celebrate our marriage and stay away from court as you’d suggested.”

“Ordered.”

She scowled. “Are you going to keep interrupting me?” When he stayed quiet, she went on. “In the hours after we were wed, my new husband received a correspondence. He was invited to a meeting here at the castle with a group of nobles wanting to remove you from the throne.”

Etta sucked in a breath. Simon went impossibly still.

Alex began to pace. Remove him? His father stripped the council of power and they’d been the only ones able to remove a king. The only way to do it now was to… he snapped his head up. “Sister, do they plan to have my head?”

She couldn’t get the words out. Alex hadn’t seen Camille cry since she was a child, but there was no mistaking the shine on her face.

“Alexandre, I don’t want you to die.”

He stopped pacing to face her. “Your husband?”

A satisfied smile quirked her lips. “He is loyal.”

He nodded. That was good. A plan began to form in his mind. “I can’t sit here in the shadows while they plot against the kingdom. I must confront this before we become embroiled in rebellion.”

Camille grabbed his arm and jerked him back from the door. “Aren’t the shadows what you used last night to empty the dungeons?” Her voice held all the harshness he knew she possessed, but something made him stop. She hated the magic folk more than anyone. Her disapproval of him was evident.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I already told you.”

Etta stepped in. “I know people like you, Camille. What’s in this for you?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Camille spat. She turned pleading eyes on her brother. “You have to make them see. This is our family we’re talking about.”

He finally got it. She wanted to protect the legacy. He turned away from her. For just one moment, he’d thought the sister he’d always protected, always loved had loved him back. Had come for him. His family was broken. Tyson was gone. He didn’t know what to think of his mother and her secrets. Hope was a dangerous thing, and it’d risen in him so quickly he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d wanted this one part of his family to be put back together.

“Alexandre.” Her voice was so soft, he stopped. A sigh escaped him. She reached out and he let her grab his hand. “You have to save yourself.”

When he turned back around, his eyes connected to hers and held fast. “What do I do?”

“The magic folk escaped on their own using their powers. They entered the palace and kidnapped you.”

Etta growled.

Camille threw her hands up. “Fine, you can say Etta and Simon rescued you if you want to save them the nobles’ wrath.”

Etta stepped between Alex and his sister. “You think we’re worried about ourselves?” She turned to face Alex. “You can’t possibly be listening to her. If you tell them you were kidnapped by magic folk, they’ll send out the guard to hunt them down.”

“That isn’t our main concern,” Camille said.

Etta whirled so fast no one could have stopped her before her closed fist smashed into Camille’s high cheekbone.

Camille fell back. Simon caught her to keep her upright and prevent her from lashing out. Etta started forward again, but Alex wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Let me go,” she growled.

He couldn’t. Not unless they wanted a brawl right there in that tiny room. Etta might not always see Alex as the enemy, but Camille was different.

And she was his sister. She was a Durand.

“Enough,” Simon barked.

All three of them stared in surprise as his stormy eyes zeroed in on them. He shook his head. “All our hopes depend on the young.”

Etta and Camille talked over each other as they began to protest, but Alex knew Simon had a point. There were more important matters than old scores. He released Etta, but planted himself between the two women.

Simon stared at each in turn before stepping out the door. Alex followed him, still unsure what he was going to do.

“Alex.” Etta ran to catch up to him. “You can’t possibly be considering this.”

“Of course he is,” Camille said. “He’s the king and his first responsibility is to Gaule.” She thought for a moment. “He could always claim he was out with his mistress.”

Alex spun on her with a growl.

“That’s not… a horrible plan.” Etta’s voice was tentative and so unlike her.

“No,” he snapped. “You’re a magic woman. As my prisoner, you are no threat. As my mistress, there would be a target on your back.”

“Just think about it, brother.” Camille grabbed his arm. “Don’t put your life in danger in order to protect her.”

The irony of it all almost made him laugh. Almost. The tournament seemed so long ago. Etta had won it to become his protector and now all he wanted to do was keep her safe.

“Camille, I’m going to need a list of the nobles at that meeting. Can your husband aid me in that?”

She nodded and released his arm. Tears stained her cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around her. Her cane knocked to the ground with a crash, but he didn’t let go.

“Stay safe, brother,” she whispered. “You may think me false, but I do wish for that.”

He let her go, and she picked up her cane and disappeared around the corner.

As they started toward the palace, his eyes darted around. If his own people were coming for him, it could be any one of them. Who was this assassin to be? He drew in a deep breath as Etta stepped up beside him.

“Please.” She paused to steel her voice. “Just consider what it is you do.”

He issued an abrupt nod and entered the courtyard, suddenly knowing exactly who he was and what he must do.

8

Chaos was king.

In the absence of the ruler, nothing was as it should be.

Etta stopped walking as a line of guards barred their way.

“No one is to enter the palace,” one yelled from high atop the scaffolding behind the gate.

Alex straightened his shoulders, lengthened his spine, and pushed back his hood. The well-trained guards showed no reaction on their faces.

“Let your king pass,” Alex demanded.

They finally parted and Etta and Simon followed Alex across the courtyard and up the front steps of the palace.

Nobles and their servants crowded into the halls, bumping and jostling Etta, but she managed to stay on her feet. What was happening? She couldn’t remember a time when there’d been so much activity.

Amalie appeared among the fray and when she spotted them, relief flashed across her face. She rushed forward. “Your Majesty.” Her voice carried and the servants in the hall froze and turned toward Alex.

They whispered to each other that their king had returned. It was said with such obvious relief and glee that Etta scowled at them all.

Almost as one, the servants bowed. Alex stared at them. “Rise,” he said. “I need baths drawn in each of our rooms and supper delivered.” They ran off to fulfill their duties.

Amalie considered him. “Sire, don’t you think it best you address the nobles first?”

He smiled. “Glad to see you were worried about me, Amalie.”

She flushed and mumbled, “I had a good guess as to where you were.”

“Making nobles wait is good for them.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I am king and will address them when I am ready.”

He started walking again and Amalie kept pace. “You should know many of the nobles of the realm are here, more than usual. I don’t know how they arrived so quickly. Word hadn’t gotten out about your missing status.”

“They were already in town for a meeting of their own.”

She nodded as if this wasn’t surprising at all.

It worried Etta. Alex might act as if everything was under control, but he was in danger of losing it all. After all that had transpired between them, she was surprised she could still care. But she did. More than anything. If something happened to him, it would kill her—literally—but she was more afraid for him than for herself. She knew how the kingdom worked. Her father taught her well.

The nobles supplied the palace with everything it needed from food to gold, even armies. The palace guard was under the king’s command, but the greater forces were the ones amassed by nobles from the people living on their lands. If they revolted, the kingdom would fall into war.

They stopped outside Etta’s old room and she was snapped from her own thoughts. “You’ll be staying here again,” Alex said. “Now that you are recovered, my mother would like her rooms.”

Etta opened the door and nodded.

“I will be in the throne room at sundown,” he said before leaving her.

Before long, a handful of servants showed up with food and water for the bath. After living on prisoner’s rations, her stomach flipped and roiled when she even thought of the aromatic meats on the sparkling platter, but she uncorked the wine and poured herself a glass.

It warmed her throat as it slid down and began to calm her nerves. Alexandre Durand was a mystery. His next actions would define him and she hadn’t been able to read what he was thinking. The prince she knew thrived on being well-liked. He was comely and charming. He loved opulence. The prince became the king and now she felt as though she didn’t know anything about him.

He’d hated magic. He’d spoken out against it many times. He’d arrested her people.

Then he’d saved them.

He imprisoned her, said she betrayed him, and then claimed to love her.

She drained her wine and refilled the cup as she walked into the washroom. Setting it on the floor next to the tub, she removed her filthy clothing and sank into the lukewarm water with a sigh.

She lifted her wineglass to her lips and let it dribble down her chin as she drained it once again before sliding under the water.

Was tonight going to be the end of her? Would the people they’d set free be hunted? Would Alex be the friend she loved or the enemy she hated? He couldn’t be both.

She broke free of the water with a gasp, splashing it over the sides onto the stone floor. Stone. Everything in that damned palace was cold and hard and she shouldn’t be there. She kicked the water in frustration.

After scrubbing her skin raw, she stood and dried herself before dressing in the clothing she found in the wardrobe. Catrine must have prepared for her return.

She walked to the familiar window. When she’d first arrived in that room, she’d stared longingly out of the window, wishing to be anywhere but there, knowing she had no future but the one within those walls.

A knock on her door made her step back and turn. “Enter.”

Simon appeared with a gentle smile on his face. He held a long wrapped parcel in front of him.

“Persinette.” He inclined his head. “The king sent me.” He set the parcel on the table.

“Care for some wine?” she asked.

He arched a brow. “How much have you had?”

“Only a little.” She swayed on her feet.

He shook his head and grabbed her elbow to guide her to the table. “Let’s get some food into you.”

She didn’t argue because he was right. She needed something to soak up the wine. It calmed her so she hadn’t stopped.

“In my defense,” she said slowly. “I deserve it.”

He laughed softly as he set a slice of bread and hunk of cheese on her plate. “More than most.”

She collapsed into a chair. “I am a queen with no kingdom.”

“To be fair, you weren’t raised to be queen, so that was never taken from you.”

“I am a prisoner and this curse will keep me chained here for the rest of my days.” She slouched as the room spun around her.

“Ahhh, well that you were raised for.”

A hiccup punctuated her scowl. “Fine then, I’m a warrior with no weapons.”

“A true warrior doesn’t need weapons.”

“Are you trying to vex me?” She shot him a glare.

He stared back. “Are you trying to make me pity you?”

She bit into the bread and chewed. “No.”

“When you were in the dungeons, I promised to free you.” His smile fell as he glanced away. “I did not know the true meaning of the curse. I didn’t know you couldn’t leave.”

“Simon.” She stopped eating for a moment. “Don’t think for one moment you failed me. You’ve done more for our people than even I have. I heard what you did at the gallows.”

“That was the king’s doing.”

She nodded. “He’s changed his position on magic and it could cost him his throne.”

Simon scratched the back of his head. “I truly don’t know what he will do at the meeting tonight.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Just promise me you’ll protect him. He needs you.”

When she glanced at Simon again, he was smiling. “I’ll have help.” He stood and began to unwind the fabric wrapping his parcel.

A gasp escaped her as a blade was revealed. She recognized it immediately. “My sword,” she whispered. “How?”

“He’s kept it since you were arrested.” He held the hilt towards her. “Maybe even then he had faith you would use it in his service once again.”

Her fingers closed over the golden hilt. It fit her hand like it was meant to be there. The blade was light but strong as any other. Her father always told her it wasn’t a blade that won the fight, but how one used it. Even so, he’d had this one made specially for her. It was part of her.

She walked to the open area of her rooms and cut an arc through the air. Her movements were sure, confident. It was what she was meant to be doing. She spun on one leg and flung her arm out as she stumbled forward, the wine stealing her balance.

Simon chuckled and when she faced him once again, he bowed.

A smile lit her face. “So, I was told you began training Alex with a blade.”

Simon chuckled. “I don’t know how a prince survives so long without the skill.”

“I tried to goad him into dueling with me when we were young, but he was always lost in his sketches.” She set her blade down with a dramatic sigh. “Maybe it’s better to have a king whose first inclination isn’t to fight.”

“Unless that’s the only thing left to do.”

“Yes, unless that.”

* * *

Still feeling the effects of the wine, Etta twisted her damp hair into a braid and left her room behind. The entire palace seemed as if it was waiting for something. The servants were holding their collective breath.

Etta took notice of every face and each action as she made her way to the throne room. She brushed her hand over the sword hanging at her waist as dread filled her. It was her first time roaming the palace on her own since she was protector and she couldn’t help but feel something important was about to happen.

The doors to the throne room were shut, but upon seeing her, one of the guards opened them and let her through. The room was crowded with nobles. Some lived near and had been able to make the journey immediately. Others must have been in town for the meeting Camille mentioned.

Alex hadn’t yet arrived, but Amalie found Etta and beckoned to her.

“Do you know what he’s going to say to them?” Amalie whispered. She’d come in a gown cut perfectly for her. Yellow lace trailed the curves of her torso over the sky blue high-waisted dress.

Etta wore her usual black pants with a tight black top. If she ended up having to use the sword at her side, she’d need the mobility a dress lacked.

Plus, she hated the things.

“I wish I did.” Etta finally answered with a shrug as she leaned against the wall to wait. She made her sword as visible as possible as she watched the nobles congregate amongst themselves. They wore an array of clothing ranging from bright silks to plain muslins. Etta was the lone woman present not to wear a dress.

The women stared, and the men kept their distance. Did they recognize her? Did they see the sword at her side? Was this the first time most of them had been around a magic woman?

The gawking woman pointed, her angry words floating on the thick air. “It’s one of the prisoners.”

Etta clenched her fingers over the hilt of her sword.

A sudden yearning to be outside hit Etta. Then she’d show them what she could do. Their reactions would almost be worth having to hide it for so long. None of them understood because they didn’t try to understand.

They’d call her dangerous, but they didn’t know how truly dangerous she could be.

Their ignorance blinded them. La Dame wasn’t only coming for the people of Bela. Gaule would need allies – those with magic – or would find themselves very much alone.

Maybe if they stopped persecuting those with magic in their blood, they’d see how much they needed Etta and her people.

Instead, they were going to find themselves very much alone.

“Has Alex told you of the border?” Amalie asked.

“I haven’t seen him since he dropped me at my rooms.”

The young girl glanced around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard and leaned in. “La Dame is still in Bela. Our scouts report she has repaired the old palace there.”

Etta sucked in a breath. “Not possible.”

“They saw it with their own eyes.”

“Amalie, that palace is in ruins.” At least that was what she’d been told her entire life. “There is nothing left to repair.” She rubbed her eyes. “But the bigger question is why she’d move herself there when her palace at Dracon is supposed to be the grandest there is.”

All thoughts of La Dame disappeared when the double doors were thrown open and Alex faced the crowd.

Etta pushed away from the wall and elbowed her way through the bodies blocking her view. They scowled, but she barely noticed. The only thing she was focused on was the king who was walking down the long, carpeted aisle with a hard glint in his eye. He rolled his shoulders back and held his chin high, refusing to look anyone in the eye.

Chain mail rattled with each step he took but it was hidden behind a black surcoat embroidered with a deep green dragon. It was tied at the waist by a heavy sword belt. He’d come to the throne room armed. That alone sucked the air from her lungs. He’d made sure both of them could protect themselves.

A fur-trimmed mantle of velvet sat lightly on his shoulders, puffing out at the sleeves. He shifted his hand to the hilt of his sword, drawing every eye in the room to the jeweled instrument they had no doubt he knew how to use now.

His dark hair stood out beneath his golden crown, but it was his eyes that had the nobles in the room staring in silence. They blazed with a fire Alex wasn’t known for. There was a purpose to every step. Etta had never seen Alex like this and she realized what she was seeing.

He was truly becoming the king. He was owning it for the first time. That throne was his. These nobles were his subjects. It was his birthright and now she saw it was truly what he was meant to do.

Catrine followed a step behind her son in an emerald gown of satin and fur. Simon was the only guard to accompany them, his eyes wary. Camille was nowhere to be found, but she’d been banned from court so he couldn’t very well allow her before the throne.

Tyson should be up there. Etta sighed. Alex could’ve used his brother. Edmund too.

Alex reached the steps leading up to the throne and took them slowly. Simon and Catrine stayed on the lower dais. When Alex turned to gaze over the assembled nobles, the group bowed.

Etta followed suit, anticipation working its way into her heart. Alex looked so very much like his father on that throne as his gaze turned to stone. He looked heartless, uncaring. She straightened and pushed back into the crowd to find Amalie. The girl was watching Alex with rapt attention.

“Can you believe I almost had to marry him?” she whispered.

Etta grimaced.

“I mean, the king has been good to me, but look at him.”

Etta did. He still hadn’t said a word.

Amalie went on. “He has less of Tyson’s kindness. Tyson couldn’t be king because there’s nothing cold in him. He’s all heart.”

Etta turned away to scan her eyes over Alex. Amalie was wrong. Etta had seen Alex’s kindness when he freed her people, when he protected her from the cold. She’d felt it every time he’d kissed her. Alex had broken them. Or she had. She didn’t truly know. There’d been many lies and betrayals. Was he about to crush the final piece?

Alex finally spoke. “Bring him in.” He flipped his hand to the door.

It opened, and a guard dragged forward a well-dressed man Etta recognized instantly. She’d been in the dungeons for Lord Leroy’s disgrace, but she’d never forget his disdainful looks. The man was dragged forward and dropped in front of Simon, near the throne.

A few people in the crowd gasped.

“My king,” Lord Leroy said, trying to get to his feet.

“Simon,” Alex barked.

Simon placed his hand on the back of Leroy’s neck and forced him down.

Alex raised his voice. “This man was banished from court.”

Amalie gripped Etta’s arm so tightly she feared it would break.

Alex scrutinized Lord Leroy. “Yet, he returned with ideas of rebellion.”

“That wasn’t me, sire,” Leroy cried. “It was Duke Caron.”

Alex laughed but there was nothing humorous about it. “I tried to have mercy before, but no longer. I hereby strip you of your title. Your tax income forfeit to the crown. You’re to be exiled to your own estate with guards of my choosing.” He narrowed his eyes. “You may leave.”

Simon hauled him to his feet, but Lord Leroy jerked away from him. “You can’t do this.”

Alex jumped to his feet and his voice boomed throughout the room. “You are lucky to be leaving here with your life. Don’t make me change my mind.”

Simon passed Leroy to another guard, and he was dragged from the room screaming obscenities.

Alex sat back on his throne with an eerie stillness. Catrine moved to the side of him and sat in a chair on the level below. Simon shot threatening glances toward the assembled nobles, many who were as traitorous as Leroy.

The public door banged open and a silver-haired man rushed in. He moved with the grace of a trained fighter, but was dressed better than any noble present. He wore a velvet coat with puffed sleeves over a silk shirt and tight-fitting breeches. His face was another matter. Attractive in a rough sort of way, but his eyes were alert and trained on the king.

He reached Alex and handed him a paper.

“That’s Duke Caron,” Amalie told her.

Camille’s husband. Curiosity had Etta watching him. Many of the nobles scowled at him, but the duke grinned as his eyes passed over the room. His gaze met hers and he winked. She ripped her eyes away.

Alex stood and began to read from the paper as his guards rushed in. It was a list of names.

“Robina Garion.” A commotion rose across the room as someone screamed. Two guards wrapped their hands around the upper arms of a red-haired woman with thick spectacles. She kicked and yelled obscenities at them as they hauled her through the public entrance.

The crowd of nobles left behind murmured and began yelling at the king. Their voices ran together as Alex called out the next one. “Paulo Deorga and Olivia Deorga.” This couple stared at each other as they were taken from the room. Their demeanor spoke of nobility but the actions they were arrested for did not.

Alex was tragically efficient. Not every person accused was present, but the room began to thin as he continued reading names.

The king barely acknowledged the men he was condemning. When the last one had been hauled away, he raised his eyes to the remaining crowd. “The men and women taken from this throne room today stand accused of treason.”

That was it. No explanation or words of comfort. Only a cold statement.

Amalie was crying beside her and Etta put an arm around the girl’s shoulders as the kingdom came down around them. This was only the beginning.

Alex cleared his throat. “There has been speculation as to what occurred in the castle during the last twenty-four hours.” He set his jaw and swept his eyes across the room.

Etta stepped forward so he could see her. Amalie was still attached to her arm, but in that moment, Etta felt very much alone. When Alex’s gaze finally met hers, he pressed his lips into a line and huffed out a breath.

Etta’s heart beat wildly as if it would jump out of her chest. She needed an indication, a hint of what he was about to do.

“Magic is evil,” he said.

Etta couldn’t breathe.

Alex continued. “That’s what I’ve been told my entire life. Magic has created every one of our problems. It’s why we needed the wards and why we began to fall apart when they were gone.” He paused. “I think it’s time that as a kingdom we acknowledge that our problems are of our own making. Magic folk are no better or worse than non-magic folk. There is evil in magic, but there is also good.”

He stood from his throne and walked down the steps. His mother joined him as a show of support.

“Yesterday eve, I released the magic folk from our dungeons.” A rumble erupted from the crowd and he held up a hand. “They did not escape. I was not kidnapped.”

His eyes locked onto Etta’s. She felt the curse wrapped around her heart. It squeezed and pulled, but it was more than that. She breathed deeply, her lungs aching for more. She felt as if every word he spoke was only to her, for her. This was how he began to put them back together.

Alex finally broke his frosty king demeanor and the corner of his mouth lifted. “The truth is I spent the night—and really the past year—learning even as we fight against it, magic can be our greatest ally. Those that possess it and want to use it for good must be protected. Over the next few days, we will be issuing royal decrees changing some of our oldest laws. I hope it is a start to making things right.”

His nobles began calling out questions, some in anger, others in curiosity. Alex didn’t answer a single one as he left the room behind.

Etta bent over, trying to catch her breath as the words she’d waited for him to say hung in the room.

Amalie was still crying from watching nobles she’d known her entire life get taken away and her father lose everything, but Etta couldn’t focus on anything besides the man who’d just told his entire kingdom everything they believed was wrong.

Alex had done it. He’d taken their mission from the shadows and brought it into the light. She closed her eyes as tears welled underneath the lids.

Nobles began filing out, talking loudly amongst themselves. Etta didn’t hear any of it. She clutched at her chest and wiped the tears away.

She didn’t care if it was the curse. The past couldn’t hold her back. She was no longer the girl who’d deceived the King of Gaule and Alex was no longer the magic-hating king who’d imprisoned her.

It was everything her people needed. Everything they never foresaw.

And all she knew was she had to go to him.

She needed Alex to make it feel real.

She needed him to be on her side.

* * *

Alex slammed his door behind him, preventing his mother and Simon from following him. He lifted his crown off his head and set it on the table, relieved to have the weight of it gone. He didn’t want to have to be that kind of king. The one who imprisoned his own nobles and frightened his people, but that was what was needed. He didn’t have to like it.

He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes and sighed. Gaule couldn’t overcome a rebellion. Not now.

He thought of the meeting he’d had before going into the throne room. People were disappearing from along the border. Gaulean people. Gone. The messenger arrived in the early morning carrying a report from Anders. The captain kept it curt. He didn’t like Alex, but he was a loyal man. His report could be trusted.

Where could La Dame be taking his people? They were sure she was the culprit. That meant the missing people were in one of two places: Bela or Dracon. Bela was still a mystery, but Dracon was worse. It was impregnable with imposing walls encircling the mountain kingdom. It wasn’t a vast realm, but it never had to be, not with the magic in their blood.

Alex’s hands shook as he gripped the edge of the table and bowed his head. He needed to regain his sanity. He needed to be able to think.

His heart raced as he thought of what he’d just done. Gaule hated magic. The laws wouldn’t change overnight and the people may never accept his words. Had he just put a greater target on himself? Now, instead of magic folk, it was his own people sitting in his dungeons.

A leather-bound book called to him from the bookcase and he stalked toward it. It’d been a long time since he’d allowed his mind to be sucked into his drawings. His fingers ran down the worn spine before flipping over the cover. He sucked in a breath and let it trickle back through his lips as his past stared right back at him. The first few pages had been torn out in a previous fit of rage long ago. Now a more recent picture of Edmund stared back at him.

He traced the lines of his face. “I could use your counsel right about now, my friend.” He’d do anything to have Edmund and Tyson back with him. Where were they? He didn’t know if they were safe and there was no way to contact them. To tell them how much he wanted them by his side.

He took the sketchbook and moved to the couch. The next image was of Etta as a young girl. His eyes roamed the beauty he’d drawn her with and he knew. Even then, he’d loved her.

His father would be disappointed in him. He’d call him weak to be controlled by a woman, to allow her to change him. But Alex had finally taken the first steps toward becoming the kind of king he wanted to be. It wasn’t by some coronation. That happened ages ago. But taking his throne the way he had tonight had been because of that woman and those she fought for. They made him see he couldn’t hold himself back for fear of his people. There was power on the throne, but it had to be taken. He understood that now.

He flipped to an image he’d drawn while sitting atop the outer wall, reminding himself what he fought for. Gaule. Its soul was written in the grassy hills that had once been stained with blood. In the villages that only knew peace because others didn’t. In the face of a princess who thought cruelty was righteous.

The question remained. Could Gaule be saved from itself?

He stood and slid the sketchbook back onto the bookcase. It hadn’t provided the answers as it had when he was younger. There were many holes in his knowledge of Bela and Dracon. He could thank his father for that.

He had to see Etta. She’d know what to do.

When did he start trusting her so fully? The question stopped him in his tracks. The girl who’d lied to him was now the one he needed by his side.

With a shake of his head, he yanked the door open before colliding with someone.

“Alex,” Etta yelped as she fell backward.

He grabbed her around the waist to steady her and suddenly didn’t remember the questions he’d had. Not when she was so warm in his hands.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” she said quietly, tilting her face up to look at him.

“It was my fault.” Where were his words?

Her cheeks reddened, and a smile curved her lips. “It really was.” She glanced down to where his hands were still clutching her waist. “I don’t think I’m in danger of toppling over any longer.”

“No?” He grinned.

She bit her lip as she shook her head.

“Would you like to come in?”

Her eyes flicked to the guard who stood silently by the door, a reminder that the king was never alone.

For a moment, he thought she would decline. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and studied him. “Okay.”

A wave of relief washed over him as he led her in and shut the door.

“Would you like some wine?” He walked toward the table.

She followed close behind him. “Not really, no.”

He went on. “I was coming to see you because we have some troubling reports I thought you may be able to shed some light on.”

“Alex,” she said.

He poured himself a glass of wine and turned to her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some?”

She shook her head. He brought the glass to his lips, but her hand on his arm stopped him. He lowered the goblet and met her intense gaze.

“What you did today…” She inhaled deeply. “You became the man I never thought you’d be.”

He set his wine down. “Etta—”

“No, I need to get this out. I don’t usually say the right things. Everyone tells me I have a destiny. I’m supposed to be their queen, but I don’t know how to help them. I don’t have the power they need me to have. For years, I’ve been training to serve, not to lead. I’m the cursed, but I didn’t know what that meant.” She tilted her head to the side as her eyes shone. “Today I saw you lead. You were amazing. And I thought maybe I could be that for my people too. But I’m still cursed. I’m still tied to you, my enemy.”

He stepped forward and hooked his fingers underneath her chin to tilt her face up. “You know it’s treason for you to call yourself queen of anyone who still lives in Gaule.”

She nodded.

“Yet, all I want to do is tell you how much I believe in you. Is that the curse?”

She hiccuped back a laugh. “I don’t think so. I think that’s you.”

“How much of this is real, Etta?” He leaned his forehead against hers and inhaled.

“Does it matter anymore?” she whispered as she gripped the front of his shirt to hold him there.

He moved his lips to her ear. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

She groaned when he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and he pulled her against him. His lips traced the soft skin of her cheek until finally claiming her lips in a searing kiss. They melted together and Etta ran her hands up his chest before taking hold of his collar and pushed the jacket from his shoulders. Alex threw it away as his fingers skimmed the heated skin where her shirt met her pants.

Every emotion of Etta’s imprisonment came bubbling to the surface as she pushed his shirt up and over his head.

“Etta,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I did not order what was done to you, but it was still my fault. It happened under my watch. Geoff was my man.” He pulled her into a crushing hug and she buried her face against his bare chest.

“I know. I can’t forget it, Alex.”

He released her and stepped back. It would always stand between them whether he’d done it to her or not.

She wiped a hand across her face and he cursed himself for causing her tears.

“I can’t forget it,” she repeated, stepping toward him. “But, Alex, everything inside of me is reaching out to you. My head may be conflicted, but my heart…” She took his hand and pressed it over her heart. “…it only beats for you.”

He reached out his free hand and dried the tears on her face with his thumb. “I love you, Etta. I think I’ve been in love with you since watching you win your first battle.”

She smiled. “You were just jealous of my sword skill.”

A laugh burst out of him. “You were the most incredible thing I’d ever seen. I don’t know what’s in store, and I can’t promise we’ll never be on opposite sides of a war. That’s what we were meant for. But right now, I’m so in love with you it hurts and if I don’t kiss you again, it could very well kill me.”

“If you don’t kiss me again, I could very well kill you.”

He kissed her softly, smiling against her lips. His fierce Etta. He spun her around and dragged her shirt over her head as she walked backward toward the bed, never releasing her.

Even as he loved her, he knew. Their bliss wouldn’t last for long.

* * *

Contentment. A feeling she’d never truly known. Was this as close as it got? Etta rested her head against Alex’s firm chest as she traced the ridges and valleys with the tips of her fingers.

Alex tangled his hand in her wild hair.

“So soft,” he whispered.

She hummed in response, wishing they could stay there forever. Each time she’d been with him before, she hadn’t gotten the chance to wonder at the meaning behind it all. Alex was the king of Gaule and she… didn’t know what she was. No longer protector. Not yet queen. Lover was too trivial a word.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Alex cupped her cheek as she shifted to look up at him.

“How do you know I’m thinking anything?”

He touched the space between her eyebrows lightly. “You have a line here.” His fingers moved to dance across her lips. “And a frown here.”

She sighed. “I don’t know where this all leaves us.”

“Why does it have to leave us anywhere? It could stay with us.” He bent to kiss her lips. She lifted her head to deepen the kiss.

When he pulled back, she sucked in a breath as if she’d never breathe again.

“There was something I needed to talk to you about tonight.” He wrapped his arms around her back. “It’s crown’s business.”

Sitting up, she gathered the sheet around her. “What is it?”

“Can you tell me what you know of Bela?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?” Whatever they’d shared, he was still the king of Gaule and she couldn’t yet trust his intentions for Bela.

He rubbed his chin, considering her. “People are disappearing from the villages along the border.”

“I thought those villages suffered recent attacks. Could that be the cause?”

“Our sources tell us the disappearances began before the attacks. We have no way of knowing if they were magic folk or not, but we have our suspicions.”

She brushed her hands through her hair absently. “Couldn’t they be abandoning Gaule of their own free will now that the wards are gone?”

“We thought of that, but these people left everything behind. Families. Belongings. It’s all still there.”

“Are you sure they’re not in the dungeons of one of your nobles?”

He blanched at that, but kept his measured tone. “I considered that as well. It is unlikely, but still a possibility.”

“What’s more likely?”

He thought for a moment. “We know La Dame is in Bela. What we don’t know is why.”

“You think La Dame is abducting the magic folk of Gaule?” she asked. “That’s… probable. Why would she need them?”

He shivered. “She likes to play games. My father always said that of her. She has a bit of fun with her enemies before destroying them.”

“Oh, I know that all too well,” she whispered.

He pulled her back down to him and brushed her hair back from her face. “I know talking about Bela is hard for you.”

Etta relaxed into him. “It’s not that. I really don’t know much, having never been there. I only know what my father told me. It used to be a thriving kingdom stuck between the mountains and the sea with great white cliffs and ports where ships from across the great sea would bring all sorts of trade.” She smiled at the memory of her father’s stories of Bela. “Everyone who lived there had some sort of power, but most were quite weak… except for the Basiles.” She trailed off and buried her face in his neck.

“You don’t have to talk about your ancestors,” he said, running his palm along the bumps of her spine.

“My father told me Bela is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. The ruins of the ancient palace sit on a set of cliffs overlooking the sparkling sea.” She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know anything that will help you.”

“I’m sending some soldiers across the border,” he said.

Etta sat up to look at him, but Alex didn’t meet her eyes as she scooted from the bed.

“Maybe we should be the ones to go.” She stared down at her hands.

“You know we can’t risk that.”

He was right, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She was the one who should be protecting her people. If La Dame was taking them, she needed to find a way to stop her.

Alex started walking toward the table when his foot caught on the rug and he stumbled, unable to catch himself. As he crashed to the ground, a laugh burst from Etta’s lips.

“Are you okay?” Her words were muffled by the hand she clapped over her mouth.

A wry smile appeared on Alex’s handsome face and he smoothed his hair back before climbing to his feet, giving Etta the perfect view of his firm derriere.

“Stop staring at me,” he said as he made his way to the table. “Or I won’t give you any wine.”

“Too bad I left my sword in my room.” She grinned. “I’d fight you for it.”

He looked back over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t stand a chance, would I?”

She laughed in answer.

“That’s what I thought.”

As he poured two glasses of wine, she studied his every movement. “I have a confession to make.”

He held the glasses by their stems as he walked back over and offered her one. “I’m not used to so much truth from you.”

The words stung, but she hid it by sipping her wine. “Someone must have slipped me truth serum because I usually let my sword speak for me.”

He smiled over the top of his glass.

“I’ve been rooting for you.” She shifted her eyes away from him as the words warmed her face.

“Rooting for me?” His brow arched.

“To prove me wrong. I came to the palace knowing you were my enemy and wanting to hate you for it.”

“So, what changed?” He sat down on the corner of the bed and she scooted over next to him.

“Edmund.”

Just the name sent a smile to Alex’s face and Etta went on.

“When I realized what you meant to him, I wanted you to be good, to be honorable. I didn’t want him to be hurt.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed. “How long did Edmund know about you?”

“Since before the tournament. I met him in the village and may have…” She took a sip of wine and the next words spilled out as one. “Tiedhimupwithweeds.”

Wine shot from Alex’s mouth and his chest heaved as he laughed. “Did you cover his mouth? Please tell me you did.”

She shrugged, and he laughed harder.

“That doesn’t scare you? That I can do that?”

He stopped laughing abruptly and got to his feet before setting his wine down. He rubbed the back of his neck as the silence continued.

He turned to peer back at her. “It does.”

Those were the only words she got before he walked into the other room mumbling about needing something to eat. His confession sat heavy on her chest and she didn’t know how to change it. He was still afraid of the one thing that made sense to her and she was terrified of his fear. What if that fear one day made him undo all the good he was doing?

He didn’t have the right to say that to her and walk away. Who did he think he was? She didn’t care that he was a king. They had a conversation to finish.

She swayed as she got to her feet. Had she had that much wine?

The wine sloshed over the side of her cup as she stumbled through the room. “Alex?” she called, suddenly not feeling well. The wine sat like poison in her stomach. “Alex?” Her feet dragged as she walked into the dining area where a tray of food rested untouched on the table. “Alex, I think something’s wrong.”

Her mind clouded over as her feet hit something and she fell forward. The wine goblet went flying, sending red spray across the floor. She got to her knees and gaped at what she’d tripped over in shock.

Alex lay sprawled on the ground. She crawled toward him and shook his shoulder.

Her words slurred as she demanded he wake. “Are you okay? Alex. Alex!”

The fog in her mind thickened and control over her limbs slipped away. Her arms gave out and as her head slammed into the chilled stone floor, darkness bore down mercilessly.

9

It was impossible. Matteo grew up in La Dame’s household and never would have imagined the true power she possessed.

When they’d first arrived in Bela, it was to a pile of rubble. The castle was nothing but a set of ancient ruins sitting alone on the cliffs. The land surrounding the castle had been an overgrown jungle.

As Matteo stood on the balcony high up in the folds of the castle, his eyes swept the tall towers of gleaming white marble and the manicured grounds they presided over. How was any of it there when weeks ago, it hadn’t been?

“Matteo, darling,” a deceptively sweet voice called from inside.

Matteo flinched and turned to walk back through the doors. La Dame sat at the round table in the center of the room. Matteo’s father, Warren, stood to her right.

Matteo walked forward and bowed stiffly.

“Hmmm.” La Dame tapped a finger against her chin. “It would be much simpler if you weren’t a Basile.”

He forced a blank expression onto his face to hide the burgeoning smile. La Dame’s greatest power had no hold over those with Basile blood in their veins.

“It would, my Queen.” Warren inclined his head.

Matteo was past being surprised at the extent of his father’s loyalty to the woman who’d kept them prisoner all these years.

La Dame narrowed her eyes at Matteo. “Warren, I’m not sure your son understands the extent of my power.”

Matteo’s father wouldn’t even look at him. “I think not, my lady.”

La Dame stood and pushed back her chair. As she walked toward Matteo, she straightened her inky black dress. Her steps were smooth, and she swayed her hips with each one. La Dame saw every move as a seduction of sorts. Matteo clenched his jaw as she reached him and cupped his cheek in her palm.

She traced her fingers down over his skin and gripped his chin roughly. “You have some work to do, my boy, but before that, I have some things to show you.”

She waved a hand toward the door, and it swung open of its own accord. Two guards entered dragging a young man in a ratty soldier’s uniform. “This is Lance. He is a new arrival.”

La Dame turned to the man as the guards dropped him on the ground and moved to stand by the door.

“Get up,” La Dame ordered.

Lance didn’t move.

“I said, get up.”

An invisible force yanked his head back and pulled him to his knees before making him stand. His head lolled forward.

La Dame peered back over her shoulder and grinned. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

She wanted him to agree. She thrived on validations. But Matteo’s stomach churned. He managed a short nod.

“Dance,” La Dame ordered the man.

He began to move slowly.

“Faster.”

The man’s eyes struggled to stay open as his feet moved quickly and his arms swung out in front of him.

La Dame clapped her hands together. “You’re a marvelous dancer, Lance.” Her eyes connected with Matteo’s as she issued her final order. “I’m going to need you to push this through your heart.” She held out a thin dagger and Lance didn’t hesitate in taking it.

He pressed it against his chest.

“No,” Matteo screamed. “Stop this.” He lifted his eyes to the woman who held all the strings. “Please.”

Lance jerked and stabbed the dagger deep. He fell back as his blood pooled around him, stark against the white of the marble floor.

Matteo fell to his knees and retched. The soldier wasn’t the first person he’d seen die, not by a long shot, but it never got easier.

“Why?” he whispered.

La Dame opened her mouth to answer, but closed it and pushed back her auburn hair. She turned away as a guard rushed toward her.

“My queen, we have an urgent matter.”

She nodded and followed him from the room, stepping over Lance’s body in the process.

Matteo’s father put a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off and stood.

“Son,” Warren began. “You must get a better handle on your emotions.”

Matteo glowered at him. “Like you, father?”

“She’s trying to break you.”

“Why? Why am I so important to her?” He sat at the table and buried his face in his hands.

“Because of the blood that runs through your veins. The Basile blood protects you from her control and that frightens her.”

“What if we were to escape?” He lifted his eyes to meet his father’s. “I know we could.”

Warren shook his head. “She would find us, son. She won’t let a Basile roam free.”

“There already is one who roams free.”

He flicked his gaze to the door. “It is only a matter of time before La Dame brings Persinette here. Be prepared. You’re going to meet your cousin.”

The door slammed open, making father and son jump apart. La Dame charged through with a grin on her face. She rubbed her hands together. “My boys, we have a special guest in the palace.”

As if called, the guards from before led a young man through the door. His wrists and ankles were shackled, and the chains clanked with every step.

“Warren, Matteo, I would like you to meet the Prince of Gaule, Tyson Durand.”

Matteo jumped to his feet, his breath catching in his throat. A prince of Gaule. La Dame just gained the largest bargaining chip of all.

“Where are your manners?” La Dame demanded. “Bow.”

Matteo obeyed mechanically, knowing it was better not to resist. When he rose, he studied the prince’s face. An air of defiance lit in his eyes. He held his shoulders high, his back straight, and his direct gaze met each of theirs in turn.

La Dame faced Tyson. “Now, it’s your turn. Bow.”

The boy didn’t move. He didn’t look like he was even breathing.

“Bow,” La Dame screamed.

Tyson gnashed his teeth together. “You are not my queen.”

Her hand flew out and struck him across the cheek. “You will do as I say. Get on your knees.”

“No.”

Matteo winced as La Dame motioned for a guard to punch Tyson in the stomach. His respect for the prince grew with each passing moment. How was he resisting the magic?

Tyson doubled over.

“On your knees.”

He clutched his gut and breathed deeply before straightening up. “I am a prince of Gaule. I don’t kneel to anyone.”

She nodded to a guard who snatched a chair so quickly, Matteo didn’t see it happening until the wooden seat cracked against Tyson’s back. He crumpled to the ground, wheezing.

La Dame leaned down. “How are you resisting me?”

Tyson coughed, spitting blood onto the floor, but didn’t answer.

“Oh my.” La Dame straightened. “It can’t be.” She covered her mouth with a laugh. “Viktor, you old bastard.” She looked down on Tyson once more. “Well, I guess the bastard is you.”

Matteo stepped closer and La Dame whirled on him. “Matty, meet your cousin.” She laughed again. “I wonder if the old king knew. A Basile as a prince of Gaule. That is the strangest thing I have ever heard.”

She was still laughing as she walked from the room. Four new guards marched in and hauled Tyson to his feet. Another guard wrapped his strong grip around Matteo’s arm, pulling him along behind the others.

Matteo fell to his hands and knees as he was shoved through an open doorway. Tyson landed in a heap beside him as the door slammed shut with a clang. The click of the lock echoed across the space.

Tyson rolled over and let out a cough.

Matteo crawled toward him. “Are you okay?”

He coughed again. “Where are we? Who are you?”

“My name is Matteo Basile.” He climbed to his feet and reached down to help Tyson. “Welcome to Bela.”

“Bela,” Tyson wheezed. “I know, but where—”

“The palace.”

Tyson shook his head. “There’s no—”

Matteo gripped Tyson’s arm and hauled him up. “The questions will drive you mad. It’s better to accept your fate as it unfolds.”

Tyson’s eyes widened and Matteo felt bad for the young prince. Was it true? The prince of Gaule was a Basile?

Or did he just want it to be true? To have some connection beyond his father.

Any fight Tyson might have had was long gone as he let Matteo sit him down on the bed. His mouth opened repeatedly, but no words spilled out.

“Remove your shirt,” Matteo said softly. “I need to make sure she didn’t injure you.” Not like he could do much if she had. Unlike the people of Dracon, Matteo wasn’t a healer.

Tyson winced as he pulled his tunic free and ducked his head to get it off.

Matteo’s brows drew together at the sight of the Prince’s body riddled with bruises. “These didn’t all come today.”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate and Matteo didn’t ask him to. They were strangers thrust together and trust was not easy to come by.

Matteo examined Tyson’s bruises in silence, thankful there were no open wounds. He scooted behind him and his mouth dropped open. The skin of his back was puckered with burn marks.

Tyson must have recognized his stillness. He dropped his head.

“We cannot control the actions of others.” Matteo slid around and handed him back his shirt. “Only the willful deeds of ourselves.”

The young prince nodded and pulled on his shirt.

“You should be fine,” Matteo said. “I didn’t find any broken skin.”

A harsh laugh rumbled through Tyson’s chest. “How do you define broken?”

“I meant you have no open wounds.”

“I know.” He laid back on the bed gingerly, wincing from the burns and stared up at the ceiling.

How odd it must feel to the boy. Matteo shook his head. He’d been around La Dame’s magic his entire life and it was still strange to him. They were prisoners in a palace that shouldn’t exist.

Tyson turned his head to fix Matteo with a stare, his eyes betraying his age. “What did La Dame mean about Viktor Basile?”

“Only those with Basile blood can resist La Dame’s magic.”

“Viktor …” Tyson stuttered. “He was my father? No… I… my father was the king of Gaule.”

“There’s no other way you could have resisted her.”

A breath shuddered out of Tyson. “But, how is any of this possible? I’m a prince.”

“You are,” Matteo agreed. “Just not of Gaule. Our line descends from the last ruling family of Bela and that fact saved your life just now.”

“The Basiles are her enemy.”

“But she doesn’t want to just kill us. She wants to bring us low, make us beg. She wants to take everything from us. No, we can’t just die. We have to play her game.”

10

“Etta.” The voices were far off and she barely heard them through the pounding in her head. A searing pain ripped through her and she jerked awake. A blanket covered her naked body and for a moment, hope filled her.

“Alex,” she wheezed, reaching her hand out in hopes he would take it. But she knew he wouldn’t. He was gone. “They’re taking him.”

“They already took him.” Simon crouched by her side and helped her sit up, keeping the blanket tucked around her. She couldn’t even muster up embarrassment at how he must have found her.

“They’re too far.” She bent forward as the ache persisted. “I can’t… I can’t breathe.” A tear rolled down her reddened cheek. “I can’t stand it.”

For the second time in her life, she felt the curse truly hurt her as she was separated from her charge. She shook her head to rid it of the remaining fog. “What happened?”

She struggled to climb to her feet and Simon steadied her. The brightness of the day blinded her and she shielded her eyes.

The door banged open, making Etta jump as Catrine rushed in with Amalie on her heels. “Where is my son?”

Etta’s legs couldn’t hold her up any longer, and she collapsed into a chair at the table. “I don’t know.” She pressed her forehead to the solid wood. “I’m so sorry.”

Catrine began to search the room frantically for clues and Amalie crossed to Etta and put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s going to be okay.”

“We don’t even know who has him.” Etta clenched her teeth against the pain. “I’m supposed to protect him.”

“Not anymore,” Amalie said.

Etta closed her eyes. The girl was right. Etta had been more prisoner than protector of late.

“Etta,” Simon said softly. “How did they take the king?”

“How?” Catrine spun. “We should be more worried about who.” She stopped at the table and her shaky fingers reached for the ewer sitting beside the dinner tray from the night before.

The memories poured in and Etta jumped to her feet to knock the ewer from the queen mother’s hands. Red wine flew through the air as the ewer crashed to the floor. Etta glanced at the pool of wine near where she’d woken up.

“What on earth?” Catrine turned and lifted the skirts of her wine-soaked dress. Streaks of red ran down her face.

“Don’t let any of it get in your mouth.” Etta wrapped the blanket tighter around her and grabbed a napkin from the tray. She held it out.

Catrine took it and dried her face.

“You think it was the wine?” Simon asked.

“It had to be.”

Catrine sank into a chair and her dark hair shifted forward to cover her face as she bent at the waist. “My boy.”

Simon thought for a moment. “I’ll set people to questioning the palace servants. I’ll question the guards who were on night duty myself, especially the ones at the gate. We’ll send out search parties.”

“You won’t find him.” Etta clutched her stomach. “He’s already too far. I can feel it.” She raised her eyes to meet his.

“I’m sending them anyway. We have to do everything we can to find our king.”

“Have you considered the worst?”

He shook his head. “We can’t go there.”

“We know he’s alive because I’m sitting here right now. But he could be on his way to La Dame. You have to let me go after him.”

“We don’t know that’s who took him, Etta. If she didn’t, and we sent you directly into her arms, both you and Alex could be lost, anyway. While he is in danger, we must keep you safe.”

Etta sat on the corner of the bed and crossed her arms.

His face softened. “We will find him.” He turned on his heel and barely made it to the hall before beginning to bark orders to the guards outside the door. No one had been able to figure out how they’d been put to sleep as their king was stolen.

A sigh pushed from Etta’s lips. Catrine left without another word and part of Etta thought the queen mother blamed her. She understood because she blamed herself as well. She was Alex’s protector. He might say he had Simon now, but she’d pledged to keep him safe. Even when she’d hated him, she wanted to keep watch over him.

And she’d failed.

Amalie gave her a sympathetic smile before closing the door behind her and leaving Etta alone. Unable to stay in the king’s room any longer, she pulled on her clothes and hurried back to her own rooms. Pain clouded her mind once again and a scream sounded. Had that been her?

She barely made it to the bed before she passed out.

* * *

The horse leaped forward to avoid a dip in the road and Alex abruptly woke. He opened his eyes to a view of the rough ground. He’d been draped over the back of a saddle.

Pain. All he remembered was pain. It hadn’t gone away and as he shifted, it grew worse. The ropes around his wrists tightened as he tried to reach forward to hold onto the saddle he was draped over.

“We need to get him to the palace,” a rough voice said. “She’ll take care of the rest.”

Palace? Was he going home?

Even in his foggy mind, he knew that wasn’t right. He’d woken up periodically over the past two days before descending into darkness once again. Each time, they’d been on the move. They must have barely rested. They’d stopped at a village for fresh horses and he’d been hauled onto a new beast before taking off again. No one rode with him, but his horse was tied to the one beside him. There was no getting away in his current state.

He struggled to breathe with the agony tearing through his chest. That wasn’t the sleeping drought they continued to force on him. Only one thing could turn him completely inside out. He’d felt it before. The curse.

Etta. He closed his eyes, trying to remember if she’d been okay. There was nothing. At least the burning in his veins told him one thing. She was still alive. How had they gotten into the palace? Magic?

He lifted his head to see his captors. He counted seven other horses, but his blurry vision couldn’t quite make out their rider’s faces.

His fingers pulled at the shirt they’d dressed him with to loosen the collar around his neck.

They turned to leave the road and take the rougher path over open land with no regard for their horses.

Someone trotted up beside him. “Hallo yer Majesty.” He flashed him a gap-toothed grin before turning to the others. “We should stop fer a kip. His royalness looks a might slouched here.”

“Louis,” a hard feminine voice said. “Since when do you give the orders?”

Louis bowed his head. “Sorry, Madame.”

The woman held up a hand to stop their trek and dismounted from her horse. She walked around so she was level with Alex’s head. He blinked away the fuzziness and scanned her thin frame. She appeared like she belonged in a sewing room, not on a horse, and certainly not taking part in the capture of a king. Her light brown hair was tied back from her high cheekbones and ebony skin.

“Does the king wish to sit up?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes,” Alex managed to get out.

The woman nodded to someone behind her and Alex’s ropes were jerked so hard, he tumbled from the horse and lay on the ground, unmoving.

A smattering of laughter surrounded him.

“Gabe,” she called. “Paul. You two get him back onto his horse.” She turned to glare at Louis. “We do not stop until dark.”

Alex was hauled roughly to his feet and lifted into the saddle. He hunched forward, doing all he could to stay on.

They took off at a gallop and Alex’s horse was tugged along. He scanned his surroundings, trying to figure out where they were. He didn’t know how long he’d been out but the sun overhead told him it’d been through the night at least. He glanced back once, knowing soon he’d no longer be in Gaule.

When night came, they made camp using the various powers they possessed.

Their power frightened him, but Etta’s words were embedded in his mind. Most people’s magic was quite weak. He saw that weakness in his captors and that more than anything gave him hope that Gaule could defeat them.

They tied him to a tree near the horses and he tried to take comfort in their familiar sounds. But there was no comfort to be had. There was no way out. As soon as they crossed the border into Bela, he’d be out of reach. He leaned his head back against the tree and shut his eyes.

At the sound of footsteps, he snapped them open.

The woman who’d given orders before, stood watching him.

“Need something?” Alex asked.

She held out a crude bowl. “I brought you supper, King.”

He took it and stared down into the watery stew. “Why would you feed a dead man?”

A smile curved her lips. “What makes you think you’re a dead man?”

“I was drugged and kidnapped.” His brow pinched together.

She laughed and the rage inside of him threatened to boil over. He was in too much pain to be rational.

Without thinking, he threw his bowl at her. Surprised arched her brow as the steaming substance struck her. She wiped it away with a grimace.

“You’re going to regret that when your belly is aching in the morning.” She turned and walked back toward the group.

His shoulders sagged as he clutched at his chest, willing the pain away. His teeth ground against each other.

No, he didn’t want the pain to subside. It was the only thing telling him Etta was okay.

It started to rain in the night, the water soaking Alex to the core. A shiver overtook his body, and he whipped his head around to look for his captors. They were huddled under a makeshift shelter. Louis and Paul were laughing as they pointed to him and the rain pounded mercilessly.

A crack of thunder split the sky and Alex hugged his arms across his chest as water dripped from his hair onto his face.

Lightning flashed, and he ducked away from the tree as far as his rope would allow. The horses nearby stomped and neighed as they too were exposed in the downpour. One reared up as the thunder grew louder. It crashed back to the ground and kicked its back legs up.

A soothing murmur came from the direction of the horses and they began to calm.

“Esme,” Louis yelled. “Get yer skinny ass back here. It ain’t safe.”

Esme ignored them as she continued toward the horses. They stomped in agitation, but didn’t jump as more lightning tore through the area.

“It’s okay,” she cooed. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Alex began to relax as well. Even as his muscles loosened, he knew it was false. Her magic took hold of him and he no longer noticed the rain or the roar of thunder.

The horses went silent. Esme reached out her hand and the nearest one nuzzled his nose into it before folding his legs under him and laying down.

Esme turned around, a satisfied smile lighting up her face, and her hair slapping against her cheeks in stringy tresses. She gave a short nod of her head and returned to the hastily erected shelter to get out of the rain.

The horses made no more sounds and Alex was finally able to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d slept before rough hands woke him. They gripped the collar of his soiled shirt and hauled him to his knees.

The shirt tore as he was pulled forward. It was cheap, obviously not made for a king. And on top of that, it itched.

“Up you go, your Majesty,” one of the ruffians, he thought it was Paul, growled.

A fist collided with his side, but he barely felt it over the pain that had started anew as soon as he opened his eyes. He didn’t make a sound.

Gabe yanked his hair, pulling his head back to look into his face. “La Dame said we gotta bring him alive, but she didn’t mention anything about whole.” He slammed Alex’s head back into the tree.

Still, Alex refused to make a sound.

“Let’s make him squeal like the Gaulean pig that he is.”

A knee rammed into his shoulder and he fell sideways, unable to break his fall with his hands tied.

A cackle rang through the air.

Alex lay still as they took turns kicking him. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

The silver glint of a knife flashed in front of his face and Paul studied it. “Think La Dame would mind if we kept a few pieces for ourselves? He is the Gaulean king after all. We’d be heroes among all magic folk.”

Alex squirmed until he was able to roll himself onto his knees once more. He was not the enemy of magic folk. If anyone was, it was La Dame. But they didn’t know that. And he wouldn’t beg.

He lifted his eyes and his gaze bore down on Paul and Gabe. Uncertainty entered Gabe’s eyes, but Paul stepped forward and pressed the flat edge of the blade against Alex’s cheek. The metal chilled him, but he didn’t look away.

Then it was gone. Paul crumpled to the ground with an arrow in his back.

Alex trembled in relief before peering up at his savior. Esme stepped on Paul’s back to pull her arrow free, unconcerned with his groan or the blood dripping from the iron tip.

“Gabe,” she snapped. “Go prepare the horses.”

Gabe looked like he wanted to protest, but his body jerked and moved away, leaving Alex to bear the full weight of Esme’s consideration.

“Thank you,” he said.

Her face was bland as she observed him. “That wasn’t for you.” She glanced at Paul’s now lifeless body and then back at him. “La Dame has plans for you.”

Days later, they crossed over into Bela and every ounce of hope within him died.

11

The round chamber once serving as a gathering place for the council that ruled the kingdom was full for the first time since before Etta’s father resided in the palace. It had fallen in to disuse when the old king dissolved his council and chose to consolidate the crown’s power. It had been a time of peace so his noble’s armies weren’t needed and as long as the palace continued to pay a fair price, their supply of goods wouldn’t be cut off.

Peace couldn’t last forever and now they had no king and no wards.

Etta watched the empty seats fill up. These same nobles who’d watched as Alex imprisoned their fellow lords and ladies, now waited to be part of leading the kingdom. Without the king, the council must be reinstated.

A hand landed on Etta’s shoulder and she flinched away. A haze of pain clouded her mind and every touch felt like a knife grazing along her skin.

“I never thought I’d see a council sit in this room again.” Duchess Moreau’s voice held a deep sadness.

“Do you trust them?” Etta asked through clenched teeth.

“Not even a little, but they’re all we have now.”

“We need our king.”

Etta lifted her eyes to the circular room as the duchess gave her a pointed stare and moved toward her seat.

She knew what was expected of her. She had once been protector, and they wanted her to take up that mantle once more. His life was worth more than hers to them, but she had to be careful, to wait for the right moment, to prepare.

Part of that preparation was making sure the kingdom didn’t fall apart in Alex’s absence. She had a duty to him, but she also needed to prevent further persecution of her people.

Queen Catrine took the highbacked seat normally reserved for the king and Etta moved to stand behind her chair near the wall. Duchess Moreau was to her right and Duke Caron planted himself firmly on her other side. Camille stayed by her husband and refused to look Etta in the eye.

The bruise on her cheek had not faded in its entirety and a jolt of grim pleasure entered Etta’s heart as she remembered the way it’d felt to finally give the princess what she deserved.

Simon joined Etta as the queen mother cleared her throat. The chatter in the room persisted despite more of the her attempts to begin.

They didn’t have time for this. Etta drew her sword in one movement and slammed it down on the sturdy circular table. The surface shook from the impact and the sound made each of the nobles go silent.

“Queen Catrine wishes to begin,” Etta growled, her voice echoing off the domed ceiling. Many of the faces paled and Duchess Moreau’s eyes held chastisement in them.

The queen mother’s voice shook as she began and then grew strong. “Our kingdom faces great adversity. As many of you know by now, the king was abducted from his rooms.”

A round of questions broke out, the nobles speaking over one another. Etta narrowed her eyes, ready to quiet them once again. There was no need because they obeyed when Catrine held up her hand.

“Little is known,” she said. “We have been searching the realm for days. You have each been instrumental in providing soldiers for the searches on your lands and I thank you.”

For days, the queen mother had been almost inconsolable. How had she found the strength to control this meeting?

She continued, her voice even. “We must decide how to move forward. Alex had no heir.”

Camille kept her eyes trained on the table. They’d all heard her lose her place in the line of succession.

“I move to allow Gaule to be temporarily ruled by this council. All those opposed, speak up now.”

No one made a sound.

“Okay.” Catrine folded her hands on the table. “We are now the governing body of Gaule. Our first order of business must be calling in the armies from your fields.”

“During harvest?” A man across the table objected. “That’s mad, woman.”

The queen mother opened her mouth to speak, but Duchess Moreau beat her to it. “Respect, Lord Trevellais, or we will have you removed. A queen deserves the same obedience as any king.”

The man’s angular face reddened. “Your Majesty, I meant that we need our people in the fields.”

Catrine pinned him with unforgiving eyes. “The harvest is meaningless if there are no people left to feed. Don’t underestimate the dangers we face. Gaule could very well be on the brink of destruction.”

Her bluntness sent a shock throughout the room.

Catrine drummed her fingers against the polished ebony wood and lifted her eyes to a map of the realm hanging on the far wall. “But you are correct, my lord. The harvest must come in. Those on your land can provide one member of the family to the army and one to the harvest.”

He choked. “You expect women to work the fields?”

“Their limbs work as well as any other, correct? I don’t see why those without young children can’t do the tasks their husbands do. If they’d rather not, they can join the army.”

Another noble gasped at that. “You’d have women fight?”

“We have women in the palace guard,” she said smoothly.

“But this is war. Women simply don’t have the skill.”

Etta had heard enough. She slid her knife from its sheath on her leg and flung it. The blade stabbed into the table inches from the nobleman’s hand. He jerked his hand away and widened his eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” Etta stepped forward.

“Yes,” he stammered.

She smiled. “Good. If you’d like to prove my womanhood prevents me from being a skilled warrior, I’m happy to challenge you.”

“Etta,” Catrine snapped. “Enough.”

Etta shut her mouth with a scowl.

Catrine turned back to the nobles. “You will provide this council with your army or we will all perish.”

“What about our peers in the dungeons?” The woman sitting next to Camille asked.

“What about them, Lady Toro?” Duke Caron spoke up. “Traitors, all of them.”

Lady Toro shook her head, her elaborate braids barely moving. “We cannot afford to be calling the nobles of this great kingdom traitors when their only crime was attempting to keep us safe.”

“By betraying the king?” Caron scowled.

“By standing up against the magic folk. Look at what is happening now. We are preparing to fight a war against the people we should have eradicated.”

Etta tensed and Simon gripped her arm. She tried to shake him off, but he didn’t let go.

“Lady Toro,” Duchess Moreau began patiently. “Our fight is not against the magic folk of Gaule. The discourse is with La Dame and her forces. If we were to ally ourselves with magic in this realm, we may have a chance.”

Arguments broke out immediately.

“Like her?” someone yelled above the rest as he pointed to Etta. “The kingslayer’s daughter?”

“That is enough,” Catrine yelled. “Etta is under my protection and she will be a great asset in this battle.”

The nobles continued to shout accusations. Words like “murderer” and “whore” were bandied about.

One assertion rang in her ears louder than the rest. “How do we know she wasn’t involved in the king’s kidnapping?”

“I have to get out of here,” Etta whispered to herself.

Simon released her, and she walked to the other side of the table to yank her knife free. The nobleman’s eyes widened, but she paid him no mind as she sheathed it and bolted from the room, their voices following her into the corridor. As the door shut, cutting off their arguments, she leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Pushing away from the wall, she began to run, stumbling twice as the pain hindered her. Alex was getting farther away. She felt every step between them.

Her legs took her into the outer castle and she didn’t stop running until she was through the gates. Turning left, she walked along the grassy hill at the base of the walls. When the agony became too much, she fell to her knees, trapped in a sea of pain and fear. What was happening to Alex?

She leaned her back against the wall and hung her head. Guards and villagers passed through the gates with only curious glances toward her.

Tomorrow, she’d go. There was no other way. Nothing remained at the palace for her. She must trust the queen mother to protect her people. But, how could she?

Her stomach cramped and she doubled over, tears stinging her eyes. The sharp sting sliced through her once again. Lifting her shirt, she felt for the heated spot where he must have been hurt. It felt as though a heavy boot thudded into her stomach and she cried out.

Blurry visions swam before her eyes. Verité? Was she hallucinating? The horse lowered his head to nudge her with his nose.

“Verité,” she whispered. “I often dream of you.”

He snorted, his breath blowing the hair from her face.

Her smile was weak as she struggled to sit and took in the beast clearly for the first time. It really was him. “How are you here, my friend?” His amber eyes met hers as he lowered his head. Reaching out her hand, she stretched her fingers against his soft neck in disbelief.

He stomped his foot, and she gripped his mane to pull herself to her feet, leaning on Verité for support. She rested her forehead against him and smiled. “I missed you.” Tears pricked her eyes. “I can’t believe it’s you. Where did you come from? Where are Edmund and Tyson?”

Fear gripped her heart. If Verite was there, that meant something could have happened to them.

What was she supposed to do now? When she left to go after Alex, she’d have to search for them as well. If they were… she couldn’t even face the thought.

Darkness closed in around them. “Come on, boy.” She tugged on his mane, her voice shaking. “We don’t want to be out here after they close the gates for the night.” She stumbled over her own feet but managed not to fall as she led him through the gates. He followed without question, as always, his trust in her was complete.

By the time she made it to the stables, only lanterns lit the doorways. A stable hand greeted her at the door.

“Shit,” he said. “Where’d ye find the bastard biter?”

Etta stepped around him without a word.

“Mademoiselle, I can take ‘im from here. It’s my job, yeah?”

He tried to step between Etta and Verité but Verité snapped his teeth and the man jumped back with a yelp.

“I’m taking an empty stall.” Etta continued walking, forcing her face not to show the twinge of each step. “The only person that comes near this horse is me.”

The man gaped at her as she led Verité into a stall at the end of the row and set about obtaining grain from the feedbags and water from the barrels along the wall. Verité set in to his feast hungrily.

Etta slid the door shut and peered over the top. The rotting wood came up to her chest, giving none of the privacy she wanted, but she was too exhausted to care. Sitting down against the wall, she closed her eyes. After a few moments, Verité lowered himself beside her and she was able to sleep for the first time since Alex was taken.

* * *

The crunch of teeth biting into an apple filled the air, but Etta wasn’t ready to open her eyes. She laid against Verité’s warm side, his broad body a protection against anything that would come—including intruders intent on waking her in the wee hours of the morning.

She slid one eye open, barely registering the lithe blond man sitting atop the half wall of the stall. Relaxing into sleep once again, her thoughts filled with Edmund and how weird it was he’d returned to the palace.

Her eyes sprung open, and she bolted upright. “Edmund.”

He bit into his apple again and grinned, letting juice dribble down his handsome face. It was the most precious thing she’d ever seen because he was there. He was alive. He’d come.

“I see my newly made friend abandoned me for you.” He gestured to the horse who’d risen to his feet so quickly, he’d almost thrown Etta to the ground.

“He was my friend first.”

What did you say first to someone whose very presence allowed you to breathe again?

Edmund swung his legs over the wall and jumped into the stall before tossing the remaining apple to Verité. “Ah, I can’t deny the truth in that, but we’ve come to an understanding, him and I.”

She climbed to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I keep him supplied with apples, sometimes carrots, and he leaves all of my digits intact.”

“You’ve been spoiling him, then?” She laughed. “I won’t forgive you for fattening my horse.”

“Your horse?”

“Yes, what do I have to do to reclaim him? Defeat you in a duel? Again.”

He shrugged. “Not this time. Palace life has probably made you soft.”

Her lips pressed together to suppress a laugh. The feeling was fleeting and on its heels came guilt. How could she laugh and joke when Alex was in danger?

When her smile fell, Edmund crushed her to him. They clung to each other as if everything around them was falling away.

“We’ll get him back,” Edmund whispered hoarsely. “I promise you that.”

“You came back.”

“I had to.”

She nodded against his chest, taking comfort in the fact that he was the one person who understood what it felt like to lose the true Alexandre Durand.

Her body tensed up as a new spasm struck her. Edmund stepped back and gripped her arms as he met her gaze. “What is it?”

“They’re moving again.” Tears hung in her lashes. “I can feel it.”

“The curse?”

She nodded, gritting her teeth to keep from calling out. Edmund pulled her back to him. “We must leave as soon as we can.”

He released her and turned to the bag he’d left hanging on the door. Pulling out another apple, he glanced back at her. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Edmund, I’ve been living in the palace. I have access to the kitchens.”

He shifted his eyes away sheepishly. “I know some of what has befallen you, Etta. I kind of thought you were still a prisoner, and I’d have to mount a rescue.”

“I was imprisoned on the king’s order. You would have defied Alex for me?”

“To save him, yes. Even if it was only to save him from himself. You didn’t deserve anything you endured. I would have been here sooner if I could.”

She accepted the apple he extended her way. “You’ve missed a lot.”

“So have you,” he countered.

Biting down slowly, she studied his face. He didn’t look changed, but life outside the palace was hard when there was no safe place for their kind.

A breeze blew through the stall, alleviating some of the horse’s stink and she smiled.

“Why do you think we’ll be able to help him?” she asked.

He paused for a moment, swallowing a bite. “Because I know where he is.”

“How could you possibly?”

He brushed a hand through his long blonde locks. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you, but first, we must begin our trek. I arrived in the village yesterday.” He patted Verité’s side. “This beast ran off the minute our backs were turned.”

“Our?” Relief rushed through her. “Tyson is with you.”

His eyes strained and he shook his head. “I have a young healer traveling with me.”

Etta snapped her eyes to his. “Who?”

“We met her during the attack on the village. Her name is Maiya.”

The world began to spin. Maiya was supposed to be removed from all of this. “What about her father?”

Edmund thought for a moment. “I came upon a group of magic folk traveling toward the border. After I convinced them not to cross it, I told them where I was headed. Maiya said she needed to help. Something about making up for betraying a friend. Her father tried to stop her, but she’s stubborn. He was needed to lead the group to safety so he and Maiya parted ways.”

“What about Tyson? Where is he?” Etta’s hand shot out to clutch at the wall.

“We need to get you to Maiya.” Edmund ignored her question and put a hand on Etta’s back and she stepped out of his reach.

“Her healing won’t help me. I’m not injured.”

“We have to try.” He opened the stall and ducked out to get a saddle from the hook on the far wall. Etta struggled to throw a blanket over Verité’s back. When Edmund returned, he took it from her and finished saddling the horse before lifting her easily onto it. He climbed on behind her and snapped the reins. The stable hands jumped out of the way as they thundered out onto the street.

Edmund held an arm firmly around her waist and it was the only thing keeping her from falling.

Verité was different from other horses. Even in her weakened state, when Etta rode him, she felt inspired. It was the same connection that existed when magic flowed from her fingers.

Edmund steered Verité out through the gates and onto the road. The last time Etta had been to the village was during the attack. Since then, it had begun to come back to life.

“I thought the village was destroyed,” she said, awe filling her voice.

“I had as well.” Edmund’s chuckle vibrated against her back. “When Maiya and I arrived, we planned to hide out in the ruins of the town, but those had been cleaned up. People were returning and beginning to rebuild.”

“I wish Alex could see this.”

“Me too.”

They turned onto the familiar road where Maiya’s healer shop had been located. The building had stood strong during the attack. They tied Verité in the alleyway. The irony of it being the alley where she’d tied Edmund in weeds upon their initial meeting was lost in a cloud of pain.

Edmund slung her arm over his shoulders and half carried her into building where Maiya waited.

Maiya rushed toward them. “Oh my, is she okay?”

“It’s the curse,” Etta bit out as Edmund helped her onto a bed.

“I don’t know if I can heal that.” Maiya shifted her uncertain gaze to Edmund.

“Try,” he pleaded.

Maiya nodded and stood beside the bed. Her steady hands raised the bottom of Etta’s shirt to reveal bruised skin.

“I can heal these.” She pressed her palms to the discolored skin and the throbbing in Etta’s abdomen began to fade. Pale skin shone brightly under her touch.

Etta breathed out heavily and Maiya moved to the head of the bed. She lifted the collar of Etta’s shirt and slid chilly fingers down to place them where her heart beat against her chest bone. She closed her eyes as concentration creased her brow.

The tightening on Etta’s heart began to ease, and she peered up at her friend. “Thank you.”

Maiya took a step back and wrung her hands together. “I wouldn’t thank me yet. You can’t possibly believe my magic can defeat even a part of the curse. The pain will return.”

Etta sat up, free of pain for the first time in days. “So, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.” Edmund paced the room, his steps loud in the confined space. “First, I must speak with the queen mother.” He stopped moving and sat in a chair, hanging his head. “I must tell her I failed. I didn’t protect her son.” He raised his tortured eyes, searing his sorrow into her. “La Dame has Tyson as well.”

* * *

Maiya stayed behind while Etta and Edmund left for the palace. At the gates, Edmund pulled his hood up to cover his hair.

One of the guards stopped them with hard eyes. “Persinette Basile, we’ve been told to watch for you.”

“Well, you see me. Now let me pass.”

Another guard joined the first, and she didn’t recognize either of them. But they knew who she was, what she could do.

“We can’t allow you in the castle unescorted.” The first man drew his sword in threat. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”

The second guard spit on the ground at Verité’s feet. Verité showed his teeth with a growl.

Edmund tapped her thigh, and she nodded. All sound was pushed from the place as Etta slid from Verité’s back. Her eyes scanned the surrounding area for signs they weren’t alone. A smile curved her lips, and the guards took a step back.

She didn’t draw her sword as she walked toward them. “The queen mother will hear of this.”

“The council has control now.” The first guard gripped his hilt tighter. He was young. A puppy. The second was older, and he’d been smart enough not to draw his weapon.

Edmund chuckled behind her. “If you think Queen Catrine Durand doesn’t rule that council as if they were her kingdom, we may have to forgive your insolence on account of your clear stupidity.”

“Don’t come any closer,” the older guard commanded. “Times are changing. We are taking back our kingdom that Alexandre Durand gave away to people like you.”

She stopped inches from the tip of the sword. “That’s King Alexandre.” Knocking the sword aside easily, she lunged for the younger guard as she called her magic forth. Slamming him back against the wall, she forced the sword from his grasp as the vines climbed the stone, wrapping first around his ankles before slithering up over his torso. He screamed, but Edmund’s magic made sure no one heard.

She released him and turned to the second guard who had drawn his sword. He charged toward her, blade raised, and she twisted out of the way. He chopped at the air and she evaded each move with ease. He cut at her legs and she jumped.

“Need some help?” Edmund leaned back in the saddle casually.

“Wouldn’t want you to tax yourself,” she called back, ducking as the blade sailed over her head.

“Just don’t get yourself killed by this fool. Wouldn’t want Alex to die as well.”

“Your concern is touching.” She spun again, exhilaration rushing through her. If she drew her sword, the fight would be over instantly, but she needed the fight to take her mind off everything else.

As her lungs began to burn and the guard’s heavy swings arced wildly, she ducked and grabbed his arm. She knocked his blade to the ground. He threw a punch, but it missed its mark and she shook her head.

“Edmund,” she called, releasing the man’s wrist. A forceful wind aimed straight for her opponent, pushing him up against the wall so Etta could tie him there as well. Without another glance, she remounted Verité.

“That looked like fun.” Edmund rested his chin on her shoulder.

“We have to figure out what’s going on here.” She snapped the reins and entered the outer castle. “Why’d they let us through the gates this morning and refuse us entry now?”

“This morning you didn’t look like Persinette Basile. You were bundled in my cloak and could barely stay on the horse.”

She arranged the hood on her cloak to cover her golden hair and keep her face in shadow. Guards patrolled the streets, and she avoided looking at any of them directly. Why was the royal guard wandering the outer palace?

They bypassed the stables to ride Verité directly toward the inner gate.

“Why is it shut?” Etta scanned the gates for any indication of what had happened in the short time she’d been away. “We’ve only been gone for a few hours.”

“Oi,” a gruff female voice called down to them from the top of the inner wall. “Step back from the gates. None are allowed entry.”

“We need to speak with the queen mother,” Edmund called back.

“We don’t allow any traitorous bastards in here.”

Etta shielded her eyes to look up at the woman, not recognizing her. She wore a guard’s uniform with a chain mail headpiece. Her weathered face regarded them coolly.

Pushing back her hood, Etta narrowed her eyes. “I am no traitor. I am Persinette Basile.”

The woman disappeared and a few minutes later, the door at the base of the gates opened and Simon peered out, ushering them in.

“Etta.” He helped her dismount. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“What’s happened?”

“Many things.” He nodded toward Edmund in question.

Etta put a hand on his arm. “Simon, do you know Edmund?”

“Of course. We were in the king’s guard together.” He held out his hand. “Good to have you back.”

Edmund shook his hand, and they left Verité in the courtyard without removing his saddle, knowing he’d be okay on his own. The palace was full of people. Some were guards or servants, but others looked like simple townsfolk.

“You look better than you did yesterday,” Simon noted, leading them through the halls.

“Maiya’s back.” She gripped his arm to stop him. “What are we walking into here, Simon?”

“The past few hours have been hectic. After you left the council meeting yesterday, things devolved. They voted to release the nobles we’d been holding. Everything else blew up from there. Nobles are choosing sides. The guard has splintered. They’re seeking out suspected magic folk in the outer castle. Some have taken refuge in the palace.”

“All of these people are magic folk?” Edmund’s eyes bounced from face to face as they continued walking.

“No.” Simon turned into the royal family’s wing and they left the refugees behind. “Others just came for protection.”

“Why should they need protection if they have no magic?” Edmund asked.

They stopped outside Catrine’s door and before Simon pushed it open, he turned back to them. “Because this isn’t just the purge of years past. It’s a rebellion.”

Those two words stuck in her mind as they entered the room. Queen Catrine sat in front of the fireplace next to Duchess Moreau and Amalie. Camille stood at the table pouring wine and her husband, Duke Caron, paced nearby. Each face turned to them as the door slammed shut.

Catrine was the first to rise.

“Edmund?” She rushed toward him. “Dear boy, it is good to see you.” She cupped his cheek, and he inclined his head.

When he straightened, there were tears in his eyes. “I have failed you.”

Etta took his hand in hers. There was much to discuss, but he needed to get the words out.

Catrine waited patiently.

“La Dame has Tyson.”

She sucked in a breath and stepped away from him. “How?”

“We were in one of the border villages when it was attacked by La Dame’s forces. At first, we thought they were friendly because they were calling out Persinette’s name. But then the fighting began. It was magic against magic as many of the villagers were descendants of Bela.” He swallowed thickly. “There was a man who could control fire. When I used my magic on him, it increased the flames. Not even Tyson’s water could put them out. We were trapped on opposite sides of the flames. I saw his shirt catch fire. A magic man put it out, but then they took him. I couldn’t stop them.”

Catrine stumbled back to her chair and fell into it, a sob caught in her throat. Amalie moved to put her arms around the queen mother’s shaking shoulders.

Edmund wasn’t finished. He knelt in front of her. “I’m going to get him back. Him and Alex.”

“How do you know the same woman took Alex?” Camille asked, handing her mother a glass of wine. She turned her stony eyes on Edmund.

Edmund didn’t look at her, his eyes still trained on the queen mother. “I’ve been searching for information on where they’d take Tyson. There are taverns known to be frequented by travelers and guards from Dracon. I never found any information on the young prince, but instead I stumbled upon the brother of a man who’d been sent on an important mission. He boasted about it to any who would listen. He didn’t know what the mission was, except that it involved journeying to the palace of Gaule.”

“That’s why you came back.” Etta took a seat and rested her elbows on her knees. “You knew he was in danger.”

“I was too late.”

Catrine reached out to touch his shoulder. “You risk a lot by being here.”

“I won’t be here long.” He got to his feet. “I’m headed to Bela.”

Silence echoed across the stunned room.

Etta joined Edmund. “I’m going with him.”

Duchess Moreau smiled tightly. “As much as we could use you two here, there are no others I would trust with such a mission. No others who would give their lives for our king.”

Amalie loosened her arms around Catrine. “I fear I must go too.”

Etta shook her head. “I’m sorry, lady Amalie. This is no mission for a lady of court.”

“Alex has been kind to me and Tyson… he’s the only true friend I’ve ever had. Don’t I have as much right as you to risk myself for them?”

Duchess Moreau beheld her proudly even as she issued a final order. “No, Amalie. If you were to go into Bela, I fear you would not return to us.”

Etta held a grudging respect for the young girl who was willing to risk everything as she was, but she still couldn’t have her come. “Amalie, this isn’t like us saying farmer’s wives can go to war. We won’t be among an army or facing unskilled warriors. La Dame is the most powerful magic woman in the world. There’s a very real chance we are all going to die.”

Amalie crossed her arms, but nodded in understanding and didn’t utter another word.

Walking toward the table where the wine sat, Etta tried to loosen some of the tension in her shoulders. She reached for the wine, her hand pausing in mid-air as memories came back to her. What if the wine was drugged again? What would happen to them then?

Nausea churned in her stomach as she stared at the pitcher. It was the cause of all their current misfortune. Without thinking, she knocked it to the ground. The pitcher shattered and burgundy wine splattered onto her legs and spread across the floor.

The chatter in the room stopped abruptly as they stared at her in shock. As if none of it had happened, Etta strode to the couch and plopped down, crossing her legs.

Simon went in search of servants to clean up the mess as Edmund sat beside her. “You okay?” he whispered.

“Of course she’s not okay.” Camille’s voice was grating. “She’s insane.”

“Camille,” her mother warned.

“No, she needs to hear this.” She crossed the room to stop in front of Etta. “You can’t stand in a council meeting intimidating our nobles. You can’t make threats. You can’t throw pitchers of wine. Persinette Basile is seen as the enemy. Magic folk are seen as the enemy. I’m still not sure they’re not, but I will always choose my family’s side. But you, Etta, need to stop making this so much damn harder for us.”

“You’re out of line, Camille,” Edmund growled.

“Says the man who lied to us for years.”

“Enough,” Catrine snapped.

Duke Caron took his wife’s arm and pulled her away.

“We have too much to deal with without you two at each other’s throats.” Catrine glanced to the wine and back to Etta. “Are you alright?”

“Just tell me what happened in the council meeting after I left.” Etta ran a hand over her braid to calm herself.

Catrine sighed. “As soon as we gave the council ruling powers, every decision must be put to a vote and the result would stand. They chose to release the imprisoned nobles and to reinstate penalties for magic. We were helpless to stop the momentum once it began. As soon as the votes were announced, the guard began to fracture. We sent runners into the outer palace to offer protection for magic folk and then closed the inner gates. Part of the guard stayed, but a greater part began following orders of others on the council. They haven’t attempted to gain entrance to the inner castle, but it’s only a matter of time. We are prisoners, I’m afraid.”

“There are other ways out of here.” Etta leaned forward.

“There are too many people within these walls. As long as our supplies last, there is no safer place for us.”

“How long will supplies last?” Edmund asked.

“Six months at least.” Catrine’s forehead creased. “More if we cut rations. When the wards came down, Alex began preparing the castle for possible siege.” Her voice grew quiet. “We just didn’t expect we would need to barricade ourselves against our own forces.”

“Why aren’t we considering surrender?” Camille planted her hands firmly on her hips. “Surely that’s preferable to any sort of fight. We can’t outlast them.”

To Etta’s surprise, it was Camille’s new husband who gave her the answer she didn’t want to hear. Duke Caron turned his grim face to his young wife. “And what of the people we’re protecting here?” He shook his head. “None of us imagined there were so many magic folk living right alongside us in secret. They were our friends, served in our households, and even took up positions guarding the kingdom. We cannot allow the tragedies of the purge to begin anew.”

“Send a runner to the border.” Duchess Moreau sounded exhausted. “Alexandre sent a sizable part of the guard to the garrison near my lands.” She pulled an emerald ring from her middle finger and extended it to Etta. “When you arrive at my estate, make sure this gets to my steward. He will call my people from the fields to take up border patrols as the guard returns here.”

Etta slipped the ring into a pouch at her waist and stood. “We shouldn’t wait any longer.”

Queen Catrine rose to face her. “Persinette Basile, this kingdom has not been good to you or your family. You will never know how much I regret what has happened. We have had our differences, but go now with our sincerest gratitude and all the hope we can muster.”

Etta inclined her head and Catrine pulled her into a hug. Etta stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Next, Catrine moved to Edmund. “We’ve never deserved you.”

Edmund smiled sadly and Etta envied him. He didn’t hold back, didn’t retain grudges. He hugged Catrine as if the past had never happened at all, as if he hadn’t been imprisoned and run off.

Etta turned away. Would she ever truly be able to forget the past?

Amalie gave her a tearful goodbye and Simon escorted Etta and Edmund back into the hall. A heavy silence hung in the air.

They didn’t look at the people they were leaving behind as they walked. Would the palace be able to withstand a siege?

As they reached a familiar door, the curse tugged at her and she breathed deeply, willing Maiya’s healing to last longer. On the other side of that door was an unused chapel with the entrance to a short tunnel through a part of the castle where the inner and outer walls connected. It let out on the far side, away from the gates. Etta used it once before—to sneak Alex back into the palace after their trip through the forest.

Etta put a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “This is where I leave you.”

His eyes widened and Simon began to protest. “You must leave this way.”

Edmund nodded in understanding. “Meet me at the edge of the forest. We’ll be able to take a direct path this time so it should only take a few hours to get to the village.”

“You can’t be serious.” Simon scowled at them. “What is more important than getting out of the palace?”

Edmund clapped him on the back. “She has someone else she needs to get out, but only one person can ride him fast enough to get through streets teeming with traitors.” He pushed open the door behind the altar and stepped through without another word.

Making sure the door shut securely behind him, Etta headed back the way she’d come with Simon on her heels. There’d be no secret tunnel for her escape. She’d have to flee through the streets of the outer castle.

“When I tell you to,” she began. “I’m going to need you to open the gate enough for me to slip through.”

“This is suicide, Etta,” he growled. “Think of Alexandre.”

“I think of little else. If I’m going to save him, I need to do this.”

Verité lifted his head when she stepped into the courtyard and Simon grunted.

“This is about the damn horse, isn’t it?”

She ran a hand down Verité’s neck. “He isn’t just a horse. He’s a part of me and if I’m going to go up against La Dame, I need to be whole.”

She climbed onto the saddle and nudged him around. Jerking her head toward the gate, she looked down on Simon. “You may want to tell your men what to do.”

His eyes held all the concern his words lacked. “Persinette, all the hope of Bela goes with you and that of Gaule. If you perish, the king does as well and that can only mean darkness for all of us. Bless you, my queen, and keep you safe.”

She reached down and touched the top of his head gently. “I won’t let our people down.”

He walked briskly to the gatehouse and had words with the guards there. Before the gate opened, he climbed the stairs to the top of the wall with a bow in hand. Three other guards joined him, knocking their arrows, and aiming them onto the street below.

The gate opened slowly, wide enough for Verité to slip through. She held one hand in the air as guards surrounded her and the gate closed with a thud. Verité growled, but she held his reins tightly with her free hand to keep him in check.

“Stop right there,” the order came from her left, but she didn’t turn. A sword scraped as it was pulled from its scabbard. A man pointed it up at her.

“Get off your horse slowly.”

She narrowed her eyes, waiting. Her opening would come. The rest of the guards began pulling their weapons and Verité reared up, kicking wildly.

Someone made to grab for the reins and the horse snapped his teeth, drawing blood. “Bloody horse,” she screamed.

They began to charge and a volley of arrows sailed over her head. Her chance. The crowd broke apart to duck for cover and she kicked her heels into Verité’s flanks.

“Come on, boy,” she whispered as he leaped forward.

His hooves thundered through the streets, people ducking out of the way to avoid being trampled. Guards and citizens alike ran in pursuit, but they were on foot. An idea occurred to her as she came upon the stables. Most of the horses roamed in the pen.

Pulling Verité to an abrupt stop, she drew her sword and hacked through the rope that kept the pen closed.

Flattening her palm, she pulled at her magic before curling her fingers into a fist. An array of vines and weeds shot from the ground, wrapping around the iron bars of the long door. She jerked her hand, and it yanked open.

Verité ran into the pen and sprinted around the outer edges, agitating the horses and herding them toward the door.

Free of the pen and chased by Verité, the horses ran wildly through the streets.

Etta glanced behind her where two guards had caught a couple of the horses and struck out in pursuit of her.

“Close the gates,” people yelled toward the gatehouse at the edge of the outer castle gates. Unlike the humble inner gates, the outer gates were massive wooden structures that couldn’t be shut in an instant.

The gap between them began to narrow.

“Come on, Verité,” she yelled, exhilaration rushing through her. The wind whipped the hair from her shoulders and she still held her sword aloft as she charged the gates like a wild woman.

A line of guards formed, some staring with a look of disbelief etched across their faces. Others stood in grim determination between her and the gates. She couldn’t stop now.

“You can do this, boy,” she whispered, gripping the reins in one hand and his mane with the other. “Show them you’re more than the temperamental bastard they think you are.”

They didn’t slow as they neared the guards. Fear developed on their faces as they realized she wasn’t going to stop.

“Not yet,” she said. “Wait. Wait.” Closer and closer still. “Now!”

Verité leaped.

His legs dangled as they flew through the air and Etta held on tighter than she ever had before. It was a moment she’d never forget. Everything seemed to stop. No sound. No movement. Verité’s hooves came so close to the guard’s heads, they had to duck as he sailed overhead.

He landed with a spine-jarring force and ran through the barely open gates without missing a beat. The gates closed with finality, cutting off possible pursuit until they could open again. Verité exploded down the grassy hill and over the road, not slowing until they were crossing the path that would take them to the forest.

Etta leaned forward against Verité’s neck and laughed as she tried to catch her breath. “Well, that was something, my friend.”

They made it to the cover of the trees and she slid from the horse’s back, falling to her knees as the rest of her body vibrated with adrenaline.

She rubbed a hand across her face and gaped at her horse in wonder. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

He snorted and she used her magic to pull grass from the earth for him to eat.

She leaned back against a tree, letting the sounds of the forest calm her frantic heart as she waited for Edmund to arrive.

The woods darkened before she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

“Etta,” a voice called.

She jerked upright, taking a moment to recognize the soft timber of the words.

“Edmund.” Standing, she brushed the dirt from her pants before calling, “Over here.”

A few moments later, he appeared in front of her. She threw her arms around Edmund’s shoulders and he stumbled back. “I was worried you hadn’t made it.” Even she hadn’t realized how scared she’d been. Going into Bela alone struck fear in her heart.

He squeezed her and let her go. “Me? What about you? How’d it go?” His eyes flicked to Verité.

She patted the horse’s rump. “He got me out of there.” She didn’t elaborate as the day’s events played in her mind. Exhaustion warred for supremacy, but there was too much yet to do.

“I’ve been searching for you along the edge of the woods for the past hour,” he said.

Her body had needed the rest she’d taken, but no way did she admit that. She shrugged and walked by him. “We need to get to the village and collect Maiya so we can be gone before the sun rises.”

As much as they each wanted to drop where they stood, they couldn’t give in. They had to push. For Alex. For Bela. Even for Gaule.

* * *

Maiya launched herself at Etta when they barreled through the door into the relative safety of the old healer’s residence.

Etta sagged against the younger girl, too tired to protest, as her pain worsened once again. Pressing her lips together, she pushed Maiya subtly and held her at arm’s length, trying to hide the way each movement hurt.

She was too anxious to get moving again to stop for a moment to heal. Maiya’s magic had lasted less than a full day before the curse returned in force.

Releasing Maiya, Etta stepped back.

“Did you get what I asked for?” Edmund ran a hand over his tired face and through his bright hair.

“Sort of.” Maiya walked to the door. “I could only get one horse, but I did manage something else.”

She took a candle from its place on the wall and led them to the alleyway. Edmund sighed. “A cart? How are we to travel swiftly with this?”

A scrawny horse was tied up next to it and Edmund glared at it.

“There is nothing in the village to be bought,” Maiya claimed defensively. “It wasn’t for lack of trying. At least with Verité, we can tie them both to the wagon and pass as ordinary travelers on the road.”

Etta snorted and they both turned to look at her. “Sorry, I’m just imagining the look Verité will give me when I tell him I’m tying him to this broken-down heap.” She suppressed the laughter attempting to break through. “But, honestly, Edmund and I are some of the most recognizable faces in Gaule.”

“I’ve thought of that too.” Maiya led them back toward her old shop. “Come with me.”

Back inside, she picked up a blade from the table and handed it to Etta. Etta studied the engraved steel and lifted her eyes to her friend. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Make yourself invisible.”

As the meaning sank in, Etta’s eyes widened. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and ran her hand over the intricate loops and twists. Her hair was who she was. When she was killing, it made her feel human. When all she felt was the curse, it grounded her.

“No,” she said, walking past Maiya to sit in front of the looking glass. She dropped the knife on the table.

“You can’t ask her to do this,” Edmund whispered.

“Not just her, Edmund. People know you for your looks as well. We don’t have much time.”

Etta unraveled her braid, letting her fingers sink in to the silky strands she knew so well. Her eyes drifted shut as she pictured Alex stroking each lock. It’d made her feel like a woman when little else had.

Edmund appeared behind her, brush in hand, and dragged it through her hair. Her eyes met his in the looking glass. Could she still be Persinette Basile without the well-known golden mane?

He rested his chin on her head. “For Alex.”

She nodded. “For Bela.”

He reached out and took the knife she’d dropped. After gathering her hair, he sawed through the strong fibers. When he was finished, her choppy hair rested at her ears.

She stood and gestured for him to sit. “Now you.”

In silence, she took from him the last vestiges of youth. Maybe neither of them had ever had the chance to be young.

An hour later, the horses were hooked to the wagon with only a little argument from Verité. In the night, they rumbled down the road, a band of weary travelers with no end to their journey in sight.

12

Relief had come in waves for days. Alexandre would fall asleep with the suffering growing strong within him and wake up as if it’d never existed at all. The freedom lasted for hours before slipping away as he sank into the agony once again.

He’d been unconscious when they arrived at the palace of Bela. They’d heard rumors of it being rebuilt, but how? La Dame had only been in Bela for a few months as far as they knew.

A wrongness hung in the air as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight streamed through a window across the room. It stood open, with no glass separating the room from the outside world. Had they given him a means of escape? Nothing could be that simple.

He pushed back the heavy blankets and noted his bare legs. They’d removed his clothes. A blast of chilly wind roared through the window, causing the hairs on his legs to stand on end.

Wrapping a blanket around himself, Alex stood from the wood-carved canopy bed. A wardrobe stood tall in the corner—well, not corner exactly. The walls curved in a continuous circle. As he passed the table near the window, his fingers brushed the edge of a silver tray laden with food.

It was more than he fed his own prisoners.

A wide sill lined the bottom of the window. Alex stopped, his eyes rounding. The sky dropped outside the tower, connecting with the ground far below. A breath wheezed in his chest as he gripped the edge and leaned out. He wouldn’t be able to make it down without breaking his neck.

Trees stretched as far as he could see without another structure in sight.

Leaning back in, he stumbled and crashed into the corner of the table. He wasn’t in the palace of Bela. His prison cell was a tower in the middle of the woods.

His eyes darted around the room in search of a door.

The curse chose that moment to stab into him and he bent at the waist, trying to breathe. Why had he been put there?

A voice sounded outside. Maybe he wasn’t alone after all. It was a sweet melody, and it drifted up through his window. He leaned against the wall, allowing it to soothe his frayed nerves. She sang of simple things—a villager’s magic and her love of a fisherman.

A scraping broke through her voice, coming from the bottom of the tower. He peered out the window, trying not to be seen and reeled back. It was her.

He’d been a boy when he’d first met La Dame, but she hadn’t changed. She continued to sing as she raised her face to him, her blackened tresses curling down her back. Her dark eyes locked onto his and he couldn’t move. Her bright red lips curved up into a smile as she raised her hands. The outer stones of the tower wall shook and shifted, and still, Alex couldn’t look away even as fear smashed into him.

The stones continued to move until they formed a narrow staircase from the ground to the edge of the window. She climbed it with slow, methodical steps, holding up the hem of her low-cut black dress.

As if released from a spell, he broke eye contact and stepped back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. She climbed through the window with a tremendous amount of grace.

He stood tall, refusing to cower in her presence.

“Alexandre,” she said cheerfully. “It has been far too long.” She reached up to kiss his cheek familiarly, and he froze. “Oh, don’t be like that, young king. We’ve been friends for too long.” Her eyes scanned the room, and she clucked her tongue. “I left you quite the feast and you haven’t touched it.” She planted her hands on her hips. “That is rude.”

When he didn’t move, she frowned. “Sit.”

His legs moved with jerky, uncoordinated steps out of his control. His teeth clenched as he tried to stop himself.

“Don’t fight it,” she said, taking her own seat. “You won’t win.”

His butt crashed into the chair.

“What’s happening to me?” he gasped. “Why—” His voice cut off when she snapped her fingers.

“No talking. Eat.” She pushed the tray toward him and he had no choice but to obey.

She steepled her fingers. “I came to extend an invitation to my ball tonight.”

He swallowed noisily.

“You can speak now.” She sighed.

“Invitation implies I have a choice.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “You’re to be the honored guest. The clothing I’d like you to wear is in the wardrobe. I hope you like to sing.”

“Why?”

“I can’t give away all my surprises, now, can I?”

“Why am I here?”

“Hmmm, an inevitable question. Although, I am feeling a bit slighted you act as if you’d rather be elsewhere.”

“I am your prisoner.”

“I don’t like that term.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Be patient, your Highness. All will be revealed.” She stood. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat with you all day, I have a ball to prepare for. Before I go, I brought you a bath.”

She walked to the window and gave some sort of signal to a servant waiting below. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and a man who barely fit through the window shoved a wooden tub through and climbed in. A second man followed, dragging someone behind him.

A mop of inky hair covered the boy’s face, but Alex would recognize his brother anywhere.

“Tyson,” he breathed.

Tyson’s head snapped up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Alex?”

“Reunions are lovely, aren’t they?” La Dame’s voice was wistful.

Tyson was jerked forward, and he fell to his knees in front of the tub.

“Fill it,” the man behind him ordered.

Alex glanced from La Dame to his brother in confusion, but Tyson seemed to understand what they meant. He leaned forward and put both hands down into the tub. La Dame poured a pitcher of water over his hands and the water expanded until it filled the tub halfway.

Alex collapsed onto the corner of his bed. He’d been told his brother had magic, but his mind couldn’t grasp onto that fact.

La Dame clapped her hands together, the sound jarring him from his thoughts. “Tyson will stay here until the ball. I wouldn’t want to break up such a happy reunion.”

Without another word, she exited the window with the two men behind her. Once they were down, the stones shifted back into place forming the smooth wall.

Alex stared at his brother for a long moment. Tyson met his eyes.

“You hate me now, don’t you?” He gestured to the water he’d created with a defeated sigh.

Opening his mouth, Alex was suddenly lost for words. He stood from the bed and dropped to his knees in front of his brother who still sat by the tub. Releasing one of his arms from the blanket, Alex pulled Tyson into a firm hug that said everything he couldn’t.

They sat there for a moment longer, before Tyson chuckled. “I’d feel much more comfortable if you had some clothes on right now.”

Alex smiled. When was the last time he’d done that? Pulling away, he climbed to his feet. “I don’t want to take anything from La Dame, but my desire for clothes overrides that.”

“She’ll want you to bathe before the ball.” Tyson rose and went to sit in a chair at the table.

“I don’t care what she wants.”

“You will, brother. Don’t be placated by her niceties. I’ve seen what she does to people who disobey her.” He sighed. “I knew they’d gone to kidnap you. When Matteo told me, I feared what kind of shape you’d arrive in.”

A grimace flashed across Alex’s face. “It would have been worse, but the pain lessens each night. It must be Etta.”

Tyson shifted his eyes away. “You’ve released her then?”

“Of course.” He paused. “Tyson, look at me.”

A beat of silence passed before Tyson raised his eyes.

“I am not our father.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe I was like him, but it’s different now. I don’t hate you for your magic and I will never forgive myself for what I did to Etta.”

“She’ll probably never forgive you either.”

Alex snorted. “I imagine not.”

“But she’s coming for you,” he went on.

Alex tried to refute that, but Tyson shook his head. “Even if there wasn’t a curse tying you two together, she’d come. It isn’t in her not to fight. That’s what La Dame is counting on.”

“What do you mean?” Alex pulled on the clothes that had been left for him and dropped into the chair opposite his brother, wincing from the agony that grew worse by the minute.

“This isn’t about you. Matteo says she’s playing with us.”

Alex raised one finger. “First, who is Matteo. And who do you mean by us?”

“Matteo Basile. His father is Viktor’s brother.” His eyes darkened as his next confession poured forth. “La Dame isn’t after the Durands. She wants her revenge on the entire Basile line. On Matteo. On Persinette. And on me.”

13

In an instant, everything made sense.

Tyson’s magic.

His father’s disdain for the youngest prince.

His mother’s cleaving to one child over the others.

Alex knew his mother loved him. There was never any doubt of that. But with Tyson, she was different. Her mothering bordered on obsession. Even as a child, he’d been stunned when she took Tyson to her own breast despite the arguments from the wet nurse.

A queen didn’t serve her children. It was beneath her. But not Catrine Durand.

Alex rubbed his eyes. The days following his father’s death now had meaning. It’d struck him odd how deep into mourning she’d gone when she’d never appeared beholden to her husband at all.

Viktor Basile. The kingslayer. His mother had loved the man. He was sure of it now.

His fists clenched at his sides and he glanced at his brother who stood beside him. They’d barely spoken since Tyson’s confession hours before.

When La Dame came back to retrieve them, Alex tried to resist, but it was useless. He was her prisoner. Physically. Mentally.

For the first time in his life, he felt powerless. Unclenching his fist, he placed a hand on Tyson’s shoulder. His brother’s body shook as he stared at the ornate mahogany doors in front of them.

A guard had come to wrap heavy chains around Tyson’s ankles, but Alex was left unfettered.

The witch couldn’t control the Basiles with her magic so she used other means.

Both princes were dressed in the finest clothes. What better way for La Dame to show off her prizes?

“Alex,” Tyson whispered. “I’m sorry.”

The words caused more suffering than the curse ever could. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But my … father.” The boy swallowed. “I know how you feel about the Basiles.”

“I think we can agree, Ty, that if the Basiles can resist La Dame’s magic, they’re an ally of the Durands.”

Tyson smiled tentatively. “Thanks for saying it at least.”

“I mean it.”

“I know where things stand.” Tyson’s gaze drifted up to the tall doors. “I’m just not sure I know where I do.”

“You’re my brother.”

He nodded. “Do you get what this means?”

Alex shook his head.

Tyson’s smile stretched into a grin. “I have to kill my brother for imprisoning my sister.”

A laugh burst from Alex’s mouth and echoed off the high ceiling. “And apparently, I’m in love with my brother’s sister.”

“I’m glad you love her. It gives me hope for all of us.”

Hope. It was a foreign concept in one’s prison cell. Even if that cell was currently a castle of the likes he’d never seen. It was opulence on its grandest stage. But it was still a prison just as much as the tower out in the middle of the woods.

Even there, his brother had more faith than he’d ever possessed and he was envious. If only he could feel one tiny piece of that.

The doors opened slowly to reveal a ballroom larger than any they’d ever seen.

A trumpet blared, and the ringing sounded in Alex’s ears long after the trumpeter was out of breath. The string quartet let their music fade into silence and every ornately dressed person in the room turned to face them.

Alex’s eyes drifted over the pillars wrapped in gold, to the twinkling lights made to look like the stars in the night sky. The beauty of it all slammed into him. Who were these people?

Some of their faces held a hint of fear they did their best to cover up. Others looked indifferent. None seemed happy to be there.

“My boys!” La Dame’s voice covered the room in a thick wariness. She stood on a balcony leaning against a silver balustrade. Her gold dress shimmered with every movement. Straightening up, she regarded her gathered people with a false joy in her eyes. “Let us welcome Alexandre Durand, King of Gaule.” A smattering of claps made its way around the room. “And we are also graced by the presence of Tyson Basile.”

Alex started at the name. Tyson was as surprised as he was, judging by his raised eyebrows and clenched jaw. Who cared who his father was? He would always be Tyson Durand.

“Please, make my honored guests welcome.” La Dame stepped back, and the music began again.

As if compelled by her words, a line of people began welcoming them to the ball. When they finally broke away, Tyson leaned in. “There’s someone you should meet while we have a chance.”

He led him toward a table laden with food. The men and women sitting nearby stood immediately and bowed, issuing a quick welcome, but Tyson bypassed them to walk to the servant filling wine goblets.

The servant stopped and his eyes darted around to look for eavesdroppers.

“Alex,” Tyson began. “Meet Matteo. He’s… well, I guess he’s my cousin.”

Matteo stepped closer, the chains about his ankles rattling. His eyes narrowed. “So you’re the one killing my people?”

Tyson gave Matteo a hard look. “We don’t have time for that. She’s going to fetch us soon.” He didn’t need to say who he meant. “She won’t want us speaking to you.”

His eyes flicked toward the balcony, but she was no longer there.

Tyson turned to Alex. “I’ve been coming to these balls every night since I arrived. They never change.”

“Because La Dame doesn’t change,” Matteo cut in. “I’ve been with her my entire life and she has always been as she is now. Seemingly harmless and completely destructive in the same breath. Are you scared, King?”

Alex had barely even admitted it to himself, but he was.

Matteo took his silence as confirmation. “At least you aren’t as big a fool as I thought.” He studied him. “I don’t like you.”

“Matteo,” Tyson started.

“No.” Alex held up a hand. “It’s okay.”

Matteo sighed. “But in this place, we’re allies. What do you see when you look around the room?”

Alex did a quick scan of the crowded dance floor, anger bubbling to the surface. “They’re enjoying themselves.”

Matteo rubbed his face in exasperation. “I see people who tried to escape the tyranny of the Durands only to walk into another prison.” He picked up his pitcher to return to work and glanced at something over Alex’s shoulder. “They are no more free than you. But you’re the king of Gaule. When you look at us, all you see are enemies.”

“Matteo,” La Dame snapped from nearby. “Back to work or you will pay for it later.”

Matteo resumed his task and Alex turned to face La Dame.

“Are you enjoying my party?” she asked.

Alex didn’t respond, and she scowled.

“Obey your most gracious host. Say you are having a pleasant time.”

Alex tried to press his lips shut, but they parted on their own and his voice sounded foreign to his ears. “I’m having a pleasant time.”

She nodded, pleased, and gestured to one of the men standing close behind her. “Take the young prince to his seat.”

Tyson’s chains clanked loudly as he walked away, but not a single person in the sea that parted before him took notice.

Matteo was right. They were all under La Dame’s power.

She grinned at him with perfect, bright teeth. “My people are in need of a song. Come.”

As her magic pulled him along, pain tugged at him and he welcomed the familiar sting of the curse. It kept him tied to a time when he was free. It was a silly thought, because perhaps with the curse he’d never been free.

His life had never fully belonged to him.

And it was because of the woman walking in front of him cheerily as if evil was not a word she knew. She stopped at the edge of the stage.

“Stand on the stage,” she ordered.

He did.

“Sing.”

“What?” He wasn’t a singer. Drawing he could do. Shooting an arrow was easy. But lifting his voice in song? His fingers tapped against his leg as he fought to hold back the music threatening to spill forth from him.

“Sing,” she commanded again.

And he did. A folk song his mother used to sing for him flowed naturally.

He sang of power and magic. Of hope and love.

A calmness settled over him and his eyes found Esme sitting alone in the corner of the room working her magic over the crowd. Over him.

He closed his eyes and focused on the words allowing Etta’s face, her long golden hair, to eat away at the misery.

No one stopped to watch him, the unwilling entertainment. His heart beat frantically in his chest as he began another song and humiliation reddened his cheeks. Maybe that was her plan. Bring him low. Erode all of his self-respect. And it was working.

Many songs later, La Dame allowed Alex to stop.

Tyson joined him as they prepared to leave for their confinements once again. He leaned in. “I’ll get you out of here, brother.”

Alex met his gaze with confusion swirling in his own.

“Tonight, I’m going to escape.”

“Tyson…”

“Don’t try to stop me.” Tyson’s eyes hardened and he no longer looked like the teenage boy he was. “Etta has to be on her way. I’ll find her and we will come for you.”

“How do you know she’s coming?”

Tyson stared at him. “Do you even know who she is?”

“Persinette Basile.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He turned away to face the doors as they opened. “It doesn’t matter if she was born to be queen or if she was a pauper. She is Etta and always will be. There is no doubt in my mind she would risk everything for you. It doesn’t matter what you do to each other. She lies. You imprison. Etta is the noblest of all of us. She will come. It’s why you’re here. La Dame is counting on that too.”

A guard ripped Tyson away and shoved him through the door.

La Dame joined Alex, escorting him through the darkened woods to the tower. He didn’t sleep that night and when morning came, his freedom was no closer than it had been before.

14

Edmund froze beside Etta, his hand clamping like a vice around her arm as footsteps approached them across the courtyard.

She placed her hand over his for a moment before busying herself unhooking Verité from the wagon. After days of hard traveling, she wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep. Guilt gnawed at her for the thought. Alex and Tyson were still captives and she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Edmund,” Anders’ harsh voice cut through the night air.

“What are you doing here?” Edmund turned his back on his father to unhook the second horse. Two stable lads took the horses toward the stables, but Edmund still hadn’t turned back to face Anders.

“I am commander of his Majesty’s forces.” He scowled. “You do not demand answers from me.”

Edmund turned, but Etta put a hand on his chest to stop him. He stared at the father who disavowed him for the magic that ran through his veins. A magic he should have known about as it came from his mother.

“Captain,” Etta began. “There are more important things to discuss. We did not expect to see you until we reached the border tomorrow so it comes as a bit of a shock.”

Edmund glared at her as a woman walked into the courtyard, dressed in a servant’s smock.

“Edmund.” She smiled. “We did not expect you back.”

“Orenna.” His voice went from angry to charming in a matter of moments. “I will always come back to see you.”

One eyebrow arched. “Don’t flirt with me, sir. It isn’t nice when we both have duties to attend to.”

He laughed and Anders grunted beside him.

To Etta’s surprise, the girl faced her and dipped into a curtsy. “Persinette Basile, if we’d had word of your coming, there would have been more of a welcome than this.”

Etta pushed back her hood. “How do you know me?”

Orenna smiled as if it was the greatest jest. “These are the borderlands. Everyone knows you. Once the villagers hear of your arrival, they will rejoice.”

Fear snapped into her. “They must not.”

“I agree,” Anders said, much to her surprise. He cocked his head. “Their presence will stir up unrest and they would not be here if the matter was not urgent. Come, we will discuss it inside.”

Maiya had been silent until now and Orenna regarded her with a curious expression. “You can come with me. I’ll show you to the guest wing.”

Duchess Moreau’s estate was unlike anything Etta had ever seen before. It stood in stark contrast to the imposing palace.

Their steps clicked across sky blue tiled floors, past walls of limestone adorned with bright murals.

Anders led them through the halls to a circular room. As soon as Etta stepped through, she stopped, her eyes drifting to the glass ceiling that showed off the night sky. Starlight danced across the shadows, giving the space an ethereal glow.

Edmund nudged her shoulder. “When I first arrived here, I was in bad shape. Guilt and pity ate away at me. I’d come to this room every night and stare into the heavens. The stars healed me.”

Anders lit a torch on the wall and sat at the single table in the room. “Now, tell me why you have returned with the kingslayer’s daughter.”

Edmund glared. “I don’t trust you.”

“I am—”

“The king’s commander. Yeah, I know. But you are also a man who wants to destroy magic. Does your loyalty stretch past the bonds of hate?”

“My loyalty is to the king of Gaule. He sends me to the border and here I am. I arrived at the Duchess’ estate this morning. It’s a day’s ride from the garrison. We have captured some of the folk who’ve been terrorizing the countryside and I need instruction. The king is too far to receive a messenger in time so the Duchess holds authority over the matter.”

“He’s closer than you think,” Edmund grumbled.

Etta collapsed into a chair. “He’s in Bela.”

Ander’s head snapped up.

They told him everything from the kidnapping to the battle beginning in the streets of Gaule castle. He listened intently as he stood and began to pace. “We can’t leave the border unprotected. Not while La Dame is in Bela.”

“You can’t let the traitors take Gaule either.” Etta was losing her patience.

“I know that,” he snapped. “We must call in the Moreau forces, but I don’t have the authority to do that.”

Etta reached into a pouch at her waist and produced Duchess Moreau’s ring. “You do if the Duchess has ordered it.” She set the ring on the table and pushed it toward him.

He snatched it up to examine it. A long moment passed before he spoke. “I’ll get this to the duchess’ commander, giving him the power to call them in. Moreau’s people can man the Garrison. I can have my men ready to march in two days. Can they hold out that long in the palace?”

“We think so.” She paused. “Tomorrow we’ll cross the border and reach Alex two days after that.”

“I’m sending some of my men with you.”

“No.” Edmund crossed his arms.

“Boy, you can’t go after the king with only two women to help you.”

Etta tilted her chin up. “Do you wish to fight me to see if I’m worthy?”

Edmund hid a grin. “Go ahead, father.”

He grunted and made for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Bring our king home.”

“Make sure he still has a kingdom to come home to.”

* * *

Etta tossed and turned in her bed until finally giving up on sleep altogether. She dressed hastily and tucked a knife into the sheath on her leg. Closing her door quietly, she padded from the guest wing and backtracked to the room that was open to the world.

It was unoccupied when she arrived, save for the stars winking up above.

Ignoring the chairs, she lowered herself to the center of the floor and leaned back on her elbows. Peace enveloped her.

She imagined Alex looking at these same stars and pain snaked up around her arm and down into her heart. Maiya continued to heal her, but each time she did, the effects lasted for a shorter and shorter period.

The only knowledge that gave her comfort was as long as a heart beat within her chest, one did in his as well.

All of them had grown tense on their journey, rarely speaking. They had no comforting words for each other. Even Edmund was morose.

The door creaked open and Etta glanced back at it. Orenna stood there holding a candle.

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

“It’s okay.” Etta sat up. “Some company actually sounds nice.”

The girl smiled shyly and walked farther into the room, dropping down beside Etta. “I come here most evenings to talk to the stars.” A flush reddened her cheeks. “You probably think that’s crazy.”

“What do you say to them?”

She started as if she hadn’t been expecting the question. “Well, a lot of things I guess. Mostly I ask them to look after my family.”

Etta laid back. She wanted to talk of anything that would get her out of her own mind. “Are they in one of the border villages?”

“They were. After one of the attacks, they disappeared.”

Etta closed her eyes almost wishing she hadn’t asked. She wasn’t good with emotion and Orenna’s voice thickened.

“There are rumors,” she went on, clearing her throat. “So many of our people have gone missing. People say they are taken into Bela to serve La Dame.” She stopped for a moment. “That’s good, though. Right? It means they’re still alive.”

“I’m not sure anything about La Dame is good.”

Orenna considered her, but Etta kept her eyes trained on the sky.

“Our village protested your arrest,” she finally said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Many of us have magic. The duchess protects us from discovery, but after your identity was revealed and you were imprisoned, we decided we were done living in secret. We refused to send our shipments of food to the palace. At first, the guards arrested anyone who disobeyed orders. Then the attacks began, and they thought it was us, so they stayed away. They didn’t care if magic folk killed magic folk.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t us. La Dame sent her people to sow unrest. When the attackers began naming you as the reason for their actions, we were confused. You were our cause, and they twisted it. They turned you into a prop for their war. Made non-magic folk distrust you.” She turned to Etta and dipped her head. “I never distrusted you.”

Etta closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Orenna wasn’t the first to look at her as if she would save them all, but she didn’t know if she could be who they wanted her to be. She wasn’t a leader. She could barely trust herself, how were these people supposed to count on her?

“I’m not a queen.” It was the first time she’d said it out loud, and it was accompanied by a loud rush of air.

“You were born to be queen.” Orenna wouldn’t give up.

“You’re wrong.” She got to her feet and brushed her hands down her pants. “I was born to serve. Born to fight. I never had any choice.”

“You do now.”

Etta shook her head. She’d never have a choice as long as the curse tied her to Alex. She watched the girl who now appeared younger than before. Her parents had been taken from her and she still had hope brightening her eyes.

She was stronger than she knew. When Etta’s father died, she lost her brightness. Her youth. She left the room without another word as her last visit with her father played in her mind. Would he be proud of her now? Her charge was in the hands of the enemy. She’d let that happen because she’d fallen in love. It made her weak. It made her drop her guard.

Viktor Basile would be ashamed.

She’d promised him she’d break the curse. He hadn’t believed in her, but her promise stood firm. How could she have grown so complacent?

Was she meant to be queen? Queen of what? A people who were scattered among the kingdoms. A land that had been abandoned before being taken by La Dame. Was she queen of ruins and long-forsaken people?

Orenna was wrong. Persinette was queen of no one.

“Father,” she whispered. “I’m going to prove you wrong. I may never be queen, but I will be free.” If the curse was no more, what would become of her and Alex? He was the king. No path forward existed for them together, but without the curse, they could both embark on their paths alone.

The descendants of Bela believed in her. If La Dame was taking them, she would stop her. How, she didn’t know. The legends of the Basiles were wrong. As the first and only of her generation, her magic should be stronger.

But it wasn’t.

As she reached her room, a spasm shocked her as it dug into her shoulder. Gritting her teeth to keep from calling out, she stumbled into the hall to pound her fists on Maiya’s door.

The tremor intensified, burning down her arm.

Maiya appeared, sleep ruffled and confused.

Before she could speak, Etta fell through the door and crashed onto the floor.

* * *

Sweat poured down Alex’s face as he cried out once again. La Dame jerked her hand and her magic ripped into his skin like a thousand white-hot pokers.

He’d been forced to attend another ball, but when it was finished, he hadn’t been sent back to the tower. He was in a sizable room with high wooden ceilings that trapped his echoing screams.

Biting down on his lip, he tasted blood.

“Is this because of Tyson?” His voice came out with a ragged moan.

La Dame gave a crooked smile and leaned forward. “He is of no consequence.” Her power shot forward once again and he screamed.

Tyson, true to his word, had escaped. Alex waited for news of his capture to come and it never had. His brother was truly away from this place. It was an insufficient comfort at the moment.

“Although,” she continued. “I am looking forward to his return with my favorite guest of all.”

She was distracted for a moment and Alex let himself breathe.

“You let him go?” He leaned his head back against the chair, his chest heaving. “Why?”

She grinned. “Do you really think you’re the one I’m after?”

“Etta.” Her name on his lips was like a prayer.

Her smiled didn’t waver as she nodded. “You’re not as stupid as you look, young king.” She ran her fingertips down his cheek. “Such a beautiful boy.” Straightening up, she hardened her features. “My men were ordered not to pursue Tyson and his cousin. Matteo was always such an insolent boy. Nothing like his father.”

She waved a hand, and the door clicked open. A man walked through, still dressed in his ball attire. The collar of his jacket was unbuttoned, but that was the only liberty he’d taken with his clothing. Alex recognized him immediately. He’d just met him that night. Matteo’s father. The brother of Viktor Basile.

He had the Basile look about him. High cheekbones and perceptive eyes. But there was a strength Viktor had always exuded that this man lacked.

He walked forward and kneeled. “My queen. I am sorry my son has caused you so much grief.”

La Dame ran a hand over the top of his head. “Matteo has a greater purpose now.” Her smile turned down. “But you have outlived your usefulness to me.”

His eyes widened a moment before La Dame’s magic slammed into him. The impact sent a wave through the room and Alex flew back against the wall.

The man’s shock froze on his face as he collapsed backward, a black hole in the middle of his chest.

La Dame had never been able to use her power to control what Matteo and Warren did as Basiles, but that had never meant her other powers were useless against them.

Alex tried to push himself from the ground, but his arms failed him and his face hit the cold stone floor. An eternity passed before La Dame’s footsteps moved closer, each slap against the ground reverberating through his skull.

He lifted his eyes up over her swishing skirt and the dark lace of her bodice to where her inky hair framed the black pits of her eyes.

“You killed him,” he said. “He was loyal to you and you still killed him.”

“He was a Basile,” she screamed. “They’re loyal to none but themselves.”

“Do you have no soul?”

“I did. Many years ago. And they took her from me.” She marched across the room, throwing the door open without touching it.

Once she was gone, Alex turned over onto his back, each movement an agony. Even as his lungs begged for breath, his chest screamed to lay still. But the worst of it was still his heart, tied by the curse, and beating painfully against his ribs.

He closed his eyes and forced air in through his lips and then out again.

La Dame’s final words wouldn’t leave him. She’d lost someone and blamed the Basiles. Was that the reason for the curse? Was it more than a king stealing a healing plant generations ago? King Phillip of Bela took his men over the wall of Dracon not to invade, but to save his queen with a rampion weed. And his descendants paid the price for his folly. It might have taken many years for Bela to be destroyed, but that day was the beginning of the end.

Two guards stomped into the room, the rings of their mail jingling together. Alex barely noticed as he was hauled to his feet. They carried him from the room and into the courtyard where La Dame was waiting with a wagon.

She’d regained her composure, but something was still off.

They dumped him into the wagon and it began to bump along the path through the forest to his tower prison.

As he gazed at the stars above, he wondered if Etta could see them too. Where was she? Wherever she was, she’d have felt every blow he’d taken and he couldn’t protect her from any of it.

Delirium took hold and a laugh burst from his lips at the thought of anyone needing to protect Etta. She’d kill him for the thought.

The warmth began in his lower abdomen where the worst of his injuries were and spread from there. He knew the feeling well and sent up a silent thanks to Etta. She must have been with a healer.

The agony abated as comfort enveloped him. He lifted his head for a better look at the stars, counting them until they reached the base of the tower. A guard lifted him from the wagon and La Dame made the stairs appear out of the stone. He let his head loll against the guard’s shoulder so as not to let his healed state be revealed.

After the guard dumped him into bed, La Dame left without a word. As soon as she was gone, he scrambled toward the window and sat straddling the sill, bathed in moonlight. Leaning his head back against the stone, he let the silver glow wash over his face.

“I wish you could hear me, Etta. You shouldn’t come for me. I’m not worth it. As long as she doesn’t kill me, you’ll be able to live your life. The only thing that exists here for you is death.” A tear slid down his cheek. “Only death.”

15

The minute they crossed into Bela, the band around Etta’s heart began to loosen. She hunched forward in her saddle in relief.

“Etta, are you okay?” Maiya asked, riding up beside her.

“We’re getting close. I can feel it.”

Edmund appeared on her other side. “We’re about two day’s ride to the palace.”

“Let’s hope La Dame is really there.” Maiya kicked her horse into a gallop and the others followed.

They passed into a sweeping ravine with the greenest forests Etta had ever seen. Bela had lain dormant for so long without people ravaging the land and it thrived as a result. Tall trees stretched as far as they could see in every direction. The paths cut into the forests were long overgrown and hidden.

They slowed to a walk and Etta ducked her head to avoid a branch. She let her magic flow from her fingers to clear the path before them. The trees shrank back, their roots retreating from her power. Vines twisted and slithered like snakes to move from their way.

For a moment, she forgot about the mission or the kidnapped king as she reveled in the feel of the woods. A bird swooped in overhead, its wings stretched out as it glided toward a thickset tree to perch along a high branch.

That’s when it hit her. She was home.

Etta didn’t know Bela, but in her heart, it was hers. She patted Verité’s neck and leaned forward. “The Basiles have returned.”

She didn’t want to rule. That power frightened her. But she was born to fight and she would fight for Bela until her last breath.

Maiya approached Etta when she slid from Verité’s back to begin making camp when the sun began to dip below the horizon. “How’s the pain?”

“It won’t kill me.” Etta set to work removing Verité’s saddle.

“Do you want me to…” She waved her hand.

“No.” Etta put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I think I need to feel it right now.” She clenched her teeth and hefted the saddle, carrying it toward the base of a tree and setting it down. Verité’s blanket was next. He’d ridden hard all day. He deserved to be taken care of first, no matter how deep her weariness went.

He bumped his nose on her shoulder and then walked away to munch on the grass that was plentiful here. Etta was glad she didn’t have to use her magic to procure food for the horses because it had been all but depleted during the day.

They tied up the other two horses, but Verité was allowed to roam. He would stick close. He always did.

Satisfied they were okay, Etta, Edmund, and Maiya silently made camp.

Edmund scratched his chin. “I don’t think we should make a fire tonight.”

Etta’s shoulders drooped. The night was already growing colder and the warmth would do them some good. But Edmund was right. “Yeah, I know.”

“You think La Dame’s people would see the smoke when we’re days from her?” Maiya asked.

“She probably has patrols searching the countryside.” Edmund spread his blanket on the ground and sat down.

“Are we trying for surprise?”

Etta shook her head. “She knows we’re coming.” She caught a piece of dried meat Edmund threw toward her and bit down. Venison. She sighed, remembering her own forest in Gaule before life became such a mess. Maybe her life was born a mess.

She leaned back against the rough bark of a wide oak.

Maiya’s soft snores began in no time. Edmund glanced at her before meeting Etta’s eyes. They both laughed.

“When I first came across Maiya and the group she traveled with, she knew me instantly.” He smiled at the memory. “I remembered her from the attack on the village when she helped us.” He trailed off for a moment. “She’s fiercely loyal to you. When I told her of my mission, she didn’t hesitate to join me. Her words were ‘I’ll get Etta to La Dame if it’s the last thing I do.’”

“She’s young.” Etta studied the girl’s handsome dark-skinned face. “She thinks I can win.”

“And you don’t.” Edmund knew her too well.

Etta was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “I have been training my whole life. My father prepared me to have a place at the king’s side. I can kill a man many different ways.” She looked sideways at Edmund but he hadn’t flinched. He too was a warrior. “I could have spent my entire life protecting the king and no one could do it better than me.”

He raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“My father didn’t prepare me for La Dame. He trained me to do everything in a fight except use my magic. My magic was to be hidden at all times. I’m trying really hard not to be angry at him for that. He should have seen this, should have known the possibility. Instead, he believed I’d just live out the curse as so many Basiles before me have. I’m so utterly unprepared and I don’t know if I can do this.”

Edmund considered her, staring into the darkness that separated them. “You can,” he said simply.

“How do you have so much faith in me?”

“You’re meant for this. I knew you’d be great the moment I saw you in the tournament. You won’t fail because you refuse to fail.”

“So, I’m just stubborn?”

His lip quirked up. “Stubborn doesn’t begin to describe you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that and Etta drifted off to sleep.

She woke with a start as stinging metal pressed against her neck. It took her a moment to come to full awareness and her eyes snapped to the broad-shouldered man hovering over her.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a force slammed into her. Someone was using magic.

The man near her didn’t smile and in his eyes, she sensed… regret?

“They’re soldiers of Gaule,” a woman yelled. “We need to do away with them.” Etta twisted hard, catching a glimpse of a petite woman holding up Edmund’s sword. On the hilt, was the insignia of the royal guard.

The man removed the knife from her throat as another shock of power slammed into her. “Who are you?” she ground out, panting from the effort.

Another man stepped into view. “People who’ve been beaten down by Gaule one too many times.”

Etta reached out her hand as her eyes shifted to take note of Maiya lying unconscious nearby and Edmund being shoved roughly against a tree. He met her eyes before flicking them to the tree at her back.

Should she tell them who she was? With her shortened hair, she wasn’t easily recognizable. Her magic pulsed underneath her skin, begging to be set free.

She let it loose. A branch shot out from a near tree, knocking one of the men over the head. Etta rolled and lurched to her feet as she pulled the grasses from the ground, expanding them and twisting them up around the woman’s legs. She slashed Edmund’s sword at the grass bands binding her feet.

Etta lunged for her own sword and spun, catching an attacker in the belly. Edmund knocked his man away and twisted him into a headlock. A sickening crack rang through the air and the man slumped to the ground, his neck broken. Two women were left. One raised her hand to use her magic, but Edmund was quick. Etta pulled her knife free and tossed it to him. The first woman dropped as the blade sank into her chest.

The last woman backed away. Etta and Edmund both advanced.

“Please,” she whimpered. “I… I didn’t want to kill you. That was them.” She pointed to her dead companions.

Etta placed a hand on Edmund’s arm and he handed her back the blade. After cleaning it on the grass, she sheathed it and regarded the woman with hard eyes. “Why did you attack us?”

“You’re soldiers of Gaule. W-we just escaped from there and won’t go back.”

Etta’s heart sank as she turned to Edmund. “They were just scared.” Dropping her sword, she turned. “And we killed them.”

Edmund was still focused on the woman. “Where were you headed?”

Her face paled, and she diverted her eyes.

“Where?” Etta growled.

“We heard a rumor La Dame was gathering forces to march against Gaule.”

A roar ripped from Etta’s mouth as she twisted around.

“Why would Belaens fight for her?” Edmund asked.

“Because, Edmund,” Etta spat. “This is what happens when you terrorize a people for as long as Gaule has. Eventually, they fight back with whatever means they have.” She put her hands on her head and regarded the gray sky. “The only real choice they have is which enemy to serve.”

She flicked her hand to the woman who was still struggling against the grass holding her in place. Her bonds loosened, sinking back into the ground. Waving to the two women, she turned away. “Go.”

They didn’t have to be told twice. Their backs retreated as they ran through the thick forest.

Etta dropped down beside Maiya and felt for a pulse. It throbbed strongly in her neck. She shook the girl’s shoulder and Maiya’s eyes opened slowly.

“Is it morning already?” Maiya asked.

Etta sat back on her heels. “You were asleep? How could you sleep through that?”

“Sleep through what?”

Before she got a chance to respond, Edmund pulled her to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell them who you were?”

“Oh sure, let me just inform them that I am the queen I don’t even want to be. I’m sure they’d believe that after the pains we took to change my appearance. I’ll tell them that I’m on a mission to save the man they consider to be a greater enemy than even La Dame herself. I’m sure their anger would abate then.”

Edmund shook his head and went about checking the bodies for anything they could use. He didn’t understand and he never would. The Belaen people were not a singular force. They didn’t have a crown uniting them. There was no national pride because most of them were setting foot in Bela for the first time. All they had was anger. Anger and survival.

There was little to be taken from the poor travelers and they were on their way before they’d even eaten breakfast as none of them wanted to stare into the vacant eyes any longer.

Etta killed them without a second thought. Each kill was easier than the one before and that affected her more than the act itself. Was is possible to become immune to guilt? Had her hair really had the power to keep her soul intact? Probably not. That was a silly fantasy. Cutting it hadn’t changed who she was.

She’d once told Alex that killing broke apart the soul. What happened when the pieces had been broken so many times it was like they didn’t exist at all?

That was when you were no longer a warrior. Warriors had honor. They had a code. When the killing became dishonorable, you were just a murderer.

As if it agreed with her, the sky quaked on their third day in Bela. Verité shook with the vibrations of the thunder as rain pelted down. Etta pulled up her hood and sidled up next to Edmund. “I can feel him. The closer we get, the more I sense Alex.”

Edmund gave her a grateful smile. After so long on the road with little hope, it was what he needed to hear.

Maiya grew more withdrawn the closer they got, but Etta let her friend have her peace.

They crested a hill that led down into a wide-open glen dotted with white wildflowers. Even with the angry sky, it was dazzling.

Her eyes scanned the distance, catching on something toward a rocky hillside to the west. “What’s that?” She pointed to the swirling mass of water shooting into the sky.

“It looks like the water is…” Edmund shielded his eyes from the rain for a better look. “Going up?”

A thought began in the back of her mind. Did he have that kind of power? She’d only seen the prince perform little tricks.

“Could he?” She didn’t need to say his name.

Edmund’s face lit up. “Only one way to find out.” He kicked his horse into a gallop across the soft ground.

Etta and Maiya raced after him. The cyclone of water continued to rise as they neared the boulders. A narrow path, barely wide enough for a horse, led them through the rocks until they saw him.

Tyson stood in the center of the water as it spun around him and flew toward the sky. His focus was absolute.

Another young man stood at the mouth of a cave yelling at Tyson.

“Ty, you’re going to burn out your magic if you keep this up.” He stomped toward him, the rain soaking him in seconds. “Cousin.” The water cyclone was strong, but the young man managed to reach through and grip Tyson’s shoulder. He yanked him back, and the cyclone dissipated.

Etta jumped from her saddle as Tyson glanced up. His eyes widened when he saw her. He stumbled back and his legs folded under him. The other man caught him before he crashed into the ground. He carried him into the cave, laid him down gently, and shook his head.

“I told you not to do it.”

“Tyson,” Etta breathed, falling to her knees.

The man noticed her for the first time. His eyes scanned their anxious faces.

“You bloody bastard.” The man nudged Tyson with his foot. “You win, okay?”

He shook his head and turned. “You must be Etta.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “I can’t believe it worked. He said if he continued to do that day after day, you’d find us. I wanted to go searching for you, but Bela is a big place. It’s probably best we didn’t. Not like I think we can save that brother of his. I told him you shouldn’t come because, honestly, the king of Gaule isn’t worth your life.”

Edmund growled.

The man went on. “And that makes you Edmund. Alexandre Durand isn’t worth your life either.”

Etta was losing patience. She charged the man and pushed him up against the wall of the cave. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re free to be on your way. We are going after Alex.”

“You won’t win.”

Edmund gripped Etta’s shoulder and pulled her out of the way before connecting his fist to the man’s jaw. His lip cracked and his tongue darted out to find the blood. Edmund kept him pressed up against the hard stone.

The man narrowed his eyes. “Your loyalty makes you blind. Tyson, I understand. It’s his brother. The girl is blinded by love. But you…”

Edmund pulled him forward and slammed him back.

“That girl,” he growled. “Is Persinette Basile, and you’d do well to show her some respect.”

The man stopped fighting, his eyes rounding as they studied her face. Edmund jerked him away from the wall and tossed him to the ground.

Blonde hair flopped into the man’s impossibly clear eyes as he rolled to look at her once more. His eyes roamed the contours of her face, her shortened hair, the leather armor she wore.

Tyson coughed and opened his eyes. Maiya helped him sit up slowly and take in the surrounding cave. Edmund still stood in a defensive stance. Etta scowled. The man panted on the ground.

“What’s going on?” Tyson asked. “Why is Matteo bleeding?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Etta, what did you do?”

“Why do you immediately assume it was me?” She crossed her arms.

“Punch first, questions later should be your nickname.”

“That’s not true,” she huffed.

Edmund’s shoulders shook with laughter. “If it had been Etta, there’d be a sword protruding from his chest.”

“That would be a shame.” Tyson’s eyes darted around the room nervously. “Because he’s our cousin.”

* * *

Our cousin. Our cousin.

Etta didn’t understand, but some missing part of her clicked into place as the knowledge permeated every cell. Our cousin.

Forget the blonde still sitting on the floor looking every bit like a Basile. That was something she’d deal with when her mind quit running through scenarios, looking for the things she’d missed.

“Our cousin,” she breathed, giving the tiniest shake of her head. My brother. That was the more pressing revelation.

Her mother’s face appeared, smiling kindly. Had she known? Because as soon as Tyson even hinted, Etta knew it was true. It made too much sense. Catrine’s sadness. The secrets. The lies. The vehemence with which the king ran her father from the palace.

Should she have seen it? Even as a child, maybe she missed things. Had her father been in love with the queen?

The anger that’d begun to build in the pit of her stomach now threatened to boil over. Not only had her father failed in her preparations, he’d betrayed her mother. For what? Had he even loved her?

She pulled her rage back from the edge bit by bit, remembering her father’s tears. Once they’d escaped the palace after her mother’s death, he’d broken down. It was the one time she’d ever seen him cry, but it had been real. She knew it had.

“Etta.” Edmund’s voice was cautious as he reached out to grip her arm.

Only then did she realize she was shaking.

She brought her hand up to her shoulder to wrap it in the end of her braid. A nervous tick. But like everything else in her life, her hair was no longer there. She turned on her heel and ran back out into the rain. Leaning against a worn boulder, she hunched forward trying to catch her breath.

Did she know her father at all?

“Etta,” Tyson called, running after her.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Ty.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m okay. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Etta. You can’t order me to go back in. Not after everything I’ve gone through. And what gives you and Edmund the right to be rough with Matteo? He helped me when you weren’t there.”

“I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around herself as the chill clung to her sopping clothes. “I should have been there.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sighed in exasperation and moved closer. In an instant, the rain stopped slapping her in the face.

She looked up to see it coming directly for them, but then it bent out, giving them a small, dry circle. Her mouth dropped open.

“Tyson, since when do you have this much power?”

He waved the words away. “Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about this.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “The first time I met you, I felt this connection.”

He snorted. “No, you didn’t. When I met you at the tournament, the only thing on your mind was glaring at Alex.”

Her lips curved up into the barest of smiles. “After that. At the palace.”

He nodded. “You’re my sister.”

“And you’re my brother.”

A disgusted look crossed her face. “That means I’ve been sleeping with my brother’s brother.”

He held up a hand. “First of all, ew. Don’t ever say that again. And second of all, Alex said the exact same thing. Weird.”

“You’ve seen him?” She grabbed the young prince by the shoulders.

He nodded. “If you come back in the cave, we can all talk and you can meet our cousin officially.”

He turned to head back in but she turned him back around and pulled him into a hug. In his surprise, he released his magic, and the rain pelted them mercilessly.

He hugged her back just as hard. “Do you think we can get him back?”

“I do, Etta.” He paused, resting his chin on her shoulder. “But it isn’t going to come without a cost.”

She leaned back. “Then it’s a good thing the only life I’ve ever known is sacrifice.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, not quite a grimace, and he walked back into the cave.

Maiya was healing Matteo’s split lip and Edmund glared at them from across the cave where he sat spinning a knife on its blade.

Etta pushed back her hood and removed her dripping cloak. A fire struggled to stay lit in the corner near Edmund and she dropped down as close as she could without being burnt.

Her clothes began to dry so suddenly she startled. The water was pushed down her shirt, leaving it looking as though it hadn’t rained at all. Her hair lightened as it too was drained. She touched the short golden tresses and met Tyson’s eye. He shrugged, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips.

“What the hell?” Edmund jumped to his feet, looking around. “Dammit, Tyson, I’m never going to get used to that.” He breathed out heavily.

Tyson’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Because your whole wind thing is the epitome of normal.”

“You two are messed up,” Matteo groaned. “We’re about to go against everything that is evil and you’re making jokes.”

“What would you know about it?” Etta snapped. “You may be a Basile, but only one of us carries the curse of our family.”

“Etta,” Tyson warned.

She brushed him off. “Where have you been while I’ve been living out our family’s curse? Hiding? Living your life?”

“Etta, stop.” Tyson’s voice was strained.

“No.” Matteo got to his feet and walked over to look down on her. “She doesn’t have to stop. Go on. Tell me what it’s been like for you in Gaule serving a king you love so much you’re risking everything. Tell me how much better it was for me as a puppet of La Dame’s since the day I was born. With a father who is more beholden to her than his own people. You think you’ve lived your life in chains, but have you felt the manacles cut into your wrists? Have you been beaten and starved? Has anyone ever owned you so completely you had no identity?”

Etta’s eyes softened as her head bobbed up and down. “I have.” She flashed back to her time in the dungeons. “But only for a short time and it was my choice. We’ve both been prisoners, cousin. I’ve come to set us free.”

“By getting us killed?” He sighed. “Death isn’t freedom, Etta. It is only death.” He went back to his spot beside Maiya and sat against the wall. “Let me tell you a story of a king. When the Basile line was cursed, Phillip was not without power. His magic fought against La Dame’s creating unintended consequences for her curse.”

Each word he spoke had a bite like he was chastising a child, but Etta let him continue because she knew so little about her family’s history.

“La Dame cannot just take you. That’s why she has taken the Gaulean king. It’s why she didn’t just kill every member of the Basile line when they took up the curse.”

“What are you saying?”

“The cursed must come to La Dame of their own free will.” His eyes pinned her to her spot. “Alexandre Durand is the bait and you’re giving her everything she wants.”

Tyson scooted next to her and put his arm around her still form.

She couldn’t abandon Alex to that fate. He was imprisoned because of her.

“I don’t think you’re going to get us killed,” Tyson whispered.

“What would he have me do?” she asked. “Go into hiding?”

“He doesn’t think we should be saving Alex at all because he’s a Durand and the purge still weighs heavy on the minds of all magic folk.”

“I know. It weighs heavy on me as well. If this was your …” She stopped herself.

“My father?” Tyson asked. “That’s what you were going to say, right? I guess he still is my father. I did grow up in his household.” A grim smile flash across his face. “I never did want to be a prince.”

She laughed softly. “Ty, technically you’re still a prince. Just of Bela, not Gaule.”

His face fell. “Right.”

She hesitated for a moment, wondering how much she should tell Tyson of what was happening in Gaule. He had a right to know.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” She leaned her head back against the wall and began to recount the siege and events leading up to it. They had no way of getting information. Had the palace fallen to the traitorous nobles?

Tyson was silent as she talked, but his eyes widened as the story went on.

When Etta finished, he swallowed hard. “Amalie. My mother. Are they okay?”

“When we left, they were as good as could be expected.”

He nodded slowly. “My mother will win this.” His statement held such a faith that Etta had never felt about anything and she envied him. Tyson found it easy to believe in the people he loved.

She was trained to question everything. To trust nothing. It wasn’t the way anyone should live.

Tyson was quiet for so long, she thought he’d fallen asleep. His voice made her jump when he spoke again. “Can you tell me about him? Our father. I remember little from when you lived in the palace as a kid.”

Tyson’s eyes latched onto hers and she could have sworn it was her father staring back at her. But it probably wasn’t real. People see what they wanted to see and in that moment, she imagined a piece of her father was sitting beside her. He wasn’t perfect, but he’d crafted the warrior she’d become.

Tyson didn’t even have that.

She took his hand and leaned into him to rest her head on his shoulder. Her father wasn’t what mattered at the moment. Alex was counting on them.

“Let’s get our Alex back first and then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Everything,” he whispered. “I’ll want to know everything.”

* * *

Gray light illuminated the gloomy clouds in the darkening sky as Alex swung his leg over the sill of the tower’s lone window. He sat, gazing out over the forest surrounding his secluded tower. Parts of the castle could be seen above the treetops, glittering like a diamond in the distance.

The white stone palace perched precariously at the edge of a high cliff. Even in the growing darkness, he could see the sheer drop down to the sea.

He’d never seen the sea. It both terrified and excited him to be this close.

Back when Bela was a thriving kingdom, they’d welcomed ships from across the sea, bringing wares that were then transported to the markets of Gaule. Without the ports of Bela or Dracon, Gaule had become isolated from the world many years before the wards were in place, cutting them off further.

What would it be like for people to return to Bela? For trade to begin anew?

But nothing was that simple. For while Bela thrived, conflict brewed. The history books were filled with wars. Bela was an enemy of both Gaule and Dracon.

People had begun to return. He didn’t know how or why, but each ball was more extensive than the one before and he couldn’t figure out where those people were living. There wasn’t supposed to be anything for them in Bela.

After the beating he took many nights ago, he hadn’t heard another word about Tyson. He listened at every opportunity, but it was like his escape had never happened at all.

He’d been given a sketchpad and charcoal and he didn’t understand that bit of kindness. Even as his hands itched to draw, he refused. It was the one rebellion he had.

The stone below him began to shake, and he scrambled from his perch before peering down at La Dame. The steps formed, but she didn’t come up. Instead, she gestured to her dark-haired companion. His kidnapper.

Esme ascended the narrow steps carefully before climbing through the window. The steps molded back into the wall.

Alex crossed his arms over his chest, waiting as she dusted off her skirt. Finally, she looked at him.

“I’m here to talk.”

His aggravation rose. “I’m not telling you anything.”

His anger began to unravel. His mind tried to hold onto it, but it was no use. A calmness settled in his chest.

“That’s better,” Esme said with a smile.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s how you got me out of the palace.”

She nodded. “I showed you only part of what I could do when I saved you from your attacker. You know, some would say you’re now in my debt.”

Irritation was a fleeting feeling, replaced immediately by acceptance. “You were kind to me.”

She smiled at his words but they sounded wrong to his ears. Why had he said them?

“I see that you have healed fully from your ordeal with La Dame.” Her smiled didn’t reach her eyes. “Your Basile witch’s doing?”

He slammed his lips shut to prevent her magic from making him spill his secrets.

“You don’t need to say it, Alexandre.” Her voice softened as she moved toward him and dipped her head to whisper in his ear. “I already know.”

Her fingers trailed the length of his arm while the other hand landed on his thigh. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.

He nodded, enjoying the feel of her touch despite something niggling at the back of his mind.

“Healing power is not found in the blood of a descendant of Bela. Only a select few Draconians have that ability.”

Alarm flashed through his mind even as Esme pushed him back and crawled onto the bed next to him.

She continued. “My daughter has such an ability, but I have not seen her for many years. La Dame sent my husband on a mission fifteen years ago and he took her with him.”

She pressed up against him as her words bounced around in his skull, unable to find a place to land.

Etta.

Etta.

Etta.

He held onto the word as if his life depended on it.

Esme’s hand crept up his thigh. “You’ll tell me all your secrets.”

He shook his head violently, weakening the calming effect of her magic. “No,” he groaned.

“No.” It was more forceful that time.

Her magic shifted. Instead of gliding over him to coax his words, it pulled at him, demanding answers.

He pushed her away so suddenly she fell from the bed with a squeak. Getting to her feet, she growled and stomped her foot.

She cast her magic out again, but he pictured Etta and it failed to take root.

“How are you doing that?” she asked, more curious than angry.

“No matter what kind of power you have, I will never betray Etta or Tyson.”

Something flashed in her eyes and he would have sworn it was respect, but then it was gone.

“Your loyalty will be your end.”

He sat up and rested his arms on his legs. “It isn’t loyalty. It’s love.”

She studied him for a moment and shook her head sadly. “It was love that destroyed Bela.”

“No, it was an evil woman with a vendetta and a king who wanted the weed to cure his queen.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You think Rapunzel was a weed?”

“That’s what the legends tell us.”

She shifted her eyes to the window where La Dame was no doubt waiting down below. “Because the legends were told by the Belaens. The truth would change everything you think you know.”

“What’s the truth?”

Her eyes flicked to his once more. “I’ve said too much. Just know La Dame will destroy you. She will take the ones you love. She will force you to follow her. No matter how much you fight, in the end, she wins.”

When Esme looked to him once more, it was not the hard eyes of the woman who’d kidnapped him, nor the calculating tool of La Dame. There was fear swirling in her depths. She had the power to control the emotions around her, but not her own. She could force others to do her bidding, but something was still not right.

“What have you lost?” His voice was soft. “Is it your daughter?”

She shifted her eyes away. “You cannot take what someone does not have. My family never belonged to me. Their hearts, their very souls were always hers. You aren’t the only one with no control over how your story goes.”

“You could have control. Persinette Basile is coming for me. Soon, everyone will have to choose a side. Soon, your choice will be freedom or death.”

Her hair swung as she shook her head. “Only the young can have such faith. The rest of us must live in reality and my reality is shaped by La Dame’s power.”

She leaned out the window as the steps formed once again.

Stepping out the window, Esme didn’t turn back.

Had she wanted him to be able to resist her magic? He focused on each word she’d said. Each secret she’d revealed.

One stuck out above all else.

Etta traveled with a traitor. Everything had been planned from the start. Her friendship with the healer. The healer’s betrayal that got Etta thrown in the dungeons. Her aid in freeing other magic folk so her father could bring them to La Dame.

Etta was coming for him, but it was a trap and there was nothing he could do to help her. He pounded his fist against the bedpost and threw the pillow across the room as hard as he could, never feeling more helpless than he did right then.

16

A hand covered Etta’s mouth and her eyes snapped open to find Matteo hovering over her. Instinct had her reaching for her knife. Matteo held a finger to his lips and released her, motioning her to follow him to the mouth of the cave. She rolled to her feet and silently padded past the still-sleeping forms of Edmund, Tyson, and Maiya.

“Where are we going?”

Matteo jerked his head around. “Quiet.”

Narrowing her eyes, she trailed him out into the early morning light. A chill hung in the air as they clambered over a boulder. Etta’s feet slammed into the dirt as she dropped from the rounded rock and prepared to climb the next. Matteo stopped at the top and crouched low as his eyes focused on the valley down below.

Was he going to kill her? She didn’t know her cousin. He could be in league with La Dame. She opened her mouth to speak and then she saw them.

Four soldiers urged their horses across the flowering fields, toward the pass where their cave sat.

“How much time do we have?” Etta whispered.

“Not much.”

“And yet you wasted some of it by bringing me out here?”

He slid down from the rock. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

As they sprinted back, she veered toward the horses while Matteo went to wake the rest of their friends. Verité reared up excitedly as she neared.

“We need to get on the move, boy.” She patted his neck as she began to saddle the others.

Tyson appeared to help her and they’d managed to saddle every horse except Verité when Edmund, Maiya, and Matteo came running. “They’re coming,” Edmund yelled.

His words were punctuated by the sounds of their pursuers entering the rocky outcropping. Etta flicked her eyes from Verité’s saddle on the ground to the round brown eyes boring into her. Shaking her head, she gripped the ragged mane and Edmund gave her a boost before getting into his own saddle.

They took off, wanting to put distance between them and the soldiers behind them. Squeezing her thighs together, Etta lifted her rear higher and bent forward.

Quickly prying one hand from Verité, she flung it back. Roots erupted from the ground behind them, splitting rock and dirt alike. It slowed their pursuers, but they kept coming. The path widened as they rode in the shadow of the great hills. Forested hillsides rose up around them, stretching all the way to the base of the mountains bordering Dracon.

“Come on, Verité.” The horse sped up and led the others onto a path that veered off the main road and wound up higher.

A creek ran down from the hill, blocking their way. Verité leaped easily, landing with a jarring impact on the other side. As soon as they all made it, Tyson pulled up on his steed and concentrated.

The water began to bubble and rise, spilling over edges of the creek. Etta pushed Verité up beside Tyson and closed her eyes, feeling every branch, every root, every bit of living earth in the ground. She jerked her hand and it shifted, cracking open the land, sucking the water back in.

The creek became a lake, too wide to jump, too long to go around. Their pursuers appeared on the other side, pulling their horses to abrupt stops.

Etta slumped back. She’d never attempted magic of that size. It’d drained every bit of energy from her bones.

Tyson let out a whoop beside her. “That was cool.”

Giving him a weak smile, she nudged Verité and continued moving along the path. As they reached the hill’s apex, the trees gave way to an open glen. Etta slid from Verité’s back and fell to her knees.

Maiya scrambled from her horse and dropped down next to Etta. “Are you okay?”

“How am I supposed to face La Dame if my magic drains me so completely?”

“Oh, Etta. No one expects your magic to be able to beat her.” Maiya’s eyes widened as the words left her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Etta collapsed onto her side. “It’s the truth and the truth should always be spoken.”

“But it’s not the truth.” Edmund shot daggers at Maiya.

She started to protest, but a crash sounded behind her as Tyson fell from his horse.

“Looks like you aren’t the only one who can’t handle their magic.” Matteo checked Tyson’s pulse. “He’ll be okay. You both lack stamina.”

“Stamina?” Edmund asked.

Matteo put his head in his hands and groaned. “Have any of you been trained in magic?”

Once again, the thought of her father leaving her so ill-prepared stabbed at Etta.

Matteo studied each of them in turn. “I’m the only one here without magic and the only one who knows anything about it. How’s that for irony?”

“Stop being a dick and tell us,” Edmund growled.

Matteo leveled him with a glare. “Magic is not an infinite source. Like physical prowess, it must be trained. The more you practice, the more you will be able to use it.”

Etta half-listened because something rose up among the dense trees below. She raised a hand to shield her eyes and look closer. A stone tower stood as tall as the trees surrounding it. Spikes lined the top of it and a single open window was cut into the face.

Her heart squeezed, the curse pulling tighter.

All talk ceased behind her. Maiya was on the ground pouring her healing power into Tyson. He woke slowly and Maiya moved to grip Etta’s hand. Strength flowed into her and for a moment, she forgot the mysterious tower.

Until Tyson got to his feet and followed her line of sight. His eyes lit up and she knew. Alex was near.

“We have to go to him.” She turned back to focus on the stone prison.

Tyson’s voice was cautious. “Etta, that tower doesn’t even have stairs. We can’t just show up and get him out.”

“Alex is there?” Edmund’s voice held every ounce of hope she now felt. “What are we waiting for?” He swung up onto his horse and took off.

Matteo grimaced. “I guess we’re doing this with a death wish instead of a plan?”

“No one is asking you to come.” Etta climbed onto Verité and went after Edmund. Alex was right there, so close, and she’d be damned if they were going to waste another moment.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the base of the tower. Still hidden in the trees, they trotted in a wide circle to scout the surrounding areas.

“You think La Dame is here?” Edmund asked.

Etta scanned the area around them. “We’d see some sign.”

“There aren’t any guards.”

“Edmund, there isn’t even a door, why would she need guards?”

Her heart pounded as she slid from Verité. Edmund stopped next to her and gripped her shoulder.

Every day had been leading to this moment.

Every shock of pain the curse sent through her held purpose.

It was all meant to bring her to Alex. He was more than her charge, more than the king she was cursed to protect.

He was everything.

And she’d found him.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. The pounding of hooves echoed among the stillness in her heart as Matteo, Tyson, and Maiya appeared. She didn’t wait for them.

The risk no longer mattered. It was in that moment she realized, she’d sacrifice everything for the man in the tower.

She reached the base and lifted her eyes.

Edmund nodded as he prepared to use his magic to push her voice into the tower and she spoke. “Alex. Are you up there?”

For a few torturous moments, all she heard was the thundering of her own heart.

17

Alex. Are you up there? Alex. Alex. Alex.

The sound of his own name ricocheted through his aching head as he lay in bed. All morning, he’d felt an exhaustion unlike anything he’d experienced before. It had faded away, but he still couldn’t bring himself to rise.

Etta had been hurt this morning. Hurt and then healed. He was sure of it. That was what caused his current state. She was out there and there was nothing he could do to protect her.

Etta. Etta?

His time of imprisonment was beginning to scatter his brain. No. He didn’t hear Etta’s voice. His mind was playing tricks, giving him what he wanted most.

Alex.

He covered his ears and shook his head violently. Was La Dame playing a cruel joke? She was nothing but cruel. But he would not give in. He would not give her the satisfaction of breaking him. She seemed to take pleasure in his love for Etta. It gave her power.

“No,” he grumbled, stumbling from the bed. He lurched toward the chamber pot and lifted it. If La Dame was on the ground taunting him, he’d get back at her. It was petty and childish, but it was all he could do. He carried the pot to the window and prepared to turn it on an unsuspecting sorcerer as she created the stairs she’d climb to torment him.

It slipped from his grasp when he looked to the ground, hitting the edge of the window on its way out. Urine flew through the air, but all he could do was stare at the two people scrambling back away from the falling waste.

Edmund grinned up at him once the pot landed with a thud. The other person had their hood up, but there was no mistaking the set of her shoulders or short movements of her gait. He sucked in a breath.

They were here.

“Etta.” His voice was too quiet the first time he spoke so he cleared his throat. “Etta.”

She snapped her head back to peer up at him, her hood slipping from short golden hair. His fierce protector looked even more dangerous than before.

She turned away from him to say something to Edmund and Tyson appeared at the tree line. Alex leaned against the side of the window. His brother was safe.

But he was here.

Panic clawed at him. They had to go. La Dame could return at any moment. Before he got another word out, Etta had placed her palms on the stone. He watched in amazement as vines slithered up the tower, crossing and wrapping around the structure. He touched one as it whipped past the window.

Glancing down at Etta, he shook his head. Edmund tried to hold her back, but she pushed him away and started to climb. Her sword was strapped across her back and gleamed in the sun as she ascended the vines she’d created, showing no fear.

The moment she reached him, he grabbed her arm and pulled her in through the window before crushing her to him. His pulse hammered in his ears as she pressed her face into his chest.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered into her hair.

She shook her head. “I had no choice.”

“Because of the curse.” He nodded in understanding.

She pushed away from him. “Because…” Her voice wavered, and she turned away to hide her face. When she faced him once again, her look broke him in two. “Because I haven’t fought for you. I’ve lied to you and hated you. I’ve protected you and loved you. But I didn’t fight. When you imprisoned me, I let you despise me. When you wanted to let me go, I said the reason I couldn’t was the curse.” She stepped forward and fisted his shirt. “I know you won’t agree, but I need to fight. For you. For me. For us. It’s probably going to kill me, but how could I live knowing I didn’t fight?”

When she lifted her face once more, he claimed her lips with his. Possessing. Demanding. Hello. Thank you. I’m scared.

I love you.

She deepened the kiss with a moan low in her throat and he wanted nothing more than for it to last forever.

His mind finally caught up. His Etta had come. As scared as he was for her, he loved her all the more for it.

“I’m going to tear it all down.” Her voice vibrated against his lips. “If I’m going down, I’ll take her with me.”

The tower shook and Alex broke away with a frantic look to the window. “She’s here.”

“Etta!” Edmund’s voice was cut off abruptly.

La Dame’s steps were slow, each slap of her shoes against the stairs, sending a jolt through them.

There was nowhere to hide. She knew Etta was there.

“I love you,” Alex breathed, tightening his grip on her.

A tear shone in the corner of her eye. “I never thought I’d love you.”

“Etta, there’s something you need to know. Maiya–”

He suddenly couldn’t speak as La Dame’s magic stole his words. He pulled Etta to his side as he tried once again to speak. To tell Etta she had a traitor in her midst. La Dame climbed through the window and righted herself. A bright smile stretched across her deceptively beautiful face.

“Persinette,” she said pleasantly.

Etta shook beside him as she straightened her spine.

“La Dame.” Her voice was cold, strong.

La Dame stepped forward. “It is a pleasure meeting someone I feel such a connection to.”

Etta cocked her head. “Is connection another term for curse?”

“Ah, but it isn’t a curse for you at all, is it, my dear?” She walked forward and patted Alex’s cheek. “He’s such a handsome boy. I can see why you’d forsake your family’s long enmity for his family.”

Alex flinched away from her.

La Dame lowered her hand and quirked her lip. “I’m in the mood to make a deal.”

“I’m listening.” Etta grit her teeth.

“A trade. You take your young king’s place and I will release him. Simple as that.”

“No,” Alex tried to cry.

Etta stepped away from him. “Done.”

Alex shot her a pleading look.

La Dame laughed. “I’m afraid you don’t know the Basiles, Alexandre. I wouldn’t try to tell her what to do.”

Etta advanced on La Dame. “You destroyed my family. What are you waiting for? Kill me. As long as Alex is released.”

“Your love for him is endearing, but I’m afraid today is not the day we make the trade. I throw balls for my townsfolk every night. You will be there two nights hence. Only then will you save your precious prince. Until then, we have no need of you.”

La Dame shot a blast of power toward Etta before Alex could shove her out of the way. Her arms flung out to the sides as she sailed backward through the window, a scream dead on her lips.

Alex ran to the window as her lifeless body crashed toward the ground. “Etta,” he called, his words finally breaking free as he collapsed against the sill.

Helplessness settled over him as he could do nothing but watch the woman he loved falling. The impact sent a shock through his system and he fell back, gasping for breath as if every bone in his body broke. Pain spread out from one localized spot in his abdomen. He didn’t hear his own scream as everything faded away.

* * *

Voices surrounded Etta, but she couldn’t make them out through the heavy hammer crashing inside of her skull. Each word spoken sent another sharp pain against her temple.

A groan worked its way up to escape her lips. “Stop,” she murmured.

They didn’t hear her.

“Stop talking so loudly.”

The voices ceased abruptly, and she opened her heavy eyelids. Dark curls swam before her as Maiya leaned over.

“Etta.” She placed her hands on Etta’s head and the pulse of her magic sent the pain on its way. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Darkness covered the room they were in and her friends stood out like shadows in the night.

“What happened?” She pushed herself up on her elbows.

“That bitch pushed you from the tower,” Edmund growled.

It all came back to her. The tower. Alex. Her eyes snapped to Edmund, but he shook his head. Alex was still a prisoner.

Leaning back, she breathed heavily. She’d failed him. For a moment, she’d gotten lost in his arms and she’d let her guard down. How was she supposed to save Alex now?

“I’ve been out all afternoon?” A candle burned nearby illuminating the bare wooden walls and dirt floor. A stack of crates stood in the corner. Where were they?

Tyson sat down beside her. “You’ve been unconscious for a night and a day, even after Maiya healed you.”

Alarm bells rang in her head. “We have one day until the ball.”

When they regarded her quizzically, she explained everything that transpired in the tower. Finding Alex. Their invitation.

Tyson shot Matteo a look and her cousin sighed. “She holds these balls every night. She enjoys the show of fidelity from the villagers and it solidifies her power in Bela.”

“Villagers?” Etta tried to climb to her feet, but Maiya put a hand on her arm. “There isn’t a village in Bela.”

“There is now.” Edmund glanced toward the door. “People have been disappearing from Gaule in droves and this is where they’ve ended up.”

“None of this makes any sense.” Etta shrugged Maiya away and climbed to her feet.

Matteo followed her. “The first thing you need to understand about La Dame is you may never have answers to your questions. Her reasons are never known. Her magic is infinite.”

Etta stopped when she stepped outside. A village sat before her, not unlike the one near the palace of Gaule. Darkness covered the street, but the cobblestones beneath her feet were plain. Wooden, flat-roofed buildings stretched out on each side of her, each one connected to the next. Wind blew her sticky hair from her forehead as her mind tried to grasp the truths before her. She’d thought it was all gone. Her kingdom. But here it was, come to life again.

A door opened nearby, spilling candlelight onto the street. Boisterous voices poured out until they were abruptly cut off by the closing door. A tavern. Those people sounded… happy? Did they know they were controlled by La Dame?

Edmund stepped up beside her and bumped her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“How is any of this here?”

“Tyson and I came through here soon after leaving Gaule and it was nothing but overgrown forests and the ruins of a castle.”

“You mean this is magic?” She sucked in a breath. None of this should be real. Her heart thundered in her ears. La Dame was more powerful than she’d imagined.

He draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as if reading her mind. “This doesn’t mean we can’t beat her.”

Etta dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I had him, Edmund. He was in my arms.”

“We still have a chance.”

She didn’t tell him how much she doubted his words. It wouldn’t do any good. Whether they had a chance or not, they weren’t going to quit.

“Where’s Verité?”

Edmund grinned. “You and that damn horse.”

“Tell me.”

“He’s fine. When La Dame showed up, she shot out a blast of magic that sent us flying toward the woods. With the exception of Maiya, we were all knocked unconscious. But the horses were out of her range of power, hidden back in the trees. They’re in the village stables.”

Something about his story didn’t sit right with her. She glanced behind her but the others were lost in discussion.

Leaning closer to Edmund, she dropped her voice. “If you were all knocked out, why wasn’t Maiya?”

“She said she was near the horses.”

Etta ran a hand through her hair, a nervous habit from having long hair most of her life. “She wasn’t. I saw her from the window. She was right behind you.”

Blonde brows drew up over clear blue eyes.

“How did you find the village?” she asked. “Was it Matteo?”

“No.” He frowned. “Matteo was as surprised as us. He said he knew the people coming to the balls had to live somewhere, but he hadn’t been allowed outside the palace until his escape.” He scratched the back of his neck and met her gaze. “Maiya chose our road. You were draped across my saddle and the only thing I could think of was how her healing couldn’t wake you. Matteo and Tyson had grown quiet. She rode at the front and none of us questioned her direction. When we came upon the village, she acted as if it were a shock to her as well.”

“We can’t—”

They were interrupted by the appearance of the girl in question.

She smiled shyly. “Are you two going to stand out here all night? You’ll freeze.”

Etta opened her mouth to speak, but she didn’t know what to say to the girl. Maiya, the first friend Etta had ever made, was a traitor. The burn of betrayal caught the words in her throat. What about Pierre? Her father’s closest friend. Had it all been orchestrated from the beginning?

Etta brushed past her into the room and took up residence in the far corner. Drawing her hood and pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on her arm and held back the angry tears. La Dame owned her. She’d owned her father. Everything was controlled by the woman who wanted nothing more than to destroy her family.

Maiya and Pierre proved she could reach them even in the warded Gaule. La Dame could enter any part of her life and now she sat with a traitor a few feet away. The wide, innocent eyes were a trick.

Edmund positioned himself near Maiya, watching her every move.

It was only when he spoke that Etta realized Matteo was next to her. “Did you know I’m a few weeks younger than you?”

Weeks? That meant… she scrubbed at her face. Too much information. Maiya’s betrayal and now Matteo. She’d come so close to avoiding the fate of the Basiles. If she’d been born only a few weeks later – after Matteo – the curse would have fallen to him instead of her.

When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I waited to take up the curse for my entire life. My father didn’t know about you. He didn’t even tell me about his brother. But La Dame knew. I’ve been in her household since I was a child, but you know why she didn’t tell me? Control. As long as I believed her curse would be my life, I was beholden to her.”

“I’m not beholden to her,” Etta snapped.

“As long as you need something from her, that’s exactly what you are. It’s why she’s doing this. We are not her enemies. To be such, would give us a power in her mind she refuses. No, we are merely her playthings. It’s why she kept me and my father instead of killing us. In her eyes, death is too easy.”

“Didn’t you tell me there is no freedom in death? How is it too easy?”

“That’s true. There is no freedom. But there is finality. An end. Maybe a little peace. Peace. As long as we’re alive, she can at least make sure we have no peace.”

“She can try.” Etta’s voice hardened. “But what she didn’t count on was the curse providing the peace we seek. I don’t need her to break it anymore. I could live my entire life connected to Alexandre Durand, and it would be a good one.”

“Don’t underestimate her. She will use your love against you.”

Etta’s eyes drifted to where Maiya had fallen asleep. “Maybe she already has.”

“You’ve found the traitor in your midst.” He nodded in understanding.

“You knew?” As if his words confirmed Maiya’s allegiance in her mind, the anger she’d felt returned in force.

“She’s a healer, of course I knew. The healing magic is a Draconian one.”

“I’m such a fool.” She buried her face in her hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I didn’t think it mattered. She wouldn’t try to kill you. La Dame wants you alive. It seems her job is to guide you to the palace. Make sure you get there. That’s where we want to go anyway, so what’s the harm?”

“We? I thought you were against us going.”

He tilted his head back against the wall, blonde hair falling into his eyes. He looked every bit the Basile. Every bit her family.

Family. It was a foreign concept to her. Matteo. Tyson. She didn’t know how to be family.

When Matteo answered her, his voice was barely above a whisper. “If I thought I could stop you, I would. But I will go where you go. I know I can be harsh, but I’ve never had anyone in my life I could care about.”

“What about your father?”

He shook his head. “No. You need to know… my father is a Basile, but he’s loyal to La Dame. He won’t be on our side.”

Etta hesitated before taking his hand in hers. Her cousin had lived his life in solitude similar to hers, both in their own kind of prison. He’d been alone. At least she’d had her father when he wasn’t off trailing the king across Gaule. Matteo gave her hand a grateful squeeze, and it tugged at her heart. Her connection to him had nothing to do with a curse, it was blood, pure and simple. Their blood bonded them and in Bela, blood was the most important thing of all. It held their power.

She thought over every interaction with Matteo, coming to one conclusion. “You don’t have any magic, do you?”

He hung his head in shame.

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” He took his hand from hers. “I waited my entire life for the legendary Basile power. The kind that hadn’t been seen in generations. The kind that the stories told could defeat La Dame. I thought maybe that was the reason I didn’t even have small-scale magic, because it would come. Then I found out about you and knew it never would.”

“But I don’t have it either.” She held out her hand, palm up. “All I can do is grow plants. And Ty… he hasn’t shown anything other than a water ability.”

“And so it passed another generation.” He shook his head. “And we’re no closer to taking her down for good.”

18

A cart rumbled by and Etta jumped back to avoid being hit, colliding with an older man behind her. She peered up into his drawn face.

“I’m sorry.”

He grumbled something unintelligible and went on his way.

A hand gripped her elbow. Edmund. He led her past the bustling marketplace where a young boy sold loaves of bread outside a bakery and the line at the dressmakers wrapped around the side of the building.

At the center of the village was an open space. When Etta rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. A stand had been erected in the center of the square and a man’s body was held upright by two pikes. Flies buzzed about his face. The villagers avoided coming near, but Etta couldn’t stop herself. She recognized his bloated face immediately. She’d probably never forget one of the men who’d abused her in Gaule’s dungeons.

“Lance.” Edmund covered his mouth.

Etta didn’t realize she was shaking until Edmund pulled her away from the horrid sight and into a narrow alleyway.

“He…” Etta put her hands on her hips and heaved in a breath. “I’d heard Alex sent him into Gaule.”

Edmund watched her carefully. “Am I missing something?”

She refused to bring the memories from the dungeons back to the surface so she swallowed past the bile threatening to rise and shook her head to explore the alley.

It turned into a narrow passageway that led to the docks where fishing boats unloaded the day’s catch. An acrid smell hung in the air and Etta covered her nose with her hand. She’d never been near the sea before. Brilliant blue water stretched across the horizon. The docks themselves were made of narrow wooden slats that the fisherman navigated with ease as they yelled to each other above the flapping of the sails. It was such a stark difference to the square they’d come from.

Bela was an ocean kingdom, serving as the trading connection to the rest of the world. Its ports were once busy with vessels of all sizes from Madra and the other kingdoms across the sea. Gaule and Dracon once sent their goods along Belaen roads to be sold.

But that was before.

Etta’s eyes scanned the coastline to the white cliffs looming over the sea. There, atop the cliffs, sat the palace. The breath caught in Etta’s throat.

Edmund followed her line of sight. “Matteo says La Dame recreated it to the exact specifications of the palace that was there before.”

“Why?”

“She’s obsessed. Whatever Phillip and Aurora did to her, it must have destroyed any sense of humanity she had left.”

“All they did was take a weed. Rapunzel saved Aurora.”

He regarded her without expression. “Do you still believe the legends? That she’s doing all of this because of a weed?”

“I guess not.” She deflated instantly. But then why was she doing it? Power? Did she really hate the Basiles that much? Or did she want to revive Bela, to bring its riches back to the world?

Another boat docked and began unloading buckets of fish with stiff, almost mechanical movements.

“Do you notice something off about these people?” Edmund asked.

“I’ve seen the look in their eyes before.” She turned away from the docks. “They’re prisoners just like we will be tonight.”

When Maiya brought them to the place they were staying, Pierre was there. Etta’s first instinct was to go to him. He’d been like a father after her own died. He’d helped Alex. He’d led their freed people from the dungeons. But had he just brought them here? To be prisoners once again?

He smiled when he saw her, but it fell when he took in her hard eyes. Matteo and Edmund formed up on either side of her. Tyson shook his head in confusion.

Maiya had tears in her eyes. “You know?”

“Know what?” Etta rounded on her. “That my friend has betrayed me. Again. But then, maybe you weren’t my friend at all. Deception is all there’s ever been between us.”

Maiya covered her face as her back shook with tears.

Pierre’s face reddened. “Do not speak to my daughter like that.”

“I will damn well do what I like.” She tried to advance on him, but Edmund held her back. “Did you convince my father to kill the king? To sacrifice himself?”

A sneer curled his lips. “That was entirely his doing. La Dame was pleased.”

“Bastard.” She ripped her arm from Edmund’s grasp and swung at Pierre. A blast of air sent her flying against the wall. He crumpled to the floor and her memory sparked. She’d assumed he was magicless but that couldn’t have been more wrong. “The attack in the village when I first became protector. You were part of it.”

“Who do you think orchestrated it? My orders were to kill you. But then you fell in love with your charge and all of that changed.”

Picking herself up, she advanced forward once again, but this time, not to attack. “Why are you here?”

He smiled, and it was reminiscent of the man she thought she’d known. “To prepare you for the ball, of course.”

Maiya wouldn’t look at any of them as she followed her father down the street. The people in front of the dressmaker’s shop parted for them to enter, an air of fear surrounding them. Pierre must have been well known in the village as one of La Dame’s men.

The dressmaker was an older, plump lady who was continuously pushing her spectacles up her long nose. Silver hair was tied into a bun with multiple ribbons. She looked up when they entered, the lines of her face deepening as she saw Pierre.

“Agnus,” he barked. “This is Persinette Basile. Dress her to suit her station.”

When Pierre rushed out, forcing Edmund, Tyson, and Matteo to follow him, Etta was left wondering what station an enemy queen who was no queen had in La Dame’s court.

Agnus tsked and tutted as she took Etta’s measurements, but there was otherwise no speaking. At one point, she disappeared into the back room, returning with deep pink gown in her arms.

“It will need a few adjustments.” Agnus shook it out and Etta gasped.

She’d never see anything so fine. Even Catrine and Camille’s dresses in Gaule were understated compared to this. Gold embroidery stretched down the corseted bodice in a flowered design. The skirts were layered with various shades of pink.

“Strip,” Agnus ordered.

Etta obeyed and stepped into the dress, pulling it up over her hips. The neckline dipped low, showing off the tops of her breasts. She swallowed heavily as Agnus pulled her laces so tight she could barely breathe.

With the exception of the length, it fit like a glove. Agnus sat heavily on her stool and went to work shortening the hem as Etta ran her hands down the corset.

When Agnus was finished, she moved to a wooden box on the table and opened the lid. Lifting out a necklace, she turned. “La Dame has ordered you to wear this.”

Even as she bristled at the command, she couldn’t take her eyes from the ruby hanging on the end of a thick golden chain. As soon as Agnus dropped it around her neck, something clicked inside her.

Agnus handed her a pair of glass shoes and she shrank back. “Glass? How am I supposed to wear these?”

“With grace, my queen.”

Etta snapped her eyes to the elderly women who seemed to be following La Dame’s orders so completely. A twinkle lit her eyes.

“Remember, Persinette, most of us have had no choice but to help her. Please don’t forget us.”

“I promise,” Etta whispered. “You have never been forgotten. Bela’s time is coming.”

Agnus nodded, a small smile coming to her lips.

Etta stepped out onto the street, expecting the others to be waiting, but they were nowhere to be found. The village had begun to empty as people made their way to the palace for the ball. Each night, this was their life. They knew their will had been stolen, but their minds couldn’t overcome their bodies actions.

Etta didn’t know what would have been worse. Having your awareness stolen and becoming a mindless follower or knowing exactly what you did and being unable to stop it.

She heaved a sigh and began walking slowly. The glass shoes sat heavy on her feet and she worried they’d break with each step.

The stables weren’t far and when she made it there with her shoes intact, she considered it a success. Taking them off, she padded on bare feet to the second to last stall where she could see Verité hanging his head over the short swinging door of his stall.

She smiled when she saw him, finally believing he was okay after the events at the tower. Meeting his immense brown eyes, she twirled. “How do I look, boy?”

He snorted, and she rubbed a palm along the ridge of his nose. The smell of horses hit her, and she hoped, just for a moment, that the stench clung to her dress. Any rebellion against La Dame. She wanted Etta to be the perfect guest. That would never happen.

Etta sucked in a constricted breath. “How did we get here, Verité? Do you remember when it was just you and me in our forest? Wild and free. Now we know nothing but cages.”

“Knew I’d find you here.” Edmund’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “It’s time to go.”

She turned to face him. He’d been scrubbed and dressed in fitted trousers, a silk blouse, and a jacket that looked like it belonged on him and no one else.

“You’re very handsome, Edmund.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

He grinned. “I don’t think now is the time or place to woo me, Etta.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Even if it were.” He leaned close. “You’re not my type.”

She punched his arm. “I’m trying to tell you I’m glad you’re with me.”

“Because I’m handsome? You don’t have high standards going into a fight.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled. Were they supposed to laugh before a night such as this?

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he rested his chin on the top of her head. “No one is going to be able to look at you tonight and not want to follow you no matter where it leads. You look like a queen.”

“I’m worried that’s what I’m meant to look like. Make me a queen and then destroy me.”

Matteo walked through the door in a more ornate outfit than Edmund’s and stopped in his tracks, mouth hanging open. He shook off his momentary shock.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She eyed him skeptically.

“I’ll show you when we get to the ball. Come. We must leave.”

A carriage awaited them. Pierre and Maiya sat on the driver’s bench. Matteo opened the door to reveal Tyson in an identical outfit.

“Seems she’s putting the Basiles on display.” Tyson helped her into the carriage and she slipped the glass shoes onto her feet.

“Glass?” He raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged and leaned back as the carriage jerked to a start and rumbled along the road that would take them to the palace.

There was no more waiting.

No sneaking.

No plotting.

La Dame was bringing them to her and Etta couldn’t even fathom what she was planning. They rumbled past the square, each watching the dead man as they passed. Tyson shot Matteo a knowing look but stayed quiet.

Matteo averted his eyes and leaned forward. “Okay, the great hall is in the center of the palace. It will be crowded with people, many of whom are there because they have no other choice. They’ve been taken from Gaule. Others escaped from Gaule only to walk into La Dame’s trap. Her people will be there as well. Many of them don’t have magic.”

“What?” That surprised Etta.

Matteo went on. “Like the patrol that chased us. Draconian magic has been weakening, diluted, and many are being born without it. Even La Dame doesn’t know why. She also has mercenaries from across the sea in her employ. They will have no mercy and their loyalty is probably the strongest of all because it’s based on gold.”

“What can we expect from La Dame?”

Matteo shook his head. “That I can’t say. She is an unpredictable force.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence and when the carriage finally stopped, Etta opened the door.

Towering above was the most magnificent sight she’d ever seen.

It was the castle that had once been her family’s home. Destroyed and remade, but still the same.

And she would take it back. La Dame didn’t belong here. Bela was the Basiles’ realm and it would be until there were no Basiles left to claim it.

* * *

The palace sat on a strip of land with a river separating it from the main road. The river carried water from the mountains before narrowing as it reached the cliffs and tumbled over, sending a brilliant waterfall into the sea below. It was almost magical in quality and Etta had to tear her eyes from the sight to look up at the white-faced building that held both her wildest dreams and her greatest fears.

If she somehow survived the night and took up her birthright, would such a place ever feel like home to her? Pierre urged them over the wooden bridge. It creaked underneath her feet. Two massive doors hung open, revealing a long marble adorned hallway. Silk drapes fluttered as a light breeze rushed into the palace.

Each surface was gleaming white and untouched. It was breathtaking. The palace of Gaule was a harsh place in comparison. Tyson caught her eye as if he too had been thinking about the stone fortress across the border.

Their steps echoed along the vacant corridor.

“Where is everyone?” Edmund whispered.

Matteo was the one who answered. “Attendance at the ball is mandatory. Even for servants. They aren’t allowed to leave until La Dame gives them permission. Her magic would stop them even if they tried.” He gripped Etta’s elbow and held her back. “Are you sure about this? The door is right there. We can still try to make an escape.”

“I can’t.” She flattened a hand against the waist of her dress. “La Dame dressed me as a queen tonight. You see that plain as I do. So, I will be a queen. These are our people, Matteo. Yours and mine. After seeing that village, how could you want to forsake them?”

He rubbed his chin and gave a single short nod. “You’re right.”

She patted his arm. “One thing you’ll get used to, Cousin, is that I’m usually right.”

Edmund snorted beside her.

Matteo hastened his steps before stopping in front of a row of portraits hanging along the wall. The first was of a handsome man in battle uniform. His blonde hair shone underneath a cap and his eyes held an untold knowledge. But something about the smug set of his lips didn’t sit well with her.

“That’s Phillip.” Matteo pointed to the man.

Edmund gasped in front of the next portrait and when Etta saw what he did, her heart stopped beating. A beautiful woman looked down on them with joy on her face as she danced. That wasn’t what stopped Etta. It was the dress. She glanced down over the rose-colored gown she now wore. It had the same embroidered pink design and flowing skirts.

Etta fingered the necklace resting against her skin, an identical match.

She knew who it was without asking. “Aurora,” she breathed.

The woman’s long, golden hair sat in an ornate style atop her head. No doubt Etta would be wearing the same style if she hadn’t shorn off her tresses.

“She’s made you into her.” Tyson stared with a mix of wonder and fear.

“Aurora and Phillip were the Basiles she cursed. But Aurora died before the true weight of La Dame’s vengeance could be felt.” Matteo turned away from the portraits.

Etta wasn’t prepared for this. Was she supposed to follow in her ancestors footsteps? She knew little of Aurora, but was connected to her. If it hadn’t been for them, Bela may not have been destroyed. They betrayed La Dame by crossing into Dracon and stealing from her. They condemned their people, their family to this fate.

Would Etta do the same for Alex? If he were dying, would she choose him over her people?

She hated that she didn’t know the answer to that. And in that moment, she knew without a doubt, she loved Alex like Phillip had loved Aurora. She’d protect him always.

She was no different than the king and queen she hated because of the curse that had fallen to her.

Pierre appeared behind them, snapping her from the realizations that shook her to her core. “Come. Now.”

In silence, they followed Pierre and Maiya who hadn’t said a word since the village. Their betrayal would always burn within her, but this wasn’t about them. Not anymore. La Dame was putting her into a role for the grandest act yet. She would play her part well.

If Etta had to become Aurora, she would.

Her glass slippers clacked against the floor in time with her heart. When they reached the wide mahogany doors, they stopped. Music drifted from the hall and Etta steeled herself.

Beckoning Tyson and Matteo forward, she offered them her arms. Edmund would go first and then the Basiles. Together.

The people beyond those doors didn’t belong to La Dame. It was time the Basiles claimed their kingdom once more.

The doors opened with a low grown and the music stopped abruptly. The chatter died off as the people turned to stare. A fork clattered against a plate as the rightful queen and princes of Bela stepped forward as one.

19

“Wonderful,” La Dame’s voice boomed. “You have arrived.” She turned to the crowd. “May I introduce Queen Persinette Basile?”

Gasps rang out in the crowd.

“Here in Bela, Persinette translates into another name. An ancient one.” Her lip curled and Etta held her breath. “Join me in welcoming Rapunzel Basile.”

An excited chatter wound through the room.

Etta leaned into Matteo. “Did you know?”

He shook his head.

La Dame raised a hand to silence the assembly. “You have all met the princes Matteo and Tyson Basile. Join me in welcoming them back into our fold.”

Edmund was ignored as he melted in with the crowd to find any information they could use.

Etta fought for her breath and squeezed Tyson’s hand as he shook beside her.

La Dame descended the marble staircase from the balcony and made her way past tables of onlookers and a full orchestra.

When she reached them, she curtsied low. “Your Majesty.” She rose with a gleam in her eye. “Not going to curtsy for me? I am Queen of Dracon after all. And almost Queen of Bela too.”

Etta gritted her teeth. The only way she’d ever cede Bela was if she was dead, which was a real possibility.

“I have a throne prepared for you.” La Dame waved her hand in an arc toward a golden throne.

The crowd parted for Etta to walk through and examine it. “It’s identical to the throne in Gaule.” It’s high back rose up with a line of sapphire jewels stretching across the top. The wide seat lay between two curved arms that had a pattern carved into them. She’d never noticed the details in the chair in Gaule that made the chair look as if it was encircled in golden hair, the jewels at the top acting as the crown.

A grin stretched La Dame’s thin lips. “I crafted that one as well. Gaule, Bela, and Dracon have always been connected. They will always be connected.”

The cold of the hard throne permeated the fabric of Etta’s dress as she sat cautiously, perched on the edge as if she didn’t belong.

It was her kingdom. The place where her family’s palace had stood. Her ancestors’ portraits were even hanging in the hall. But it felt wrong. La Dame flashed her another smile and sat on the smaller throne beside her. The boys were left to stand.

Etta scanned the room, looking for any sign of Alex, just needing to know he was okay. Had the blast of magic in the tower hit him as well? He was nowhere to be seen, but she didn’t stop watching for his handsome face.

The dancing began again. Skirts swishing. Feet stomping in time with the beat. Bright smiles plastered across the faces of the revelers. Was anything here real?

Her people looked as if they were enjoying themselves, but something was off. They were prisoners, weren’t they?

“I don’t see my father.” Matteo clasped his arms in front of him, his eyes sweeping the area in front of him.

La Dame’s smile didn’t waver as she dropped her voice. “Warren was useful to me for a great many years. But with Persinette on the way, I found I had one too many Basiles. Plus, I needed someone to help me make a point to young Alexandre.”

A crease formed in Matteo’s brow. “He’s…”

“Dead, yes. I thought I made that quite clear, Matty boy.”

Etta reached out to squeeze his hand and La Dame scowled.

“Sorrow is a useless emotion, Matteo. I’d hate to think you were so weak as to mourn a man who never loved you. I mean, how could he when you killed your mother on the day you were born. Once he learned of Persinette’s existence, you meant even less to him because you were not the heir.” She regarded him closely. “Cheer up, my boy. I did you a great favor.”

Someone walked forward and whispered in La Dame’s ear. She got to her feet. “I’ll be back.”

Etta rubbed her hands up and down her arms, avoiding the eyes that kept flicking toward her throughout the room. No one approached, but they were all aware of her presence.

“Are you okay?” She squeezed Matteo’s hand again.

He breathed heavily. “She wasn’t wrong. There was little love between my father and me. But for so long, he was the only family I had.”

“You’ve got us now.” Tyson clapped him on the shoulder.

“I don’t like this.” Edmund changed the subject as he leaned against the side of her throne, a clear threat to anyone who even considered coming near. “She didn’t bring us here to dance and eat.”

“Of course she didn’t.” Matteo scowled. “She brought us here to destroy a queen.”

Someone began to sing and his voice wrapped the room in its warmth. Etta lurched to her feet as Alex came onto center stage. His eyes found her immediately and he gave his head a tiny shake. She couldn’t help him.

The song he sang was a mournful melody of loss, but his voice was rich with a deep raspy tone.

A laugh burst from Tyson’s mouth and Etta couldn’t fault him. In their desperation, what else could they do?

“Did you know he could sing?” Etta asked.

Edmund and Tyson’s silence was answer enough. But why was he singing? As soon as the question entered her mind, an answer struck her. It was another of La Dame’s humiliations. The king of Gaule had been turned into nothing more than a court performer.

His eyes burned into her as his words made the hair on her arms stand on end.

It was wrong. This was wrong.

She’d come prepared for a fight. Not this.

Where was her sword when she needed it? Oh, right. They’d taken that too. La Dame stood to the side of the stage talking to a few well-dressed attendees, but her eyes never left Etta and one corner of her mouth tilted up into a smirk.

“Etta.” Matteo took hold of her arm. “You need to calm down.”

“Why?” Etta and Edmund asked at the same time.

Matteo sighed as if he was talking to children. “You two are too impulsive. We’re going to take her down, but to do it here would mean putting these people in danger.”

It all clicked. Every action. Every word. And Etta understood. La Dame was scared of the legends. Only the ancient power of the Basiles could destroy her. She didn’t know Etta possessed little more than parlor tricks.

“She fears me.”

Matteo nodded. “And she’s counting on your family’s history of protecting their people to give her more time.”

Etta’s jaw clenched, but Edmund pulled her away. “Let’s dance.”

She tried to stop him. “I don’t dance.”

“I seem to remember you dancing with a certain king from Gaule. Come on. I need to talk to you.”

Pairs parted to give them an ample amount of space and Edmund held out his hand in front of him with a bow. A few ladies nearby sighed. Etta rolled her eyes and took his hand while he put the other on her waist.

“Just playing to the crowd, my dear.” He flashed her a dimpled grin, and all sound faded away. Even Alex’s words disappeared in the zone of Edmund’s magic.

“We want the people here on our side,” he explained.

“They will be. I’m their heir.”

He spun her around, the glass slippers causing her to stumble. Catching her around the waist, he leaned close. “We need to do something. Matteo wants to let this play out, but we can’t sit around while she’s within reach.”

They danced, and they planned. Everything they’d discussed before the ball, every plot, had dissolved as soon as they arrived. After a few more dances, Alex stepped from the stage and disappeared behind it.

“Go time.” Edmund released her and they hurried over to their seats.

“Tyson.” Etta grabbed his arm. “I need you to come with me. Matteo, you’re with Edmund. It’s time we play by our own rules.” She turned to Edmund. “I’m counting on you.”

Matteo tried to argue, but Etta didn’t stay to hear. Instead, she gripped Tyson’s hands and pulled him into a dance. “Smile. Act like we’re doing nothing but enjoying the ball.”

“She’d have to be delusional to believe that,” Tyson said.

Her heart slowed dangerously as every one of her muscles waited, praying Edmund wouldn’t let her down. He never had before.

The screams began after a few minutes from the far end of the long room. The curtains framing a tall window overlooking the dark, fathomless sea caught fire. Her eyes found Edmund using his magic to fan the flames as Matteo touched a torch to another piece of fabric.

“Come on.” Etta started to run. She didn’t know where La Dame was, but Edmund would get the people out of the room.

Her feet pounded against marble as she rounded the stage to find Alex sitting on the steps behind it with his head in his hands.

“Alex.”

At the sound of her voice, he looked up.

“Come on.” Etta reached him, panting. “We have to go.”

“You should get out of here, Etta.” His voice was bland, emotionless.

“Not without you.”

“You can’t save me.”

She latched onto his arm and started to pull. “Why won’t you come? You have to come now. Please, Alex.”

He stared through her to his brother. “I can’t do that.”

She dropped down in front of him and yelled, “Why not?” Tears clogged in her throat. She had him right in front of her and he’d never felt so far away.

“Go. Get out before she traps you.”

Etta looked back at Tyson frantically needing some backup, but the torture she saw in his eyes tore at her.

“He can’t come.” Tyson’s voice was quiet.

“What do you mean?” Etta screamed at both of them.

Tyson met his brother’s eye. “She told you to sit there, didn’t she?”

Alex’s shoulders dropped. “Please. Go.”

More screams reverberated around the room. “This place is going to go up in flames. You have to come!”

“Persinette.” The voice sent a chill down her spine as La Dame found them. “It’s no use. I’m quite vexed at you for ruining my ballroom, but it was all for nothing it seems. Your pretty little king is mine and will remain until I release him.” She turned. “Alexandre, come.”

Alex rose to his feet and followed her without even an argument. Etta ran after them, Tyson close behind.

With a wave of La Dame’s hand, the doors to the room slammed shut with a startling finality.

La Dame raised her voice. “Stop screaming.” The mob obeyed. “Sit where you are.” As one, they dropped to the floor as the flames lit the final curtain, spurred on by Edmund’s remaining magic.

“Edmund, come.”

Edmund stopped what he was doing and walked mechanically to where they stood. La Dame shoved Alex toward him and ordered them to sit.

Two meaty hands wrapped around Etta’s arms and she was forced to her knees, her magic useless when there were no living plants nearby.

Tyson picked up a wine goblet and tossed it into the air, using his magic to expand the wine as it shot like a dagger toward La Dame’s chest.

She held up a palm, and it stopped mid-air before dropping to the floor. Her heels clicked as she stepped over the burgundy puddle to face Tyson. “I may not be able to force you to bend to my will, Basile, but I won’t have you soiling this room any more than your friends already have. A guard crept up behind Tyson and Etta’s scream died in her throat as he knocked him over the head. The prince crumpled as if he had no bones in his body.

Tendrils of smoke wound through the room and the people of Bela began to cough and choke.

“See what you’ve done?” La Dame asked. “I could put the fire out but I believe in actions having consequences.”

“Let them go.” Etta ground her teeth together.

“Their fate is of your own making.” She turned to the crowd. “The woman you proclaim as queen has betrayed you and sentenced you all to die. Just like Aurora and Phillip.”

Etta’s eyes drifted down to her dress, realizing for the first time why she was dressed as Aurora. Her ancestors starting the destruction of Bela. La Dame was showing them Etta was no better than them.

La Dame smirked down at her as if she’d won.

“Matty boy,” she cooed. “Come to your mother.”

“You are not my mother,” he spat, not moving an inch.

“Ah, but I raised you. I know you enough to know you hold no power in your blood. It’s Persinette who surprises me. I’d assumed a daughter of Viktor would have stronger magic than yours.” She paused. “There is one thing she has that you lack, Matty.” Her eyes narrowed as she stopped in front of Alex.

“Alexandre, stand.” He did.

One of her guards held out a knife to him hilt first.

“Take it.”

Once again, Alex obeyed.

Etta watched in horror, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.

“Good boy.” La Dame traced a line on her own arm with her finger and Alex pressed the knife against his skin. Blood beaded around the blade and his hands shook as he tried to fight it.

“Alex,” Etta cried. “Please. You can fight her. Don’t let her win.”

His lips pressed together and sweat broke out across his forehead. His chest heaved with the effort. The blade moved and didn’t stop until a design was carved into Alex’s arm.

Etta bit back the pain as red lines appeared on her own skin, glowing beneath the surface.

Guilt pooled in the depths of Alex’s eyes . Crimson blood ran the length of his arm.

“It’s okay.” Etta sucked in a breath. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “It’s okay. I trust you, Alex. I love you. It’s okay.”

“You shouldn’t have come for me.”

His words shattered something inside her. She tried to crawl toward him, but La Dame’s guards held her in place.

Edmund thrashed beside him on the floor, wanting to break free of La Dame’s magic.

“Your concern is touching.” Magic shot from La Dame’s hand and struck Alex at full force. He flew into the air before slamming back to the ground. Etta felt it all. She screamed as his bones broke.

“Stop!”

Matteo dropped down beside where Etta was now curled in on herself. He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t forget who you are,” he whispered.

Who she was? She was nothing. A girl who’d failed at the one thing she’d trained her entire life for. Protecting the king. Saving Alex.

Matteo helped her sit up again as pain radiated through every inch of her body. Alex barely moved, but a groan rumbled in his chest.

Edmund balled his hands into fists, but there was nothing he could do while under La Dame’s power.

“Why?” Etta screamed. “Why do you want to destroy us? Do you have no soul?”

La Dame laughed, and it angered Etta more. “Your king asked me the same question as I marred every inch of his skin. The Basiles stole everything from me.” Her crazed eyes darted between them.

“Everything? Generations ago, Phillip stole a weed to heal his wife and now you’re still bent on vengeance. Why don’t you kill us off once and for all?”

“Death is too good for those of the Basile line,” she sneered. “A weed? You call her a weed? I know the stories. They name the healing weed rampion. But to me, she was Rapunzel.”

“She?” Matteo asked desperately.

“Rapunzel was no weed. She was a healer. Phillip Basile stole my daughter and so I have stolen every child of his line.”

* * *

Tears clung to Etta’s lashes. “You lie.” As she said the words, she knew how false they were. The truth was written across La Dame’s face. Healing magic only existed in Dracon. Phillip doomed Bela by betraying the most powerful woman in the world in the worst possible way.

La Dame’s face reddened. “Rapunzel was her name, but it has been translated from Draconian. Persinette.”

“No.” Etta shook as realization crashed in on her, drowning out everything she thought she knew. Truth always came at a price. She raised her eyes to the powerful woman standing over her as the smoke slithered down her throat. Why would her father name her after the cause of all their family’s pain? There had to have been a reason. Had she known the man at all?

Her voice rasped on its way out. “It wasn’t us.” She covered her mouth with her arm and coughed. “That happened a long time ago.”

“Oh, but dear, I made a promise to Phillip Basile. I would see to the torment of his line.”

She motioned behind her and Pierre and Maiya came forward. Pierre handed her a bundle Etta recognized instantly.

“Persinette’s own sword.” La Dame raised an eyebrow. “Fitting.” She unwrapped the sword Etta knew well. Every nick. Every imperfection. It was a part of her.

La Dame held up her palm, and the sword rose into the air.

Smoke swirled around the blade and Etta pushed away from Matteo to rise on her knees.

“A curse,” La Dame began, her voice dangerous. “Is not supposed to bring happiness. Comfort. The Basile curse is my greatest accomplishment.”

Her hand twisted the sword to Alex.

“Take it.” The knife he’d been holding clattered to the ground and his fingers closed around Etta’s sword.

La Dame no longer smiled. “We are at the end of our game, I’m afraid. Stab the sword through your abdomen.”

Etta and Edmund screamed in unison as they could do nothing but watch Alex push the blade through his skin.

The burning began low in Etta’s gut and she fell over sideways. “Alex,” she cried. Matteo pulled her into his lap and rocked back and forth.

She was still alive. He couldn’t be dead. She raised her head to see Alex lying in a pool of his own blood beside Edmund with Tyson barely stirring behind them.

La Dame shrugged. “I don’t want him to die yet.” She nodded to a woman who stood beside Maiya with the same caramel skin and corkscrew curls. “Esme, keep him alive.”

The woman rushed forward and all Etta could do was watch as she went to work healing Alex just enough to keep him alive.

“Why don’t you just kill us?” Etta cried.

La Dame’s eyes darted around to the flames encroaching on the room. “I don’t think I’ll need to be the one doing the killing. We’re running out of time thanks to your little fire trick. You’re going to die, dearest Persinette. But before you do, I’m going to take everything.” She scanned the crowd of people who’d begun to pass out from the smoke. “Who knew that in the end, breaking the curse would finally give me vengeance?”

Dark dots swam before Etta’s eyes and she could barely breathe, but there was no escape.

A guard yanked her up, and she cried out in pain, wishing they’d let her die. He carried her to Alex’s heavily breathing form and dropped her into the sticky path of his blood. She touched him gently, and he opened his eyes.

Bending over him, she leaned her forehead against his. “I love you,” she whispered, her tears dripping onto his face. “I will always love you.”

He smiled weakly but couldn’t speak so she pressed her burning lips to his colder ones as if it was the last thing she’d ever do. It probably was.

“Touching.” La Dame’s voice made her jerk back. “Before you die, I will take even your love from you.”

Etta shook her head violently. “Not even you have that power.”

A wall of magic slammed into her from behind, sucking the remaining air from her lungs and pushing her forward. She collapsed onto Alex’s chest and everything disappeared.

* * *

Etta was out for a moment, but it felt like years. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was flames. Everywhere flames and smoke were killing her people.

The pain was gone.

Alex’s eyes drifted shut, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Scrambling from his chest, she turned to face La Dame.

“How does freedom feel?” La Dame leaned forward in anticipation. “You have a few moments of it left.”

How did it feel? Etta no longer felt Alex’s pain. In fact, she felt nothing at all. No ties to the King of Gaule, no tug on her heart. Instead, she felt… empty.

The emptiness began to fill as a power she’d never known flooded her veins. It buzzed through her, strengthening her resolve. Hatred. Anger. Vengeance. Her mind turned to darkness as the Basile magic took hold.

“Etta.” Matteo’s voice was awed as he pointed to her arms. Her veins glowed through her skin for a few moments before fading entirely. But the power she felt remained.

Hair brushed her shoulders, and she raised a hand to feel the golden locks as they grew out from where she’d shorn them off. The strands drifted through her fingers and down over her back, light emanating from each.

La Dame’s mouth hung open, and she backed up a step.

“The Basile power.” Matteo rushed to her side, covering his mouth with his jacket.

Behind them, Tyson woke and got to his feet, slightly disoriented as he positioned himself at Etta’s other flank.

Etta’s gaze flashed over the crowd almost separated from her by the fire and two familiar faces stood out. Analise lay on her side as Henry swayed where he stood before collapsing amongst the smoke. She was right. Pierre had brought them here. Anger unlike anything she’d ever felt surged through her and red tinged the sight before her.

With a quirk of her lip, power shot from her fingertips and the flames were extinguished in an instant. Etta cocked her head, regarding the woman who’d destroyed her family. Destroyed, yet here they stood. The three remaining Basiles.

She punched her hand forward, throwing La Dame through the air.

La Dame landed on her feet and skidded to a halt with a growl. She sent bolts of magic to each Basile, but Etta blocked them, instinct taking over.

Tyson met Etta’s eyes and she nodded. She flicked her finger and a cup of wine flew into the air. Tyson expanded the liquid and Etta set it aflame as it rushed toward the guards who were running to La Dame’s defense.

Etta made the flames grow, engulfing the guards in the inferno and it didn’t faze her. Her magic whipped around her uncontrollably as adrenaline flooded her veins.

A crack boomed through the room and the floor split open. Etta leaped to avoid getting sucked into the darkness. La Dame threw a bolt of lightning at her and she dodged it.

They stayed, locked in their duel as their magic weakened with each use.

“I can’t hold her off forever,” Etta yelled to Tyson. She strained to get control, but that dominance seemed just out of reach.

Tyson filled the floor gap with water, pulling it from the ground to keep any of the villagers from being lost. He slumped over from the effort.

Matteo picked up Etta’s sword and tilted his head. Etta nodded, and he tossed it into the air for Etta to send it sailing toward La Dame. It hit one of her guards with such force the hilt went straight through him, leaving a hole in the middle of his chest.

“Etta,” Edmund yelled. “She’s weakening. I can see it.”

The villagers started to stir, their screams proof La Dame was losing control.

Matteo wheezed beside her. “She’s trying to hold the illusion of the palace while both keeping the villagers under her control and fighting you. It’s too much for her.”

La Dame stared at them from across the room, her guards closing in around her.

Edmund ran toward them. “I say we take care of her for good.”

A steady beat painfully drummed in Etta’s head and she leaned over to catch her breath. She could barely feel her magic anymore as weak as it was making her.

The ballroom around them flickered, showing a crumbling ruin—before the ornate, but slightly charred room was back.

Before she could stop it, a spear sailed through the air aiming for Matteo. Everything happened in slow motion. He didn’t see it until Edmund lunged for him, tackling him to the ground as the spear embedded in the soft flesh of Edmund’s stomach.

He screamed and Etta turned from La Dame to check if Edmund was breathing. Blood dribbled from his lips but his eyes told her to continue the fight.

She pulled on every ounce of magic she had left and twisted around to find the guards disappeared and La Dame with them. Not even Pierre and Maiya were still present.

Her eyes darted around as the room descended into darkness and the palace disappeared altogether, leaving behind the ruins of what had once been the Basile home.

The magic snapped back into her and Etta stumbled forward, dropping to her knees as exhaustion took hold of her body. Around her, people ran. Some screamed. Others didn’t know what to do.

“Etta,” Tyson called through his tears. “You need to come now.”

Alex struggled to keep his eyes open, and each breath was weaker than the one before. He met her emotionless eyes with a similar look. She couldn’t decipher what she was feeling. Every memory of her and Alex remained, but all she felt was rage. No other emotion could permeate that red-hot wall of fire inside her. It was as if along with the curse, her love for him had been ripped away. The Durands and Basiles would always be enemies. Her magic hated the Gaulean king. But she couldn’t turn away.

“Etta!” Tyson’s voice turned frantic. “He’s dying, Etta.” He wiped his face on his sleeve.

Etta looked from Alex to Edmund, a struggle brewing in her heart. Unable to resist any longer, she knelt down beside Alex. How had something that had made her so happy suddenly fill her with despair? Alexandre Durand was an enemy of her magic. He would always be her enemy. The curse had fooled her into thinking differently.

But she couldn’t let him die. Not after everything they’d been through.

“Is anyone a healer?” she screamed to the magic folk who remained.

None came forward. She knew now that healing was a Draconian magic. Her people couldn’t help her. A tear fell from her lashes and she met Tyson’s swimming eyes with a shake of her head. “I can’t help him. I’m so sorry.”

Pushing to her feet, she went to check on Edmund.

Her friendship with him remained and when she saw him with his eyes closed, tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Is he…?” She couldn’t get the words out.

“Not yet,” Matteo answered as he cradled Edmund’s head.

Etta sank down beside him and put her head in her hands. Her back heaved.

“So the curse was keeping the Basiles from their magic.” Matteo nudged her.

“Matteo, I’ve never felt that kind of power. It… It was like I could tear the whole world apart.” She observed her shaking hands, curling them into tight fists. “Yet, I can’t save Edmund or Alex.”

“Maybe I can help with that,” a soft voice said.

The woman who’d been ordered to help Alex before lowered herself beside Edmund.

“Who are you?” Etta loomed over her.

“My name is Esme. I believe you knew my daughter, Maiya.”

“She betrayed us.” Etta crossed her arms, but allowed Esme to place her palms against Edmund’s abdomen. She couldn’t do anything to make it any worse.

“Let me help and then I will explain.”

Edmund’s wound closed up and before long, he opened his eyes. Etta choked out a relieved laugh and lunged to hug him.

“Take it easy there,” Edmund wheezed.

Esme moved to Alex next and then went out among the villagers treating burns and other wounds.

Tyson helped Alex to his feet and steadied him before leading him toward the others. Edmund wrapped Alex in a long hug. Etta kicked a rock on the ground and her glass shoe cracked.

“I can fight La Dame with no problem, but the minute I kick a stupid rock, these damn things break.” She shook her head and removed both her shoes. She wrapped an arm around Edmund’s waist and another around Matteo as she led them from the ruins, creating a torch to light their way. They stopped at the cliffs and looked to the east where the village should sit, but it was hidden in the night.

Something was missing. There was a hole in Etta’s chest. A gap where her heart should be. All she felt was a void, black as the night, and her power.

Without a word to any of them, she turned and walked away, past the ruins and crowds of people who were moving toward the village. Past the unconscious forms of the two friends she’d made promises to in the dungeons. Past the woman who claimed to be the mother of Etta’s once-friend. Maiya’s betrayal no longer hurt. She felt nothing.

For the first time in her life, she was free, and it weighed down on her, crushing her. She began to run, knowing she could only flee for so long. By the time she reached the tree line, her breath wheezed in her chest. She wiped at her face furiously but the tears were relentless. She stopped running and put a hand on a nearby tree to steady herself as she hiccupped back a sob.

She’d been fully prepared to die. A willing sacrifice. No one considers what happens after the battle. How was she supposed to help her people recover when she was utterly destroyed herself? She’d never imagined breaking the curse would break her as well.

La Dame was still out there. Would she return to the mountains of Dracon and resume her duties as La Dame Dracon? Always waiting. The only thing Etta knew was the fight wasn’t over. It had only begun.

Etta sank down to the forest floor, the woods more a home to her than any palace could ever be. Drawing on the smallest amount of power she had left, she pulled budding flowers through the pine needles that covered the ground. Only three grew at her bidding, but it was enough to remind her who she was and who she could become.

This power that had belonged to her ancestors before her, it churned and boiled. She held it down, but the ire it evoked could not be so easily kept away.

* * *

Supplies were consolidated and moved to the only structures still standing in Bela. The small village. It was a quiet night with most people still stunned from events of the day.

Etta and Edmund stood on guard most of the night, despite their exhaustion. They didn’t trust that La Dame had taken all of her men with her.

Etta’s long sword hung at her waist and as she fingered the hilt, she pictured it sliding into Alexandre’s stomach. The memory was tainted now. La Dame’s magic had forced the action upon him, but her own magic wished for it as well. Why had she been so adamant to save him?

No. She couldn’t let herself think that. It wasn’t her. The damn power would not control her. None of her memories were gone, they were just altered. The magic twisted everything. She’d been sleeping with her charge, nothing more. Despite her position in his palace, he was not a friend to her family. He’d persecuted her people, killed and imprisoned them. Hell, she’d experienced his dungeons for herself.

The Basile in her wanted to hate him, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t. Still, she couldn’t pick out the love between waves of confusion and resentment. Maybe it had only been effects of the curse after all.

A Gaulean king didn’t belong in Bela, her magic pleaded.

Why couldn’t she despise him?

She scanned the darkness, still searching for a single face. Vérité wouldn’t have found his way to the village stables without seeking her first. He’d find her. He always did.

A voice cleared behind them and she turned abruptly, preparing to draw her sword.

“King Alexandre,” she barked. “Do not sneak up on a soldier in the dark.”

Dark brows drew together. “Etta…”

Edmund put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to give you two a few minutes.” He walked away before she could stop him.

Alexandre inclined his head formally, and she did the same before an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

He studied her for a long moment before grabbing her roughly and kissing her. She hit him but he didn’t stop. Sliding her hand down to his waist, she pulled the knife he had stuck there and held it to his neck.

He pushed her away. “Etta…” He closed his eyes with a sigh. “It’s me.”

“I know very well who you are, Alexandre Durand.”

“You would kill a king?” Amusement flashed across his face. Did he think they were playing a game?

“One who kisses me against my will? Yeah, I think I would.” She pulled back the knife but didn’t give it to him. “Why did you kiss me, Durand?” Did his feelings change as the curse broke?

He ran a hand through his thick hair. “I don’t feel it anymore.” He clutched at his chest.

“Feel what? Love?” Her magic curled in disgust.

His eyes widened, and he grabbed her shoulders. “Etta, I will love you for as long as I live. It’s the curse. I… we aren’t connected anymore, are we?”

She pushed away from him. “No.” Sheathing her knife, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Everything inside of her screamed that she should take her chance and cut him down where he stood. It was a new feeling and the strength of the power, it’s ability to turn her thoughts, scared her.

“Etta.” Alex brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Your hair… it glowed.”

She brushed off his hand. “Don’t touch me.” The words were not her own. “A Gaulean king is not welcome on this side of the border. I am a Basile, I could not love you.”

His face pinched in sadness and he shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

Did she? Her magic reveled in the words, but the rest of her didn’t know. Yet she couldn’t stop them from spilling forth. “Do not question my words. I am Persinette Basile. I have more power than you could ever imagine. Everything I felt for you was just the curse masking my real feelings. Your kingdom is on the brink of a civil war. You will leave in the morning to return to Gaule.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I never speak just to hear my own voice, King. This discussion is over.” She turned away from him, afraid to see any emotion in his eyes.

Alex was silent for a long moment before the low timber of his voice rumbled through the air. “I have no choice but to return to Gaule. In that, you are correct, but this isn’t you, Etta.” His voice thickened. “We can find our way back. The curse didn’t make me love you. I don’t want to say goodbye like this, but you give me no other choice. Fight it Etta. Fight whatever is turning you to stone. When you’re finished and there is no more will left in you, I will fight for you. I’ll never give up. You are more than this.” He began walking away and then paused. “This is not the end, Etta.”

Edmund returned, clapping Alex on the back as they passed each other. “Have you guys kissed and made up?”

“Leave it alone, Edmund.” Etta’s eyes scanned the surroundings. She brushed a few errant tears away.

“You came all this way and risked everything to save him. What is going on?”

“He means nothing to me.” The magic-tainted words slid out easily. “As with everything La Dame has done, it was an illusion. Magic makes us believe in realities that don’t exist.”

“I saw how much you loved him. I can’t accept that it’s all gone.”

She hiccupped back a sob, her knees suddenly crumpling beneath her. They hit the soft earth, and she clutched her arms across her chest as if that would hold her together and keep the hate from overwhelming her.

“I can’t…” she cried. “Edmund.”

He knelt beside her and folded her into his arms.

Alex was leaving. Even as Etta’s magic rejoiced, her heart clenched traitorously. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to break the curse, never imagining it would free the Basile magic within her.

Power should have meant freedom.

But now she knew it was only a new set of chains.

* * *

Alex sprinted across the open field to recover two of the horses that had been in the stables. They didn’t run from him, but the second one snapped at his hand as soon as he grabbed his mane.

Verité.

Damn horse.

He gave up and started leading the first one back to the others. Verité followed close behind.

Persinette’s eyes lit up when she saw him, the first sign of real life he’d seen in her since her battle with La Dame.

It struck him like a cudgel how beautiful she truly was. No. He rubbed his eyes. If he continued to stare, he’d never be able to leave. His people needed him. Etta didn’t. She’d made that very clear. Maybe they’d been doomed from the start.

My fierce Etta. His own words came back to him and he tried to decipher the feeling behind them. Had she truly never loved him? He imagined them together. Her smooth skin under his fingers. The way she’d softened when she was alone with him. With everyone else, she’d been hard, cold.

They’d recovered five horses and a myriad of supplies once the sun had risen

Many of the people had been taken from his own kingdom against their will. Others had fled into Bela to escape the Gaulean people. He’d had a hand in pushing them toward La Dame and for that, he would always be filled with guilt.

The people avoided him. Persinette wouldn’t speak to him. He shouldn’t want to speak to her either. It would be too hard. Would the Belaens crown her queen? It was her birthright, but he couldn’t picture her sitting atop a throne giving orders.

No, she belonged on the front lines.

A place he’d never been allowed to be. There might not even be a throne for him to return home to. Even if there was, the thought of living the rest of his life in that palace chilled him. He wasn’t the same man that was drugged and kidnapped. He’d been beaten, thrashed by magic, and ripped from a curse that had all but consumed him.

Edmund chuckled as Verité tried to nip at Alex again. Alex scowled at his friend.

Edmund hid his grin as he patted Verité’s neck and the horse leaned into his touch. They’d formed a reluctant friendship since Verité helped Edmund escape from the palace. Escape from the dungeons Alex had put him in.

Alex reached up to rub the back of his neck as the horse he’d been leading was taken from him. “Look, Edmund—”

“Stop, Alex.” Edmund put a hand on his arm. “I don’t want your apology. I want you to go take back your kingdom.”

“I need you by my side.”

“No, you don’t. Gaule isn’t my home. Not anymore. I have to stay with Etta. These are my people.”

Alex pulled him into a hug. “I’m your people too. Don’t forget that.”

“Never.”

Alex grunted and pulled back to find Persinette studying him.

“You must get on the road.” She jerked her head toward the horses being saddled. “Your escorts are ready. The faster you are out of my kingdom, the better.”

She waved her hand and three packs appeared on the ground. “Supplies.”

“Thank you.” He nodded.

“Don’t thank me. As the king of Gaule, if you set foot in Bela again, I won’t hold my people back and every single one of them wants you dead.”

He swallowed the knot in his throat as Edmund shook his head sadly. Tyson appeared next to him, staring daggers at Persinette.

“What about me?” he asked. “I am a prince of Gaule. Would you have me killed?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “You are a Basile. Bela is your kingdom.”

“So is Gaule.”

His spine straightened, and he squared his shoulders, but Alex didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes. “I’m going with Alex. He is my king. His duty is to save Gaule from itself and my duty is to stand by his side.”

She met his eyes and the look in them struck something in Alex’s heart. There was an emptiness inside of her. After everything they’d been through, she was the one who was broken. All the Basile power she now possessed couldn’t fix what La Dame had taken from her.

“You’re my brother.” Her voice was calm, devoid of emotion.

Tyson’s was the opposite. Everything he was feeling was infused into his words as he lowered his voice. “And he’s my brother.”

“Go.” Etta turned away. Before leaving, she spoke once more. “Bela has a greater foe than the boys of Gaule.”

It was meant to be an insult, but it served as a shock back into reality. There was a long road ahead of them and the fight was far from over.

Alex and Tyson mounted their horses and rode between two guards. In a few days, they’d reach Gaule and none of them knew what they’d find when they got there. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

* * *

The mountains cast a shadow over every word they spoke. La Dame was there behind the high walls blocking off the mountain paths of Dracon.

Etta crouched in the sand beside the edge of the ocean using her magic to pull the waves in closer. They crashed at her feet, splashing up onto the worn brown trousers she wore.

In the days following the battle, she’d regained her strength, but hadn’t begun exploring her new power. She’d tried once and the anger it brought forth frightened her. She refused to let it change her any more than it already had and the only way to prevent that was to keep every bit of magic locked down deep inside her.

Her people looked to her for leadership, knowing once word reached Gaule of their victory, more descendants of Bela would flood their village.

The palace would not be rebuilt. She refused to even think about that after everything that happened there.

A briny breeze lifted her hair, and she closed her eyes. It was time for her to claim her birthright.

Lines of people covered the beach behind her and as she stood, she turned to face them. There were no nerves as she’d expected. No emotions. Only acceptance.

Edmund and Matteo walked forward to each take an arm, leading her to stand in the circle of Belaens. It closed around her.

She focused her magic on the sand, molding and shaping it until a golden crown sat gleaming in the sun. Each point dipped and curved gracefully. It was simple. No jewels. No etchings. Just like her people. They’d suffered and remained strong. They had been loyal to her family for generations.

The crown before her was not a signal that they belonged to her.

It let the world know she belonged to them.

Her knees hit the sand, and she bowed her head. Matteo, one of the three last remaining Basile’s, lifted the crown from the sand.

His voice rang out among the crowd. “I once thought freedom didn’t exist. What I didn’t realize is that it’s not something that just happens to you. You must take it. Today we take our freedom. Bela is our kingdom. There will be many dark days ahead, but they cannot take it from us.”

He lowered his eyes to Etta. “Persinette Basile, you have always been our queen. You’ve fought for us. Bled for us. Given your life to the curse that marked our family. Before you faced La Dame, I told you there is no freedom in death. Now, in life, you can have every freedom, every honor. The Basile power has returned to these lands and we believe in you.”

He leaned down and set the crown atop her head. Her magic raced beneath her skin, glowing in recognition of her finally accepting the role she was meant to play.

The crowd gasped as the sand flew into the air, spinning around her. Her heart beat slowly, accepting the power rather than fearing it. Her hair tugged and pulled as it flew out behind her wildly.

She stood, and the sand settled back to the earth, revealing queen Persinette Basile with her long glowing golden hair and a determined set to her mouth.

Her eyes flashed as she beheld the mountains once more, feeling her people move in closer.

They were only in the beginning of their fight. For she was Persinette Basile. Daughter of the kingslayer. Ex-cursed. Queen of Bela. Keeper of the Basile magic. And the magic folk always had greater battles to wage.

Epilogue

Maiya stared into the face of Rapunzel where her portrait hung in the great entranceway of La Dame’s mountain palace. The depth of sadness in the woman’s eyes, matched her own.

Dracon was not her home.

She didn’t remember her time there as a child and as she wandered the streets of stone, she couldn’t help feeling out of place.

She’d betrayed the one person she’d ever truly loved. A woman who was meant to be queen of Bela. A queen she could have followed with her whole heart.

Glancing to the side, she caught her father talking to one of the guards. They’d been called from their cold, ugly one-room home to attend La Dame. A chill swept through her but it didn’t dim the fire of regret.

Maiya had never known her mother. She never imagined she’d been born of someone so close to La Dame. But Esme had found a way out. She’d stayed in Bela when Maiya hadn’t been given the chance to.

Had her mother even thought of her?

Her shoulders sagged and her curls bounced around her face as she turned.

“Maiya,” her father said sternly. He’d never been stern before returning to Dracon. “Come. We can’t make La Dame wait.”

She followed her father down the long hall. Two uniformed guards stood outside ornate cherry wood double doors. A dragon was carved across them.

The doors were opened, and they entered the torch-lit room. Pillars lined the walls, black as night. Deep red velvet carpeting created a path to the golden throne.

La Dame sat casually twisting her dark hair around a finger. When she caught sight of them, a smile curved her lips.

“Pierre,” she said. “Maiya. So good of you to come.”

Pierre bowed and jerked Maiya into a curtsy.

“It is our pleasure, your Majesty.”

La Dame’s eyes latched onto Maiya and she squirmed under the scrutiny.

“Hello,” La Dame said sweetly. “I haven’t had the chance to speak with the girl who brought me Persinette.”

“I didn’t bring her to you,” she mumbled.

“What was that, dear?”

“She came to save Alex.”

“Ah yes. She loved him very much. It was interesting to watch. But she didn’t have power then. She didn’t know what it was like to feel it inside her, grasping for more.” She tapped her chin. “But she will. Persinette Basile will come to me.”

“Don’t hurt her.” The words were out before Maiya could stop them.

“Maiya,” her father snapped.

La Dame held up a hand. “It’s okay. Rest assured, I do not plan to harm Persinette… much. I simply want to make her see what she can be. Now that the Basile power has returned to this land, we have a chance at greatness.”

“We?”

The woman smiled. “Persinette reminds me very much of my Rapunzel. Viktor named her after my girl for reasons I will not share with you. Yet. I never imagined the Basile power would return, but I have waited to find it. I am a patient woman. I will wait a while longer for the power inside her to draw her to our walls.” She stood. “Until then, dear Maiya, you will take your mother’s place in my household.”

Maiya opened her mouth to protest, but La Dame held up a hand and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“Apparently, your father didn’t have time to teach you manners in Gaule.”

Pierre hung his head as his daughter choked beside him.

“No mind.” La Dame walked toward them. “We have no need of him, anyway.” A blast of power shot out of her and Maiya tried to scream as her father collapsed to the ground.

She fell to her knees, and the breath whooshed back into her. Scrambling to her father’s side, she knew it was already too late. Tears clogged her throat.

La Dame bent down and lifted Maiya’s chin with one long finger. “Don’t cry. You didn’t need him any longer, dear. There comes a time when a woman must stand on her own. You’ll see.” She straightened. “Now, we wait.”

“For what?” Maiya held back another sob.

“For Persinette to give in to the river of magic inside her. For her to sink under the current and rise as my equal. Our power creates two parts of a whole. Don’t worry, dear. She will come to me and together, we will be unstoppable.”

—

Whoa! Don’t worry! Alex and Etta’s story is far from over. Golden Crown is up next. Just flip the page!

Golden Crown

The true story of rapunzel, book 3

1

It may as well have been the edge of the world. The white cliffs stretching above the frothing sea, their razor-sharp edge dropping over open sky.

The danger was in getting too close to where the earth dropped off. To where the dark depths gurgled. But there was a thrill in going where no sane person would go, in focusing on nothing but the steady balance that would keep you from tumbling into the deep.

Etta walked that line, between sanity and crazed daring. She flung her arms out to her sides and hung her toes over the edge.

Behind her stood the ruins of the palace of her ancestors. It still bore the memory of what they’d done. The scars were etched deep into the soul of Bela, never to be forgotten.

But they were here. Her people had returned and they worked night and day to make the village everything they needed it to be.

And she wanted to step off the edge.

She didn’t want to die. That was the opposite of everything she longed for. It only held nothingness and she didn’t want nothingness.

She wanted everything. To feel everything. To rid herself of the chill that entered her soul the day she faced La Dame.

Her legs wobbled beneath her, just enough to throw her off balance. She pitched forward, her feet knocking a shower of rocks over the edge.

Should she be afraid? The question struck her as she failed once again to regain her footing and slipped farther forward.

Her left foot hit open air, suspended for a moment of disbelief before the right foot joined it and she tumbled over. The water neared and her stomach dropped, but she didn’t scream.

A rush of wind pushed underneath her, lifting her in an arc, and a sigh escaped her lips. As her back slammed onto the grassy cliff, stealing the air from her lungs, she lifted her eyes.

“Edmund.” Brushing her pants, she got to her feet.

His brow scrunched in worry. “That’s the third time I’ve kept you from falling. You shouldn’t be coming up here anymore.”

She brushed past him. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t make my decisions for me.”

He fell into step beside her. “You could’ve stopped yourself if you’d used your magic.”

She grunted.

“Have you used it since Matteo put that crown on your head?”

“Drop it, Edmund.”

He stopped walking. “I’m worried about you.”

“And I’m worried our people won’t have adequate supplies when winter comes.” Against her better judgment, she turned to face him. He’d been nagging her all week.

He rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his jaw. “We’ve had quite a few new arrivals and they’re all bringing carts of supplies from the villages in Gaule. That along with their magic and the ship that arrived from Cana should speed things along.”

As soon as word got out that Bela once again belonged to the Belaens, some of the old allies from across the sea came knocking. Cana arrived first. A kingless land ruled by clans, the histories called them Bela’s number one trading partner. Back when the Belaen docks bustled with activity. The Madrans followed them, the king of Madra wanted to cement an alliance, fearing they’d turn their magic on him.

Edmund wouldn’t quit with the frown so she grabbed his arm. “Edmund, I’m–”

“Fine,” he finished for her. “I’ve heard it before.”

“I was going to say I’m not the one who matters.”

His lips curved up just the slightest bit and he shook his head. “You sound like a queen I guess. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve spent so much of my life around a prince.”

He gripped both her shoulders and ducked his head to look into her eyes. “But you’re wrong. You matter. You always have.”

Her shoulders sagged and he pulled her against his solid chest, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m glad you stayed.” After they saved Alexandre Durand and battled La Dame, she’d been sure Edmund’s loyalty to the prince of Gaule would override any love for his ancestral home. Tyson’s had. Her own brother. But Alex’s brother too. She tried to keep Alex from her thoughts, but it wasn’t easy when everything in their lives seemed forever entwined.

When Edmund made his choice to stay with her, she’d never been more grateful for anything.

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “Why, Persinette Basile, that might be the first compliment you’ve ever given me.”

She pulled away. “It wasn’t a compliment, merely a statement of fact.”

He grinned. “Of course, my queen.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s what you are.”

“Only because of the magic that flows through my veins and the name I bear. The crown is an illusion. I can’t lead these people.” She gestured to the people walking to and from the village.

He dropped his arm across her shoulders as Matteo spotted them and hurried over.

“You guys hungry?” Matteo asked.

“Sure.”

As Etta followed her cousin to the cook fires, people bowed. Some uttered ‘Your Majesty.’ Trust shone in their eyes. They’d seen her fight their greatest enemy and drive her away. They’d watched as she came into the power of the Basiles.

Those who’d arrived since the fight were told the stories every night, making her into the hero of their dreams.

Etta didn’t feel like a hero.

She was crushed. Broken. Empty.

The curse she’d lived her entire life vowing to break turned out to be the only thing holding her together. It was the cruelest sort of irony.

And she was scared of herself. The power she’d unleashed. It sat under her skin, like a thousand tiny ants, begging to be released. She held it back, afraid that if she went down that road, if she experienced the immensity of it as she had before, she wouldn’t be able to come back. But in holding its fiery hatred in, she lost all other emotions.

She didn’t want to let the magic control her.

Her people had been sharing supplies, using a few cook fires at the edge of the village to prepare their meals. After accepting a bowl of grain mush and salted fish, she made her way into the woods.

Little feet ran after her and as soon as she heard him, she turned. “Henry, you shouldn’t wander off from your mom.”

Henry and Analise had been among the magic folk being held in town by La Dame. She’d created an illusion of a grand palace. The only thing that hadn’t been an illusion was the small village and Etta now knew it was because her people had been forced to build it. They’d been prisoners, unable to leave, instead, being forced to arrive at the palace for a ball each night.

When La Dame left, her magic had faded from the land, leaving behind a broken landscape.

“Where are you going?” Henry asked. His magic cloaked them in silence. It was as easy for him as breathing.

Envy choked her words and she turned away. “Head on back. I’ll return before you go to sleep.”

He hesitated for a moment but then obeyed her as he always did. Relief bloomed within her when the edges of his power no longer tried to draw hers forth.

But she couldn’t, wouldn’t use it. Not since… she rubbed a hand across her face and sat on the soft pine pillow of the forest floor, leaning her back against a tree.

Grass struggled to poke up through the pine needles, begging for her help. Wanting her to make them grow. Life was the first power she knew. Flowers. Grasses. Trees.

It was the only power that felt like hers, but it had been tainted. The ancient Basile power now coursed through her veins, mixing and confusing what was there before.

She heard him before he spoke, but kept her eyes focused on the bowl of mush in her lap as if willing it to become a feast. But even that would’ve been tasteless to her.

“People are beginning to wonder about you,” Edmund said. “You come out here every night to eat alone.”

Music drifted through the air from the way he’d come. She hadn’t known many Belaens throughout her life, but she’d learned they loved their music. Dancing. Laughter. Joy.

Edmund followed her gaze to the path behind him.

She shook her head. “They celebrate, even after everything they’d been through. They’ve been persecuted for generations. Now they have nothing.”

“They have Bela. We all do. A country to call our own. One where we need not hide.” He sat down beside her and nudged her shoulder. “And they have a queen.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “Queen.”

“I seem to recall a coronation.”

“Edmund, the crown is no more real than La Dame’s illusions.”

“They chose you.”

“No, they didn’t. They chose my blood. Edmund, I’m not a leader. None of them even know me. They shouldn’t follow me.”

“I know you.” He bumped her shoulder again, leaning close. “And I will follow you right up to the gates of Dracon if it comes to it.”

She pushed a breath past her lips. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I try so hard not to feel sorry for myself and you come along and make me feel like an idiot.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Gee, thanks.” She stuffed her spoon into her mouth to hide her smile.

Edmund sighed and leaned forward against his knees. “Can I say something without you punching me?”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I think you miss him.”

“Tyson? Yeah, of course I miss him.”

Edmund made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “You know very well that’s not who I mean.”

“I thought it must be, because anyone else would just be absurd.”

“What’s so absurd about it?”

She bit off a bite of fish and chewed to avoid his question. When the curse had first been broken, all her magic felt for Alexandre Durand was a hatred so intense it could’ve burned the sun. But that hadn’t been her. Her magic was born to be at odds with him. What if she’d been born for something else? Could hatred and love for the same person exist inside her together?

Each day, memories of their time together ran on repeat through her mind.

“He’s my enemy,” she finally said.

“Only because of your ancestors and his. The enmity need not be yours.”

“Edmund, do you forget everything he did to me? To you?”

“He had no choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

Edmund’s back shuddered as he released a shaky breath and Etta kicked herself for her words. She might be conflicted about Alex, but Edmund wasn’t and it was killing him to be so far from him.

She rubbed his arm. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

He turned his head to look at her, the side of it resting on his knees. “He went home to war. I’ve always been at his side. For everything. I should be with him.”

“Do you regret staying?” She held her breath, not knowing if she could handle the answer.

“No.” He grabbed her hand. “Not at all. I’m just worried. If something happens to him…”

He didn’t need to finish because she understood. It may have been because of the curse, but she still remembered what it felt like to love a king. To love Alex. Edmund had been in love with him since he was just a teenager and he would probably love him for the rest of his life.

“I’m supposed to protect him,” Edmund breathed.

A familiar urge rose up in Etta. To protect. The need to bathe her sword in blood for no other reason than to guard the life of a royal. She’d been raised to be the protector, her father never imagining she’d get to live any other life. Was that why he named her Persinette? As the only rebellion he’d ever get against La Dame? The Draconian translation for Rapunzel was a sad excuse for a fight but maybe it was all he’d had.

Maybe she wouldn’t know another life. Even now as her old charge fought for the soul of his kingdom, she had to guard her own land.

Maybe wearing the crown was no different from bearing a sword.

Before, she’d been charged with keeping safe the life of one man. Now she had an entire people behind her blade.

And Edmund was right, although she’d never tell him that. She missed Alex. When she’d acted as his protector, she hadn’t also been asked to lead. Could she do both?

“He’s going to be okay,” she finally said.

“You think?” His sad eyes brightened.

Etta got to her feet and held her free hand down to him. “We need to believe it because Gaule is no longer our worry. The time has come for Bela to rise and soon, we’ll have to go to battle ourselves.”

A grin stretched across his face. “That sounded very queenly.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me retrieve my sword.”

“Oh, please do. I’d love to show you a thing or two about dueling.”

“Ha, you teach me? Right.”

They dropped their dishes back at the cook fire and Etta headed off to find Henry, a smile still firmly in place.

2

“You’re telling me I can’t get into my own palace?” Alex scanned the face of each officer crowded into the tent.

Anders stepped forward. “Essentially, your Majesty, yes.”

“My mother is behind those walls.” His mother and those loyal to her had been betrayed by many of the realms nobles. They now sat trapped within the inner palace with an enemy army at their gates.

They’d made no progress on the walls despite sitting there for days just miles from the palace. Duke Leroy’s forces sat in the valley just outside the gates, allowing the soldiers Alex had drawn together to get no closer without a confrontation.

He scratched his tired face. There’d been little rest since they’d left Bela behind. Beside him stood a man he didn’t recognize instead of the one who should be there. But Edmund hadn’t come.

He’d stayed… with her. No, he refused to dwell on her when his country teetered on the brink of civil war.

As soon as he reached Gaule, Alex had pulled Duchess Moreau’s force from the border. Village militia men and women who were more accustomed to protecting their communities from bandits and breaking up the occasional drunken brawl than marching into battle. And now the Belaen border sat unguarded. But Etta gave her word. They wouldn’t attack.

The Draconian border was unguarded as well, but only because after seeing La Dame’s power first hand, he knew none of them stood a chance if she attacked.

Camped near the palace, they’d found Anders with the royal guard he’d brought to fight the traitors. So, his force consisted of one hundred guardsmen and a band of partially trained civilians. They’d be no match for Leroy’s much larger force. A force that was supposed to be sworn to the crown.

Leroy was the worst kind of counselor. He’d advised Alex’s father on many things prior to the old king’s death. He would rather throw the kingdom into civil war than allow magic folk any freedoms.

Alex tried everything to quiet him. He’d banished him from court. Stripped him of his land’s revenues. Even taken the care of Amalie, his youngest daughter, from his hands.

The steady drum of a horse’s hooves filled the air, stopping just outside the tent. Anders left, returning only moments later with an unkempt man. His eyes darted around the tent wildly before he forced himself into a bow.

“Your Majesty,” Anders started. “Conners has been inside the walls for the past couple of weeks. He has much to tell you.”

“Begin.” Alex narrowed his eyes.

The man straightened and pulled at the ends of his dark hair. “I… I lived in the outer palace. Just one of the guardsman who took shifts at the gate. I didn’t hear any traitorous talk until moments before the attack. I swear.”

“Go on.” Alex nodded, leaning forward.

“Half the guard turned on the queen mother and stormed the dungeons to release the nobles being kept there.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, sire. Lord Leroy took control from there and the other nobles fell in line. They gained the support of the people who lived in the outer palace by decreeing that all those with magic be brought forth and put on trial.”

Alex turned away and paced the length of the tent, his generals scrambling to get out of his way. How had he been so wrong about his people? They hadn’t been ready for the new world he’d thrust upon them.

This was his fault.

“There was cheering, sire.” The man’s voice broke. “The people… they cheered as a man was found guilty of being one of the magic folk and put to death right there in the center of town.”

Alex stopped moving and pinned the young man with a stare, resisting the urge to ask him the question burning in his brain with this many witnesses. If he’d been so wrong about his people, none of them were trustworthy.

“How did you get away?” he asked instead. “How did you get out?”

“Persinette Basile.” His lips curved up. “She created quite the distraction when she left. It allowed a lot of us who didn’t agree with the nobles and their followers to escape to the inner palace where the queen mother is protecting all those who ask for it.”

“How did you get out from the inner palace?”

The man scratched his chin. “I’m not really sure. I volunteered to be the one to go and Amalie Leroy showed me through some tunnel that came out into a cove at the ocean. I walked for a while before I found a horse grazing.”

Alex should have known. Hope knocked into him for the first time since his abduction that seemed so long ago. There were only two tunnels into the palace. One came out along the outer wall facing the forest. He’d used it with Etta to get back into the palace. The other, he’d only heard about. He pushed past Anders and left the tent in search of his brother.

Tyson leaned against a boulder on the edge of camp with a cap pulled down over his eyes and his arms folded across his chest. Alex didn’t want to wake him.

“I can sense you watching me,” he said with a muffled voice. He pushed the cap off his face, revealing eyes that he’d barely been able to look into since leaving Bela. They weren’t his mother’s. They weren’t Durand eyes. They were hers. Peering into the face of his brother was like seeing Etta. How had he never seen it before? It hurt too much, so he looked away.

Tyson watched him with the cold stare he’d perfected since leaving Bela. He may have chosen Alex, but the ill feelings between Alex and Etta tore him apart. If they weren’t resolved, part of Alex worried his brother would never forgive him.

“I need to talk to you.” Alex moved to lean against the boulder. “A man arrived today after escaping the palace and evading Leroy’s forces.”

“You sure he’s not a spy?” Tyson’s distrust stung Alex. There’d been a time when his brother had been open and kind. But that was before he’d had to leave his home to run for his life.

“He says Amalie showed him out through a tunnel.”

That brought the light back to his eyes. “Amalie? Is she okay?”

Alex nodded slowly. “Yes. But I need to know about these tunnels.”

“I tried to tell you about them a long time ago. Back when dad–”

“I know,” Alex cut him off. “And I’m sorry I never listened to you, but right now I need you to tell me if they can get me into the palace.”

Tyson’s shoulders dropped, and he sagged back, his head swinging in a slow arc. “You can get into the tunnels, but the passageway into the palace can only be opened from the inside.”

Everything inside of Alex deflated.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex patted the back of his head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Alex spun around and slapped his palm against the stone. “Dammit, it’s not. Nothing is okay. Our mother is in there. She’s surrounded by people who want their king’s head and it’s all my blasted fault.”

“Are you whining, brother?” Tyson raised an eyebrow. “That’s supposed to be my job.”

Alex couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He couldn’t tell anything at the moment. All he knew was that the people he loved were trapped, and he had to get them out. He gave in to his brother who was obviously waiting for him to speak. “Then what is my job, oh knowledgeable one?”

“To be king.” Tyson stood. When had he gotten so tall? He’d grown enough to meet Alex’s eyes without tilting his head back. “You have to do what no one else can do. Figure out how to take back your throne and save our mother and Amalie, all while not taking back any of the progress Gaule has made toward accepting Belaens.”

“Easy, right?”

“Noble actions are never easy.”

“Did you learn that one from Edmund?” Alex fell into step beside Tyson.

Tyson ducked his head to hide his sheepish grin. “We spent a lot of time together after we escaped the palace.”

“I wish you hadn’t had to do that.”

“Me too.” He raised his hand in front of Alex’s face and snapped it open.

Alex sputtered as water rose from the ground in a flash and slapped him in the face.

“That was for being a dick to my people for so long.”

Alex wiped his face on his sleeve. “You didn’t even know they were your people.”

“You were still a dick.”

“Yeah.” Alex sighed and pushed damp hair off his forehead. “I guess I was.”

“Still kinda are.” Tyson shot him a final grin but didn’t stick around for Alex’s retort.

Alex shook his head and reentered the tent where his officers continued to confer. They glanced up hopefully. “Sorry, we have to find another way.”

The room deflated and no one spoke until a guard ran in, jostling Alex. His eyes widened.

“My… My king.” He bowed clumsily.

“What is it?” Anders snapped.

The guard turned to him, shrinking back from the general’s large presence. “The scouts spotted riders, sir. A lot of them.”

Alex cursed as Anders took charge, issuing orders to prepare the soldiers for battle.

“Sire,” he said to Alex. “You should stay with the archers.”

His first instinct was to argue, but then common sense kicked in. He was a much better archer than swordsman. His hand shot out, grabbing onto the tunic of a guard nearby. “Prince Tyson was just here. Bring him to me.” The man nodded and hurried away.

There was no way he was letting Tyson near the fight.

A horn sounded from the far side of the valley and riders crested the hill, stretching across the horizon.

“Reinforcements for the duke.” Alex rubbed his jaw. It had to be. Holding his bow aloft, he hurried to the other side of camp where the archers gathered.

“Archers, to me!” he yelled. “Ready your bows.”

Nearby, Anders forced the soldiers into battle lines. Most of them had never been in so much as a fistfight. The royal guardsmen and women stood straight with steely eyes and calm demeanors. The Moreau fighters circled in chaos. Alex pulled his eyes away as a guard shoved Tyson forward.

“Seriously, Alex? I’m a better fighter than three-quarters of those soldiers.”

Alex shoved a bow into his hands. “Today, you’re an archer.”

“I’m a shit archer.”

Alex cuffed him on the back of the head as his eyes scanned the oncoming force. “You’re almost as good as me, Ty, so no more.”

Tyson cursed and rubbed his head but otherwise remained silent as he readied his bow.

Alex had never been in an all-out battle. He didn’t know exactly what to expect. But he was pretty sure they didn’t begin with a single rider galloping forward, a white flag billowing in the breeze.

Alex pressed his bow into Tyson’s free hand. He stepped up next to Anders.

The rider stopped midway between the forces.

“You think it’s a trap?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know, your Majesty.”

The rider slid gracefully from the dappled mare and approached the envoy for Alex’s army. Long silver hair spilled from her helmet as she removed it. A woman. Alex sucked in a breath as her gaze pierced them even at that distance.

“Hello.” The voice was quiet, no more than a whisper.

Alex and Anders both twisted around looking for the source.

“I’m not your enemy.” A musical quality lilted the words.

“It’s her,” Alex said, his eyes widening.

Revulsion flashed across Anders’ face, reminding Alex how his general felt about Belaens. Her magic allowed her to speak across the distance.

“I need to speak with her.” Alex couldn’t explain it. The draw of her magic. Other than Tyson, he hadn’t been around any magic folk since leaving Bela and it had left a hole in his life.

“Come,” her sweet voice said.

“Stand down,” Alex called to his force.

“You can’t go alone,” Anders argued.

“Then send your best soldiers, but you are not coming.” He didn’t need Anders angering the woman with his disdain for her kind.

Tyson ran up beside him and he opened his mouth to tell him to stay put, but then shut it without uttering a word. Tyson had as much right to meet the magic woman as he did. The eagerness on his face spoke volumes. Tyson hadn’t shown much interest in anything since leaving Bela.

Anders handpicked three guards and horses were brought forward. They cantered across the field they’d intended to be a battlefield.

When they reached the armored woman, her eyes caught on Tyson and widened as a smile spread across her face. “You have magic,” she said softly.

“Who are you?” Alex demanded, looking down on her from atop his horse.

Tyson slid down before Alex had a chance to stop him. “You sensed me?”

She shook her head with a laugh. “We’ve all heard the rumors. I was only looking for confirmation.”

Alex scowled at his brother as he jumped down from his horse. “I will not ask you again. Who are you and do you intend to attack?” He scanned her force at the other end of the valley.

She finally turned her piercing gray eyes on him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty. Like I said before, I am not your enemy. In fact, we can be of service to you. A messenger reached me saying that my father was trapped inside the royal palace, surrounded by traitors. I thought this must be a lie, but he was supposed to have returned with his wife. The risk was too great not to come.”

“Your father,” he said dumbly.

“Yes, Duke Caron. Recently wed to the princess Camille.”

It suddenly clicked and Alex glanced back at his guards. “Stand down. These are the Caron forces. Thank God.”

“I’m Ara. It truly is a pleasure to meet you, Alexandre Durand. My father always spoke most highly of you.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to see you.” Did her father know of her magic? He had to. There was no time for Alex to express his surprise as she spoke again.

“So, it’s true then? Gaule is at war?” she asked.

“Call your units to camp next to mine,” Alex said, gesturing to where pointed tents rose up across the valley.

She nodded and spoke softly. Alex couldn’t hear her words, but her lips were moving. Her soldiers started across the valley and she gave him a shrug and vaulted onto her horse. Had they heard her words as he had from afar?

He’d seen a lot of things in his short stint as king. A lot of magic. But he’d never get used to it.

He climbed into his saddle and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks, anxious to tell his men and women that the greatest threat still lay within the palace walls. There’d be no battle this day.

But a battle was coming. No one doubted that.

3

As she sat among the trees, Etta dug her knife into the wood once again, carving out as much as she could. She’d seen her father make their sparring poles many times before. They’d been smooth and light. Hers had jagged edges and oddly shaped ends. She was useless for anything that didn’t involve wielding a sword.

Frustration rose within her and she flung her knife at the nearest tree. Even her aim was off and it landed in a pile of dead leaves.

“You know,” Matteo said as his shadow fell over her. “You could use your fancy new Basile magic to do that.”

Edmund appeared next to her and she pushed to her feet. “What would you know about it?”

It was cruel and she shouldn’t have said it. Matteo was the only Basile in generations with no power of his own. He’d grown up thinking he’d one day inherit the Basile curse, but then he’d found out about a cousin born weeks before him. Etta. And that the curse had fallen to her instead.

Etta would gladly give Matteo every ounce of magic she possessed. She didn’t want it.

His expression shifted in sympathy and that worsened her guilt. Matteo struck her as a jerk when they first met, but he soon proved to be more ally than anything else. He’d lived his entire life as a prisoner to an evil woman.

Now that he was free, he’d changed right before her eyes.

Edmund wasn’t as forgiving as a scowl marred his handsome features. “Do you insist on making everyone else around you just as miserable as you are?” He directed the words to Etta.

“Edmund.” Matteo placed a hand on Edmund’s arm and to Etta’s surprise, her friend backed off. “Another ship arrived this morning. We’ll start unloading it after lunch.”

She nodded. “I’ll be there.” Some hard work would be good for her.

Matteo and Edmund locked eyes, seemingly having some silent conversation and then Matteo trudged back the way he’d come.

Edmund continued to stare at her. “You can’t keep doing this, Etta.”

“Doing what?”

“Hiding out. Snapping at people who care about you. One of these days, you’re going to need to step up. If not for me or Matteo, then for your people.”

Not wanting to hear it, she gripped one of the rough staffs she’d made.

Edmund picked up the second one. “Spar with me.” He raised a brow. “I may even let you hit me a time or two.”

“As if you’d have a choice,” she grumbled. “Fine.” She led him to the clearing a short walk away.

“I’m going to cut my hands on this thing you’re calling a staff.”

“I’ve never carved them myself before, give me a break.”

He faced her and winked. Edmund loved throwing people off guard. Winks. Smiles. The grace at which he moved. It didn’t matter if they were men or women.

But Etta had always been immune to his charm. She was determined to beat him. Maybe it was an effect of the way they met, their first battle. They were meant to fight to the death. Those kinds of stakes instilled a singular focus. And each time she fought him, she slipped back into tournament mode. Cold. Calculating. The only objective: winning.

She made the first move and her pole cracked against his as he blocked and stepped back. She attacked again, a series of swift moves. He matched her thrust for thrust. Always her equal. That’s how it was between them. Neither was superior.

Edmund grinned as he advanced forward and all sound faded. His magic. She shook her head. It wouldn’t be a true battle with Edmund if sound entered their arena. He’d used his magic every time he’d face her. Inside their bubble, the only sounds came from the meeting of their poles and the shuffling of their feet.

Etta spun with her leg raised to catch him in the side. He grabbed her foot and pulled, forcing her to twist away.

“You’d actually beat me if you used your magic,” Edmund said, sucking in air.

“Stop.” She jabbed, hoping to catch him off guard.

Edmund was never off guard.

“Are you scared?”

When she didn’t respond, he swung his staff in a wide arc, meeting hers above their heads.

“Persinette Basile doesn’t fear anything,” he said, staring into her eyes.

She twisted away, trying to ignore his words and the expectation in them. They all expected so much from her. Their faith was suffocating.

“What do you have to be scared of? That La Dame will win?”

He blocked another one of her attacks. “That’s it. You don’t think you can beat her. At least not without a little darkness. You think you’ll have to give in to the power, let it control you.”

Etta surged forward, her movements stilted with anger. She swung too wildly, moved her feet too quickly.

“What if you do? Isn’t it worth saving Bela?”

She stood panting as he narrowed his eyes.

“No, you’re afraid you’ll destroy us.”

She charged, jumping into the air and spinning. He knocked her away easily and she went tumbling to the ground. Picking herself up, she threw her pole to one side and charged him again.

“Are you La Dame?” He tackled her to the ground, and she tried to kick him away. “You aren’t her, Etta. But one day, if you don’t stop the hate growing inside you, you might be. Use your powers.” He released her and backed up. “Use them,” he screamed. “Don’t be a coward.” He gripped her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Coward. Traitor. You’re no queen.”

The anger overwhelmed her and she couldn’t stop the burst of magic as is exploded from her hands. Edmund flew backward, turning over in the air until his body collided with the branch of a tree and he slammed into the ground.

Shock kept her frozen for a long moment until reality crashed in and she ran toward him. Edmund’s body bent at a weird angle and blood dribbled from his mouth. A sob pushed out of her.

“No. No. No.” She bent over him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

As she pressed her face into his chest, it rose slowly and she jerked her head up.

People ran toward them, led by Matteo.

He stopped when he saw Edmund, his eyes welling up. “Is he—”

“No,” Etta said quickly. “We need Esme.”

Matteo yelled to the people behind him. “Someone find Esme!” He knelt on the other side of Edmund and pressed his fingers to his neck. He sagged in relief and touched Edmund’s face gently. “He wanted to draw out your magic, but this…”

“I…” Tears clogged her throat. She wiped her face and tried again. “No one should have this much power, Matteo. Do you see what I did? It’s nothing but evil.”

“This wasn’t your fault.”

His forgiveness only made it worse. “Of course it was. I almost killed him.”

“But you didn’t.” He reached across Edmund to take her hand.

Esme arrived quickly and knelt beside them, immediately putting her hands on Edmund’s chest. She closed her eyes and Etta had never been more glad they let the Draconian healer stay after she’d escaped La Dame’s employ. Since that night, Esme kept her distance from the Belaens, most of whom still didn’t trust her. But now she was here.

Edmund’s breathing evened out and before long, his eyes fluttered open.

Etta refrained from throwing herself across him and begging his forgiveness. She frantically shifted through his blood-stained blonde hair but there was no cut there. The healing worked.

Unable to look into his eyes, she jumped to her feet and started running with no destination in mind. After a while, she found herself atop the cliffs once again looking into the abyss. The swirling waters resembled her powers. Dark. Overwhelming. Uncontrollable. With each passing day, they threatened to pull her into their dangerous current.

A warm presence stood beside her, bringing her away from the edge, and she let the tears flow as she turned to bury her face in Vérité’s mane.

His nose nudged her cheek and she pulled back to lose herself in his wide understanding eyes. She couldn’t explain it, but Vérité got it, got her. Their souls were entwined. He’d saved her more times than she could count. From her enemies. From herself. She could no longer differentiate between the two. She was her own enemy.

Power surged down the length of her arms and she pulled back. What if she hurt Verite? She’d never forgive herself.

Her breath wheezed in and out of her throat rapidly. No, she told herself. Edmund was going to be okay. He was fine.

Her hands shook as her fingers sank into her long hair, wanting to pull it free. Vérité’s eyes pleaded with her. He wanted to go for a ride. To feel a part of her once again. As her heart hammered in her chest, she turned and walked away. His eyes followed her, but she didn’t turn back.

Before long, she was back in the place she’d sparred with Edmund. It was where she always went to think, to lose herself in the forest. She’d always felt her best when surrounded by trees that protected her from the harsher realities of the world.

In Gaule, the Black Forest hadn’t only been her home. It’d been her sanctuary. She’d lived with her father, hidden by his wards. It was the only time she’d been safe. The people who killed her mother couldn’t find them there. The king who’d once been her father’s friend couldn’t hunt them down if they were nowhere to be found.

Her father had kept many secrets. Some of which had been revealed slowly since his death. She hadn’t known the full history of their line or that he’d secretly fathered a child with someone who wasn’t her mother. Not just any child. A prince.

She’d been taught to hate Gaule and the family that ran the kingdom, but also that hate wasn’t enough. It wasn’t freedom. If anything, it was another prison. Especially when forced to stand by the side of the one you hate… to… She shook her head. Harder than hate was the end of hatred when that barrier fell. Because then, you risked losing everything you were.

She’d fought it. Fought her feelings for him, but the curse tying them together amplified everything inside of her. Fighting it was useless.

Now she saw her feelings for what they really were. Another curse. She wouldn’t let herself give in to them. Not when a crown sat on her head.

Because that’s what she was. A queen. She hadn’t earned it. She hadn’t defeated La Dame, only chased her away for a time. But Basile blood coursed through her and to her people that was enough. They would follow a descendant of Aurora and Phillip to the ends of the earth.

Whether she used her magic or not.

As she wiped the tears from her face, she looked up into the afternoon sun, knowing the time for indecision was past. She’d wallowed. She’d grieved. She’d let her fear overcome her.

Not anymore.

Heading off toward the beach, she pulled her magic back, holding it in, refusing to let it out. When it was inside of her, she could control it.

And she would.

Because she was Persinette Basile.

She arrived at the beach as a wooden rowboat pulled ashore laden with supplies. Their ancient allies across the sea were determined to see Bela regain everything it once had. The Madrans had no magic, and it was plain they feared it. The sailors refused to leave the ship or speak to the Belaens, but their king knew La Dame was the greater threat.

Matteo spotted her, and she jogged over.

“Thought you’d be with Edmund,” she said.

He pressed his foot down on the bow of the boat and hopped off, splashing through the water to walk toward her. “He’ll be fine. I was needed here.”

The unspoken words were plain. He was needed because she hadn’t been around. Matteo and Edmund had been fulfilling her duties.

A woman stood farther down the beach holding out a hand in front of her. The water receded from around the boat, allowing others to descend and begin carrying off the supplies. They worked in sync with one another and Etta realized they must have done this very same thing many times before as each ship came in.

She couldn’t take her eyes from the woman who was grinning as she made the water splash up to hit one of the men.

The trick with the water reminded her of Tyson.

Matteo snapped her out of her depressing thoughts. “Glad you finally joined us.”

An apology stuck in her throat but she couldn’t push the words out. There was so much she was sorry for. That she hadn’t been strong enough. That she’d let their enemy leave to fight another day, leaving the threat hanging over them. That she didn’t know how to be a part of a community. She never had.

Her people thrived on finally having a community to call their own. They no longer had to live in secret, alone.

But that was all she’d ever known.

So, as she looked at Matteo, one of only two living souls who shared her lineage, she thought of so many things to say, settling on only two words that couldn’t possibly encompass any of it. “Me too.”

She worked all afternoon unloading supplies and lugging them to the village.

As the sun sank on the horizon, her people settled in around the cook fires for mealtime. Some pulled out odd stringed instruments, sending notes into the night.

Etta walked past them through the village where homes bustled with activity. She accepted greetings as she ducked inside one of the homes being used for healing. Edmund rested on his bed. Matteo sat next to him, leaning forward to hear him speak as he offered him a bowl of rice and beans.

When Matteo’s eye caught hers, he jumped away. “I’ll give you a moment.”

Etta took the spot Matteo vacated on the end of the bed, her eyes focusing on her hands.

“Etta,” Edmund said quietly. “Look at me.”

She shook her head.

“Persinette Basile, if you don’t look me in the eye right now, next time we spar, I won’t let you win.”

Her eyes blazed as they snapped to his. “Let me win?”

He chuckled. “Knew that would get you.”

She frowned. “Edmund–”

“I’m sorry I pushed you so hard,” he interrupted.

“Wait, you think this is your fault? I almost killed you.”

He flinched at her words but tried to hide it. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“If Esme hadn’t come…”

“I know. But Etta, you can’t let this stop you from using your powers again.”

He read her too well. “I can’t control them, Edmund. You saw that. They’re too much.”

“Nothing is too much for you.”

“How do you have so much faith in me?”

“You’re my best friend.”

Warm pride spread through her but an awkwardness settled in her mind. So, of course, she had to ruin the moment. “I thought Alexandre was your best friend.”

“First.” He held up one finger weakly. “His name is Alex. You’re only calling him Alexandre to pretend you really do hate him like you think you should. But I know better. Second, my feelings for Alex will always be complicated. You know the feeling.” He shot her a smirk, and she opened her mouth to protest, but he went on before she could. “But you, little queen, you are my family.”

Her eyes glassed over, but she was able to keep herself from crying. She nodded, soaking in the strength he always gave her. He made her believe in herself and belief had power. Almost as much power as magic. “I need your help, Edmund.”

“Anything.”

She sucked in a breath. Once the words were out, Edmund wouldn’t let her take them back. “I need to learn how to control my new magic.”

His lips curved into a smile and she put a hand over his mouth to keep him from responding before she got it all out.

“If people are going to insist on making me the queen, I need to be able to protect them. I can feel the power crawling underneath my skin and it’s only a matter of time before I explode. We can’t let that happen. When it first came to me, I could grasp it, mold it, and use it against La Dame. Since then, it’s grown and amplified.”

When he finally spoke, his words were muffled underneath her hand. “I’m in.”

“You might get hurt.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know what it’ll do to you.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of helping? Because it won’t work. I’m going to be there for you no matter what happens.”

She nodded and withdrew her hand. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Esme will demand I take another day to rest.” He grinned, something evil sparking in his eyes. “But I told Matteo that you’d be more than happy to hold court tomorrow because you’d feel guilty about what happened to me.”

“No way.”

“Etta, you’re the queen.”

“So, you’re using what happened for personal gain?”

“Not personal.” His grin didn’t waver. “It’s for Bela. Your people need to see you acting like their queen.”

“You’re evil.”

He nodded. “That is an accurate assessment.”

“Fine, but now I’m leaving before I try to knock you unconscious again just for the sake of shutting you up.”

Glee danced across his face. “So, we’re at the joking stage of me almost dying?”

She matched his grin and turned to walk away. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

4

Fires lit up the night sky outside the gates of the palace as Alex looked on. That army wasn’t going anywhere. Other forces had joined them in the night, no doubt summoned by the nobles who were splitting Gaule in two.

Alex scooted forward on his belly to the top of the hill to get a better vantage point. He hadn’t come to gather their numbers. That would need to be done in the light of day. No, on this night, he’d crept out of his tent and away from the guards who were his constant shadow because he needed to see it for it to be real.

They were trying to take his throne. It wasn’t a throne he wanted. He was raised to be king but had never embraced it. Before his father was crowned, a council ruled Gaule. The king headed the council, but he had very little authority on his own. He was a figurehead.

But his father took his power. He stripped it from the council with the support of some of the most powerful people in the kingdom. He’d said it was the only way to keep them safe from La Dame as Gaule’s young men and women fell on battlefields, surrounded by a dying hope.

Life ran in circles and now Alex was forced to fight for his crown as his father had. Then La Dame would come.

Maybe Etta could defeat her, but that filled him with another kind of dread. If something happened to her… No. La Dame wasn’t only Bela’s problem. She’d destroy them all.

If they didn’t destroy themselves first.

“How many fighters do they have?” Ara whispered, crouching down beside him.

“More than us,” he grunted, shooting her a questioning look.

“I saw you sneaking away from camp. You really shouldn’t do that, your Majesty.”

He rubbed his knuckles against his jaw and shifted his eyes back to the walls of his home. “Outside the palace, I’m just Alex. Please.”

She nodded seriously. “Alex.”

They stayed there, side by side watching in silence for a while longer before Alex pushed himself up. Ara matched his stride to walk through the darkness until they saw the waning fires of their friendlier camp.

“I came looking for you for a reason,” Ara said as she followed him into his tent without an invitation.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

She sat on the end of the bed as if she owned the place. “Can you tell me about her?”

“About who?”

She raised an eyebrow as if the answer was obvious. “Persinette Basile.”

His first instinct was to deny her. Nothing good would come from discussing Etta with a near stranger.

Breaking the curse shifted his feelings. Instead of the intense joy he’d once had, all he could summon was regret.

“I…” he started, swallowing hard. “Why?”

“She was in your household. You must have known her well.” She paused. “You obviously know I have magic. My mother hailed from Bela. She raised me on stories of the Basiles.”

Alex drew his brows together and busied himself by splashing water from a washbasin onto his face. He’d known Duke Caron’s first wife. She hadn’t been Belaen.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Ara sighed. “You’re thinking of the lady Emily. She wasn’t my mother. My father is a good man… but he also has many weaknesses. Women are one of them.”

Alex turned to her once again, this time thinking of his sister. Would he have matched her to such a man if he knew?

The answer was yes, of course. He’d had no choice. He needed Caron. And the man was kind, much more so than any other eligible nobles who’d vied for her hand.

Ara sensed she’d said something she shouldn’t have. “Be assured, he will make Camille happy. They’re all happy. My father has so much to give that none of them are lacking in anything. After my mother died, he took me into his household to be raised with his three legitimate sons and two illegitimate ones.”

“You have five brothers?”

She grimaced. “And I’m the youngest. Imagine their protests when my father put me at the head of the army.”

Alex laughed, feeling something break loose in his chest as he imagined five large men being passed over for the sprightly Ara.

She smiled, her lips tight. “Not to mention two of them are soldiers who now have to take orders from me. They thought the messenger was a fake meant to lead us into a trap. But I had the final say and here we are.”

As if on cue, someone called Ara’s name. She scooted from the bed. “That would be Hendry.”

Alex followed her out and an impossibly tall man crossed his arms, his eyes flicking from Ara to Alex and then back again. “What is going on here?”

“Show some respect to your king, Hendry.” Ara stomped her foot.

“I will when he isn’t luring my little sister into his tent unchaperoned.”

Ara rolled her eyes but didn’t get a chance to respond as a loud crash sounded behind them and Tyson barreled through camp, colliding with a large cook pot. His curses reached them, but he didn’t stop his forward progression. By the time he reached them, he was panting. Once he caught his breath, he scanned Hendry from head to toe. “Dude, you’re tall.”

“Ty,” Alex said. “Why are you running through camp like your hair is on fire?”

He ran a hand through his hair as if making sure it was indeed intact and Alex held in a laugh.

“I remembered something,” he finally said. “Something important.”

Alex scanned their surroundings for people listening and then pulled his brother into his tent with Ara and Hendry behind them. The space was cramped with the four of them, but Alex barely noticed as he focused on Tyson’s intense face.

“There’s a messenger’s hole.”

“What?” Alex snapped. “What are you talking about?”

“The tunnels used to be used for messengers to come and go without alerting the rest of the palace to their presence. Most kings used them for their contacts with agents of La Dame when she was our ally.”

“La Dame was never Gaule’s ally,” Hendry said harshly.

Alex started to refute his statement, but Ara beat him to it. “Don’t be stupid, brother. Of course, she was. Why else would Gaule still be standing when Bela was destroyed generations ago? We may not like it. We may be ashamed. But we cannot pretend our history doesn’t exist.”

Tyson waved a hand at them. “None of that matters right now. What I’m trying to tell you is we have a way to get a message into the palace.”

They all stopped moving, stopped talking. Alex would have sworn they even stopped breathing.

Ara regained her wits first. “Explain.”

“The tunnels only open from the inside, but messengers had to have a way to inform their contacts of their presence. Of the need to open the tunnels. I didn’t remember it because I’ve only ever seen it once and then completely forgot about it.” His pleading eyes fixed on Alex. “This is how we save them.”

* * *

Alex knew Anders didn’t agree with the plan, but he obeyed his king. They must pretend as if Alex and Tyson were still in camp. Not to mention Ara and Hendry. Their brother Renner would keep their absence under wraps.

The next obstacle was getting to the other side of the palace without being seen by Leroy’s forces. They were camped right in the valley between the village and the castle.

They passed the village, quiet in the night. Some villagers hid behind the inner palace walls, protected by the dowager queen. Still, others chose the side of the traitors. They were angry to find friends and neighbors were Belaens, the very people they were supposed to fight against.

Alex rode at the head of their procession. A few extra guards accompanied them as Tyson explain exactly how to get to the cove at the end of the tunnels.

The Black Forrest.

Memories assaulted Alex as the tree cover enveloped them. Everything was the same. A peaceful quiet that only seemed to exist among these trees settled over them. It smelled of damp earth and blooming flowers, of a time when his heart had beat inside his chest.

He didn’t want to remember. It would be easier to wash it all away, to focus on saving his mother, on taking back his throne.

Easy didn’t seem possible. Not when every second he’d spent with Etta in the woods was burned into his brain. Why couldn’t he just despise her? His enemy. The girl with the most beautiful smile in the world. As amazing as it was rare.

The woods weren’t where he’d first kissed her, but they were the place he’d first seen something deeper than the fierce face she put on for the world. It was the place he’d had all of her. No confusion. No anger. No crowns to worry about.

He shook his head and met his brother’s sympathetic gaze. He was thinking about her too. About how their father’s desire to erase magic had forced her to live in the woods for years. How she’d fought for everything she had.

And how she’d looked at them when they left Bela. As if she’d never see them again, and yet, she’d been cold.

Not the Etta either of them knew.

She’d been Persinette Basile. Nothing more.

“This place is freaking me out,” Ara grumbled. “Aren’t these woods haunted?”

The corner of Alex’s lips curled up. Viktor Basile’s wards had hidden the magic folk among the trees for years, but they were occasionally heard. Alex scanned the woods for any sign of them, but he suspected they’d bolted for Bela at the first chance.

“Yeah,” he said, his smiled falling. “It’s haunted.” Because, for him, it was.

It took two days, but they followed the path all the way to the far end of the forest where it met the sea. Large trunks stuck up through the swirling waters.

“We aren’t going in there,” Tyson assured them, turning his horse.

A few hours later, he led them out into a cove. The palace walls rose before them, more imposing from the outside.

Every time Alex saw the high structure, he doubted he’d be able to get inside.

Tyson was different. His mind constantly ran over every possibility, finding optimism in each. Alex envied that.

Tyson scrambled off his horse, his tired legs almost collapsing beneath him. He stumbled and righted himself before heading for the wall and spreading his arms against it. “Oh, sweet palace. It sure is good to see you.”

Ara laughed as she slid down, landing in a puddle. Sand stretched out to each side of them, hard from the constant pounding of the waves. The tide was out, but the waterline almost reached the walls.

The cove was a tiny inlet, too small to notice along the coastline. Dark water stretched along the horizon. Alex turned toward the castle and followed his brother down the sharp decline that led into the narrow tunnels underneath the walls.

They came to a dead end at a wall of slate. Tyson ran his hands along every rock, losing showers of dirt.

“A little help,” Tyson called.

Hendry and the other guards stayed back, but Alex and Ara ran forward to follow Tyson’s motions.

After a while, defeat slowed Alex’s movements, and he stepped back, his head hanging low. It wasn’t there. He released a long breath and almost didn’t hear Ara’s gasp.

Tyson grabbed his arm and pulled him over as Ara wiggled a loose rock free. “It’s here,” she said.

The messenger’s hole was small, not large enough to stick an entire hand in.

Alex pulled out the letter he’d written and slipped it through. “Where will that end up?”

“There’s an unused chapel on the other side.” Tyson shoved the rock back in the hole.

“You mean to tell me that we just did all of this to get a letter into a room where no one will ever find it?” He huffed and hurried back through the tunnels.

Once outside, he sucked in the fresh air and put his hands on his head.

“Alex, listen to me.”

Alex turned to his brother. “We’re on the edge of war and I am a king who just left his army to ride for days to deliver a message to no one. Forgive me if I lose my shit right now.”

“It isn’t no one. It’s Amalie.”

“What?”

Tyson pushed out a long breath. “Amalie and I spent a lot of time in that chapel. It’s… ugh, it’s going to sound stupid and childish to you, but that was our place. I’m kind of hoping she’s still going there. No, not hoping, I know she is.”

Alex’s anger deflated. “She told me you guys were close, but I…”

“Hadn’t noticed?” Tyson shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t. You were lost in your own world with your art and Edmund and then Etta. But I had Amalie. Even though I knew one day you’d take her from me. That she was always meant to marry you. For a little while, I had her. She’s my best friend.” He smirked. “She’s my Edmund.”

Alex draped an arm around Tyson’s shoulders, knowing Amalie was much more than just a friend to Tyson. She’d told him so herself after Tyson escaped Gaule with Edmund.

“I guess we should settle in for a wait.” Ara started giving orders to the guards as if it was what she was born to do. Alex saw a bit of what her father must have seen when he named her general. Hendry watched his sister with amusement on his face.

Before long, they’d set up camp past the water line, hoping that by morning, they’d know if it was all for nothing.

Alex leaned back against his bedroll next to Tyson. “Is it weird to be back?”

Tyson refused to look at him. “When I left, my entire life was falling apart. So much has happened since then. I don’t feel like the same boy who ran in the middle of the night.”

“Did you really think I’d let anything happen to you if your magic was found out?”

A beat of silence passed between them and Tyson lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t know what to think. You’d imprisoned Edmund. And you did come after us when we escaped.”

“I charged Etta with breaking Edmund free. I wanted him safe. When I learned Etta had been lying to me the entire time about her true identity, something inside me broke. I couldn’t think of anything but getting answers from her. Finding out if any of it was…”

“Real? How’s that working for you?” When Alex didn’t respond, Tyson spoke again. “What about now? Do you think it was real?”

“I don’t know, Ty. I really don’t. I hope so.” Alex slouched down and closed his eyes, ending the conversation before his brother could ask more questions he wasn’t ready to answer. More questions he didn’t have time for. He had to do what was best for Gaule.

It no longer mattered if any of it was real.

* * *

Shadows moved among the trees, dancing against the darkness, and Alex’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t move as footsteps surrounded them.

It felt as if the leaves themselves were muffling all sounds. Magic. It had to be.

Beside him, Tyson stirred. He gripped his brother’s arm to keep him still. Had Leroy’s men found them?

Before he got any answers, a blaze of light spread through the woods, shooting up toward the sky, blinding any who looked too closely. Alex shielded his eyes, the movement catching the attention of the man holding the light in the palm of his hand. It dimmed, and he directed it right toward their prone forms.

No one spoke as Alex’s face was bathed in light and he held his breath as his hand slid under his bedroll to grip the knife he kept there. His sword was out of reach.

Silence stretched as they waited for someone to make the first move. Uncertainty hung in the air. Ara bristled, looking ready to pounce. Hendry had somehow retrieved his sword. Their guards were on full alert.

Until a man pushed past the beam of light and Alex recognized him immediately.

Simon dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Majesty,” he breathed. “Thank the heavens.”

Alex relaxed and dropped the knife. “It’s damn good to see you, Si.”

He hadn’t known Simon for long. The man had been in his guard but Alex never took notice of him until Si took it upon himself to try to fix Alex’s dreadful sword technique. After that, Simon had been his man, with him every step of the way. When Etta could no longer be protector, he’d stepped in.

And Alex had never been more grateful for anything.

Except for maybe the fact they found them instead of the traitor noble’s forces.

Simon stood and extended a hand down to Alex. The king grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Simon’s eyes found Tyson. “Your mother is going to be so happy at your presence, young prince, she may even forget about the enemy at our door.” One side of his mouth lifted. “For a minute at least.” He turned back to the man playing with the light in his hands. “Put that out, man. Do you want everyone to know we’re out of the palace?” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Please, sire, tell me you’re here because you have a way to beat those bastards back.”

“Let’s get into the palace and we’ll discuss it.”

Simon gave a silent command to the people who surrounded them still. They weren’t guards. Alex had been told his mother was protecting some of the villagers in the inner palace. Were they magic folk?

They trudged from the woods and into the long tunnel. It was the middle of the night and exhaustion tugged at all of them, but Alex shook it from his mind and pushed on. The musty air rattled in his chest and he rubbed a hand across his eyes. The man with the ability to create light guided them. The tunnels seemed longer in the dark of night.

“Did you get the letter we sent through the messenger’s hole?” Alex asked Simon.

“Amalie found it.” The large man scratched his chin. “We send a man out on patrol every night to make sure this way out of the palace stays clear and when we found the note, we moved up the patrol schedule.”

“If you knew it was clear, why haven’t you abandoned the palace?”

Simon scratched his strong jaw. “We have a lot of people to protect. We wouldn’t have been able to get them to safety without notice.”

They reached the end of the tunnel where a door stood slightly open. Alex hadn’t even noticed it before. When it was closed, it looked like the stone wall surrounding it. They pushed it wider and stepped through into a room that had seen better days.

Alex ran his fingers along the wall. They may be in a run-down chapel, one he’d never given much thought, but he was home. He’d made it.

The halls were packed with servants and soldiers but none of them recognized him. His clothes were travel-stained, his hair long and unruly, and days’ worth of growth coated his cheeks. People jumped out of Simon’s way and when they reached the royal family’s wing, all sound faded away. The hall was empty, lonely. He passed by the door to his room, running the tips of his fingers along the wood. Etta’s room was next, but he turned his head away, unable to look.

Finally, they reached his mother’s door. The guard gazed at them skeptically. “The dowager is sleeping. It’s late.” His eyes rested on Alex’s face as if trying to place him. After a moment, they widened and he bowed clumsily. “Forgive me, your Majesty. I didn’t know it was you.”

Alex patted him on the arm as he knocked on his mother’s door. Tyson bounced on his toes beside him, but the rest of the party was still.

The door opened and his mother’s voice drifted out before she saw them. “Simon, is that you? It’s late, so the report is going to…”

She stopped, her mouth dropping open, frozen in shock. Her eyes glassed over and Tyson was the first to move. He ran toward her and wrapped his arms around her. A sob escaped her lips as he buried his face in her shoulder.

Tyson had never been ashamed of his emotions. He wore his heart like a badge of honor.

“My boys,” she finally said, reaching out toward Alex.

As he let her pull him into a crushing hug, the events of the past months crashed over him and he held on tighter, afraid his legs would give out if she let go. He’d been taken from his home. Beaten. Held in a tower. Seen so much death. Forced to bring himself low. Then had everything he thought he’d known ripped away with the curse.

Having his mother with him again was the first thing that felt right in so long.

“Mother,” Tyson whispered, fighting his own demons.

“Shhhh.” She patted the back of his head. “I know.”

When they pulled back, tears streaked down her face. She cupped each of her son’s cheeks. “I didn’t know if I’d see you boys again. There’s been no word while we’re locked up here.”

Alex glanced from her to Simon. “We think we can do something about that.” He gestured for Ara to step forward. “Meet Ara Caron. She’s brought us troops.”

Simon looked to the ceiling as if thanking something above. “We must wake your father. Seems we aren’t as hopeless here as we thought.”

It didn’t take long for Duchess Moreau, Duke Caron, and Camille to appear. The Duke radiated pride when he saw his son and daughter.

The door to Tyson’s old room that connected to his mother’s opened and a hesitant young lady appeared. “I heard a commotion.”

At the sound of her voice, Tyson lifted his head slowly, taking a deep breath before turning around.

Amalie’s face lit up. “Ty? Is that really you?”

Tyson rushed toward her but stopped short of wrapping her in a hug. They faced each other for a long moment, neither speaking.

Finally, Tyson smiled. “I used the messenger hole. I was sure you’d find the letter and open the doorway. But you didn’t.”

She shook her head. “I only go there when I have to. It’s been too–”

She didn’t need to finish.

“Yeah.” He dropped his eyes to his hands. “It’s been…”

She reached out tentatively to take his hand. “I just needed to make sure you were really here.”

Alex turned away from their reunion feeling a burning in his chest.

“Are you okay, brother?” Camille stepped up beside him.

Alex narrowed his eyes. He’d never seen eye to eye with his sister. In his mind, he could still see her and Leroy trying to hang magic folk.

The Durands might have been as screwed up as they came, but crisis brought them together. No matter what happened in the past, they’d fight together to preserve their legacy, their kingdom. He understood that about Camille. She might still have an issue with magic folk, but when her family was being threatened, that didn’t matter.

She leaned heavily on her cane and waited for him to answer. He shook himself. “Of course I am. I’m finally home.”

She looked as if she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t press him further because their mother leaned forward, ready to begin.

“Alexandre,” she started. “Take a seat and tell us everything.”

For just a moment, he thought she was talking about his abduction, about Etta. But that would be for another time. Right now, there were more pressing matters.

“Anders has our forces camped on the other side of the village. He has the unit of royal guardsmen under his command, the Moreau soldiers, and now the Caron units as well.”

“Is it enough?” his mother asked.

“We are still outnumbered.”

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment.

Duchess Moreau scratched her chin. “If you pulled my forces into the fight, who is guarding the border?”

Tyson jumped in to answer. “We’ve seen La Dame.” A gasp ran around the room. “If she comes for Gaule, no amount of soldiers at the border will stop her.”

“What about Bela? Magic folk are flocking there. Should we not worry they’ll come for some kind of retribution?” Camille asked.

Tyson shook his head. “No. The queen made us a promise.”

“Queen?” Their mother said at the same time as Camille said, “Bela has no queen.”

Tyson rose to his full height as if that would keep anyone from disputing his next words. “My sister is the queen.”

A tiny whimper sounded from Catrine’s throat as the realization struck her. Her pleading eyes met Alex’s with a question in them. Alex nodded. His brother knew his true parentage. He was more Basile than Durand.

Duchess Moreau didn’t look surprised, but the rest of them waited for answers.

Alex rubbed a hand across his face. Where did he start? “Persinette Basile has been crowned queen of Bela.”

His mother rested a hand on his shoulder. “How?” Alex knew what she was really asking. Where was Etta, and how were they separated while the curse tied them together?

Alex rose to his feet. “It’s gone.” He didn’t look at her as he strode to the door. “All of it.”

Behind him, his mother dismissed everyone back to their beds, saying they’d pick up the strategy meeting the next morning when they were all more rested.

They filtered out past Alex. Even Tyson disappeared with Amalie leaving Alex alone with his mother.

Alex shook his head as her hand landed on his back. “What did they do to you, son?”

He swallowed back the words he wanted to say. They destroyed him. Opened him up and scooped out everything that mattered. Emptied him. Broke him. He stilled his shaking jaw and gripped the handle of the door, pulling it open.

“She…” He shook his head. “I’m fine, mother, just tired.”

He closed the door behind him and didn’t glance at the guard as he made his way to his old room, sinking into his bed before his mind pulled him into the dark void of his own emptiness.

* * *

When Alex woke the next morning, it took him a few moments to realize where he was. His heart beat frantically as he dug his hands into the soft bed and his head jerked from left to right.

His surroundings finally struck him as familiar and he sucked in a calming breath. Not the tower. He’d never be in that tower again. He was home. His palace. Where his rule meant something.

Except it didn’t. Not to the people outside the palace walls. He ran a hand down his face and pulled his aching body from the bed as he scanned the room. Someone had been in there and he hadn’t woken.

A platter sat on the table in his sitting room but it wasn’t loaded down with fresh fruits as he’d come to expect growing up. A bowl of mashed grain and half a loaf of bread stared at him. There was fresh butter at least.

The entire palace must be on rations. It didn’t bother him for his own sake. Despite the pains of hunger in his stomach, he didn’t think he could eat a thing, but how long had it been since the others inside the palace had full stomachs?

In the washroom, the tub had been filled. He assumed the water had been warm at some point, but that may have been hours ago. What time was it? Sunlight danced in ribbons across the stone floor. He couldn’t remember the last time the sun had woken before him.

He scrunched his nose as he sniffed his tunic. Living in a camp full of soldiers didn’t exactly provide much opportunity for good hygiene.

He stripped off his worn tunic and peeled the dirt crusted trousers from his legs, shaking his head at how he must have appeared to his mother yesterday. He’d fallen asleep without even changing.

He bathed quickly, scrubbing rigorously and taking great pains to remove all signs of hardship from his skin and hair. The water was a hideous shade of brown by the time he finished, but he smelled like the roses the maid had put in the water.

His wardrobe was the same—untouched in his absence. His fingers reached for the soft wool of a simple tunic before he released a sigh and shook his head. Not today. Today he had to show them the king was back.

He slipped a padded tunic over his head before donning his chain mail and pulling a surcoat over it. If the traitors were going to force the kingdom into war, this was the king they’d get. Not one who would sit back and let them take control of Gaule.

When he strapped his sword to his waist, his lips curled up into a smile. It’d seemed like years since he’d had the weight of his own sword at his side. He’d used others, but it wasn’t the same.

He turned toward the door, but at the last moment, reached for his crown and nestled it into his dark hair. The weight settled around him and any hint of a smile fell from his lips.

Simon was waiting for him in the hall. So, it began. It should have shocked him to find out Simon had magic as well, but Alex had grown numb to secrets. To magic. It had been around him his entire life. He just hadn’t realized it.

Simon nodded in approval when he took in Alex’s appearance.

“Morning,” Alex grunted.

“They’re waiting for you in the council chambers.”

Simon was a man of few words so the walk through the crowded palace halls was quiet. When people saw them, eyes widened, mouths dropped open. Those with their wits dropped into bows. Others murmured. He only made out a few words. The king has returned.

Before turning into the council chambers, Tyson’s voice drifted toward them. Alex stopped. Simon glanced at him and did the same.

“I’m so sorry, son,” their mother said.

“You said that last night.” Tyson sounded like the sullen teenager he was, not the powerful magic man he’d become.

“Viktor was…”

“I don’t need to hear about you and that man. My sister told me plenty about him.”

“Oh dear.” Her breath hissed and Alex imagined her cheeks puffing out like they did when she was nervous. “Persinette… is she…?”

“I could have stayed with her, mother.” His voice shook. “I wanted to. There’s nothing I wanted more than to stay with Etta and Edmund and everyone else who is just like me. Do you know I even have a cousin?”

“But you came back?”

“I had to,” he burst out. “I’d never abandon you and Amalie and Camille. I have to be at Alex’s side when he takes back his kingdom.”

“And then?”

“And then, Mother, I’m not sure I can stay in Gaule.”

“You’re just a boy.”

Tyson huffed out a laugh. “I haven’t been a kid since the day I discovered my magic.”

Their words drifted away and Alex closed his eyes. His brother had wanted to stay. Simon patted Alex on the back awkwardly and gestured to the room. Alex took the hint and entered; ready to tell them everything that had happened since he was taken from the palace.

And everything that would happen from here on out.

He had a plan.

5

Etta tried out a smile. One that didn’t look fake. It stretched her face unnaturally, but the family didn’t seem to notice as they waved to her excitedly. A little girl with angelic rosy cheeks ran toward her. “You’re the queen,” she said.

Etta smiled again but this time it wasn’t so forced as she nodded.

“You have hair like mine.” The girl grinned, pulling on her own blonde locks. The sun caught in the strands making them glow golden.

Etta touched the end of her braid. Not so long ago, she’d had to cut it off, and it hadn’t seemed important.

“Sasha!” A petite woman ran up. “Come here.” She curtsied quickly. “I’m sorry, your Majesty.”

She scurried away, pulling the girl alongside her. Etta watched after them, wishing she’d said something. The people who’d returned to Bela respected her. Edmund said they revered her, loved her even. The ones who hadn’t been present when she fought La Dame had heard the story. But they rarely talked to her.

Even after she’d fulfilled her promise to Edmund. She’d held court and nothing had felt more silly, at first. She’d sat on a raised chair and people bowed in front of her while offering platitudes.

That part had been a waste of time. She wasn’t the queen they needed. But then they began discussing what still needed to be done. They were expecting more ships soon. The village was to be expanded to accommodate more of their people seeking refuge. Old alliances were to be rekindled.

Winter was upon them and their food stores might not get them through it.

She shook her head. She’d known none of it would be easy.

Matteo had been there, always by her side, ready to help with any decisions, and she was beginning to wonder if she needed other advisors. She couldn’t do it on her own.

Pulling her cloak tighter about her, she hurried down the path to the beach. Edmund promised he’d meet her there.

A single flake of snow landed on her cheek, melting instantly. She looked up to see a few others fall as her breath floated in front of her face.

The birds had long since left Bela for warmer kingdoms and for the first time since leaving, she missed Gaule. It didn’t snow in the winter and the temperatures weren’t anywhere near as harsh. They didn’t have to huddle around fires at night in their ramshackle huts to keep from freezing to death.

Edmund was already at the beach, facing the rolling waves. The white cliffs rose up at their backs. Before Etta could alert Edmund to her presence, another person came into view. Esme.

Etta sucked in a breath. Esme had saved Edmund twice now and countless others, but it was hard to look at her without seeing her daughter. Maiya’s betrayal still clung to Etta like a fist around her heart.

Esme’s dark lips stretched to reveal impossibly white teeth. “My queen.”

It was on the tip of Etta’s tongue. The fact that technically La Dame was Esme’s queen since she was Draconian. But she bit back the words as Edmund turned.

His shoulders lifted in apology as he glanced between Etta and Esme. “If I’m going to be around while you’re testing out your powers, I’m going to have the healer nearby.”

“Okay.” Etta swung her arms in front of her, loosening her muscles.

“Okay?” Edmund quirked an eyebrow.

She nodded. He was right. No matter how much Etta distrusted the woman who’d spent her life working for La Dame, she trusted herself even less. She wouldn’t put Edmund at risk.

Tilting her head to the side, she cracked her neck and stretched her arms over her head. “So, how do we start?”

“You think I know?” he asked. “I’ve spent my life hiding my magic just like you.”

“You’re the one who pushed me so hard to use it.”

He shrugged. “And look how well that turned out.”

Esme started laughing, her shoulders shaking as she folded her arms across her stomach.

“Care to share what’s so hilarious?” Etta narrowed her eyes.

Esme swallowed down another laugh. “You’re supposed to be Bela’s hope for survival?”

“And?”

“And you two are going to get yourselves killed.” She shook her head.

Etta stepped toward her. “What would you know? You’re just a healer?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I am a healer, yes, but healing isn’t my only magic.”

She closed her eyes and Etta suddenly felt every bit of defiance draining away as if it had never been a part of her.

A dumb grin lit Edmund’s face.

“Edmund,” Esme said softly. “Tell me your greatest fear.”

He wouldn’t just obey her, would he? Etta watched her friend struggle with his words. His forehead scrunched as he fought her command, but then smoothed out as another wave of peace pulsed out.

“That…” He tried to keep them in. “That they’re right about us.”

“Who, Edmund?” Esme asked. “Who is right?”

“Gaule. Everyone. That we’re dangerous. That our magic isn’t to be trusted.”

Etta stared at him as the peace snapped away like a rubber band stretched too far. Red crept up into his cheeks as he realized what he’d just said.

“Etta,” he said softly.

She turned away from him to fix Esme with a glare. “If I find you using that on any of my people, I’ll send you back to Dracon and whatever fate awaits you there.”

Esme didn’t flinch under the harsh stare as she nodded once.

Etta faced Edmund once again. “You’re right, Edmund. We are dangerous. We shouldn’t be trusted. Because the time of Bela has come. They should fear us, but we should not fear each other. Let’s begin.”

* * *

It was too strong. Etta felt it vibrating through her. This magic. This power. It didn’t feel like hers. She’d always been comforted by her ability to create life. Even now, her mind’s first instinct was to latch on to the weeds poking through the rocks where sand met grassy hill. She closed her eyes and tugged on the tight string, imagining the weeds stretching up toward the sky.

The tight string loosened quickly and Etta’s eyes popped open as it unraveled within her. Her head jerked back as she tried to hold it inside but her control was gone. Her mind reached out, grasping, straining, for something to hold on to.

Wind rushed in her ears, a deafening roar drowning out the screaming of those around her.

“No,” she cried as she felt it slipping. “Agh!”

She fell forward and her knees hit the sand as the power exploded out of her, draining every bit of energy inside.

The sand rose up around her as she pitched forward onto the now scorched ground. She turned her head in time to see Edmund flying into the air.

Her cheek was still pressed to the warm ground as the sand settled in a haze of dust, mixing with the still falling snow. Edmund’s head popped up among the waves and he made it to the shore with a few strong strokes.

Etta sucked in a breath as if air was in short supply, her heart drumming rapidly against her ribs. Edmund crawled out of the water and collapsed shivering.

Esme ran forward and dropped to the ground beside him.

“How,” Etta wheezed. “How did you avoid it?”

Esme didn’t look up from checking over Edmund. “The range of my magic is much farther in front of me. I took a chance standing down there, hoping your range was similar.” She pointed toward the far end of the beach. “Edmund here thought you’d have more of a chance if you could see him.”

“Obviously not.” She crawled toward them and looked down into her friend’s face. “You okay?”

“Just c-cold.” His teeth chattered.

She shrugged out of her cloak and laid it over him, but it was soaking wet in seconds. “You need dry clothes.”

“Are you hurt?” Esme asked.

“I d-don’t t-think so.”

“That is why we’re doing this at the beach.” She helped him to his feet. “If we were in the woods, he could’ve been seriously injured.”

“I don’t think you guys should be helping me anymore.” Etta kicked at the sand as a gust of wind blew it into the air. The chill felt good on her burning skin. The snow sizzled when it touched her.

“T-Too bad.” Edmund trudged up the path in search of dry clothes, but Esme stayed behind.

“He’s right, you know,” she said.

Etta strode across the beach to the rocks and sat down. “About what?”

“You can’t do this alone and if you don’t learn to control your magic, it not only takes the one weapon against La Dame we have, but it’ll kill you.” Esme was quiet for a moment before trying a different tactic. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Aren’t you usually pulling secrets from other people?”

She nodded. “I deserve that. I have spent my entire life in service to La Dame. I admit it. I joined her ranks of my own free will when I was a teenager. I worshipped the ground she walked on.”

“What changed?”

“I had a daughter.”

“Maiya.”

Esme nodded. “Her father was one of La Dame’s dragons. That’s her network of spies. Pierre is the only dragon who managed to get close to Viktor Basile. He is a hero in Dracon. And my greatest nightmare. La Dame gave our daughter to him to use for his cover in Gaule. Before that night at La Dame’s final ball in Bela, I hadn’t seen her since she was a baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

Esme lifted her eyes. “You’re a queen. Don’t be sorry. Tell me I’ll have my revenge. For years, she’s used my daughter’s life as a way to keep me in her control.”

“But you still left her to join us.”

Her shoulders dropped. “I know.”

Etta leaned in, dropping her voice. “You’ll have your revenge.”

“And you’ll have my loyalty.” She cocked her head. “But can I ask you a question?”

Etta nodded.

“Why would your father name you Persinette? In Draconian, that means—”

“I know. He named me Rapunzel.” She scrunched her brow and blew out a breath. “I don’t understand anything my father ever did. Was he taunting her? Did he want her to come for us? I’m never going to know because he died with so many secrets.”

Etta slid from the rocks as she watched Edmund approach in dry clothes. He’d tied his wet hair away from his face.

“Persinette,” Esme said.

Etta turned. “Yeah.”

She took a breath as if weighing her words. “La Dame believes she will own you one day. That’s why…”

“Why what?”

“Deep in the recesses of the Draconian palace lays a crown. Your crown. The Basile crown was not lost as the legends say. She has kept it for the day the Belaen ruler stands at her side.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Etta’s eyes drifted out over the water but she didn’t take in the sight. “Why then did she want me dead?”

“Think about it. She’s never actively tried to kill you.” She shook her head. “She’s kept your family cursed for many generations looking for the one she deems worthy.”

Etta jumped to her feet and spun. “Why am I worthy? Why not my father? I am nothing. I can’t even control my own magic.” Etta’s chest heaved as her voice rose.

Edmund reached them and draped a dry cloak over her shoulders. “You’re wrong.”

“It’s just another thing she’s stolen that I have to get back.” Etta rested her hands on top of her head. “I will never stand at her side, but I will have my crown.”

Edmund grunted. “Glad someone is finally realizing she can’t escape destiny.”

“Not destiny, Edmund. Revenge. Blood. Magic.”

“There’s something else,” Esme said hesitantly.

After a long pause, Edmund gestured for her to continue. “Don’t leave us in suspense.”

Esme breathed deeply. “Your power is the opposite of La Dame’s.”

“What does that mean?” Etta met her gaze.

“Many centuries ago when the Basile magic and La Dame’s were first revealed, they balanced each other. One held immense darkness and the other light. Since then, they’ve both grown darker, but the same rules apply. They will battle each other any chance they get, but at the same time, they attract each other. Your power will try to draw hers in, stealing it from her.”

“Is that even possible?”

“It had never been done… but yes. And, Etta, you must resist the urge to take what is hers.”

“Why?” Etta asked. “Shouldn’t I try to strip her of power?”

“If your power and hers meet within your body…” Esme shook her head. “I’m sorry, Etta, but it will destroy you.”

* * *

“Come on Etta,” Esme called. “Focus. Do it again. Try to only release it in bits. In battle, when the adrenaline courses through you, you must fight the urge to expel too much at once. If you do that, the power will leave you forever.”

Edmund got to his feet once more and stumbled backward. Esme reached for his arm to keep him upright.

At Esme’s healing touch, Edmund stood straighter, his eyes regaining clarity.

Etta shook her head. “It’s been too much.”

“I’m fine,” Edmund said, his voice strained.

He was anything but fine. They’d been training for days and Etta lost count of the number of times Edmund had been knocked unconscious or thrown into the icy water. She was improving, learning to control when the power was unleashed, but pulling it back was another story. The impact reached far enough that they’d cleared the beach of all people except the three of them.

If she was ever going to have a chance against La Dame, she needed complete control over her powers. The more she used it, the greater her stamina became.

But would it be able to match that of the most powerful sorcerer in the world?

She’d been able to focus enough to expel bits of the power without releasing it all at once. If she strained, she could draw on her ability of growth—the very same thing she’d tried that first day. They stood at the base of the cliffs and the vines crept up the sheer rock wall, slithering like snakes.

She closed her eyes, seeing her old home in her mind. The Black Forest with the meadow of flowers she’d created was her safe place, despite its location inside Gaule. It calmed her and allowed her to contain the magic trying to break free.

A hum sounded low in her throat as a hand landed on her shoulder. She startled out of her trance and instinctively sent a blast of power behind her, striking Edmund in the chest.

She turned in time to see him land halfway down the beach, his body bent at an odd angle.

Esme reached him before Etta and laid her hands on his chest. He was back with them in moments.

“Do you enjoy almost dying?” Etta spat, pushing to her feet.

“Not particularly,” Edmund wheezed, staring up at the sky. “No.”

“Why did you touch me?”

“You were doing it. Focusing your magic.” He rolled over onto his belly and pushed his hands under him. “Forgive me for being proud.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “I was doing it, wasn’t I?” She turned back toward the cliffs where a series of vines now crisscrossed the surface. She clenched her fist, feeling the magic pool in her fingertips. It wanted the same thing she’d spent her life seeking. Freedom.

The curse had been her master and now she was the magic’s master. She could do this. The power inside of her was a living thing, but it attached itself to everything she was with promises of everything she could be.

“Edmund needs to be done for the day,” Esme said, ever the voice of reason.

Etta nodded. “You two go up to the cook fires and rest. I’m going to keep practicing.”

“Not alone,” Edmund argued.

“Edmund, I am the queen. I will do as I please.” She softened her eyes. “Just go. Please. I’m okay.”

They hesitated a moment longer before disappearing up the path. Etta held her palms over the ground and started by releasing magic in small amounts, working up to a continuous stream, blasting sand into the water. She walked forward, a cloud of dust surrounding her.

The air turned frigid as the sun disappeared from view, but Etta’s skin was blazing. She unhooked her cloak and tossed it behind her, raising her arms. Her golden hair flew back away from her face as she enjoyed the feeling of strength, of power.

It was a dizzying mix of fear and a desire for more.

“Etta,” someone’s voice broke through her trance. “Etta!”

The power fizzled out as she lowered her arms. She’d done it. She’d pulled it back. She hadn’t hurt anyone. A breath rattled in her chest as she turned her head to meet her cousin’s gaping stare.

“You…” Matteo couldn’t get any other words out so he just pointed. “Your…”

“What?” Exhaustion struck her suddenly and forcefully. Taking a step toward him took every ounce of energy she possessed.

“Hair,” he croaked.

Etta raised a heavy arm to the hair that had come loose from her braid and pulled it forward, dropping it immediately. It was glowing as it had the day it grew from where she’d cut it off. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking when she opened them, none of it would be real.

But it was. Her hair had an ethereal golden shine. It began to fade as they stood there gawking at it until it returned to its normal blonde shade. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but part of her thought she’d imagined it before.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

She managed to get herself to the rocks before her legs collapsed beneath her.

They didn’t speak for a few moments until Matteo broke the silence. “I’ve lived most of my life in La Dame’s household and I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Etta buried her face in her hands. “There’s so much I don’t know. Has the curse kept this power from every generation of Basiles since Phillip and Aurora, or am I the only one? What am I supposed to do with it? Is my magic strong enough to beat her?”

When he didn’t respond, Etta spoke again, but this time it was more to herself. “Why do I miss the feeling of the curse filling me?”

“The last one is easy.” Matteo took her hands and pried them away from her face. “The curse gave you a single purpose. There was no question as to what you were supposed to do. Protect the Duran king. That left no room for interpretation and there was nothing you could do to change it.” He paused. “Now you are a queen and none of us know what being queen of a kingdom that was destroyed generations ago even means.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“How’s this for simple—you miss serving someone instead of having people serve you.”

“That’s just stupid.”

“Is it?” he asked. “Okay, then let’s try this. You don’t miss serving. You miss serving Alexandre Durand.”

She forced out a laugh. “There’s only one Durand I want with me and that’s Tyson.”

He bumped her shoulder. “For the record, I think Alexandre Durand is a spoiled king who had never tasted hardship before La Dame took him.”

“I don’t disagree with that assessment.”

“And now he’s gone back to his palace. He’ll have won it back by now and Gaule will return to its glory days of persecution and torment. We should take advantage of their internal struggles and make our move.”

Etta slid from the rock, Alex’s face appearing in her mind. Was he okay? Were Tyson and Catrine? “No,” she sighed. “I made a promise. Their borders will remain untouched.” She gave Matteo a reassuring smile. “But at the first sign of Belaens being persecuted in Gaule, we ride.”

6

Disgust churned in the pit of Alex’s stomach as he stood atop the inner walls looking out on the traitors residing in the outer palace. They’d taken his home, but that wasn’t the worst of it. They’d found magic folk who hadn’t been able to flee to Bela or seek refuge in the inner palace. Lines of them were chained along the wall, a shield of prisoners. At any hint of their magic, one of the guards would kill them.

Persinette once told him that most magic folk possessed a magic that was quite weak, only allowing them to do simple tasks. Then he’d seen the kind of power she possessed and he didn’t know what to believe anymore.

But they didn’t try to break free. They appeared truly broken.

“You shouldn’t be atop the walls, your Majesty,” Simon said, stepping up beside him. “Your guard says you refused them when they tried to accompany you.”

“I am the king, Simon.” Alex patted him on the shoulder. “There are few benefits, but being able to command my guard to let me be, just for a moment, is one of them. I didn’t have that as the prince.”

Simon nodded, not looking at him. “I remember. You got quite good at evading us.”

“Not as good as Tyson.”

A rueful smile appeared on his lips. “That boy would disappear for days. I never envied the men he slipped when they had to face the king.” His smile fell and hawk-like eyes scanned the small town in the outer castle. “But I’m serious, sire. One well-placed arrow and we are suddenly lost.”

Alex ran a hand through his hair. “The fight would go on without me.”

Simon didn’t respond right away, but Alex felt him tense as if prepared to block an attack if necessary. “There wouldn’t even be a fight without you.”

Alex scoffed but Simon went on. “You stood up for something, sire. You broke away from your father’s cruel rule. The purge is still remembered by some of us. I was a young man when they came for us. Gaule was the only home I’d ever known. Bela was a place of distant stories. It was the dream, an unattainable one. Gaule was real and our kingdom turned on us. My wife was killed in the first round of the purge.”

Alex sucked in a breath and turned to stare at the profile of the guard beside him. A man he’d known so little about.

“But you came to serve my father, anyway? You must have hated him.”

“I did.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I first came to the palace, I was angry. I was going to kill the king.”

Alex stopped breathing as the traitorous words settled around him. “But you didn’t,” he croaked.

“No.” His lips tugged down. “I didn’t. I was assigned to his son. I knew if I raised my hand against you, it would hurt the kingdom far more than the kingdom hurt me. It would have been easy. But the purge was ending by then and to take your life would have caused a resurgence of the hatred. So, I waited, hoping that one day I could help my people.”

Alex pushed out a breath. “And instead, they’re either imprisoned in this palace or down there with chains around their ankles.” He pointed to the prisoners below.

Simon faced him. “Or in Bela rebuilding what should be ours with our queen. Your Majesty, my people finally have a future. Even the ones here. I didn’t think I’d ever see a day when they trusted another Gaulean king. You say you don’t matter to this fight, but you are the fight. You showed an entire people you will go to war for them. They will follow you.” He gripped Alex’s shoulder. “Now, let’s get off this wall before your mother has both our heads.”

Ara was waiting for them at the base of the stairs. He could see it now, the resemblance to Duke Caron. Her brother was with her. “I’ve spoken to Renner.”

It took Alex a moment to understand what she was saying. She hadn’t had a two-sided conversation with her other brother, she’d used her magic to reach her voice out toward him.

Alex motioned for them to walk with him. “Tell me.”

“He knows the plan. He’s sending some men our way and the rest will be in position at sunrise three days from now.”

“Good. What we really need are horses.”

Hendry jumped in. “The tunnels should be just big enough to bring them through. Renner will get us what we need.”

The siblings had faith in each other. That was good because there were so few people Alex could say the same about.

“I don’t want my mother near the fight. She needs to be kept under guard along with the children and anyone else who does not know how to wield sword or bow. Ara, I’m going to want you with the archers atop the wall.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Alex stopped her. “Your skill with a sword is well-known, but you are of more importance to us directing everyone.”

She clamped her mouth shut, acknowledging the truth in his words.

“You should lead the archers,” Simon said to Alex.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Sire—”

“I’ve gotten better with a blade, Si. I need to lead the soldiers who will be riding into the worst of it. They need to see me among them, not high atop the wall as my father would have done. The royal guardsmen who fight at Lord Leroy’s side must be forced to take arms against the king they betrayed. I will not be swayed in this.”

“Oh look,” Ara said quietly, nudging her brother. “It’s our new mother.”

There was no mistaking the sneer in her words as Camille stepped into their path. Alex had known Duke Caron had many children, some older than his new bride, but it hadn’t hit him until then the position he was putting his sister in with the marriage. At the time, he’d only been focused on tying her to someone whose loyalty would never be in question and who would never be outwardly cruel. As much as he sometimes disliked his sister, she was still family.

Camille’s eyes flashed with something a shade darker than annoyance when she saw Ara. She was trying to accept magic folk as her husband did, but it didn’t come naturally to her. Their father had twisted her deeply.

“Sister.” Alex took her arm and pulled her away from Ara and Hendry, leaving them behind. “Is everything okay?”

Simon followed them closely but didn’t say a word.

Camille sighed dramatically. “You see the way they look at me.”

“Maybe if you tried to hide your disdain for Ara, even a little.”

She huffed. “Of course you’re on their side. Ever since your precious Etta showed up at the palace, magic folk mean more to you than your own blood.”

His steps faltered at the mention of Etta. “Now you know that isn’t true, Camille.”

She stopped walking and slammed the end of her cane into the stone floor. “Do I?”

“Camille…”

“Where is she, Alexandre? I used to think you were doing this because you loved her. Even if she was insufferable, I could understand that. You always were a fool.” A small smile played on her lips but then she shook her head and it dropped. “Now she’s not even here and you’re still allowing our kingdom to be torn in half. Is all of this still for her?”

How did he answer that question? He’d started his mission to end magic’s persecution in Gaule as a way to protect her, to prove he wasn’t his father. Now…

“Sometimes there doesn’t have to be a reason,” he said softly. “Maybe I just want to do what’s right.”

“And then what? Say we win this battle, preventing an all-out civil war. Are you going to send the magic folk fleeing into Bela? That’s what they should do. It’s safest for all of us. From what you’ve said about Etta’s new powers, she could probably rebuild her father’s wards. We could be protected again. Magic folk were never meant to live among us.”

Alex had to tell his lungs to expand to allow air to flow into them. Was his sister right? Separating Gaule from Bela once more would protect them from La Dame, but then what would happen to Bela?

What would happen to its queen? To his brother and Edmund?

Everything that mattered in his life was wrapped up in magic. How could he abandon them?

“I don’t know, but Camille, I am the king. I need you to trust that I will do what is right for Gaule.” He didn’t give his sister a chance to respond before leaving her outside the council chambers. Those were questions he’d have to answer later. For now, he had to prepare for a more imminent fight.

* * *

Alex sat atop his steed. Waiting. He hated waiting. But every part of this plan had to be executed to perfection. His horse snorted in agitation and he realized it felt the same tension in the air.

A hundred and some odd horsemen crowded the courtyard with foot soldiers waiting just inside the palace to follow.

Most of the soldiers had been in the palace already, choosing to stay loyal to the crown when Lord Leroy showed his true colors. Others had come in with the horses, using the Black Forest to evade detection.

And still, some were just magic folk. Until this point, they’d lived ordinary lives and kept their magic hidden as if it was something to be ashamed of.

Alex had come to see that none of them were ashamed. They hid their power for fear of what would happen, but they were a proud people. They knew the history of Bela. It was passed down from generation to generation through stories and legends.

Just as Alex knew Gaule’s colorful past. If it hadn’t been for his father, would Gaule be fighting so hard against magic? Would they be so divided?

Before his father became king, there was much less power in that title. Did Alex want to allow a council to rule Gaule instead of only a king?

When his father consolidated his power, taking it from the council piece by piece, it allowed the purge to come about. No one was there to stop him when he ran magic folk from their home.

Alex shifted in his saddle, pushing those thoughts from his mind. He didn’t want to think about where his power came from or if he even deserved to have it.

Lifting his face to the rising sun, he caught sight of the archers lining the top of the wall. They were crouched down, hidden by low barriers. Ara was among them. Her gaze connected with Alex’s. He was too far away to see her lips move, but her voice rang softly in his ears. “Be ready, my king. The forces are in position. The gates will open soon.”

He nodded and turned to Tyson. “Are you prepared for this?”

Tyson grinned, sliding his sword from his scabbard. “Will you let me have Leroy?”

“You know I can’t do that, brother.”

Tyson’s shoulders dropped. “I’m not sure I could kill Amalie’s father, anyway.”

“Is she with mother?”

“She better be,” he said darkly. “She wanted to join us. Can you believe that?”

Alex shrugged. If there was one thing Etta taught him, it was never to underestimate a woman with a mission.

Simon formed up on Alex’s other side. Duke Caron and Hendry were nearby. Alex shot the Duke an approving nod. He respected a man who didn’t rely on others fighting for him.

The traitors in the outer palace still slept, unaware of what was about to be unleashed upon them.

A groan reverberated off every stone in the courtyard as the gates began to move. There were shouts of warning on the other side, but they were cut off by arrows striking the guards in their throats. Chains rattled as the prisoners began to wake.

As one, the archers revealed themselves atop the wall and released a volley of arrows at the soldiers who were now running from their beds.

“To the gates!” Alex yelled, kicking his heels into his horse and charging forward.

The enemy soldiers scrambled toward their horses, but they weren’t fast enough as the force behind Alex cut a path through the mob. Cheers from the prisoners rang in his ears until it was the only thing he could hear, a siren’s song calling to him. He’d free them.

“Caron,” he yelled. “To the prisoners.” He swung his sword down to cut at a man near his feet and snapped his reins. “Tyson, Simon with me!”

The outer palace was steeped in chaos. Soldiers scrambling to protect their position. Townsfolk whose only misdeed was choosing the wrong side and getting caught in the crosshairs. An arrow whizzed past him and he spared a single glance at the archers.

Ara’s voice drifted toward him. “Renner is engaged with Leroy’s forces. Get to the gates now.”

They’d left just enough soldiers in the outer palace to hold it, but not enough to withstand the oncoming stampede. Leroy had counted on their lack of horses and fighting men.

Heart beating in his throat, Alex mowed down someone in full armor who tried to stand in his way. Tyson hacked through someone behind him.

“Sire,” Simon called. “Archers!”

Alex whipped his head around, seeing the men climbing onto the surrounding rooftops, bows in hand.

“Come on.” He rode forward, dodging one arrow as another flew straight toward him. He didn’t have time to get out of the way.

“Alex,” Tyson screamed.

Alex waited for the pain but it never came as the arrow stopped midair as if hitting some invisible barrier and clattering to the ground.

Alex’s eyes darted around until landing on a young girl with golden hair pulled back in a braid. He sucked in a breath.

“We have to get to the gate,” Simon interrupted his thoughts.

Alex barely heard him. The girl had saved his life. She reminded him of… Before Etta invaded his mind, a guard yanked the girl back.

She screamed when he put a hand over her mouth. Without thinking, Alex jumped down from his horse and ran after them. The guard was too preoccupied to see him until the king’s blade was sinking into his chest. He released the girl and fell back.

The girl chewed on the end of her braid looking so much like Etta had when they were children.

“Alex,” Simon called again.

A man ran toward them and took the girl in his arms.

“Thank you,” he said as he pulled her through a doorway to hide her from the fight.

Alex shook himself and swung back onto the horse as another arrow narrowly missed him. With Tyson and Simon on either side of him, he rode through the very heart of the battle, not stopping until the gate loomed over them.

Three men ran out of the gatehouse and Alex readied for a fight. Tyson raised one palm and a burst of water rushed forth, knocking them to the ground and pushing them toward the streets that now ran with blood.

Alex stared at his brother in wonder. “When did you learn to do that?”

“One day,” he said, “If you ever see Etta and Edmund again, you should ask them how they found me in Bela.”

“After we win this.” Alex shoved past Tyson. “Today we need to win this.”

Two more guards came from the guardhouse but stopped when they took in the sight of their king.

Alex held his sword aloft. “You two have two options. You can either try to prevent us from getting this gate open and receive a sword in the belly for your troubles. Or you can decide not to be a traitor this day. Decide not to take up arms against your king. You have three seconds to make up your minds.”

The two men looked at each other and then back at Alex. “We’ll get it open, your Majesty.”

Alex nodded. “Now would be good.”

They retreated into the guardhouse while Alex, Tyson, and Simon fended off anyone who tried to stop them.

Hendry came charging toward them and leaped from his horse. “We have taken control of the outer palace, your Majesty.”

“The prisoners?” Alex asked.

“Freed and preparing to help us.”

“Have you taken any of the nobles?”

“No. They would have stayed with the larger force for protection.”

Alex’s hope crumbled. He was right. This day was far from over. Taking the inner palace was the easy part. Only a minimal guard had been left along with the villagers.

Ara’s voice drifted over all of them. “To the gate,” she said. “Be ready to charge.”

At her command, their men and women who were still standing approached the gate, some on horseback, most not.

“The wounded have been sent into the palace to be tended to,” Duke Caron said as he joined them. “There’s one other thing.” He nodded to one of his men who brought a struggling soldier to the front. As soon as her helmet was removed, grumbling sounded around them.

Amalie stood in full armor with blood streaking down her face. Her sword gleamed red to match the fire in her eyes.

“Amalie?” Tyson stammered. “What the hell?”

She stuck out her chin. “This is as much my fight as yours.”

“But…” No more words came as his mouth hung open.

Alex looked to Caron. “Can you spare a man to escort her back to the palace?”

“Of course, sire.”

Amalie’s eyes flashed. “I won’t go.”

“This is not the time to be stubborn, girl,” Simon growled.

Amalie’s eyes met Alex’s. “My father is a traitor, Alex. I deserve a chance to right some of his wrongs.”

Alex studied her face. “You’re right.”

She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “You don’t get to tell me what I’m allowed to fight for. If I want to risk my life for you, then…” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, what?”

“Bring her a horse,” Alex called to one of his men. “I don’t want her on foot.”

“Alex,” Tyson pleaded. “Don’t send her out there.”

He turned to his brother. Before Etta, he might have sent Amalie away. But she’d changed him. Made him see his power differently. Why should he get to decide what someone deems worthy of their life?

Amalie climbed onto a horse.

“Let her do this, Ty.” He said, turning back toward the opening gates. “She has a mind of her own. Allow her to use it.”

The sound of battle reached him before the gates were fully open. Caron and Moreau forces were engaged with Leroy’s soldiers. They were outnumbered and losing.

As soon as the gates stopped moving, Alex charged, hoping his soldiers followed him. They cut a path through the center of Leroy’s forces as the traitors tried to scramble out of the way.

Their distraction allowed Renner to order his men to move forward, closing the circle they had around Leroy’s men. That had been the plan. Encircle them and force them to stand down.

A burly man charged toward Alex, sinking his ax in his horse’s chest. It reared, throwing Alex to the ground.

He rolled to his feet as his horse collapsed beside him with a trembling sigh. Sparing one final glance at the beast, he ducked out of the way of his attacker and turned to meet him blow for blow.

The large man yanked his ax free and brought with it a spray of blood that struck Alex in the chest. He blocked the swing of the ax with his sword but the other man was stronger, forcing the king’s weapon to the ground. Alex stumbled back, his eyes shifting to the side for any spare weapon.

The traitor soldier advanced. His mouth was set in a grim line and there was no pleasure in his eyes. The people of Gaule didn’t want to be rising up against their king. They’d thought they had no choice. It was rebel or accept magic into their lives.

Alex’s wild eyes caught sight of Simon nearby tearing through the ranks using the strength his magic gave him. It was frightening. Those who had magic would always have an advantage over those who didn’t. If they were allowed to use it openly, the power shift would be swift.

Alex hadn’t understood.

But there, in the middle of that battlefield, he knew why these people had come to fight and he couldn’t fault them for their fears.

“You don’t have to do this,” Alex said, trying to calm his rapid breath. “None of you do.”

The man stopped, surprised his opponent spoke in the middle of their battle. He grunted and took another step forward. “Magic folk killed my little girl.” When he swung again, there was less energy in it and Alex jumped back easily.

He saw the moment the fight left the man’s eyes. Maybe it was the mention of his daughter or the fact that the battle was turning. Caron’s forces closed in, pinning Leroy’s soldiers in closer to the palace walls. Alex’s men still guarded the gate, preventing them from seeking refuge behind the walls.

Alex bent and retrieved a fallen sword from the ground, but before he raised it, a blade pierced his attacker through the back, the tip of the sword slicing clean through.

A scream stuck in Alex’s throat but never made it out as the man who’d just wanted to avenge his daughter crumpled to the blood-stained grass, all life fading from his eyes.

Alex didn’t see who struck the killing blow because his eyes were on something else. A small soldier faced off against Lord Leroy. The portly man was no match for the quick steps of the girl Alex would recognize anywhere. Amalie’s helmet obscured her face from view as she blocked her father’s jabs. She spun with a quickness Alex hadn’t known she possessed and jammed a steel-clad foot into her father’s knee. He cried out as he fell. Amalie knelt behind him and held a knife to his throat.

She pulled off her helmet and her father’s eyes widened.

“Amalie,” Tyson yelled, running to her side.

She didn’t spare Tyson a glance. Instead, she screamed at the top of her lungs. “I’ll do it! Put your swords down now or the leader of your rebellion will not see his next sunrise.”

Those close enough to hear obeyed, and the command made its way through what was left of Leroy’s troops.

Alex scanned the faces looking for any of his other traitorous nobles, but they’d disappeared from view. He stepped forward, taking advantage of the temporary cease in fighting. “Lower your weapons.”

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, he glanced from Leroy to the tired eyes of the men he’d roped into his rebellion.

The loyalist forces weren’t doing much better as they leaned against their swords, breathing heavily. None of them had been untouched by this. Gaule would forever be changed. But maybe this could be the end of all the strife.

He pulled on the ends of his hair as the words ran through his mind. None of them seemed right.

Caron’s troops remained in a tight circle, controlling the circumstances. Alex shook his head. “We are all Gauleans.”

“Not all of us,” Leroy spit, shooting daggers toward Tyson and Simon.

Amalie pulled his hair back. “Say that again.”

“Amalie,” Alex said, surprised at the venom in the normally sweet girl. “Release him.”

“What?” she snapped.

“Alex…” Tyson warned low enough for only Alex to hear.

“Do it,” he commanded.

Amalie removed her knife and kicked her father in the back so he fell forward. It didn’t escape Alex’s notice that she kept her knife in her hand and stood over him, preventing him from standing.

Alex raised his voice. “Every person here has called Gaule their home. It is not my kingdom. It’s not your kingdom. It’s our kingdom. Together we have created greatness.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I am your king. My word is law.” He scratched his jaw. “But maybe it shouldn’t be.” What was he saying?

He sighed heavily. “What has happened this day is a tragedy. Good men and women have lost their lives. Our children are no safer. La Dame is still on our doorstep. But she isn’t only our enemy. She is the enemy of all who are free and that includes the magic folk within our borders. It includes the Belaens. If we are busy trying to destroy each other, we are giving her exactly what she wants, and she will crush us.” He crashed his fist against his armor for emphasis.

Raising his eyes to the palace at their backs, he shook his head. “Return to your villages. Live your lives until I call on you to protect Gaule. All who are here today are pardoned. Except for one man.” He hung his head and pushed through the crowd. “Simon, bring Leroy to the throne room.”

Refusing the offered horse, Alex walked the long road through the outer castle to the palace where his mother awaited him. She gasped when he appeared. He released his hold on his sword and it hit the stone floor with a jarring crash as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Is it over?” she asked, her words barely audible.

He shook his head against her shoulder. “Not yet.” Without another word, he walked up the steps, leaving muddy boot prints in his wake. He sat heavily.

Those who’d stayed hidden in the palace watched their king make his way wordlessly up to the throne room. He hadn’t been in there since the night he’d ended the war on magic—or thought he had. The same night he’d finally had Etta. The true, honest Persinette. The same night he’d been abducted.

His own words rang in his ears. Had he really said them? That maybe his word alone shouldn’t be law? There’d be time enough to consider those implications later.

The sound of heavy steel-toed boots fell behind him and brought him back to the current predicament. He closed his eyes and leaned forward against his throne. If the nobles had risen up against his father, they’d all have been executed. But Alexandre Durand was not his father. And killing a man who held so much power, so much loyalty in Gaule was not something he was prepared to do.

Taking another deep breath, he turned and motioned for Simon to force Leroy to his knees. Duke Caron hurried in with Camille and Queen Catrine. Amalie and Tyson weren’t far behind.

Alex walked forward until he was standing over Leroy, Alex’s muddied, blood-spattered boots right under his face.

“I should kill you,” he said, his voice dropping. “For ripping my kingdom in half.”

“You did that all on your own,” Leroy spat.

Alex raised a brow toward Simon and the big man jerked the lord forward.

“Get your filthy magic tainted hands off me,” Leroy growled.

Alex leaned down. “You aren’t in a position to be making demands.” He narrowed his eyes. “If I kill you, there will be another uprising on your lands. We can’t have that.” He shook his head. “But I will also not allow you to return home only to stir up more rebellion.”

Every face in the room turned to Alex in surprise, but he wasn’t done.

“I tried to be a merciful king, but your chances have run out. You will now spend your days as a prisoner of Gaule. Your home will be a cell in this palace. My guards will watch you constantly. You have forfeited your freedom. I won’t kill you, but I can make sure others don’t die for your folly. Everything you now have will be because I allow you to have it. Everything you do will be what I allow you to do. Your life is under my control. Your lands and everything on them will pass to your eldest daughter Liza. You have no more claim to them.”

Alex straightened and motioned to a guard to take the disgraced lord away. He walked toward the ornate wooden door meant only for the king, leaving behind a bewildered crowd. They’d wanted blood, but Alex was so tired of blood.

He left his guards outside his room and when he shut the door, he sagged against it before dragging himself to the washroom.

The water ran red as he washed the day away from his face and shaking hands. His armor was dented, but he’d managed to return uninjured. For now, he’d consider that a victory.

After scrubbing every trace of the battle from his skin, he didn’t bother to put clothes on before he sank into his bed, his tired muscles crying out in ecstasy.

Alexandre Durand had never been a fighter. He’d had Etta for that. Beautiful, fierce, enemy Etta. But he’d spent the last part of the battle trying to convince his people that Belaens were not the enemy.

Adrift in a sea of confusion, her face swam across his mind and he wished more than anything to feel the curse even for a moment. To feel connected, tethered. To know something still bound them together.

As he reached for the bonds, his heart came away empty because he knew he may never get to lay eyes on her again.

A shadow moved in the corner of his room and he wiped his eyes, thinking he must have imagined it. Shaking his head, he tried to relax into sleep.

There was a scuffing noise against the floor and he sprang up knowing he hadn’t imagined it that time. Getting to his feet, he looked around, his eyes latching on to the shadow as it moved once more and came into the light.

A man in dirty, blood-spattered clothing lunged forward, his eyes still crazed from battle. Alex didn’t get the chance to scream before the blade of a knife sank into his naked chest. He shoved the man back with every ounce of strength he had left. The attacker stumbled, knocking over a table with a loud crash, before jumping forward once again.

“For Gaule,” he cried.

Stars swam before Alex’s eyes as the man yanked the knife free. Alex got his arm up to block the next thrust and the sharp steel sliced into his arm like it was nothing.

A cry left Alex’s throat, strangled with pain, as the attacker brought forth a second knife and lunged.

Alex didn’t feel it this time as his knees buckled beneath him before slamming into the stone. Blood streamed down his chest, hitting the ground in a pool of liquid life. He was vaguely aware of the door to his room crashing open.

“Your Majesty!”

Simon. His lips formed the name, but no sound escaped. A fight surrounded him, but they were a blur before his glassy eyes.

He tilted forward and the floor rushed to meet him before everything turned black.

7

The energy was sucked out of Etta until she couldn’t even stand. She fell forward, her hands digging into the sand in front of her. After practicing her new magic for weeks, Etta was now testing its every edge, every limit she had, pushing her boundaries as much as she could. Each day stretched her stamina but by the time the sun disappeared from view, she could barely move.

“Etta.” Edmund knelt at her side.

She didn’t know why he insisted on being there for her every time the power built. They’d all lost count of how many times he’d been rendered unconscious or flung into the icy waves. It would be funny if each time didn’t prove just how little control she still had.

She’d had magic her entire life. Her earliest memories were of making things grow and come to life. Creating beauty in her forest. But the Basile power that had been unleashed when the curse ended was not that. Darkness lurked underneath it. It wanted to take over her whole body, controlling her. She had to be the one to control it.

If anyone had told her that her duties as queen would be the easiest part of her life, she’d have laughed in their faces. Compared to the days she spent molding and targeting her magic, dealing with her people was nothing. They were building something they could finally call their own. For so long, the Belaens only had what they’d been allowed to have in Gaule.

“I think we’re done for today.” Esme wiped a hand across her tired face.

Etta flicked her eyes back over her shoulder to give the woman a grateful nod before watching her head back toward camp. A trust had been growing between the two. Each day, Esme and Edmund trudged down the path to the beach to help her. They never complained. They never even called her queen. To them, she was Etta. Not Persinette Basile. There’d been little talk of the danger looming overland behind the high mountain walls.

Everything seemed quiet, but they knew it was not. La Dame was only biding her time. She would come for them.

Etta pushed up to sit back on her heels.

Edmund dropped down beside her, twirling a lock of her glowing hair around his finger. “I’ll never get used to this.”

“You won’t?” She rolled her eyes. “I can feel it.”

“What do you mean you can feel it?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know.” Pulling the golden strands over her shoulder, she fingered the ends. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like… a living thing. That sounds stupid.”

“What do you think it means?”

She shrugged again and lifted her eyes to the dark waters. “When I was a child, my mother would spend hours brushing it. She’d tell me that one day my beauty would give me power. Do you think this is what she meant?”

“Like it’s the source of your power?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always had magic. You have too… but now… I’m not used to the amount of power I have. I guess I’m just looking for a reason.”

“This is really odd. You know that, right?”

She laughed. “Yes, Edmund. My life is just about as odd as you can get. I’m well aware of that fact.”

He bumped her shoulder. “But also exciting. You have more power than I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head as if unable to believe his own words.

A small smile played on her lips and she rested her chin on her knees.

Edmund stood up slowly and dropped into a bow, extending a hand to her. “Your Majesty, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to a meal?”

She took his hand and let him pull her up. “You may.” She grinned.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and started up the path. Matteo greeted them at the door to their small ramshackle residence. He dipped his head in respect as he insisted upon doing. Etta was getting used to being treated like royalty. She didn’t like it, but she accepted it.

“The final hunting party of the season returned this afternoon,” he said.

She snapped her eyes to his in anticipation. Food stores were their biggest worry for riding out the winter.

Matteo smiled. “They brought back quite the haul.”

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

“With the salt we’ve acquired from Madra, a team has been working to prepare the meat.”

She nodded. The last ships that arrived on their shores not only brought trade goods but more Belaens returning to their kingdom from countries across the sea. Word was spreading about the imminent battle and they were a proud people. Magic folk who’d never set foot in Bela would give their lives for the kingdom that should be their home.

Etta sat down as Matteo set a wooden bowl of stew in front of her. She tasted the fresh rabbit with the first bite and let out a low moan.

Edmund chuckled from his place beside Matteo and her cousin looked at the big blond affectionately.

They were speaking in low voices when Etta finished and decided to walk out among her people. Many of them were sitting out around fires instead of in their homes. She nodded as she passed by and curious eyes followed her.

“Henry.” She smiled, leaning down to hug the young boy from behind. He jumped and spun, a smile splitting his face.

“Etta!”

Someone coughed behind him and he looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry. Your Majesty, it’s good to see you.” He attempted a bow and Etta stifled a laugh as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Just between you and me, I prefer Etta.”

When she leaned away, he was grinning. She looked past him to the circle of people. A few more children sat nearby, their eyes wide with fear at her presence.

“Would you like to have a seat, your Majesty?” Analise asked in her sweet voice.

Etta shook her head ruefully. “I must be getting back. I only wanted to say hello and make sure you all were doing well.”

“We’ve never been better,” Analise said honestly. “Living so openly among magic folk is more than we could have ever dreamed of.”

Etta couldn’t help but glance at their surroundings. People had been using their magic and hard work to build a new Bela they could be proud of, but it still only consisted of the small village where her people had to share homes.

But Analise was happy and Etta felt something stir within the emptiness inside her. It had been a long time since she felt anything. No fear or hope or love. She thought everything she had was tied up in the curse, but maybe it didn’t have to be.

She was the queen of Bela. Maybe everything she had could be tied up in her people.

When she fell asleep that night, the loneliness she’d known since La Dame lifted the curse, felt like less of a burden after all.

* * *

As the sound of the first cook fires of the morning began outside, Etta sat on her bed with her knife between her teeth. It was time for a test.

When she’d disguised herself to save Alex, she had cut off her hair, but it grew back the moment the Basile powers woke within her.

Pulling her hair to the front, Etta studied the golden locks and held a section in her hand. Grabbing her knife with the other, she held it against the strands and sucked in a breath as she began to saw.

It sliced through her hair easily as she jerked it back and forth. Hair fell around her on the bed but she didn’t stop until she was all the way through.

For a moment, she stared at the jagged edges of the hair that was left, waiting. The door banged open, and she jerked upright, accidentally dragging the blade of her knife against her arm. Cursing, she dropped it and pressed her hand over the cut.

Matteo rushed forward. “Etta, what on earth are you doing?”

She held back the tears that sprang forth. Her arm stung and now her hair was a wreck. Her assumptions about her hair were wrong.

Her cousin grabbed a towel and pressed it to her arm. “You’re needed in the throne room.”

She almost laughed at that. The throne room was basically a tiny room that had a single chair and no other adornments.

She stood silently, letting the cut hair flutter to the floor.

Matteo shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, cousin.”

“What’s so urgent that I can’t wash first?” she asked. “Or at least fix this.” She gestured to her lopsided hair.

“I think you should hear it from the messenger that has arrived.”

“Fine.” She swung her cloak around her shoulders.

Edmund met them outside. “What happened to you?” He eyed her lopsided hair

She grunted and picked up her pace. People were crowded into the throne room. They parted for her as she walked toward the chair.

Arguing commenced among those present.

“She can’t go,” someone yelled.

“There’s no choice,” another retorted.

“She promised to protect all her people, not just those who came to her.”

Etta sat, smoothing her cloak around her. A few of the quieter attendees seemed confused by her haphazard appearance, but none spoke of it.

“Quiet,” she snapped.

The fight continued.

“Hey,” she yelled.

Still no use.

She’d never used her magic around so many people, but as her frustration grew, she saw no other option.

Putting a hand to her throat, she poured magic into her voice, making it reverberat around the room. “Quiet.”

The room stilled.

Edmund grinned proudly. That was the most control she’d shown yet.

As soon as the power shot through her, her head began to tingle as the golden strands of her hair lit up and began to lengthen where she had cut them, until it was as if her test had never happened.

Wide eyes stared at her from every corner of the small space. Her power sizzled around them, but she kept the reins tight, not letting it break free. It strained within her. This is wrong, she thought. It shouldn’t be leashed. But those weren’t Etta’s own thoughts. The magic invaded her mind. She used every bit of energy to push it away.

“Now,” she said, trying to infuse calm into her voice. “Someone tell me what has happened.”

A man in travel-stained clothing lurched forward as someone pushed him. He fell to his knees before her, raising his face to her in awe. “It’s true. We’ve heard the stories in Gaule… but you really do have the ancient Basile power.”

Etta was losing patience. “I do and I will release every bit of it on you if you don’t tell me why I’m here.”

He gulped as if he believed every word.

“I come from Gaule.”

She leaned forward. They hadn’t had news from Gaule since learning of Alex’s victory against his traitorous nobles the month before.

“Tell me,” she growled.

“T-they… M-my father sent me. He’s a farmer on land owned by one of the nobles who went against the king.”

“Go on.”

“People have been disappearing. Not all magic folk could just pick up their entire lives and go to an unknown kingdom. Now they’re being taken prisoner.”

Etta clenched her jaw. “What has the king of Gaule done about this?”

“No one can get to him. After the battle, he shut the palace. The outer castle is abandoned by all but the royal guard and no one is allowed inside the inner castle. He isn’t holding court or meeting with his people.”

“Duchess Moreau… Duke Caron, what about them?”

“They have yet to return to their estates, your Majesty.”

Etta leaned back and closed her eyes briefly. “So, the king is not running his own country.”

“He is, your Majesty. He’s sending out his guard to keep order. The problems occur once the guards leave a territory. He isn’t a bad king, just a trusting one, and in Gaule, no one can be trusted. The king is allowing his council and his generals to have control over keeping order. They are the ones appearing to the people, trying to restore faith in the king. But the citizens of Gaule need to see their king. I’m sorry, I don’t have any more information for you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You can go.”

Matteo and Edmund cleared out the throne room and then stayed behind.

Edmund was fuming. “How could Alex just stay behind his walls and turn his back on magic folk? After everything he’s done… he basically went to war with his own nobles to protect our people!”

“Edmund,” Etta warned. “Calm down.”

Matteo put a hand on his arm to hold him back and his breathing relaxed.

“Alex isn’t stupid,” she said almost to herself. “What is he doing?”

Matteo released Edmund and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t want to defend that Gaulean bastard… ever… but I think he’s just trying to avoid a civil war.”

“They already had one.” Edmund sat on the arm of Etta’s chair.

“No.” Matteo shook his head. “They had one battle, not a war. Alexandre is walking a thin line. He can’t round up the troublemaking nobles without an even bigger uprising on his hands. The only tool he has in his pocket is the army – which is much depleted without men from the nobles he’s policing.”

“He’s waiting,” Edmund jumped in.

“For what?” Etta leaned her head back to glance up at him.

“For La Dame to make her next move.”

“Not only that,” Matteo mused. “Alexandre isn’t acting like a king with absolute power. He’s going to roll back the decrees his father pushed through.”

Understanding lit in Edmund’s eyes. “Because he thinks the rebellion was against a king, not the kingdom. I know Alex better than anyone. I should’ve seen this coming. He’s never believed one person should have control over Gaule.”

Matteo nodded. “Makes sense. That would be why Duchess Moreau and Duke Caron are still at the palace. They’re his biggest allies. They’d help with the transition.”

Etta sighed. “This doesn’t address the bigger issue. It isn’t our concern whether the people of Gaule rise up. Our job is to ensure the safety of the Belaens who still reside in Gaule.”

“What do you want to do?” Matteo asked.

“I have to go to Gaule.”

Matteo shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. Not when the people here need you and La Dame is our biggest danger.”

“Cousin.” She pursed her lips. He wasn’t wrong, but something didn’t sit right with her. If La Dame was coming for them, she would have done so by now. She sucked in a breath, recalling Esme’s words. “She won’t attack.”

“How do you possibly know that?”

“Because she’s waiting for us to come to her. For me.” She wants you to stand at her side.

Matteo crossed his arms. “Going into Gaule is too dangerous. We can send someone else.”

She stood and fixed him with a stare. “No. I refuse to abandon my own people.”

Matteo met Edmund’s eye as if pleading him to talk sense into her, but Edmund only nodded. “She’s right.”

Matteo sighed. “Then you have to take our best fighters.”

“No. We don’t have the horses to spare and you need every man and woman here.”

“You can’t go alone. You’re the queen.”

She got to her feet and walked toward him. “Matteo, there is only one person on this earth who could do me harm and if she comes for me, no amount of Belaen fighters will help. I need to do this. Our people need me. Plus, I won’t be alone. Edmund is coming with me.”

“Damn right I am.” Edmund draped an arm over her shoulders.

Matteo’s lips turned down. “And what am I supposed to tell everyone here? That their queen has just wandered off?”

“No.” Her hair slapped against her back as she shook her head. “No lies. Be honest with them. Always. When I return, our people will be safer. Until then, it is up to you to take charge of things here. Can I count on you?”

“Always.”

She squeezed his arm on her way out the door. “Tomorrow, we return to Gaule.”

8

Gaule stretched out before them like a flower, ready to be picked. It was no secret that the kingdom had thrived over the years due to the wards Etta’s father had protected them with—even after they’d betrayed him.

He could have brought the wards down and left Gaule open to La Dame’s desires, but he’d never blamed the people for their king’s misdeeds, and there had still been a need to keep the king alive, if only so Viktor himself lived.

Etta was not her father.

She stood next to Edmund atop a hill that looked down into one of the prosperous villages on the Leroy lands, cursing every person below who allowed her people to suffer. They were complicit. They were hateful. She had experienced enough scorn from the Gaulean people to rid herself of her father’s noble ideas of equality.

These people were not equal to her. She could destroy that village with one wave of her hand. The power boiled in her blood and it took every ounce of strength she possessed to hold it back. Was this what she’d been afraid of? She hadn’t wanted to accept the power and everything that came with it.

The magic made her angry, calling for the blood of all who went against her.

Vérité snorted, resting his soft nose on her shoulder, and the anger began slipping away. Closing her eyes, she slammed up the rest of her walls around her magic to keep it from breaking through. She was getting better at holding it back, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Keeping the power under control felt wrong. It wanted to be free.

Edmund stiffened beside her as he craned his neck to see something in the distance. A small gasp escaped his throat. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Etta swallowed back the rising bile and nodded. Outside the village, bodies dangled from trees.

With a grunt of disgust, Etta mounted Vérité and snapped the reins. Edmund followed her down into the village. As they neared the trees, faces came into view. Men. Women. Children. Etta didn’t allow herself to divert her eyes. They deserved to be seen. Something had happened here, and it sent a chill straight to her heart. A stillness sat heavy in the surroundings and Etta lowered her head, hoping they were at peace.

Once inside the village, they were able to get lost in the crowds of the market. It was much busier than any village she’d ever seen, but a heaviness choked the air. These were the people who had been called to rise up against Alex. Despite her complicated feelings for the king of Gaule, she hated those who would defy him and try to take his throne.

They dismounted and walked the rest of the way to their meeting point. One of her people still living in Gaule was taking an enormous risk in helping them.

A hooded figure appeared next to her. “Your Majesty.”

Etta pulled Vérité to a stop. “Tanner?”

“Keep moving.” The voice was obviously that of a woman, which surprised Etta. She glanced once at Edmund before allowing herself to be led into an alleyway.

“My husband will tend the horses.” They stopped at a slightly broken door and an older man appeared, wordlessly taking the reins of their horses.

Tanner ushered them inside and shut the door. Etta pushed back the hood of her cloak and took a turn around the room. Sparse furnishings sat haphazardly in the corner near a cook stove. A small bed rested against the opposite wall. Was this how all her people lived in Gaule?

“Did anyone stop you in the streets?” Tanner asked.

“No.” Edmund shook his head, his short blond hair catching the glow of the candlelight.

“Good. The village hasn’t been patrolled in a few days since the last batch of prisoner executions.”

“The bodies outside the village?”

She nodded.

“Some of them were children,” Edmund growled. “What could they have possibly done to warrant losing their lives?”

Tanner looked quizzically at Edmund. “Do? They don’t have to do anything. They have magic. That’s enough.”

Etta paced. “I should have had people watching Lord Leroy. These are his lands and we should’ve seen something like this coming.”

Tanner shook her head. “Lord Leroy hasn’t returned from the battle. He’s now a prisoner in the dungeons.”

“Then who…”

“His daughter.”

Etta sucked in a breath. “But Amalie wouldn’t—”

“Not Lady Amalie. Her sister, Lady Liza returned after their father was captured. Her husband is said to have died, leaving her in charge of both his forces and her father’s. She’s increased the hangings since her father was taken.”

“What about the king?” Etta asked. The Alex she knew would never stand for this.

“The king hasn’t been seen since the night of the battle. His soldiers patrol the roads but many of them are of similar views as Leroy and his eldest daughter so they don’t take their guardianship of all Gauleans seriously. The king posted guards at the Leroy estate after the battle but they haven’t been seen. My man inside says they were killed.”

“Why are you still here if it’s so dangerous?” Edmund asked.

“We can’t abandon those with no other way to get out. We’ve been smuggling people to the Caron and Moreau lands but the last group we sent was captured and now dangle from trees.”

Etta pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes. “If the king of Gaule won’t protect the people within his borders, I will. But I can’t start a war. Can you get me into the estate?”

A smile spread across her weathered face and she dipped her head. “Of course, my queen. It would be my honor.”

Preparations only took a day and before she knew it, Etta was standing in the shadowy hall surrounded by the more well-to-do villagers and nearby nobles. Tanner was at her side, but Edmund had been forced to stay behind to prepare for their swift departure.

The plan had come to her quickly and now she knew it was the right thing to do. Lucky for her, the people who lived in this part of Gaule had never seen her. Some of the nobles had, so she avoided being too near them as she walked the length of the room.

Liza Leroy sat in a chair that was raised almost as if it were a throne. Did she fashion herself a queen? Etta had met the girl once before when her father brought his daughters before the king at the coronation ball. She’d only just arrived at the palace and become protector, so the night had been a blur. But she remembered the girl now. The giggling young woman with delicate features now had a scowl set firmly in place. What happened to her? Why had she chosen to follow her father so blindly instead of taking her sister’s path?

The man standing beside her turned and locked eyes with Etta. Flashes of the ebony council room table entered her mind. This was one of the nobles who’d sat there in the days after Alex was taken.

Etta tried to remember his name and failed. As if sensing Etta’s thoughts, the man’s eyes widened in recognition, but he didn’t move to warn Liza. Etta only had a moment before her presence would be known.

She placed a hand on her throat to amplify her voice.

“Liza Leroy,” she said darkly.

Those in attendance turned wildly to find the source of the voice. Etta stepped closer to the front and continued. “You have failed.”

The lady’s gaze finally found her and she reveled in the fear she found in Liza’s eyes.

“You thought you could destroy us as your father did before you, bring us to our knees. You considered us weak, unworthy, but it is you who is weak.” She stopped right in front of the woman, feeling every set of eyes on her back.

Throwing one hand out to the side, she let the edges of her magic leak out. The flames lighting the room extinguished and party-goers yelled in fear as they were thrown into darkness.

Their fear kept Etta going. She wanted to be feared. Leaning down, the only light coming from her glowing hair, she met Liza’s eyes, hers narrowing.

“Remember me, my lady?” She smiled.

“Sorcerer,” she spat.

She nodded. “I can see it. The fear seeping from your every pore. You’re right to be scared of me. Tell me, were my people scared before you strung them up?”

“Your people,” she scoffed. “They were Gauleans living on my father’s land. They belonged to us and I had every right to do with them as I saw fit.”

Etta pursed her lips and straightened before turning to the assembled people. “I am Persinette Basile, Queen of Bela. Anyone who harms the magic folk, my people, has harmed me.”

“You’re just a girl.” The growl came from behind her and she turned to face the man beside Liza. Lord Hinton. The name came to her as she studied his face.

“You can’t beat us,” he went on, “just like that boy king can’t.”

“Just a girl?” Etta cocked her head. “Okay.” She made like she was going to walk away before loosening the tight control on her magic and letting its light curl in her hands before throwing it squarely at the lord’s chest.

He was lifted into the air and slammed back against the wall. His arms flew over his head and stuck to the wall. He couldn’t move as Etta stepped closer.

“Do I have your attention now?” she asked simply.

Her magic begged her to rip his heart right from his chest. To allow it to drain the life from his eyes.

But the queen of Bela couldn’t march into Gaule and kill nobles.

She refused to give in to the whims of the power inside her. She knew it was only a short jump into darkness.

She directed her next words to the people. “I am taking Lady Liza and Lord Hinton to the palace of Gaule. If you try to stop me, I won’t hesitate to destroy this entire despicable estate and every village that rose up against Alexandre Durand. If you don’t believe I can, then try to stop me. I promise you’ll regret it.”

The candles roared back to life, and no one stopped her as she ripped Lord Hinton from the wall, using her magic to render him unconscious. She pulled Liza forward, sending her mind into the same darkness.

The crowd gave her a wide berth and Leroy was pulled along behind her with her power. Tanner appeared at her side and jerked her head to a cluster of people who looked more well-dressed than the simple villagers.

“Some of the other nobles who joined Leroy in his rebellion,” Tanner explained.

Etta stopped. They cowered as she turned toward them. Two men and one woman who looked different from the rest.

“Have they been arresting magic folk?” Etta asked.

“That one has.” She pointed one long finger at a young woman in a dress of purple velvet. Her beauty concealed her rotten core.

“What’s her name?”

“Lady Hinton.”

“Ah, the lord’s wife.” Etta considered the woman for a moment. Lady Hinton’s eyes were made of ice. “Lady Hinton.” The woman began walking toward her against her will. Etta tugged as if she had the lady on a string.

The scowl never left her face as she met Etta’s eyes without any of the fear Lord Hinton had possessed.

“You’ll be accompanying us as well.” With that, Etta turned and marched from the room, her magic pulling her three prisoners after her.

Night had descended outside, but Etta didn’t want to spend any more time in this place than she had to. Relief flooded her when she found Edmund with a wagon. His horse and another were pulling it while Vérité waited to the side. He lifted his head when he spotted her and kicked the ground.

Tanner thanked them, but Etta waved her off. “What kind of queen would I be if I didn’t protect all of my people?”

One corner of the woman’s mouth lifted. “The normal kind.”

Etta shrugged and climbed onto Vérité’s back. She gave Tanner a small wave and kicked her heels to get off of Leroy’s lands as quickly as possible.

Etta had spent her life preparing to be a protector. It was the role she’d been born into. Maybe being queen wasn’t so different from that. She must sacrifice her life for theirs. She was made to serve. To fight.

The curse had given her no choice but to fulfill her purpose. The crown wasn’t so different.

It was just a different kind of curse. At that thought, the emptiness inside of her began to fill. The curse had always connected her to something, someone. Without it, she’d been alone.

But she wasn’t alone. She had Bela and every one of her people. The crown connected her to them.

Curse. Chains. Crown. None of them made her a prisoner. Not anymore.

9

The walls hadn’t changed. In Etta’s mind, she’d expected them to be battered from the battle for control of Gaule. But unlike the Gaulean people, they hadn’t broken.

Etta had kept Liza Leroy and Lord and Lady Hinton unconscious for the entire journey. They’d encountered no trouble and now Etta stood looking up at the impregnable fortress, a foreign queen demanding to be heard.

But there was no one there. The outer gate looked all but deserted.

Annoyance sparked the inferno of Etta’s magic and the wind blew around her, lifting her hair from the back of her neck as she tried to rein it in.

Suddenly, returning here didn’t feel right. She should have stayed in Bela.

Her control slipped, releasing sparks from her fingers as she tried to hold the power back. Memories rushed toward her. The day her father died and she’d been brought behind those walls for the first time. Becoming protector.

Alex. Every moment they spent wrapped up in each other assaulted her.

Her imprisonment.

Then her escape. Twice, she’d been forced to flee from Gaule.

The memories warred against each other, the bad fighting for dominance over the good.

Her magic rose, pushing out through her skin. She jerked her head from side to side. “Edmund,” she pushed out. “I can’t.”

“Etta,” he said calmly. “Get control.”

An image of Edmund sitting in a dirty cell flashed across her mind. The people inside that palace had done so much to hurt them.

“I can’t,” she bit out moments before the power blasted out of her.

It struck the wall, surging through the barrier, breaking it apart. They dove behind the wagon as a barrage of stone rained down. Etta covered her head with her hands, unable to call enough magic to form a protective barrier.

The drumming of rocks slowed amid screams from the horses and Etta lifted her head to check for injuries.

“Edmund,” she called, coughing as the dust entered her lungs.

“Damn, Etta,” he groaned. “You really hate this place, don’t you?”

Etta didn’t respond. She couldn’t explain it, how the emotions fueled her magic. She didn’t hate the palace… her magic did. She’d lost control, the very thing she was afraid of. She tried to use the wagon to pull herself up, but her legs gave out beneath her and a sob pushed past her lips.

They’d been working to control her magic and one look at the walls she both hated and couldn’t hate, and her strength was gone.

People came running, but they didn’t near Etta as her hair was still aglow.

Edmund threw his hands in the air. “We’re only here to see the king.”

Murmurs of disbelief worked through the guards who now had their swords at the ready.

A harsh voice echoed among the others. “If you’re here to see the king, why the hell did you just destroy the only thing keeping him safe?” Camille stepped forward, leaning on her cane. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care, Etta. You can’t see Alex.” She turned to the guards. “Arrest them.”

10

Etta lifted her head off the cool ground of the cell, her energy failing her. It wasn’t the same cell she’d been kept in before, but it might as well have been. Stone walls rose on three sides with a wrought-iron gate for the fourth.

No comforts existed within those walls. Nothing that would make her believe she was anything but a prisoner. Again.

No, she couldn’t be a prisoner. She was the queen of Bela, not merely Etta anymore. She wanted to scream for someone to let her out, but no sound came out.

“Hey.” Edmund kneeled next to her. “You’re awake.”

“Seems so.” She pushed up before falling back.

Edmund put a hand on her back to help her sit. The magic she’d used sucked everything out of her. As soon as the cell door slammed shut, locking them in, she’d fallen asleep.

The fog in her mind began to clear as she shook her head. Golden strands broke free of her braid, falling forward around her face.

“Where are our prisoners?” she asked.

Edmund shrugged. “At least this time we’re in here together.” He suppressed a grin.

She raised a brow. “Of course you’d make jokes right now.”

“Oh, come on, Etta. It’s like coming full circle. You and I are prisoners of Gaule again. There has to be some sort of irony in that.”

She curled her fingers into fists, trying to build the magic in her arms and push it through the rest of her body to wash away the exhaustion. Her limbs began to strengthen until she no longer had to rely on Edmund’s assistance to sit.

Edmund’s eyes widened. “When did you learn to do that?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Just now, I guess.”

His eyes twinkled. “If you can replenish your magical energy…” He didn’t need to finish the thought as he blew out a long breath.

“Now we just need to figure out how to get out of here.”

“Do you think Alex knows we’re his prisoners?”

Etta didn’t miss the hope in his voice. He didn’t want to imagine Alex betraying him again. “He’s the king, Edmund. Why wouldn’t he know?”

Edmund shifted his eyes to his hands. “Camille may be doing this all on her own.”

Etta wanted to believe his words. Had the Alexandre Durand she’d known changed so much in just a short time apart? He was letting her people suffer. Did he now side against magic folk? What happened to him?

She scooted closer to him and wrapped an arm around his back. “I’m sorry, but when you stayed in Bela, you chose a side. Alex has determined that side is the enemy. He’s probably released Leroy and his daughter by now.” She closed her eyes and her breath stuttered. “And he has Verite.”

“I’m sorry. I know what Vérité means to you.”

Etta climbed to her feet. “It’s okay. I can get him back. I’ll tear this place apart stone by stone if I have to. If Gaule is once again turning on magic folk, we must return to Bela to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“Whatever comes.” She extended a hand to Edmund. “We are no longer prisoners, Edmund. I am a queen and you are everything Gaule lacks. If they stand against us, they will lose.”

He clasped her hand and stood.

“Not prisoners,” he said as if to remind himself. “Not this time.”

Etta shot him a grim smile before turning to the door. Her control had returned, and she blasted the door off its hinges. It crashed against the wall with a loud clang. Other prisoners roused themselves with yells of surprise. Etta tried to pick out Lord Leroy’s voice among them. Tanner had said he was being held here.

Once the ringing in Etta’s ears quieted, an eerie stillness crept in. “Come on.” She led Edmund through the labyrinth of halls past full cells.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that they heard it. Footsteps.

“Camille,” someone snapped. “You had no right.”

“Of course I did. I have every right to lead Gaule when he—”

“He wouldn’t want you anywhere near his throne,” the man growled. “And he wouldn’t let you imprison—” The steps on the stairs stopped as Camille and Tyson came into view.

Tyson’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Etta and Edmund before a slow grin spread across his boyish face. He turned to Camille. “I told you they’d probably have escaped by now. You can’t hold Persinette Basile.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Edmund barked out a laugh, his shoulders relaxing. “See, Etta. If Ty didn’t know we were down here, what are the chances Alex did?”

The smile slipped from Tyson’s face for only a fraction of a second before it came back. Unkempt scruff covered his cheeks and dark circles ringed his eyes, but he was still Tyson.

They stood staring at each other for a long moment before Tyson bounded down the rest of the steps and didn’t stop moving until he had Etta wrapped in his arms. A shudder ran through him as he buried his face in Etta’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered. “Everything is so wrong.”

Etta wound her arms around his back. They may not have been raised together, but Tyson was her brother and she’d missed him every day.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “Camille had you put here without me or mother knowing.”

Etta glared at the princess over Tyson’s shoulder.

Camille held her hands in front of her chest. “What was I supposed to do? She blew apart our gates! For all I knew, we were being attacked.”

Tyson pulled back and shot Camille a frigid look before regarding Etta with a quizzical frown. “We have so many questions for you. Why did you attack? Why were Liza Leroy and Lord Hinton with you? Why won’t they wake up? Why are you even here in Gaule?”

Etta breathed deeply and Edmund put a hand on Tyson’s shoulder. “If we can get out of the dungeons, we’ll explain. Maybe the king and the queen mother should join us?”

Tyson’s face fell, and he shook his head. “They won’t. But I’ll send for the duchess. Come.”

They ascended the stairs and Tyson fell into step beside Etta as they walked across the familiar courtyard. Etta still knew this place better than her own kingdom.

“Where’s—” she began but Tyson answered before she could finish.

“Vérité is in his old stall. He’ll be taken care of.”

Etta nodded gratefully. “And—”

“Liza and the Hintons are being kept under guard near Lord Leroy. They are not trusted in the palace.”

She squeezed his arm.

“I missed you,” he said in that open way he’d always had.

She smiled in spite of the circumstances and looped her arm through his. Camille let out a disgusted snort behind them.

Tyson leaned in. “I always knew you’d be our queen.”

Our. She hadn’t imagined it. He’d said our and that single word infused hope into her. When Tyson had chosen Alex, he’d taken a piece of Etta with him. Our. Tyson considered Bela his kingdom. Etta hid a smile behind her hand.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

His face lit up at her words, the stress lines smoothing out.

“I can’t believe you destroyed our gates.”

“I’m sorry.” How could she tell him she hadn’t meant to? That in those moments, the magic controlled her instead of the other way around? Would he fear her too?

It turned out, there was no time to explain before another familiar face greeted her.

“Simon.” She nodded with a smile.

He immediately dropped into a bow. “My queen.” When he lifted his head, love and admiration resided in his gaze and it warmed her. “Welcome to Gaule.”

She gripped his arm and squeezed. “Thank you.”

More people waited inside the council chamber and Etta recognized most of them, but they weren’t Belaen. To them, she was just a foreign queen, and it was a bit of a relief. Magic folk looked at her as if she were their savior.

Duchess Moreau was the first to greet them, offering familiar hugs. Duke Caron bowed formally. A young woman sat in the back of the room, her wide eyes piercing into Etta. Etta liked her the minute their eyes connected. The woman’s gaze flooded with warmth.

“It’s nice to meet you, your Majesty,” a voice whispered.

Etta whipped her head around trying to find the source. The woman laughed and Etta stared at her once again, the corner of her mouth tilting up.

Duke Caron stepped forward. “Your Majesty, let me introduce my daughter, Ara.”

Etta instantly saw the duke in a new light. He had a daughter with magic? Camille must be really happy about that. The thought sent a perverse pleasure through her. Maybe that was why the princess had been forced to be on the side of magic folk.

One quick glance around the room was all Etta needed to register the heaviness in their expressions. Where was Alex? And Catrine?

Edmund voiced her questions. “Where’s the king?”

Simultaneously, their faces darkened and a foreboding chill crept over Etta. She turned to Tyson, her brother, the overly honest prince.

“Where is he, Ty?”

Tyson sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “They’re saying he doesn’t have much longer, Etta.” His voice choked. “He’s…” He shook his head. “I didn’t think anything could take him down.”

She stepped closer to Tyson, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Ty?”

He pushed out a shaky breath. “He was attacked last month. Our healers thought they’d save him, but then infection… He’s dying, Etta.”

The ground shifted beneath her. Her legs quaked as she stumbled back, sucking air into her lungs.

She shouldn’t care, her magic told her. Forget about him. He meant nothing to her.

Then why did her heart crack right down the middle? She shook her head. “He… he… he can’t.” Her words shook, and she grabbed for something, anything to keep her upright, latching on to Edmund’s arm. He held onto her as if his life depended on it, the news breaking him open just as much as her.

Alexandre Durand, king of Gaule, was the enemy of her magic and all she could think was that if he died, she’d die right along with him.

If they were still tied by the curse, she would. Their lives had been entwined. But this was different. It wasn’t her body that would die upon his last breath, it was her soul.

“I need to see him,” she forced out.

“Not so fast, your Majesty,” Duke Caron said. “You have a lot to answer for. You cannot walk away until we know why our gate lays in ruins and three of our nobles appear to be under the influence of magic.”

Etta glanced back at him with a growl. She didn’t care how she appeared to these people. Not when the need to see Alex burned through her. “You’ll get your answers when I deign to give them to you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and she released a tendril of magic–just enough to push him back into a chair and hold him there.

“Persinette Basile,” he snapped.

“Da,” Ara slid into the seat next to her father. “No.”

Tyson hadn’t moved, but Ara’s voice sounded in Etta’s ear. “He’s in his chambers.”

Etta nodded gratefully and motioned for Edmund to follow her, preparing to use her magic to stop anyone who came after them. No one did.

The guard outside Alex’s chambers stepped into their path to stop them and Etta flung him against the wall, using her power to bind him there before pushing into the room.

Alex’s eyelids shifted, but remained closed. His skin had dulled into a sickly gray pallor and his dark hair stuck to his face. On the table beside the bed, a bowl of leeches waited to be used next to small glass vials containing various tinctures.

Catrine sat in a chair with her head resting on the bed, her long dark hair obscuring her features from view.

Etta’s eyes focused on Alex’s face. Even when she’d wanted to hate him, he’d been so strong, so sure.

Edmund’s hand slid down her arm and he laced his fingers with hers, squeezing tightly.

“Alex,” he breathed.

Catrine stirred and lifted her head slowly, her heavy-lidded eyes rounding when she saw them. Her shoulders dropped, and a sigh blew past her lips. “Thank God you two are here.” She got to her feet with the slowness of a much older woman. Her lips drew down, deepening the lines on her once flawless face. “He’s been asking for you. I didn’t have the heart to remind him you were…”

Etta tried to move forward but her feet wouldn’t budge. Edmund dropped her hand and walked to the side of the bed with none of the hesitation she felt.

“Why has he been asking for us if he didn’t know we’d ever be back?”

Catrine reached Etta’s side and put a hand on her back. “He hasn’t been in his right mind, honey.” She didn’t bother with the formalities their ranks insisted upon. Catrine never had. She’d taken Etta under her wing and now the reason screamed with clarity. Catrine Durand had loved Viktor Basile. Tyson’s existence proved that.

It should have tainted Etta’s opinion of the woman, that Viktor had betrayed Etta’s mother. But instead, Etta soaked in the comfort she’d always gotten from Catrine. She sucked in a heavy breath and pushed it back out as her feet finally started moving.

For so long, her magic had been forcing Alex into the role of the enemy in her mind, but now that he was slipping away, nothing made sense anymore. She hadn’t been so lost since the moment the curse was broken and their bond disappeared.

Edmund sat on the edge of the bed and took Alex’s frail hand in his. The king of Gaule murmured something unintelligible.

“Alex, sweetheart,” Catrine cooed.

“You don’t need to wake him,” Etta protested. Of all the scenarios, this was not how she’d imagined meeting Alex again.

“He’s been sleeping all day. It’s time for his next tincture.” She uncorked a bottle and poured it into a wooden mortar before grinding it together with the pestle. She didn’t ask the questions everyone else had for Etta and Edmund. Her only concern was her son. For once, the kingdom’s worries faded into the background.

“Alex,” she said again, squeezing his upper arm. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, and he stared up at them as if he couldn’t place who they were.

Unable to hold back any longer, Etta touched the side of his face, fingering the soft hairs growing on his cheeks. His entire face slackened. “Etta.” His voice was no more than a whisper. “I knew you’d come home, eventually.”

She frowned. Gaule wasn’t her home.

Alex’s eyes shifted to Edmund. “She saved you from the dungeons?”

Edmund’s pained eyes met Etta’s.

“Yeah,” he said. “Etta saved me.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex breathed. “I shouldn’t have kept you there.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I wish I could have been your savior.”

Tears sprang to Edmund’s eyes. “You were, Alex. You always were.”

“I love you.” Barely audible, the words had Edmund collapsing forward and pressing his face to his best friend’s chest.

“I love you too. Always.”

“Etta.” Alex tried to lift his hand to reach for her. “My Etta. Promise you’ll stay with me.”

Etta jumped back, her eyes shining. “I… I can’t do this.”

She reached the door in four long strides and didn’t relax until it stood between her and the dying king on the other side.

She choked back a sob. With a flick of her wrist, she released the guard she’d left pinned to the wall and turned to find Tyson waiting for her.

She sucked in a breath and did her best to push all thought of Alex aside before going back to the things she could control. The safety of her people.

“I’m ready for those questions, Tyson. I have answers for you, but your council better have answers for me as well. Answers and action. I will accept nothing less.”

11

Tyson banged his head on the table in front of him. They had retreated to the suite of rooms belonging to Camille and her husband while they stayed at the palace.

“I don’t believe you,” Camille said, eying Etta warily. “You’re just trying to stir up tensions within Gaule.”

The anger snapped within Etta and she held her breath, holding her simmering power in check. What was it about this place that made her control disappear so quickly?

Edmund wasn’t there to calm her. Not this time. He’d remained at Alex’s side.

If she spoke, she feared her magic would barrel into the indignant princess.

Amalie stepped forward to put a hand on the back of Tyson’s neck. She’d arrived soon after Tyson led Etta into the room and kept a protective eye on the prince.

“Didn’t Alex have guards stationed in my father’s house?” she asked. “They were meant to watch for more unrest among his followers. My sister… she’s always been his puppet, but I never saw this coming.”

Etta shook her head. “I’m sorry Amalie. Your sister has continued your father’s persecutions and murder of my people.”

Amalie swallowed hard but didn’t divert her steely eyes. That girl was no longer the scared kid who’d had to be rescued from her father’s reach.

“Tell us again.” Duchess Moreau said over the rim of her teacup.

Etta sighed. “They’re killing my people. You all wondered what I was doing in Gaule? It’s because I trusted you to keep magic folk safe and you failed.” Her harsh gaze cut through each one of them. “While you sit here in your palace, your country falls into darkness. I refuse to let it take Bela with it.”

“Is that a threat?” Camille narrowed her eyes.

“Damn right it is. I don’t want to have to come against Gaule, but if it comes to it, I won’t hesitate.”

“Who do you think you are?”

Etta straightened her spine, peering at Camille as if she was nothing. “I am the queen of Bela.”

They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away.

“This isn’t helping.” The duchess’s voice broke their standoff. She set her teacup on the table and buried her face in her hands. Etta had never seen the woman emit anything other than strength, but it seemed there was no strength to be had in the palace.

Tyson. Duchess Moreau. Catrine. Simon. Even Camille. They were broken down, worn out, by war, but mostly because the person they all loved was fading away.

To have such love… Etta couldn’t imagine it. Alex’s death had the power to destroy them.

She got to her feet. “Now that you all know I didn’t come to attack you and have no malicious intent—and some of you even believe me—we have work to do. I’m sorry about… about Alexandre. But a king is not a kingdom and right now the kingdom must come first. Honestly, I don’t care what you do with Gaule, but when it affects my people…” She looked to Duke Caron. “You control a large force in Gaule. Why were Liza and Lord Leroy’s other allies not kept under closer watch?”

The duke scratched his chin wearily. “The Caron forces have been moved to the border to join with the Moreau ranks to guard against any attack from Dracon.”

Tyson nodded in approval.

“We’ve been using the royal guard to patrol the lands of any noble who took up arms against the crown, but they’ve been spread quite thin and…” The duke trailed off.

“And?” Etta pressed.

Tyson blew out a breath and his next words burst out of him. “We can’t trust them, okay? Half the guard fought against the crown and the other half are probably still of the opinion that the more magic folk hanging from trees, the better.” He slapped his hands over his mouth.

Camille sank heavily into the chair beside her husband whose face betrayed nothing.

Duchess Moreau sighed and Amalie closed her eyes.

Finally, Etta understood. The ones who wanted to protect the magic folk represented the minority in Gaule. Even those loyal to Alex didn’t all believe in what he was fighting for. Equality. Safety. Peace.

There was too much history in Gaule for them to succeed. Etta thought her task of rebuilding Bela was an impossible one, but her people were of one mind. They came from many places. Some crossed the border from Gaule, others arrived over the open sea. But they were all Belaens. They all wanted to rebuild the kingdom that had belonged to them all along. There was a purpose, a need, a willingness to sacrifice.

What was Gaule fighting for?

“There will never be peace between our people,” she whispered as the realization struck her like a bludgeon to the chest. She sat on the edge of the plush velvet couch surrounded by all the opulence she’d grown used to in the palace and all she could think of were her people in Bela living in the overcrowded village, or the magic folk in the villages of Gaule with only thatched roofs protecting them from the world.

Duchess Moreau lifted her head, her expression betraying the truth of Etta’s words.

The ever-hopeful Tyson wouldn’t hear it. “Don’t say that, Etta. We can make it happen. I know we can.”

Etta shook her head slowly, hanging it low. Her golden braid hung over one shoulder that was sagged in defeat. The enormity of the problem crashed over her, making it hard to breathe. There were too many magic folk still in Gaule. Those who hadn’t chosen to leave for the unknown Bela. She breathed out loudly. “One problem at a time.” When she raised her eyes, the desperation in the room nearly choked her. Duchess Moreau and Duke Caron had been protecting magic folk for many years and now knew it wasn’t enough. Tyson was coming to the realization that his magic would never be accepted in Gaule, prince or not.

Only Camille looked unaffected and Etta knew it was because the princess had known it all along.

Amalie was the next to speak. “Etta is right. We need to decide what to do with the traitors. My father’s followers will continue to fight as long as he sits in the dungeons.”

“Who is making decisions in the king’s stead?” Etta asked.

Duke Caron released Camille’s hand and stood. “The council has been given that power. Alexandre wanted to return Gaule to its former rule. The king used to rule in conjunction with the council. Neither had more power than the other. When his Majesty was attacked, we had no option but to push through the decrees he had set in motion. As of right now, the council is the sole ruler. Duchess Moreau and I hold seats as well as the prince and princess. We will meet and come to a decision.”

Etta nodded. “I brought him your nobles as a courtesy to avoid a conflict. I could have killed them outright. Remember that. I expect justice for all those they have harmed.”

Etta left them to their discussions and Amalie followed her out.

“Your old rooms should be sufficiently prepared,” the girl said, her voice shaking. She didn’t speak of her family, but sadness swirled in her eyes. “The rooms haven’t been used since you left.”

Etta stopped when she was outside her door and turned to Amalie. “How is he?” she asked, knowing what a stupid question that was.

Amalie seemed to sense who Etta was speaking of and her lips turned down. “Tyson is… trying to be strong. For his mother.”

Etta put a hand on her arm and squeezed. “I’m glad he has you.” With that, she let herself into the room and closed the door, sagging against it as the day’s emotions drained every bit of energy from her bones.

The room looked no different from the last time she’d seen it and the familiarity provided a strange sense of comfort. She’d been through so much since calling this place home and it brought her back to the girl she’d been. The one who was cursed and in love.

She kicked off her boots and padded across the room to the canopied bed that called to her. She longed for a brief respite from this strange new world she found herself in. As she sank into the bed, she remembered all those sleepless nights wondering about Alex.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but they didn’t fall. Her magic pulsed beneath her skin, urging her to forget, to be unaffected.

In that instant, her magic tried to pull her into the darkness while thoughts of Alex called to her from the light.

She’d almost fallen asleep when someone pounded on the door. Reluctantly dragging herself from the bed, she went to unlatch the door and let in a disheveled Edmund. Red rimmed his eyes and tears ran down his cheeks. He didn’t try to hide them.

He didn’t say anything as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. His back shook and her breathing stuttered as she shut her eyes.

“Etta,” he sobbed. “What are we supposed to do?”

She leaned back and brushed the tears from his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. “I don’t know.”

After pulling him farther into the room, she moved to stoke the fire that smoldered in the fireplace. When Amalie dropped her off, she hadn’t noticed the platters of food on the table by the fireplace. Edmund poured a cup of wine with shaky hands and drank it down in one gulp before pouring another.

“He was talking about you,” he said after he’d taken a large sip of his second drink.

Etta continued to crouch in front of the fire, the flames warming her icy skin.

Edmund lowered himself onto the couch. “He’s delirious, Etta. The fever has taken any sense he ever possessed. He doesn’t seem to remember that you two are supposed to be at odds. He just kept saying he needed you.”

“He doesn’t need me.” She straightened up and turned toward the wine. “He never did.”

“Weren’t you friends?” He sniffled, trying to get a hold of his emotions. “Before the curse kicked in, you were friends.”

She grunted. “That was before I spent part of my life on the run. I grew up, Edmund.”

“Well, soon he won’t be your problem anymore,” Edmund snapped. “Then you can go on living your life as if he was never in it. But me? I don’t care what his father did to our people. I’m going to be mourning my best friend for the rest of my life.” He bit off the last word, his face flushed with anger, and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Etta watched him for a long moment before walking with deliberate steps toward the couch and sitting next to him. She wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I can’t…” She rested her chin on his shoulder. “I feel like I’m breaking. Seeing Alex in such a state is tearing me in two. It’s not supposed to be like this. I don’t want to, but…”

“You can’t help it?” he finished. “I know the feeling.”

“Yeah, I guess you do.” That was why she and Edmund understood each other. They’d both loved Alexandre Durand. For Edmund, it was illegal—at least in Gaule. For Etta, loving the king of Gaule went against the natural way of things. It ignored history and put the future in jeopardy.

They were quiet for a while before Edmund spoke again. “Before coming here, I’d have sworn I was past my feelings. I still think I am. But whether my love has morphed into the platonic kind between friends or not, I don’t want to lose him.”

None of them could afford to lose Alexandre Durand. He was the only thing holding Gaule back from the brink. Etta hadn’t asked who his successor was. Had he named Camille? The woman who continued to hate magic despite her husband’s feelings. Or Tyson? The boy who would never be accepted because of the Belaen blood in his veins.

Edmund slipped toward the bed to get some rest, but Etta’s mind continued to rove. As soon as Edmund’s breathing evened, she left the room behind and found herself outside Alex’s door. Catrine had probably long gone to bed. The guard eyed her, but news of how she’d tied the other one to the wall must have made the rounds because he didn’t try to stop her from entering.

“Leave,” she ordered, wanting to be truly alone with Alex. “Now.”

She raised her hand in threat and he started off down the hall. Alex needed better guards.

A single candle burned low on the table. Soon, no light would grace the room. Alex’s pale skin shone in the dim glow. Etta flicked her finger, and the flame grew larger until his every feature was illuminated.

A sheen of sweat highlighted his brow. Etta moved to the bed, the sudden urge to be near Alex taking control of her every move. She found a bowl of water and cloth on the table next to him. Dampening the cloth, she dabbed it across his forehead, wanting, needing to give him any relief she had to offer.

A groan sounded weakly in his throat and his cracked lips moved as if he wanted to speak. Lips that had once been the only thing she thought about. They’d had the power to hold her together when it seemed as though the curse would break her apart.

How hadn’t she seen it before? When the curse was broken, the void it left behind was so deep, so destructive, she’d thought it took everything. Alex had been a casualty in the battle with La Dame.

Only he hadn’t. He was right there in front of her. For only a little while longer. Setting the cloth down, she lowered herself into the chair Catrine had left and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bed.

An entire future had once seemed spread out before them, but they’d been kidding themselves. Kings and queens served as sacrifices for their kingdom. They could never think about what they desired, only what their people needed.

At least good ones.

A sigh rattled through Etta’s chest and she closed her eyes, resting her forehead against her closed fist. If she hadn’t come to take on Liza Leroy, would she have even known Alex was dying? She supposed they’d have heard about it once the news reached Bela. Being beside him, as hard as it was, it felt right. For the first time since her fight with La Dame, she felt whole.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why you? Why us?”

When his hand moved to take hers, she snapped her eyes open. He watched her, his usually bright eyes clouded with fever. She threaded her warm fingers through his chilled ones and held on as if she’d never let go.

“Shhh,” he whispered, the sound barely audible. “It’s okay.”

“Nothing is okay, Alex.”

“You’re here.” He attempted a smile. “That makes it okay.”

Edmund had told her he wasn’t lucid, but she heard no confusion in his words.

Tears rose in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“I didn’t want to see you again,” she said. “You’re a Durand.”

He laughed but the sound barely made it past his lips. “Ah, sweetheart, I don’t think that matters anymore.”

She bit her quivering lip. He was right. It didn’t matter. Maybe it never had.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I missed the curse after it was broken.” His voice cracked. “But now I’m glad it isn’t here. I couldn’t stand the thought of taking you with me.”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “I missed it too,” she whispered. “I just didn’t admit it, even to myself.”

“Can you stay with me?” he asked. “Just one last time. Don’t leave me again.”

She nodded against his head and pulled herself down next to him, offering him her warmth. When she rested her head in the crook of his neck, he sighed, and she felt like she was right where she was supposed to be. He was too weak to wrap his arms around her as he used to, but it was enough. It had to be.

Her voice vibrated against the faint pulse in his neck. “This time you’re the one leaving me.”

“Never,” he whispered. “I will love you forever and that means I’ll always be with you.”

The tears finally broke through, streaming down her cheeks unchecked. How had she denied it for so long? Now it was too late.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you. It wasn’t the curse; I just didn’t see it.” Tears choked her words, but Alex didn’t respond.

“Alex?” She lifted her head to look into his face and felt for a pulse at his neck. It was there, but slowly fading. “Alex.” She shook his arm. No response. “No. Please. You can’t.”

The door opened and Edmund rushed in. “Thought I’d find you here after you disappe-” His face went white as he stepped closer to Alex.

A hole tore open inside Etta. She needed more time. How was she supposed to rule a kingdom without thinking of Alex here in Gaule? How could she live when he no longer did?

Her magic swirled through her chest as she hiccuped back sobs. Edmund tried to wrap her in his arms, but she pushed him away, her control slipping.

“You should go,” she said, her tears still flowing. “I can’t… I can’t stop it.”

Controlled by her emotions, the power grew and pulsed, raising the hair on her arms.

“I’m not leaving you or Alex,” he said.

Etta looked into Alex’s face. Still alive, but only barely. Life faded from him quickly, and she doubted he’d live to see the sun. The power inside her jerked, and threw her forward, forcing her to grab Alex’s arms to steady herself. It was coming. Like with the gate, once the flow of magic started, she couldn’t stop it.

She was dangerous.

The golden glow started in the tips of her hair and worked up the long strands until it lit the entire room.

“Etta,” Edmund yelled, but she barely heard him over the buzzing in her ears.

The magic zipped down her arms so fast she couldn’t stop it before it jolted into Alex. “Noooooo,” she cried.

His body flew from the bed, taking her along with it. They landed with a thud on the floor as Etta’s magic continued to swirl in the air. Alex thrashed wildly, his eyes still closed.

Then all at once, the power snapped back into her and flung her onto her back. She couldn’t move as the stillness settled in around them.

It took her a few tries before the words would leave her mouth. “Is he…” She was too scared to see it. Her magic had struck Edmund a few times too, but he’d be okay. Alex was so weak. There was no way he could withstand it.

Edmund breathed heavily and Etta lifted her throbbing head to see him crawl toward Alex and hover over him. She couldn’t see Edmund’s face, but the stiffness in his posture told her everything she needed to know. Alex was gone.

She laid her head back against the ground wishing he’d taken her with him. Her eyes watered but she didn’t have the strength to wipe away the tears. All she wanted to do was curl up and forget her duties.

“Etta.” Edmund’s voice shook. “He’s… you need to come here.”

She groaned and rolled onto her side to scoot her tired body toward them, afraid of what she’d see, but knowing she needed to look into his face one last time. She managed to sit up but froze.

Color rose in Alex’s pale, clammy skin. His uneven breath that only moments ago had seemed like a struggle for him to get out, now worked smoothly. His eyelids shifted, fluttering his lashes against his cheeks.

Edmund gasped beside her and she hated the hope he was giving her. It wasn’t possible.

“No,” she said. “Edmund, no.”

“You can’t deny what we’re seeing.” He finally tore his eyes away from Alex to stare at her in wonder. “You have Draconian blood.”

She hauled herself to her feet, despite her aching legs. “I can’t. I’m a Basile. We don’t have healing magic.”

“The Basile magic hasn’t been seen since the days of Aurora and Phillip. No one would know if a Draconian entered the bloodline since then.”

A question entered her mind that she was afraid to voice. What if it wasn’t her Basile power? She remembered little of her mother… had this been another one of her parent’s secrets?

“Edmund,” she said, stumbling back. “If we’re wrong. If we’re imagining things… please, don’t make me wish for things. Don’t give me this hope.”

Someone coughed, and it wasn’t either of them. Both sets of eyes snapped to Alex’s prone form. His eyes opened with the slowness of a man seeing for the first time. The milky film was gone, allowing the crystal gaze she’d missed so much to reappear.

“Edmund?” he asked softly, furrowing his brow in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Etta fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands.

“Etta,” Alex breathed. “You came back.”

She nodded, removing her hands to meet his eyes before crawling toward him. A tear fell from her eye, landing on his cheek, and she wiped it away.

“Don’t mind her,” Edmund said. “She’s only crying because she just found out her bloodline isn’t as pure as she thought.”

She reached across Alex to shove Edmund and he fell back with a laugh. “Ass,” she mumbled, returning her gaze to the man below her. “We thought we’d lost you.”

“Why?” he asked. “Where have I been?”

Etta’s eyes connected with Edmund’s. “You don’t remember?”

“I…” he began before a pained look crossed his face. “I was attacked in my own room.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t remember anything since then.” His eyes popped open. “If I was attacked, why don’t I feel it?” He pushed himself up until he was sitting and Etta steadied him. His hands patted his chest. “Where are the knife wounds? I know I was stabbed.”

“Our little Draconian healed you,” Edmund answered. “Apparently a Basile ancestor was very naughty getting it on with a Draconian.”

“You…” Alex looked to Etta, and his eyes widened.

She shrugged, uncomfortable under both their curious gazes. There was still so much she didn’t know about her own power, but right then, all she could think of was how grateful she was that she couldn’t control it. The irony wasn’t lost on her. If she’d been able to hold it back, Alex would be lost.

Without warning, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her close, his lips finding the side of her face. A jolt of warmth shot through her as he kissed her just below her ear before moving down to her neck. She twisted her fingers into his hair as he brushed his overgrown beard against her smooth skin.

“Thank you for not leaving me,” she whispered.

“Thank you for holding me here,” he responded.

She got to her feet, drawing on her magic to restore her own strength. Edmund helped Alex up.

“I need to wash,” Alex said.

Edmund patted him on the back. “It’ll take a few days to recover even with the healing magic. Trust me, Etta likes to beat me up on a daily basis, so I know.” Edmund pulled him into a relieved hug.

“I missed you too, Edmund,” Alex laughed weakly.

Edmund grunted. “I’ll return after you get some rest.” He strode from the room and Etta turned to follow him.

“Don’t leave,” Alex looked to her as if he was a lost boy and she was the map home. “Please.”

She turned toward him once again with a single word on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t utter it because it would be a lie. She’d wanted to say ‘never’ but there were no nevers or always for them. He was still the king of Gaule and she was the queen of Bela. So many unanswered questions lay between them. There was time yet to answer them.

For tonight, she would stay. But soon, she’d have no choice but to put him behind her once again.

She couldn’t bring herself to care about that future day. As Alex cleaned up in the washroom, happiness bloomed within her. The boy she thought gone forever was still here. Still him. Always Alex.

He returned with wet hair and a tired smile, his movements slow. “I’m not used to having someone else in here anymore,” he admitted nervously.

She breathed out slowly. “I just need you to prove to me that you’re real. That I’m not dreaming.”

“If this is a dream,” he said. “I hope it’s the kind that never ends.”

He kissed her then. No, not just kissed. He stole her lips and made them his. He burrowed himself into her soul, latching on to every part of her being.

His breath was hers. All the months of hate and secret longing poured into a single moment. And it was brilliant.

“I’m real,” he breathed against her lips. “We’re real.”

His body weak from the healing, she led him to the bed and pushed him down before climbing in next to him and fitting her body up against his. Lacing their fingers together, he kissed the back of her hand.

“Sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll still be here when you wake.”

His eyes drifted shut and a moment of panic had her checking for his pulse. It beat strong, matching her own. She released a sigh and finally let the rest of the world drift away until it was only the two of them and their dreams.

12

Etta lied. The moment Alex woke, he knew it. She had promised she wouldn’t leave him, but the only sound in the room was his own breathing. At first, he thought he’d imagined her presence. For so long, he’d dreamed of having her near.

But his first glance around the room proved the events of the night before had, indeed taken place. A table along the far wall tilted on its side. His belongings laid around the room as if a cyclone had entered the palace.

He let his head rest against the pillow. No, not a cyclone. Magic. Her magic. She’d healed him. It seemed the secrets of the Basiles never ended.

She wasn’t the girl he’d loved before. There was so much more to her now. She wasn’t simply Etta. She’d taken up the mantle of Persinette Basile, queen of Bela. Who she was always meant to be.

And that meant her destiny held no place for him.

The door to his room opened and voices drifted in. “Honestly, I don’t know what the night guard was thinking leaving his post,” his mother said.

“I’ll have a chat with him,” Tyson replied darkly. “He left Alex unprotected in his final…”

Both sets of feet stopped as Alex shifted to sit up and lean back against the headboard. He was exhausted, just as Edmund said he would be. Each movement was a struggle.

Two pairs of wide eyes stared at him. His mother let out a tiny gasp and covered her mouth. She looked like she’d been through hell. Tyson didn’t look much better, but he recovered more quickly and rushed the bed.

“Alex?” he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

“Hey, Ty.” Alex’s words broke the dam and his mother ran forward, all but throwing herself across Alex.

“How is this even possible?” Tyson sat on the bed and stared at his brother like he’d disappear at any moment.

“Etta–”

“I told them we should have asked her to come right after your attack, but Camille wouldn’t hear of it.” Tyson said.

Their mother finally recovered and sat back on the bed, not releasing Alex’s hand. “No one thought Etta’s presence would do any good. Belaens don’t have healing.”

“Ones with Draconian blood do.” Alex waited for the reaction.

She sucked in a breath.

Tyson’s face scrunched up in horror. “Does that mean, as a Basile, I could’ve saved you all along?”

Catrine put an arm around her son. “Not if the power is wrapped up in the Basile magic. That is Etta’s and Etta’s alone. She now holds the magic of each Basile who came before her alongside her own growth magic. One such Basile, it seems, had a child with a Draconian.” She looked away from them. “Is that why she came?”

Alex coughed weakly. “She seemed as surprised as any of us.”

“Then how did she call the magic forth?”

“Probably the same way she blew up our gate,” Tyson guessed. “She can’t control any of it.”

“Wait.” Alex tried to push himself up straighter and shook Tyson’s words from his mind. They’d go back to the blown-up gate thing. “If you didn’t summon her, why is Etta here?”

For one single moment, a spark of hope lit in him. Had she felt him through the now-broken curse? Felt he needed her?

A single match burns brightly only for a moment before the flame travels down to burn your skin.

“She kidnapped Liza Leroy and brought her here.”

Alex sputtered. “What?”

“Alex,” his mother started. “We just got you back. All I want to do is hold my baby boy as I never thought I’d get to do again. Can we talk politics later?”

Despite how deeply he wanted to understand what motivated a queen to travel into his kingdom when her own sat on the brink of war, he couldn’t deny his mother anything. Not when such joy shone in her eyes.

She moved up next to him and wrapped one long arm around his shoulders. He rested against her and before long, the exhaustion took control and he drifted off.

When he woke again, he found Edmund’s smiling eyes hovering over him.

“Oh,” Alex groaned, trying to sit up. “That’s right. You’re here too.”

Edmund’s grin widened. “I couldn’t miss the palace seeing their king basically come back from the dead.”

“I wasn’t dead.”

Edmund raised one blonde eyebrow. “If Etta hadn’t been here at that very moment, you would be. You should have seen it. I’ve been training with Etta practically every day and I haven’t ever seen anything like that.”

“How do you help her when her power is that strong while yours… isn’t?”

Edmund laughed. “I guess you can call me her magical punching bag.”

“I’d pay good gold to see that.”

When Edmund laughed, his entire body gave himself into it. “I’ve missed you, Alex.”

Alex shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He’d missed his best friend more than he’d ever admit. “Help me up.”

“You really should stay in bed. At least until after the palace healer arrives to check you out.”

“Why? I can feel it. I’m healed.”

“Alex, healing magic is complicated. It uses your body’s own energy to repair the damage. Once it’s done, it takes a while to restore those energy reserves again.”

“Just help me out of this damn bed.”

Edmund held his hands in front of his chest in surrender. “Fine.”

“Have you seen Etta?” He asked as soon as he had his feet under him. She hadn’t come by and he needed to see her, to feel her, to believe she was real.

“She’s been avoiding everyone in the palace but I’ll give you one guess as to where she probably is.”

“Right.” He laughed and then winced as the act hurt. “I should have guessed.”

“Come on.” Edmund propped his shoulder under Alex’s arm to help him walk. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on seeing the love of your life.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Edmund chuckled, shaking his head. “Who, me?”

“You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you. I swear, you could be in the middle of the biggest battle of your life and if Etta needed her nose wiped, you’d go.”

There was nothing malicious in his words. No jealousy. They were said with a genuine fondness that had always bonded them together. Even when Edmund had feelings for Alex, they’d never gotten in the way of their friendship. But something was different, and he realized what it was. The love between them had changed with Edmund acting more brotherly than anything else. It gave him some strange comfort, not because he minded Edmund’s feelings, but only because he wanted his friend to find happiness.

By the time they reached the stables, Alex panted from the effort it took just to remain upright. Most of the horses stood locked away in their stalls, but a familiar dark beast sat in the middle of the exercise ring with his legs folded beneath him.

“Isn’t that unnatural for a horse?” Alex asked.

Edmund snorted. “Since when has there ever been anything natural about those two?”

Etta sat in the dirt leaning against Vérité’s side, her legs stretched out in front of her. Her mouth moved and as they got closer, her words rang in the air.

“It’ll be time for us to return home soon, boy. I know you don’t like it here.”

Vérité threw his head back and bared his teeth.

Etta sighed. “I know. Gaule isn’t our kingdom. I don’t like it here either. They don’t want us.”

Alex wanted to yell that he did. He wanted her there, but all he could do was continue listening. Edmund shifted uneasily, but Alex ignored him. He looked back along the road where his guards were keeping their distance. Soon, Etta would notice them.

“What am I going to do?” Etta continued. “They’re killing us, Verite. Our people.” She took the blade of grass she’d been playing with and flicked it. “I might be able to do it. I have the power. I can keep us alive and apart.”

Apart. He sucked in a breath and she lifted her head as if she’d heard him. Their eyes met, and he pushed away from Edmund to open the gate and walk closer. It took every ounce of strength he had to lower himself to the ground in front of her.

Their eyes stayed locked, and he set his jaw. “Tell me what’s happening in my kingdom. Why are you here, Etta?”

* * *

Lord Christoph Leroy was executed on a hill blanketed in fog. The dawn had come and gone, but hazy colors still stretched across the sky. His youngest daughter hadn’t attended as he was hung by the neck. A traitor’s death. But the king was there, having regained his strength. He looked directly into the man’s eyes in the seconds before the platform he stood upon fell beneath him.

There was no regret in the man’s gaze, only acceptance. He’d known it would come to this.

Alex hadn’t. He’d been blind to the path that lay before them. He’d tried to spare the man’s life. He didn’t want to execute his nobles like he’d seen his father do during the purge. He’d wanted Leroy to accept his defeat gracefully, but there was no grace left in the man. As long as breath rattled in his chest, he’d stir up trouble. Liza Leroy hung beside her father but Lady Hinton had been granted mercy. Lord Leroy had exhausted all mercy in Gaule. They’d found a guard who’d been paid to run messages from Lord Leroy to his daughter Liza, plotting their actions.

Alex refused to look away as Leroy kicked and twisted and struggled for breath.

The queen of Bela stepped up beside him, her eyes fixated on the man who’d been killing her people. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

He only nodded. Leroy’s actions weren’t her fault. She’d come to Gaule to fight for her people and he respected that.

Her fingers grazed his arm, running over the pulse in his wrist until finally taking his hand. Warmth radiated out from where their skin connected. Was it her magic or just her?

Water hit the top of his head and he looked up into the oncoming rain, the sun still peeking through the clouds. He shook the water out of his eyes and turned back toward the palace. He dropped Etta’s hand as he walked away.

Even with Leroy gone, the unrest in his kingdom wouldn’t settle. He’d missed a lot from his sick bed. His advisors had been filling him in on the attacks. Both magic folk and the non-magic rebelled.

Many of the magic folk had left Gaule for Bela where they believed they belonged, but he knew it wasn’t as easy as just making a journey. There was almost nothing in Bela. Etta and her people had created a kingdom from a land full of ruins and ghosts. It wasn’t an easy life, and many Belaens had chosen to stay in the only homes they’d ever known.

Still, something would need to be done. They were dying.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the hill. So were his own people.

He’d reached the broken gates when a horse galloped toward him and reared back. “Your Majesty, there’s been an attack in the village.”

Alex started running to the stables. His guards chased after him and began shouting orders for the stable hands to saddle their horses.

Simon appeared at his side. “They’re saying the people in the village have a family of magic folk trapped in their home.”

Was it never going to end? A boy brought Alex his horse, and he launched into the saddle before galloping through the outer castle and away from the high walls. His guards trailed along behind him and another horse took the lead. He glanced to the side, unsurprised to find Etta bending forward in the saddle and gripping Vérité’s reins.

Another battle in this same village came to mind. It was the beginning of them, but also the night that started them on the path toward their end. Edmund had been arrested, changing everything Alex thought he knew about magic.

The irony wasn’t lost on him as he found himself in the position of magic’s protector in Gaule.

A mob crowded into the streets of the village and Alex slowed his horse. Men and women screamed and threw insults.

Rain drizzled down, but it didn’t deter them.

Where was Ara when he needed her? These people would never hear him.

“Hey,” he yelled. No response. He forced his horse forward. People jumped out of the way to avoid being trampled.

A squat house sat up ahead with a line of people blocking the doors to prevent anyone from leaving.

“Magic has no place in Gaule,” someone screamed.

“It’s the king,” another yelled. Those words worked their way through the throng of people and Alex waited for them to give him their attention, their respect.

That moment didn’t come.

“Hey magic lover,” a young boy called. Alex’s gaze found him seconds before the boy launched a spoiled apple at him. It struck him in the face and there was a stunned moment when it slid down before landing on the front of his jacket.

A roar ripped through the crowd.

“You aren’t our king!”

“We will never follow you!”

“Go back to your Belaen whore!”

More food sailed through the air, striking him in the chest. Alex put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“No, Your Majesty,” Simon said.

Alex breathed out. For a moment, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

Simon had been right. It would be a mistake to draw his sword in this mess. He tried to push closer to the house, to remember their objective, but his way was blocked.

The eyes of a young girl peeked out the window before disappearing in an instant.

What was he to do?

A flash of light broke through the sky. At first, Alex thought it was lightning, but the crowd had gone silent.

Etta’s face twisted in rage as she walked forward. She’d dismounted, and the people shrank away from her. Alex’s jaw fell open. Her hair glowed golden with her magic.

She didn’t say a word as she continued her forward trek. She reached the line of people blocking the house and pushed her hands apart. They were flung aside, and she entered the house calmly.

“Amazing, isn’t she?” Edmund asked in his ear.

Alex wanted to ask Edmund when he’d gotten there, but didn’t take his focus from the door. Nervous chatter buzzed around him, only seconds away from turning back into hatred for magic.

Alex gestured to his guards to stay by the door and pushed his way into the house.

A single room living space greeted him.

Etta, hair still bright, stood in front of a couple and three young children.

“Your Majesty,” the woman said, curtsying awkwardly. When she rose, her eyes connected with Etta’s and in them was a devotion Alex had never experienced before. He’d seen the way the people of Bela followed their queen. They would follow her to the end of the world if so asked. It was the way of the Belaen people. Loyalty. Trust. And they hadn’t had a ruler in generations.

Last time he’d seen Etta, she hadn’t known what to do with their faith. The Basile powers had been given to her, but her anger clouded everything else in her mind.

This was not that girl.

This was a queen.

Etta touched the head of the youngest child softly.

“Why are you in Gaule, your Majesty?” the man asked.

Etta smiled. “I came to see all Belaens safe.”

“Thank you.” Tears streamed down the woman’s face. “Thank you.”

A crack of thunder burst through the air. “You’re going to have to leave your home.” She glanced at Alex quickly before looking back to them. “His Majesty of Gaule will provide you with horses but you must make your way to the border. Gaule isn’t safe for our kind.”

The woman sniffled and her husband put a hand on her back before turning to Alex, bowing slightly. “Thank you, your Majesty. Be warned, sympathies in this village are not kind toward you. We are more thankful than you know for everything you have tried to do for magic folk, but it is also what’s going to tear your kingdom apart.”

Alex pressed his lips together, feeling the truth of the man’s words. He nodded shortly.

When they opened the door, the royal guardsmen held back the crowd. Their jeers slid down Alex’s back. The children were passed up onto horses and the couple doubled up with him and Etta.

Rain pelted them as they left the mob behind. Their rebellion was not something that would leave Alex anytime soon.

Back at the palace, he had his people deal with their newcomers and marched through the halls, his boots making wet prints as he did.

He barged into his mother’s room to find her sitting with Duchess Moreau and Camille before the fire.

“Alex,” she chastised. “Honestly. You’re dripping all over my carpet.”

“How bad is it mother?” he asked.

“How bad is what, exactly?”

“Don’t placate me. I am the king. Tell me how close my kingdom is from falling over the edge.”

She sighed and set aside her teacup. “Come warm yourself by the fire, son. It is worse than you see.”

He lowered himself into a chair, letting the warmth soak through his damp clothing.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she said.

“I do,” Camille jumped in. “They aren’t rebelling against the monarchy, Alexandre. They’re rising up against you.”

“Me.”

“Camille,” their mother snapped.

Duchess Moreau took a sip of her tea, regarding him over the lip of the cup. “Camille speaks the truth, sire.”

Alex sagged against the back of the chair.

The duchess continued. “Inbred hatred is hard to destroy. Never mind the fact that some magic is truly evil. Their hatred means they can’t distinguish between the two. Until you, the monarchy stayed either silent on all things magic or spoke out against it. You are the first king in generations to openly support it. You cannot force people to accept something they’ve been taught to hate. Certainly, not overnight.”

“So, they refuse to follow me.”

“Not only that,” Camille said. “They’ve spent the past month while you’ve been ill marching and calling for your demise. They just didn’t know how close they came to getting their wish.”

“Camille,” their mother said. “That is quite enough.”

She shrugged but for once, Alex was grateful for her honesty.

“I’ve failed you,” he said after a beat of silence.

“Alex, no.” His mother reached out to take his hand, but he pulled it away.

“Father told me I would. When I was a boy. I’ve been so determined to prove him wrong, to turn this family’s legacy around. I thought he destroyed Gaule, but it was me. Everyone told me I acted in haste. I didn’t think. I thought changes could be made with a few declarations from the king, but you can’t change what’s in people’s hearts.”

“You changed what was in mine,” Camille’s voice quieted and he wasn’t sure if he heard her right.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers.

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap as she bit her lip nervously. “Look, I still don’t… like magic. It scares me, okay? It’s unnatural and when someone has too much of it, well we’ve all seen what can happen. Just look at La Dame. We have no chance should she march on us. But, I don’t think magic folk should be persecuted. I-I didn’t know. I grew up at father’s side. I honestly thought he couldn’t do any wrong, but he did. Everything he did was so very wrong. I see that now. But Alexandre, you’ve been trying to fix a country that can’t be fixed—not while La Dame is on our doorstep. And definitely not while our king is in love with Persinette Basile.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve seen what she did to our gates. Can you honestly say you don’t fear the day she turns on us?”

“She won’t—”

“Alexandre, we know nothing about her power. I see nothing of the Etta you knew in her.”

“She saved my life.”

“And son, we will be eternally grateful for that.” His mother took his hand again and this time he didn’t pull away. “But maybe your sister is right. She’s no longer our Etta. She’s the queen of a kingdom that was once our greatest enemy.”

Alex jerked his hand back and stood. “You didn’t see her today. The way she saved her people from the mob in the villages.”

“Her people, Alexandre.” Camille stared up at him imploringly. “She had to save her people from yours. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about the new circumstances, I’m not sure what will.”

His eyes shifted from his sister to his mother to the curiously quiet duchess before marching from the room. After closing the door behind him, he released a breath, not sparing a glance for the guards waiting for him. His mind whirled in chaos.

The worst part was he knew they weren’t wrong. Gaule would never accept magic. They may never even accept him. And without magic, they couldn’t face La Dame.

He had to keep his kingdom safe, no matter the cost.

13

Etta led Vérité into the pen outside the stables and removed his saddle. She walked toward the shelter to hang it, enjoying a temporary reprieve from the dampness outside as she walked the length of the dry stables.

Three horses entered the stables at the opposite end. Catrine rode between two of her guards. She slid down gracefully, not needing or wanting the help of her men. After handing the reins of her horse off to a stable lad, she turned as if she’d known Etta was there all along.

“Queen Persinette.” Catrine dipped her head formally.

Etta hated the distance between them. Once, she’d been trusted by the queen mother. But that was before the magic took hold of her and Bela rejoined the world.

“Queen mother.” Making a quick decision, Etta turned on her heel and walked back to where she’d left Vérité eating from a trough. To her surprise, Catrine followed her into the muddy corral, not even bothering to lift the ends of her thick green skirt.

Etta released a sigh and turned to meet her gaze. “Is there something you’d like to say to me?” She imagined what all Gauleans thought of her and the desire to protect her people within their borders. But as she looked at Catrine, she saw the same burning intensity in her gaze. This was a woman who’d stand for her kingdom until she couldn’t any longer.

And Etta suddenly didn’t want to be looking at the queen mother anymore. She wanted to see the woman her father must have seen.

“Were you and my mother true friends?” Etta’s shoulders tensed, waiting for an answer.

Catrine nodded, sadness etched across her face. “She was the greatest friend I’ve ever had.”

“Then how-”

“How could I love her husband?” Emotions warred in the queen’s eyes. “Back then, things were very different for us. My husband was the king, but he was not a good man. He left the palace for months at a time with Viktor at his side. I led Gaule during those years. He made war on the magic folk. It was his one accomplishment. The purge. But the kingdom survived the years of isolation we experienced while the wards were in place because of me and my advisors.”

“That tells me nothing of my mother.” Etta began to turn away.

“No,” Catrine agreed. “But it tells you something of me. I know what you must think of me… of your father.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “But I wasn’t in love with him. I also loved your mother. Our relationship was… complicated. When we conceived Ty, your mother had left the palace.”

“Left?”

“She never understood why Viktor insisted on serving a cruel king.”

Etta gripped Vérité’s mane. “He never told her of the curse…” She lifted her eyes. “But why? Did my healing powers come from her?” She had to know. Was she the daughter of a Draconian?

Catrine’s eyes pinched in sadness. “No, dear. The healing powers are yet another gift from your father’s line. Your mother was… well, she had no magic.”

Etta stumbled back. Her mother… didn’t have magic? She wasn’t a Belaen?

As if sensing her questions, Catrine continued. “Your mother was from a kingdom across the great sea called Cana.”

Cana. She’d never even heard of it. Her father… why hadn’t he told her any of this?

“I have to go.” She hauled herself onto the horse without bothering to saddle him once again.

“Etta, wait.” Catrine stepped forward tentatively. “I never thanked you for saving Alexandre.”

Etta nudged Vérité around. “Don’t. I don’t want this. The Draconian magic. The Basile power. It’s going to destroy us all.”

She kicked the horse and veered out of the pen, winding her way through the outer palace until she reached the gates she’d blown to pieces. Beyond them, the land opened up.

Her magic burned within her and the control slipped away. If she unleashed it inside the castle, the whole thing would come down.

Today was further proof. Even the villages closest to the king weren’t safe for her people. She had to get them out of Gaule once and for all.

She let the anger bubble to the surface and explode from her hands, swinging them in an arc over her head, shredding the grass surrounding her.

Rain pelted her hair, sizzling on her skin where it met the magic.

Her mother left her father because of the curse and Etta hadn’t known. But she’d come back. That was what mattered, right? Not the fact that she had no power. She’d loved Etta. At least, Etta wanted to believe she had.

She jumped down and left Vérité at a safe distance. She broke into a run, pumping her legs, the wind whipping water in her face. Adrenaline rushed through her as she jumped and released a bit of magic, pushing her farther than humanly possible. She landed in a roll and popped back up. Light flashed from her hands, illuminating the sky as if lightning cracked it open.

A grin stretched across her face, fueled by a need for more. More power. More life. Another way to forget who she was and where she’d come from.

“Etta!” someone called in a faraway voice.

She bent, ready to release the next wave when suddenly the rain stopped hitting her. Snapping out of her trance, she glanced up to see the water bending around her. She whipped her head around, her soaking braid slapping her in the face.

Tyson waited for her, hands on hips, next to Vérité.

Her control continued to slip.

“Leave,” she yelled. He didn’t understand the danger. She couldn’t hold it back. At least Edmund was aware what he was getting into when he practiced with her.

Then another horse appeared. Tyson said something over his shoulder and when Alex appeared, shaking wet hair out of his face, Etta’s control returned with such force she stumbled back.

Confusion warred within her but she shook it off and scanned the land surrounding her. It looked as if a cyclone had come through.

Alex’s eyes widened as he regarded her and she wanted more than anything to see inside his mind.

“We need to talk,” he said finally. “Ruler to ruler.”

She nodded once and crossed the field to where she’d left Vérité.

Once they arrived back in Alex’s rooms, there was a moment when all she wanted was to touch him, feel him, to let him wash away every emotion inside her. They hadn’t gotten close since the night she healed him. It was as if a barrier stood between them now.

Two barriers actually and they were called crowns.

They entered the room and Alex’s guards took up their positions outside. She was thankful no one made her have guards following her back in Bela. She was more powerful than any guard could be so there was no point.

Edmund was waiting for them and Tyson shut the door. It was just the four of them once again. So much had happened to each of them and yet here they were.

Etta slumped down in a chair near the fire, exhaustion tugging at her after the long day. Alex walked behind her, giving her shoulder a firm squeeze before taking a seat. She closed her eyes at his touch.

She opened them as Alex began to speak. “I need to protect my people.”

She nodded. “I do too and that means returning to Bela as soon as I can.”

He swallowed hard and leaned forward to put his head in his hands. “How do I protect a people who won’t let me? How do I keep the most powerful woman in the world from crossing our borders? How do I force them to accept magic when it strikes such fear in them?”

Etta moved off her chair to take the place beside Alex. Her hand hovered over his arm for a moment of hesitation before she touched him. “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d felt completely lost. La Dame was coming for her people as well, but at least they had their magic. And they had her.

Bela was being built up while Gaule crumbled into dust.

Her magic jumped at the thought, yearning for its vengeance. But Gaule was no longer their enemy. She held down the simmering power.

The fire reflected in Tyson’s eyes as he regarded them all. “I think I know how to keep Gaule safe.”

Alex drew his brows together and Etta held her breath. She didn’t like the look on her brother’s face.

“Spit it out, Ty,” Edmund said.

Tyson moved toward Etta swiftly and knelt down in front of her. “Etta, you have the Basile power.”

“I am aware,” she replied.

“No, I mean you have all of the Basiles’ power. Isn’t that how it works? All the magic that has existed in our family line is now in you.” His eyes burned into Etta. “O-our… father.”

Understanding slammed into her and she shrank back. Yes. It was so simple. If she could do it, Gaule would be protected. They wouldn’t be driven to the slaughter. There wasn’t anything she could do to keep what was coming from touching her own people, but…

“What am I missing?” Edmund asked.

Alex knew. She saw it in his eyes. The moment when he realized saving his people meant losing her.

She’d come to the conclusion a long time ago that those who loved her would always be taken from her. It had been part of her life since the night her mother died.

Alex, the boy who was used to having what he wanted, had never tasted loss like this.

If she did what Tyson was saying, that was it. The end.

But all she’d ever had were endings.

Alex’s entire body shuddered as he looked at each of them in turn. It wasn’t only her he’d lose. It was all of them.

He cleared his throat. “The wards. Etta may be able to restore her father’s wards.”

“No.” Edmund shook his head. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” He met Etta’s gaze. “You’re really considering this?”

“I don’t know what else to do.” The words burst out of her and she jumped from the couch to pace the room. “Really, Edmund, what the hell do you want from me?”

“Do you even realize what these wards mean?” he asked.

“Of course I do. My father created the original ones.”

“You were a child living in the forest. Alex and I were riding out to border villages with his father’s soldiers. We saw what the wards did to magic folk who tried to cross.”

She put her hands on her head, spinning around to face him. “I’m out of ideas.” Red crept up her neck as she tried to hold back the anger her magic had burning within her.

Edmund crossed the distance between them and grabbed her arms. “Hey, calm down. Breathe.” He breathed deeply as if to demonstrate and she closed her eyes. “Etta, control it. Don’t let it take over.”

She focused on his hands folded around hers. On the sounds of his breath. The magic shrank back, and she opened her eyes to look into Edmund’s face. He’d done that for her more times than she could count.

Alex and Tyson watched them silently, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and shock.

“Are you…” Tyson began. “Are you okay?”

Etta collapsed back onto the couch. What was she supposed to tell them? No, she wasn’t okay. She walked around constantly on the verge of exploding.

Alex scooted closer and put an arm around her. She sank into his side, the calm beat of his heart calming her frantic one. “Did I scare you?”

Both Alex and Tyson shook their heads emphatically.

Edmund laughed. “Of course you did.”

Three sets of eyes shot daggers his way, and he put up his hands in defense.

Ignoring Edmund, Alex asked the question they should have begun with. “How do we know La Dame wouldn’t be able to find a way through the wards?”

Etta lifted her head to look up at him. “She never broke my father’s wards, and he didn’t have the strength of the Basile power. We have to at least try.”

He sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. “I know.”

Edmund slumped in defeat and Tyson picked himself up off the floor.

Etta pulled herself away from Alex’s warmth. “I need some dry clothes and a drink. Have your people make preparations. Send riders to every village with notices that all magic folk planning to leave for Bela must do so within a fortnight.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“I know. I hate it as much as you. We’re forcing all magic folk from Gaule. I never wanted it to come to this.”

“They’re safer in Bela.”

He gripped her hand. “That doesn’t make it right.”

She ran her fingers along his cheek. “But at least they’ll be alive. And Gaule will be safe.”

She returned to her rooms and changed out of her sopping clothes, setting them to dry by the fire.

A platter of food had been left with an overgenerous pitcher of wine. She poured herself a drink and sighed before sitting in the large wing-backed chair next to her own roaring fire, trying to feel more than she did.

She still loved Alex. That hadn’t changed just because of the magic. But the love was clouded in doubt and duty. Nothing was clear to her anymore. It was as if her heart loved him, but her head was incapable.

Would she ever be able to be more than the power inside of her?

It latched on to everything she was, twisting it and hardening it.

She drained her wine and rose to fill the cup again.

After a while, there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Alex. Before letting the doubts and coldness fill her, she set her cup down and kissed him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

She didn’t have any words for him so she pulled him back to her and walked backward into the room.

“I love you.” His voice vibrated against her lips.

She pushed away from him violently without meaning to. Her body betrayed her, giving itself over to the magic brewing inside.

“No more talking,” she said roughly. “Not tonight.”

He grabbed her wrist to keep her from walking away from him and she rushed forward, slamming him against the closed door, wanting to destroy him the way the magic destroyed her.

He didn’t recoil in fear as she expected. That, she could have lived with. He’d have been right to be frightened. But instead, heat blazed in his eyes. His strong hands wrapped around her upper arms and he yanked her against him.

They crashed back against the door once more before he spun and pressed her up against the solid wood.

“Let it out,” he said. “I can take it.”

He didn’t know what he was asking. If she unleashed everything she was feeling… no, he couldn’t take that.

“You’re not strong enough for that.” It wasn’t meant as an insult, just a statement of fact.

“Maybe not, but I’d take it, anyway.”

He took her lips as if he owned them. She took his as if it was the only thing left to do. Her magic churned unhappily, but she ignored its distaste, using it to fuel her every action.

She wanted to love Alex. More than anything. And she did, she thought. But thinking something was not the same as feeling it.

And that part of her was blocked.

For now, she’d give him what she could.

Soon, there’d be nothing left for either of them to hold on to.

* * *

In sleep, Etta looked like the queen she was. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, its brilliant golden strands catching the sun as it streamed through the window.

It was when she woke that she was the girl who’d beaten all of Gaule’s best soldiers in the tournament. She’d killed them without a second thought. If Alex hadn’t seen for himself what she could do, he wouldn’t believe it.

He studied her still features. Nothing about her was fragile, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was constantly on the verge of breaking. One moment she’d be comforting a Belaen family and the next she was shaking with rage.

None of it made any sense.

He didn’t remember that side of her from before.

Her eyelids shifted and a moment later fluttered open. She stared up at him as the cloud of sleep faded from her eyes. Her brow scrunched as her face hardened. He sighed. Some things would never change.

Etta had never truly accepted what lay between them. Before, it was because she worried the curse drew her to him and none of it was real. When the curse was replaced by her family’s magic, it became something else, something he couldn’t even begin to understand.

He reached out to tuck a tuft of hair behind her ear but then thought better of it and let his hand drop as he moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over.

Clearing his throat, he slipped into king mode. “Riders were sent out last night. All Belaens in Gaule will soon know of the coming wards. I expect you’ll have many new arrivals in Bela.”

“Alex.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”

He grunted and got to his feet. Of course, she was only thanking him for aiding her people. It was always about them. For just one moment, he wished she’d ask something for herself.

Etta asked if he feared her and the answer was yes, but not for the reasons she thought. He never believed she’d hurt him—physically at least. But the thing that scared him most was the knowledge that Etta would sacrifice herself for her people without a second thought.

It was what a ruler should do, but she was reckless about it.

If Etta died, everything inside him would die as well.

He slipped into his own room to wash and change before stepping back out into the hall. His guards followed at a close distance as he left to find Edmund. His friend was with Tyson in the main hall breaking their fast.

Climbing onto the wooden bench, Alex leaned forward and rested his forehead against the rough grain of the oak table.

“How much did you drink last night?” Edmund asked with a laugh.

“Nothing.”

“Ah.” He shared a glance with Tyson. “You’re just queen drunk then.”

He lifted his head to glare at his friend.

Tyson eyed him. “Okay, I don’t want to know about my brother and sister’s… ugh… relationship.”

Alex groaned. “Stop saying it like that, asshole.”

“How else am I supposed to talk when my brother is in love with my sister?”

Alex swatted him upside the head.

Tyson laughed and rubbed the spot Alex hit.

“Just don’t say that to Etta.” Edmund chuckled lowly. “Although, I’d pay to see her beat your ass.”

Tyson shrugged. “I did say it. After I found out Viktor was my father.”

“Yeah, but that was before.” Edmund shook his head.

“Before what?” Alex asked.

Tyson leaned in curiously.

Edmund’s face pinched as if he’d said something he shouldn’t. “Just… Etta is different.”

“Obviously.” Tyson puffed out his chest. “She missed her brother.”

Edmund threw a hunk of bread at his head and he ducked out of the way. Alex laughed at them, but something pinched in his gut. Tyson was joking about the reason for Etta’s moods but that didn’t change the fact that he would miss his brother. He assumed Tyson was going back with them. Gaule was no longer his home.

Plus, Ty could never miss a battle. He’d returned to Gaule to fight the rebellion and now he was going to be a part of a fight much larger than that.

Alex would be able to cross the wards since he had no magic in his blood. He could see his brother. But only if there was something left after they faced La Dame.

It killed him that Gaule would be closed off, safe but unable to help.

A shadow loomed over the table and Alex lifted his eyes to Simon’s large frame.

“Your Majesty,” Simon said stoically. “May I have a word?”

Alex pushed up from the table. “Of course. I have to meet the duchess in the council chamber, walk with me.”

The first part of their walk was silent, but then the words tumbled out of Simon.

“I would like to ask your permission to remain in Gaule.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I have to admit, this surprises me. You understand what’s going to happen? Etta will erect the wards and you will not be able to cross.”

“I understand, sire.”

“Can I ask you why, Simon? I’ve seen you with your queen. You’re as fervently loyal as any Belaen and yet you do not wish to follow her?”

Simon’s steps faltered, and he didn’t speak for a long moment. “I have come to realize, your Majesty, that a man can have more than one queen. I am loyal to Persinette Basile and to my people, but my honor would not let me leave my charge here in Gaule.”

“My mother.” Alex nodded. “So, your loyalty is split?”

“I do not see it as so, sire. Loyalty, just like love, is not something we have in finite amounts. My loyalty is not cut in half to account for both queens. It is expanded to encompass the faith I have with each.”

“Then how do you choose?” His mind went to Etta. He loved her more than anything with one exception. Gaule. He’d always love his kingdom and the people in it.

“Your mother depends on my loyalty,” he answered. “Yes, Persinette could use me in the battle to come, but she does not truly need me.”

Alex sighed. Persinette Basile never needed anyone.

They reached the council chambers and Simon left to return to his post at the dowager queen’s side. Alex stepped inside to prepare for their journey to the border and the events that would come after.

14

“Are you sure this is the only way, your Majesty?” The intensity of Ara’s gaze was blinding.

Over the past few days, Etta had come to appreciate the quiet company of the General. She’d grown up as the bastard daughter of a duke–his only child with magic. Even with an accepting man like Duke Caron, that wouldn’t have been an easy life in Gaule.

Discrimination based on magic was not allowed on Caron’s lands, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

Which was why they were in that place on that day, hovering near the line where two ancient kingdoms met. They stood in the shadow of the mountains where La Dame lay waiting behind her walls.

Alex sent his best riders into every corner of the kingdom. Their message? Leave. Get your families to safety. It was time to erect the wards that once stood along the border. The difference being this time there’d be people other than Draconians on the other side.

The only way to protect both magic folk and non-magic folk alike was to keep them apart.

Etta studied the contrasting features of Ara’s face. A firm set jaw and high, harshly cut cheekbones, but a soft brow and round doe eyes with sadness echoed in each of them.

She didn’t get a chance to answer her before the duke strode toward them. He touched her back and led her away for a private conversation.

Etta let her eyes roam across into Bela and over the lush rolling hills stretching into the distance. After a moment, she turned on her heel and headed back to the row of tents.

They’d been there for days as the flow of magic folk across the border was never-ending.

Tomorrow, the deadline would pass. They’d set a date for the wards to be put in place. It was plastered across the kingdom. One day and then she’d use her magic to cut the land in half. In truth, it would be an invisible line. One who didn’t have magic would never sense it. But if magic ran in your blood, you’d be prevented from crossing by unbearable pain leeching the magic from your veins. For miles in each direction, a buzzing in the air told magic folk a ward was near, alerting them to the danger.

She didn’t want to do it. God, she wished it could be different.

But wishes were for people who didn’t have crowns on their heads.

She didn’t get the luxury of pretty fantasies.

Alex stood near the opening of his tent watching her. He looked kingly in his navy-blue doublet and embroidered jacket.

She shivered as a blast of cold air worked through camp. Winter had hit them in full force. In the mountains, the paths would be blocked, but that wouldn’t stop La Dame. Still, Etta was under no illusions that she’d come. She wouldn’t leave her walls behind. No, all La Dame had to do was wait. Etta had no choice but to go against her. The only question was when.

“Are you cold?” Alex asked.

How did one answer that? Yes, she was cold, but not only on the surface. Once she crafted the wards, she’d never again be able to return to Gaule. That fact alone turned her entire body to ice.

Alex reached for her and rubbed his hands down her arms. She leaned into his touch and met his eye as if he could give her the answers; pleading with him to tell her this wasn’t going to happen.

As she closed her eyes, she wrapped her arms around his waist and breathed him in. For once, she was able to keep the magic from tainting her emotions. They’d spent every night together in the past few weeks and some of the ire left her with each moment by his side.

Alex rested his chin on her hair.

“Why are we always leaving each other?” Her words were muffled by his shirt.

He hummed low in his throat and held her tighter. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Please don’t say that. If you… just don’t. I’m not strong enough to resist if you ask me to forget about this.”

He kissed the side of her head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

She pushed away from him. “Don’t say that either.” She shoved her way into the tent and sat down on the bedroll in the corner.

Alex followed her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not?”

Her magic pulsed, trying to rise and expand. She managed to hold it back, but the anger it brought didn’t go away.

Alex’s voice softened as he repeated “Why not?”

The anger wasn’t hers. She knew that now. It was the power inside her. But it felt like she owned every inch of it.

“Because I don’t want to be strong,” she yelled. “I want to say ‘screw it’ and forget about every person that’s waiting for me back in Bela. I don’t want to dredge up my dead father’s magic and every memory that’ll come with it.” She covered her face as the anger slithered away. “I don’t want to leave you.” Tears slid between her fingers as her back shook.

He knelt down in front of her and pried her hands away from her face before leaning in to press his lips against hers. She’d never get used to kissing him. To running her hands across his firm chest and up under the edges of his shirt.

“Tonight,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’m not the king of Gaule and you’re not the queen of Bela. Just for tonight can we pretend we have the entire future spread out before us?”

She wound her arms up around his neck, her fingers sinking into the back of his thick hair. “Kiss me please.”

He smirked. “Since you asked so nicely.”

She forced away the dark emotions swirling in the depths of her magic. It would not control her. Not tonight.

The power didn’t make her who she was. Etta was crafted by memories of her father, her love for Alex, and the determination of a warrior.

Alex’s hands worked to untwist her braid as he laid her back. “I would touch your hair for the rest of my life.”

Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back as she pulled Alex down on top of her and got lost in everything she’d never have again.

* * *

Alex laughed as Etta played with the tiny hairs on his chest. “That tickles.”

She raised her head to look at him and her heart stopped. He’d always been beautiful, but never so much as when he was… unmade. His dark hair stuck up in every direction and his lips were swollen with the memory of every kiss.

“What would you do if you weren’t the king?” she asked, a wistful note in her voice.

He ran the tips of his fingers along the curve of her waist. A shiver raced through her, her every nerve on edge.

“I’ve never really considered it. I was raised to be king. There was never another option for me.”

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

“What about you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I’m still getting used to the idea of being the queen. Remember, I grew up thinking I’d spend my life serving you.”

“As my shield.”

She laughed. “The person who would step in front of arrows—as you once said to me.”

“I did not!”

“Oh, you definitely did. You told me it was a ceremonial position, and you didn’t think I’d actually be protecting you.” She laughed. “I remember protecting you quite a few times.”

“Once.”

“If that’s what you want to believe.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I’d like to see something other than Gaule–if I didn’t have to be king, I mean. The Kings of Gaule used to travel abroad, but that was before we closed our country off. It’s not even safe for me to visit some more distant parts of my own kingdom. Most days, I only see the inside of the castle walls. As awful as my time with La Dame’s people was, it made me see that there is so much more than a throne and the life that demands.”

“Alex–” She sighed, not knowing what she wanted to say.

“I reinstated the council’s powers my father took away.” The words were so sudden she startled.

She leaned away from him and met his stare. “That’s—”

“I know. But it was the right thing to do. My father’s purge showed us what happens when one person has too much power. I don’t know who will wear the crown after me but I must safeguard the people the best way I know how. Everything I do is for them.”

He didn’t say it, but she knew what lay between his words. He’d agreed to her plans to put the wards back into place only because the Gaulean people were no match for the magic that was coming for them. They couldn’t face La Dame without being erased completely. Not without magic.

Etta was operating under a lot of assumptions. After her father created the original wards, La Dame stayed away from Gaule. She hoped it was the wards that deterred her. She’d never questioned the strength of her father’s magic, but if La Dame couldn’t break it, it was unbreakable.

“Just because you won’t be able to cross the wards doesn’t mean I can’t.” Light entered his gaze and for a moment, Etta wanted to give into the tiniest bit of hope in his voice. “I can still come to you.”

The hope fizzled out as his words sank in and she tucked her head back against his chest. “You know we can’t…”

“Etta, there is no way I’m ever going to agree to never seeing my best friend, my brother, and the woman I love ever again. You can just forget about it.”

She breathed in the scent of him, committing it to memory. If there are any of us left. It wasn’t the first time she’d considered the possibility of La Dame beating them. If it were up to her, Tyson would stay in Gaule. Even as she herded the Belaens across the border to bolster their numbers in the fight to come, she wanted her brother safe.

But he wouldn’t hear of it.

“Are you scared?” Alex asked as if sensing the direction of her thoughts.

Etta sat up and turned away from him, her magic coming alive beneath her skin. “No.” It was the truth. She didn’t fear La Dame. Not anymore. Not when the power of the Basiles coursed through her blood.

She reached for her trousers and pulled them on without bothering with her underclothes.

“Where are you going?” Alex reached for her.

“We can’t stay in bed all evening.”

“Why not?”

She slipped her tunic over her head and belted it at her waist before shrugging on a cloak. “Come on. Get dressed. I’m not the only person leaving for Bela tomorrow. There are a lot of goodbyes to be had.”

She left him to dress. Nearby, a fire roared to life. Their party sat huddled on blankets basking in its warmth.

Tyson held Amalie in his lap. They too would be torn apart. Amalie wanted to join them, but Tyson begged her not to. She was safer in Gaule. At least until after they faced La Dame.

Too many people had faith in Etta.

She joined Edmund and Ara who were having an intense conversation.

“Your father is probably right,” Edmund said. “You may very well die.”

Ara scoffed. “So could every single person across that border. Why the hell would I sit here and wait for you all to fight a war I have every right to be a part of?”

“Am I interrupting something?” Etta lowered herself down beside Edmund.

“Edmund doesn’t want any competition for the general of your army.” Ara shot him a scathing look.

“My army?” Etta raised a brow.

“All of these people crossing into Bela will have to fight for you.”

“I will not force anyone into this battle.”

Ara fixed her with a harsh glare. “Are you trying to lose?”

Edmund scowled. “Don’t speak to the queen that way.” He crossed his arms. “Only I’m allowed to.”

“Children,” Etta said, looking to each of them in turn. “Calm down. Ara, you’re joining us across the border?”

“Of course.”

“You do realize you won’t be able to cross back into Gaule once the wards are in place?”

Ara nodded.

“May I ask why you’re willing to leave your family behind when you live in the one part of Gaule where magic people are generally safe?”

Ara leaned forward, resting her elbows on her bent legs. “I’m a bastard. That’s not new information.”

Etta nodded. She’d heard the story.

“My mother was killed by men who hated magic—on my father’s land. There is nowhere in Gaule that is safe for us. At least in Bela, I’ll get the chance to fight for people who don’t want to stab me in the back like I’m sure most of my soldiers do.”

Ara’s brutal honesty was something Etta respected. “Then we’ll be glad to have you.”

Edmund grunted out a “sure.”

They fell quiet as the crackling of the fire overtook all other night sounds.

When Etta spoke again, her voice was hushed. “Hateful Gauleans killed my mother too.”

“Who would have thought a bastard soldier would have something in common with a queen.”

Etta smiled at that. “I’m still just the girl whose only skills are magic and weapons.”

“With an ancient royal bloodline and the intense loyalty of even the Belaens who have yet to lay eyes on their queen.”

She snorted. “Yeah, and that.”

“Well, now you have my loyalty. My sword will be the truest in your army.”

Etta’s eyes flicked to Edmund for his reaction and he didn’t disappoint. A smirk appeared and challenge danced in his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

Alex joined them, taking the seat next to his mother. Around that fire were the royal families of both Gaule and Bela. Etta wished her father could see them now. Would he be proud of her? He’d prepared her for sacrifice and here she was, making the greatest sacrifice of them all. It wasn’t her life—losing that might have been easier. This sacrifice was one of the heart.

But she wasn’t alone. They were all being separated from the people they loved because of something as fundamental to life as magic. Tyson was leaving his mother and Amalie. Ara would miss her father. Edmund had already left everything he’d ever known, just as each of the magic folk who were crossing the border.

This life had never been easy, but it had been theirs. What future waited for them in Bela? Etta was anxious to return to her people, but it was as if they were all walking into darkness.

The cloud blocking out the sun was La Dame and the power that lurked within her.

“You okay?” Edmund whispered, bumping her shoulder with his.

Her eyes didn’t leave Alex as she nodded. Did she have any choice but to be okay? Alex said something to his brother and then got up to approach them, his long legs reaching them in a few slow strides. He lowered himself to his knees, facing both Etta and Edmund.

“Promise me you’ll take care of each other,” he said.

“Alex–” Edmund started.

“Promise,” he growled.

“I won’t leave her side.”

“Like I could get rid of Edmund even if I tried.”

Alex nodded. “Anders is nearby. As soon as the wards are in place, he’ll disperse his men throughout the kingdom to restore some sort of order. I’m sending Duke Caron and Duchess Moreau to their respective estates.”

A harsh laugh burst from Edmund’s throat. “Does my father know I won’t be returning? The great Anders wouldn’t show up to wish his only spawn well?”

Alex sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“I should have known better than to expect anything more.”

Etta took his hand between both of hers. The flames lit the sadness on his face. His lips drew down, and he pressed them together.

Alex watched him for a moment, words of comfort failing him. He turned to Etta. “I understand magic folk can’t cross the wards, but does magic work across them?”

Etta’s brow scrunched in thought. “I don’t know.”

“Well run a test to see if Ara’s magic can be of use to us. If you need me.”

“Alex, I’m not dragging Gauleans into the fight with La Dame.”

“If you need us,” he repeated, clenching his teeth. “We will come.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

He was impossible. Etta had no intention of calling on them and he wouldn’t listen. Her magic enhanced the anger already brewing. “You don’t have magic,” she yelled as it boiled over. “What do you think the few Gaulean soldiers who are actually loyal to their king can do against an army of magically armed Draconians? Gaule is useless to us.” When her words stopped and her chest heaved, the magic shrank back and she realized what she’d said.

Alex stood slowly. “Good to know what you really think.”

With those final words, he strode back toward his tent and disappeared inside.

“That wasn’t okay, Etta,” Edmund said gruffly.

“I know.” She pulled her knees in and rested her chin on them. Maybe it was better to make him hate her before she left. His life would be easier if he never thought of her again.

As quickly as the thought came, it dissipated, replaced by the shattering knowledge of what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Alex wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when a warm body pressed into his side as Etta crawled into bed with him.

Her words had been a stinging indictment. When she’d said Gaule was useless to her, he imagined she spoke of him. He didn’t have magic and would be no use at her side. He had very little skill with a sword even. What need would she have of him in a war?

None.

Could he really be angry at her for the truth?

That’s what it all was. He didn’t know which parts of the Gaulean army was loyal and which turned a blind eye to the persecution he outlawed. Many of them had even taken up swords against him. His own people.

He longed for the unwavering loyalty of the Belaen people. Etta hadn’t been raised to be queen and yet they left everything behind to follow her blindly in a direction that could lead to ruin. Again. Bela had been destroyed once before. Would it be again?

“I’m sorry,” Etta whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck as she burrowed farther under the blanket.

Alex kept his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of her. He didn’t want to be angry on their final night and he couldn’t remember Etta ever apologizing for anything before.

When he finally opened his eyes, he turned to face her. “It was only the truth.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She propped her head up on her hand and bit her lip. “Sometimes I say things and can’t stop myself.”

“That’s always been your problem.” He smiled but the intensity of her gaze didn’t waver.

“It’s different now. This magic…” She sucked in a breath. “It has a darkness to it. Ever since the curse was broken, and this power flooded me, it’s like I can’t control anything. The power… I think it’s angry. It has a mind of its own and intensifies everything I feel. If I’m the slightest bit irritated, it turns into anger and hatred so deep that sometimes it’s all I have.”

Was it true? The ancient Basile power was dark? But the girl before him was the light of his world.

He tucked an errant strand of silky golden hair behind her ear. “You can beat it.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. There are two people living inside me. Etta—the girl who will leave her kingdom to protect her people. And Persinette Basile, the queen who was always meant to have the Basile magic. One is just trying to survive each day and keep her kingdom alive. The other yearns for more. More power, more magic. Persinette Basile wants to raze Dracon to the ground no matter what she has to give up in the process. Etta doesn’t want to leave this bed and the one man who can make her forget she’s anything but that girl who won a tournament once upon a time.”

He kissed her, his lips searing his own faith into her. “Have you ever thought Bela needs both Etta and Persinette?”

She nodded. “I think I need both too if I’m going to beat La Dame. She has all the power of Persinette, but what she lacks is an Etta. She wants revenge on my family, but vengeance will never win.”

He pulled her head down to his chest. The silence of the night hid the fears of the morning as time slowed and they drifted into the land of dreams where the time for separation would never come.

15

Etta left Alex once before. After Alex imprisoned Edmund for his magic, he’d asked her to break his friend out of the dungeons and get him somewhere he’d be protected. It was amazing how far the king of Gaule had come since then.

When she’d gotten free of the castle with Edmund and Tyson, Alex hadn’t known her true identity, and she hadn’t known the true implications of the curse. She hadn’t known that every moment she spent at a distance from her charge would be shrouded in agony.

She hadn’t planned to return, but instead to seek out La Dame and break the curse.

She’d been naive.

When Alex learned who she was and of the magic in her blood, he’d sent his men after her and the small string of hope she’d had for him had been broken.

She never imagined it would be restored, but it had.

Now, she stood on the border between Bela and Gaule next to Alex, unsure of any words with the power to make this anything other than the end.

Because it was.

After everything they’d been through, the imprisonments, the battles, the hushed words in the middle of quiet nights—this was where they broke. And this time, there would be no reconciliation, no reunion.

There was a harsh sting that came with the finality of goodbye.

Alex squeezed her fingers, refusing to let go of her hand.

“It’s time.” Duchess Moreau’s voice was soft.

To many, she seemed the only person who wasn’t losing someone to these wards. She wasn’t being separated from people she loved.

But those people only had to look her in the eye to see how wrong they were. The duchess had dedicated her life to protecting magic folk. She’d hidden them from the blood-thirsty soldiers during the purge. She’d given them good lives on her land. Allowed them to live freely without risk of persecution. She’d fought the old king every step of the way and worked to show Alex that they too deserved freedom.

In erecting the wards, they were admitting defeat. They’d lost. Gaule couldn’t protect magic folk from their own. The kingdom only moved in reverse.

Tyson was the first to step across the border after tearful hugs with his mother and Amalie. Ara was next.

Edmund gripped Alex’s shoulder. “Don’t try to die again,” he said. “Next time, we won’t be able to come save you.”

The words sounded light, as if Edmund had no cares, but Etta knew better.

Alex brought her hand to his lips and lingered there. “I love you,” he whispered.

She reached up to run her fingers along his jaw. “Stay safe, your Majesty.”

He smiled sadly. “You as well, your Majesty.”

He pressed a light kiss to her temple and then her lips before finally releasing her.

The deadline had passed and Belaens who had not yet left Gaule would have to fend for themselves. The Gaulean people would have their kingdom back as they’d always wanted.

Etta nodded stiffly and stepped across the border. Her power twisted and churned as if straining to be free.

She tested it, gathering every ounce of control she had. As planned, the group still in Gaule moved back away from the border. She hadn’t explained everything to them, but if her magic was too powerful for her, she didn’t want to hurt them. She reined in her emotions and sucked in a breath before letting the power leak from her fingertips. It hit the cold air and expanded as she shaped and molded it, invisible to all but her. She saw gold and light and everything good as it encompassed her before darkness started to creep in.

As she closed her eyes, she called forth an image of her father, separating the magic he’d possessed from any other. She saw them so clearly, the wards, a shimmering barrier only her mind knew. She didn’t know how much time had passed as the power trapped her in her own mind. It took every ounce of energy not to let it burst forth as she hesitated, unsure if she could protect Gaule as her father had, if she could accomplish this feat.

You’re strong enough for this, Persinette. Her father’s voice echoed in her head. Let the power free.

The magic was like tiny lightning strikes along her skin as it obeyed her, taking slightly more control than she ceded willingly.

Her body sagged to the ground, utterly spent, as she opened her eyes.

Nothing looked different. Alex stood in the distance, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched her.

Her lungs expanded painfully, and she exhaled.

“I hear it,” Tyson whispered.

The air itself buzzed. The magic swirled around them, inching along her skin.

“Yeah,” Edmund answered. “I do too.”

Ara whispered a few words that weren’t for their ears. When Alex nodded, Etta sat up on her heels.

“Magic works across the wards,” Ara confirmed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Etta said. “We can’t bring them into a fight.”

Edmund pulled her to her feet, and she walked to where their horses were grazing. Vérité lifted his head.

“Come on, boy.” She strained to pull her tired body into the saddle. “No time to look back at a different life. It’s time to go home.”

Time to remind herself that Bela was her home, not Gaule.

They had a long few days ahead of them, but then they’d be back among their people. She forced herself to push Alex into a box in her mind, not wanting to cry over what she couldn’t have.

Before winter was over, they had to get the new arrivals from Gaule situated, and then, they’d prepare for war.

* * *

Alex stayed until they were no longer visible across the border. Etta didn’t glance back as she rode away. Tyson’s eyes met his one final time and Alex wanted to run after them.

He understood why Tyson went. He needed to be part of the fight. But that didn’t make it any easier.

His mother appeared beside him and hooked his arm with hers. “Goodbye is never easy.”

“Tyson is still a kid, mother.”

She leaned her head against his arm. “Tyson has never been a normal kid. From the moment I had Viktor Basile’s child, his destiny did not run alongside ours.”

“Alexandre?” Camille said tentatively from behind them.

He turned to find his sister leaning on her cane, her normally cold expression flooded with sorrow. She flicked her eyes back to where Tyson had disappeared and for the first time, he remembered he wasn’t the only one who’d had to say goodbye to a brother. Camille hated Etta, but in her own way, she had loved Tyson.

He wrapped an arm around her. She might be defiant and harsh, but they had so little family left. Despite her feelings toward magic, she’d stuck by his side.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

“Me too.” Kissing the top of her head, he released her. “But now we have a peace to restore.” He considered her for a moment. “Will you join me in meeting with Anders?”

Her watery eyes widened. “You actually want my help? Not my husband or the duchess?”

Her surprise ate away at him. Had he really shoved her aside? She was a part of the royal family and knew more about ruling than he ever would.

He glanced at his mother who was watching them carefully before grabbing his sister’s arm to help her walk over the uneven ground. “Come on. We have a lot to do.”

16

Etta’s people greeted her warmly as if she’d been gone for more than a few mere weeks. There was no hesitancy in their loyalty. They’d been so desperate to have someone to follow they had latched on and hadn’t let go.

Etta slid from Vérité’s back, her feet slamming into the ground. Her ground. Home. They were in the middle of the expanded part of the village. She could see the progress right away. They’d been working hard in her absence.

Matteo appeared, shaking the shaggy hair out of his eyes. He ran in a very un-Matteo like way toward them and she braced herself to be swept along in his relief, but he passed by her with barely a glance and stopped right in front of Edmund.

“You’re back,” he breathed. “We’ve been so worried.”

Edmund’s face danced with amusement. “You were worried about me?”

A blush crept up Matteo’s face.

“Who is that?” Ara asked, dismounting next to Etta.

“That would be Matteo,” Tyson said with a laugh. “Looks like I missed the good stuff while I was in Gaule.” He shot Etta a grin. “You didn’t know, did you?”

“By the looks of it, Edmund didn’t know either.” Ara laughed.

Embarrassment froze Matteo to the spot and his eyes shifted. Before he could back away, Edmund leaned forward and pressed his lips to a shocked Matteo’s.

Matteo responded after a moment, and before long, Edmund pulled back. “Thought so.” He winked.

Etta groaned. She wasn’t in the mood for declarations of love. Ever since leaving the border days before, her power had grown even stronger. It had taken a lot of magic to create the wards and she couldn’t stop herself from drawing in more.

But the power pulled her further from the light. For a little while, Alex had been able to hold her there, but without him…

She ducked inside as she gestured for an idle boy to take care of Verite. Everything was as she left it. Her throne rested against one wall, seeming smaller than before.

With a sigh, she dropped her bag in the corner.

Matteo rushed into the room behind her, a flush still in his face.

“Welcome home, cousin.” He offered her a relieved smile.

“Home.” She rubbed her temples to soothe the pounding in her skull. The next words that left her mouth felt wrong, but she didn’t have the energy to stop them. “I have no home.”

As soon as they were out, she sighed. “I didn’t mean that. Sometimes I can’t–”

“Look.” He wrapped his hands around her biceps. “I get it. You forget, I lived with La Dame most of my life. I’ve seen what too much magic can do to a person.” He bent to meet her eyes. “If it’s too much, promise me you’ll come to me.”

She didn’t get a chance to agree because Esme rushed in. The Draconian woman rushed forward, looking Etta over as she did. “Are you injured? Do you need me to heal anything?”

Etta stepped away from their worried stares. How was she going to tell her cousin they had Draconian blood in their veins? That she had the healing magic?

One thing she knew for sure was that she couldn’t tell Esme. The woman had helped her immensely, but there was very little trust between them.

Etta wanted nothing more than to go to sleep for the next week, but as queen, she didn’t have that option. She sighed. “We have matters to discuss.”

* * *

“So, we’re cut off from Gaule, for good?” Matteo asked.

They’d explained the events of the past weeks, only leaving out certain things like Alex’s miraculous healing.

Tyson leaned forward. “Non-magic folk can cross the border, but they are now protected against magic folk just as they once were.”

“They would stand no chance against La Dame even if they did agree to help,” Ara said. It pleased Etta she referred to Gauleans as “them.” She was a Belaen now.

Matteo scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah, well we don’t exactly have a chance either.”

“Etta does,” Edmund said confidently.

Matteo scrunched his brow. “La Dame is too powerful.”

Edmund crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well you didn’t see Etta blow the gate at the palace of Gaule to pieces.”

Matteo paused. “Wait, really?”

Etta shrugged but Ara jumped in. “I saw the aftermath. We have a chance. I wouldn’t have left my family if I thought we were just going to die against the walls of Dracon.”

Matteo’s mouth twisted to the side as he thought for a moment. “They’re just like the Gaulean soldiers with no chance, but we do have an ally.”

Etta looked at him in question.

“A contingent of Madran soldiers arrived last week.”

That made no sense. “Why?”

“Because La Dame has an entire army of Madran mercenaries and the king wanted to even the scales. King Rhodipus of Madra may fear Bela and our power, but he also knows La Dame is the greater threat.”

“Bring me their general.”

Matteo bowed his head. “Of course.”

While they waited, Etta got updates on the hunting parties and food stores they had accumulated for the winter. All building had ceased in her absence as salting meat and gathering edible plants became the highest priorities. She was thankful Matteo had been able to keep Bela moving forward.

Matteo returned a few minutes later with a stocky man. Muscles bulged in his arms as he swung them with each step.

“Your Majesty,” Matteo began. “This is General Landon.”

The general bowed. “It is a great pleasure, Queen Persinette.”

“General.” Etta smiled tiredly. “Thank you for coming. Your aid will be much appreciated. I only just now returned from Gaule. Tomorrow we will begin planning an attack on La Dame and I would appreciate your presence in those discussions.”

“Of course,” he responded, surprise coating the words. His eyes flicked to Matteo in question. “I was under the impression we’d be waiting for her to come to us.”

“No more waiting, General. As soon as the snow clears in the mountains, we bring the fight to her.”

She dismissed everyone, but Matteo hung back. Once they were alone, he pulled her into a hug.

She let out a yelp of surprise before hugging him back.

“I’m glad you’ve returned, cousin.” He released her. “We need you here.”

She nodded. “We managed to stall much of the persecution of our people in Gaule. Tomorrow, I’d like a count of those who’ve arrived. They will need to be provided for.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “Etta… do you think it’s wise to launch an attack on La Dame?”

“No. But we cannot continue to sit here and wait for her to destroy us.”

“I have something that may help.”

“Not tonight, Matteo. I’m exhausted.”

“This isn’t something I can speak of at the meeting tomorrow.” He met her eyes seriously.

“Out with it.” She waved him on.

“We intercepted a Draconian messenger.” He paused. “We have a traitor in our midst.”

* * *

Distrust was a funny thing. Once it entered your mind, it stuck there, tainting every thought. Etta sat atop her throne scanning the faces of those who’d come to see their returned queen. The traitor could be any of them.

They had suspicions, but it didn’t stop her from imagining each of her people at La Dame’s side.

Speeches done, she stood. They gave her a wide path through the room and Edmund met her at the end of it.

“I’ve been following her all morning,” he said. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Etta thought for a moment. “Make sure she knows of the battle plans once they’re set.”

The look he gave her was meant for a crazy person.

“Trust me, I have a plan. I think we can use this.”

“I always trust you.”

The familiar face showed up in the distance as she weaved through residences. Etta’s magic rose and she let the anger color her features.

“Etta,” Edmund snapped. “If you stare any harder, you’re going to burn holes into Esme. Do you want her aware we suspect?”

Etta shrugged and removed the crown from her head, resisting the urge to throw it from the highest cliff. Wearing the false crown shrouded her in ire, but wear it she would until the day she wrestled the true Basile crown from La Dame’s cold hands.

Had it been planned? Had Esme intentionally told her of her family’s crown’s whereabouts? Probably. But why? What was she orchestrating?

The Draconian healer disappeared into one of the residences and Etta walked toward the woods with Edmund not far behind.

The meeting was to take place among the trees, away from prying eyes and curious ears. That was the reason Etta gave her trusted people for the location she chose. In truth, if she was going to plan the end of everything, she’d need the strength the forest always gave her. It wasn’t the Black Forest where she’d learned to be who she was, but if she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was. She could imagine her father stood by her side. That Alex was nearby in his palace.

And that her life was still on the linear path set by the curse.

Now it diverged, and she had to choose which way to go.

Matteo spotted them first, his face going red at the sight of Edmund.

“You two still haven’t talked?” Etta whispered to Edmund.

He shook his head and cast his eyes to the ground.

“Coward.” She turned to her cousin and raised her voice. “Good morning, cousin.”

His smile was strained, which was very unlike him. Matteo normally wore a cool emotionless mask, but it had cracked and she enjoyed seeing the man behind it.

Tyson bounded up. Even leaving behind his mother and Amalie hadn’t left him bereft of energy. He smiled and slipped his arm around her. “Are you rested, Etta?”

She nodded, hoping he didn’t notice the bags under her eyes. Sleep had been elusive the night before as her magic buzzed under her skin. She’d lain in the dark putting every ounce of her effort into holding it back.

After the journey into Gaule, she needed rest, but they were out of time for that.

Landon stood and issued a low bow. There was a circle of logs in the clearing. A single stream of sunlight broke through the leaves right in the very center of the seating area.

Ara stayed seated but nodded her head in respect. Etta scanned each face, making sure everyone was present. A few of Bela’s best warriors had been chosen by Matteo to sit in. These would be the generals of their untrained army.

In Etta’s absence, Matteo had many of the Belaens begin practicing using their magic for the fight. Each fighter would be needed–except the children. They’d remain with a few guardians, ready to run if the battle went Dracon’s way.

If Etta fell, her surviving people would sail to Madra.

Matteo explained all of this in a calm voice as if he’d been practicing his speech. When he fell quiet, Etta stepped in. “You’ve been planning in my absence. That’s good. What do you have for battle plans?”

“Did you know,” Matteo began, “There is one thing La Dame wants more than anything else?”

“Hmmm…” Etta sat down, a grin spreading across her face as she leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

17

Heavy footsteps provided a persistent beat against cobblestone streets. Torches lit the frigid night air. The low drone of chanting voices echoed through Gaule.

Demands.

Protests.

From high up on the hill, Alex saw a growing gathering of villagers in the center of the village. Their cries rang in the air.

No longer were they only persecuting a single person or family. All known magic folk had left the kingdom. There’d been no reported instances of magic in weeks. But still, the people rebelled.

“Should we ride?” Anders asked, waiting for the command to overtake the village to restore order, peace. But was it peace when the army had to be stationed in the streets?

“No,” Alex scanned the torch-wielding mob once more and turned his horse. “If they hurt anyone, stop it. Otherwise, let them have their protests.”

He kicked his horse and cantered back to where the rest of his men were camped. His guards followed, forming up tighter around him than normal. They too were nervous.

It was the sixth village they’d been called to in the weeks since the wards were put in place and that didn’t include the ones the army had already taken control of.

Gaule was quickly spinning out of control.

Back at camp, his mother was waiting. She’d insisted on accompanying them, saying she cared about their kingdom as much if not more than anyone else.

She sighed when she took in his haggard appearance.

“You look like you’re about to fall off that horse of yours.”

He offered her a tight smile. “He wouldn’t let me fall.”

She pursed her lips. “Who do you think he is…” She stopped herself.

Verite. His mother was going to say Verite. That damn horse would never let Etta fall. Alex absently rubbed the arm Vérité had bitten and slid from his horse. It was good Etta had a beast that took care of her like that.

But who was he kidding? Vérité would be no help against La Dame.

He brushed by his mother on his way to his tent but she followed him. “What’s happening in the village?”

“The same thing that happened in the last one.” He ducked into his tent. “And the one before that.”

One of the guards outside spoke quietly to his mother. “They’re calling for the king’s head, your Majesty.”

She entered the tent and her shoulders sank as she released a sigh. “They aren’t aware of what you’ve done for them.”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “They don’t know La Dame could have come at any moment and our army wouldn’t stand a chance. I discarded everything… everything I believed in. Why? To keep them safe!” He put his hands on his head and breathed slowly. “Magic folk had every right to be in Gaule and I practically kicked them out to restore peace. And it didn’t even work. I fed them to that wretched woman in Dracon.”

“Maybe Etta will put wards between Bela and Dracon to keep them safe.”

He shook his head. “She thinks it’s a fight that needs to happen. If she… died, the wards would disappear. The only way to protect her kingdom is to fight.”

A crease formed on his mother’s forehead. “So, if she loses, we’ll be without the wards once again.”

“If she loses…” He sat down and hunched forward to put his head in his hands. “She won’t.”

“We don’t know that. We must prepare.”

“She won’t lose,” he yelled. “She can’t. She’s Etta. No one is better equipped to face La Dame than her.”

“Oh, my boy.” She brushed a hand down his back. “So much faith in someone else and so little in yourself.”

“Your Majesty,” Simon’s worried voice sounded outside the tent.

Catrine and Alex both looked up at the same time and said, “What is it?” Alex met his mother’s eyes, a wry grin forming on his lips. His mother was still a queen, and she was more queenly than he’d ever be kingly.

It was as if she was the one who was meant for this life, not him.

Alex stepped outside the tent to find Simon waiting. The big man glanced towards the dowager queen and then back to the king. “They’re burning the village.”

“Enough,” Catrine snapped. “Dammit, get me my horse.”

Simon and Alex just stared at her, but one of the guards brought her white speckled mare to the tent. She climbed into the saddle unaided with all the grace she was known for and sat tall atop the horse looking down on them.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

Both men scrambled to their own mounts and then took off toward the hill where Anders still waited for orders. Their guards slowed, but Catrine dug in her heels and flew past them. Alex had no choice but to follow. As they neared the village, he rested his hand against the hilt of his sword.

Catrine didn’t slow as people scrambled to get out of their way. The village square was awash in light as the flames inched up the surrounding buildings. Alex made a move toward the torchbearers, but his mother shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks.

She nudged her horse forward, making an effortless jump onto a raised platform that was just big enough for the beast to turn around.

The crowd stopped, staring up at her.

She narrowed her eyes. “People of Gaule, why do you burn your own village?”

They began shouting out reasons and Alex shrank back into the shadows as his name was yelled. The guards stayed close to Catrine as she continued to speak.

“I see.” She scratched her chin. “You’re angry.”

They yelled in agreement.

“Well, I am too. I’m angry because my people have broken a promise to me and to my son.”

A disgruntled roar wound through the mob.

“You don’t agree. Hmmmm. Is Alexandre Durand not your king?”

“He chose magic over his own,” someone yelled.

“Ah, I understand. Your king believes in a life free of persecution. I see the problem. That’s really a horrible thing, isn’t it? To have freedom?” When the yells quieted, she continued. “We’ve all heard the stories of La Dame and the danger she poses. Did you know that it is now magic that keeps you safe from her? Yes, magic folk protected us just as we shoved them out of their homes to go face a danger greater than we can imagine.” She raised her hand, palm up and curled it into a fist.

“I love Gaule. I love my people. And so does your king.”

Her horse leaped down from the platform and the people parted for her to walk through the crowd.

Alex watched her in wonder. When his father was alive, his mother’s job was to plan banquets and have tea with noblewomen of the realm. To raise the royal children.

Had he ever seen what she could be?

No. Alex knew with sudden certainty that he hadn’t. If he had, he would have kept her locked away for fear of the people loving her.

The guards stayed until the mob formed a bucket chain to put out the fires. It was over for now.

Back at camp, Alex dismounted and approached his mother. “You played them.”

“Guilt is a motivator, Alexandre. I only had to make sure they were aware we belonged to them. We are Gauleans just as they are.”

He took her hand and bowed his head over it.

Soon after, Catrine returned to the palace, but Alex moved on to the next village where rebellion brewed. He attempted a speech, trying to emulate his mother. At least the food they threw was soft. It clung to his hair but didn’t hurt.

He didn’t attempt a peaceful resolution in the next village. Exhausted and frustrated, he sent in the army. The villagers tried to fight back, but they were quickly disarmed and rounded up.

He was done playing nice.

Carts were found and loaded with their prisoners. If the people weren’t going to listen to reason, maybe they’d listen to force.

It took two days to reach the palace once more. Repairs on the gates were going well, but a large hole still opened into the castle. Camille greeted him at the inner gates, hands on hips as she glared at the carts behind him.

“Really, Alexandre? How do you expect to feed this many prisoners when three-quarters of the farms in Gaule are refusing to send the palace any food?”

“We’ll manage.”

She huffed. “And you think this’ll improve your relations with the people?”

“I no longer care about their love.” He shouldered past her. “Only their obedience.”

“Spoken just like Father,” she said at his back.

“The people didn’t rebel against father.”

Camille chased after him, her cane slamming against the ground with each step. “That’s what you want? To be just like him? You hated father. Everything he did…”

Alex turned, almost colliding with his sister. “I don’t know what else to do. My kingdom is falling apart out there. It’s not a long leap from rebellion to civil war.”

Her mouth rounded, and she stepped back.

He met the captain of the palace guard and gestured back toward the gate. “Have your men get those people to the dungeon.”

Reproof burned in the captain’s eyes, but he did as he was told.

Alex shrugged off his cloak and draped it over his arm as he marched inside in search of a hot bath and a cold ale.

He stopped a servant who was rushing down the hall. “Get someone to bring hot water to my rooms.” The servant bowed and scurried away.

Weeks of travel dust coated his skin. They’d bathed in streams, but only for as long as they could stand the cold. He wasn’t bred to be a soldier, spending nights on the hard ground.

He passed by a room with music drifting out the door. Three women in overly embellished dresses practiced their court dances. They were beautiful, he supposed. Flawless skin. Tiny waists. All the grace of women at court.

But he didn’t want grace. He wanted someone with fire. Someone who would push him with fingers roughened from time spent with a sword. Someone whose hair was not brushed to perfection but twisted back so as not to get in the way.

It was practical after all.

Even through the fog of exhaustion, his lips turned up at the image of Etta dancing with these women. She’d danced with him once before and seemed entirely out of place.

A woman with fiery red hair and painted lips caught his eye and smiled coyly as she spun. When she turned toward him once again, she crooked one long finger, beckoning him forward.

There was a time when he would have gone willingly.

He’d been the prince who loved a good party and women most of all.

He turned away with a shake of his head. Now he was a king with his own people in the dungeons and no desire to sit on his throne.

That was the biggest problem, wasn’t it?

The people called for his crown and he wanted to give it to them.

He rubbed the back of his neck and walked toward his rooms without further interruption. Four servant boys arrived carrying barrels of steaming water. They poured them into the tub and left. A maid entered with a tray of food but he only had eyes for the pitcher that sat in the center. Once she was gone, he poured a mug of ale and took a long drink before setting it down.

Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he reached behind him and pulled it over his head, his muscles crying out in protest. As his hands moved to the waist of his pants, the door crashed open behind him.

He turned around.

“Mother,” he said. “What…” He stopped himself when he noticed her knuckles turning white as she gripped the doorway. Her entire body shook.

“Alexandre Durand,” she growled. “You’re a stupid boy.”

He drew himself up, placing a palm on his bare chest. “I am the king.”

“And my son.” She stepped forward and pushed the door shut. “I can call you whatever the hell I want when you arrest Gauleans and throw them into our dungeons. I thought I bred the cruel out of you by keeping you from spending too much time with your father, but I was wrong.”

“Mother–”

“No, you listen to me, boy. You messed up. Fix it.”

“How?” he asked, stepping back to sit on the edge of his bed. “How am I supposed to heal this kingdom?”

She opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again.

“I. Can’t. Mother. Maybe Gaule will never be at peace while they have a king they despise.”

“They despised your father.”

Alex grunted. “No, they feared him, but they never hated him. He kept them safe from magic. They think I betrayed them for it.”

She sighed. “Alexandre, I don’t know what to tell you. But you can start by not making it worse. Let those people go back to their families.”

He blew out a breath and nodded.

“Good.” She stepped forward and patted his cheek. “I’ll inform the guard for you. You stay here and bathe. You reek.” She scrunched up her nose and turned to leave.

“Mother.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry for the actions you take to protect your people, Alexandre. They may not always be right, but your heart always will be.”

When she was gone, he removed the rest of his clothes and sank beneath the warm water. But like everything in life, it too eventually turned cold, and he had to leave it behind.

18

The guards released the people from the dungeons and escorted them back to their village. Alex did not accompany them. Instead, he rode into the village near the castle gates.

The streets were deserted. Faces appeared at windows and promptly disappeared. Word of the army’s intrusion into other villages had stretched across the kingdom.

When his father was king, he’d send the army into a village to force people from their homes in advance of the king’s arrival. They’d have to wave and cheer as if they had not a care in the world.

Eventually, the people would come out willingly–after the purge. They were grateful for the king’s removal of magic folk.

Alex had done the same thing, and yet they now cursed his name.

As he rode through the empty streets to the place where he was attacked the year before, he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. Someone was watching them. His eyes darted around but the only other people present were his own guards.

Alex stopped and dismounted. This spot was where he’d fought with Etta and Edmund. He lifted his eyes to the healer’s shop. A new sign hung over the door. The destruction of parts of the village had been cleared away and shops rebuilt on his orders.

As a boy, he’d spent a lot of time running through the streets with Etta.

But now the place seemed foreign to him.

“Alex.” The voice was faint. He twisted around, looking for the source even as his mind recognized the soft quality sliding over him.

“Ara,” he breathed.

“What, your Majesty?” Simon asked.

Alex held up a finger, listening.

“We need you,” Ara said. “Etta will kill me for contacting you, but in two weeks’ time, we march on Dracon. Etta isn’t herself. Something is inside of her. Her plans… Alex, they’re crazy. I hope you can hear me right now. I’m not sure if my magic is working at this distance, but I think she’s losing herself. If she’s going to survive this…” The words paused. “You’re the one person who can keep her from letting her recklessness get her killed.”

Ara continued, but Alex didn’t hear it as his guards started shouting. “Get down, your Majesty.” He was thrown to the ground as one of his guards tackled him and went still.

Simon took off running as the rest of the guards positioned themselves around their king. Alex couldn’t see what was happening but the crash of swords rang out. The fight didn’t take long and then Simon was running back toward them.

Alex pushed the man off him, but his guard didn’t get up. He turned him over and sucked in a breath when he found the knife embedded in the man’s back. His face was frozen in shock. Alex bowed his head and slid the dead man’s eyes closed.

“We need to get you out of here, your Majesty,” Simon said, sliding his sword back into the sheath.

Alex pushed to his feet. “That knife was meant for me.”

“We’ll make sure Riley’s family is taken care of.”

Riley. He hadn’t even known the man’s name. His body hummed with nervous energy as the shock wore off and adrenaline took over.

“Your Majesty,” Simon urged. “I took care of the attacker, but there could be more.”

There weren’t. The attacker seemed to be working alone, so they cantered away from the village and the bodies they left behind.

Alex practically fell from his horse and stumbled back. Bile rose in his throat and he put a hand on the stable wall as the contents of his stomach emptied onto the ground below him.

“Your Majesty.” A delicate hand offered him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and he looked up into the face of Duchess Moreau.

He took her pity, wiped his face, and stood. “I was almost…”

Simon appeared. “Your Majesty, you should go inside and rest. You’re in shock.” He turned his gaze on the duchess. “I’ll alert the palace guards. The king was attacked. We’ll increase his guard tonight.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

He bowed his head and hurried away.

“Alexandre.” She gripped his elbow. “Come with me. You’ve been in battle before. An attack on your life is not the only thing on your mind.”

He’d almost forgotten about Ara’s message and how shaken he’d been even before the attack began.

Etta needed him, but his kingdom was on the brink of civil war because of the aid he offered magic folk. He couldn’t go to her, could he?

He followed the duchess silently. She’d existed in her own world in the weeks since the wards were put into place. He’d expected her to return home as he’d ordered. The villages on the Moreau land were suffering in the wake of the exodus of the magic folk. They’d been a large part of the population on her lands and now there was a shortage of workers. The Moreau forces that marched with him to retake the palace lost many men and women to Bela as well.

But she hadn’t left, claiming a duty to the crown. She sat at the head of his council and he was grateful for her steady presence.

She led him into her suite of rooms and pointed toward the couch. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sat. She walked over to a table and a minute later was pressing a cup into his hands.

He sighed and tilted it against his lips, expecting wine or even ale. When something completely different touched his tongue, he sputtered.

Duchess Moreau’s face creased as a fond smile flitted across it.

“Water?” He asked skeptically. “I almost have my life taken from me. One of my men is dead. And you give me water?”

One brow arched. “You don’t need a drink, your Majesty. I think you’ve had enough of those lately.” When he started to protest, she went on. “Why else would you arrest wagons full of people in one of your own villages. The king I know would only do something so completely idiotic with a strong influencer in his system.”

“I…” He sat forward to argue, but the air deflated from his lungs. “I deserved that.”

“That and more, but it is not for me to chastise you.”

“Actually.” He rubbed his chin. “It kind of is. You’re the head of the king’s council. When I was ill, many of the crown’s powers were transferred to you and those who sit on the council with you.” He leaned back. “Essentially, I am not ruling this kingdom alone anymore because we never formally returned those powers. The proclamation has been drawn up for a reversal, but the time hasn’t been right.”

She narrowed her eyes, watching him. Duchess Moreau was a shrewd woman. It hadn’t escaped her that the council still held more power than they had at any time since Alexandre’s grandfather was king.

Their eyes met in silent standoff, each only imagining what the other was thinking.

“Your Majesty,” she said.

“Duchess,” he replied.

“What do you want?”

“A king’s power should never be absolute,” he said finally.

“No, it should not.”

“My father’s was, and that is how the purge happened. Never again.”

“We can prevent such an occurrence.”

He nodded.

“Are you sure you know what these powers mean?” she asked. “The capabilities the council will have?”

There was something lying beneath her words, but he couldn’t decipher the meaning so he only nodded and sipped his water.

Her shoulders relaxed, and she poured a cup from a second pitcher. Reaching out, she took his water and passed him the new drink. He tasted it and laughed. Wine.

“Now,” she said as she took a seat. “Tell me what happened today.”

He didn’t hold anything back as he described the empty streets. When he got to the message from Ara, he scrutinized her face. She gave nothing away, and he moved on to the attack.

When he was finished, she crossed her ankles and busied herself fanning out the skirt of her dress.

“Why does Ara think Etta needs you?”

“I’m not…” Before finishing his words, he realized they weren’t true. It hadn’t hit him before, why Ara was worried, but Etta had already given him all the answers he needed. “Her magic.” He swallowed another gulp of wine and set the cup aside. “Before she left, she told me it was trying to control her. I saw it with my own eyes. Anger. Hatred.” His brow furrowed, and he shook his head as he remembered the first time he’d seen it after she got the powers.

She’d fought La Dame, and he’d almost died. She’d told him to leave and never return. He hadn’t pieced that together until this very moment. Everything. All of it. Each time she’d pushed him away since the curse was broken, it had been the magic pushing him away. And he’d let it.

He closed his eyes. “They’re losing her.” It was the only explanation for Ara disobeying Etta and contacting him. “She’s losing herself.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

The next words killed him to say. “Nothing.” He brushed his hands down his embroidered jacket. “I am a king and my first responsibility must be to my people.”

Duchess Moreau’s lips drew down into a frown. “If Etta is lost, everything else could be as well. Even for Gaule.”

* * *

The guards refused to let Alex out of the castle. They were on orders from the council. Alex caught Duke Caron’s eye. They were already exercising some of their newfound power. Now that they knew the king was not planning a reversal of the powers, there was so much they could accomplish together.

Caron’s sons had already returned to the Caron estate and would take control of it with the Duke and Camille moving full time to the palace. Alex would never admit it to her, but he was glad his sister wasn’t leaving. It made him feel like Ty was close as well, like their family wasn’t so distant from each other.

The council consisted of six members, each from noble families. They stood as Alex rushed into the council chambers.

“Good morning,” he said, trying to keep them from noticing just how tired their leader was. It had been another night of worrying for Etta and everyone in Bela.

“Good morning, your Majesty,” Duchess Moreau said. “Are you ready to begin?”

He nodded. “We have much to discuss today. General Anders reports more protests and the burning of another village. We’re running out of options here. It may be time for army intervention.”

Duchess Moreau’s piercing eyes latched on to him. “And what are they rebelling against this time?” She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer.

Alex sighed. “Everything.”

The duchess stood and moved to the front of the room to face her fellow council members. “No, your Majesty. They were protesting their king.”

He scratched the side of his face. “Does this have a purpose? What do you want me to say?”

“We want you to take responsibility for destroying Gaule.”

It was as if the air in the room had been sucked out. Every eye turned to the duchess. Jaws fell open.

“Rae,” Catrine warned. “That’s enough.”

Alex followed the locked gazes of his mother and the duchess as they held a silent conversation. Was this what happened when the council actually had power? Was this why his father had disbanded them?

“I assure you, Duchess,” he began. “I am doing everything possible to heal our kingdom.”

Duchess Moreau tore her eyes from the dowager queen and rounded on him. “Does that include arresting those who’ve done nothing but voice their discontent? You got us into this mess with your rushed policy changes on magic folk. A king cannot just follow his every desire…” Her eyes met his. “Simply because he fell in love.”

“I–”

“What about receiving magical messages without informing your council?” she asked.

His hands shook at his sides. How dare she use what he told her in confidence against him now? Duke Caron leaned forward.

“Ara?” he asked hopefully.

“It doesn’t matter who it was,” the duchess snapped as she pointed one long finger at Alex. “This man is not fit to be king. Even if he were, Gaule will not be at peace while the crown sits on his head.”

Alex had no words.

Betrayal burned through him. “You can’t take my throne. I am the rightful heir.”

Her icy gaze flew over the rest of the council, her face set in grim determination. “Actually, your Majesty, we can.”

She gestured to a guard who stood by the wall. He opened the door, and a servant walked in, handed a rolled parchment to the duchess, and left.

She unrolled it slowly.

“I hold in my hand a declaration of transfer, signed by all members of this council save one.” Her eyes flicked to Catrine who had a disturbed grimace on her face.

The moment rushed by, happening too quickly for Alex to fully grasp it. They were taking his throne.

And he knew, this was the reason his father stripped them of power. They could have destroyed him.

One of the few allies he thought he’d had was destroying the only thing he’d ever wanted in life.

But even that was a glorious lie. He’d never wanted it; he’d just had no other choice.

It didn’t change the facts though. Gaule was his.

“You’ve been planning this,” he rasped. “Since the day I was attacked. You convinced each member of my council…”

“I am sorry, your Majesty, but we do what we must for the good of the people.” She turned to Catrine once more. “We need one final signature.”

Her sad eyes found her son, glassing over as she considered her decision. Without taking her pained gaze from his, she picked up the pen to sign the transfer and Alex could only watch as even his mother stole his kingdom out from under him.

“It is done,” the duchess said, rolling the proclamation and tying it with a ribbon. “Alexandre.” No title, just his name. “You are no longer part of this council. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

A guard appeared at his side as if he’d protest, but he couldn’t think clearly enough for that. He stood frozen for a moment.

“You can’t to this.” His words sounded hollow as if they had no meaning. “I am the king. Gaule is my birthright.”

The duchess’ expression softened. “Gaule will always be yours, Alexandre, to love and to protect. But it is now ours to rule. There is a grander purpose for you, I’m afraid.” She nodded to the guard.

A firm hand gripped his arm, leading him into the hall as the door shut with a definitive slam. It was gone. His purpose. His duty. Everything.

He started toward the courtyard, disbelief clouding his mind. None of it felt real. One meeting and everything he’d worked his life for was finished.

If only Father could see him now. He’d know he’d been right. Alex had failed. No guards followed him. Why would they? He was no longer king. Instead, he was simply a prince. He sucked in a breath as his slow steps brought him to the north tower. Amalie and Camille were sitting atop the wall and they spotted him before he could back away.

“Are you coming up or what?” Camille asked.

He sighed and climbed the steps before dropping down beside them.

“Alex, what’s wrong?” Amalie touched his arm lightly.

He closed his eyes, a single tear escaping. He’d done such a good job holding it together, but now as they looked to him for answers, all the emotion broke free.

“They took it,” he said softly.

“Took what?” Camille asked.

“My crown.” The words pierced his heart. How could this happen? How could he lose the one thing he’d been born for? “Duchess Moreau convinced them. They removed me from the throne.”

“They can’t do that!”

“They can, sister. And your husband was part of it.”

“I’ll talk to him. Alex, you’re the king. No one else. It can only be you. Who is going to rule if not the first-born Durand? It has to be a Durand and I refuse.”

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s over. There’s nothing you can do.”

“There’s–” Amalie cut her off.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex grunted.

Silence fell over the three of them like a blanket.

“You’re going to leave me too, aren’t you?” Camille asked in resignation. “Wait, don’t even answer that because I know what you’re going to say and it’ll be wrong.”

“Camille, I–”

Camille started to laugh and Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that sound coming from her. Confusion mixed with amusement in his eyes as she clutched her stomach.

“I think she’s finally lost it,” Amalie whispered.

When Camille calmed enough to speak, her eyes were swimming. “You never did want to be king. All those years, I resented you for being father’s heir when you didn’t even want it.” She breathed out slowly, one hand still gripping her side. “But then I saw what it did to you.”

“What it did to me?”

“Yes, Alexandre. This role that was thrust upon you. Gone was the easy smile I’d always been envious of and the obvious joy. The crown weighed on your head like chains around your neck.” She shook her head. “My jealousy turned into pity… and a bit of respect.”

“Just a bit?”

She held up two fingers close together. “This much.” A smile softened her harsh face. “I didn’t want it anymore after that. How did Gaule end up with two heirs who don’t want the title and a third who was no heir at all?”

Amalie chewed on her lip at the mention of Tyson. They should have seen it all along. Ty was the best of them, too good to have been fathered by the man who led Gaule into the purge.

“But, Alexandre.” She leaned across Amalie to look him directly in the eye. “You’re free.” The sun reflected off her irises, making them glow as they held steady with his own. “The only question left is what are you going to do with this freedom?”

Amalie didn’t wait for him to respond to his sister before she jumped in. “I’m coming with you.”

“What?” he asked.

“To Bela. I assume that’s where you’re going.”

“Um…”

“She’s right, brother,” Camille said. “We’ve all heard about Ara’s message.”

“What?” He sighed. It shouldn’t surprise him that the news had wound through the palace. If Duchess Moreau was planning to denounce him, she’d have wanted to put rumors into play. Only, this time they weren’t rumors.

“I don’t like Etta,” Camille stated bluntly.

Amalie rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

“No, hear me out. I don’t like her. I think magic is dangerous still. BUT, there are things far more dangerous than Persinette Basile. Gaule cannot help Bela in this fight. We’d stand no chance.” She scanned her brother’s face. “You, Alexandre, no longer represent all of Gaule. Perhaps it’s time you go fight for something greater than a throne you never wanted. You and Etta are connected. You’re probably the one person who can help her in this.”

“As long as I get to come.” Amalie crossed her arms over her chest. “If you get to fight for Etta, I can fight for Ty. Plus, I’m probably better with a sword than you, anyway.”

Camille grinned over the top of Amalie’s head. “She’s got you there, brother. You’re shit with a sword.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Camille.”

“For the insult?”

“No, for everything.”

He stood and pulled his sister to her feet, slipping her cane back into her hand. Looking over his shoulder, he caught the determination in Amalie’s eyes.

“Fine,” he said to her. “We leave at first light.”

She nodded once, trying to conceal the satisfied smile on her lips as she broke off from them to head for her rooms.

Alex and Camille walked in silence toward the royal family wing and found Simon outside Alex’s rooms.

Alex knew what that meant. He pushed inside to find his mother waiting. She paced the length of the room nervously, stopping in her tracks when she noticed her son and daughter. Tears streamed down her face.

The door shut and Duchess Moreau appeared behind them.

Alex held back the growl that tried to work its way up his throat for the woman who had just usurped his throne.

Instead, he cleared his throat, not giving any of them time to speak. “I am going to inform you of a decision that you now have no say over. Without a crown on my head, the council does not decide my movements inside Gaule… or across the border.” His voice was cold as he tried to keep the emotion from it.

“This palace has always been my home, but it is no longer where my path lies. Tomorrow, I will leave for Dracon. Any who will join me are welcome.” He nodded toward the duchess. “You may go. We have no need of each other any longer.”

She didn’t move. “Alexandre.” There was no sadness or regret in her voice, only… hope? “We have named a replacement and will hold the coronation in three weeks’ time once the villages and estates across the realm have been informed as to what has occurred this day.”

“How could you possibly have named a new heir? Gaulean law states it must be of the royal family. Tyson is gone. Camille would refuse you. You have already betrayed me.”

A moment of silence stretched into two and it was his mother who spoke next. “There is yet one person who wants to heal Gaule.”

Why hadn’t he seen it? It was so simple. She’d been able to quiet the mob with a single speech. The people loved her in a way they’d never loved him. If he hadn’t been so determined to hold on to his crown, he’d have given it to her himself.

“Queen Catrine,” he whispered, raising his eyes to meet his mother’s. “Was that the plan all along?”

“No,” she gasped. “Of course not.”

Camille’s hand slid into his and she squeezed.

“Alexandre.” Duchess Moreau clasped her hands in front of her. “I am sorry it had to happen this way, but there would never be peace with you as a king. You said it yourself.” She walked toward him, her dark hair swinging down her back. “You must go. If Ara says you are needed, I believe her. For all of us, you have to leave. Your place is there.”

Realization crashed into him and he stepped back. “You did all of this just so I would join the battle against La Dame?”

“These are dark times, Alexandre.” She pursed her lips. “There is a village near my estate where you will find some who will join you in your journey into Dracon to join the fight. I wish you well. Tell Persinette that she holds all of our lives in her hands.”

With those words, she left. Catrine rushed to her children and pulled them both against her. The betrayal Alex felt before now extinguished slightly, leaving only a few lingering doubts. They’d done what was best for both Gaule and Bela. At least, he hoped they did.

“I’m sorry,” his mother whispered.

He leaned back so he could look into her face and brushed aside her tears. “You’re going to give this kingdom a peace they’ve never known, mother.”

She smiled. “Thank you for saying that.”

Camille sniffled and Alex laughed. “Are you crying, Camille?”

“Shut up,” she groaned.

“I just don’t think I’ve seen you cry since we were kids.”

“I have something in my eye.”

“Yeah, those are called tears.”

Catrine swatted the back of his head. “Alexandre, stop teasing your sister. She’s just worried about you.”

Camille groaned again. “Mother.”

“What? When someone in your family is about to leave the kingdom to go fight against a woman who is more powerful than pretty much the rest of the world put together, I think you’re allowed to worry.”

“You’re my mother,” Alex said. “Aren’t you supposed to give me more confidence?”

“No.” She snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m supposed to let you know that we love you.”

He hugged her again and this time, when he released her, he knew he was doing the right thing. It no longer felt like something had been taken from him. Instead, he’d gained it all. Everything. A different future than he’d ever expected. A chance to fight for what he believed in.

Etta.

She needed him.

I’m coming. He sent the thought into the atmosphere as he prepared for a new kind of journey, a new kind of battle.

Don’t give up. I’ll be there.

19

Ice encased Dracon. Or, it would be more accurate to say ice encased the walls surrounding the dark kingdom. The black gates rose before the Belaen army, spanning the length of the pass between two mountains. Fog swirled through the valley as Etta nudged Vérité forward. The cobbled-together army of Bela waited behind her.

They’d never been in battle. For most of their lives, they hadn’t even been able to use their magic. Now, she was asking them to wield it like a weapon.

Etta let her hand drift to the sword hanging at her waist, getting more comfort from that than the power in her blood. She’d spent more of her life practicing with sword or pole than with magic. It would always center her. The weight of the blade. The memories of it slicing through her enemies.

“How are we supposed to get past those?” Tyson asked, gesturing to the gates.

Edmund met Etta’s eyes. “We’re not.”

“Oh.”

Etta jerked Vérité around and faced her people without a word. A crown sat atop her head, but it didn’t belong to her, and it was time the true crown returned to Bela.

“Make camp,” she ordered brusquely before sliding down from Vérité’s back.

Landon approached tentatively.

“General,” Etta acknowledged with barely a nod.

“Your Majesty.” He lowered his head.

“Have your men prepare a watch.”

“I’m a little unsure of this battle plan. In Madra, we believe in striking first. He who catches the others unawares will win the day.”

Etta studied the older man. He’d seen many battles from what she’d been told. The Madran forces told her people tales of their kingdom’s constant wars. But he’d never faced magic.

“Tell me, general, do you truly think La Dame doesn’t already know we’re here? That she hasn’t known we’ve been coming since the day we left Bela?”

His brow furrowed, deepening the lines on his face.

“I didn’t think so.” Her eyes drifted back toward the gates. “No. We will wait. She will let us enter through this very gate.”

His jaw clenched. “And it will surely be a trap.”

“Well, I am the queen. I will decide which traps we fall into.”

“You’re insane.”

“Probably, but I also understand what she wants and I plan to give it to her.”

“What does she want?”

“Me.”

Someone tried to take Vérité away to feed him. “I’ll take care of him,” Etta snapped.

“But, your Majesty, that’s what I’m here for,” a young boy stammered.

“I said I’d handle him.”

The boy ran off. She didn’t like to be away from Vérité on a night such as this. It might very well be her final night.

She didn’t need to take Vérité’s reins. He followed her through the mess of people setting up tents and stoking fires. There was no point in trying to hide their presence.

Once Vérité finished grazing, she left him near her tent. Edmund fell into step beside her and she wondered how long he’d been following her.

“I don’t like the silence coming from the wall,” he said. “There should be lines of archers atop them. I still don’t like your plan. She may not do as we anticipated?”

“No, Edmund, La Dame has a fatal flaw.”

Behind those walls should be an army of Madran mercenaries, every Draconian with magic, and the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

Etta didn’t expect they’d beat a full army, but they didn’t need to. Everything had been orchestrated to get her close to La Dame to end this once and for all.

La Dame’s fatal flaw? She would sacrifice every person in Dracon for a chance at her revenge. Killing Etta would mean ending the direct line of the Belaen king, the very source of the Basile power. If she took Tyson and Matteo out as well, the entire Basile line would be no more.

Her single-mindedness in her desires made her predictable. Or, at least Etta hoped it did.

The other possibility was as Esme said—that La Dame wanted Etta and her power to stand beside her.

She wasn’t sure which was more worrisome.

She entered the command tent to find Ara, Tyson, and Landon in a heated debate.

“The Madrans are the most skilled fighters here,” Landon claimed. “We will not be pushed aside.”

“But you don’t have magic,” Tyson argued. “That makes you vulnerable.”

Ara’s mind had gone in a different direction. “I’ll challenge your best fighter and then we’ll see who the most skilled is.”

“Enough,” Matteo snapped, his eyes finding Etta. “We will stick to the original battle plan.”

“I don’t like it,” Landon grumbled.

Etta sat in an empty chair and leaned toward him. “No one said you have to like it. Look, my goal is to get to La Dame, but I will not sacrifice everyone else to do it. We stick with the original formation. Landon, you will position your men among mine. My most powerful magic wielders will take up their positions in an outside ring. I’m sorry, but if we face the Draconians right away, and without magic, we will be rendered useless.”

Landon crossed his arms over his chest but leaned back and nodded. He’d been trained to take orders. Ara and Tyson had not.

“Ara,” Etta began, preparing herself for an imminent argument. “I need you to remain with the small force I’m leaving outside the gates.”

“You can’t be serious.” Ara scowled. “You need me.”

“I do,” Etta agreed. “But think with your magic right now, not your sword. We don’t know what La Dame has in store for us and I need you to find somewhere where you can watch for any surprises to warn us.”

Ara sagged back in defeat. “That’s…” She sighed. “A good idea.”

“I know.” Etta turned to the rest of her most trusted people. “I…” She stopped, fiddling with the end of her braid. Her fingers inched up and she removed the false crown. She wouldn’t enter Dracon wearing it.

“You don’t have to give us the speech, Etta,” Tyson said. “We all understand the stakes.”

“She probably wouldn’t be good at the death speech, anyway.” Edmund laughed, and it sounded wrong in the tense atmosphere.

“Death speech?” Matteo raised an eyebrow, but the fond look he gave Edmund spoke of hidden depths.

“Yeah. She’d say something awkward like ‘we probably won’t all make it out of this’. Then there’d be silence because she never knows any comforting words to say and we’d all leave with the singular thought that we were probably going to die because the speech had never moved past that point.”

“You would speak to your queen this way?” Landon asked. Etta almost laughed at him. His defense of her was admirable, but he didn’t understand Edmund.

So instead, she fixed Edmund with an unblinking stare. He met her eyes.

“You’re an ass,” she said finally. “I’m not that bad at speeches.”

He draped an arm over her shoulder. “Trust me, I just saved us all. When you speak to the army in the morning, make sure you leave out the doom and gloom we love you for.”

She scowled, and he laughed. How did he take everything so lightly? She envied that about him.

“You have a bit of an emotional streak,” he went on.

Etta pushed him away. She’d never told anyone other than Alex how the Basile power tore her up on the inside, infusing anger into every thought and action. If she did, they wouldn’t fear her, but they’d fear for her. They’d try to prevent her from everything she’d planned.

She’d spent so much effort learning to gain control over the magic, but that wasn’t how she’d beat La Dame. She’d win by ceding her will. By giving in. By letting it overpower her and unleashing its wrath.

But none of them knew that. They might be going into battle against the Draconian forces, but when the real war began, she’d be utterly alone.

She left them in search of her own tent. A bedroll sat inside and not much else. Bela didn’t have a lot of the luxuries of Gaule so even the queen must make do. She didn’t mind though.

She left behind the emptiness of her tent and found Vérité outside. As she closed her eyes, she ran a hand along his soft mane. “Remember when it was just you and me, boy?”

He snorted as if he too recalled the wide-open forests and their time riding among the flowers. The only power she’d had then was magic that made plants grow.

“Would you go back?” she asked, leaning into him. “Me either. They’ve always needed a queen, needed a kingdom.” Back then, Bela had been an empty land, the idea of a thriving kingdom that only existed in the minds of magic folk hiding in Gaule. “We may not make it out of there. Dammit! Stupid Edmund.” His words ran through her mind. A death speech. She would not give a death speech.

Vérité nudged her as if agreeing with her assessment of Edmund. For the first time all night, Etta grinned. “You’ve always known he was an idiot, haven’t you?”

She sat down and Vérité lowered himself beside her. “I’m going to need a miracle, Vérité. Are you ready to be a hero?” She wouldn’t be there without the horse. He’d gotten her out of more than a few situations.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked. “I told Alex we wouldn’t need them, but I wish I had him by my side.”

He bared his teeth, and she laughed.

“You have no reason not to like him, you stubborn beast.”

Another voice broke through Etta’s one-sided conversation. “I used to think that was really weird.”

Tyson sat on the other side of Vérité and stroked his back.

“Used to?” Etta asked.

“Yeah, now I understand you two.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen anyone with a relationship like yours. Vérité is your soul mate.”

He said it so simply, but it wasn’t simple at all. From the time she’d found the wild horse in the woods, there’d been a connection between them. He’d started following her and soon she’d attempted to ride him. Nothing had ever been so right as that first time she sat high on his back.

“Alex—”

“Is special to you,” Tyson cut her off. “But that doesn’t mean he has to be your soul mate. Most people fall in love, but few ever really find the one being who is so attuned to them it’s like they’re one person.”

“How did you learn about this stuff?”

Tyson shrugged. “Amalie.” His eyes pinched in sadness.

Etta reached across Vérité–her soul mate–and gripped her brother’s hand. “I’m glad you’re my brother.”

She’d hated her father when she found out. Hated that it tarnished the memory of her mother. But she’d come to accept that some things couldn’t be held on to.

Tyson grinned, flashing his teeth. “I love you, Etta. And Vérité. I love him too.”

Before she responded, the massive gates shuddered and began to drift apart, turning outward as they did.

Etta jumped to her feet and started running toward the gates with Tyson following her. She stopped at the edge of camp to watch them open fully.

La Dame had set her trap.

* * *

Etta raised her eyes to the full moon hanging overhead and shook her head. “We aren’t going in while it’s still dark.” She turned to Edmund. “I want a watch on guard until the sun rises. If anything comes out of those gates–even the tiniest bit of magic, I hear about it.” To Landon, she said, “We need to rouse the camp. No eye closes while we sit at the mouth of Dracon.” He issued a sharp nod and left to wake his men. Ara went to prepare the Belaens.

Etta returned to her tent to don the armor that had been put there. She’d left her mail shirt behind, opting for the lighter leather armor she’d always worn when practicing with her father in the woods.

She didn’t expect to need protection against swords as much as magic so the agility the leather gave her would prove a better defense.

Her armor firmly in place, she hooked the sword belt around her waist. After strapping a sheath to her leg, she slid a thin knife into it.

Edmund pushed the tent flap aside and stepped in. “The watch is set.”

She nodded, her eyes sliding over his shining armor.

He stepped toward her, reaching around to pull the tight braid over her shoulder. “In Bela, we learned of your likeness to Queen Aurora, but we’ve both heard the stories of Rapunzel. Now that we know there is Draconian blood in your veins as well as Belaen blood, we have answers to all the questions we’ve been asking. It’s funny, your father gave you all the answers you needed when he named you Persinette.”

“The Draconian word for Rapunzel,” she said softly. “How long have you known?”

“Esme told me about the translation and then I saw you heal Alex. That’s how Draconian blood entered the Basile line. King Philip didn’t kidnap her. She went willingly. She must have fallen in love with Phillip and Aurora’s son—the first man to fall under the curse.”

She ran a hand down her braid, stopping at the ribbon tying it together. She pulled it free, and it fluttered to the ground as Etta—Persinette untwisted her hair and let the waves fall down her back.

Edmund gave her an approving nod. “Use this. Let La Dame see who’s coming for her.”

“Yes.” Etta nodded. “She’s going to regret the day she raised her magic against my kingdom.”

When the dawn came, the Belaens mounted their horses and Etta rode to the front. Esme waited for her. The Draconian healer was the only person they had who knew her way around La Dame’s fortress under the mountain and Etta had a crown to find. Esme would lead her straight to La Dame. Etta had never been more sure of anything.

Edmund sat on her other side. “No death speech,” he muttered.

This time, she grinned and raised her voice. “We are doing exactly what La Dame wants us to do. And she knows we will. It’s a circle and we will go round and round guessing what the other will do. OR we end it. They are waiting for us. They are hidden, hoping to surprise us. But we are Belaens. We have spent generations being hunted and persecuted. Decades denied our rightful kingdom. La Dame destroyed Bela once, but we are stronger than our ancestors because we’ve had to be.”

She stopped speaking and nodded to Ara who put her hand to her throat. Silken, spine-chilling words settled over them. “We’re coming for you.”

Etta wanted the Draconians to fear them. She nodded again.

“Are you ready?” Ara asked quietly, sending her words across the land.

Etta nudged Vérité forward, knowing her people would follow her every move. Her hawk-like eyes scanned the gates as she passed between them.

The town that lay on the other side had been carved into the very side of the mountain. Flat stone rooflines extended far into the mountains. They rode through what looked like a marketplace, but empty streets greeted them.

No archers lined the roofs. No magic men appeared in the doors or windows, waiting for them to approach.

The farther in they walked, the more Etta expected attackers to descend on them.

“Where are they?” Tyson asked.

It was a miscalculation. Etta had been so sure of the trap La Dame would set. Roads stretched before them like spokes of a wheel, leading up into the mountains.

“The one on the left leads to the palace,” Esme said.

Etta clenched her teeth, her magic wanting to lash out at the woman.

A crash sounded behind them as the gates shut abruptly, then silence.

Then she heard it, the rumble of hooves on stone.

“Form up,” she screamed.

Landon and Edmund both started barking orders as they prepared for the onslaught. The first riders appeared. One man held his sword aloft and stood on the back of a galloping horse.

“It’s the mercenaries,” Landon said.

“Not the Draconians.” Edmund shot her a sharp look.

“They’re sacrifices.” The horror struck Etta. “They just don’t know it. They’re a distraction.” Why else would she send the mercenaries against magic folk to start the battle?

“Esme,” Etta yelled. “We need to get to that palace.”

The mercenaries met them in a clash of swords. Landon led his force against their own countrymen while the Belaens fended them off with their magic.

Etta jerked Vérité’s reins. Mercenaries continued to pour down every road, save one. La Dame was calling Etta to her.

With one swift kick, Vérité cantered away from the battle ensuing alongside with Esme and her horse beside them.

The mountain drew closer, its black face serving as the front of the palace. “No guards?”

“Does La Dame need them?” Esme asked.

“Good point.”

The doors stood open in invitation and Etta slid down from Vérité’s back. “She’s in there.” She turned to the healer. “Where would the crown be held?”

“She has a treasure room.”

Setting foot into the palace was like taking a walk in the darkness of La Dame’s soul. Pillars of black onyx lined a grand entryway. Etta strode across the dark marble floor, a tiny gasp escaping her when she reached the painting at the end of the entryway. It was the same woman she’d seen in the palace of Bela and thought Aurora. But now she knew for certain she was looking into the face of someone else. “Rapunzel.”

Had the man in the painting in Bela not been King Philip at all? Maybe his son?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Etta asked Esme. “She looks like me. I…”

“I thought you knew.”

Etta backed away from the painting, shaking her head. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the woman with her crystal eyes and golden hair. She tried to breathe as her magic slid within her, cutting off any air. She clutched at her throat and she bent over. Control. Control. She forced out a breath and sucked in harshly, pushed the power down. Her throat loosened, but the rage remained.

She was going to raze this place to the ground.

“Take me to my crown,” she bit out, knowing with sudden clarity wherever that crown lay, La Dame would appear as well.

Esme yanked on her arm and pulled her away from the painting to drag her down a long hall and around the corner. A stairwell of dark stone descended into the earth. Damp air greeted them as they took the steps slowly.

Torches hung along the walls, illuminating a massive cavern under the palace. Etta barely took in her surroundings before finding what she was looking for.

Each detail—down to the row of gems at the base—was so utterly familiar.

“Why did she keep it, Esme?” Etta whispered. The cavernous room demanded hushed tones of respect.

Glass cases on silver pedestals held La Dame’s most prized possessions, but only one called to Etta. She yearned to fold her fingers around it and rest it against her hair. Hair she’d thought a remnant of Aurora’s part in the Basile bloodline. Now she knew better.

“Because it belonged to her daughter,” a familiar voice said, the sound of her boots on stone echoing off the arched ceilings.

Esme’s eyes widened and Etta knew exactly what she’d see when she turned around. Maiya walked across the far end of the room and stopped.

The shock of seeing her old friend again—the girl who’d betrayed her—made Etta struggle to recall what she’d said. When she finally did, it all made sense. She’d had the thought in the back of her mind ever since she’d learned of her Draconian healing powers.

Maiya moved forward again. “Hello, mother.”

Etta looked between them as Esme shot Maiya a warning glance. “You led me here,” Etta accused the older woman.

“Just as you asked me to.”

Etta clenched her jaw and glanced back at the crown. “I did. Everything we’ve done has brought us to this moment.”

Maiya continued closing the distance between them. Her eyes flicked to her mother, and she frowned. In that moment, Etta knew her suspicions had been right. It had been too easy. Nothing in life was coincidental. Esme had betrayed La Dame just when they needed a healer.

Because La Dame hadn’t wanted her to realize her new powers included the Draconian ones.

She’d been right about her.

“She’s been manipulating everything.” Etta spoke to herself and for a moment, she would have sworn regret flashed through Maiya’s eyes.

“Why are you here?” she asked Maiya.

Esme moved behind her daughter and put a hand on each of her shoulders.

Uncertainty crossed the younger girl’s face.

“Etta,” Esme said. “Come here.”

Etta lurched forward as Esme’s magic took hold but she held herself back.

“Persinette Basile,” the woman boomed. “Obey.”

“No,” Etta growled through her resistance.

Esme’s eyes narrowed. “Rapunzel.”

“I. Am. Not. Rapunzel!” Power burst out of Etta in a flash of light. It was too fast for her to control. Esme and Maiya flew into the air as if they weighed nothing at all. They didn’t crash to the ground, instead they hung, suspended midair, unconscious.

A slow clap seemed to come from every direction at once. Etta whipped her head around looking for the source, finally finding La Dame bathed in shadows. Had she been there the whole time? She snapped her fingers and light pushed the darkness away.

It was a face Etta had seen in her dreams, haunting her every thought.

La Dame waved a hand and the two unconscious women dropped to the ground. A cry lodged in Etta’s throat as she saw Maiya’s head loll to the side.

“Interesting,” La Dame said.

Magic raged through Etta, knowing its target. She breathed heavily. “Another sacrifice.” Just like the mercenary forces who’d been sent against the magic folk of Bela. A distraction.

“Hmmm.” La Dame tapped her chin. “Sacrifice is an interesting word. It implies the girl was valuable to me. My dear Persinette, the only person of value to me is you.”

She walked forward, her long silver dress dragging behind her. Etta backed away. “I’m nothing to you.”

A smirk spread across La Dame’s face. “Phillip said the same thing, but he was wrong. He was everything to me. I wanted to destroy him for stealing my darling Rapunzel.”

“But he didn’t steal her, did he?” Etta didn’t know where the courage came from but the power swirled through her chest. “She went with him to escape you.”

“No,” La Dame roared.

“Rapunzel healed Aurora, woke her, and then chose not to return.” Etta pulled her knife free and sliced it across her own forearm before La Dame could stop her. “She married their son. That’s how I got this.” She raised her arm and sent a bolt of warmth along her skin, watching as the wound closed before her eyes. After wiping the blood off on her pants, she raised her eyes once more. La Dame had moved beside Maiya.

“So young. So beautiful. She’s not here as my sacrifice, Persinette.” Dark eyes met hers. “She’s yours.”

“No!” Etta forced her magic to shoot straight for La Dame’s heart.

The sorceress waved the power away.

Etta pulled her sword from the scabbard at her waist. Instinct. Everything her father had taught her. Fight first. Think second. No time for hesitation. She lunged forward into a sprint and jumped toward the raven-haired sorcerer, twisting her sword arm to bring it down at an angle. La Dame pushed a hand out in front of her, sending Etta sailing backward. She rolled as she landed and popped back up.

La Dame raised one brow. “I see Viktor’s influence in you.”

Etta ground her teeth. “Do not speak of my father. You knew nothing of him.”

“My dear, I fear it is you who are gloriously misinformed. Viktor was a dear friend.”

“You lie.”

“Well, we all have our opinions, don’t we? It saddened me to hear of his untimely demise.”

Etta lurched forward, flinging her knife with every bit of strength she possessed.

La Dame laughed as it clattered to the ground. “So very Basile of you. Viktor always thought of conventional weapons before his magic as well. Though, he didn’t possess the great Basile powers.” She cocked her head mockingly. “You can’t control them, can you?”

A crunch snapped her attention to Esme and Maiya who were stirring. Maiya scrambled out of the way, her doe eyes huge. Etta tried not to pity the scared girl who’d been dragged into her parents scheming, and for a moment it worked. Her magic found its target, and a flame rose, spreading toward the two women Etta once counted as friends.

Maiya screamed as the fire engulfed her mother’s body and Etta felt nothing at all. She no longer had to direct the magic, it took control on its own.

La Dame’s laughter slammed into Etta and it was only then she realized what she was doing. The flames extinguished immediately and Esme coughed.

“Yes,” La Dame said, standing still among the shadows. She smoothed her hands calmly down over her black dress before settling her blazing eyes on Etta. “Good, Persinette. Give in to the darkness.”

White-hot fury raced through Etta and it took everything she had to control the power it brought with it.

“You can sense it.” La Dame grinned. “I know you can. The emotion. It feels good.”

Magic expelled from every part of Etta, twisting around the room. Every glass case shattered at once, the shards lifting into the air.

Etta pointed them at La Dame and flicked her hand. They sped through the room, dropping with a clatter before reaching their intended target. One made it farther, scraping against La Dame’s cheek before falling. She wiped at the tiny trickle of blood in surprise.

Etta’s chest expanded rapidly. La Dame was right. She felt the power, and the intensity was exhilarating.

Fire raged in Etta’s eyes.

“Feed it, Persinette. Let it take you over.”

“I-I can’t.” Etta stumbled back. “No.”

“You came to me for a reason. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. Your father thought he could thwart me by marrying a woman with no power. He thought that would keep the curse at bay. But I own you. I’ve always owned you.”

La Dame threw a force at her that sucked the air from her lungs. Her knees buckled and slammed into the stone floor beneath her. Anger. Hatred. It was all she had. All that had existed since the curse no longer filled her.

Blackness clouded her vision as a scream rose up around her. It sounded like her, but she was so very far away.

“Yes!” La Dame laughed.

“Etta, no!” Maiya yelled. She was cut off abruptly as La Dame forced her back against the wall.

Etta sent wave after wave of power toward La Dame and she fought each of them off easily. With every moment, the magic took more control. Etta faded into the background and Persinette was relentless.

Her golden hair glowed and whipped around her shoulders. When her blazing eyes met La Dame’s, she sensed approval, respect even.

“This is what you’ve wanted,” La Dame said. “Ever since the day these powers invaded your heart. They are who you are, who you’re supposed to be. My Rapunzel.”

“Rapunzel,” Etta whispered, the name sounded wrong. She wasn’t Rapunzel. Rapunzel had been courageous. She’d given up everything to escape this life. She’d never ceded control. No, Etta wasn’t her. She was weak. The darkness crumbled everything beneath her until her feet no longer stood on solid ground.

She thrust her fist against the floor. Tiny shards of glass embedded themselves in her skin. She hit it again. The blood trickled between her fingers. On the third time, the ground rumbled as if she called her magic from the depths of the earth. The mountain that housed the palace shook. Pillars of stone fell around them.

“More,” La Dame yelled. “Release it all.”

Maiya screamed as she dodged falling stone, her dark curls coated in raining debris. “Etta, you’re going to bury us.”

She didn’t care. All that mattered was tearing it down. Holes punched into her soul and she screamed as if it was ripping her apart. Her body couldn’t hold it. The magic must be released. She raised up on her hands and knees as someone else ran into the room. “Etta!” Tyson yelled.

“No.” She shook her head, unable to see anything but darkness. “No!”

“Etta stop,” Maiya pleaded. “She’s trying to drain your magic. To make the Basile power leave you! If you use too much of it, you won’t get it back.”

Tyson acted quickly, sending a tunnel of water straight for her, but La Dame blocked it. The force of his halted magic threw Tyson into Maiya and they crumpled to the ground.

La Dame laughed as Etta’s power built. The dark queen jumped away from falling stone. “Come to me, Rapunzel. Together, we can hold the world.”

She held out a hand.

Etta stood slowly and stepped forward. “I am not Rapunzel,” she gritted out, forcing breath into her lungs. Her feet moved as if stuck in quicksand as it pulled her down, trying to take the words before she could say them. “I am not yours. My father was Viktor Basile. I am the rightful Belaen queen. You will not control me.” La Dame brought up her hands to ward off Etta’s magic with her own, but it was no use. The burst of light broke through her shield, striking La Dame in the center of her chest.

She stumbled back but remained upright. Etta advanced, her power begging to test itself against La Dame’s again.

The Basile magic and La Dame’s existed to balance each other. To make sure each always had an equal, an opponent. It was never meant to be on the same side.

The hatred that burned through Etta was strongest when staring into the eyes of her greatest enemy—the woman who’d destroyed her kingdom, her family.

“No more,” Etta said, mostly to herself. Power twisted in the palms of her hands as she raised them in the air. It writhed and fought for supremacy, matching the darkness in her eyes.

She didn’t notice Tyson and Maiya dragging Esme out of the way as her eyes were solely focused on her opponent who was now finding it hard to breathe. La Dame clutched at her throat, trying to break the magic.

But she couldn’t. She knew it the moment Etta lifted her into the air. She’d pushed her too far, past the point of conversation, past the road that led to redemption.

The ancient Basile power that had seen kingdoms rise and fall and lain dormant for generations gathered within Etta’s heart, pulling in all its strength.

She threw La Dame back against the wall with so much force, the mountain shook once more. Her lip curled up, and she hardened her eyes as the magic detonated like a bomb inside of her, ripping her soul to shreds before slamming into La Dame. It curled with her own power before light burst from her every orifice.

La Dame dropped to the ground, her face twisted in pain, and her body charred almost beyond recognition.

Power blasted from La Dame, latching onto Etta’s. She wouldn’t let it go.

Etta stared at her, the rage continuing to burn. She wanted to hurt them all. The ones who betrayed her. The ones who fought for La Dame. They would pay.

“Etta,” Tyson called.

She turned. Her brother stood next to Maiya and a now upright Esme. Their ending would come with one flick of her hand. The desire to see their pain pierced what was left of her heart and she ran towards them. They didn’t deserve her magic. She picked up her sword on the way and lunged, expecting blade to meet flesh.

Steel flashed in front of her face as Tyson blocked her thrust.

“Etta,” he said. “Stop.”

“You don’t give me orders,” she growled as she lunged for Maiya again. Maiya jumped away and metal clanged against metal as Tyson blocked her once again.

“This isn’t you,” he yelled. “Fight it. Fight the magic.”

“The magic is me.” Her voice shook with crazed intensity. “I am the Basile heir.”

“Please.” His eyes flicked between her and what remained of La Dame. “We need you, Etta. We’re losing out there.”

“Etta,” a voice sounded around her. Ara. “There’s another force moving in from the South. We can’t hold our position here. Get us inside those walls.”

Some sense of purpose returned to her. Maiya’s fate had to wait. Sword in hand, she took off running. Along the palace halls, tables lay on end, chairs were strewn about, paintings had fallen from walls.

Everything was a blur as she tried to find her way. The past melted away until all that existed was the power. Where was she? Who was she? The magic took hold of the beat of her heart, her every breath. Pain sliced through her chest, the power tearing her up from the inside.

She couldn’t stop.

It wanted to ravage.

Blackness swam before her eyes but she pushed on.

Outside those walls were people who deserved its wrath. They’d followed the woman who tried to keep the power from its rightful owner.

She paused at the entrance to the palace. The onyx pillars that had been so ominous before, now leaned, doing their best to hold up a falling roof. The earth shook again with the tremors of what her magic had done.

Wood cracked and her eyes snapped to the source. The portrait of Rapunzel had fallen from its place of honor, its cherry red frame broken. The woman in the painting stared at Etta through her own eyes.

“Rapunzel,” Etta breathed, only slightly aware of Tyson’s approach. Her father thought he was so clever, using a different language to name her for the first woman who defied La Dame—her own daughter.

Persinette was the last. The final. La Dame was no more. At that thought, Etta’s power leaped inside of her and she turned her back on the girl they all wanted her to be.

She might have had the golden hair and the defiant eyes, but she was no Rapunzel.

Outside the palace, chaos reigned. The battle had closed in on them. Madrans faced off against mercenaries from their own kingdom. Belaen sorcerers fought those from Dracon. None of them knew La Dame was gone. She’d disappeared from this land without everything breaking apart and Etta had never felt more powerful because of it.

Before, her power had only been part of a whole, but the magic she’d taken from La Dame made it complete.

“Etta,” Tyson said. “We need to get to the gatehouse.” He pointed down the road that would lead to the structure containing the mechanism that opened the large gate. Etta shook her head. How did he expect her to follow him when there were so many enemies to be dealt with here?

She balled up her fist, letting the magic pool together before throwing it forward. Draconians, Belaens, and Madrans alike flew through the sky, blasted apart, leaving behind a gaping hole in the earth.

One side of Etta’s mouth curled up, and she held her sword aloft as she charged toward a group of Draconians. They gave her everything they had, sending their magic her way, but she brushed each bit of power away. Nothing could stop her.

Pulling back her own power, she dove into the fight, only releasing it in pieces as she sliced through her enemies. Warm blood splattered onto her face and she laughed. A tall Draconian man with thick tattoos snaking down both arms charged at her. She held up one palm, and he stopped, clutching at his throat as she sucked every bit of air from his lungs.

His face contorted, and he fell to his knees. Other Draconians tried to help him and she fought them off while maintaining her hold.

The magic seeped deep into her mind, stealing everything from her except for her need to fight.

When his body stopped twitching, she raised her eyes to the horror-filled face of a battle-weary Balean soldier. Edmund. His name was Edmund. She tried to recall anything else about him but shook her head when she couldn’t and tried to bull by him. He blocked her path, putting a hand on her arm to hold her back.

“Etta,” he said.

She flicked her eyes from his face to the hand on her arm, the magic goading her into doing something about it. One last shred of sanity reminded her Belaens weren’t the enemy, but that was as far as it went. If they weren’t her enemies, what were they? She didn’t know. The confusion locked with the darkness swirling inside of her. Nothing. They were nothing.

A blast sounded behind them and Etta turned, ready to meet whoever sent rock raining down on them. She froze when her eyes met those of the woman she’d come to destroy.

La Dame’s charred body healed itself, pink skin slowly smoothing over the burned surface. Soon, only her eyes spoke of fire.

Fear tried to intrude on Etta’s mind but she pushed it away. There was no time to be afraid.

Edmund stepped up to her side as if he would be any help against the sorceress. The battle swirled around them. Grunts of pain. Clashes of steel. Bodies dropping to the ground. But none of it would make any difference. It didn’t matter how many Draconians were killed if their sorcerer lived; how much blood was spilled if Etta lost.

“You have something that belongs to me,” La Dame said, not a hint of emotion in her voice. She narrowed her eyes.

Etta breathed heavily, control unraveling in her chest.

“You feel it.” La Dame cocked her head. “My magic fights with yours.”

Pain sliced through Etta’s chest and she doubled over.

“Etta,” Edmund yelled.

La Dame took a step forward. “It’s going to destroy you. That much power. You must release it all.”

Etta sucked air through her teeth and shook her head. “I can’t let it return to you.”

“Shame. We could have done great things together.”

Etta’s ribs cracked as if being broken apart from the inside. She screamed and fell to her knees.

La Dame advanced with the eyes of a predator. She circled Etta but Edmund drew his sword, blocking her way. Etta’s cry ripped through the air as the magic pulsed through her limbs, hitting every nerve along her bones. A soldier fell beside her, hitting the ground with a thud and going still.

La Dame flicked her eyes from Edmund’s sword to Etta who struggled to rise. “You can’t protect her, boy. Not when the thing she needs protection from is herself.” She advanced.

Etta lifted her eyes as her stomach cramped and sweat beaded across her brow. A growl ripped from her throat. “No!”

Sympathy entered La Dame’s gaze but Etta thought she imagined it. Why would the woman feel sorry for her? She wanted to destroy her. To recover the power squeezing around Etta’s heart.

“You feel it.” La Dame’s lip curled. “The darkness. You want to give in to it. Your magic pulled mine in like two of the same kind, but they aren’t the same at all, are they? Soon, what you took from me will overcome everything inside of you. Every light will be extinguished and you will finally understand.”

A tear tracked down Etta’s soot-covered face as she gave in to the agony breaking her. “Understand what?”

La Dame leaned down, her black eyes dangerous. “What it truly means to be me. I am not the villain in your story, Persinette, dear. You are.”

The words sank into Etta, ringing truer than any before them. Was La Dame right? Etta shook her head, trying to let the buzzing of her magic drown out the battle cries around them. Soldiers died because of her. She’d brought them here. She’d been determined to break the curse and to destroy the woman who’d taken everything from her. But at what cost? She’d been right. La Dame knew they’d come. She knew Etta would surrender herself to the power, to the darkness.

She’d planned for it.

A smile tilted La Dame’s lips. Whichever army defeated the other this day, the ancient sorceress thought she’d won.

But she was just a woman now. Only a Draconian with an ability to heal. Unless Etta released it, she no longer had the power to do as she wished; to finally take the last curse-bearer under her power.

Etta gritted her teeth, pushing a stab of pain away from her mind. “You,” she breathed, her voice growing louder with each word. “Will. Not. Destroy.” She rose to her feet, her magic curling in her palms. “Me.”

She did as La Dame wished. She released it, but it wasn’t La Dame’s own power that struck the space between them. Basile magic, once trapped by La Dame’s curse, struck her in the chest, burning through her. Light exploded from every orifice and a scream fractured everything the world knew to be true.

La Dame had been the most powerful woman there was. She’d terrorized people for centuries, trapping three entire kingdoms in the palm of her hand.

No longer.

Now there was Persinette.

Beside her, Edmund gasped as La Dame’s body withered until only a cloud of ash remained. No more healing. No more magic.

Etta’s magic snapped back into her chest, sending her stumbling back in shock. Was La Dame really gone.

“Etta, watch out!”

Seconds after Edmund’s warning, the sun glinted off an oncoming blade. Etta ducked, rolling to the ground and retrieved a knife laying abandoned nearby. Her attacker swung his sword down and she lunged for his legs, slicing the blade across the armor gaps behind each knee.

The large man dropped his sword, pitching forward with a roar leaving his mouth. Etta scrambled out of the way as he fell where she’d been only moments before.

He wasn’t dead, but Etta no longer cared. Her eyes returned to the place La Dame had disappeared from as her lungs struggled for breath. Her magic and La Dame’s continued to battle within her, making her head feel as if it had cracked open.

“Get us through that gate!” The cry surrounded them, spreading through the air, blanketing them in the desperation of the small force they’d left outside Dracon. Ara’s voice grew frantic, but Etta felt the girl’s magic weakening.

Bela was being overwhelmed.

A horn blared from a distance.

Landon ran toward them, blood and grit dripping down his face. “That’s a Madran horn,” he panted, putting his hands on his knees and shaking his head.

“She kept a part of her mercenary army from the fight and now…” Edmund’s mouth dropped open in horror.

Tyson joined them and finished the thought. “They’re outside the gates.” He covered his mouth with his hand. “Ara.”

A low hum rumbled through Etta’s chest and she gave one short shake of her head. “We aren’t losing this fight.”

They tried to follow her as she walked directly through the center of the battle, but she threw a magical barrier behind her to make them stay. In this, she must be alone.

The Belaen’s were outmatched. These people barely had any training and had spent most of their lives trying to hide the fact their magic existed inside of them.

Hers no longer only existed. It lived. It grew. It pushed her to new limits.

It became her.

No one could touch her when she left the Belaen defenses to move directly among the Draconians. Every slash of a sword or blast of magic was met with bone-crushing resistance. She barely had to make a move. The magic flowed out of her effortlessly.

“Enough,” she said to no one but herself.

A battle is loud. It’s dirty and chaotic and everything Etta never wanted to see in her life. But once she’d seen it, it called to her.

Etta blocked out the call. She pushed away every crash of a weapon and the screams of the injured. The only thing that existed to her was the song of the magic in her veins; the pain of the war within her. She funneled the power down her arms and into her hands, her golden hair once again picking up the ethereal glow.

Her lips tilted up, but the concentration in her face was unmistakable. Closing her eyes, she let the darkness consume her. Inhaling deeply, she pushed the magic out of her, tunneling it down directly into the earth.

Her body vibrated with the energy and it felt good. When the earth began to shake and crack open, she didn’t move. A deafening sound came from deep in the ground as her magic tore it apart.

She didn’t open her eyes until something hard slammed into her from the side and she fell. Her eyes snapped open to find Edmund on top of her.

“Get off,” she yelled.

He rolled sideways, a flash of pain crossing his weary face. It was only then that she saw the gash in his stomach.

“You’re hurt,” she accused. Was she supposed to care? She remembered time spent with the man, but the magic blocked her from feeling anything at all, yet something told her to pause and make sure he wasn’t going to die.

“You trying to get yourself killed?” He pressed a hand to the open wound to stop the bleeding.

He stared behind her and she turned to find a rip in the earth separating the two armies. Some tried to cross it, but it was too wide. The fighting inside Dracon was paused for now.

As she decided on her next move, something didn’t let her leave him. “Dammit,” she growled, lunging for the blond man’s arm. Jerking him to her roughly, she put a hand against his wound and it began to close.

“You are still in there.” His stare hurt as if he tried to see something that was no longer there. She turned away.

“Etta,” Ara’s voice sounded again. Another horn blasted through the confusion, different from the one before.

“That’s not a Madran horn.” Edmund’s eyes widened. “It’s…”

Etta took off running, needing to get to the gates. Her feet picked up speed, and she launched herself across the gully, barely coming up short of the other side. She slammed into the edge and grappled for something to hold on to, using her magic to call forth vines. As she climbed to the surface, Draconian eyes followed her. No one made a move against her as she pulled herself to her feet, not bothering to draw her sword. Her magic was all she needed.

There was a rumble from the direction of the palace as the earth groaned and shifted. Still, no one struck. She walked through the gaggle of enemy soldiers to reach the wall. The gatehouse was still a fair distance away, and she knew what she had to do.

She found a set of steps to the top of the wall. It had been abandoned even before the battle. She pounded up the steps, ascending to the top of Dracon.

Tear it all down, her magic begged. Unleash the Basile wrath.

She reached the top of the wall. On one side were Belaens and Draconians still trying to figure out how to cross the divide to resume the fight. On the other side, two armies faced off with a tiny force in the middle. That would be Ara.

From the direction of the mountains, the larger part of the Madran Mercenary army came into view.

And then there was the other force.

He came. A small part of her still held on to the Gaulean king, but any love for him or joy or worry was hidden beneath the rage of her magic.

She crouched down, laying her hands upon the rough stones protecting Dracon.

She clenched her jaw and sweat poured down her face as she battled for control. Her throat constricted before an explosion in her chest pushed heat down her limbs. Magic pulsed out of her. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wall shook. She steadied herself and poured every ounce of power she had remaining to bring this kingdom to its knees. This was her final vengeance. This was what the power wanted.

Destroy.

Crush.

Bring the barrier down.

The wall undulated, the stones rising and falling with each pulse of magic. Yet she kept going. It would have all of her. When the wall started to break, the section she stood on tilted forward, the ground beneath it moving in sync with the beat of her magic, preparing to swallow it whole.

Her feet left the ground as the rocks sailed through the air and the wall of Dracon crumbled to the ground.

20

“They’re moving into position,” someone called. At this point, Alex wasn’t sure who the voice belonged to. He and his entirely too small force of Gauleans had been riding hard for days with very little time for rest and still, they may have arrived too late.

The ground shook beneath his feet. Etta. Or La Dame. Only they would have that kind of power.

He sent out a prayer that Etta was okay.

“Alexandre.” Amalie pushed her horse up beside him. When he didn’t answer, she tried again. “Your Highness.”

Yes, that was right. He wasn’t a king any longer. He glanced behind him. Yet these people continued to follow him.

“Alex,” Ara’s voice rang in his ears. “Please tell me that’s you.” His eyes jerked to the small group of soldiers standing between the two forces. As if sensing his questions, Ara kept going. “Etta is inside the walls. I’ve reached out to her but have received no response.”

“We have to get to Ara.” Alex turned to Amalie. “Are you prepared for this?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.” Her eyes drifted to the walls of Dracon. “If Etta is in there, it means Tyson is as well. We have to help them.”

Alex lingered for a moment, watching the girl who’d once been his betrothed. She was no longer the shy flower of the Leroy family. They were all hardened now, and he wondered if any of them would be able to find their way back to who they’d been before.

“Let’s move.” He kicked his horse, leading his troops from the relative safety of their position. “Horn.”

The horn of Gaule pierced the air. Who was the other force? They could be non-magic mercenaries or Draconians who would defeat them easily. But now they’d know the once-king of Gaule was coming for them.

A volley of arrows arced toward them but fell short of their thundering horses as they neared Ara’s position.

Alex jumped from his horse and ran to greet her.

“I am beyond glad to see you, your Majesty,” she said, a relieved smile tilting her lips.

He wouldn’t correct her just now. There’d be time for that later.

“We’ve moved out of range,” she said. “But they’re preparing to press forward. The queen needed me out here to watch for surprises and alert them. I’ve been telling them to get those damn gates open, but her Majesty might not be able to receive my messages. She might be—”

“Don’t,” Alex grunted. “There’s no time to think like that. Not when La Dame lies beyond those walls and we don’t know who we face here.”

“It’s Madran mercenaries. If they were Draconians, they’d be able to reach us with their magic. Plus, La Dame is probably surrounding herself with the more powerful fighters.”

Alex scratched the back of his neck. That was good news then.

Ara continued. “I don’t have many magic folk. Etta couldn’t spare them. She left me with a contingent of Madran soldiers.”

He tried to push all worries of Etta, Edmund, and Tyson from his mind but as he lifted his eyes to the wall, he saw her.

Etta was unmistakable with her blazing golden hair.

“What is she doing?” Amalie asked.

Alex didn’t answer, too relieved to see her there and alive. There was something different about her, he could tell even at this distance. It was almost as if an aura of magic surrounded her, distorting the air.

Ara grinned. “She heard me.” She met Alex’s gaze. “She’s bringing down the wall.”

A boom burst through the air and Etta rose up with the wall beneath her before it slammed back to the ground. It cracked and broke apart at the base, happening in slow motion. All they could do was watch as Etta was thrown forward.

Alex waited for her to use her power to stop her descent, to save herself. That moment never came. She rushed to meet the ground, stones large and small raining down around her, burying her in the rubble.

Alex didn’t think before jumping back into his saddle and jerking the reins around while digging his heels into the horse’s flanks. They took off with the speed of an arrow, loosed expertly toward its target.

Draconians rushed through the fallen wall and Alex yanked his bow free from where it was hooked behind him. Drawing an arrow was as easy to him as drawing a breath. He fired in rapid succession as he neared the place where she’d fallen.

He didn’t hear his force thundering after him or the Madran mercenaries joining in the rush toward the center of Dracon. All he heard was the twang of his bowstring and the steady drumming of his horse’s hooves.

When he loosed his last arrow, he pulled his sword free and jumped from the horse without bothering to pull him to a stop.

He’d never claimed to be skilled with a sword, but no one could stop him from getting to her.

His soldiers’ arrival turned the tide of the battle as they bolstered the Belaen spirits. By the time they were embroiled in the fight, magic had been drained from Belaens and Draconians alike.

He caught sight of the familiar form of his brother, cutting his way through entire hordes of men to get to the wall. Matteo and Edmund held each other up as they fought one handed.

Tyson reached Alex, his eyes flicking to the piles of stones. None of them could see Etta.

“La Dame is dead,” Tyson confirmed breathlessly. “Etta killed her.”

Alex barely heard his words. “Where is she? I saw her fall.” His eyes drifted to the canyon that now stretched far into Dracon. He shook his head. “No.”

Tears shone in Tyson’s tired eyes and Amalie moved closer to him. As they stood still, their worlds falling apart, the battle continued to rage around them.

“La Dame is dead.” Ara’s voice fell around each soldier—Belaen, Draconian, Madran. “The queen of Dracon is dead. Throw down your weapons. There is no more reason for our fight.”

Alex turned from the dead-strewn battlefield as weapons were thrown down.

“They’re doing it,” Tyson said in surprise, his voice choked.

“Of course they are.” A man Alex didn’t recognize said. “Without La Dame, there is no one to pay the Madran mercenaries. And with her gone, the Draconians are free.”

Dazed men and women drifted across the broken city. Buildings lay in ruins, roads were cracked, and right at the center was a dark pit that had stolen everything.

Everything. That’s what Etta was. She was the reason Alex hadn’t fought for his crown.

She was the queen who’d made her people believe again.

“We can’t tell them,” Ara said quietly, her eyes drifting to the exhausted Belaen warriors who were now checking their dead. “Some will have seen, but we can’t… not yet.”

Alex walked away without another word, back through the rubble of the fallen wall and away from everything he’d thought he could save.

Persinette Basile wasn’t someone you could hold on to. She wasn’t someone who could be saved.

He’d known it and yet…

His foot slipped on a pile of tiny rocks and he fell, his butt slamming into the ground. He knew he should still be on guard. He wasn’t an idiot. The Draconians were still the enemy—maybe… hell, no one knew what they were without La Dame.

But he didn’t care.

He bent his knees and rested his elbows on them, letting his chin dip to his chest as people streamed by. The chaos of battle hadn’t ended, only shifted to something else, and he got lost in it.

When Etta thought she was losing him, she’d found magic within herself to prevent that fate. But he had no magic. He couldn’t change this.

She’d accomplished everything she’d set out to do. La Dame would no longer terrorize the world. Dracon was defeated.

But so were they.

They’d lost because she was lost.

Persinette wasn’t only the Belaen queen, she was his. He would have followed her anywhere.

A warm nose nudged the side of his face and he lifted his eyes to familiar brown ones. “We lost her, boy.”

Vérité snorted and stomped his foot.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered before narrowing his eyes in accusation. “Where were you? You’re supposed to protect her.”

It didn’t escape his notice that for once, Vérité wasn’t trying to bite him. In this sorrow, they were together.

Vérité kicked again.

“I’m sorry.” He buried his face in his hands. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He’d always thought it was weird that Etta talked to a horse and now he found himself doing the same thing. If only he could figure out what those intense eyes were trying to tell him.

Vérité bared his teeth and lowered his head to catch the edge of Alex’s chain mail between them and tugged.

Alex snapped his head up. “What?”

Vérité tugged again.

It was a foolish hope, but hope was a foolish emotion and he wanted nothing more than to give into it, so he jumped to his feet. Vérité snorted and started walking back into Dracon.

Edmund and Tyson called out to Alex, but he ignored them and kept going.

Vérité stopped at the side of the canyon and stomped his foot. When Alex didn’t move, he stomped it again.

Alex couldn’t see over the edge so he got to his knees and leaned out farther, trying not to lose his balance. The first thing he saw was the golden hair. It no longer glowed, but it still called to him. Etta was pressed to the side of the canyon with thick vines crossing her back, keeping her from falling.

* * *

Etta’s eyelids slid open against their will. The blackness pulled her toward its peaceful nothingness.

No.

She wouldn’t give in.

When she came back to herself, she was suspended over a wide-open hole. A hole she’d created. She didn’t know what was happening above but the last few moments came back to her. She’d taken down the wall and given all the magic she had left. It had rushed out of her and then she was falling, unable to call it back.

With the last bit of power she could summon, she’d brought forth the vines. It was the most basic of her magic, not a part of the Basile power. Making things grow was only her, just Etta. It had seemed right for that to be the last thing she ever did.

She hadn’t expected to wake. Not when she’d drained herself so completely.

Someone called to her, but the voice seemed far away.

“Etta.”

It was like waking from a dream. She remembered it all. Every person she’d slain. The charred, broken body of La Dame. The harsh words she’d spoken. But they didn’t feel like her memories. The rage and the hate weren’t her emotions.

For the first time since the Basile magic coursed through her, her mind was truly clear. She knew who she was. She was the queen of Bela. She was Persinette Basile. But most of all, she was still Etta.

Reaching up, she grabbed onto the vines holding her and pulled. Her magic released.

The vines pulled her up to the lip of the ravine and she prepared to rejoin the battle, with her sword, not her magic, pulling it free of its scabbard.

Her vision cleared and two faces looked down on her. Chocolate eyes scanned her face. Her best friend. Vérité shook his head, his mane flopping to the side.

The second was a face she never thought she’d see again, and it felt as if she was seeing him for the first time. There was no curse holding them together and no magic keeping them apart. She reached the top, and he held out his hand. She took it without hesitation and allowed him to pull her the rest of the way up. He fell back on his knees clutching her to him. She let herself sink into his embrace as she tentatively ran her fingers over his jaw and down to his chest.

A throat cleared behind them and for the first time, she saw something other than Alex. The battle no longer roared with its ugly song. People wept alongside fallen friends. Others tried to gather themselves and get far from this tainted place.

Tyson rushed forward and dropped down next to Etta, wrapping his arms around both her and Alex.

“We thought you were gone.” His voice clogged with tears.

As the memories assaulted her, she knew he didn’t just mean after the wall fell.

“I was,” she whispered. “I—” She sucked in a breath and buried her face in Alex’s shoulder. “It took control of me.”

Tyson nodded in his too-damn-understanding way. “But you did it. La Dame is gone. You beat her.”

Etta shook her head. She could picture the woman’s final moment, but she wouldn’t truly believe it until she saw her palace empty. She pushed away from Alex and tried to stand. Her legs were too weak, but he jumped up to steady her.

“I need to see it,” she pleaded.

He led her to Vérité. The horse took a moment to nuzzle her before Alex lifted her into the saddle. He climbed up behind her and she directed him toward the palace.

The grand home of La Dame built into the side of the mountain now lay as broken as the rest of the kingdom. The doorway was all but collapsed, with only a small opening. They left Vérité outside and climbed over fallen pillars and past the image of Rapunzel.

Etta hoped she’d done her ancestor proud. Rapunzel was the first to defy La Dame when she let Phillip spirit her away. Persinette was the last to defy her. Maybe that was why her father had given her such a powerful name. It didn’t mean much to Etta, but it would to the Draconians. Maybe it would allow for peace.

Etta had never been trained to break the curse. Her father told her it couldn’t be done. She’d thought that meant he didn’t believe in her. Maybe giving her the name Persinette was his way of showing her what he’d feared she’d been meant for. Maybe he’d had faith in her after all.

Etta’s legs strengthened with each step she took, her energy returning to her. It wasn’t the same as the Basile magic, but if all she had left was the Basile determination, she’d take it.

The doorway to the treasure room was still intact but the room itself was in disarray. Shattered glass, scattered prizes, and a single body.

When Etta peered into the home of her family’s greatest enemy, she only felt sorrow. La Dame’s curse destroyed Bela and imprisoned generations of Basiles, but in the end, Etta saw her for what she was. A lonely woman who’d been twisted by magic.

Etta had a taste of it. The Basile magic had been too much. That much power wasn’t meant to be held by one person. It only created anger and hatred. When she’d taken La Dame’s power into her as well, it destroyed everything she was. The dark Draconian magic warred with the Basile until they crushed each other, almost taking Etta with it.

Never again.

That power was gone, released into the atmosphere. Drained from Etta. In the throes of her rage, she’d used too much magic at once and it had saved her life.

Tearing her eyes from the spot she’d taken the only thing La Dame truly cared about—her magic, Etta caught sight of a flash of dark curls.

“Maiya,” she said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The young girl appeared, her hands clasped behind her back and her lip between her teeth.

Alex narrowed his eyes, but Etta put a hand on his arm. She was tired of animosity.

“Come here.” It wasn’t a demand, but Maiya took it as such. “Is your mother…”

“Dead,” Maiya confirmed, no remorse in her voice.

“I see.”

Maiya dropped to her knees as tears spilled from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Etta, I didn’t have a choice.”

“You will call her by her title,” Alex barked.

“Alex.” Etta sighed. “Please. No more anger. Let her speak.”

“Thank you, y-your Majesty,” she stuttered. “I didn’t know my mother. That was true. And my father didn’t have a choice. La Dame was threatening me.”

La Dame’s words ran through Etta’s mind. She is a sacrifice. She’s not my sacrifice, she’s yours.

She’d tried to get Etta to kill an innocent, hoping it would push her further into the dark corners of her power.

La Dame knew Maiya to be an innocent.

“What do you have behind your back, Maiya,” Etta asked calmly.

Maiya lifted her eyes to meet Etta’s and pulled her hands around, holding up the Basile crown for Etta to take. “For you, your Majesty.”

Etta’s hands shook as she folded them around the golden circlet, its jewels shining. Alex took it from her and she met his gaze in question.

He lifted the corners of his mouth. “Allow me, my queen.” He set the crown atop her golden hair.

A commotion sounded from the door and Edmund was all but carrying Matteo through. “Etta,” he began. “Now that you aren’t super angry or super dead, do you think you can heal Matteo so I can stop carrying his ass around? I didn’t trust any of the Draconians to do it.”

Etta laughed despite herself. “Super dead as opposed to just dead? I’m glad to know you’re happy I’m still breathing.”

“Just heal Matteo and then I can celebrate properly the fact you’re alive, La Dame is dead, and Alex showed up at the last moment to act like he had a hand in winning the battle when all he really did was steal some of our glory.”

Matteo snorted. “Real funny, but kind of in pain here.”

Etta’s brows drew together. “I can’t,” she admitted quietly.

“Etta,” Edmund chastised. “We all know Matteo can be kind of an ass, but that’s no reason to withhold some of your magic goodness.”

“I think I should be offended,” Matteo said with a wince. “But I just want to close my eyes.” His body started to slump and Edmund caught him.

“Etta,” Edmund yelled. “Stop playing around.” He lowered him to the ground, his voice growing frantic. “Do it now!”

Etta slid to her knees beside her cousin. “I can’t.” She looked down at her hands as if they’d betrayed her. Her next words were barely above a whisper but every person present heard her. “My magic is gone. La Dame’s power and the Basile power… they destroyed each other. When I took down the wall, every bit of both magics left me.”

The room went so silent, they could have heard a snowflake hit the ground.

Matteo groaned.

“I can do it,” Maiya’s small voice echoed behind them.

Etta glanced from Maiya to Alex. Could they trust her?

“We don’t have a choice,” she said finally. “Do it, Maiya.”

Maiya knelt beside Etta, laying her hands on Matteo’s chest. Before long, his breathing became more regular and his eyes opened once again. He coughed weakly and the entire room exhaled.

Alex pulled Etta up beside him. “Is your magic really gone?”

“The Basile power is. I still have the magic I was born with. It’s all I feel.”

He pressed his nose to the side of her face. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, realizing the truth. She was glad it was gone.

“Etta,” Tyson said, hesitating. “You scared me… before… when we were down here.”

She thought back on the fight. Tyson had been there. She closed her eyes, wishing he hadn’t seen that. When she opened them again, she walked toward him and wrapped her arms around him.

“It’s over,” she said.

After a few moments, his arms circled her waist and tightened. “It’s over,” he mimicked, his voice breaking on the words.

She repeated the phrase in her head, trying to believe it. Everything was done, finished. The curse. The vengeful power she’d had within her for so long. La Dame. All of it. Squeezing her brother tighter, she released a breath and felt the emptiness she’d had since the breaking of the curse begin to fill.

21

“As the world ended, all we could do was watch,” Alex said, leaning back on his arms. He sat far from the walls of Dracon in a camp of their own making. None of them wanted to sleep amongst the ghosts of that fallen kingdom for one single night.

“Um.” Edmund shot him a strange look from where he rested against a sleeping Matteo. “The world didn’t end, dumbass.”

“It sort of did. At least the world we knew.” Alex had never seen Edmund openly affectionate with another man. He’d always known Edmund’s preferences but through the lens of his friend’s feelings toward him.

The odd thing was that it didn’t feel odd to him. When his father lived, Edmund would have been imprisoned and perhaps even executed for it in Gaule, but as he’d said, that world no longer existed and his friend seemed happy.

Etta sat a safe distance from Alex. She’d been different toward him since the shock of the day’s events wore off, but as she watched him, he knew something had changed. She’d once told him the magic was trying to control her. Now that it was gone, she’d become the girl who’d won the tournament in Gaule again. The one who’d created a meadow of flowers in the Black Forest and who’d given everything she had to save him from the tower.

Alex met her intense gaze as he went on to explain himself. “For hundreds of years, La Dame has controlled this world. She destroyed kingdoms and struck such fear in others that they went to great lengths to avoid crossing her. Her own people served as nothing more than slaves to her whims. Now we’re all free. The Madrans and Belaens can once again control the seas with trade. The Gauleans can break free of the fear that rules their lives. The Draconians can live their lives as they wish.” He looked at them each in turn, finally landing on Etta. “Both La Dame’s magic and the Basile magic are no more.”

“We’re free,” Etta breathed. “All of us.”

“I still have a problem with your original statement,” Edmund cut in. “Some of us did a lot more than watch.”

“You’re right.” Tyson smirked. “Etta broke the chains.”

Edmund opened his mouth to protest again, but Etta shrugged, a beautiful grin appearing on her face. She touched the crown that sat on the table beside her. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I only came today to retrieve my crown.” Her grin widened. “La Dame died of old age.”

Tyson nodded seriously. “Plausible. She was very old.”

“The oldest,” Alex agreed.

Edmund crossed his arms over his chest. “You aren’t going to take any of the glory, are you?”

“What glory?” Etta asked. “I tripped on my way to the palace and knocked myself out.” She shrugged. “I only woke when I was dangling above a ravine. Missed the entire battle.”

Alex laughed and Tyson joined him. Soon, a smile broke out on Edmund’s face as well.

Tyson held a finger to his lips as he glanced toward the sleeping Amalie.

Ara pushed into the tent and stopped abruptly when she saw the four of them awake. Camp had been hastily constructed and Etta invited all of them to share her tent. It would be tight, but she needed them surrounding her that night.

“Your Majesties.” Ara dipped her head.

“Ara,” Etta said. “It’s about damn time you call me Etta. Although the next time you go behind my back and fetch us some assistance…” She paused, shaking her head. “Thank you for disobeying me.”

“Uh—you’re welcome, your—Etta.”

“I’m going to need a council,” Etta said. “Ara, I’d like you to be on it.” She looked to Alex. “I will need a council, won’t I?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I don’t know. You should probably ask a king.”

Etta snapped her jaw shut, her eyes never leaving him. “Alex,” she warned.

“Come outside with me,” he said. “Please.”

* * *

Alex led her to the edge of camp where a fire still lingered. Other than the posted guards, most people had gone to bed. It was too dark to see the ruins of the Draconian walls in the distance, but their presence still loomed.

Etta breathed in deeply and raised her eyes to the cloudless sky above. The clear night revealed thousands of tiny winking stars only partially obscured with the waning light of the fire. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” she asked. Since the Basile magic left her, she’d felt like everything was new, fresh, like she was finally alive.

“Never,” Alex breathed.

She lowered her gaze to him, feeling the intensity of his words in every part of her. She touched her golden hair self-consciously, knowing she’d never again experience the brilliant glow. Her hair fell loose and wild down her back, still unkempt from battle.

Alex stepped closer and pushed her hand away from her hair.

“What did you mean before?” she asked quietly. “When you told me to ask a king.”

His throat worked to swallow, and he pressed his lips together as he brought his hand up to touch his thumb to her bottom lip.

“Alex.” She sighed.

“I’m no longer the king of Gaule.” His voice strained as if the words physically hurt to say.

His words took a while to sink into her mind and her eyes rounded. “Y-you…”

“Gaule would never have peace with a king they rebelled against. I love my kingdom, but I had to leave.” He continued to stroke her lip. “I shouldn’t be King of Gaule when that throne is not where my loyalty lies.” He dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving hers. “Persinette Basile, I pledge loyalty to the throne of Bela. I will fight for the queen until my dying breath. A life spent in service to her will be a life worth living. The Belaen people will be my people, the land my land. If the queen will have me as a loyal subject.”

Tears built in Etta’s eyes as she saw a future she’d never thought could be hers, but there was one problem. “Get up,” she said. When he did, she smacked his arm. “What are you thinking? You can’t give up your throne. Your entire life, you’ve been meant to be king. You’re such an idiot, Alex. I can’t believe you left Gaule. You will go back tomorrow and tell them that you’re king and no one else deserves to sit their ass on that throne and—”

He kissed her, cutting off her rant. She didn’t respond at first and felt him begin to pull back, but then she made a sound in the back of her throat and pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and parting her lips to deepen the kiss.

He pressed her to him, lifting her off her feet.

“Etta,” he whispered, dropping kisses down her face to her neck. “My Etta. My protector, my charge, my love.”

“You’re still an idiot,” she said, shivering under his touch.

He chuckled against her skin. “The thing you don’t understand about me, Etta, is that I was never meant to be king. I was simply meant to love a queen.”

“Then yes,” she said. “This queen accepts you into her kingdom for as long as you’ll stay.” She kissed him again. “I love you, Alex. Even when the magic was twisting me up on the inside, I loved you.”

“I will always love you.”

“I think you’re wrong though.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling.

“You always think I’m wrong.”

She laughed. “What I mean is that you were meant to be king, you were just in the wrong kingdom.”

“Don’t you dare…” he said.

“Why not?”

“We just finished basically saving the world.”

She raised an eyebrow in response.

“Okay, you just finished saving the world. Everyone is exhausted. We’re sleeping within sight of the Draconian ruins. La Dame has been gone for less than a day. Right now is not the time for big decisions.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I think it’s the perfect time. Don’t you contradict your queen, Alexandre Durand.”

“Wow, you’ve been my queen for not even ten minutes and already exercising your power.”

She winked. “Basically. Alex, I love you. That’s never going to change. For the first time I’m finally seeing everything clearly. Today has been the most insane day in all the histories of our kingdoms. Please just let me have this right now.”

When he didn’t respond, she smirked. “Do I have to make some big declaration?” She ran back toward her tent. “Edmund, Tyson get out here.”

They scrambled out. “Is someone attacking?” Edmund asked. For months, she’d been locked inside herself unable to break free. Now, there were no curses, no chains, only a crown, but the crown didn’t mean anything to her without the people she loved. Etta had never expected to fall in love. She hadn’t imagined having friends or family other than her father. The world she’d grown up in was so small, only existing among the trees of the Black Forest. It hadn’t allowed her to think of any kind of happiness for herself.

Exhaustion tugged at her, but she wouldn’t wait a moment longer for the future to begin.

“Etta,” Tyson said carefully. “Are you okay? You look flushed. You’ve been through so much today. You should lie down.”

She shook her head. “I’m not closing my eyes this time. Not when it’s all right in front of me.”

Matteo stumbled out of the tent rubbing his eyes. “What are you all doing out here?”

The fire shrank down to glowing embers. A targeted burst of air brushed past Etta and she grinned as the flames kicked up once again. The Basile magic might be gone, but she loved knowing she was surrounded by other magic every day.

Edmund flashed his teeth.

Ara joined them and for a moment, no one spoke as they soaked in the peace none of them had been sure they’d ever see again.

Etta faced the people she trusted most in this world. The ones who’d put their faith in her. Who’d believed in what she could do even when she doubted.

“Kneel,” she commanded.

They didn’t hesitate.

“Matteo, Tyson, Edmund, Ara… I name you to the queen’s council. Some of you earned this right by blood.” Tyson and Matteo glanced up. “All of you have earned it by sacrifice and courage. Rise.”

Edmund was the first to break the silence that followed. “I think we’re going to need some more experienced council members.”

“I agree. That’s why your first task is to decide if there is a problem with me taking a non-Belaen as my husband.”

Alex started choking beside her and Edmund laughed.

Matteo, ever the serious one, was the person who answered. “Phillip allowed his son to wed a Draconian when he took Rapunzel to wife, did he not? And now we don’t have to worry about diluting the Basile magic.”

Etta closed her eyes. She hadn’t thought of that. Just another reminder that her ancestral right had vanished. If the Basile magic were still within her, she’d need to worry about the effects of taking someone without magic as her husband.

She opened her eyes and sucked in a breath. Alex’s eyes were fixed on her face, the fire reflecting off his irises, making the flames dance in his gaze.

The Basile power was gone, but perhaps this was a kind of magic as well.

Matteo continued to speak about Belaen history, but his voice faded into the background. Etta had gone into the day thinking she wouldn’t make it out alive, but she had. Now the question stood, what was she going to do with her second chance?

“Marry me,” she said, her words cutting Matteo off mid-sentence.

Alex’s lip twitched.

“Marry me,” she said again. “This world has worked so damn hard to keep us apart and I won’t let it anymore.” She took a step toward him. “Marry me because this is the only kind of magic I need. Marry me because—”

“I love you,” he finished for her, pulling her to him once again. “Marry me.”

“I already asked you that.”

He grinned. “Forever.” He kissed her again.

She smiled against his lips, knowing that forever was something she could finally have. Their lives were theirs now and there was no more time to waste.

Epilogue

The queen of Bela sat alone on the edge of the white cliffs. She let her legs drop over the side as she peered down into the calm waters below. It was a rare day that didn’t see the churning ocean thrashing against the rocky face.

There hadn’t been a day of such importance since the time of Aurora and Phillip.

She held her hand at her side, palm down, pulling the grasses from the earth with her magic. It was all she could do now. She created flowers and helped with the clearing of land for new building projects.

When she wasn’t ruling her people.

Two years had passed since the day her people were freed from the threat of La Dame. They’d been an uneventful two years, and that was okay with Etta.

Bela made progress. They’d lost a lot in the battle. Many of her people didn’t make it home, but she was glad for what they had left.

Behind her stood the royal residence, built right next to the ruins of the old Belaen seat of power. It wasn’t some grand palace like the one before it. Instead, it consisted only of a small throne room and living space the size of a large cottage. It wasn’t opulent, but it was home.

A presence appeared behind her and she knew who it was before he even spoke.

“You know I don’t like when you get so close to the cliffs.” Alex sighed indulgently.

The traitor who called himself Edmund had been filling Alex’s ears with stories of Etta on these same cliffs.

“I told you before,” she said, her eyes continuing to sweep the horizon. “I was only testing my magic.”

“And Edmund had to save you.”

She shrugged. “Payback for all the times I’ve saved his ass.”

He laughed. “Well, your Majesty, I’ve come to tell you our first wave of guests have arrived.”

She scooted away from the edge and stood. “Thank you, your Majesty.” She grinned up at him and stole a quick kiss.

They’d combined a wedding with a coronation for Alex. He hadn’t enjoyed ruling Gaule alone, and she didn’t like the idea of doing the same with Bela. Plus, Alexandre Durand was meant to have a crown on his head.

He held out her crown. “You need it to greet them.”

She took it and set the golden circlet on top of her short blonde hair. She’d been pleased to find it easy to cut once the power had left her. She’d wanted a fresh start, separated from the deeds of her ancestors.

She hooked her arm through Alex’s and allowed him to lead her toward their home.

Horses had been left outside and stable lads hurried to lead them to the stables.

Inside were faces so familiar they made her heart stop. She ran forward to greet the delegation from Gaule.

Catrine’s wide smile greeted her. “Etta.” When Etta reached her, she pulled her into her arms. “It’s wonderful to see you, your Majesty.”

“And you, your Majesty,” Etta said, pulling back.

Alex greeted his mother and those who’d accompanied her. Simon was with her as well as Duchess Moreau, Duke Caron, Camille, and a few others.

When Tyson and Amalie appeared to greet Catrine, pandemonium ensued.

The wards surrounding Gaule had disappeared the moment her Basile power was gone. Tyson traveled back and forth frequently as Etta’s emissary to Gaule, but the rest of them were busy running their kingdoms.

In the following days, representatives from Madra and others across the sea would arrive. Even Dracon sent someone to represent their interests. With their queen dead, they’d chosen a new ruler, and he had been reaching out to help Dracon rejoin the rest of the world.

Trade between the kingdoms thrived, the world once again at peace. For now.

They were entering a new era.

Having everyone join her in Bela reminded Etta what she’d fought for. It was this, these people, this life. Her family.

She still had moments when anger or hatred would overtake her, remnants of the magic that had controlled her so completely. But they never lasted. How could they?

* * *

Days after the rulers and representatives of their allied kingdoms left, Etta found herself sitting with Vérité.

Her father’s warnings rang in her head and she laughed. He’d said Vérité was dangerous, wild. But then, she had been as well. Viktor Basile had been a great many things, but he hadn’t been everything and she only now realized that was okay. He’d made mistakes, just as she had.

She’d once thought he didn’t believe in her because he told her not to attempt to break the curse, but that wasn’t true at all. It was because he’d known La Dame. It was an impossible task.

Not everyone is meant to attempt the impossible.

She looked up at Vérité. And not everyone was meant to attempt it alone.

“What are you two up to?” Alex asked, walking around the side of the house with a knowing smirk.

“Trouble,” she answered. “Lots and lots of trouble.”

He laughed and bent down to kiss the top of her head. He tried to pull away, but she pulled him back and breathed him in.

Vérité nipped at him and he jumped back. “Hey,” he protested. “I thought we were moving past that.”

Etta shrugged, trying to hide her grin. “Can’t chain a wild beast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again. “We all saw what happened when they tried to chain you.”

Vérité snorted and Etta pushed Alex away before the jealous horse bit. “Go,” she said with a laugh. “Isn’t Edmund waiting for you?”

“I’m going. I have to get some time in with him before he leaves for his new position as ambassador to Madra.” He shook his head sadly. “Be nice to her, Vérité.”

Etta raised an eyebrow. They all knew Vérité would never harm her. Once Alex was out of sight, Etta climbed to her feet.

“How about a ride?”

Vérité stomped his foot.

She didn’t bother with a saddle as she hauled herself onto his back and braided her hands through his mane. With a gentle squeeze of her calves, he took off.

All of Bela stretched out before her. Most of it was still untamed. Thick forests. Wildflowers. Running streams.

They crested the hill that led down into the village. Etta turned Vérité to the other side of it instead. His hooves thundered down an unused path and into the trees. She breathed in the fresh air as it whipped around her face.

They were right. Alex may have been her heart’s mate, but Vérité owned her soul. With them, she was complete. With them, she was whole.

For she was Persinette Basile. Daughter of a great man. Breaker of curses. Queen of Bela. No chains could hold her for she was finally free, and the free had no more battles to wage.

——

Thank you for reading! We aren’t finished with this world or these characters. Flipped the page to begin Glass Kingdom!

Glass Kingdom

The True Story of Cinderella, book 1

1

One day, when trying to remember the first time she’d seen him, Helena would think of the energy sparking in the air around him. 

The unknown boy should have been no match for the broad man before him, yet the crowd cheered as if the fight would go on forever. 

Boxing was a revered sport on the coast of Madra. Not that her parents had ever allowed Helena to attend a match. 

But this wasn’t an organized fight. There was no arena surrounding them, only a circle of onlookers. Their noise had drawn the small-framed girl dressed in her brother’s clothing. 

Helena pulled the cap on her head down over her ears to further hide the ebony locks pinned underneath. 

There were two rules in Madran boxing. Never step out of bounds and never use the heel of your hand. Everything else was fair game. 

The boy with lively blue eyes ducked an oncoming punch, but didn’t move quickly enough and his opponent’s fist grazed the side of his head. He reeled back, stumbling before dropping to his knees. 

The bigger man moved to strike again, and the boy fell sideways only to receive a kick to the abdomen.

Helena’s stomach roiled. She wanted to scream, to tell them to stop, but a hand clenched around her arm. 

“Princess,” a low voice said in her ear. “Do not say a word.” 

Fear ripped into her until the man holding her pushed back his hood, revealing a head of blonde hair and a scowl only reserved for her. 

“Let me go, Edmund.”

“I will release you, but you aren’t to leave.” He lifted his hand, watching her for any sign she’d bolt. When she stayed, he turned his attention to the oversized man who continued to brutalize the smaller man. 

Edmund walked forward and pushed aside his cloak, revealing a sword. The attacker froze. 

“Orlo.” Edmund’s voice was calm, but Helena detected the ice in his words. “Challenging children to fights now?” 

Helena winced at the children remark. The boy looked no younger than her eighteen years. When Edmund first arrived at their shores, she’d been smitten with him. Then she got to know the oaf, and he became just another one of her brothers. 

Orlo grunted and wiped his bloody knuckles on his pants. “This ‘kid’ needs to learn respect.”

Edmund made a sound in the back of his throat. “You know as well as I that whatever Dell did won’t be anywhere near your punishment for fighting outside a proper match.” He jerked his head. “Go, and I won’t report this incident to the king… or the priesthood.”

Fear sparked in Orlo’s eyes at the mention of the order. No one in Madra wanted to face the white-cloaked lawmakers and their prison cells. Orlo didn’t hesitate to run once given the chance.

“How do you expect to keep this from father?” Helena asked. “They were in the middle of the city.” She threw a nervous look over her shoulder. “You know as well as I the priesthood has eyes everywhere.”

Edmund walked toward the boy who must have been Dell and bent down. “Your father and his dogs will hear of this alright. But you don’t understand this city, Len. There isn’t a single person who will turn Orlo or Dell over for questioning.” He placed two fingers against the boy’s neck. “Well, he’s alive, so there’s that at least.” Blowing the hair out of his face, he straightened and glanced around at the gathering crowd. “Don’t you have better things to do?” 

He shook his head as they scattered and then turned to Helena. “You and I will have words once Dell is tended to.” He hefted Dell onto his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. “Come.” 

She ran to keep up with Edmund’s long strides. He led her through the crowded city as if he’d lived there his entire life. In reality, he’d only been in Madra for the past two years, serving as the ambassador from Bela. There were rumors winding their way through the palace about Edmund and his relationship to the queen and king of Bela. Some said they were close, others spoke of imprisonments. Each story ended with Edmund requesting an assignment far from the kingdom he’d fought a war to save. 

Helena wasn’t complaining though. She had four brothers, but none understood her as much as Edmund. 

“Edmund,” she started. She needed to explain her presence in the city. It was forbidden by the laws and traditions of Madra for a princess to leave the walls of the palace unaccompanied and unmasked. 

“Not here.” He turned into a narrow alley running between two pale-brick buildings, leading to a busy street. 

Curious Madran eyes followed them, but Edmund was well known, and most feared to be in his presence. Those stories from the palace? They also spoke of his magic. Something Helena had never seen and had trouble believing existed.

Two years ago, Madran troops were sent to aid the Belaen queen in her war against La Dame. Persinette Basile took her kingdom back and those Madran troops who fought by her side came home with the most marvelous tales of magic. The minstrels, fascinated with their tall tales of magic and spells, turned the soldiers’ stories of the Belaen queen into epic songs.

Even the mercenaries who’d fought with Dracon against the royal Madran forces had their share of tales for anyone brave enough to approach them.

Belaens. Draconians. They were all feared for what they could do. Madran mercenaries were feared for who they were. Righteous bastards with loyalty to no crown. They pledged allegiance to one thing: gold. Was this Dell one of them? One of those causing trouble in the streets of Madra?

The priesthood worked to expel all mercenaries from the city, but occasionally a few would appear in the taverns or among the seedier shops on the outskirts of the city. Helena scanned her surroundings as Edmund led her between those shops.

Edmund ducked into a doorway at the end of the square and ushered Helena in before closing the heavy wooden door, shutting out all sunlight. 

Small candles along one wall gave the only hint of light. If it weren’t for the tendrils of cinnamon floating through the air, Helena would have suspected he’d led her into a tomb. 

Edmund lifted a hand and the flames on the candles grew larger. 

“Did you do that?” Her eyes rounded, fear gripping her chest as she took a step back. 

Edmund ignored her. “Mari,” he called, charging toward an open door. “Mari, we need you and Corban.” 

A middle-aged woman with deep lines in her face appeared in the doorway, took one look at Dell, and pointed to a bed on the far wall. 

Edmund set him down as a young boy skipped into the room. He froze when he saw them. 

Mari’s warm eyes gazed at the child. “We need you, Corban.” 

Corban shook his head and glanced at Helena. 

Edmund stepped forward. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.”

It took Helena a moment to realize he meant her. She was still disguised in her brother’s clothes. These people couldn’t find out who she was no matter how much Edmund trusted them. 

She only nodded, deciding that speaking would give her away. 

Corban sighed. 

Mari ran a hand over the top of the boy’s head. “He’s worried. Magic might not be outlawed in Madra as it once was in Gaule, but the fear still exists within the city. If word got out… we don’t know what would happen to him.” 

Helena wanted to ask what Mari meant, but couldn’t find the right words. Edmund seemed to sense the question and mouthed ‘later’ before crouching in front of Corban. “How many times have I come to you, Corban?”

The boy shrugged.

Edmund smiled fondly. “A lot. You and I are bonded by magic. Mari too. In this city that’s very rare. You can trust me. I won’t lead you into danger.”

Corban nodded. “I trust you.”

Edmund smiled and straightened before gripping Corban’s shoulder and guiding him to the bed. 

Dell murmured something unintelligible as the young boy placed his palms against the unconscious man’s chest. 

Nothing happened.

Helena looked to Edmund, but he focused on Dell’s face.

As she glanced back to Dell, the bruises receded and Helena sucked in a breath. Dell’s cut lip stitched itself back together. Helena stumbled back until her butt hit the wall. 

Every scratch, every blemish faded away, leaving unmarked bronze skin. Crimson blood still streaked through his jaw length, sun-bleached hair. 

He was older than she’d thought him to be during the fight. Dell. 

She shook her head vigorously. “This isn’t possible.” 

Mari, who had yet to speak a word to Helena, watched her out of the corner of her eye. The princess pulled her cap down further under the scrutinizing gaze. She knew, didn’t she? 

Did she know?

Panic clawed at her throat. 

Edmund crossed toward her and dropped his voice. “We have a lot to talk about.” 

“Aw, Edmund.” A rich voice called from the bed. “Not going to stay to make sure Corban’s mojo is still working?”

Edmund rounded on him. “Five. The number of times I’ve had to bring you here in the last three months. Do you have a death wish, Dell?” 

Dell’s vibrant eyes darkened. “Those weren’t all my fault and you know it.” 

“Goddamnit, Dell.” Edmund pulled at the ends of his hair. “If you die…”

Helena didn’t know what they were talking about, but curiosity had her moving closer. 

“I’m not going to die,” Dell said simply.

“The illegal fights. Stealing. Do you even have a head on those shoulders?”

An angry flush rose in the young man’s face as if he was about to explode. Helena grabbed Edmund’s arm. “Edmund, leave him be.” 

Dell’s anger snapped away in an instant as his eyes fixed on Helena, seeing her for the first time. “Who do we have here?” He sat up to peer closer. “You don’t think you’re fooling anyone in that getup, do you, miss?”

Helena ripped the hat from her head. Her dark curls spilled out, and she turned to Edmund. “Am I that obvious?”

Edmund bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Only to scoundrels and deceivers themselves, my dear.” His eyes flicked to each person in the room. “Mari, Corban, I am once again in your debt. I’ll pay for this idiot’s care. Don’t let him return home for a few days. The news of the fight will have spread and we must prevent questions should the king hear.”

He turned to Dell with a scowl. “The next time I see you in an illegal boxing match, I’m leaving you in the bloody dirt. Fool. Orlo should have gutted you.”

Dell flashed a smile that spoke of no cares. “But then who would you yell at every day?”

Edmund grunted.

“You’d miss this pretty face. Go on, Edmund. Admit it. You care about me.”

Edmund’s stern facade cracked, and a laugh slipped through. “Okay, Dell. We’re leaving.”

“Have fun!” He waggled his eyebrows.

They stepped into the front room and Edmund pointed to her hat. “Don’t listen to Dell. Put that back on. It’s better no one knows you’re a woman and puts any of the pieces together.”

“Did he think we were—”

“Yep.”

She turned. “Shouldn’t we tell him that’s not—”

“Helena.” His stern voice stopped her. “Dell will not speak of anything that happened here. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. But you and I need to have a discussion.” 

As soon as he pulled her onto the street, all sound ceased. A cart passed by, but the wheels made no rumble. Helena turned around to stare wide-eyed at Edmund. 

He sighed. “You already know I’m Belaen. Every person with Belaen blood carries magic. Mine is the ability to shift the winds. I’m pushing them away from us. We cannot hear anything. At the same time, I’m pushing a stream of air toward us to trap our own words.”

Helena was so lost in her thoughts of magic and the man she thought she’d known, she didn’t see the rock in the road. Edmund’s hand guided her around it before she fell, bringing her back to their current reality and what she knew was coming. 

Edmund’s voice was low when he spoke again. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

She shrugged. She knew the answer, but he wouldn’t understand. How could he? 

“Princess.” 

He only called her princess in formal situations, letting her know he wasn’t asking as her friend, but as a member of the royal council. 

“Helena,” he tried again. “You know the laws.” 

She did. And she hated them. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes. 

“If your father found out, they could take you from the line of succession,” he went on. “If the priests found out… Your birthday ball would be canceled.”

They both knew the priesthood would do something far worse to her. 

To some, the ball seemed silly. Who cared about a party when freedom was on the line? But that ball was supposed to be where her father made his final decision in who her husband would be. 

“I wanted to see my kingdom.” The words were small, but she felt every one. She was second in line to the throne. She would one day run the merchant guild. 

But she was a princess of Madra, meant to be hidden away like a precious jewel. The law of Madra said few had the privilege to look upon a princess’ face until her wedding day. She wasn’t allowed outside the palace. When she attended balls and ceremonies, she wore a mask to cover all but her mouth. 

It was a terrible law, but a sacred one in the eyes of the priests. The common man’s eyes defiled a princess just by gazing upon her. Those were the words of the priesthood.

Edmund only knew her face because his position as ambassador allowed him that privilege. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to do this, Helena. I grew up in Gaule where men like me who prefer men over women were put to death. Here in Madra, we live openly. Yet in Gaule, a woman has every freedom. They are now ruled by a queen. My best friend is the queen of Bela. But we aren’t in either of those countries. I want you to have those same freedoms, but I don’t want you to lose everything… I don’t want to lose you.” 

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I lost everything once. A king I loved imprisoned me for my deception. I don’t want that for you.” He squeezed her tighter to his side as they walked. “Please, wear the mask. Stay in the palace. You’ve done it for eighteen years. It’s only a few weeks until the ball.”

She didn’t argue, but she made no promises either. She’d finally gotten a taste of freedom and that memory wasn’t going anywhere.

They would reveal her face soon enough, but then all of Madra would know her on sight. She had precious little time left to explore her kingdom as one of its loyal subjects.

They reached Edmund’s home. “Where’d you leave your horse?” he asked.

“I walked.”

He raised a brow. “You just walked out of the palace?”

“When you’re going for stealth, you don’t steal a horse and thunder out the gates.”

He laughed. “Guess not. How’d you get out?” 

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to reveal one of Madra’s biggest secrets to the Belaen. She trusted Edmund, but… 

Did she have a choice?

“The catacombs under the place lead to a network of tunnels throughout the city.” 

Edmund’s eyes widened, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. Secret tunnels under Madra? I thought that was just a myth.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think my father even knows they exist. Stev and I found them when we were kids.”

Edmund laughed. “I’ll bet your dad would love to know the heir to the Madran throne grew up playing in the catacombs.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “My brothers and I have never exactly played by the rules.”

“Do the rest of them know about the tunnels?” 

“I showed Kassander once. The others… no.”

She glanced toward the ground, wanting this line of questioning to end. Her brothers were not a subject she enjoyed talking about. 

Each child born to the royal family had a purpose placed on them the day they first opened their eyes. Stev was to be the next ruler of Madra. Helena would lead the Merchant guild—the most powerful entity behind the king and the priesthood. Kassander was born to be a priest. Quinn and Cole were bastards but in an unusual move, the king recognized them so even they had roles within the kingdom. They were not placed into the line of succession, but were given posts in military command. 

Helena turned to Edmund. “Thanks for getting me this far, but I’m okay getting back on my own.”

He shook his head. “Stev would kill me if I didn’t accompany you.” 

She narrowed her eyes, realization setting in. “Of course.” She walked back toward the street. “Big brother sent you to find me.” 

“He saw you leave.” There was meaning in his words that took her a few moments to understand.

She slowed her steps. “He let me go?”

“He wanted you to have your freedom, even if it meant defying tradition. I’ve been following you since you reached the columns at the end of the square. I only stepped in when I saw Dell fighting.”

“Unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Stev is…” Her brother was always surprising her. He never spoke to her as if he cared, but then he did things like this. 

They made it to the far side of the palace where a grate sat above a hole in the ground. It lay hidden beneath a wooden platform. If anyone found it, they’d assume it was only a part of the vast sewer system consisting of shallow clay pipes. An innovation of her grandmother’s. Helena bent and lifted the wooden boards to reveal the metal bars. She pulled a rusted key from the string around her neck and bent to turn it in the iron lock. Edmund pulled the bars free. 

“Replace this once I’m through,” Helena instructed. 

Edmund gaped. “I don’t like the thought of you going down into that.” He stared into the dark.

She shrugged and sat on the edge of the hole, swinging her legs in and dropping onto the ladder. 

As she cleared the entrance, Edmund put the iron bars back in place and stared down at her. 

“Thanks, Edmund.”

He nodded and watched her descend. 

The musty smell of the tunnel enveloped Helena as she jumped from the ladder into the ankle-deep water. Kassander’s boots would be soaked, but her ten-year-old brother’s clothes were the only ones that fit. 

Running through the darkened tunnels, she skimmed her hand along the wall to guide her steps. She didn’t know how long she walked before a door appeared, light seeping out from underneath. 

She bent over, trying to catch her breath. Everything would be okay. Home was right in front of her. Her first ever trip outside the palace hadn’t destroyed her life. She glanced back over her shoulder as adrenaline pumped through her. Being out among the people thrilled her. It gave her something she’d been missing most of her life. A sense of connection with the kingdom her family ruled.

She had to get out there again. 

As she set her hand on the door, she pushed just as she’d been taught. A soft click sounded and light flooded the tunnel. 

She tumbled into the bedroom that had gone unused since their grandmother was alive. The picture slid back into place to conceal the door. She laughed to herself. 

A cough interrupted her celebration, and she twisted on her heel to find Stev leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

He didn’t say a word as he pointed to the table at his side. Her soft mask with ivory lace lay flat against the marble. 

She walked forward and picked it up. As she set it against her skin and tied the ribbons at the back of her head, she couldn’t help but feel as if the prison Edmund spoke of was now hers. 

Satisfied, Stev nodded and left without a word. 

It was only then Helena noticed Kassander sitting on the bed, his excitement making his limbs jump.

“Hey buddy,” she said. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“I know. Stev already told me.” His bright eyes fixed onto her face. “I like it better when you’re not wearing the mask.”

She sighed and wrapped both arms around her brother, pulling him into her lap. Resting her chin on his head, she spoke into his soft chestnut curls. “Me too, kid.”

2

Dell’s life had never been a fairytale, but there was a time when he didn’t dread going home. A time when he’d run through the front door, skid to a halt in front of the table, and steal whatever his mother had spent the day baking. 

She’d scold him, but never without a smile on her face. Then she’d ruffle his hair. 

Until the day she no longer stood before him. The day they carted him off to live with a father he’d never met and half-brothers he knew nothing about. 

He’d been a sad boy with pretty dreams of being welcomed into a family when he’d lost the only one he’d known. But he’d soon learned fantasy only lived to tease you with what you could never have. 

His father had been kind, happy to bring Dell into the family. The first few weeks soothed his boyhood mind and made him imagine many years of such contentment. Then his father took ship on a trading mission, hitting the rough seas around the point of Cana in the middle of a storm. He never returned and Dell went from newfound son, to unwelcome houseguest, to stable boy in a matter of a month.

He rolled over on the small cot in Mari and Corban’s shop. They’d left it closed for a few days while he was there. It couldn’t be said that the son of the great Lady Tenyson was frequenting a healer’s shop on the eastern side of the city.  If any even knew he belonged to the Tenyson household. His parentage was a well-kept secret in Madra with his family not claiming any connection other than that of master and servant.

The Tenyson’s were the current peak of the spiral. Each merchant family in Madra had a rank. Wealth and success affected rank as well as the king’s favor and one’s position on the council. Dell’s father had worked tirelessly to get the family where it was and Dell’s step-mother kept them there through nefarious means.

The hierarchy in Madran society was a spiral with each family one step below the prior one. The rise was a struggle, and the fall was great. 

The door opened and Mari appeared. She smiled kindly. She’d taken a liking to the man in constant need of Corban’s healing. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked. 

He struggled to sit up, his muscles aching. It was the first time he’d been truly awake since the fight. “You wouldn’t happen to have any ale, would you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Afraid not. Is that what got you into this predicament?” 

“No.” 

She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. He didn’t blame her. He was lying after all. 

“I’ve known you since you first arrived in the city.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t lie to me.”

She was right. He’d found comfort in sneaking away to Mari’s shop since he was a broken child in need of a friend. He rubbed his hands together, his leather boxing straps still sticky with blood. Not taking his eyes from her, he unwound the leather and released a sigh as cool air touched his bruised knuckles. 

“I work hard, Mari.” He tried to infuse more age than he had into his voice. “Yesterday morning, I was sent to help unload a shipment at the docks.”

She nodded for him to go on. 

“I went for a midday bite at the Cooked Goose and who happens by?”

“I can only guess.” She twisted around and slammed her palm against the wall. “Catjsa. That woman…” Shaking her head, she turned back to Dell. “You’re lucky Orlo didn’t kill you for whatever you did with his wife—”

He threw his hands up. “I didn’t do anything! I can’t help it if she can’t keep her hands off me.”

Mari advanced. “Dell, you’re a sweet boy, but sometimes I think all this fighting has scrambled your damn brains.” She bent down and gripped his chin. “This face, that bloody smile of yours, they’re weapons and they will be turned on you time and again.”

“Aw, Mari, you trying to tell me you think I’m beautiful?”

She released him and stepped back with a huff. “Do you take anything seriously? You’re a Tenyson, Dell.” She placed a palm over her heart. “The only one with anything in here since your dear father passed. I don’t want you to be taken advantage of by those wanting to start trouble.” Mari and Corban knew who he was even though Edmund did not. He couldn’t help that. She’d seen the Tenyson crest his brother burned into his foot when he was eleven years old.

He climbed from the bed and stood, his tall frame towering over her. Putting a hand on each of her shoulders, he bent to look her in the eye. “Don’t worry about me.”

She gripped his wrists and sighed. “I’ll always worry as if you were my own son. I’m not the only one either.”

He released her and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I don’t know why Edmund bothers. He’s not even Madran. He—” 

She interrupted him. “You don’t know the kind of things that man has accomplished. If he sees something in you, it’s because you’re meant for more than scrubbing decks and cleaning stalls.”

There’d been a time when he wanted more. A family. A piece of land to farm. His life with his mother had been simple. They lived in the countryside near a small village. They never had much, but it was a good life. 

He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts. “I need to wash this grime off my skin. Mind if I head out back.”

“Make sure you aren’t seen.”

He walked from the back room to a separate part of the building where a door led to an alley. The stiff reek of urine hit him as soon as the wind shifted, but he probably smelled just as bad.

He glanced behind him to make sure no one followed and ducked around back behind the row of shops. They were near the docks where boats left to sail up the river and out into the sea. The river narrowed as it bent around to run along the city. A busy street stood between the alley and a row of trees that blocked the water from view. 

Dell took a quick glance each way before sprinting between carts ambling along the road and crashing into the tree cover on the other side. The river sparkled where the sun broke through the branches. It flowed slowly as if enjoying the nice day. Large boulders lined the edge of the water and Dell wasted no time stepping onto one and peeling off his shirt before dropping it on the ground. He kicked off his boots and slipped out of his trousers.

Even as a member of one of the wealthiest families in Madra, he kept his dress simple. Okay, it wasn’t his choice to make. When he’d first arrived, he’d worn his brothers’ old clothing. But with the years of hard labor he’d outgrown them. 

A hiss left his lips as he sank into the icy water. His muscles pulled and screamed as he kicked toward the far bank and back again. As soon as his body loosened, he scrubbed the blood and sweat from his skin. 

He dipped below the water, the fight still strong in his mind.

Orlo had beaten him. That was a first. In a rematch, Dell could take him down. He was a fighter. He was good. He was strong. 

He almost laughed to himself, but he was still under the water. 

Who was he kidding? Orlo was a monster of a man. 

He looked up and saw a shadow on the far bank. All he could make out through the distortion of water was a pair of trousers. Edmund checking up on him no doubt. 

Dell prepared to lunge, a plan forming in his mind. He burst from the water with a roar, water splashing his audience. He twisted to see Edmund’s reaction as his feet gained traction on the muddy bottom. The water barely reached his waist now. Rivulets of water streamed down his heaving torso, and his jaw dropped open as he took in the woman who was wringing a cap in her hands. 

He froze as she examined her sopping clothes, taking no note of him. When she finally lifted her head, red flooded her cheeks. 

She didn’t take her eyes away. 

Dell, gaining some sense, stepped forward. 

“Stop!” she screamed. 

He glanced down to see the water no longer covered him. His hands flew down, but he took another step forward.

“I told you to stop right there.”

“I don’t know you, miss, so I’d take it kindly if you refrained from giving me orders.”

“But you… you—”

He climbed from the water completely, no longer bothering to cover himself as he stopped at her side. “I what?” 

She turned away abruptly.

He chuckled. “It’s okay, miss. I like Edmund. I won’t try anything with his…” His eyes scanned her body. “Woman.”

The girl hugged her arms across her body. 

Dell laughed again as he bent to retrieve his trousers and stepped into them. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.” She refused to look at him and amusement warmed Dell against the chilly breeze. 

He slid his shirt over his head, shrinking back at the smell. It would have to do. 

“Why are you here?” He bent to tie his boots as he waited for her answer. And for that matter, why was she dressed as a boy again? What was Edmund hiding?

She clicked her tongue. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that fight the other day.” Her voice dropped. “I needed to see if you were okay.” 

He grinned and looked up at her. “Translation, the Madran girl was curious about the healing Corban did on me and wanted to see if it really worked or if she’d imagined it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

He straightened. “You didn’t have to. You’ve probably never met anyone with magic before that night–Edmund excluded—and the only stories you’ve heard have come from drunken soldiers who returned from the wars in Bela with tales of magnificent things.”

“Even if all that is true,” she started stubbornly. “It isn’t why I came into the city.”

“Ah, so you don’t live here.” He tapped his nose. “Careful, miss, or I will learn all your secrets.”

He turned and walked back toward the road. The girl ran after him. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t owe her an explanation, but he found himself in a giving mood. “I can’t be seen in this part of the city. Mari will disguise me.”

“How?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask questions you won’t believe the answers to.” 

Mari awaited them in her shop, but she wasn’t alone. The crown prince of Madra loomed over her, his stern face scanning the room. Two guards stood on either side of the front door. 

Estevan Rhodipus turned toward them as they entered, his scowl deepening. 

What business did a prince have with Mari?

The raven-haired girl behind Dell ran a hand down her still-wet clothing and sighed. “Stev—your Highness,” she mumbled, stumbling into a curtsy. 

Dell bowed dutifully, the act clenching something inside him. The Rhodipus line was leading their people into nothing but destruction. 

The prince ignored him and fixed his icy eyes on the girl trying to masquerade as a boy. She obviously hadn’t fooled many people with her delicate features and sparkling eyes. 

“He-” Prince Estevan started before seeming to catch himself. “Hello, Len.”

Was that her name?

His eyes bore into hers as if speaking some secret language. 

“Yes, your Highness?” She stared right back, defiance in her gaze. 

She’d called him ‘Stev’. Something didn’t add up. 

The prince finally turned to Mari. “Len has duties at the palace that she has evaded. She’s a… servant there. One of my mother’s girls. The queen has asked me to bring her right away.”

Right. The queen wouldn’t send the prince to fetch a servant. 

Dell’s eyes flicked between them, his mind putting the pieces together. Edmund hadn’t been protecting her for himself. She wasn’t his mistress, she belonged to the prince. 

If the prince knew how much she’d seen of Dell… her rosy cheeks came back into his mind. It didn’t fit. She didn’t seem the type to give herself to the prince. Dell barely knew her, but had thought she was more bull-headed than to be led as the prince was leading her now toward the door, his hands like shackles around her wrists. 

“Stev,” she said so softly it was as if she thought Dell and Mari wouldn’t hear. “Please don’t tell him. I—”

He released her and turned to face her. She seemed to shrink into herself. “I won’t tell him. You will.” 

Her eyes widened. “No—”

“Come.” He took her by the arm roughly. 

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice.” 

Dell knew he’d regret his next actions, but everything inside him screamed to protect this girl, this Len. 

“The lady said she doesn’t wish to return with you.” He strode forward.

The prince stopped and turned toward him. “This is no business of yours, commoner.” 

What would his highness think if he knew Dell was a Tenyson? That he’d just insulted the tip of the spiral. If the Tenyson’s no longer supported the royal family, Madra would be thrown into civil war. 

But he kept his mouth shut. The prince narrowed his eyes, taking in Dell’s filthy clothes, the disgust plain on his face. 

“I said, Len stays.”

The prince barked out a sharp laugh. “Not on your life, boy.” 

Dell sighed. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this. He pulled a knife from a hidden pocket within his cloak. 

The prince flicked his eyes from the short blade to Dell’s face and a grin stretched his thin lips. “Pulling a weapon on a member of the royal family is punishable by death.” He took a step forward. “But I’m not sure that can qualify as a weapon.” 

Dell felt the tip with his finger. “It has a pointy end.” 

The prince laughed again and relaxed his stance. “Pointy end? You’ve obviously spent no time with the army, boy. I could split you open from nose to navel. You a fighter?”

Len chose that moment to be helpful. “He boxes.”

The prince raised an eyebrow. “Put that knife away, kid. I’m not going to hurt the girl. She belongs with me, not here—”

“Among your people?”

“Dell,” Len warned. “Really. I’m okay.”

He didn’t even know her. Why didn’t he want to let her go? Prince Estevan, for all his faults, didn’t have a reputation of debauchery like the bastard princes. He was serious, hard, and had views on the world that would turn Madra to ash, but he wasn’t evil. Only misguided. 

He spared Dell one more glance before putting his hand on Len’s back and ushering her out. 

Mari stepped up to Dell’s side. Her words held a teasing lilt. “What were you going to do? Fight him with your carving knife? He isn’t made of wood.”

He studied the knife in his hand. There was little in his life he did for pure enjoyment, but wood carving gave him a sense of peace. He ran his thumb over the family crest on the handle. Not the Tenyson crest. This one belonged to his mother. She’d taught him to create beauty amid the chaos in his life. Amid the pain and the hardship.

He slid the knife back into his shirt pocket and held it against his chest. “I have to go. I’ve already missed too much work and my step-mother’s punishment will only get worse.”

Mari clucked her tongue. “Well, you can’t be seen in this part of town.” She touched his shoulder and warmth flooded him for only a moment before it disappeared. 

He’d never get used to her magic. He ran his hands down the front of his shirt. “I don’t ever feel as if your magic is working. When I see myself, I don’t notice a change.”

She smiled. “Because you don’t understand how my power works. I don’t alter your appearance. I change other’s visual perception of you. But it only ever lasts a few hours.”

Dell bent to kiss Mari on the cheek. “Thanks, love.” He left through the front door, calling back over his shoulder, “I appreciate you!”

3

Stev barely spoke on the ride through the streets and up the hill where the palace sat nestled among high columns separating it from the surrounding city. There would be no secret tunnels this time. The guards and servant busybodies would have the perfect view of the crown prince dragging a young boy into the palace. Only, she wasn’t a young boy. 

She was the princess. 

But none of them knew her face. Maybe they’d assume it was Kassander who’d run off and the rumors would spread. 

She fidgeted in the carriage as the door opened. Stev climbed out and then held a hand up to help her. 

She scanned the courtyard for any hint of the priesthood that controlled the lives of Madra’s royal family. Her fingers grasped Stev’s as if she’d fall apart without him. How was she supposed to face her father after she’d been caught breaking one of the most sacred laws of Madra? It didn’t matter that it wasn’t fair. That she thought a princess should have as much freedom as any prince. 

He would be so disappointed. Her relationship with her father and eldest brother wasn’t always smooth, but she didn’t want to let them down. 

With a sigh, she gripped Stev’s hand tighter. “I’m sorry.”

His stern face softened, and he ran a hand over the top of her head. “I don’t mean to always be so… rough with you, sister. But if something were to happen to you…”

“It won’t. No one in the city even knows I’m a girl.”

“That boy—”

“Dell? He’s harmless… I think. Honestly, I don’t really know. He’s a bit full of himself. But Edmund knows him. Do you trust Edmund?”

“Of course.”

She smiled. Edmund was the one person who could always bring out a lightness in her brother. 

“I won’t do it again,” she said, squeezing his hand. 

He scrubbed a hand over his olive-toned face. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep, Helena. You’ve seen so little of what’s outside these palace walls. But I won’t stop coming for you. You’re the one person…” He trailed off. 

She couldn’t remember a time when her brother said so many words to her at once. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings. 

She didn’t have time to respond because Edmund awaited them amid the stone columns leading up to the steps at the front of the palace. 

“Have a fun jaunt?” he asked. 

She glared at him. “And just how was it that Stev knew exactly where to find me?” 

Edmund fixed her with a disapproving stare. 

“I had to know,” she huffed.

“Know what?” Stev asked. 

Edmund didn’t take his eyes from Helena. “Is this about the magic or the boy?”

Stev’s eyes widened. “Len knows about Mari and Corban’s magic?”

Helena stumbled away from them. “You know?”

“I am heir to the throne of Madra.”

As if that answer explained anything. The king had many spies throughout the city. Did Stev have some as well? 

“Come.” Stev climbed the steps briskly. 

Once inside the family quarters of the palace, Helena relaxed. It might have given her freedom to be without the mask, but it still seemed unnatural. 

Her maid appeared, a frown etched onto her withered face. Sophia had been with her since birth. 

“Child,” the old woman tsked, scanning her clothes up and down. 

Edmund and Stev left her without another word and Sophia ushered her toward the washroom. The maid stripped Helena’s clothes from her body without ceremony. As she stepped into the bronze tub and sat in the tepid water, Helena thought of the boy bathing in the river. 

His broad chest had shocked her at first and when he’d stepped from the water… She shook her head and focused on his twinkling eyes instead. Under the filth left over from his fight, was a ruggedly handsome man. 

A commoner. 

What was wrong with her?

In a month’s time, she would choose a husband, or at least that was how it would seem. In truth, her father’s will meant more than hers. Her life would soon be tied to a very different man. Would he be handsome? Quick to smile? Dell looked as if he was made to laugh. Not like the serious noblemen she’d have to entertain at her ball. 

A torrent of water splashing over her head pulled her from her thoughts. 

“Sophia,” she shrieked. 

“Stop daydreaming and scrub. You look more street urchin than princess.” 

Once she finished and dressed, Sophia pinned her hair up in intricate loops. It took much more time than Helena would have normally liked, but she was grateful for the delay. She knew what her next task would be.

Facing her father.

The walk across blue velvet floors seemed to take forever and no time at all. Dark cherry-wood walls closed in on her like a tunnel until all she could see was the door to the council chambers where her father awaited. 

She lifted her hands to her face, feeling around the edges of the mask. Most of the time, it was her prison, but in this moment, the mask calmed her. Not even her father could see what was truly behind it. 

The guards nodded as she stopped on the threshold of the open chamber. She ran her hands down the lacy emerald dress Sophia had forced on her. At least the queen would approve. 

Helena’s eyes scanned the room. A circular table sat in the middle. On the far side, the king bent over a map he’d spread across the surface. A few of his advisors stood near, listening to him speak. Stev and Edmund were among them. 

The queen was nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t surprising. She preferred not to speak of warfare, and judging by the generals present, that was exactly what was going on. None of the men even noticed her presence. 

Behind Stev stood two priests Helena would recognize anywhere. As a girl, they’d taught her the duties of a princess of Madra. Basically, they’d taught her the necessity of hiding her face.

The priesthood in Madra didn’t worship a higher power. They spent their lives in contemplation of the past. They wrote laws in their halls before bringing them to the king. They fashioned themselves the protector of Madran tradition, Madran soul. And apparently, revealing the face of a princess before her betrothal would tarnish that soul. 

They also controlled the Madran prisons. 

Helena had never developed the faith in the priesthood her father had. 

“Sire,” Edmund’s voice snapped her back to the matter at hand. “I really think you can pull your forces from the interior of Bela. Just leave the few stationed at the Draconian border. The others are needed elsewhere.”

Where were they needed? Home. The thought came unbidden to her mind. The soldiers were needed at home. Some of them had been away for years. Their wives and children needed them now. The Madran fields and granaries needed them. 

She’d never understood her father’s constant wars or his acceptance of everything they cost the kingdom.

“No.” The king shook his head. “Bela has magic. We must keep our presence there.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty.” Edmund’s voice grew louder. “The Draconian war ended years ago. I know because I was there. I fought alongside your Madran forces and we were grateful for your aid, but your treasury cannot afford to continue keeping an eye on us. You can trust Queen Persinette. Gaule’s fear of magic nearly destroyed them, don’t make the same mistake.”

“We aren’t Gaule.”

“No,” Edmund agreed. “Because it’s not too late for you. Your people are suffering because your treasury runs dry, and the men who work the fields are off with the army. You have units in Bela, Gaule, Andes, and Cana.”

“We are aiding those kingdoms.”

A new voice piped in, one that made her stomach roil. “Maybe you should aid your own kingdom.”

Helena’s eyes snapped to the speaker.

“Ian,” a harsher voice hissed. 

The king lifted his eyes. “Young Tenyson, please, tell me what you really think.”

Ian opened his mouth again, but an older woman gripped his arm. 

“Let me apologize for my son, your Majesty. This is his first meeting of the war council.”

The king raised one brow. “We invited you here to observe, boy. Let those with more experience speak.”

Ian’s jaw clenched, a look Helena had seen before.

He wasn’t any younger than Stev, but Stev had been raised for these duties and his voice carried more weight. He also had the good sense to know when not to speak. 

Why was Ian invited? His mother, Lady Tenyson, was not a member of the war council, having no experience in battle. She was a merchant. Yes, the most powerful merchant in Madra, but that wouldn’t do much good when speaking of tactics. But Ian had always been favored. It was why she’d had to suffer his company more frequently than she preferred.

He used to pursue her openly, but that all changed when she embarrassed him in front of her brothers by refusing to spend time alone with him. She’d admit, she was harsh, and it hadn’t helped that her brothers started laughing. Since then, he’d treated her with nothing but scorn.

Hands slid around Helena’s waist from behind and she squealed as her feet left the ground. 

“Hiya, sister.” Cole laughed.

She turned when he put her down and threw her arms around him. “Cole, you’re back!” 

An identical copy of Cole entered behind him. “Quinn!”

The bastard princes had left more than a year ago with a unit of the army sent to drive off a Madran mercenary force in Cana. 

She released Cole and threw herself at Quinn. 

He squeezed her tightly. “Missed you, sis.” 

She’d missed them. Cole and Quinn’s absence had been wholly felt. 

The entire room had quieted and turned to them. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked Quinn. 

“We wouldn’t miss your ball.” Cole smirked before walking to shake Lady Tenyson’s hand and give Ian a hug. Cole was almost closer to their family than his own. 

Quinn crossed to his father and offered his hand.

“Welcome home, son,” the king said. 

Quinn then gave Stev a hug and shook a few more hands.

Helena took a tentative step into the room. She caught Stev’s eye. He frowned and studied her for a moment before shaking his head. Relief shot through her, and she lifted her chin. Stev had decided not to tell their father of her trip into the city.

Quinn stepped back to her side and leaned in. “What did you do?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responded.

“I’ve been here two seconds and can already see the warning looks Edmund is shooting toward Stev. In turn, Stev is glaring at you.” 

I gave Stev a grateful smile as I leaned closer to Quinn. “He’s saving me.”

The king finally noticed her presence. “Helena, I’m sure you have better things to do.”

She sighed. As a girl, she’d spent countless hours sitting in on war meetings, fascinated. As she grew older, it wasn’t considered proper. She was second born, meaning her only worry need be the council of merchants she’d one day lead. 

As she turned to leave, she felt a set of eyes following her and her gaze met Ian’s. A shiver raced down her spine because everything suddenly made sense. Why he was there.

The Madran law stated a princess would choose her own husband as long as he was of Madran descent. That was the reason for the ball—but her father was known to always weight his dice. 

Wouldn’t it be a great feat to tie the royal family to the highest of the merchants? The throne would have a power that hadn’t been seen in a long time. 

She made it back to the royal residence and ripped the mask from her face. 

She wouldn’t do it. The Tenyson’s were vile, conniving, wretches. She’d seen the lecherous looks both sons sent her way. 

Her father could make deals all he wanted, but there was one thing she knew for certain.

She would never marry a Tenyson.

4

An icy blast of water struck Dell’s face, and he sputtered awake, almost falling from his loft in the barn. His eyes snapped open to find the haggard face of his stepmother hovering over him. She threw the now empty wooden bucket behind her and planted both hands on her expensive gown covered hips. 

He would have laughed at her presence among the un-mucked stalls and animal smells, but her shrill voice permeated the air instead. 

“You ungrateful shit. Where have you been? No one has seen you in days.” 

He may have thought she’d worried over his absence if he didn’t know her. 

He would not tell her the truth, so he decided to go with nothing at all. 

She narrowed her eyes. “You will make up the work. The Madran trader, our largest ship, is leaving a day late to pick up the next shipment coming across the border into Bela. It leaves on the noon tide. Get to the ship.”

The Madran Trader has been his father’s prized ship. He shook his head. His father was dead. None of the ships were his anymore. They belonged to the Tenyson trading company. An operation he should have been more involved in than cleaning decks. 

His stepmother turned and stomped across the straw-covered floor before flinging open the wooden door. 

Dell groaned as he sat up and flipped wet hair out of his eyes. A few of the stable lads were waking in their beds. When Dell had first arrived at Tenyson manor and the storm took his father, he couldn’t understand why the rest of his supposed family would force him to live with the help. Over the years, he’d been glad of it. It was better than suffocating inside that house. 

He climbed from the bunk and slid his shirt off, finding a dry one to replace it. Corban’s healing was incredible and efficient, but it used the body’s own energy to heal and he felt it for days in the strain of his muscles. 

He rubbed his eyes and flattened his hair. Time for another day of working for people who could destroy him if he refused. He had no other choices. No money. No family other than the Tenysons. 

Nothing. 

He’d made peace with this life a long time ago. His only other option was to join one of the mercenary troops and he wasn’t prepared for that.

The sun had yet to appear when he left the barn behind. A few shop owners were preparing for the day. The smell of fresh baked bread hung in the air. Dell glanced back over his shoulder to make sure his stepmother hadn’t followed him before ducking inside the bakery. 

Agathe, the bakery owner stood at the counter shaping unbaked loaves. “Dell.” She smiled. “It’s been a few days, honey.”

“Morning.” He walked forward and kissed the old woman’s cheek. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a neat bun, revealing intelligent eyes. He leaned against the counter. “I was with Mari and Corban.”

“Uh oh.” She grinned. She’d always taken great entertainment in his antics. “Who did you fight this time?”

“Orlo.”

She choked on a breath. “We need to work on that brain of yours, boy.” She laughed. “Or maybe it’s the ego that needs work.”

He shrugged and snagged a pastry from the bin. She slapped his hand. 

He reached into his pocket and procured one of the few silver coins he had left.

“Do I want to know how you got that?” Agathe asked. 

“Probably not.”

She lifted a flour-covered hand and patted his cheek. “I’m not taking your money, boy. Just come back this evening. You can eat dinner with me and share more of those joyful smiles.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I swear, you keep me young.” 

He kissed her cheek again. “You’ve got yourself a date.” 

He shoved the rest of the pastry into his mouth as he stepped back out onto the street.

 The city spread out before him as the sun peeked over the two story wooden shops. Flat, terracotta roofs spanned the horizon.

A horse’s hooves echoed against the stone road. Dell loved Madra. Since arriving in the city, they’d welcomed him with open arms. Shopkeepers had kept an eye on the wild boy who never seemed like he had enough to eat. 

They’d given him their children’s old clothing. 

He was one of them.

Only, he wasn’t.

Because Dell was a merchant’s son. His family’s ships brought the goods sold in their shops and they used their power to control their daily lives. The Tenyson boys bullied the common kids through their adolescence and continued to lord their control even into adulthood. 

What would people like Agathe think if they knew Dell carried the Tenyson name as well?

He smiled at the portly fellow opening the butcher shop, trying to hide the confusion swirling in his mind. He wanted to belong among them. 

A breeze whipped through the streets, carrying the odor that told of a proximity to the sea. They called Madra the gateway kingdom. Goods passed through between Bela and Gaule and the Kingdoms to the North. The docks were their point of entry and an impressive one at that. 

Outside the city, one could find spots to gaze out at the sea, but the docks themselves sat in the widest part of the river. 

Long wooden piers stretched as far as he could see to the left and right. Some were empty, but most housed merchant vessels, their sails flapping in the wind like the beat of a familiar drum. A few war vessels were in, but most had carried their troops to the various fronts ordered by the king. 

Sailors called greetings to Dell. In their eyes, he was no different from them. They worked their fingers to the bone every day with no chance for respite. 

Dell’s feet took him to a row of ships belonging to the Tenyson family. Grant, his stepmother’s most favored captain, spotted him and jumped his thick frame from the rigging, landing on the deck with a defining thud. 

“You’re late.” He scowled.

Dell wasn’t late, but Grant said it every time. 

Grant walked toward the rail where a mop leaned next to a bucket of muddy brown water. “Galley needs cleaned.” He walked away. 

Stretching his neck from side to side, Dell reached for the bucket. He wrapped his fingers around the mop and kicked open the door before descending into the darkness. 

Dell worked tirelessly until dark—Grant didn’t allow breaks—and when he finally decided it was quitting time, Dell found his brothers waiting for him at the side of the ship. 

Setting his hands on the rail, he leaped over, stumbling from exhaustion as he landed. 

Ian let out a low chuckle and stepped forward. Reed hung back. It was how it always was with them. Ian led and Reed followed. 

“Where have you been?” Ian asked.

Dell brushed a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Right here.”

Ian shoved him back. “Before today. You’ve been missing.”

“Aw.” Dell leaned close, a smirk planted on his lips. “I’m touched you care.”

He saw the punch coming even before Ian lurched forward, so he ducked out of the way. Ian lunged again, but Dell was quick. All the time he spent boxing paid off. He shifted his feet and the next time Ian’s arm shot out, he grabbed his wrist and twisted it down before delivering a blow to his brother’s cheek. 

“Reed,” Ian growled. 

Like a dog responding to its master, Reed advanced. Dell glanced between them. Each was larger than him and with his fighting skills he could take down one. But what then? What would his stepmother do?

So, he did the only thing he could think of.

Dell ran, his exhausted legs stumbling the first few steps.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had no choice. If they’d been anyone else, he’d have taken them on and fought until he couldn’t anymore. But his brothers were untouchable. 

He made it to the end of the docks and heard their steps thundering after him, punctuated by Ian’s yelled threats. He turned onto the street and ducked into an alley, jumping over something he barely even saw without breaking his speed. 

He hurtled onto the next street and was halfway down when someone yelled to him sharply. 

“Dell.”

Dell’s feet skidded to a halt, and he turned to find Edmund standing with Agathe in front of her bakery. 

Edmund walked into the street just as Ian and Reed appeared. They stopped a few yards away, their eyes seething. They didn’t dare touch Dell with the Belaen Ambassador present. 

Dell bent over, gasping for breath as the day’s work caught up with him.

How was Edmund always so calm? 

Edmund straightened his shoulders to face Dell’s brothers.

Agathe stepped up beside Dell. “It’s okay, dear.”

Dell’s mind spun rapidly. “You know who I am? Does everyone?” He glanced toward the row of deserted shops.

“Only me,” she assured him. “And only for the last few months.”

Edmund’s voice was not one to argue with. “You Tenyson’s…” He shook his head. “I have only been in Madra a year, but even I know how the tip of the spiral is supposed to behave. Mistreating your brother is below your station.”

“He’s not our brother,” Ian growled. “Just a servant.”

A blast of air whipped around them, trapping them as it swirled. Edmund’s voice seemed to carry on the wind itself. 

“You will leave Dell to attend his duties in peace. The next person to lay a hand on him will answer to me.”

The wind dropped and silence descended on them until they could hear again. “Do you understand?” Edmund’s voice lowered again.

Ian and Reed didn’t respond. Instead, they turned and walked away as fast as they could without it seeming like they were running. 

Dell grinned at Edmund and started a slow clap. “Bravo, friend. You just made the sons of the most powerful merchant in Madra shit themselves.” 

Agathe shook her head. “You’re a vulgar one, Dell.” She eyed Edmund. “If you’re okay, I still have to lock up for the night.”

Edmund nodded. “I must speak to Dell.”

“We’ll reschedule our dinner, Dell.” Agathe left, and Dell stared at the ground, kicking a rock with his toe. He was losing count of how many times Edmund showed up to help him, but his gratitude was lost in a desire to get home and collapse into his loft. 

Edmund stood still for a moment, glancing toward the far end of the street. A half-moon hung overhead, giving them what little light it had. 

Dell finally lifted his eyes. “You’ve got to give me something, sir. Why are you here?”

Edmund didn’t have to ask what he meant. The question wasn’t why was he in Madra, but why did he continue to come to Dell’s aid. 

Edmund studied him. “I had a hard time for many years.” He walked toward one of the shops and sat on the ground to lean against the wall. Dell followed him, lowering himself to the ground with a relieved sigh. 

“My father was—is—a son of a bitch,” he continued. 

“We have that in common. My stepmother…” Dell rested his arms on his knees. 

“We do, but I’ll bet your stepmother never wanted you dead.”

Dell snapped his eyes to Edmund’s. “She may wish it, but she’d never do it. However vile that woman is, she loved my father.”

“It was the magic. For a long time, the people of Gaule hated those of us with it. It made me an angry kid. I had to hide this huge part of myself. But that wasn’t the worst of it. I had no family. I was alone.”

Dell watched him with rapt attention. “What changed?”

“Loyalty. I met the prince of Gaule. He didn’t ask for my loyalty, only my friendship, but that loyalty saved me. My life had purpose. I would protect the future reign of Alexandre Durand.”

“I thought he was the king of Bela?” Dell asked.

Edmund laughed. “It’s a long story. But yes, he rules alongside Queen Persinette and she now has my loyalty as much as Alex.”

“This is interesting and all, but I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“Dell.” Edmund searched Dell’s eyes and when he seemed to find what he was looking for, he spoke again. “Give me your loyalty.”

Dell startled. “Edmund, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but… isn’t that treason? To pledge myself to someone not of Madran blood?”

“Yes. You will break laws. You could end up dead. But Dell, you could also finally find something worth fighting for.”

Flashes of Dell’s street fights rolled through his mind in quick succession. Women. Debts. Sometimes no reason at all. 

What would it be like to fight for something real?

What did he really know about Edmund? Not much. Everything inside him screamed that Edmund was someone to trust. Dell so desperately wanted one person, anyone to have faith in. 

But something didn’t add up. 

“What’s going on, Edmund? You’re asking me to trust you, so you need to trust me as well. Why do you need me? You work for the royal family. They have people at their beck and call. Or you could have some loyal Belaen take ship.”

Edmund leaned his head back against the wall. “You’re right.” He paused. “But I need someone who knows the streets of Madra. There is going to be a coup. They will overthrow the king.”

5

Helena’s mother was not of Madran blood. As heir to the throne, her father had to marry a foreign woman of high importance. Cana didn’t have princesses or kings. The clans were not unified in their kingdom.

Queen Chloe was the daughter of a powerful Canan warlord who had kept other clans in check for many years.

But that wasn’t all she was. They had trained Chloe Rhodipus to be an assassin. It was the way of Cana. All highborn lads and ladies held skills in the art. Cana was a nest of snakes. None of the clans trusted any other. Being clan-leader was a dangerous position.

Helena flipped a knife in her hand, eying her target. Most in Madra—including the king himself—did not know of the queen’s talents. But she’d followed the traditions of her kingdom and brought her daughter up to know what it was to fight.

A cracked wooden post sat forty paces from Helena in the empty space. She practiced in a little-used training yard, hidden from the main training ground by a high partition. Her mother’s guards stood at the door, making sure unwelcome intruders would not find the princess there.

Helena bent her knees and tilted her shoulder down before lifting her arm and flicking her wrist to send the knife end over end. It collided with the wood, a soft thud reaching her ears. The corner of her mouth ticked up. Not even her brothers knew of the talents she’d practiced for years.

She considered seeking her mother to show her the improvements she’d made in the techniques she was learning, but today was not the day for that. A foreign princess would soon arrive at their shores. The queen would set out to meet her soon.

Helena sighed as she walked forward and bent to retrieve the knife.

One of the guards stepped up, and she handed the weapon to him. “Thanks, Kolettis.”

He dipped his head. “You’re improving, Princess.”

Pride bloomed within her at the recognition. Her brothers always proved their worthiness but as the hidden princess, she had little chance to be anything other than a mystery to most people.

“My mother is a good teacher,” she responded. “I’m going to find my brothers. You can return to my mother.”

“As you wish.”

She resisted the urge to sigh again. The formality always grated on her. It was as if the people of the palace feared her. In truth, they just didn’t know her. Not like they did her brothers.

She passed under the narrow stone archways that led to the main training yard, and the clash of swords caused her to stop.

Helena watched the twins in fascination. They moved parallel to each other, perfectly in sync as they battled. When Quinn jabbed to the right, Cole knew it was coming. When Cole twisted and tried to take out Quinn’s leg, his twin saw it before it happened.

She’d always been jealous of their bond. The bastard princes hadn’t grown up with the privilege she enjoyed along with Stev and Kass. They enjoyed more freedom.

The twins were raised in a tavern until they were ten years old and their mother died. It was only then the king admitted to the knowledge of their existence. It wasn’t unusual in Madra for the king to sire many children. In fact, it was expected. That was how a royal family cemented their power—by spreading it out among different parts of the kingdom. The monarchy. The council of merchants. The priesthood. The army. Recognizing Quinn and Cole as royals expanded the Rhodipus’ control. It left only one faction without a royal—the priesthood. But Kassander would one day fill that role.

Even after they were taken into the palace, Quinn and Cole were united against the world. But never against Helena.

Kass bumped Helena’s elbow. “Will I fight like them some day?”

She smiled, her cheeks pressing against the soft mask. Many days, she stayed hidden in the family residence to avoid wearing the thing. She looked to the sky, longing to feel the sun warm her face.

“You’re to be a priest, Kass. You’ll fight with your words.” She ruffled his hair.

“And you, Len? What will you fight with?”

The question was one she’d asked herself many times. As head of the council, she wasn’t sure what she’d be fighting for. When she saw her future, she wanted to be anyone but the princess of Madra.

“I’ll… I guess I’ll use my intellect to fight.” Not her knives as she preferred.

Kassander scoffed. “Sounds boring.”

She laughed, the sound loud enough to reach the twins who both stopped fighting to turn to her. “It does. Doesn’t it?”

Kassander shrugged.

Cole ran toward them, his bare chest glistening with sweat. “Didn’t know we had an audience.”

“I didn’t get much of a chance to speak with you yesterday.” Helena shot her brother a grin.

Quinn stepped up beside Cole. Every inch of them was identical, but she’d been able to tell them apart from the first day they arrived eleven years before. Cole had an infectious joy, an incredible zeal for life. But he’d never opened himself up to the family. The hatred between him and Stev was too much to bear at times and occasionally she caught him eying their father with the same dislike. But he loved her and Kassander.

Quinn had become a part of them. No one was as close to him as Cole, but he’d still crafted strong bonds with everyone else. He had a calm confidence about him that was unmistakable.

“Hey Kassander.” Cole grinned. “Take Quinn’s sword.”

Kassander looked to her as if asking permission. She nodded, and he followed Cole across the training yard.

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Cole let Kassander chase him with the sword before turning on him to teach him a few moves.

“I missed you two,” Helena said.

“I heard what you’ve been up to.” Unlike with Stev, there was no disappointment in Quinn’s voice, only curiosity.

“Edmund or Stev?” she asked in resignation.

“Our brother is only worried. Should he be?”

“I’m being careful. Quinn, there’s so much to see. The city. The people.”

“If you’re amazed by Madra, you should see Cana.” That was why she loved Quinn. He wouldn’t judge her for her deceptions or stress over her. He could move on. “Mother Chloe was right. It’s a beautiful country. Dangerous too.”

“Are you going back?”

He shook his head. “After your ball, I am being sent to Gaule with my troops. We’re the aid promised in the betrothal agreement between Stev and the princess Camille.”

“Have you met her?” They’d all been told of Camille Durand, the widowed princess of Gaule. Her husband caught an illness more than a year before and died in his bed.

“I’ve heard stories, but most people only speak of her brother and his queen.”

“The king of Bela?” She shivered. “Is Queen Persinette really as powerful as the stories? Her magic…”

“They say it’s mostly gone.”

Disappointment seeped into her. Thinking of an all-powerful queen had led to many fantasies.

Quinn glanced toward Cole again. “He is to stay though.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Once you’re betrothed, you will gain your own guards. Cole is to choose them.”

She nodded, thankful for that. Once she could go into the city as the princess rather than disguised as a boy, guards would accompany her, and if her brother chose them, she knew she’d be safe.

Cole and Kassander dropped their swords and wrestled in the dirt, their laughs punctuated by grunts.

Footsteps echoed along the corridor leading to the training yard seconds before the queen appeared. Helena’s mother smiled when she saw her children. Every bit of hardness in their father was countered with love from their mother.

Her long purple gown swept along the ground, giving her the appearance she was floating. She looked every bit the regal queen, but Helena knew where each knife was hidden among the folds of her dress.

“Quinn.” The queen stopped in front of him and touched his cheek. “It’s good to have you home.”

The twins might not be hers, but the queen tried to be a mother to them.

“I’m glad to be here.” Quinn smiled back at her.

Cole got to his feet and lifted Kassander onto his shoulders. The boy shrieked as they trotted toward the queen.

“Mother.” Kassander giggled as Cole slid him down.

“Looks like someone is having a good time.” She turned her eyes on Cole, the same sadness in them as every other time she looked at him.

“Your Majesty.” Cole’s joy seeped out of him.

He’d never accepted Chloe Rhodipus as his mother. Helena wondered if it was out of loyalty to his long-dead mother or something else.

Quinn put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Come, brother. We should go see father about our duties preparing for the ball.” He gave the queen an apologetic smile and led his twin away.

The queen’s shoulders only dropped for a moment before she pasted on a cheery smile and turned to her other two children.

“Come. You two must prepare. We’re to greet a ship from Gaule.”

Helena froze. “I am to go?” They had never allowed her into the city even wearing her masks. She longed to see the ships that fed the kingdom’s economy but had yet to make it that far in her disguise.

Her mother put a hand on her back to lead her forward. “The people must see you before the ball and this is the perfect chance.”

“Who is coming on that ship?”

She smiled slyly. “Your brother’s betrothed.”

Helena nearly choked. How could the Gaulean princess be arriving and the palace not be abuzz? Where were the preparations? Feasts?

As if reading her mind, the queen explained. “The princess made certain demands of us. No public spectacles. We may greet her at the ship but then must whisk her to the privacy of the palace. She’s only here for a short time and we don’t want word getting out. She made the crossing because she demanded to meet your brother before agreeing to marry him.”

“Will she be staying until the ball?”

“Yes, dear. That’s the plan. We’re announcing the betrothal at your ball.”

They followed their mother back into the palace where Sophia was waiting with a special kind of torture for Helena. A corseted dress.

Helena sighed as her maid led her into her room and helped her dress. As Sophia pulled the corset ties tight, Helena reminded herself if it meant venturing into the city, she’d wear anything.

That thought broke away as she tied her mask to her face. This wouldn’t be like before. This trip wasn’t about freedom. It was the opposite. She was showing the people that their royal family adhered to the ancient laws.

A carriage waited at the bottom of the palace steps. Her mother and Kassander were already seated inside. She ran a hand over the soft white coat of one of the horses before climbing inside and shutting the door. A host of guards on horseback formed up around them and they thundered through the gates and onto the road that led to the docks.

The guards cleared the street in front of them so the carriage could pass easily between the buildings that were packed together. A crowd formed to watch them go by.

“I wish I could go on a ship,” Kassander said.

The queen smiled at her son. “Maybe one day we’ll go see the rolling hills of Bela.”

Helena stayed quiet as she glanced out the window. They all knew they’d never be allowed to venture outside Madra. Maybe Kassander would as a member of the clergy. But the king always said the world wasn’t a safe place. The queen and princess would stay within the Madran borders.

“Mother,” Helena began. “Why was I allowed to come today?”

Sadness flickered across the queen’s face. “We are welcoming a foreign princess. You will help her adjust to Madra.” She paused, but Helena could tell she wasn’t finished. “I know the mask hasn’t been easy for you and I wish I could take away all the suffering it has caused. But we must obey your father and he must follow tradition.”

The corner of her mouth curved up. “But I won’t tell him about your trips into the city.”

Helena’s jaw dropped open. “How—” Her eyes found Kassander, and she laughed. “Of course.”

Her mother’s face grew serious. “But Len, you must not go again. It’s dangerous to disobey the priesthood. I don’t worry about you without your guards because you can take care of yourself. I worry about what will happen if others find out you’ve revealed your face.”

“No one even knows it’s me.”

“And if they found out? Promise me you’re finished and I’ll keep it to myself.”

Helena sighed, fingering the knife she kept in a hidden pocket of her dress. “Fine.”

The carriage came to a stop and Helena waited for someone to open the door. As soon as it swung wide, she sucked in a breath.

The docks.

Ships of every size bobbed in the sparkling water. Colorful sails billowed out as the stiff breeze caught them. Sailors climbed ropes, scrubbed decks, and shouted to each other.

A hand appeared to help her out, and she took it, coming face to face with Edmund.

“Princess.” He grinned. “What a lovely day for a jaunt.”

“Ambassador.” The queen took his hand next. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

“No, your Majesty.” He turned back to the carriage and lifted Kassander out. “The ship has just arrived.”

“Let’s not waste any time now. I’d like to meet this delightful princess who will be a new daughter.”

Edmund bit his lip to contain a laugh. As the queen and their guards walked across the wooden planks of the docks, Helena grabbed Edmund’s arm. “What’s so funny?”

“I’ve just never heard anyone call Camille delightful before.”

“Is she that bad?”

“She used to be.”

They came to an abrupt halt near a long wooden pier jutting out toward a ship that rose with the timing of the waves. The ship collided with the peer and a loud crack rent the air. Helena jumped.

Edmund glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, an amused grin on his face.

The crowds behind them buzzed with energy but none were allowed near the royals or this mysterious new visitor. Three priests stood to the back of the crowd watching. Always watching.

The guards moved aside to let two dockworkers run toward the ship as someone threw ropes over the sides with shouts of greeting.

Blonde hair gleamed in the sun as one of the men heaved on the ropes, and Helena recognized him instantly.

Dell.

He moved with confidence in everything he did. It was fascinating. Why was she so interested in him?

Dell flicked hair out of his bronzed face and flashed a smile at the other man with him. The second man narrowed his eyes and barked out a harsh “Get moving.”

As he ran the length of the ship, Dell’s lean muscles flexed. Beneath her mask, Helena was sure her cheeks were aflame.

She’d seen those muscles. All of them.

So, he was a sailor? This boy who fought in the middle of the street? Who bathed in the river? He was a riddle, and she wanted nothing more than to figure him out.

Helena had never had a friend before—not that Dell could count as that. But he’d risked himself trying to save her from Stev. He didn’t know there was no need to defend her.

Sure, she’d been surrounded by her brothers her entire life. And she loved them. But there was a distinct difference between the ones always trying to keep you safe and the ones who gave you a reason to take risks.

Which one was Dell?

He lifted a long plank of wood and used it to connect the ship to the dock for those aboard to step across. Once the board was stable, he glanced over his shoulder as if seeing the queen, prince, and princess for the first time.

Saying something to the other man that made him scowl, Dell walked their way.

Helena held her breath, reminding herself there was no way he could recognize her in a corseted dress and mask.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed to the queen.

Helena’s mother shook off her surprise at his approach. None of the other sailors dared accompany him.

“Hello, young man.” The queen gestured for him to straighten. “Thank you for your assistance today.”

Dell shrugged. “It’s my job.”

A few people nearby gasped at his words and their informality. This was why the royal family rarely associated with the common people. That was what Stev would have said. Commoners didn’t understand how to behave with grace.

But Helena wasn’t Stev. A laugh escaped her lips, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, shocked at herself.

Dell flashed her his dimples before reaching out to ruffle Kassander’s hair, turning on his heel without being dismissed, and returning to the side of the ship.

Edmund put a hand over his face. “That boy…”

Helena’s mother opened her mouth to say something and then shut it again. She shook her head. “I don’t know, Ambassador. I rather liked him.”

“Me too, mother.” Helena refused to meet Edmund’s eyes, but she could feel him watching her.

Finally, a horn sounded. A moment later, guards in the forest green uniforms of Gaule marched from the ship.

Next came the maid. There was only one of them, which shocked Helena. When Stev traveled, he took an entire host of servants with him as if he couldn’t wipe his own ass without assistance.

As soon as Princess Camille appeared, Helena knew it was her. She carried herself as someone who’d been born into an important position.

Dark hair curled around a heart-shaped face. Keen eyes scanned the waiting party. Her slender frame was almost hidden among her much larger guards. She was younger than Helena expected. This was the widowed princess?

The guards parted and Kassander gaped beside Helena. Helena herself was quicker to hide any reaction. Camille limped forward, one foot dragging. She leaned her weight on a four-pronged cane before moving it forward. It clacked against the wood beneath it.

“Mother,” Helena whispered. “Did you know?”

“We know everything, Helena.”

Edmund rushed forward and pushed through the guards to help Camille. She didn’t smile when she saw him, but Helena would have sworn her shoulders sagged in relief. He wrapped his arms around her for a moment before releasing her and extending an arm for her to take.

They made their way over slowly. Camille dipped into a curtsy and Helena couldn’t take her eyes from the cane.

But the queen was better at concealing her curiosities than her daughter. “Princess, we are honored to have you with us.”

“Gaule is honored by this alliance.”

Nothing about herself, only her kingdom.

Kassander recovered from his initial shock. He bowed to Camille. “My lady.”

Amusement lit in Edmund’s eyes, but it turned to concern as he took in Camille’s blank expression.

“Can we leave now?” she asked.

“Yes, dear.” The queen signaled one of the guards.

Edmund rode in the carriage with them back to the palace, not wanting to let Camille out of his sight as they left the city outside the gates.

6

Helena had dreamed of having a sister. What would it be like? Would she be more friend than protector?

But she lived her life surrounded by boys who excluded her. They eventually turned into men who protected her at the expense of her even having a chance at a life beyond the palace.

None of her brothers had married yet. They were all of age except for Kassander, but in Madra, royal marriages had to occur in the order of the succession line.

They’d searched for someone worthy of Stev. The heir to the throne had a duty to make a strong alliance with his marriage.

What did the king fear more than anything? The kingdoms full of magic. That made Gaule a natural ally. Even a widowed princess with a twisted foot would do if it gave Madra a stronger foothold across the sea and an ally who feared magic as much as them.

Helena stared at Camille across the sitting room. The Gaulean princess sipped her tea, acting as if no one else was even in the room. Stev sat nearby, his fists clenching in agitation.

Camille had been there for two days and barely spoken to anyone but Edmund or her own guards.

Stev stood abruptly and stormed from the room. Camille let out an audible breath.

Helena couldn’t take it anymore. “I know nothing about you.”

Camille lifted her eyes. “What?”

“We have stories here in Madra about Gaule and Bela. Queen Persinette, King Alexandre, Queen Catrine, Prince Tyson, but not you. I’ve never heard of Princess Camille.”

She ran her hands through her hair before twisting it over one shoulder. “I…” She stopped.

“I didn’t mean you have to tell me.” Helena crossed her arms. “I don’t really care. All I’m saying is that you sit here in our home and act like Madra is so completely beneath you, and yet, you aren’t even mentioned by the minstrels when they talk of Bela and Gaule winning the war against Dracon. How important could you really be?”

Tears formed in Camille’s eyes and Helena instantly regretted her brash words.

“I’m sorry,” Camille whispered. “I just don’t know how…” She wiped her eyes. “I don’t know how to do this again.”

“Do what?”

“Marry a man I don’t know. My kingdom needs this alliance. My mother’s wish is to create a world where each kingdom is tied to the others to prevent the kind of war that happened before. I’m her tie to Madra.”

“You’re the kingdom’s tool.”

Camille nodded. “Again. This is the second time I’ve had to marry for the good of the kingdom.”

Helena stood and crossed the room before dropping onto the couch beside Camille. “I know how you feel. I get to choose my husband as long as he’s Madran… that’s the official law… but my father will be the real decision maker at the ball.”

“We hear stories in Gaule as well.” Camille’s eyes scanned the mask covering Helena’s face. “Of the hidden princess. Must you always shield your face? That’s a terrible burden.”

She had no idea, Helena thought. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Not a burden, a duty.

Before Helena could utter another word, Edmund appeared in the doorway. “Princesses.”

“Edmund.” Helena raised a brow at his hesitancy.

“Stev has asked me to take Camille into the city. He’d like her to see more of Madra than this palace.”

More than anyone had ever wanted for her, Helena thought. Edmund’s eyes bore into her. How could he always read her damn thoughts?

“Just go,” she snapped.

When they were gone, she pulled her feet up under her and untied the laces of her mask. It fell to the ground as if it held all the weight of the world.

Maybe not the world, but every bit of weight she carried with her rested in the curves of that fabric.

7

“Be loyal to me, Dell,” Dell grumbled as he jammed the shovel into another pile of horse crap. “I’ll give you something to fight for.” He dumped the manure in the bucket and went for another. “Load of bollocks.”

The horse in the neighboring stall kicked at the wall separating them and Dell shook his head. “Relax, Ian.” He’d named the horse after his eldest brother. Maybe it was the long, ugly face or the arrogant disposition that reminded him of his brother.

Each of his family members had a namesake in the barn. Reed was the pig in the end stall that failed to thrive on his own.

And Dell’s stepmother? Well, she was the single cow they owned.

These weren’t their actual names, of course, but it gave Dell some small pleasure.

He leaned his shovel against the wall, his mind going to Edmund once more. He’d told him the king would be overthrown, and then he left.

Dell wasn’t even sure which side he was on.

Because the only thing he was sure of, was that Edmund had his loyalty before even asking for it. He wasn’t even Madran, but he looked out for Dell.

Dell had few people who cared if he survived each night. He had to hold on to the ones who were there.

But, what the hell? Edmund couldn’t just tell him Madra would change forever and not give him any details.

Did Dell want the king overthrown? He knew what most of the common people thought. King Rhodipus’ wars drained the kingdom of everything. Man-power… food. Most had family members off with the army or the mercenaries. Sometimes it was the only way to keep a family fed.

Unless you were the bastard son of a dead merchant who left his family with wealth and power. Then the way to keep fed was cleaning decks and shoveling shit.

Dell wiped his sweaty face on his tunic as he watched Ian continue to kick the stall door.

“You aren’t getting out, you bastard.” He reached into a bag hanging on the stall and procured an apple. Ian snapped at it, and Dell pulled it back. “Someone’s in a bad mood. Now Ian, do I have to teach you some manners?”

He grinned at the thought of his brother having manners of any kind. At least there was still hope for horse-Ian.

“Get your brains scrambled in another fight, lad?” Edmund chuckled from the doorway.

Dell tossed the apple to Ian. The horse caught it in his mouth, and it crunched as he ate it whole.

Dell turned. “Why Edmund, what a nice surprise. I didn’t know you remembered little old me.”

Edmund crossed his arms and didn’t respond.

Dell scanned the woman holding the ambassador’s arm. She wore a hood, concealing her face in shadow, but as she stepped forward, Edmund moved in sync with her as if holding her up, and it gave away her identity.

“Princess.” Dell swept his arm out in an elaborate bow. “Who did you piss off at the palace to get stuck with Edmund for company?”

A muffled laugh came out of the small woman. “I like this boy, Edmund. Can I take him back to Gaule with me?”

“Sorry, Princess. His stepmother might miss the free labor.” Edmund threw the words out as if they were a joke, but Dell winced. It was true. His family wouldn’t allow him to leave because he served them, not because they cared for him.

Princess Camille pushed back her hood, revealing long raven hair and piercing blue eyes. “Your mother owns this manor?” She threw a look at the great house behind her, its columned splendor rising above the squalor of the city at its gates. The Tenyson’s lived outside the merchant sector. Lord Tenyson’s grandfather hadn’t trusted the scheming of merchant families desperate to climb to the top of the spiral.

Camille’s tone held no accusation or suspicion, only curiosity, but he didn’t want to speak of family history with a near stranger.

Dell shrugged. “Stepmother.”

Edmund seemed to sense his discomfort. “Dell, I need to speak with you.”

“I have work to do. Not all of us can befriend a king, get sent as an ambassador who never seems to have to do anything, and then sit on his ass.” He turned to grab the shovel again.

Edmund waited a moment as Dell got back to work. “Noon. Come to the back gate of my home. One of my men will let you in. We will be waiting.”

When they were gone, Dell threw the shovel. It crashed against the wall of the stall with a crack. What was he supposed to do?

Someone would remove the Rhodipus’ from power. Wasn’t that what was best for Madra? Probably.

He ran a hand through his grimy hair. Which side was Edmund on?

And did it matter?

Dell had never considered himself a political person. Since coming to the city, he’d kept his head down, taken everything his supposed family had done to him, and worked hard. When he was frustrated, he tended to slam his fists into people’s faces as if he was a commoner rather than scheme and connive like the rest of the merchant class. Who was he kidding? He was a bastard. He couldn’t be part of that class and that suited him fine.

And Edmund had seen something in that?

He pushed out a breath, unsure if he wanted to go to the meeting or not.

But really, what did he have to lose?

He had nothing.

He patted horse-Ian’s nose and shuffled past him out of the barn. Edmund and Camille’s carriage had created ruts near the gate that he’d no doubt have to fill.

If he was going to make it to Edmund’s manor house, he had to leave before his stepmother returned from the dressmakers.

He walked to the side of the barn where a stable hand always left the barrels of water he’d filled from the well. They replenished water buckets inside each of the animal stalls.

Dell gripped the sides of the tallest barrel and bent to plunge his head underneath the cool water. He raised it and flung dripping hair out of his face as the water soaked into the shoulders of his thin shirt. He scrubbed a hand over his face to remove the remaining dirt from a morning of work in the stables.

Now or never.

Time to decide.

He glanced at the large black iron gate behind him. Ominous spikes lined the top of the structure. They meant it as a warning to all others.

Don’t try to beat the Tenyson’s in business or in anything else. You won’t win.

A carriage rumbled up the street and through the partially open gate. Dell’s chest deflated as his stepmother appeared.

She scowled when she saw him.

“What are you doing, you worthless boy? Standing around? Those stables had better be mucked by lunch and then you’re to head to the docks. One of our vessels has arrived, and you’re to help in getting the goods to the warehouse.”

Think, Dell. He flicked his eyes back to the barn.

“Something isn’t right with moth—with the cow.” He forced a concerned frown onto his face after almost calling the cow mother.

“What’s this you’re talking about?” she asked harshly.

The cow was the most prized possession they owned. In the mountainous Madra, only the wealthy had cows. Poorer folk kept goats. Some occasionally had a horse. But few had cows. And it was his ticket to that meeting.

He nodded, a frown turning his lips down. “She’s not producing milk.”

“It,” his stepmother said. “The cow is not a person. Not a she. Why isn’t it producing milk?”

“I don’t know. We need to fetch Redden Martin.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Take a damn horse and fetch the cow man.”

By “cow man”, she meant the one person they knew in Madra who worked with cows and kept them in good health. He lived in a small one-room shack across the city.

Dell ran into the barn, thankful his stepmother didn’t follow him. She stayed out of the barn except when it came time to harass him.

He considered the full buckets of milk sitting outside the cow’s stall; thankful he hadn’t carried them to the house yet. Glancing out the door, he didn’t see his stepmother, so he hauled the buckets two at a time to the small stream that ran behind the barn. The back wall of the estate had been built directly over it.

If anyone caught him dumping cow’s milk, he’d be in serious trouble. It was worth too much in a city that lived on goat’s milk, olives, and grapes. Meat could sometimes be hard to come by during wartime. Another consequence of the king’s actions. Trade had grown more difficult. The merchants climbing the spiral were the ones who still seemed to be able to get their goods from kingdoms torn apart by fighting.

Once the milk was gone, he hurried to saddle Ian and climbed on. He kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and took off.

As a boy, he’d ridden his horse every day. The beast was the only thing of any value he and his mother owned. Since then, he had little opportunity to feel the wind whip through his hair. He swerved around people in the busy streets, passing Agathe’s bakery with only a glance. She wanted him to join with Edmund. Why? He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact she’d known exactly who his father was.

And she hadn’t cared.

She’d treated him like he truly belonged among the city-folk.

Agathe seemed to trust Edmund.

Trust didn’t come easily to Dell. At all, really.

When he reached the more affluent ambassador’s sector, Dell pulled the reins to slow horse-Ian. There was a representative from each of the five neighboring kingdoms living in the row of grandiose marble homes. No terracotta tiles adorned their roofs. Instead, they comprised an intricate thatching done meticulously. The street was deserted save for a few servants bustling in and out of doors.

This was one of the problems in Madra. The king spent the treasury on two things: The army and impressing his fellow rulers. Instead of increasing food supply for his own people, he showered these foreigners with ornate homes and feasts.

Once again, Dell didn’t know which side he hoped Edmund was on. Did he want the royal family overthrown because their policies were destroying his kingdom? Or did loyalty to one’s king mean more than that?

He steered the horse around to the back of the second house and slid down. They had left the back gate unlatched, and he opened it just wide enough to slide through, guiding the horse in after him.

He entered the courtyard on the other side, unsure what he should do next. His eyes scanned the flowering surroundings. It wasn’t unlike the house his so-called family lived in. Why should he trust Edmund when he didn’t trust them? Wealth was a disease. Those who had it lorded it over the rest and those who didn’t worked their entire lives just for a taste.

That was the way of the city.

Dell longed for the simpler life in the mountain villages. His mother had been all he’d needed. His neighbors had nothing but the land they grew olives and grapes on. And they wanted little else. They hadn’t needed much to be happy, unlike the people who now surrounded him in the city, constantly seeking more.

The heavy oak door that led into the house opened and a thickset man stuck his head out. “Good, you’ve arrived. Leave the horse. The stable boy will deal with him. Come.”

As soon as Dell stepped into the house, he paused. The grandness was left outside, replaced by simple furnishings and little decoration. The wooden floor creaked underneath his feet as he walked into the living area.

The man turned to him. “The ambassador will be here in a moment. Would you like some wine?”

“N—” Dell cleared his throat. “No, thank you.”

The man issued a short bow and retreated from the room.

It wasn’t long before something thumped down the hall. Seconds later, Princess Camille appeared. Her serious face showed no warm greeting as she sighed. “Edmund…” She said his name with no emotion. “He just can’t keep himself out of trouble. What about you, Dell? Are you prepared to get wrapped up in that man’s insane ideas?”

“I—” What was he to say to that? He wanted no insanity in his life. Before Edmund, he was content working his fingers to the bone every day, getting the adrenaline rush of an occasional street fight, and then losing himself and his memories in his carvings. He touched the pocket sewn into his shirt where he always kept his carving knife and his latest wooden creation. In the past few weeks, he’d needed to be healed—again, pulled a knife on the crown prince, and spent time with the palace mistress while she was dressed as a boy—for whatever reason.

“I’m not sure,” he finally admitted.

Camille sat in a chair opposite him. “Well, get sure. Edmund doesn’t play games, boy. I’ve known him for years—hating him for most of them—and he never backs down from doing what he thinks is right.”

There’d been little chance for Dell to do the right thing over the years. His brothers forced many poor situations on him. But his mother would have wanted him to stand up for something, to be more than a working grunt with no family.

She’d want him to put his faith in something.

He lifted his eyes to meet Camille’s dark gaze. “I want to do right too.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “I know what it is to feel as if you have no family. Only, in my case, I was wrong. I didn’t agree with my brother on a lot of things and betrayed him. But Alexandre forgave me. Do you know what I learned?”

Dell shook his head.

“Trust is the most valuable commodity in the six kingdoms. My brother married me off to remove me from the palace. He could have chosen an ogre of a man. Instead, he chose someone who was kind and loyal. My husband fought for my family with every breath. I didn’t love him, but I always had faith in him. It’s funny, Alex wanted to get rid of me and I ended up staying at the palace longer because of it.”

Dell wasn’t sure what this story had to do with him, so he let her continue.

“I regretted betraying my family—because it was the wrong thing to do for Gaule. But if it would have saved my kingdom, I’d do it again. No question.”

Confusion creased his brow. “I don’t understand.”

Edmund’s voice invaded their conversation. “Your family, Dell.” He walked into the room. “They’re going to overthrow the king and I need your help to stop them.”

Dell rubbed his eyes. “I think I’ll take that wine now.”

* * *

Edmund returned from the cook-room balancing three cups of red wine.

Dell took his and gulped greedily before devolving into a fit of coughing as the wine hit his taste buds.

Edmund chuckled.

“I think I’m dying,” Dell wheezed. “What is that?”

“Wine.” Camille hid a smirk behind her cup.

When Edmund finished laughing, he explained. “In Bela and Gaule, we don’t cut our wine with water as you Madrans do.”

“Why the bloody hell not? That was horrid.”

“You get used to it.” Camille shrugged.

Edmund stood. “I’ll get some of the olives I picked up at the market today. That should ease your Madran palate.”

Dell lifted the cup to his lips again without thinking, but as soon as the wine hit his lips, he put it down and shook his head. “Doesn’t the great ambassador of Bela have servants to fetch his food?”

Camille raised an eyebrow. “Do you know anything about him at all?”

Did he? Dell tried to recall any facts about Edmund. He was from Bela and claimed their king and queen as his friends. He had some sort of magic. Beyond that, Dell knew nothing at all.

Understanding lit in Camille’s eyes. “Edmund isn’t one to ask someone to do something he can accomplish himself. Your king supplies him with enough gold to hire a host of servants, but he lives as simply as he would in Bela.”

“What about the man who greeted me when I arrived?”

Camille lowered her gaze. “From what Edmund told me, Bemus lost everything in a fire—including his family. Edmund employs him merely as a means to give the man a home.”

Edmund returned with a platter balancing on one hand. He glanced between Camille and Dell. Dell had always liked Edmund, but now he watched him with a new respect in his eyes.

Maybe Edmund wasn’t as different as Dell thought.

“What?” Edmund asked as he set the cheese and olive laden tray on the table. “Is Camille spinning tales about me again? She used to not like me very much.”

Camille laughed. “Used to?”

Edmund flashed her a grin before turning to Dell. All seriousness returned to his face.

His family. Dell pictured his stepmother and brothers. Were they truly conspiring against the king? A king who gave them everything. Lady Tenyson was the tip of the spiral, giving her untold power. She had the king’s ear in all things. Rumors had even spread through the city that the princess’ ball was merely a formality and it was Ian Tenyson she was to wed.

None of it made any sense.

Then the truth hit him and it hurt worse than he’d expected. He met Edmund’s eyes. “This is why you befriended me. Why you’ve saved me time and again. Why I mean anything to you. I am a Tenyson. The only one you could get to.” Dell stood. “You asked me to put my loyalty into you, but you’ve never reciprocated. Agathe, Mari, Corban… It’s not me you want, only my name.”

“Dell…” Edmund stepped toward him, but Dell held up a hand and Edmund froze.

“No, don’t lie to me, Edmund. I’ve spent my life around the likes of you. You take and take with no thought to who might be hurt. My family will supposedly betray the king, and you want me to what, spy on them? Risk my life? Because I guarantee if I’m caught, my life means nothing to them.”

“Your king needs you, Dell Tenyson.” Edmund’s low voice rumbled through the room. “I once told you my life changed when I had something to fight for. Yours can too.”

“I don’t want to fight for the king!” The words were out before Dell could stop them. Heavy breath rattled through his chest. “Let the priests put me in a cell for treason, I don’t care, but King Rhodipus will never have my loyalty.”

He’d questioned himself so much when he hadn’t known which side Edmund was on. Questioned his own loyalty to Madra, something he’d never thought of before. Could he support the king and the people both? Were they on the same side?

He didn’t know.

The only thing he knew was he couldn’t choose his stepmother or his brothers. If neither side held anything for him, what was his choice? There were only two sides, right? Either the king was overthrown, or he wasn’t.

Edmund dropped his voice. “I’m not going to throw you in a cell, Dell. I’d never…” He pushed a breath past his teeth and ran a hand through his blonde hair.

Something else made little sense. Dell glanced toward the door, wanting to make his escape, but he didn’t move. “You’re not Madran, Edmund. Your true loyalty is to a king across the sea. Why are you fighting for King Rhodipus? Why are you spending your gold on spies instead of luxuries like the other ambassadors? Your life should be easy here. I need to understand you. What you’re asking of me… not all of us have had the luxury of being able to put their faith in their king. I see what his wars do to this kingdom every single day. It’s in the gaunt faces of the children begging for food from equally hungry sailors. It’s in the war widows and the knowledge that many of this kingdom’s young men will never set foot on our shores again. I know Madra aided Bela in its war with Dracon… is that enough for you? Because it isn’t for me.”

Throughout this exchange, Camille stayed silent, but she chose now to speak. “The boy’s words hold weight, Edmund. I know why my loyalty is to the Rhodipus name. For the good of Gaule, I must wed Estevan and help him keep the throne. But I know you… I know what it is you fight for. It’s never been about the crown, but the man who wears it. Why have you chosen this one?”

Edmund’s jaw clenched, and he collapsed into a chair. He drained his wine and set the cup down with a heavy clang. “King Rhodipus is cruel, ambitious, and vile, but this world needs stability. Madra must remain at peace if we are to continue rebuilding Bela. We need their trade.”

“No.” Camille narrowed her eyes. “The Tenysons are merchants. They will ensure trade is not interrupted. There is something else.”

Dell watched the fight leave Edmund’s eyes. His lips turned down as a sigh inflated his muscular chest.

Dell crossed the room and put a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. He faced the same dilemma as Dell. Protect a king who only hurt the kingdom, or let the royal family fall.

Edmund bent forward with his elbows on his knees. “I believe in tradition,” he started. “Not in the way Madrans do—with the priests protecting it. But real history and a future that furthers the kingdom’s culture.” He lifted his head to peer up at Dell. “Estevan Rhodipus is not his father. I’ve never been more sure of anything. The king doesn’t hold my loyalty as you’ve said, but his son has every bit of it. Stev is going to save this kingdom. He will save us all.”

8

Helena studied her eldest brother as he paced the length of the council chambers. His steps held the confidence only he possessed.

“You accept?” He stopped in front of Camille. “You will follow through with the betrothal?”

Camille nodded solemnly. “My kingdom needs this of me. They have assured me you are a man worthy of our alliance.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he blew out a breath. “That’s good news. Very good indeed.” He peered into her eyes. “I promise you, Camille Durand, I will be a good husband to you. We will lead Madra into a golden age of prosperity and safety together.”

The ambassador of Gaule stepped forward and clapped his hands together. He was a little man who’d had nothing to do with Camille since she set foot in Madra. But now he got his chance at being front and center, and he would not pass it up.

“Wonderful! This is fantastic. I am so pleased we could come to an agreement. Now, we must discuss the details. Gaule needs troops and soon.”

Helena’s father chose then to intervene. “We have already begun preparations. After the ball, my son, Quinn will lead the men into Gaule. We will put these rebellions to bed.”

“Fantastic.” The ambassador scanned the room. “Maybe we should speak in private, your Majesty.”

“Of course.” The king shot a look around the room, and each person present knew the meaning without explanation.

Stev walked with Helena back toward the residence.

“I’m proud of you, brother.” She smiled, her cheeks pushing up against the mask.

“For what?”

“For being the kind of prince another kingdom wants to tie themselves to. From what I’ve heard, Queen Catrine cares deeply for her children. Yet, she’s willing to give her only daughter to Madra for your wife.”

“Rulers do what they have to keep their kingdoms safe.”

Helena touched his arm. “You’re going to make a great king. I’m not sure I’ve told you that yet.”

“Why do you say that?”

The crack in his confidence stunned Helena, but she didn’t let it show. “I heard that a shipment of food meant for the palace, veered off the path and ended up in the Eastern part of the city. It quite upset father he couldn’t have fresh berries for his crème yesterday. You wouldn’t happen to know what caused the royal troops escorting the food to get lost on the way from the docks, would you?”

He shrugged. “Quinn was leading them. Ask him.”

She laughed. “I did. He told me the idea came from higher up the food chain. I highly doubt father authorized it.”

“It’s not up to me to decide what you believe.”

“Dammit, Stev.” She yanked on his arm, pulling him to a stop. “Everyone knows you have a brilliant mind. Why don’t you want them to know you have a heart as well? That you aren’t…”

“Aren’t what?”

Accusation shone in his eyes. She’d almost said he wasn’t like their father. Cold. Calculated. Uncaring.

But she’d never spoken those words out loud.

The only thing Stev had in common with their father was his great mind and his ambition. But he wouldn’t drain the treasuries and issue overbearing taxes for his determined ways. He knew enough not to follow the priesthood blindly.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing, Stev. I just… I love you and one day you’re going to fix us.”

They’d reached the residence to find Cole and Quinn lounging on the red flowered couches. Kassander sprawled in front of a fireplace crackling with flames. Stev stopped at the edge of the room, uncertainty entering his gaze. It killed Helena that her brother didn’t feel comfortable with the rest of them.

“I have business to attend to.” Stev turned on his heel and marched back into the hall.

Kassander jumped to his feet and ran toward her. “Where is Stev going? He promised he’d take me for a ride today.”

“I’m sorry, Kass.” Helena gripped her brother’s shoulder, truly feeling bad for the kid. He idolized Stev. Stev loved the youngest Rhodipus, but he didn’t realize how much his sternness could cut sometimes.

Helena walked farther into the room. Cole still watched Stev’s retreat, his eyes flashing with irritation. He shook his head as if returning to himself and smiled up at her.

Quinn moved over to create space and Helena sank into the couch between the twins.

“Camille has agreed to the betrothal.”

Cole snorted in disgust. His feelings for Stev had always been plain.

Quinn wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “That’s good news. Looks like it’s certain I’ll be headed to Gaule after the ball.”

Helena laced her fingers with his and leaned her head on Cole’s shoulder. Kass climbed up on Quinn’s other side. Helena used her free hand to remove her mask.

No one made her feel as safe, as loved, as her brothers. Nothing could destroy her bond with them. Not tension with her father or the distance that was between them when the twins were off with the army. Not even Kassander’s eventual role in the priesthood she hated so much.

Some small hope inside her thought maybe Stev would be the king to abolish the priesthood once and for all. Madra no longer needed their traditions and laws upheld. They didn’t need the priesthood’s harsh prison when the palace had unused dungeons. No future princess should have to wear a mask for her entire adolescence.

Unlike her father or his father before him, Stev had a heart. Helena might be the only person he showed it to, but she knew it was there.

Each of her brothers kept secrets from the entire world, but she saw them. Quinn hated army life. He talked as if it was a grand adventure with travel and excitement. But he wanted more than anything to just fall in love and live quietly.

Kassander portrayed all the bravado of a young boy, but his future in the priesthood terrified him.

Cole wanted their father’s approval despite his obvious disdain for the man. He wanted to be seen as his equal.

And Stev… well, Stev was good. Truly good in the way few people were.

Helena didn’t know what they saw in her. False acceptance of her circumstances? Bravery in the face of an impending marriage—possibly to Ian Tenyson?

In truth, she wanted an adventure outside Madra. To be free from this palace, this life as the hidden princess.

Camille’s appearance interrupted her thoughts. Sophia ushered the other princess into the room before returning to her duties.

Helena sat up, releasing her brothers. Camille watched the four of them longingly.

“Helena,” she started. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Helena glanced at Cole in uncertainty. What did this cold princess want with her? And a walk? Camille could barely hobble around with that cane of hers. Surely it would be better for her to have tea in the sitting room. Then every restraint Helena had faced in her life came to mind. People always told her what she couldn’t do because of tradition or because she was the princess. She refused to do that to Camille. If she thought a walk was best, who was Helena to tell her otherwise?

Cole nudged her from the couch, and it was only then she realized she hadn’t yet given her answer. She rose to her feet with a nod. “A walk would be nice.”

Quinn handed her the discarded mask, and she tied it to her face before following Camille from the room.

They walked in silence past the tapestries depicting Madran victories. They reached the door leading to the palace gardens where rows upon rows of flowers longed to bloom. A blast of chilly air rushed at them as they stepped onto the winding stone path that cut through the bushes and trees.

Helena rubbed her arms, wishing she’d thought to bring her cloak.

Camille, seemingly immune to the cold, continued forward, the clop of her cane the only sound between them.

“It’s beautiful here.” Camille’s voice was so small, Helena almost thought she’d imagined it. She knew exactly what the princess meant. Camille spent the prior day in the city with Edmund and compared to the crowded, odorous streets, everything within the palace walls was perfect.

Only, Helena preferred the activity and life those streets possessed. She only grunted in response to Camille.

Camille spoke again. “I’m sorry if I’ve been… rude.”

Helena stopped walking. “Madra may not be your home, but we invited you here to join us.” She shook her head. “I’ve been surrounded by my brothers my entire life, and I love them, but they’re… boys.”

Camille laughed suddenly. “I know exactly how you feel. I haven’t lived my life confined as you have, but sometimes it felt as though my brothers were my only companions.”

“Boys are…”

“Gross?” Camille finished.

A smile flashed across Helena’s face. “They do always seem to smell.”

“Sometimes I wondered if Alexandre and Tyson even bathed.” A fond smile settled on her lips. “Those are my brothers. We aren’t close anymore. Too much has happened. But we once were.”

“I can’t imagine ever losing my bond with Stev, Quinn, Cole, or Kass.”

“It’s… hard.” Camille glanced away.

“What’s it like?” Helena had to know. “To be marrying someone in a different kingdom?”

Camille shrugged. “I may have only accepted the betrothal today, but I never really had a choice.”

“I think it would be exciting. To venture somewhere new. But I’m second born. It’s my duty to marry a Madran who will strengthen our power here.”

“I’m glad you’ll be staying.” Camille began walking again. “I would like us to be friends.”

“That would be nice.”

“Tell me about Estevan.”

A grin spread across Helena’s face. “He likes to act as though he doesn’t care about anything, but he does. So much. Stev is the best. His one weakness is my father. The king demands things of his heir that I know Stev doesn’t agree with. He has to give the order to levy more taxes on the common folk and sometimes to reduce the import fees. Stev thinks it’s a mistake putting more money in merchant hands and less in the pockets of the poor.”

“So, the king controls him?”

“Except when it comes to me. Stev defies father to protect me from his wrath and also from the priests.”

“Priests?”

“The order is charged with enforcing traditions by making them law. They change the laws rapidly and imprison anyone who doesn’t comply until they can pay a rather large fee for their release.”

“That’s—”

“Horrible? Yes. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to board a ship to Bela and marry some man there.”

“The only Belaen man of consequence without a wife is Edmund.” She snickered.

Helena scrunched up her face. “I don’t care about that. I think I could be happy with a common man. As long as he was kind.”

Camille opened her mouth to respond, but as they passed a purple flowering tree and breathed in its lavender scent, a scuffling sound came from around the corner followed by a soft groan.

“Someone’s hurt.” Helena picked up speed.

“Uh, that’s not what it sounded like.” Camille smirked as she tried and failed to catch up.

Helena rounded the corner and when the bushes no longer concealed the two other people present, she froze, her face going hot.

She should have left. Should have walked away before anyone knew she was there. But she couldn’t move.

Camille finally caught up to her and a very unprincess-like snort left her. “Edmund!” she yelled. “First my brother and now my future husband?”

Edmund wrenched away from Stev who he’d been kissing moments before.

“Helena.” Stev’s eyes snapped to hers.

Helena shook her head and turned. Before she knew what was happening, she’d run the length of the gardens, seeking the safety of the palace.

“Len, wait!” Stev jogged after her and wrenched her arm back, forcing her to stop.

“Let me go, Stev.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

She twisted around so suddenly, he stepped back. “Talk to you about what? You’re the heir to the throne. It’s your duty to marry a foreign princess and have children. But you’re… you’re…”

All confidence had left her brother and she couldn’t remember ever seeing him so unsure of himself.

“Len.” His voice held a tortured note. “You know as well as I do Madran tradition is flawed. It takes and takes, leaving nothing of us behind. I can’t…” He ran a hand through his dark hair.

Realization snapped into her. This was why he hadn’t told her father of her journeys out into the city without her mask. He understood how little their duty afforded them.

Stev needed her now just as she’d needed him. That’s what they’d always done: protected each other.

She reached out tentatively to take his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m shocked… but you’re my brother before you’re the heir. At least in my mind. I won’t tell anyone.”

His posture sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

“Do you love him?” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with Estevan of all people. He’d always been so sure, so confident. What did she want him to say? No would mean he was risking everything for nothing. If the priests found out… But yes… That would mean all of this was real.

There was no law against a man loving another man in Madra. But there’d always been different rules for the royals than the commoners. A prince couldn’t love anyone he wanted.

Stev, who rarely showed any kind of emotion, stared at her with glassy eyes. “I do. So much.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you and Edmund…”

“Since right after they sent him here from Bela. At first, he was heartbroken because he’d left behind the man he’d thought he’d loved in Bela. I’d been having a hard time with some things father asked me to do. Edmund and I… we fixed each other.”

As her shock faded away, she felt closer to Stev than she ever had. She squeezed his hand. “Now we just have to decide what to do about your betrothed.”

He glanced over his shoulder to where Camille was berating Edmund. Her voice drifted toward them as they neared.

“Honestly Edmund,” she said. “I don’t know what to do with this.” She put her hands on her head and turned to face Stev. “And you… ugh!”

“Camille.” Helena observed her. She couldn’t force her to honor the betrothal when they all now knew it meant a loveless marriage. But weren’t most arranged marriages the same? “What do you want to do here?”

She groaned. “I need to sit down.” Hobbling across the garden, she dropped onto a limestone bench. After a moment, she lifted her head to find them all watching her.

Helena wouldn’t tell the king… but she didn’t know what Camille would do.

The Gaulean princess pushed out a breath. “I will still marry you, Estevan.” Her shoulders sagged under the weight of this new knowledge. “Gaule needs this from me. And Madra needs to never find out about you two. You must end this. Now.” She pierced Edmund with one final look before stalking toward the door and disappearing from view.

Silence descended as Helena glanced from Stev to Edmund and back again. “She’s not wrong. I’m sorry, but you have to know this can’t continue. If it had been father who found you…” She tugged her dark hair over one shoulder to fiddle with the ends. “I’m scared, Stev.”

Estevan didn’t move, but Edmund reached for her and pulled her into a hug. “It will be okay, Len.”

Helena pressed her face into his firm chest as he stroked her hair. “This is Madra.” Her mask scratched against her face, bringing it to the forefront of her mind. A door opened behind them and a pair of priests in their sweeping white robes invaded the privacy of the garden. Tears hung in Helena’s lashes, refusing to fall. “Nothing is ever okay.”

9

No Madran princess ever forgot their eighteenth name day.

It meant they were one step closer to being rid of the mask for good.

Celebrations would stretch on for an entire week, beginning with the Madran games and cumulating in the ball where the mask would be removed once and for all.

Helena woke before the sun as anticipation twisted her gut. Today, she’d be allowed to be among the people. Not as the boy she’d pretended to be on her trips into the city, but as herself.

The jaunt to the docks to greet Camille had been her first journey outside the palace walls since she was a child—at least sanctioned journey. But she’d gone from palace steps to carriage to docks before returning to the carriage. There’d been no time to soak in the energy of the Madran people.

She sat up in her carved mahogany bed, lifting her eyes to the silk canopy overhead. They had given her everything. Her life lacked no luxuries.

Why had she never been happy within these walls?

Maybe for the same reason Stev hadn’t been. Under the watchful eyes of their father, they could never let their desires shine through.

The shock of seeing Stev and Edmund together had worn off, replaced by guilt. How had she not seen it before?

Had she known her brother at all?

The answer to that was simple. No one knew Stev Rhodipus. He made sure of it. She hugged her arms across her chest, hoping he at least let Edmund see who he truly was.

And who he wasn’t.

Estevan Rhodipus was not their father and he never would be.

Sometimes Helena thought she was the only one who saw that.

Twisting her tangled hair over one shoulder, she slid from the bed and padded to the window. Pushing open the glass panes, she sucked in a deep breath of the chilly morning air.

What was this week going to bring for her?

Was it all a formality when her father could force her into a marriage with Ian Tenyson?

The silent courtyard below her window was awash in silver moonlight as she leaned out to scan her eyes across the palace grounds. In the distance, beyond the palace walls, the city would wake soon and prepare.

The Madran games, held every four years, were sacred. All those who were able, crowded into the circular arena at the edge of the city to watch events such as boxing matches, javelin throwing, and discus.

Any man who wanted to be considered a suitor for the princess’ hand competed, hoping to show their abilities.

On the horizon, the sun battled with the moon, day wanting dominance over night.

Helena shut the window just as the door to the room connected to hers opened. Sophia emerged and froze.

“Princess, I was expecting to have to wake you this morning.”

Helena offered a small smile. “Just basking in the last moments of the day’s peace.”

The old woman’s face softened. “Do not be afraid, child.”

How did Helena explain it wasn’t fear coursing through her this morning, but something else entirely? Acceptance. Resignation. She’d marry a Madran man and live within the palace for the rest of her days. Estevan would wed Camille and one day become king. Madra would struggle along as a warring kingdom. Nothing was going to change.

And today, they’d look into the faces of common people who never had enough to eat. Wealthy merchants would mingle with those working for them who barely survived.

And all the while, the already empty treasury would pay for the extravagance.

But she was Helena Rhodipus. She couldn’t voice any of that.

“I’ll try not to be,” she said instead.

Sophia’s face creased in understanding, when in reality, she didn’t understand at all.

A knock sounded on the door.

Sophia unlatched it and let the queen into the room.

Helena instantly relaxed under her mother’s comforting gaze.

“It’s quite early.” Her mother raised a brow. “Whoever had the idea to start the games at such an hour deserves an arrow right between the eyes.” She tapped her forehead.

“Mother!” Helena gasped, trying to muffle a laugh as Sophia shot them both disapproving looks.

The queen only shrugged. “I have yet to have my morning tea. I’m allowed to be a bit grumpy.”

“Your Majesty.” Sophia crossed her arms, staring at the queen as if she were naught but a child. “A better example must be set around children.”

“Oh yes.” Helena’s mother met the older woman’s gaze. “I like teaching my daughter—who is no child—to have humor in her life.” She gestured to the door. “Helena and I would appreciate some tea.”

Sophia shook her head and scuffled from the room.

Helena grinned. “You really should be nicer to her, mother.”

“My dear, that woman has been with us a long time and I don’t remember a single smile gracing her lips.” She crossed the room, stopping directly in front of Helena. “Happy name day, my sweet.” Putting a hand on each of Helena’s cheeks, her mother kissed the top of her head.

When she pulled back, there were tears in her hazel eyes.

“Mother, what is it?”

The queen shook her head, tight black curls bouncing with each movement. “I’m just a silly old woman. You’re my girl. It’s difficult to think of giving you to anyone else, even if you will still be in the palace.”

Helena took her mother’s hand. “Would you help me prepare today?”

She wiped her face. “That would be lovely.”

Sophia returned with a tea tray laden with fresh mugs, mint leaves, and hot water along with grapes and biscuits.

Once Helena had eaten and bathed, her mother helped her into the gown she’s chosen for her. Thankfully, there was no corset, but the wide yellow skirt still made it difficult to move. As her mother and Sophia pinned her hair in an intricate design of curls and loops, she ran her hands over the white lace of the bodice.

When they finished, it was time for the royal family to make their journey to the arena.

Sophia handed Helena an ivory mask with wide ribbons. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe it, but as she set it against her olive-tone skin, all magnificence faded, leaving only the heavy weight of confinement behind.

The boys were waiting at the carriage when they arrived. Quinn and Cole wore the red blazers of their officer’s uniforms with fitted linen pants. They would exchange those for their boxing gear when they joined in the games.

Kassander looked like a mini version of Stev who stood rigidly by the rear of the carriage. His black coat was emblazoned with the triangular family crest. He shifted his stance and Kass imitated him.

Helena shook her head, a smile coming to her lips.

It dropped when her father descended the steps without a word to any of his children. Cole glared and Helena reached for him. “Don’t let him see how he affects you.”

Cole relaxed and slid an arm around Helena’s shoulders. “You look beautiful. Happy name day.”

She stretched up to drop a kiss on his cheek and crowded into the royal carriage with the rest of the family.

Streams of people made their way to the arena and by the time the royal family arrived, it was already bustling with activity.

The horses stopped at the king’s private entrance where a troop of palace guards lined up and waited for them. Their father got out first and went ahead without a glance back at them. Stev lifted Kassander out while Quinn and Cole held hands up to Helena and her mother.

Together, they followed the king through the small gate. A dim tunnel led to a platform above the arena floor.

Helena froze when she stepped onto the platform. She’d never seen so many people. Her eyes scanned the rows of seats stretching out in a circle. They had divided the arena floor into separate areas for different events.

A horn blew, its sound reverberating around the stone structure. All activity ceased as the crowd lifted their eyes to the royal family.

The king stepped forward. “Welcome!”

Helena wondered if any besides those wealthy enough to be seated near the platform could hear him.

“Today is a great day for Madra,” he continued. “You have all gathered here to celebrate what we have accomplished as a kingdom. Through many hard battles, we have gained power throughout the six kingdoms.”

“Power means nothing without food,” someone yelled.

Helena craned her neck to find the man who’d shouted, but two royal guards obscured her view as they rushed down the aisle. It happened so quickly, she didn’t react. They pulled the man from his seat and dragged him toward a line of priests who stood ready to act.

The king went on as if none of it had happened. “Today we mark the eighteenth year of my daughter. May I present, in her first official appearance, princess Helena Rhodipus.”

The king stretched his arm back to gesture her forward, but her feet froze.

“Len,” Stev hissed. “Go.”

Her mother took her arm and led her into the light. “Wave, dear.”

Helena lifted a hand and waved to her people for the first time.

A cheer wound through the crowd as they caught their first glimpse of the hidden princess. What stories had been told of her? She wondered.

As they continued to cheer, confidence bloomed within her. She belonged to them. Not to her father. To the people.

And she wouldn’t let them down.

She cleared her throat. “Let the Madran games begin.”

10

Dell slipped through the arena entrance, lost among the crowd of commoners using this entrance. His family would have used the merchant’s gate, which allowed them to sit in proximity to the king.

He was glad for that because they’d forbidden him to come.

He walked straight for the boxing area, longing to get his chance at a fight. Madran tradition said the princess could choose any man common or merchant, to wed, but everyone knew that wasn’t true and they allowed only those of quality to put their name in the draw.

A man bumped into Dell, jostling him as he rushed forward.

Orlo.

Dell’s fists clenched, and he counted backward in his head. Fighting an unsanctioned fight in the king’s presence would mean imprisonment.

Orlo glanced over his shoulder as if seeing Dell for the first time. “Your minder not here to keep you out of trouble, boy?”

“You don’t want my kind of trouble, Orlo. How is Catjsa?”

The bigger man scowled. “I wouldn’t mind knocking you silly again. Name the place.”

Dell opened his mouth to speak, but Edmund entered his mind. Dammit, he wanted to accept the fight, to be able to hit something.

Why couldn’t he?

Because Edmund had it in his head to save a king who shouldn’t be saved?

Because he was so sure Estevan would be a better ruler than his father?

Dell clenched his teeth, wanting to yell, wanting to go back to being just an unwanted son working himself to death.

Back to the quiet life of a nobody.

Your family is going to overthrow the king, and I need your help.

He wished he could ignore those words. But despite his effort, something inside him trusted Edmund in a way he’d trusted no one before.

He realized he still hadn’t responded to the man who was now looming over him with a question in his eyes.

Dell sighed. “No, Orlo. I’m not going to fight you. Not today.”

Orlo grunted. “Kid finally got some sense.” He turned without another word and lumbered away.

Dell returned to watching the fight before him as the boxers lunged at each other. He started walking again toward the outer ring of the arena where the city’s shopkeepers had set up booths. Agathe sold pastries to those who could pay and gave them to those who couldn’t.

Dell pushed through the crowd of merchants, recognizable in their finer clothes.

Agathe’s haggard face transformed when she saw him, and a smile stretched her lips. “Dell. I didn’t think you’d be attending today.”

Dell shrugged. “I just have to avoid my brothers. My step-mother declined the invitation because she doesn’t want to surround herself with ‘common folk’.”

Agathe shook her head. “That woman…”

“Yeah. Listen, have you seen Edmund? I need to talk to him.”

“Is he with the royal family?” She pointed a long finger toward a raised platform.

Dell’s eyes passed over the king and narrowed. He didn’t know what to think of Prince Estevan. The queen sat in her wing-backed golden chair with all the grace they knew her for. Unlike the other royals, she made an effort to help city-folk by handing out food.

The twins were mostly unknowns. They hadn’t grown up in the public eye and now spent much of their time leading units of the army overseas. The young Prince Kassander had a grin on his face you couldn’t help but reflect back at him.

Sitting beside him was the reason they were all there. It wasn’t the first time Dell had seen the princess. He’d been shocked when she appeared with her mother at the docks. Even though he’d made a fool of himself, he’d needed to get a closer look at her, to see what was under those pretty masks.

Then, she’d laughed with him. Now, she looked… uncomfortable.

A frown tugged at the corners of her delicate painted lips. She was so close as the platform sat right near the boxing matches, yet her dark eyes said she wasn’t there at all.

The king leaned across his wife and said something to the princess. Her spine snapped straight, and she pasted a fake smile on her lips.

A boxing match ended with one contestant unconscious. As someone dragged him away, they drew a new name.

“Orlo Willard,” they called before pulling out another. “Ian Tenyson.”

Dell reared back as he tried not to grin. He shrank away from the boundary line to hide himself among the crowd so Ian didn’t see him.

Orlo paced the length of the square, waiting.

When Ian finally appeared, Dell sucked in a breath. A bandage held his arm to his chest. When had he been injured?

Ian turned to the crowd, sleazy charm oozing from every orifice. “I am honored to get my turn against this noble man.” He nodded toward Orlo. “As a member of the merchant class, I’m ashamed to say I must invoke an old rule. If a competitor cannot compete due to injury or illness, they can uphold their honor should they appoint someone to fight in their name.”

Reed appeared next to Dell. “Sorry, brother.”

“About what?” Dell glanced sideways at him.

Ian continued. “I choose a fighter with much skill who will uphold my family honor because it is his honor as well.”

No. Dell shook his head and took a step back. Reed grabbed his arm.

“My brother.” Ian’s stare burned into Dell. “Dell Tenyson.”

Reed shoved him across the boundary line. Dell stumbled before righting himself and glaring at Ian.

Ian smirked. “All of your city friends will know exactly who you are, brother.” He said the last word as if it was a curse. “Your fate now rests with ours, Dell. Maybe that will help you choose a side.”

Dell’s eyes widened. They knew of his meeting with Edmund.

And they’d just told all of Madra he was one of them.

They’d claimed him and entwined his future with theirs.

Shit.

11

The announcers voice rose into the air and Helena lurched forward in her seat.

“Dell Tenyson will serve as Ian Tenyson’s second.”

No, she couldn’t have heard that right. Tenyson?

Dell was one of them? Disbelief coursed through her and she couldn’t take her eyes from the boxing ring.

The boy she’d found fighting in the center of the city, who she’d worried over, was the son of the tip of the spiral? She’d never have spent time with him if she’d known.

Something didn’t add up. His threadbare clothes and utter lack of manners… what was she missing?

Her eyes found Dell as they hustled him to the changing area. The lords who fought in that ring arrived at the games in fine clothing that spoke of wealth. They wouldn’t risk dirtying it in a fight.

But Dell… had Edmund known? Of course he did. Edmund seemed to know everything that happened in Madra. That would explain how he’d known Dell.

But what about Mari and Corban? What did two magic folk have to do with the son of such a powerful family?

Dell’s blonde hair shone as the sun beat down into the arena. He disappeared around the corner and Helena barely breathed until he returned.

Dell Tenyson.

The crowd cheered as he smiled up at them with an ease in his posture that hadn’t been present in the other lords. He’d changed into linen pants cut off at the knees. He lifted his arms into the air, his bare chest straining with each movement.

“Honey,” her mother said to her father. “Did you know there was a third Tenyson boy?”

Her father grunted. “Of course.” But his eyes held more truth than his words. It was a shock to him as well. One thing was certain, the king’s guards would be looking into the situation immediately when the fight ended.

Cole shifted in his seat, his eyes darting away from their father. He had to have known. He was closer to the Tenysons than his own parents.

“You knew Dell was Ian’s brother, didn’t you?” she asked.

Cole fixed her with a wary stare. “And how is it that my sister who has left the palace twice in her life knows a commoner like Dell?”

She refused to answer his question. “Apparently, Dell isn’t a commoner at all.”

Her brother snorted. “Of course he is. He doesn’t even sleep in the great house. Lady Tenyson puts him with their common workers in the barn loft. He’s the result of his father’s unfaithfulness. Nothing more.”

Helena stood to get a better look as the boxers faced each other. Instant recognition raced through her when she caught sight of the second man.

What had Edmund called him?

Orlo.

She shook her head, muttering to herself. “This isn’t good.” Dell was going to get himself killed.

Ian Tenyson stood next to the boundary line, a grin stretching his face. A shiver shot down her spine. Something wasn’t right with that man.

Why was Orlo even in the fight? He had a wife. He wasn’t competing to impress the royal family and hoping to win the princess—win her.

No, something else brought him here.

Ian.

It was the only explanation.

She had to get down there. Had to see him.

Turning to her father, she dropped her eyes. “Father, may I be allowed to go to the privy?”

He didn’t take his eyes from where a man launched a javelin on the opposite side of the arena. “Tell the guards at the door to escort you.”

“I would rather it be Quinn.” She fluttered her eyelashes and dropped her lips into a worried frown. “I feel much safer in his presence.”

“Sure, fine. Return promptly. The people need to see you enjoying the games.”

Quinn gave her a questioning look as he collected his bag and rose to lead her through the door.

“Sir,” one of the guards started. “Wait here. I’ll have a few of my men take you where you need to go.”

Helena gave a slight shake of her head, her eyes imploring Quinn to help her.

Quinn put a congenial hand on the guard’s shoulder. “If I can’t keep my sister safe, no one can.”

The guard relaxed his stance. “Yes, sir.”

Quinn grabbed Helena’s elbow and pulled her away from the guards at the door. She stumbled, but he kept her from falling.

“Len Rhodipus.” He sighed as he pulled her around the corner into a quiet hall. No one was allowed in this part of the arena while the royal family sat on their platform. He released her and pushed a hand through his dark hair. “What is this about?”

Quinn was the only member of her family who might allow her to do as she wished. She’d picked him specifically. Stev wouldn’t even think of it and Cole would demand he go with her.

She rushed out a breath and met his eyes, unblinking. “I need to go down there.”

“Where?” The caution in his voice told her he knew exactly where.

“The arena floor.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m not asking you, Quinn. It’ll be easier with your help, but I’ve done it on my own before.”

“Len.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

“Please, Quinn. Today is my name day. By the end of the week, I’ll be tied to a man we all know won’t be of my choosing. This mask…” She touched the soft fabric on her face. “It’ll be gone but the cage will remain. You always speak to me of the freedom you experience when you leave the palace for other kingdoms. Let me feel that. Just once more. Please.”

“You can’t be gone long,” he finally said.

A grin spread across her face. “So, you’ll help me?”

“You have to promise you’ll come back as quickly as you can. I can buy you some time, but not much. I’ll tell father you fell ill and needed to collect yourself. He won’t question it.”

The truth stood between them. Their father wouldn’t care if she fell ill as long as she eventually returned.

Quinn went on. “I’m going to station a guard I trust outside the privy so father believes it. You can go taste your freedom for a few minutes and then come right back. I’m sending one of my men down there to keep an eye on you.”

“That’s not—”

“Negotiable.”

“Fine.”

“I would rather accompany you. It would make me feel better.”

Helena touched his arm. “But I’m not going as the princess so I can’t really have the prince with me, can I?” She gestured to his bag. “I know you don’t fight shirtless like Dell does. Let’s see what I have to work with.”

He reached in and pulled out long wool pants and a shirt she was going to drown in.

“More complicated than borrowing from Kass,” she grumbled.

Quinn laughed and gestured to the privy door nearby.

Helena left her brother in the hall and stepped into the small washroom. As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, she pulled at the laces on the front of her dress, thankful her mother hadn’t forced a corset on her. She slipped the knife, her constant companion, from her bodice and wiggled out of the gown. As she slipped Quinn’s clothes on, she sighed at the comfort.

The pants tried falling to her knees, so she knotted them at the waist and rolled them until her feet were visible. The shirt hung off her small frame as if it was meant for an ape. She guessed it was, thinking of Quinn’s bulk. She tucked it into her pants, knowing she probably looked like one of the homeless boys begging at the docks.

Her fingers ran under the bottom of the mask and she hesitated before untying it.

Pins dropped to the ground as she pulled them from her hair. She used the last few to pull her long curls back into the low tail worn by many sailors.

As she stepped from the room, Quinn held in a laugh and handed her a cloak.

“Where did you get this?” she asked. It was a thin linen, worn mostly by commoners.

“One of the guards.” He shrugged as he eyed her curiously. “I thought Stev was joking when he told me before, but you really could pass for a young man.”

“Just what every woman wants to hear.”

He leaned in. “Those trying to disguise themselves should be pleased with the observation.”

She started down the hall and turned to her brother once more. “Quinn… thank you.”

“Any time, little sister. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through years of war, it’s that freedom is often more important than safety or tradition.”

She smiled once more as she rounded the corner. That was why she’d gone to Quinn for help. He understood.

She raced through the back hall until she found the door leading to the rest of the arena. A guard stood to one side, but he barely glanced at her, probably assuming she was a servant. They were worried about people coming in, not leaving.

That could be a problem for her, but she didn’t stop to think about her return.

The crowd enveloped her as soon as she stepped onto the arena floor under the open sky. They wrapped her in their excitement. Their cheers vibrated through her bones. Adrenaline shot through her heart. This was what the royal family missed up on their platform.

Down here, among the people, there was life.

She nudged her way through the throng until she came upon the boxing match she’d needed to see up close. Was Corban here in case Dell needed him?

Sweat dripped between the ridges of Dell’s abs and Helena’s cheeks warmed as she remembered the day at the river. The day she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

Right before Dell risked himself trying to protect her from Stev.

A crunch ripped through the air as Orlo’s fist connected to Dell’s jaw. The crowd cheered, rooting for Orlo. He was one of the few fighters who was one of them and not a merchant.

Helena shrank back as Dell reeled from the impact, his eyes connecting with hers as blood flew from his mouth.

An old woman beside her gasped. “That poor boy.”

Helena couldn’t help herself as she pulled the hood of the cloak farther around her face and turned to the woman. “You know the boxers, ma’am?”

She nodded, wiping a tear from under her eye. “Dell is such a sweet boy. Those brothers of his on the other hand…” She clamped her mouth shut as if she’d said something she shouldn’t.

“Len.” Dell’s voice had Helena snapping her eyes to his. Orlo had retreated for a moment.

Crimson blood trickled from a cut on his brow, but he smiled.

He’d heard Stev call her Len, and it was too close to her real name, to all her secrets, but as she looked into the hazy eyes of the man before her, she didn’t care.

Orlo stalked toward him.

“Be careful, Dell,” she said.

He winked. “Always, darling.” He twisted around to duck the next attack.

Helena should have left right then. She’d gotten the taste of excitement she’d wanted and her family would look for her.

But she couldn’t move as Dell’s knees struck the ground.

12

Heat radiated up from the sandy arena floor as Orlo drove Dell onto his back.

The loss felt so familiar. Yet, this time, he had a bigger audience. The crowd had chosen to support Orlo since he was one of them. Dell never had been, and now they knew it.

A cheer wound around the arena. “Orlo! Orlo! Orlo!” Only the merchants stayed quiet.

Orlo raised his arms to the crowd, basking in their adoration. He was about to beat the son of the highest merchant in Madra.

“What do we have here?” Ian’s voice pushed all fog from Dell’s mind.

He spared a moment to find his brother and… he noticed her. Dammit, Len! He’d told her that disguise wouldn’t work if anyone looked closely. And Ian had.

The eldest Tenyson had the eyes of a hawk, and they’d targeted Len, the girl Dell still knew too little about.

“No,” he roared as he rolled to his feet, pain slicing through him at the movement.

He ran for Orlo, catching him around his thick waist and driving him into the ground. The momentary shock was all he needed to bring his fist down on the other man’s face.

Ian would not touch Len, but if Dell was to stop it, he had to win this fight first. To end it.

He beat down on Orlo with a ferocity he’d never experienced before, anger rushing through him.

His chest heaved as he shoved himself off the still man.

Orlo raised an arm laboriously.

He conceded.

Shock pierced into Dell. He’d won.

But he didn’t have time to soak in the sound of his name now roaring through the crowd. With every bit of strength he had left, he sprinted toward his brother who had a grip on Len’s arm.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Ian cooed. “I’ll show you a good time.”

“Let me go.” Ice laced her voice.

“I don’t think so.”

Len narrowed her eyes seconds before twisting in his grasp, pulling a knife free of a sheath at her waist, and pointing it at him. She pulled on the bandage around his other arm. It came loose easily and Ian used his supposedly injured arm to slap her.

Dell jumped for them, wrenching his brother back. “Don’t touch her,” he growled.

“So much for being injured.” She rubbed her cheek and raised her voice. “Looks like someone wanted to avoid fighting for his own honor. The princess will never choose a coward.”

Ian glared up at the royal platform. The princess no longer sat in her seat and he shook his head. “I can ruin you, girl. Commoners like you are a scourge on this kingdom.”

“And merchants like you destroy everything you touch.”

He leaned closer and before Dell could stop him, he pressed his lips to hers. Dell shoved himself between them but not before Ian yelped and jumped back. “Bitch bit me.” He searched their surroundings. “Guards. This woman assaulted me.”

Assaulting a merchant—whether or not you did it—had strict penalties.

Dell took Len by the arm. “Want to get out of here?”

Her eyes flicked to the king, indecision warring in her gaze. She flipped the knife in her hand and shoved it back into the sheath, giving him a nod.

Guards ran toward them and Dell pulled Len into a run. He never lost his grip on her hand as they weaved their way to the arena gates and out into the city. Heavy footsteps sounded behind them.

“The stables,” Dell said, changing direction. He pulled Len along as her short legs struggled to keep up. Her breaths came out in harsh pants.

Behind the arena sat the largest stables in the city. Only merchants had the privilege of using them. They slowed to a walk. Dell glanced over his shoulder. The guards had stopped at the gates of the arena, not bothering to chase them.

The guard at the stable door eyed him curiously before recognition lit in his eyes. Ian and Reed had made Dell bring their horses to the stables. He wound through the rows of stalls, making sure Len was still behind him.

Horse-Ian lifted his head as Dell stepped in front of him. “Alright, ye old bastard, we need to get out of here.”

Horse-Ian snorted as his lips pulled back to show his teeth.

Dell swung the worn wooden stall door open and lifted the saddle from where it hung on a brass hook.

“Hurry,” Len whispered, throwing a glance toward the door.

Dell didn’t understand why she was so worried. They wouldn’t come after two people who didn’t matter.

Dell listened for any sign of the guards. “We’ll be fine,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re the one who seems to have skill with that knife of yours.” He lifted a brow. “You can just fight them off.”

Her mouth dropped open.

A laugh burst out of Dell. “I’m kidding. We’ll be fine, but if it makes you feel better, we can change our appearances. They’d look for a shirtless man and someone in a hood, give me your cloak.”

She didn’t hesitate as she unclasped it and shrugged it off. Hair broke free of the pins binding it to her head, giving her a wild look.

Her clothes spoke of a commoner but her smooth olive skin lacked the damage most Madrans suffered from working in the sun.

As her fingers brushed his, he felt no callouses.

He shook off his momentary stupor and fastened the cloak at the neck. Gesturing to the horse, he said, “Up you go.”

Her eyes flicked from the horse to his face and back again. “I’ve never…”

Even after a decade among the sea of buildings, he’d never get used to city-folk. “Let me guess, you’ve only ridden in carriages, not astride a horse.”

Shame lit in her eyes, and his face softened. “Come on, princess. I’ll be right behind you.”

She froze, her eyes widening as she took a step back.

Guilt instantly struck him. “I’m sorry, miss. Ah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I won’t call you princess again. That wasn’t very nice.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Okay, but if I fall off…”

“You’ll send your lover after me?” Why couldn’t he control his own words? All manners had left his mind. His mother would have been ashamed. So what if she was the prince’s mistress? She could still use a friend.

In truth, the prince could get her out of trouble with the guards, but Dell didn’t say that. He wasn’t ready to let her go back to her life yet.

He set his hands on her slim waist and lifted her onto the horse. Horse-Ian took a step back and Len yelped.

“Hey,” Dell cooed to the beast. “Shhh… she’s a friend.” The horse glared at him as if saying But what are you?

Dell swung up behind Len and kicked the horse’s flanks. They left the barn to no sign of pursuit—just as he’d thought. He should have ridden toward the palace to return Len to her rightful place.

He should have done a lot of things.

Instead, he gripped her tighter. “We can’t let them find us until this blows over. My brother has a long reach.”

Only part true.

“I…” Len sputtered. “I need… to get back. They’ll be looking for me.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment. “But I can’t. Not yet. Go.”

Relieved he didn’t have to deliver her home quite yet, Dell kicked the horse, and they took off through the deserted streets of the Madran capital. They had shut everything down for the games. As if a reminder, a twinge of pain stabbed through Dell’s abdomen and he flinched.

“Are you okay?” Len asked.

“Fine.” He gritted his teeth.

Normally, he’d head straight for Mari’s shop to see if Corban could ease his pain. But he wanted to feel every bit of what his brother did to him this time.

Dell loved boxing, but fighting Orlo was a different kind of battle and Ian had known that. It was why he’d arranged it.

Hatred for his brothers burned in him. One day, he’d be free of him. He’d be free of all of them.

* * *

Dell’s grip on Helena grew weaker by the moment and she feared he’d slip right off the horse.

“We have to get you to Corban,” she said.

“No.” His large hand squeezed her side. “Keep riding.”

The warm breath on the back of her neck sent a chill over her. Helena had never been so close to a man who wasn’t related to her… other than Edmund, but he might as well be a relative.

What was her family thinking now? The princess disappeared from the Madran Games being held in her honor. Soon, the city would be in an uproar looking for her. Quinn would never trust her again after she broke her promise.

But for the first time in her life, she felt like something other than the caged bird she’d been all her life. She wasn’t slinking through the streets on her own as she had before. This time, she rode proudly with a man whose very touch caused the hair on her arms to stand on end.

Dell wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. While wearing her mask, she’d entertained many of the city’s merchants at the palace. The young men thought much of themselves, always preening and taking great care with their appearance. They’d cared more about being able to say they spent time in the princess’ presence than actually paying her any attention.

It was why the Madran Games intrigued her. Those same men were put into a fight where skill mattered more than appearance. Any man of station in Madra trained in boxing from a young age. But training in your own courtyard differed greatly from facing crowds of common folk who wanted to see you hurt.

Dell… he was quick on his feet, but had been no match for Orlo’s strength—until he saw Ian with her.

Why did he feel the need to protect her?

He still thought she was a prince’s mistress for priest’s sake.

Madra was not like the other kingdoms she heard about from stories. People of differing stations didn’t look out for one another. They didn’t join the army out of some pride for their king and country. Those who fought did so because it was an alternative to an empty belly.

She had no illusions about the people’s loyalty to her father.

The closer to the edge of the city they drew, the farther apart the buildings became. The poorest city folk lived on the outskirts in one room shanties that would blow over the next time a big storm came ashore.

Her brothers would have averted their eyes, but her mother would meet the eye of every person they passed. She lifted her chin and smiled at the first old man they saw.

“Why isn’t he at the games?” she whispered to Dell.

Dell’s voice vibrated against her hair. “I know you live in the palace with your… with the royal family… but not everyone has the luxury of being able to comply every time the king says jump. Take a closer look at him.”

The old man lifted his face to the sun, but it wasn’t his weathered face or vacant eyes that caught her attention. As he shifted where he sat on the ground, his ripped trouser leg fluttered, twisting over where his right leg should be.

A tiny gasp escaped her.

“You really know nothing of Madra, do you?” Dell’s voice held no judgment, only curiosity.

Helena shrugged as she dug her fingers into the horse’s coarse mane, needing to feel the life underneath her fingers.

She needed to return to the palace before they tore the kingdom apart searching for her, but her chest tightened at the thought.

“Have you ever seen the sea, Len?”

Of course she hadn’t. The only body of water she’d ever laid eyes on was the river that ran the length of the city, leading boats to the open sea between Madra and Bela.

“Len?”

She sighed. “No.”

“Outside the city, there’s a place where the river runs shallow enough to cross. A cove sits nearby where the sea washes ashore. Can I take you there?”

She closed her eyes, needing to say no. Her entire life, she’d obeyed the laws of Madra, following everything the priests told her to do.

Their faces came to her mind. White robes. Permanent sneers. The image changed to that of Kassander one day taking his position among them. Her sweet brother. Would the royal children ever be allowed to have something for themselves?

“Yes,” she answered, realizing if she wanted good in her life, she’d have to take it and live with the consequences as they came.

Dell kicked the horse into a trot and before long, open land stretched before them, rolling and dipping all the way to the mountains in the distance.

Helena scanned the horizon, amazed by the beauty that existed beyond the crowded city. She shifted in the saddle, not even her sore bottom could distract her from the splendor of her kingdom.

This was her family’s land. When her father spoke of his wars preventing invasions by keeping their enemies weak, he was protecting much more than what lay within the palace walls.

For the first time in her life, she understood him.

They passed into a thicket of trees and came upon a wide length of the river. The water ran swiftly toward the city.

A deer dipped its head to drink.

“Quiet,” Dell whispered.

Helena had only ever seen deer in storybooks, but here she was in front of one.

Sensing their presence, the animal snapped its head up, wide brown eyes meeting theirs seconds before it dashed into the trees with a crash of branches.

Dell nudged the horse forward until he stepped into the water. Helena held her breath, hoping it was really as shallow as Dell believed.

She released it when they made it to the other side only to be greeted by a wall of moss-covered rock.

She scanned the impediment where it loomed over them, her shoulders deflating.

Dell, showing no signs of disappointment that he’d led them the wrong way, slid from the horse. He winced as his feet hit the ground.

“Dell.” Helena tried to slide down as he had, but her foot got stuck in the stirrup sending her twisting and tumbling to the ground. The impact sent a jarring force through her. Her foot still in the stirrup, it hung above the rest of her body.

The horse stepped away from her, dragging her slowly.

Dell jumped forward and wrestled her foot free. “You okay?” He bit back a laugh.

Helena rolled to her feet and scanned her body for any sign of blood. “You wouldn’t be laughing if I’d died.”

“You’re right.”

He grinned.

“Stop it.”

“No.”

“Dell.”

“Len.”

She punched his arm, and all joking faded from his face as pain invaded his eyes.

“Dell, you need to sit down.” She touched his back as gently as she could. “Come on. Then we can find our way back to the city.”

“We’re not going back before you lay eyes on the sea.”

“It’s okay to admit you led us astray.”

“Oh, I led us astray, did I?” He shook his head and reached for the horse’s reins. “Horse-Ian has to stay here.”

She raised an eyebrow at the name. She’d never met anyone like Dell before.

Dell finished tying Horse-Ian to a tree before skimming a hand along the stones. Len followed him until they came upon an opening, barely wide enough to fit through. Dell squeezed himself into it without hesitation. “Come on!”

Helena wedged herself in, the rough rocks scraping her arms as she slid along the narrow gap.

By the time she burst free, her shirt had come untucked and hung down to her knees. Wisps of hair fell wildly about her face.

Her eyes fixed on Dell, his blonde hair unkempt and the bronze skin of his face mottled with bruises. Even so, he was handsome.

Her eyes followed his line of sight as she heard the crash of waves upon the rocky shore.

Pebbles shifted underneath her feet as she made her way to Dell’s side.

“Dell,” she whispered. “This is…”

“I know.”

Sharp crags framed the cove on three sides with the ocean as the fourth.

Helena gazed out at the sun-dappled water as it rose and fell. The faint outline of ships marked the horizon. It was a busy trading zone.

She breathed in, imagining she could see all the way to Bela and the adventure awaiting her there. An adventure of magic and honor she’d never experience.

Instead, council meetings and palace dinners would make up the rest of her life.

“Have you ever thought of leaving?” she asked. “Of boarding one of your family’s ships and going to Gaule or Bela or even Dracon?”

“Every day of my life.” He sighed and took off toward the water, stumbling as he lowered himself to sit in the black sand beyond the pebbles. He shrugged off the cloak, revealing a torso striped with cuts and bruises. With a groan, he lay back.

Helena ran forward and dropped to her knees at his side. “Dell.”

“I’m okay,” he grumbled.

“Like hell you are.” Helena chewed on her lip. Her mother had taught her many things, but Sophia always demanded she stop at healer duties. A princess shouldn’t have to use her hands in such a way. What would Sophia have said if she knew of the knife skills?

“I’m just tired.” Dell’s eyes slid shut.

“No, Dell Tenyson. Do not fall asleep on me. Wake up, you idiot. What were you thinking riding all the way across the city just to show me the sea? I didn’t need to see it. Not when you needed a healer.”

A tear tracked down her cheek. What had they done?

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Dell Tenyson. I’m not one of them.”

“Fine. Tell me what I need to do for your wounds.”

“Clean… they need cleaned.”

He must have meant his cuts. Helena took the discarded cloak and turned to soak it in the water. She held it above Dell to let the water drip into his first gash before wiping it.

A scream escaped his throat, and Helena froze.

“Dell, Dell are you okay. What’s wrong?”

“Salt water,” he croaked. “Burns.”

“Big baby,” she muttered, wishing Corban was with them. She didn’t understand his healing magic, but she’d seen enough to believe in it.

Dell’s voice cut off as he stilled, the only movement coming from his rising and falling chest.

Helena sat back on her heels. “Great.” She shook her head and continued cleaning Dell up.

There she was, the princess of Madra, alone, save for an unconscious boy she barely knew, watching the birds fly over the lonely sea. All she could think was how much she didn’t want to go back.

13

Something warm struck Dell’s face, waking him from a half-slumber. A bird cawed overhead, but all he heard was the soft laughter coming from nearby.

He breathed in the salty air, lost in the sound.

Wait, salty air? Where was he?

He slid his eyes open slowly, the waning evening sun striking his eyes.

The events of the day came back to him. The Madran games. Fighting Orlo. Len.

He bolted up, hating himself the minute he did as pain ripped through his side.

Len’s laughter cut off. “Hey.” She approached him with a tentative hand out in front of her. “You should really lie back down.”

His eyes found her olive-toned face framed in wild dark curls and his breathing evened.

She bit her fist to muffle another laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s just… a bird used your face as a latrine.”

The warmth he’d felt before slid down the side of his cheek. He wiped the back of his hand across his skin. “Ugh, gross.”

“I don’t know. I thought it rather improved the look.”

He shook his head. “Do you make fun of the prince this way?” As soon as they were out, he regretted his words.

Len’s expression shut down, ice entering her gaze. “Maybe if you used your brain instead of your fists for one moment, you’d see not all of us fit into the image you have of Madra. Maybe I’m not the woman you think I am.” Panic flashed across her face as if she’d said something she shouldn’t. “I just mean… don’t judge what you don’t understand.”

She rose and turned her back on him.

Dell leaned on his elbows. He had a habit of saying the wrong thing and pissing people off. But he didn’t want to do that with this girl. Mistress of the prince or not, she intrigued him. If she’d tied herself to the Rhodipus’, she must have a reason.

Wasn’t he tied to them now as well? Thanks to Edmund and Ian, he now had to choose a side. He was either with his family who had never been kind to him, or he was with Edmund who’d been nothing but.

He pushed himself up, ignoring every ache inside and crossing the inky black sand. Len stood with her oversized trousers dragging in the water as she knelt down.

“You’re right,” he said.

She straightened, raising an eyebrow. “I’m what?”

“You know what I said.”

“I do. I just enjoy hearing it is all.”

“You frustrate me.”

A grin spread slowly across her face, and it was as if it lit up the entire world. “Good.”

“Good?”

She nodded. “I sort of destroyed everything for you today. If I didn’t frustrate you, then I’d think you were insane.”

“Why are you still smiling then?”

“Maybe I am insane.”

He finally laughed. “Probably.”

She punched his arm. He flinched, and she covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think.”

“S’okay.” He wheezed, his eyes scanning her until he caught a flash of metal in her hand. His brows rose. “Planning to kill me now, are you? And with my own whittling knife? That’s harsh.”

“Whittling… what?” Her eyes flicked to the knife in her hand.

“Whittling knife.” She must have taken it from one of the pockets hidden in his pants. He never went anywhere without it. If the referees had known he had a knife during the fight this morning, he’d have been disqualified. He reached into the other pocket where he always kept his current project. Carving calmed him, but he’d never wanted to share it with anyone before. Len sort of forced it upon him, but he found he didn’t mind.

Her eyes widened when she took in the small wooden angel in his palm. She touched it gently.

“It’s beautiful.”

Pride bloomed in his chest. “My mother taught me.”

“Lady Tenyson can do this?” She picked up the angel, examining every curve.

A harsh laugh vibrated in the air as Dell thought of his overbearing stepmother doing something so delicate. “No. My mother. We lived in a mountain village when I was younger. I didn’t come to the city until she…”

Len set the angel back in his palm and folded his fingers over it. Her eyes met his gaze as his heart thundered against his ribs. Her brow furrowed as if she was trying to figure him out.

“Dell,” she whispered his name as a prayer. “I’m trying to figure out how the mottled and bruised fighter I first saw in the streets of Madra can make something so… beautiful.”

The edges of his mouth tipped up. “You thought I was a wooden-headed boxer like so many of the highborn lads in this town.”

“I don’t really know what I thought.”

“You know what I think?” The distance between them had somehow vanished.

Her breathy “no” warmed his face.

“We should probably get back to the city before dark.”

“Please.” Desperation tinged her voice as she pulled away, snapping back to reality at his words. “Just a bit longer.”

It struck him then. She didn’t want to go back. This wasn’t only about what happened at the games. Something in the palace stole the joy from her eyes.

Their moment was forgotten as his jaw tightened. “Are they forcing you to be there? To—”

“No.” She touched his hand. “No. Nothing like that. I just… I can’t explain it. I want to stay here with you.”

He didn’t believe her, but what could he do? Storm the palace and demand the prince fight him? He’d lose, of course. And then where would Len be?

“What did you mean you destroyed everything for me today?” he asked.

Len crossed her arms over her chest and walked up the sandy beach away from him. He followed her to where sand turned to rock.

She reached the base of the cliff and slid down to sit, leaning against the rock wall. Dell joined her.

Her thumbs tapped against each other as she drew her knees in. “You’re a Tenyson, Dell. I didn’t know that before. But now I see it. And you chose me over your brother.”

Dell laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about? As far as I’m concerned, Ian is nothing to me.”

“You absconded with the…” She stopped herself.

His brow furrowed. “With the what?”

She sighed. “With the prince’s mistress. That won’t be looked upon kindly. I don’t think you understand what is probably happening in the city right now. The Madran games have likely shut down early. The palace guard is probably combing the streets. They’ll venture out from the city soon. Then they’ll travel toward the nearby villages.”

None of it made sense. Why would the royal guard search for a mistress? Kings and princes had many. Estevan Rhodipus had never been linked to any before Len, but… the truth smacked him in the face as if a wave rose from the sea to drag him under.

“You’re not just a mistress, are you?” It was so obvious now. How could he not have seen it? Estevan had retrieved her from Mari’s himself. Not Edmund or some guard, the prince.

Len opened her mouth, but no words came forth as she grappled for truth.

He stood and paced in front of her, each step bringing a new pain, not all of them physical.

Why did he feel so betrayed? He had no right to anything from Len.

She stood, dusting off the butt of her trousers. “Dell, you’re right.”

He could have made a joke of that as she had, but his mind spun with the new knowledge.

“I’m—”

The words exploded from him. “In love with the prince? Yeah, I figured it out.”

“That’s…”

He put his hands on his head and breathed through the pain. Then why wasn’t she dying to run right back into his arms? No, he hadn’t been right at all. He faced her. “No, the prince is in love with you.”

A laugh broke free of her. He didn’t understand what was so funny.

He gripped her arm, meeting her gaze. “Is he forcing you to stay?” Tradition said Estevan Rhodipus had to marry someone from one of the other five kingdoms. And in Madra, tradition was law. The priests would make sure he adhered to what had always been done.

No matter what he felt, the heir would marry the Gaulean princess.

Len lowered her gaze. “I want to tell you something.”

He dropped her arm. “I’ve heard enough. That bastard is making you stay with him while he marries another. You need not explain anything else. I see it all. The disguises you used to get out of the palace and away from the situation. Your desire to spend more time in the freedom we have without the watchful eye of the prince. If I didn’t already hate the Rhodipus line, this would push me farther down that road.”

Tears formed in her eyes. “You’re against the royal family? All of them?”

He sighed. “The young prince and queen seem okay. But Len, the king and his family have led us into ruin. The people of Madra starve while he plans balls.”

“Tradition says the princess has to have a ball to choose a husband before her mask is removed.”

“Screw tradition.”

She gasped. “You don’t mean that. Tradition built Madra into what it is.”

“A war-mongering nation? I’m sorry, Len, but Madra is no great kingdom. The king cares nothing for the people and Estevan is no better. The bastard princes are rarely even on Madran soil. We know nothing about the princess. Why is she kept from us? It’s not right. She will be head of the merchant council and the merchants are driving the wedge between the classes even deeper. Our freedoms fall down around us, and she sits in her palace obeying priests and learning how to take more food from children’s mouths to give the merchants.”

No tears clouded Len’s eyes any longer as they hardened. “Says the merchant’s son.”

“You know nothing about me.” He turned and walked down the beach.

“And you know so much about me?” she yelled at his back. “I’ve changed my mind. Take me back to the palace.”

“With pleasure.”

* * *

Darkness blanketed the world by the time Dell and Len rode back through the city streets.

“Take me to Edmund’s,” Len said.

They were the first words she’d spoken since they left the beach. The brief moment of peace they’d experienced didn’t exist in either of their lives.

“If you take me to the palace, they’re likely to arrest you.”

He grunted. “I don’t need you to explain it to me.”

“Sorry.”

He scratched the side of his face. “No, it’s okay. I’m just…”

“Yeah, me too. Look Dell, I think today was a mistake. We shouldn’t have run. Both of us have lives here in Madra that we need to get on with. I don’t think I’m going to see you again.”

He wanted to tell her different, but he couldn’t. She was right. They couldn’t seek each other out. But how was he supposed to forget about a girl who made every pain in his life disappear?

A girl whose stubbornness drove him. A girl he…

No. She wasn’t his. He had no claim and never would.

They didn’t find royal guardsman in the streets but the signs they’d been there were everywhere. Overturned crates, rotten food scattered across the road, horse droppings.

Horse-Ian snorted as Dell tugged on the reins, turning them toward ambassador row.

When they stopped near Edmund’s gate, it opened quickly.

A frazzled Edmund froze, his eyes widening. “Len.” He rushed forward to help her down from the horse. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

“Edmund.” Her voice softened. “I’m okay. I needed to get out of there.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you understand how much trouble you’re in. The king—”

“Not here, Edmund.”

He looked up at Dell as if seeing him for the first time. “Len, get inside. I’m going to have a word with Dell.”

She shot him one last apprehensive look before disappearing into his house.

“Dell Tenyson.”

Dell had never heard such anger in Edmund’s tone. He held his hands in front of his chest. “Look, I’m sorry. I was just helping her get away from Ian.”

Edmund swallowed hard, evening his breath. “I know you do not understand what really happened today, so I’m going to explain something to you.”

“I know everything,” Dell stated.

“No, you don’t. Listen to me, Dell. That girl is special. I’m not going to explain how much to you because Madran tradition must even guide a Belaen man inside this city.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Of course you don’t. So, here’s what will happen: you will forget about Len. You don’t know her. Everything you think you know is a lie. You will never see her again.”

“You can’t—”

“Oh, but I can. This is the bargain you’re going to make with me so I don’t turn you in to the king for abducting her today.”

“I didn’t…” Dell narrowed his eyes. “I was trying to protect her.”

“If you want to protect her, you will help me keep the Rhodipus in power. You will prevent your family and their allies from throwing Madra into chaos. That is the only thing Len needs from you. She lives in that palace. What do you think happens to her if it’s invaded?”

Dell didn’t voice the answer he knew in his bones. Rebellion meant death. Any smart rebel leader would want those connected to the king put to death.

Len.

He lifted his eyes to the door she’d disappeared through. She didn’t even know the danger she was in. The same feeling that had come to him when the prince showed up at Mari’s rushed through his veins, and he knew with a sudden clarity which side he was on.

Not for the king, but for those protected by his power.

He met Edmund’s gaze, seeing the same truth in his eyes. Neither of them had a choice. They had to fight for Madra because the alternative was unthinkable.

14

Edmund stomped back into the house, the door slamming behind him. He didn’t stop until he stood in front of Helena. For a moment, they only stared at each other—her in apprehension, him in relief. He closed the short distance and crushed her to him.

“Aw, Edmund,” she wheezed. “Were you worried about me?”

“Don’t joke about this, Helena. This isn’t you escaping the palace to experience the city. You disappeared from the Madran games. Your games. Do you have any idea how upset your father is?”

“I didn’t know he cared.”

Edmund pulled away from her and held her at arm’s length. “Don’t be a fool, princess. The king knows you weren’t abducted. Quinn has already received his punishment and priests have swarmed the city looking for you.”

She batted his arms away and turned to clutch the back of the couch in the sitting area. Quinn. She closed her eyes, releasing a breath. How could she have been so stupid? She hadn’t even thought of her brother since leaving the games behind.

“Tell me everything, Edmund.” Her voice cracked. “Please.”

He seemed to recover from his irritation and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She laid her free hand over his and squeezed.

“Come,” he said, his voice gentle as if speaking to a child. “I must return you to the palace. We can talk on the way.”

A white carriage waited for them outside his front gate. Helena eyed Edmund. “They knew I’d come here first, didn’t they?”

“Stev thought you might.”

She flicked her eyes to the royal crest emblazoned on the carriage door. The two wings wrapped around a sword brought another set of wings to mind. The angel Dell carved with such care. Her breath hitched, and she covered it with a cough.

She was the princess of Madra, soon to be head of the merchant council. If anyone knew of the connection she shared with Dell, Tenyson or not, she’d be ruined. If they knew she’d revealed her face to a man, no matter how noble his blood may be…

Another question came to the forefront of her mind. Now that Dell’s lineage was known, would he come to the ball? Would he allow himself to be a part of his own family if it meant becoming hers?

No, that was a silly fantasy.

He wouldn’t save her from her father choosing Ian for her, or from a life spent wholly within Madra. She’d forever be grateful for today, for the bit of something more he’d shown her.

She only wished Quinn hadn’t been caught up in her deceptions.

Edmund hauled himself into the red velvet interior of the carriage and held a hand down to her. As soon as she climbed in and shut the door, they lurched forward, rumbling down the road.

“Father knows I’ve been in the city without my mask, doesn’t he?” she asked.

Edmund nodded, fixing her with a stare. “Quinn had to convince them all you weren’t abducted, so he didn’t interrogate the Madran citizens.”

Helena swallowed. To the king, interrogation was much more than simply asking questions.

Edmund continued. “He showed them the clothing you’d left in the latrine, including the mask.”

“What…” She sucked in a breath. “You mentioned Quinn’s punishment.”

He shifted his eyes to his hands. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“The king sent him to Gaule.”

“But he was supposed to stay until my ball. He was supposed to be there! His assignment to Gaule didn’t start until next month.”

“Helena.” Edmund lowered his voice. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation. The priests—”

“Damn the priests.”

“I wish.” He ran a hand over the top of his head. “I’ve never understood how Madra could have three sources of power. The king, the merchant council, and the priesthood. Yet, the only one with true power is the priesthood. You’ve broken one of their longest standing laws. A Madran princess cannot appear as any commoner. She is above them, at least in the priesthood’s eyes. You are too sacred to be revealed.”

“It’s bullshit.”

“It’s law.”

“Argh!” She slammed her fist into the side of the carriage as it bumped, sending her tumbling sideways.

“Helena—”

“Don’t ‘Helena’ me, Edmund. You’re not even from here. I’ll bet your Belaen queen never has to deal with such horseshit.”

“No, she just had to deal with a curse that controlled her entire life. Every leader has their own form of shackles.”

“I’m not a leader.” She leaned back against the wall. “I’m a princess who wears pretty dresses and knows which fork goes with the right dish.”

Disappointment flashed across his face. “You underestimate me, Helena. I know you are much more than that.”

She met his gaze. How much did he know of her mother’s training? All of it, probably. He seemed to know everything.

As if sensing her discomfort with the secrets she carried, Edmund veered away from the subject. “You may never lead an army to war, Len, but I’ve seen you entrance grown men and women who even I struggle to charm. That has its own kind of power.”

“If you’re talking about Dell, he just thinks I’m Stev’s mistress.” She snorted as the reality of that statement hung between them. “What would he do if he knew who I was, and that you were Stev’s true mistress?” A laugh bubbled up from her chest.

A wry smile appeared on Edmund’s lips.

She calmed her laughter and breathed deeply. “I don’t like lying to people. Dell. My father. I don’t think I want to do it anymore.”

Edmund leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “Then don’t.” He raised a brow, begging her to challenge him.

Was it really that simple? Tell the truth and people would accept her for it? Or tell the truth and they wouldn’t, but at least she tried?

The carriage came to a stop and moments later an unbelievably tall woman in a white priestess’ robe yanked the door open.

“We have the princess,” she yelled to someone behind her as she reached in and wrapped a strong hand around Helena’s arm.

Helena let out a yelp as the priest dragged her from the carriage.

Edmund jumped out after her. “Take your hands off the princess.”

The priestess ignored him and turned Helena toward a crowd of others in the same telltale robes.

“Edmund,” she called. “Where’s Stev?”

“Unhand her.” Edmund gripped the large woman’s wrist moments before two other priests pried him off and pulled him away.

“What’s going on?” Helena yelled, her eyes finding Edmund as she stumbled, her knees hitting the stone before the woman yanked her back up. Another carriage appeared, rumbling through the palace gates.

“I’m going to find Stev,” Edmund yelled over the babbling priests who now swarmed her, pushing her toward the carriage.

A tear rushed down her face as the priestess shoved a woven sack over her head threw her into darkness. Someone lifted her. Fear coursed through her veins as her body hit what must have been the bench seat inside the carriage.

Where were her parents? A sob escaped her throat as the carriage jolted forward.

“Shut up, girl,” someone hissed. “You brought this on yourself.”

Helena bit her lip to prevent more cries from escaping. They had abducted her from her own home.

No, abducted was the wrong word.

The priesthood took her, but she knew they wouldn’t do this unless the king allowed it.

This was her punishment.

* * *

Helena had heard tales of the ‘priest hole’ like the one they now led her to. The only prison in Madra. The palace didn’t cage people, in part because the king didn’t want commoners under the same roof as the royal family. He let the priests do the kingdom’s dirty work.

They didn’t only craft the laws. They enforced them.

But the king could have stopped them if he wanted to. The fact that she was there meant her father wanted it.

She’d betrayed her family and her kingdom, by sneaking into the city without her mask.

Metal rattled as an iron gate swung open and one of the priests pushed Helena into a darkened hall. Damp air curled around her, sending a shiver down her spine. The musty scent of the stale space had her wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Her tears dried as she prepared herself for what was to come.

Cries came from occupied cells as they passed. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she stumbled. Stiff fingers curled around her arm in a bruising grip, forcing her forward. They pulled the sack from her head and stopped at an empty cell. No special treatment for the princess. She’d be kept in much the same state as anyone else.

An emaciated face appeared at the door of a nearby cell. How long had these people been here? She took in the gaunt eyes and ratty hair.

No, that wouldn’t be her.

She didn’t know exactly how long they’d keep her, but all of Madra had been invited to her ball at the end of the week. She had to be there, and the priests knew it.

As she stepped into the cell of her own will, she turned and lifted her chin, because she’d realized something else. She narrowed her eyes at the pudgy man locking her in. They couldn’t touch her. She was the princess of Madra, and the people must see her unharmed when she finally revealed her face to them.

She sat in the center of her cell and crossed her legs. They could lock her up, but they couldn’t take her freedom because she possessed none. They’d just changed her cage from a gilded one to a real one, but a cage was a cage, and she was used to feeling trapped.

They would have nothing from her. And when her brother became king, and she became head of the merchant council, they’d use their combined power to put the priesthood in their place.

They’d regret the day they made an enemy of Princess Helena Rhodipus.

* * *

Nothing changed in the hole. Helena didn’t know if it was day or if night had descended upon the world. How long had she been there?

They’d fed her mutton stew with watery wine, but how long ago was that?

She leaned back against the wall of her cell, listening to the coughing and wheezing echoing down the long hall. Footsteps sounded against the stone, and she straightened her spine.

Two female priests dragged a thin man past Helena’s cell.

She covered her mouth to hide her gasp. A tapestry of blood striped his back. She crawled forward and gripped the bars of her cell.

The woman returned, stopping as soon as they saw her.

“Princess,” one of them laughed before kicking the bars of her cell.

She pulled her hands back moments before the boot would have crushed them.

They moved on, and Helena sat back on her heels. Because of that one word, every prisoner in this place now knew who she was.

And it only confirmed what she feared.

Unlike her… they weren’t getting out.

* * *

Pain shot up Helena’s back as she turned onto her side. Sleeping on the stone floor for the last few nights—or what she assumed was night based on when she fell asleep—had wreaked her body.

She pulled her knees into her chest, trying to gather any bit of warmth she could. She wore Quinn’s clothes still, which she’d never been more thankful for. Her dress would have been even more uncomfortable.

Quinn. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of her favorite brother. He was missing her ball, the most important day of her life, because of her selfishness.

His voice wound through her mind. You deserve some selfishness, he’d say. He’d always been too understanding for his own good. It was why he’d helped her. He knew how trapped she’d been in the palace. All of them knew.

A tear tracked down her face. Were her brothers ashamed of her? She didn’t know what she’d have done locked inside the palace most of her life if it hadn’t been for them. Until recently, she hadn’t tried to go see the world because they’d brought the world to her.

It was wrong, she realized too late, to be satisfied with that. Traditions or no, she should have always fought for her freedom. Dell made her see that. Stories of the sea and the city were great, but actually experiencing them for herself was life altering.

A key rattled in the rusted lock, and Helena jerked her head up. A wiry older man with thinning gray hair and a manicured beard peered in, his face alight in the glow of the lantern he carried. He offered her a kind smile, the first she’d seen since arriving.

“Princess,” he whispered. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

She didn’t respond.

He took that as a cue to continue. “I’m afraid I have to interrupt your pleasant evening and ask you to come with me.”

Pleasant evening? Was this man mocking her?

“My name is Koran.” He held a hand down to her.

Helena had made it a point not to learn the names of Madra’s priests throughout her life. She’d wanted nothing to do with them, blaming them—rightfully so—for her masked life.

“I won’t bite,” Koran said, giving his hand a shake. “Please, I promise you want to come with me.”

It wasn’t like she had a choice. A sigh deflated her chest, and she gripped Koran’s hand, letting him pull her to her feet.

The priest tried to hide his disgust at the smell of unwashed bodies as he gently led her to the door, but his nose crinkled.

Helena had grown used to it, sure her own smell wasn’t pleasant after so long in her cell.

He found a key on his crowded key ring and unlocked the door. Fresh air struck her the moment she stepped out of the prison.

The monastery that housed the priests was a compound of buildings she’d never visited before. In her studies, she’d learned aside from the prison, they had a winery, as well as lavish living quarters.

The priest led her down a dirt pathway to a nearby brick building. Inside, furnishings were sparse.

Koran released her. “These are my quarters.”

Something wasn’t right. “Why have you brought me here?”

“Ah, so you do speak.”

“Of course she speaks,” a third voice said. “Sometimes she won’t shut up.”

“Stev.” As her brother appeared from an adjoining room, she ran toward him, her tired legs faltering.

Stev had never been the hugger of the family—not like the twins—but this time, he wrapped her in his arms as if he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve been so worried,” he said. “We didn’t know where you were. Kassander has been crying every night. Cole beat the shit out of a few of father’s guards trying to get the information. But you know how loyal they are.”

Helena released him and peered up at his tired eyes. “How’d you find me?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I worried the entire time you might be here, but then I convinced myself father would never allow them to take you. I was wrong. I had Edmund looking into it.”

“His spies?” One corner of her mouth quirked up.

Only Edmund would take a post as ambassador in a foreign kingdom and then develop a network of spies better than the ones employed by the prince.

“I reached out to Koran.” He sent a nod toward the priest. “I’ve had him keeping an eye on Kassander’s training.”

Relief rushed through her at the words Stev wasn’t saying. He didn’t trust the priesthood either. “When you’re king, Stev…”

“Helena,” he said in warning. “We cannot only plan for a future that lays many years down the road. We must deal with things as they stand now. Your ball is tomorrow night. You will return to the palace with me now.”

“But father—”

“He cannot punish all of us, can he?”

Her lips quirked up. “Yes, he can.”

Stev laughed, the sound so unlike him, Helena stepped back.

His laugh cut off abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m just so relieved to have you with me.”

His face grew serious, and Helena reached up to brush her thumb over his cheek. Her brother tried to hide everything deep inside himself. He always had.

Just as she’d had to hide everything on the outside of her.

“You would defy the king for me?” she asked.

“Of course.” His brow crinkled. “You’re my sister.” He reached into the pocket of his black jacket and procured a simple white mask. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She took it and tied it around her face, finding comfort for once in the feel of the soft fabric.

Koran led them outside into the darkness of the night. Clouds obscured any stars, but a sliver of moon winked in and out of view.

“I couldn’t bring a carriage because that would attract attention,” Stev explained as Koran retrieved a single horse.

As they rode through the monastery gates and down the hill into the city, Helena glanced back at the monastery, a shadow looming in the night.

She was delivered from her prison, but what about the others? Why were they there?

Something wasn’t right in Madra.

15

The day of the princess’ ball dawned bright in Madra, but quickly turned cold as rain clouds moved across the sky. A storm had churned out at sea for days and finally arrived on their shores.

Dell peered up at the swirling darkness blocking the sun. A torrent of rain erupted from the heavens, crashing down on his head.

Madrans ran through the streets in search of cover, but Dell didn’t move.

His sopping clothes stuck to every curve of his body like a second skin and still, his feet remained frozen to the spot.

He had nothing. Not anymore. Maybe he never had—at least not since his mother died.

He hadn’t returned to his family’s estate after the Madran games where he saved the girl who assaulted his brother. Where the world found out he was a Tenyson.

The shopkeepers he’d known for years now treated him as any other merchant—with formality and distrust. They were always wary of those who brought goods to the kingdom and swindled them.

The night before, he’d slept on the deck of one of his family’s ships, but had to leave before the sailors arrived to prepare it to set sail.

The Gaulean ship sat docked in the slip next to it, meaning Princess Camille was still there. A good sign for the royal betrothal, he assumed.

He wouldn’t know. His Knowledge of palace happenings was limited. He hadn’t even spoken to Edmund since the night he’d returned Len to his home.

Dell shook his head, rain streaming down his face as he finally jogged across the road to an alehouse, showcasing its welcome warmth through the open door.

For once, chatter didn’t die down as he entered. Alehouses were the one place people of all stations mixed. Along the far wall, a table of Merchants dressed in their exotic finery bent over a stack of papers between them.

Common folk escaping the deluge outside provided a cacophony of laughter.

A table in the corner was the favored spot of mercenary soldiers. Most people kept their distance from the tattooed men and women who fought for a living. They weren’t like those who joined the royal army to feed their families.

Mercenaries spoke as if they enjoyed what they did.

Madran mercenary forces had fought across the sea for the sorcerer they called La Dame until she was defeated. Madran royal forces had been on the other side of that battle. So many families lost their loved ones to war.

The difference was choice. Those in the royal army had no choice where they were sent or for whom they fought.

Mercenaries chose based on who paid the highest coin.

Where did Dell belong? Even in an alehouse meant to be a meeting place of all people, he didn’t fit.

He took the only empty table wedged up beside the mercenaries.

Catsja appeared, mug in hand. “Hi, sweetie.” She smiled as she set the ale down. “You look a little lost today.” She reached out and trailed a finger down his cheek.

Dell peered up into her dull gray eyes. Catjsa was a beautiful woman with her long, raven hair piled in an intricate design on top of her head. Eyes that spoke of experience with the world. A petite frame.

But he suddenly didn’t understand why he’d fought Orlo for her. She was his wife, and Dell was nothing but a potential distraction.

He leaned back, away from her roving hands. “I’m okay, Catjsa.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and set it on the table. “Thank you.”

She flicked her eyes from the coin to him and back again and shook her head. “No, dear. You’re not.” She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced behind her to make sure none of the other patrons needed her before sliding into the seat across from him.

“What’s on your mind, Dell Tenyson?” She pushed his ale toward him. “It’s lunch. Drink up and when you’re finished telling me all about this woman you can’t stop thinking of, I’ll fetch you some bread and cheese.”

He met her eyes. “Grapes too… if you have them.”

She laughed, and he found he enjoyed her laugh when she lost the predatory glint in her eye. “Grapes too. Now out with it.”

He scratched his chin, trying to figure out what he could say without telling her too much. “I have a friend,” he began. “And I think she’s in trouble.”

“How so?” Catjsa leaned forward, listening intently.

“The man she’s with… she’s alluded to not being allowed to leave.”

Darkness crossed Catjsa’s face. “That is the way of many marriages.”

“But they aren’t married. He is to wed someone else. I think she’s in danger.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

“Do?”

“Yes, Dell.” She laughed. “If this woman means something to you, there must be something you can do to help her.”

Talk from the table beside them froze both Dell and Catjsa.

“Have the rebels contacted us?” one of the mercenaries asked.

“Yes,” another affirmed. “And we turned down their offer.”

“There have been rumblings,” a low voice growled. “Within the royal army itself.”

The first snorted. “That’s why you never make an oath of infinite fidelity. Then you don’t have to break it. They’re faithless.”

Catsja leaned closer to Dell. “Never thought I’d see the day the royal army turned on the king.”

“What’s going on?” Dell asked.

“The last few weeks, we’ve had a lot of mercenaries in here. Seems there are rumors the royal forces may be tiring of the king’s wars like the rest of us.”

Dell tried to cover his intense interest in the subject by shifting his gaze to the table. “And the mercenaries don’t like this?”

“It’s the principal. A mercenary is ruthless, but on the rare occasion you get them to give their word, they won’t break it. Ever. Killers, but loyal killers at least.”

The information took hold in Dell’s mind. He needed to talk to Edmund. Did he know of the shifting loyalties of the army? Or the danger it posed for the royal kingdom? The army was the king’s power.

“Do you think the mercenaries will join forces with those who wish the king ill?” he asked. As owner of an alehouse, Catjsa knew more of the realm’s happenings than most.

“No,” she said with conviction. “Mercenaries have rules they live by. One such rule is they don’t fight within Madra. They won’t support civil war destroying the kingdom.”

His shoulders relaxed. That was a relief at least.

Catsja pushed herself up from her chair. “Remember all I’ve said, Dell. If you care for the woman at all, you will fight for her.”

A serving woman arrived with Dell’s lunch, but he barely touched it as he drained the rest of his ale and stood.

Catsja was right.

He had to find Len.

And there was only one way into the palace.

He was going to a ball.

* * *

As the skies continued to dump misery down upon the city, Dell ran through the streets. Flashes of lightning lit his way, and thunder rang at his back as if it would rip the world in two. He spotted Agathe in the window of her bakery but ignored her frantic waving to get him to stop. He only had a few hours before the ball.

Only the servants occupied his family’s house when he arrived. The great Lady Tenyson was at the docks examining the newest shipment. Was she involved in the coup, or was it his brother’s plan? He shook his head. He didn’t have any proof Edmund had spoken the truth about his family.

Dell didn’t know where his brothers were, but he needed them to stay gone for a while.

He had nothing suitable to wear for a ball, but Reed was about his size. He burst into the dry house, streaking muddy footprints across white tile floors.

One of the maids watched him in disgust, but he couldn’t stop to help clean his own mess. Not when he needed to be there for Len. Would they allow her to attend the ball? Who knew the restrictions mistresses faced in the palace? He just needed to see she was ok. Just a glimpse.

Once her safety was plain, he’d fade back into obscurity. Maybe he’d leave the city altogether. He couldn’t stay. Not as a Tenyson, both hated by his own family and their enemies, alike.

He thought back to the mercenary units and their strange code of honor. Sure, they’d chosen evil over good time and again, depending on who could pay, but there was an appeal in living life with no care for what one did. In the freedom it allowed. The protection it provided. From disappointment. From the kind of heartbreak he’d known too often in his life.

A door slammed shut somewhere in the house and moments later, Reed appeared in his doorway.

“Dell.” He stopped, his eyes scanning Dell from soggy hair to muddy boots. “What are you doing?”

Reed was the least threatening member of the family, but he still followed Ian’s every command.

Dell didn’t have time to play games with either of his brothers. “I’m going to the ball.”

“You…” He glanced back over his shoulder before stepping inside the room and shutting the door. “They won’t let you. You have to know that.”

Dell turned back to the wardrobe where he found the cloak and mantle he’d been searching for.

He stepped toward the door, and Reed blocked his path. “Not this way, Dell.”

“What do you mean ‘not this way’? What other way is there for me to leave? Get out of my way.”

“Ian and mother are downstairs. If you storm down there, stealing clothes from me as you do, they won’t let you out of this house.”

Dell met his brother’s eye. Reed had never given a care for Dell’s wellbeing. Even when they were boys and Dell arrived, mourning his mother and scared, neither brother extended a hand. They’d been nothing but cruel. Yet now, something stirred behind Reed’s eyes. Some conflict.

Voices entered the hall. “Our people are in place,” Ian’s words drifted in to them.

A woman whose voice Dell didn’t recognize responded. “And there will be a new king?”

“Yes. With me as head merchant. The Tenysons will stay at the tip of the spiral, never having to worry about the long fall down.”

Reed’s eyes widened, and he gripped the door handle, ready to tell his older brother of Dell’s presence.

Dell whipped his whittling knife from his pocket and lunged for Reed, holding the sharp tip at his throat. “Don’t make a sound,” Dell whispered.

Ian continued speaking in the hall. “We have been assured all preparations are complete. Our man inside the palace tells me it’s time to move. The army stands at the ready.”

The woman hummed low in her throat. “I see. My messengers have all departed. Everything will be set. I do wish you extended your trust enough to tell me who will let us in.”

Dell strained his ears… waiting.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said after a brief moment. “I cannot do that until the time is right.”

Their footsteps faded away, and Dell pulled the knife from Reed’s throat.

“Dell…” Reed eyed him cautiously. “You could ruin everything.”

Dell tilted his head to the side, studying the brother he was only now seeing for the first time. “The question now is—do you want me to ruin everything?”

Reed jerked away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Those words were treason, Reed.” Dell pointed to the door. “Treason! Are you a traitor to Madra?”

“They’re trying to save Madra.”

Dell laughed harshly. “They’re trying to wrest the power from the king, but you can’t seriously think they’ll use that power to fix the kingdom.”

“The king is a worthless fool.”

Dell nodded. “And he’s cruel and sends too many young men and women to die in senseless battles. But give me a break, Reed. You know Ian. You know the kinds of people he’d associate with.” He froze. Edmund was right. His entire family was plotting against the royals.

And he suddenly knew what side he was on.

The side that prevented civil war and didn’t allow Ian anywhere near the merchant council’s ruling chair.

“I have to go.” He pushed Reed out of the way and yanked the door open moments before crashing into Ian.

“Seems we have a problem.” Ian’s lip curled.

Dell refused to back down. “Seems we do.” He prepared for the fight he knew was coming.

Ian put two fingers in his mouth and a shrill whistle sounded. Heavy boots pounded up the steps. Dell didn’t know what was going on or why the thugs running toward them were with his brother.

“Lock him in the cellar.” Ian gestured toward Dell, and the four men surrounded him, preventing him from escape. One took the clothes he still held and handing them to the wide-eyed Reed.

“You don’t want to do this, Reed,” Dell called behind him.

Ian laughed. “Of course he does. He’s a true Tenyson. Unlike you.”

Two of the men wrapped meaty hands around Dell’s arms and lifted him off the ground like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

They marched into the swirling storm, the rain pounding in time with Dell’s rapid heartbeats.

“You won’t get away with this,” he growled as Ian trailed them, wiping water from his face.

“Of course I will. I will soon be one step away from the throne.”

One of the men ran forward and unlocked the thin wooden door that led to the cellar. He pulled it open, revealing a staircase down into the earth.

A hand landed on Dell’s back, pushing him forward into the door. His feet missed the stairs altogether. He hit the ground with a bone-jarring force, his shoulder slamming into the packed dirt floor.

Ian’s face was the last thing he saw before the door slid down, throwing him into complete and utter blackness.

16

None of them knew. It was one of the first things Helena realized about the servants and advisors who walked the palace grounds. No one told them she was missing or that her own father allowed the priests to imprison her.

If they saw the scene days ago outside the front steps, they wouldn’t have recognized her. Except for a few loyal servants allowed into the royal family’s wing, they had never seen her face.

So, when she walked by and they bowed with a formal “princess” all she could do was act as if none of it had happened; as if she hadn’t lost faith in everything Madra stood for. Laws that resulted in the kind of pain she’d seen in the priests’ hole were laws that didn’t need to be cemented into the kingdom’s sacred traditions. They need to be ripped apart at the seams to find where Madra had gone so very wrong.

When Stev brought her back to the palace the night before, he’d hidden her in Quinn’s now empty room. Cole had hugged her so tight, like he worried she’d disappear again.

And Kassander… her sweet brother refused to leave her side, even sleeping in Quinn’s bed with her.

Camille walked at her side as they made their way to the family wing, the soft thumping of her cane now a comforting melody. Because Helena needed a friend. Someone who wasn’t simply one of her brothers.

“I’m still surprised my father didn’t force you to attend the Madran games.” Helena glanced sideways at the foreign princess.

Camille frowned. “I am not of Madra. He cannot command me.”

A hesitant smile spread across Helena’s face. She’d grown accustomed to and rather fond of Camille’s abruptness.

“Are you… are you coming to my ball tonight?” She held her breath, hoping her new friend would stand at her side.

“Now that, dear Helena, I do not have a choice in. It’s an important night for you and my betrothal to your brother is to be announced.”

Helena’s steps faltered. “Are you… okay with everything?”

To Helena’s surprise, Camille laughed. “You mean my future husband being in love with Edmund? I have no illusions about love or fairytales. We princesses aren’t meant for such things. We secure alliances and consolidate power. We don’t fall in love.”

A sigh escaped Helena as she pushed open the door leading into the family wing. Camille’s words rang true, yet she’d always had an image in her mind of a man sweeping in gallantly and stealing the breath right from her lungs.

She froze as she came face to face with her father for the first time since the Madran games.

Red crept up his neck and a vein stood out in his forehead. Those were the only signs of his distress. The blue and red military uniform he insisted upon wearing was perfectly pressed and his thinning gray hair was combed over the side just like any other day.

“Helena,” he barked.

Camille reached out and gripped Helena’s hand, letting her know she wasn’t going anywhere.

The king advanced. “I sent someone to fetch you from the monastery. He returned only to tell me you were already gone. The priests were quite distraught at your disobedience.”

Helena lifted her chin, meeting her father’s gaze. “I needed to prepare for my ball, father.”

He stepped forward until his shadow loomed over her. “Your insolence is alarming, child. Make no mistake, this ball is but a formality. You will be given a Madran husband of great standing who will not abide by your churlish disposition.”

“What will you have them do, your Majesty?” she spat. “I’m already a prisoner within your walls. There is little they can take from me.”

The sting spread across her cheek before she realized he’d struck her with the back of his hand. She stumbled back, rubbing her face, as shouting erupted with the arrival of Cole and Stev from their rooms.

Stev ran to her side while Cole used his large frame to force their father back.

“You okay?” Stev asked, bending his head to examine her reddened cheek.

Helena nodded, angry tears burning her eyes.

“Don’t touch her,” Cole’s voice rose above the rest. “You’ve already destroyed Madra. You sent Quinn away. I won’t let you hurt Helena too.”

“Let me?” The king growled. “Helena disobeyed a two-hundred-year-old tradition when she revealed her face to the commoners. And then she escaped her punishment.”

Stev straightened and turned to their father. “She didn’t escape. I had her released.”

“You?” The king’s eyes shifted between his children. Stev was the heir, the boy who’d always followed his father’s every command.

Cole’s jaw tightened. “Are we quite finished, father?” He said the last word as a curse.

Helena was the one who answered him. “Yes, Cole. Father and I are very much done. I have a ball to prepare for.”

She pulled Camille along with her toward the door to her room. As she shut it behind them, it surprised her to find her mother and Sophia waiting for her.

Chloe Rhodipus rose from her seat to envelop her daughter in a soft hug. “We heard everything,” she whispered. “I wish I could have helped you, my sweet girl.”

For all the strength and wisdom the queen possessed, she had little power over happenings in the kingdom. But the power to soothe her daughter… that belonged to her wholly.

The tears she’d been holding back flowed freely, soaking into the fur collar of her mother’s dress.

Chloe pulled back, untying Helena’s mask as she did. “There’s my beautiful girl.” She smiled. “It looks like you’ll have a bruise.” Her thumb rubbed gently over where the king had struck. “But nothing your mask and some cream won’t cover up. Now, let’s prepare you for your night. Madra hasn’t seen a princess’ ball since…”

“Father’s aunt, right?” Helena asked.

Her mother shook her head. “No, my dear. Your father’s sister.”

“I didn’t know he had a sister.”

“She disappeared soon after the ball. Some said she was taken by pirates, but most knew the truth.”

“What was the truth?”

Her mother sighed, running a hand down Helena’s arm. “You cannot keep a princess hidden her entire life and then expect her to suddenly help with the running of the kingdom once you deem her worthy enough to strike the chains from her wrists.”

Sophia chose that moment to chime in. “There were no chains on that girl’s wrists. I would know. I was her lady’s maid before yours.”

Helena touched the edge of the mask her mother had laid on the table. “It’s a metaphor, Sophia.” She smiled sadly. “The mask carries the weight of manacles.”

Sophia huffed. “I’m going to go prepare you a bath, princess. When you stop speaking nonsense, come scrub up.”

She left and Camille released a breath. “You need a new maid.”

Helena shook her head. “Sophia is a stubborn woman, but she’s loyal and she loves this family.” She dropped into a chair. “I wish tonight was about more than appearances, Mother. The people of Madra think I will choose my husband. But father has already chosen, hasn’t he?”

Her mother nodded and reached across the table to grip her hand. “I’m sorry, darling.”

Camille crossed her arms over her chest as she sat down. “And here I thought Gaule was a mess with magic folk and non-magic folk at each other’s throats. But you people… Madra doesn’t even have magic to tear it apart, yet you’re just as broken as we are.”

“I think every kingdom has its cracks,” the queen said.

“Not Bela.” Camille leaned forward. “They’re so loyal to their queen, it’s sickening.”

“Didn’t she almost die for them or something?” Helena asked. “Father would never even join his men in battle. He thinks the trueborn royals are too valuable. Stev and Kass are forbidden from fighting as well. But I don’t see how one man’s life means more or less than any other.”

The queen stood and kissed the top of Helena’s head. “A worthy discussion, but one we don’t have time for, I’m afraid.”

Camille pushed on her cane for leverage to help her rise. “I’m to seek my own bath. I’ll see you soon.”

Helena nodded as she left to join Sophia and prepare herself for what should have been the grandest night of her life.

Now she knew it was only another night she’d have to play by the kingdom’s rules.

* * *

Helena ran shaky hands down the bodice of her sky-blue dress. Silver lace created an intricate design around the sapphire jewels sewn on by hand. She twisted her hips to let the flowing skirt swish around her legs.

The looking glass showed her a girl she didn’t recognize. Dark hair was piled on top of her head in a mass of curls. Charcoal rimmed her eyes and red coated her lips. She lifted the jeweled silver mask, crafted just for this occasion. As she tied it to her face, only then did she recognize herself.

Who was the princess of Madra without her mask?

Not even Helena knew.

She rose and went to retrieve the glass slippers her father insisted upon. He’d chosen her entire outfit to showcase the wealth of the royal family, even while much of Madra starved.

Only a man would craft glass shoes. They were horribly uncomfortable.

Helena paced the room, trying to get used to the heaviness of her feet, fearing the glass might crack with every step.

She put a hand on her stomach. Breathe in. Breathe out.

It was time.

A knock sounded on her door and Camille poked her head in, her face hidden beneath a mask similar to Helena’s.

Helena sucked in a breath. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not alone in this, Helena.” She smiled, her cheeks pushing against the purple fabric that matched her silky dress to perfection. “Come.”

Helena followed her out, taking each step cautiously.

Her brothers awaited her in the sitting room. She breathed deeply to prevent herself from crying and ruining every bit of preparation on her face.

Estevan, Cole, and Kassander each wore masks of their own that kept the top half of their faces hidden from view.

Helena shook her head vigorously. “You don’t have to do this.” Their gesture was symbolic at best, holding none of the weight her mask held, but it still meant everything to her. “Father is not going to be pleased.”

Cole grunted. “I do not live my life to please that man.”

Stev stepped forward. “I think what Cole means is we should have done this a long time ago. Until you started going into the city on your own, I never considered how hard this life was for you.”

“Come here.” She held her arms out and Stev stepped into them. She reached a second arm toward Cole and embraced them both. Kassander wiggled his way in between all of them. “I wish Quinn was here.”

“Children,” their mother’s voice made them break apart. “We must be on our way.”

Helena turned to her to find she, too, wore a mask over her delicate features.

Her mother sent her a confident smile and gestured to the door. The six of them filed down the hall with a handful of guards close behind. Servants stared, bewildered as they passed.

The king awaited his family in the room adjoining the ballroom. Music drifted from the party above the sounds of chatter.

Out in the city, Madra may suffer, but in that room, the people were truly alive.

The king scanned his masked family with a scowl on his face. The queen kissed his cheek. “Hello, dear.” He turned away from her with disgust and waited for the doors to open.

As they did, the orchestra stopped playing immediately.

A woman dressed in the deep blue livery of the royal family stood to one side as a line of royal guards streamed through the door, stopping abruptly as they cleared a path for the royal family.

The king stepped forward first, and the queen took his arm.

The woman cleared her throat. “The king and queen of Madra.”

The cheer that wound its way through the crowd was subdued. Helena scanned the faces with a new realization that the people only did as the king demanded. There was no true love in their desire for favor.

They’d lost faith in him long ago.

And she hadn’t seen it. She had once loved her father deeply, and it blinded her to the truth.

But not anymore. Now her trust in him was as broken as the heart beating inside her chest. Irreparable.

As the herald announced her brothers and Camille, she pasted a practiced smile on her face and glided into the great gold-adorned room.

Pillars of cherry wood lined the back wall, stretching up to a ceiling painted to depict Madran victory in battle.

Gauzy white linens wrapped around the pillars giving the room a crisp look. Thousands of candles cast the crowd with an ethereal glow as they waited for her to be announced.

She sucked in a breath and pulled back her shoulders to lengthen her spine. No fear. The week of her name day had consisted of striking the son of the most powerful merchant in Madra, running away to a secluded beach with a boy she couldn’t stop thinking about, imprisonment in the monastery, and standing in defiance of her father for the first time.

Compared to the lifetime she’d experienced in the past few days, walking into a ball where many eyes followed her every move was easy.

“Helena Rhodipus, princess of Madra.” The herald’s voice rang loud and clear.

There was a moment when no sound reached her ears as if the cheers bounced off a protective barrier, allowing her a moment of peace before stepping into the fray.

She lifted her eyes, finding Edmund near the back wall with a wide grin on his face. With a tiny shake of her head, she let him know to drop his magic. She was ready.

As if someone had lifted a veil, noise rushed in, the excitement of the crowd assaulting her.

To the best of their knowledge, their princess stood among them for the very first time. Not on a platform separated from the crowd as at the Madra games or disguised as someone else. For tonight, she was truly one of them.

She tore her eyes from Edmund as Reed Tenyson commanded his attention and lifted her hand to wave as she walked toward the long table where her family now sat, their masks a testament to their love for her.

The king left them to speak with a gaggle of merchants vying for his attention.

As Helena sank into her seat beside Estevan, she sighed. “I’m already exhausted and we only just arrived.”

Cole laughed from his spot on her other side. “Do not worry, sister. Soon, all eyes will be on me anyway.”

“It’s good to know that the center of attention at my ball will be my brother.” She shook her head.

He flashed her a grin.

Camille, as the only person not of Madran royalty at their table, leaned forward. “We have balls in Gaule, but nothing so grand as this.”

The music began anew, sending soft notes drifting on the air.

Helena opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off as her father appeared with Lord Nirol, a man who spent his life trying to climb the spiral by any means necessary. He was a merchant, but rumors also circulated about his piracy. Helena had met him many times before when the merchant council met with the king at the palace.

Each time had been more unpleasant than the one before it.

“Daughter,” her father began. “You will dance.” He nodded to Lord Nirol.

“Princess.” Lord Nirol dipped his balding head and offered her one bony hand.

With no other choice before her, she ripped her eyes from her father and stood, taking the lord’s hand.

He gave her a watery sideways smile as he led her onto the crowded dance floor and placed a hand on her waist.

This was what she’d been training for her entire life. The dance lessons. Etiquette classes. Helena was bred to be the perfect princess, the perfect hostess. For this night. The night when grown men twice her age would fight for her hand in marriage, some for their sons and some for themselves.

She searched her mind for something to say.

“Did you enjoy the games?” Lord Nirol asked.

She followed his lead in the dance, never once taking it from him—just as she’d been taught. Let the man lead in all things. It was what a princess did.

And it was utter bullshit.

Helena bit back everything she wished she could say and nodded demurely. “I enjoyed them very much.”

It was the only acceptable answer. A Madran princess couldn’t admit she found boxing rather barbaric. She’d seen what damage it had done to Dell—multiple times. But the sport was as sacred as anything in their kingdom. She much preferred watching swordplay or practicing with her knives.

Lord Nirol smiled, his yellowed teeth crooked. “I did quite well in my own match.”

She couldn’t remember seeing him fight before leaving the arena, but he was quite small. Something Stev once told her flashed in her mind. A merchant speaks truth when it suits him and lies when it gets him what he wants. What did a merchant want? She’d been naïve enough to ask. Power.

So, she’d give him the perceived power he sought. “I saw your match.” She smiled. “You impressed me, my lord.”

Desire sparked in his narrow eyes. He thought he could gain the power he wanted through her.

“It is a shame you had to leave the games early.” He leaned in closer, hoping for the truth of that night. The king’s guards had combed the city, but never told the people their princess was missing. They’d been told she retired early to conserve her energy for the ball.

Lord Nirol didn’t seem to believe that, but she didn’t answer his questioning gaze. As the music rose to a crescendo, vibrating across her skin, she scanned the waiting crowd, many of whom wanted the very thing Lord Nirol assumed he would soon have.

But Helena had been hidden away her entire life. The people didn’t know her at all. Tonight, every bit of the kingdom’s power rested in her. No matter the ploys her father attempted, in the end, the choice of a husband who would enlarge the Rhodipus grip on Madra was supposed to be hers.

And she wasn’t going to give up her power. Not to Lord Nirol. Not to any of them.

Especially not to her father.

17

A thin stream of moonlight flitted across the dirt floor of the cellar as it broke through a crack in the wooden door.

Dell gripped the leg of the broken chair he’d found among the barrels of root vegetables and casks of wine.

He stood on one of the rickety steps leading up to the door and slammed the wood into the rusty lock over and over.

Nothing.

He grunted as he pounded on the door and released a howl of frustration.

His brother couldn’t do this to him.

He jumped from the staircase to search for something to ram into the wood hoping to break the door since the steel lock wouldn’t budge.

He gripped the edges of a wine cask, rocking it back and forth to slide it across the floor to access the space behind it where he knew a few tools were kept.

Dell couldn’t remember the last time he’d had reason to enter the cellar.

His stepmother’s men who were a constant presence at the estate came and went regularly with loads from the ships that came in.

Dell had long known there’d be no reason to keep legal merchandise hidden below the house. Most of his father’s goods were transferred from the ship to a warehouse near the docks before being delivered to shop keepers or sent on to one of the other kingdoms.

But the items in the cellar were… different. He wondered if his family only wanted to avoid import fees or was there something else? Most of their goods were kept in warehouses by the docks, not their personal residence.

The wine was easy to explain. It was for the family’s consumption.

Other than the wine, bolts of silk, pounds of fine sugar, and a few other items took up the space.

But there was no time to consider all his brothers’ illegal activities when only one truly mattered: treason.

Dell had to get to Edmund and soon.

He felt his way along the barrels until he reached the other side where an open bucket held tools. Wrapping his fingers around the first one he saw, he pulled it free.

A shovel with a dirt-crusted iron head. He climbed the stairs once again and stuck the sharp end of the shovel into the crack running the length of the door.

Wrenching on the shovel, he put all his strength into it.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more leverage. Shifting his feet so all but his toes hung off the step, he yanked down with such force it pushed him back. His feet tilted and he barely had time to think before he fell back. The shovel clattered to the ground seconds before Dell slammed into one of the barrels on his way down.

The lid of the barrel had only been resting on top and it popped free, jolting Dell as it crashed onto his head.

He groaned and rolled onto his side. “Bloody brilliant.” A harsh laugh escaped him and echoed across the dark room. He winced as he rose onto his knees, using the now open barrel to pull himself up. He placed a hand on each lip of the barrel and closed his eyes, willing the pain to fade from his body.

The sliver of moonlight struck the cask in front of him as he opened his eyes, revealing a black substance.

Curious, he stuck his hand inside, pulling up a handful of fine black powder, not unlike the sand from the beach he’d taken Helena too.

But this was no sand.

His eyes widened as he dug his hand in again, his fall a distant memory.

He eyed the row of barrels as if they would explode right where they sat, but he had to know. Picking up the shovel, he moved to the next one and pried the round wooden lid free. He barely heard it hit the ground as his mind filled with what was before him.

The same powdery substance.

Six barrels, all the same.

He stumbled back, rubbing the crown of his head.

What was his family doing with six barrels of explosive powder? They could take down the entire palace wall and a part of the city with it. Was that the plan?

And Dell couldn’t do a damn thing when he was stuck in the bloody cellar.

He yelled, knowing full well no one would hear him. He’d been unsure which side was truly noble in this fight, but now he had no confusion.

His family had to be stopped.

He launched himself up the steps and smashed his fists into the door, feeling slightly less useless for at least trying.

Desperation raced through his mind. Was it too late to stop the rebellion? Had everything already been set into motion?

He hit the cracked wood until blood ran between his knuckles and pain reverberated up his arms.

He moved down the stairs and sat with his back leaning against the deadly barrels. His brother had taken his whittling knife, the one thing that always kept him from losing his mind.

He patted the pocket where it usually lay.

The one thing Ian hadn’t taken was the half-carved piece of wood that made up his newest project. He fingered the rough edges, not yet sanded smooth.

Even after Edmund told him he could never again see Len, he started this… for her.

It was going to be the most perfect thing he’d ever made. A pair of beautiful shoes, meant for dancing, but also running away.

With these shoes, he’d wanted to tell Len she could be anyone she wanted to be. She could run away from the palace. She could run toward it. Her life was her own. The only thing that decided her fate was the direction she pointed her shoes in.

Freedom. Such a simple thought, yet so complicated for them both.

The shoes weren’t complete. He’d only carved the shape of one and had yet to add any embellishments to give it the beauty Len deserved.

Who was he kidding? She’d probably never receive it. He was now a prisoner more than ever before. Would they ever let him go?

And Len… if he couldn’t save her, she’d have her fate rest with that of the royal family’s and he didn’t like their odds.

He tucked the half-carved wood back into his pocket where it lay heavy against his heart, an idea as hopeless as his current state.

With a sigh, he rested his head back against the rounded surface of the barrel and let his eyes slide shut—not out of exhaustion, but only the weariness of failure.

A thud sounded against the door and his eyes snapped open.

The lock rattled, the sound of scraping metal ringing loud in his ears, filling his mind with one thought. Escape.

Were his brothers already returned from the ball? How long had it been? They’d come back to torture him with their cruelty. Or had they come to retrieve their powder?

The door swung open and a wide-shouldered man peered in, the moonlight casting him in a glow. Tattoos snaked up his thick neck, stopping below a square jaw.

His lips set in a grim line.

Dell waited, refusing to shift his eyes away from the man. If this was Ian’s punishment, he’d take it. And then one day, he’d get his revenge.

“Dell Tenyson?” the man asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dell narrowed his eyes. “Do what you came here to do.”

The man descended the stairs slowly, stopping in front of Dell. His tattoos were more visible now, marking him as mercenary. Even his brother wouldn’t seek a mercenary. If they didn’t take the job you offered, they were notorious for the harsh treatment they’d give those who sought them in the mountains.

Ian may plan treason against the king, but that couldn’t be mistaken for bravery. He was a true weasel.

Another face appeared at the door above, and it took Dell a moment before relief crashed into him.

“Mari?” he asked, flicking his eyes from her to the imposing man in front of him.

“Dell, dear.” She shook her head. “Look at the trouble you’ve gotten yourself in now. Come on now… we have to go.”

Dell scanned the cellar with its exploding contraband one last time before following the mercenary up the steps.

Corban waited for them outside. He didn’t say a word as he immediately took Dell’s hand.

Warmth flooded Dell and every ache that had been present since his fight at the Madran games dulled until they no longer existed at all.

Mari nodded. “Now that we have that taken care of, Dell, this is Toren. Edmund has him protecting us.” She gestured to the big man.

He shouldn’t have been surprised Edmund had mercenaries in his employ. “Why do you need protection? Has something happened to you?”

“Edmund is worried we will be sought out should there be a shift in power here in Madra. We are to take a ship to Bela. And you are to join us.”

Dell shook his head. “I can’t leave.”

“Dell, Madra is no longer safe for you. Edmund has learned some concrete things about your family, proving what he suspected to be right.”

Who’d told him? Dell only just heard everything Edmund had wanted to know. He froze. “Who told Edmund I was locked up?”

“I don’t know, but we must be gone from here now.”

“Mari.” Dell grabbed her wrist. “I can’t. You don’t understand. It’s so much worse than Edmund feared. There are barrels of explosive powder down there.” He pointed to the cellar. “Enough to bring down the sector of the city around the palace walls.”

She exchanged an alarmed look with Toren. “Edmund must be told.”

“I have to get to that ball.”

Mari considered him. “If you appear at the ball looking like yourself, your brother will do more than lock you in the cellar. No, we can’t have Dell Tenyson show up at the palace.”

“I don’t have a choice, Mari.”

“I know you don’t. Follow me.” She turned on her heel and put a hand on Corban’s shoulder to lead him across the soggy ground to the barn. A pool of standing water blocked the barn doors, but Mari crashed through it, not caring about soaking her shoes. Toren pulled open the barn door.

The cow mooed as soon as they were all through. Horse-Ian’s stall stood empty, as he’d been used along with another horse to pull the Tenyson’s carriage.

The mules and goats roused themselves, sticking their heads over the metal bars of their pen.

Mari scanned the space, taking in every unimportant detail before rounding on Dell. “First, if you are to be comfortable, you need dry clothes. It doesn’t matter what you put on. We’ll wait.”

Dell, not wanting to argue when she seemed as if she had a plan, walked to his bunk and exchanged his still-damp clothing for dry wool trousers and a linen shirt.

Mari nodded in approval. “You’re not going to feel anything,” she promised.

She lifted her hand and curled her fingers. Dell would never get used to her magic. She’d used it on him before, and he was always suspicious if it worked as well as she claimed it did.

As he glanced down at his clothing, he didn’t notice a difference.

Toren’s eyes widened.

“What? What do I look like?” Dell asked.

Corban circled him, his eyes appraising.

Mari was the one who answered. “Dark hair slicked back into a perfectly groomed tail. A handsome, yet open face with wide amber eyes and a strong jaw. Clothing fit for a prince. Blue pants, a white ruffled shirt, and a pale blue jacket. Shoes shined to perfection.” She smiled. “One of my better creations, I’d say.” She turned toward the door. “Come.”

At the side of the barn sat a rusty mule cart. The air around the cart grew hazy, shimmering as if tiny waves rippled the air.

When it cleared once again, the cart had been replaced by a large white carriage with gold rimming the door. For as many times as Dell had been the subject of Mari’s magic, he’d never witnessed his own perception changing.

Taron led the two mules from the barn. Mari faced them and they transformed into massive black steeds with shining coats and jewel-encrusted bridles.

Mari smiled in satisfaction as Dell reeled back. “No one at the ball will know who you are, Dell. Being a mystery carries its own set of dangers. My magic will only last for about two hours. You must get in, inform Edmund of everything you’ve seen, and then get to the ship in slip fourteen. We leave for Bela on the morning tide.”

Dell reached forward to stroke the soft nose of the massive beast, the weight of what he was being asked to do sat heavily on his mind. There’d been a time when the only life he expected for himself was that of a simple farmer in his mountain village.

But everything changed in an instant, and now he found himself with the fate of a kingdom on his shoulders.

Dell. Not a Tenyson by any other meaning than birth. A lowborn kid.

Now he had to save a king who didn’t deserve to be saved in order to protect the ones who did.

He nodded slowly and released a breath. “I’ll be there, Mari.”

18

Large torches lined the entryway, past the wide-open gates. No one in Madra would be turned away tonight. Even the commoners were allowed entry into the ball. Some would arrive for the sheer novelty of the event. Others had the delusion in their mind they had a chance to be chosen as the princess’ husband.

Dell knew how it truly worked. The king would choose someone whose power enlarged his own.

Ian.

He was the best choice to make a connection between king and the merchant council. Dell knew it. Everyone knew it.

But Ian would be the end of the Rhodipus line.

Dell’s carriage rumbled to a stop, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. His eyes flicked down over his plain clothes and he tried to see what they would see. To him, he still looked like Dell—the Tenyson boy who was kept in the stables as if he were an animal himself.

His breath quickened as the door opened and a white-gloved man in doublet and tails bowed. “Welcome to the palace, my lord.”

Dell hesitated for a moment, glancing around at the opulence of his carriage. They didn’t know who he was, but they could see he was important.

A foreign lord? Maybe they’d assumed he came from Gaule or Cana to attend the grand event. He lifted his chin as he’d seen his brother do a million times before. “Are you going to help me out of this carriage or stand there gawking?” His voice sounded false to his ears, but the servant snapped to attention and extended his hand.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Dell took the hand and descended the steps. Another carriage pulled up behind his, and he spared it barely a glance.

The grounds swarmed with servants and guards. As he looked into the man’s face, it struck him how young he was. He must have been even younger than Dell himself.

Dell released him and the boy’s cheeks flushed. “Sir, do you need an escort into the ball?”

Dell scoffed. “Young man, I have been to this palace more times than you’ve celebrated your birth.”

It was a bold lie. Dell would have benefited from the escort, but he passed the servant without another glance as Toren—disguised as the carriage driver—snapped the reins and left to join the lines of others.

A steady stream of people, nobles and commoners alike, made their way through the palace and Dell followed the flow.

The ball had a strict dress code, so only commoners who could afford the levee dress coats were present. Shop keepers. Ship captains. Wine makers.

Dell, even as the son of a merchant, felt out of place.

Massive carved oak doors stood open, revealing the elegant ballroom packed from end to end. In the center, couples glided across the floor, dancing to the lively orchestra music.

The crowd parted as the princess took her place among them, standing opposite Ian. Dell had only ever seen her up close once when they met at the docks, but she’d barely spoken.

A jeweled mask covered everything she must have been feeling as every eye followed her. Ian pulled her close and her lips, the only visible part of her face, tugged down.

He leaned in to whisper into her ear, and her jaw clenched.

Dell couldn’t take his eyes from them even as a servant walked by carrying a tray of wine glasses.

“My lord.”

The words echoed vaguely in his mind.

“My lord.” The servant stopped in front of him, her eyes tilting with concern. “Are you okay, my lord?”

She’d been talking to him? The title of lord didn’t sit well with him. But what could he say? I am no lord. His cover would be blown. Mari’s magic made them all see something new, but he still felt like himself.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw and took a glass from her tray. “I’m fine.” He drained the wine without coming up for air and handed the empty cup to her.

He found Edmund standing near the far wall with Reed by his side. Without another glance at the servant who still stood in front of him, he marched across the room, barely seeing those who had to move out of his way.

Edmund’s brow furrowed in confusion as Dell stopped right in front of him. “I need to speak with you,” Dell said, his eyes flicking to his brother who now watched him curiously.

“I’m sorry.” Edmund leaned forward to look more closely. “Do I know you?”

“Edmund.” Dell blew out a frustrated breath. “You told me to put my faith in you. That having something to fight for changed your life. I now know what you meant.”

Edmund’s eyes widened in understanding. “Excuse me, Reed. Lord… Isaacs is an old friend I did not recognize at first. I must speak with him.”

“Of course.” Reed glanced from Edmund to Dell and back again. “Remember what we’ve spoken of.”

“I will.”

Reed nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

All sound abruptly ceased and Dell jumped. “Dammit, Edmund, I will never get used to that.”

Edmund’s voice was low as he spoke. “I sent Mari and Taron to get you out of Madra. When Reed told me what you’d overheard…” He shook his head. “We’re lucky Ian didn’t kill you outright.”

“Since when is Reed on our side?”

“Since he learned who Ian is working with inside the palace.”

“Who is it?” Dell asked.

“He hasn’t told me yet.” Edmund glanced over his shoulder at the crowd whose sounds couldn’t reach them while his magic was at play. “Reed doesn’t trust me. But he didn’t want Ian to kill you.”

Dell wished it didn’t surprise him that someone in his family wanted him to live.

Edmund reached out to grip Dell’s arm tightly. “Mari’s magic is dangerous, Dell. It fades and you won’t be able to feel it happening. You shouldn’t have come.”

“I know.”

“We have people in place for when the rebellion begins. There is nothing more you can do Dell. It’s because of you Reed told us our most crucial piece of information. There is someone very close to the royal family making a power play. Now it’s time to consider your own safety.”

“I can’t!” The words burst out of him. He clamped his lips shut and looked to the people on the nearby dance floor. They still couldn’t hear him. “Edmund, listen to me. My brother… they have half a dozen barrels of explosive powder.”

Edmund’s grip on his arm tightened. “Are you sure?”

“I know what it looks like, Edmund. Where would they get it?”

“The mines of Dracon.” He sighed and pried his hand free of Dell’s arm.

“That’s why whoever is planning this needed my brothers. There’s no way that much explosive powder could get through the ports of Bela or Gaule. Tenyson ships must have been going into Dracon in secret.”

Edmund’s eyes scanned the room. “I need to go deal with this, Dell. We must prepare. This changes nothing for you. If you’re found in Madra by someone connected to this rebellion, they’ll kill you. Get to the ship. I’m going to send Camille to you once the ball ends and I can get her out of the palace. When you arrive in Bela, tell them you must speak with the king or queen. They will protect you should Madra be taken over.”

“What about you? Edmund, this isn’t even your kingdom. You need to come with me.”

Edmund shook his head, his eyes drifting to the table where the crown prince sat masked beside his future bride. “There are reasons…” He met Dell’s eyes. “I grew up in Gaule. Bela is my home. But my heart resides here, and I will protect him with everything I have.” His eyes widened, realizing what he’d just revealed.

Dell took a step back. It all made sense now. Why Edmund would fight for a king such as the one they had. Why he had so much faith in the prince.

Edmund was in love with Estevan Rhodipus.

And that love was going to kill him because they couldn’t win. Not against a mostly unknown enemy who had such tools at their disposal. Not when the king they protected wasn’t beloved by the people. Who would fight for him?

Edmund would fight for Stev.

Dell was leaving.

They’d already lost.

The princess drifted by, still in the arms of Ian. Everything about her was stiff, but there was something so familiar in the way she held her head high as if nothing in the world could hurt her. Not Ian. Not the mask she had to wear.

“You need to go now, Dell.” Edmund gripped his shoulder. “Before the magic wears off.”

“Release your magic, Edmund. There’s music playing.” He shrugged off Edmund’s hand. “I’ll leave, but not until I save a princess from a beast.”

Chatter crashed in at them, rising above the music, assaulting his every sense as Edmund’s magic faded away.

“Dell.” One warning. That was all Edmund gave him before Dell made his way toward his brother, holding a beauty captive.

He had to ruin one final thing for Ian. If tomorrow saw the end of this family’s rule, this girl wouldn’t spend another minute trapped in Ian’s embrace.

The music stopped and dancers turned to clap. Dell stepped up to the princess’ side and bowed. “Princess,” he said smoothly, a smile playing on his lips. “Would you do the honor of giving me the next dance?”

Ian growled. “I don’t even know who you are, but the princess and I are not finished.” He clamped a hand on the princess’ bare shoulder.

Dell lifted Ian’s hand off the girl who still hadn’t spoken. “I believe she can choose a partner for herself.”

A smile formed on her lips, and she hid it behind a cough before extending one delicate gloved hand to Dell.

He took it and led her away from his seething brother.

The Dell of weeks ago never would have imagined sharing a dance with the mysterious princess who was kept behind the high palace walls. Yet there he was, sliding his hand around her waist.

She still hadn’t said a word, but he smiled kindly at her. What had Edmund called him? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess. I’m Andrew Isaacs.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes two deep green orbs in the holes of the mask. What did she look like below that lacy fabric? He imagined she’d take his breath away.

As he stared into her entrancing eyes, something familiar struck him. The music began, and he shook it off as the dance began. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, but the moves his mother taught him as a boy came back naturally.

The princess coughed lightly, clearing her throat. “Thank you.”

Her voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. “For what, Princess?”

She didn’t respond.

He couldn’t help the next question that left his mouth. “What did Ian say to you?”

She widened her eyes in surprise but only gave a slight shake of her head.

Dell pulled her closer. “I saw the way you tensed when he spoke to you.”

“How do you know it was because of him and not the dancing?”

He flattened his fingers against her spine, forgetting for a moment just who she was. He may not understand a lot of things, but women always made sense to him. It had gotten him into more trouble than he could remember.

He leaned close, speaking into her ear. “Because when I move, you follow. No fight. No tension. Your body is relaxed in my hands. You don’t know me, Princess. Do I make you feel safe?”

A beat of silence passed between them before soft peals of laughter vibrated from her throat.

He knew that sound.

But it wasn’t until she spoke again it struck him. “Do those lines work with the ladies of the city, my lord?”

Len.

He stumbled away from her. His Len… the girl he’d do anything to see again… she was the princess of Madra.

How did he not see it? The boy’s clothing. Escaping the palace.

Helena. Princess of Madra.

My heart resides here and I will protect him with everything I have.

He knew why Edmund was doing it now. For them. Had he known? Of course he did. Len wasn’t the prince’s mistress. She was his sister. And she was in danger.

“Lord Isaacs,” she asked, her lips tilting down. “Is everything okay?”

He glanced toward the door where he knew he should go at that very moment. There was a ship waiting for him. A way to safety. To a new life.

His eyes returned to the princess who looked to him with such innocence. Such beauty. He was one of the few people who knew what lay beneath the mask. Was he the only one who knew what lay inside her chest?

Or had Len been a lie?

Who was the girl in front of him?

He reached out, trailing a finger over the side of her mask.

“Would you like to walk in the gardens?” she asked. “I think I need a bit of air.”

The gardens were in the opposite direction of the palace gates. Farther from his freedom.

He nodded, unable to stop himself. “Yes, Princess. Yes.”

19

Ian’s gaze burned into Helena’s back as she slid her arm into the unknown noble’s beside her. She couldn’t claim to know many of the wealthy people of Madra since she spent her life cooped up in the palace. But there was something about him… His smile oozed with charm and with his handsome face, she was sure he had the ladies of Madra chasing after him.

His tailcoat with gold buttons spoke of wealth.

But unlike Ian Tenyson, his eyes were not those of a predator. They held something… kinder.

She spied her father speaking to a few of his advisors, paying no attention to her. Stev’s eyes followed her, but he didn’t rise. He’d have a few guards trail them in the gardens, no doubt.

As soon as she stepped through the door to the gardens, the cool night air struck her and she smiled. Out here, there wasn’t an entire host of nobles and commoners expecting bits of her time. There weren’t expectations or traditions.

She wished she could strip the mask from her face.

But she had to remember she didn’t walk alone.

A shiver raced down her spine.

“Are you cold?” Lord Isaacs asked.

She shook her head, not wanting to return to the ball. Slipping her arm from his, she continued down the path, wishing she could take off the damn shoes they’d forced her into and run.

She’d run away from everything. Just as she had before… with Dell. Her mind drifted to him, wondering what he was doing. Had he forgotten about her?

Her foot struck a rock on the trail and she cursed as a crack rent the air.

“What was that?” Lord Isaacs asked.

Helena sighed and lifted the hem of her dress. “They made me wear slippers made of glass.” She slipped off her shoes and picked them up to examine the broken toe. “Can you believe it? Glass? As if that isn’t the stupidest idea you’ve ever heard.”

Lord Isaacs leaned forward to look at the shoe, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He laughed. “Maybe they wanted to make sure you couldn’t run away.”

She’d had the same thought. A laugh bubbled out of her. “I don’t know, but they’d be good if I needed to incapacitate a certain merchant’s son.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my, I can’t believe I just said that.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “You’re going to return home and tell everyone of your walk with the completely insane princess who is a danger to all men and their uh… sensitive parts.” She stepped back. “Oh wow… shut up, Helena.”

Lord Isaac grinned as if she was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen. “Not only that, but she apparently talks to herself.”

She buried her face in her hands. “I never speak like this. Normally, no one ever knows what I’m thinking. I don’t know why everything is spilling out like some weird kind of word vomit—Oh my, Helena, don’t say vomit. That is not attractive.” She lifted her face. “Not like you even know if I’m attractive—or care—I’m a princess. I don’t have to be pretty.” She turned away from him. “I’m going to go crawl in a hole now.”

Lord Isaacs grabbed her arm before she could walk away. “It doesn’t matter what’s underneath the mask.”

She turned to face him, her brows drawing together.

He lifted a finger to run along the bottom of her mask and she sucked in a breath.

“And not because you’re a princess.” He stepped closer to her.

She barely knew this man, but his words paralyzed her. She released a soft breath. “Then why?” She met his swirling gaze, trying to see what was behind the intense eyes. “What do you see?”

“Everything,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

His lips crashed into hers and he pulled her against his lithe frame. She returned his kiss, no longer caring she’d only just met the man. Something about him spoke to her, told her to trust him. And she felt seen for the first time in her life.

Not the princess.

Not the girl dressing in her brother’s clothes.

Her.

Helena.

She pulled away, breathing heavily, and rested her forehead against his. “Who are you, Andrew Isaacs?”

He pushed her back and seemed to gather himself. “I’m someone who shouldn’t be here.”

She didn’t take her eyes from his and as a flicker of light from the nearby torch passed over them, she would have sworn they shifted, becoming rounder and losing the angular tilt.

She knew those eyes but from where?

He took a step back from her scrutinizing gaze.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Your eyes… they changed.”

He snapped his head up. “I have to go.” He turned to stalk across the garden.

“Wait.” She ran after him, her short legs struggling to catch up with his long strides.

“I can’t be here.” He sped up, yanking open the door as they passed the guards Stev had sent after them.

The commotion at the door caught the attention of more than a few onlookers, but Lord Isaacs didn’t pause.

“Helena,” her father scolded, appearing at her side as she marched through the crowd. “Why on earth are you carrying your shoes?”

“They’re glass, father,” she said, shoving the shoes into his chest. “Figure it out.”

Lord Isaacs reached the hall, and she chased after him, not catching up until he stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the carriages.

“Please.” She hated the pleading sound of her voice. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Lord Isaacs finally turned to her, but his dark hair had turned into a light brown and grew lighter still. “They’re coming for you, Princess. Keep yourself safe. Trust only Edmund.”

What did he know of Edmund?

“Who are you?” she asked. “Are you threatening me?”

How had she gone so wrong in trusting his sweet smile?

“No.” He ran a hand through his now blonde hair. “God, no. If something happened to you…” He glanced to where his carriage appeared, pulled by a horse she would have sworn was shrinking as she watched it.

He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled something free before pressing it into her hand.

“I wish I could give you the freedom you wanted, Len. But I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you. I promise you that.” As if losing a battle within himself, he lurched forward, his hands cupping her face gently as he kissed her confused frown.

He pulled away too soon, sparing her one final glance before sprinting down the stairs and jumping into the carriage. The driver snapped the reins as hard as he could and dust kicked up around the wheels as he left her stunned on the step.

She touched her lips with her free hand and opened the fingers of her other. A rough carving of a wooden shoe sat in her palm, half-finished.

“Dell,” she breathed.

There was no other explanation. She didn’t understand why he’d been there or how he hadn’t looked like himself, but his warning rang clear in her mind.

I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you. I promise you that.

What did she need protected from?

Only trust Edmund. She turned on her heel. The Belaen ambassador had a lot of explaining to do, beginning with—who was Dell Tenyson and what did he have to do with impending trouble in Madra?

20

The carriage shook and quivered around Dell as it raced through the streets. The roof shimmered, winking in and out of view before disappearing entirely. The walls shrank, retracting until they were nothing more than cracked wooden beams rising knee-height.

Dell shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening as his heart hammered in his chest.

“The carriage…”

They slowed to a stop as Taron pulled into an empty alleyway.

“It disappeared,” Dell stammered.

Taron twisted around on the bench he sat on to look at Dell. “It was never there to begin with.” He dropped the reins and jumped from the bench, landing beside the mule who’d appeared as a giant horse only moments before.

How did one get used to magic?

Most people in Madra lived their entire lives never witnessing the power. Maybe it was easier that way. Seeing what magic-folk could do… it changed everything.

Dell climbed from the bed of the rickety mule cart. It was nothing more than rotting wood and rusting wheels now.

He brushed a hand over his face. “Do I look like myself?”

A shadow appeared at the end of the alley.

Taron grunted. “Everything now appears as it should. Time to go. You won’t be safe until you are aboard the ship. We leave in a few hours, once Edmund brings the Gaulean princess to us.”

Dell took a step back, Helena’s face firmly in his mind. But it wasn’t the masked face of the princess. He saw Len, the woman who’d befriended him, cared for him. The girl with dark hair, wild from tangling in the ocean breeze, whose frame disappeared among her brother’s clothes.

That girl was no princess.

But Len wasn’t real. Helena was.

And he still couldn’t leave her.

“I’m not coming with you.” He lifted his eyes to regard the big man stubbornly.

“Don’t be a fool, boy. The only thing left for you in Madra is death.”

Dell advanced on him. “And what of the royal family? Is death the only thing here for them as well?”

“That is no longer your concern. Edmund has left orders to bring you with us.”

“It’s a good thing Edmund is not my keeper then, isn’t it?” He narrowed his eyes. “I won’t leave when they’re in danger. When she’s…”

Understanding dawned in Taron’s eyes. “You fight for someone other than yourself?”

“I do.”

“That is a… foreign concept to mercenaries, but it is what we all wish for. Something to bring us hope. Mari is going to have my head, but I will not force you to come with us, Dell Tenyson.” He turned and grabbed the mule’s harness, unlatching him from the cart. “I do not think you will survive this, but I wish you luck.”

He met Dell’s gaze over his shoulder and nodded once before pulling the mule forward and leading him away.

Now what? Where could he go? The revealing ceremony wasn’t until the next afternoon and he only hoped nothing happened before then.

Dell turned on his heel and sprinted back into the street. His tired legs took him through the city where shopkeepers were returning home for the night. He kept to the shadows of the buildings, unsure of who might be working with his family.

He passed the road leading to the docks as a carriage he’d recognize anywhere rumbled by, its wheels bouncing on the uneven road.

Why was his family’s carriage out in the streets when he doubted his brothers had left the ball?

He ducked out of view to watch it go by, his heart in his throat. He’d never grown to love his brothers, but as a boy, he’d sought their acceptance, never receiving it. Disapproval and disappointment was all he’d known. He hadn’t understood.

Until now.

Only one thing mattered to his brothers. It wasn’t family or even wealth as he’d once thought. They cared for no one. But power… they would always want more.

When Dell was brought to them, a bastard mountain boy with no city experience, it had eaten away a bit of their power.

They could let their emotions control them. Dell was proof of their father’s weakness.

And he was going to be the downfall of their legacy.

He slipped out of the alcove he’d hidden in and ran until he reached the row of houses belonging to foreign ambassadors.

Edmund’s back gate was unlatched, and Dell wondered if there was a purpose to that. How many people came and went from the Belaen man’s house in secret? How far into this rebellion was he? He had many spies and loyal men under his control. And Dell now knew why. He understood Edmund on a level he never had before.

Edmund had something—someone—to fight for.

He wrapped his knuckles against the wood of the back door, hoping Edmund’s one servant was home and would remember him.

The door opened, and a hand shot out, pulling him inside before slamming the door.

The man who served Edmund with as much loyalty as Dell, pushed him up against the wall. “Why have you come?” The man’s wild eyes roamed Dell’s face until recognition set in and his grip loosened.

“I want to help,” Dell wheezed. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The man released Dell and pushed out a breath. “I’m sorry, master Tenyson. I’m a bit on edge tonight.”

“We all are. Do you know when Edmund will return?”

He threaded a hand through his hair. “Soon. There are still preparations to be made. You may wait for him.”

Dell nodded and walked to the couch before collapsing onto it in exhaustion. He needed to talk to Edmund. To find out what his plan was to protect Helena at the revealing ceremony.

He forced his eyes to stay open as he waited for the one man who could help him keep Helena safe.

21

Helena didn’t want to be at the ball any longer. Not when she knew something dark was brewing in Madra. Not when Dell left her confused and frightened, thinking something was going to happen to him.

Ian Tenyson slithered to her side once more, and she had to force herself not to shrink away. How could one brother be so sweet and noble while the other was like a slimy serpent?

“Enjoy your stroll, Len?” he asked.

“My name is Helena.” She faced him, fire in her eyes. “Princess Helena.”

“Your brothers call you Len. If we are to be family, I will have that pleasure as well as many others.”

She stepped closer to him, leaning in so their bodies brushed and lowered her voice. “You will never be a part of my family.”

She tried to back away, but he gripped her arm. “You think you’re clever. But know this Helena, your father is not the one who has promised you to me. I will have you.”

What did he mean her father didn’t promise her in marriage? He was the only person with the power to do so. Not even the queen had a say.

Helena glanced out over the men who’d come for the ball hoping to be chosen. If her father hadn’t planned this, maybe one of them did have a chance.

She ripped her arm free of Ian, searching for the one man who could give her answers. Edmund stood with Stev on the edge of the dance floor. No one could tell they were anything more than friends just by looking at them.

But she could see it now that she knew. The small smiles Stev directed Edmund’s way told all. Estevan Rhodipus was as serious as they came. But not with Edmund.

“They won’t be able to save you,” Ian said, brushing the errant strands of hair from her neck.

His touch burned her skin, and she stepped away.

“I don’t need them to save me.” Her stare could have cut glass. “I can save myself.”

She took off across the room, ready to demand Edmund tell her everything. Before she reached him, a line of guards burst into the room, their heavy boots thundering across the marble floor as they formed up. The king followed behind them.

All music ceased. Chatter faded into silence as guests watched the drama unfold.

The king’s searing gaze made the crowd step back until he fixed it on his eldest son and the man at his side. “Edmund, Ambassador of Bela, you are under arrest for conspiracy against the crown.” He nodded to his guards. “Take him away.”

“Father…” Stev glanced from Edmund to the king. “You can’t believe Edmund would betray us.”

“I need not believe anything, Estevan. I have proof. The guards found explosive powder in his home.”

Helena pushed past a guard to arrive at her brother’s side. “It’s not true.” She stepped toward her father and dropped her voice. “Edmund is more loyal than anyone in your guard. If you take him away from us… I promise you’ll pay.”

She had to make him see. Edmund would protect them against whatever was coming—even against her father. But he couldn’t do that from a prison cell.

“Helena,” her father barked. “This is the kingdom’s business, and a princess has no place in it.”

“No place?” She let her voice carry over the enraptured crowd. “I have let you use me my entire life as the symbol of this kingdom. Unattainable. Hidden. Pure. Something that every man should aspire to look upon. Edmund is no traitor.” She lifted her hands to the ties at the back of her head. “And I am no symbol.”

It happened in slow motion. Priests she hadn’t even noticed before ran toward her as her father barked orders.

A few people in the crowd cheered as others gasped.

All Helena heard was the thumping of her own heart as she met Edmund’s eyes and removed the mask from her face.

Time stood still as a breeze struck her face, pushing her hair away from her shoulders. Edmund’s magic wrapped her in a confident shroud until someone slammed into her, forcing her to the ground and throwing a cloak over her head.

Edmund shouted to the king as two guards dragged him from the room. His words cut off with a muffled grunt. Helena couldn’t see what was happening to him.

Two strong arms slid beneath her, keeping the cloak over her face as he lifted her.

The music began again as if nothing had happened.

“She is to be locked in her rooms until we discuss what is to be done,” the king commanded.

“Yes, father.” Cole. She relaxed, knowing for the moment, she was safe with her brother. He hurried from the room. “Bastard,” he muttered. “Bloody bastard.”

Helena couldn’t refute his words. Her father had proven, once again, he was not on her side. He wasn’t even on Madra’s side. Only his own.

Edmund. She curled into Cole as a tear slid down her face. She knew what her father did to traitors. He wouldn’t be sent to the prison at the monastery. Not yet. Not until he told them everything they wanted to know.

“It’s all going to be okay.” Cole kicked shut the door to the family wing and removed the cloak from her face.

“How can you say that?” She sniffed. “They have arrested Edmund. I just broke one of the most sacred traditions and father will make me pay for it. Dell…” She shook her head as tears threatened to break free.

“Dell Tenyson?” Cole asked, setting her on her feet. “You’ve seen him?” He gripped each of her shoulders and bent to look into her eyes. “Where?”

She tried to step back, but he held her in place. “How do you know Dell?” she demanded.

“Ian spoke of him. Was he here? Ian led me to believe he was staying home.”

Not liking the accusatory tone in Cole’s voice, she twisted out of his grasp. “I need to help Edmund.”

“No, you need to let him pay for his crimes.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Cole… It’s Edmund. He’d never betray us.”

A sneer formed on his lips. “Don’t be a fool, Helena. His only loyalty lays with Estevan.”

Cole had never spoke to her in such a way and she stumbled away from him. He followed her. “Edmund wants to preserve a reign that should be allowed to crumble. But without him, his people have no leadership, no path forward.”

“What are you saying?” Words clogged in her throat as she struggled for breath.

“I needed him out of the way.”

She shook her head, tears breaking free. “No.”

“He would have ruined everything.”

“Cole, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

Remorse shown in his eyes for only a second before it disappeared. His fingers closed around her arm in a bruising grip as he yanked her toward a room at the end of the hall. He pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked the door before shoving her inside.

With one final glance, he shut the door. The grinding of the lock reverberated through the room.

Helena turned, taking in her mother’s rooms as the tears she’d been holding back broke free.

“Helena?” a soft voice said, entering from the sitting room.

“Mother.” She ran the length of the room before collapsing against the queen, her entire body shaking.

Her mother’s arms circled around her. “Helena, it’s all going to be okay, I promise you.”

“How can you say that? Cole… he…” Her brother’s betrayal sliced through her, severing her heart in two. She struggled for breath as sobs stuck in her throat.

Her mother pushed her away and held her at arm’s length, dipping her head to look her daughter in the eye. “Listen to me, Lenny girl, they will not defeat us. Your father will make sure of it.”

Helena wiped her face and twisted away. “My father?” She stilled her quivering jaw. “The man who allowed the priests to put me in a cell? That father? The man who arrested Edmund when Edmund was the only…” She sucked in a breath and shook her head, realization crashing into her. “He knew.”

“Knew what, Helena? Who?”

“Edmund.” She’d had her suspicions after what Dell said to her but this went much deeper than she’d thought. “His spies.” Had Dell been one of Edmund’s spies? Was that why he’d helped her?

“Honey, Edmund was only an ambassador from Bela. Why would he have spies in the city?”

“He was protecting us.” She stumbled back until she hit the wooden frame of the bed. Using a hand to guide herself around the post, she sat on the woven quilt. Everything Edmund had done… Everything Dell had done. While the rest of Madra turned against them, Edmund was on their side, risking his life for a crown he cared nothing for, a kingdom that wasn’t his own.

Was that what love looked like?

Helena’s mother approached her. “Why would Edmund protect us?”

She lifted her gaze. “Because he’s the noblest man among us.”

Cole. The thought sucked the air from her lungs. She thought she’d been spared the ire he had for Stev and their father. But had he ever loved her at all? Or was he still the orphan boy who arrived at the palace angry at the world?

And now he wanted to take the crown.

Helena shot to her feet. “Stev.” The only way to take the crown was to ensure the king and each of his heirs could never again wear it, and to do that…

Understanding lit in the queen’s eyes. She’d already come to the same conclusion as Helena. No one was safe. Not anymore.

“Mother, how did they take you from the ball without causing a scene?” she asked.

The queen sighed. “I grew very tired and retreated to my room to await a maid who promised to bring Kassander up. I told my guards they could return to the ball once we were safe in our wing. No one thought the danger would come from within.”

From their own family was what she meant, but neither of them said it.

“Where is Kass?” Helena looked to the door in panic. “Why haven’t they locked him in here with us?”

“My poor boy.” The queen said nothing else in answer as they sat side by side, unable to give each other the comfort they needed.

They didn’t know what was happening in the palace or where her father and Estevan were. Helplessness set in, choking the room in desperation.

“We have to get out of here,” Helena whispered.

Her mother reached to take her hand. “Cole won’t harm you, Helena. Or Kassander.”

She said nothing about herself because they both knew the truth. Cole Rhodipus had no love for the king or queen, and he’d do anything to destroy them.

22

Dell watched Bemus pace the length of the room with the same restlessness he felt. Edmund should have returned hours ago.

“We have to do something.” Dell slammed his fist into the table. “To find him.”

Bemus’ feet froze. “Edmund told me if he were to ever go missing… there’s a priest we must find. Koran is loyal to the crown prince and will help us.”

Dell shot to his feet. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“Follow me.” Bemus led him down a narrow hallway and stopped in front of a worn rug. He lifted the rug, folding it in half to reveal a door in the floor.

Dell’s brows drew together. “Edmund has a lot of secrets.”

Bemus only nodded as he kneeled to pull the door free. It swung up with a loud creak. Below, a large compartment sunk right into the floor.

“The more I know about Edmund, the more I like him.” Dell gazed over the various weapons hidden in the ambassador’s secret stores.

“The king doesn’t trust foreigners,” Bemus explained. “He orders routine inspections of all the ambassador’s homes. Edmund has always been careful. Our most recent inspection was only a day ago, but those men weren’t the usual guards. That was one of the ways Edmund knew the rebellion was imminent. He made preparations.”

“Preparations?”

“For his arrest. He only hoped it wouldn’t be until after your family made their play.”

Dell pulled a broadsword free of the weapon’s cache, scanning the gleaming steel blade with appreciation.

Bemus put a hand on his arm. “No, sir Tenyson. Walk through the streets with that and people will assume you ride to war.”

“Don’t we?”

“You don’t get it, do you? If we were wrong, and the attack took place tonight, it may very well be over. Our people won’t have been in place to stop it. There’s a good chance our mission is now one of rescue instead of a battle.”

Dell set the sword down heavily, his eyes finding a glass jar of black powder. He recognized it instantly. “What was Edmund doing with this?”

Bemus lifted the jar, preventing Dell from taking it. “A last resort.” He found a bag nearby and stuffed it in before handing Dell a long thin sword. “Mercenaries carry these when they aren’t marching to battle. No one will look twice at it.

Dell took the sword, balancing it on his hand. “Fine.” He reached for a sword belt and tightened it around his waist before sliding the sword into a scabbard.

Bemus slipped knives into various parts of his clothing before retrieving a long staff.

At Dell’s questioning look, he explained. “No one will think me anything but an old man.”

Wasn’t he just an old man? As quickly as the thought came, it dissipated. Edmund had a purpose in everything he did. Bemus must have been more than he seemed.

They strode from the house to enter the small three-stall stables. One of the horses was missing—most likely at the palace where Edmund had left him.

After saddling both roans, they took off through the streets, never losing sight of the monastery sitting atop a great hill in the distance.

* * *

The gates of the monastery stood open, but no priests streamed through it. Dell had been to the place only once before when his stepmother sent him to trade for wine. He hadn’t enjoyed his visit then, but now an eerie silence settled over the place.

Dell and Bemus inched forward. Dell jerked his head to the large building housing the famed prison. Torches standing along the entry lit it up against the night sky. “Think Edmund is there?”

Bemus nudged his horse toward the prison doors that looked like they’d been blown off their hinges. A black burn stretched up the side of the building.

Dell’s eyes flicked to Bemus’ saddlebag where the explosive powder rested, knowing exactly what could cause such destruction.

They slid from their horses to enter the building slowly, acrid air hitting them the moment they stepped inside.

Empty cells stretched down the darkened hall, their metal doors standing open.

“Do you think each floor is the same?” Dell asked.

Bemus only gave him a sideways glance in answer before turning on his heel and leaving the way they’d come.

Outside, Dell sucked in fresh air as if he’d never breathe it again before taking the reins of his horse in hand. He followed Bemus down a worn path toward the center of the monastery compound. A full moon cast the entire place in a silver glow, illuminating their way.

As soon as they rounded the side of the main building, both men froze. The square at the heart of the monastery had been turned into a graveyard. White-robed priests lay sprawled across the cobblestones amid pools of their own blood.

“Dell.” Bemus nudged him and pointed toward a column of smoke rising in the distance.

Dell turned back to his horse. “We won’t find any help here.” He pulled himself up onto his horse as Bemus did the same before the two men thundered back the way they’d come.

As they reached the bottom of the hill, people came running in their direction, their screams jolting through Dell. He dug his heels in and veered around panicked city-dwellers.

Where were Edmund’s people? The network he supposedly had throughout Madra.

It wasn’t until he reached the palace gates he found his answer.

Half the gate lay in ruins, blown apart by rebels. Amid the fallen stone, royal guards fought rebels. Some of those fighting on the guards’ side wore plain clothes. These were the people Edmund had sewn into the very fabric of Madra.

Just like Dell, he’d given them a cause.

Dell jumped from the horse and pulled his sword, wishing Bemus had allowed him to bring the heavier one.

Bemus clamped a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t win this, remember that.”

“Of course we can,” Dell yelled over the screams of people nearby.

“No. Edmund’s mission was never about saving Madra or protecting the Rhodipus’ reign. He only ever wanted to keep the royal family alive.”

The royal family. Dell gazed past the smoking rubble to the steps leading up into the great entryway. He’d never set foot in the palace before the ball, but now it was the only place he could be.

Shouting erupted to his right moments before a blast ripped through the air. The force of it sent Dell flying to his knees. All those who’d been fighting only seconds before now scrambled to get out of the way of a second blast.

The entire world went silent save for the ringing in Dell’s ears. He scrambled to his feet, searching for Bemus. Someone ran toward him. A rebel.

Dell braced himself for a fight, but the rebel stopped in front of him. His wool tunic had been torn halfway down the middle revealing a knife wound he didn’t seem to notice. He panted, his lips forming words Dell couldn’t hear.

Someone else shook Dell’s shoulders, and all sound crashed in on him as if piercing through a veil. A sailor he knew from the docks shouted in his ear. “We have to get into the palace, Dell. Your brothers are already inside with the prince.”

The prince?

“Come on, before the fighting starts again.” The sailor, one of his stepmother’s men, pushed him toward the stairs.

He finally found Bemus, meeting his eyes in silent communication. This was Dell’s way in. He tore his gaze away from the only ally he had in this place to sprint up the rubble-strewn steps, past the rebels who were guarding the entrance.

Inside, the hall leading to the ballroom was scattered with overturned tables. A servant in Rhodipus livery lay unmoving in the center, his legs bent unnaturally.

The sailor pushed in front of Dell. “Lord Tenyson’s orders were to secure the lower floors one at a time until we can get to the royal family’s wing. We have teams on this floor already so we need to join the others upstairs.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised by the depth of planning his brother had accomplished.

Dell’s mind struggled to grasp everything his own family had done.

The walls shook with the force of another explosion outside.

“If they don’t stop that soon, they’re going to blow up half the city.” The sailor shook his head but Dell would’ve sworn there was a grin on his face.

Dell glanced back the way they’d come where the people of Madra were dying. Images of the slain priests flashed through his mind.

He’d thought the king was destroying Madra. But then, what was this? It wasn’t right.

He picked up his pace, following a cluster of rebels up a wide staircase with golden railings. At the top, a royal guard lay gasping for breath as blood gushed through the spaces in his shining armor. Light from a nearby lantern flickered across his face, his eyes widening in fear as he saw the oncoming rebels.

Dell paused next to him for a moment. He’d been stripped of all weapons. His helmet laid a few feet out of reach.

“What are you doing?” the sailor asked, his lips pulling down into a frown as he looked down on the dying man without sympathy.

“He’s going to die.” Dell crouched down. “But he need not suffer.”

The sailor scrunched his brow as if nothing Dell said made sense. After a tense moment, he shrugged and moved on.

Dell slipped one of Bemus’ knives from where he’d hidden it in his shoe and pressed it into the man’s hand. He dropped his voice. “You can use this on yourself, or you can take some of these bastards with you when you go. Your choice.”

The guard’s eyes widened. “Long live the king,” he rasped.

Dell squeezed his shoulder. “I wouldn’t go that far, buddy. But the princess is cute, right?”

A weak laugh passed the dying man’s lips. The joke eased some of the tightness in Dell’s chest.

It didn’t work this time.

He met the man’s glassy gaze with a nod before straightening to join the others.

When he searched the hall, it wasn’t the sailor who waited for him.

“Brother,” Reed said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

23

Pain radiated from Helena’s shoulder as she slammed it into the door once more. “Cole,” she screamed. “Let me out of here!”

“Helena,” her mother said calmly. “That will not help.”

“He can’t keep us in here. We’re his family, for priest’s sake.” She put her hands on her head and turned to her mother. “Family.” She walked back to the couch and dropped onto it with a huff. “I feel so useless. I can dance. I can sew. I can sit at royal dinners and not make a fool of myself. If I get close enough, I can take anyone down with a single knife. But when my family needs me most, I can’t help them.” Her shoulders slumped.

Her mother scooted close and put an arm around her shoulders. “Helena, dear, you are not useless. You have so many skills you have yet to discover. A princess is not all you are. This is not the end for you.” She rested her chin on Helena’s head. “Besides, I can get us out of here.”

Helena reeled back. “What are you talking about?”

Her mother sighed. “In Cana, we were taught so much more than I’ve passed on to you.”

“Of course.” The kingdom of spies. She jumped to her feet. “And you didn’t think to mention this in the hours we’ve been sitting in here?”

“I don’t want you out there, Len.” Sadness etched across her face. “It’s killing me to not know where Estevan and Kassander are. You three are my heart. But I do not think it wise any longer to wait and see what they mean to do with us.”

She rose to her feet and reached into her hair, pulling free two pins. At the door, she put the pins into the lock, her face a mask of concentration.

It was only when the click of the lock echoed through the room Helena realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled slowly, trying to calm her pounding heart.

The queen walked into her maid’s adjoining room, returning with an array of weapons. Helena shouldn’t have been surprised at her mother’s secrets.

“Helena, you have an advantage. Those at the ball only glimpsed your face. Only your brother and a few select others will recognize you. You must change.”

Helena’s eyes slid over the blue dress she’d almost forgotten she still wore. Her mother loosened the laces, and the dress fell to the floor, leaving Helena in only her underclothes. She entered the maid’s room where a small chest contained a few articles of clothing.

Pulling out a woolen skirt, tight fitting linen shirt, and an apron, she dressed. Her mother worked to unpin her hair before pulling it into the bun favored by servants.

The maid’s shoes being three sizes too large and her mother’s too small, she realized she’d have to go barefoot through the halls.

As she walked to the door once more, her hip hit the table, sending its contents to the floor with a crash. The mask she’d left there sailed through the air, the glass pieces shattering on impact.

A small smile lit Helena’s face. She was no longer the hidden princess. Maybe after today, she wouldn’t be a princess at all. For the first time, she felt like the person she was meant to be.

And that person would fight for her family.

Even if it meant taking down one of her own.

The door burst open moments after the noise, but before Helena could react, her mother flipped a knife in her hand and plunged the tip deep into the rebel’s chest. He stumbled back in shock before crumpling to the ground.

The queen pulled her knife free, wiped it clean on her skirt, and extended the hilt toward Helena.

Helena took it tentatively.

“No hesitation, Helena.”

She nodded. “No hesitation.”

Her mother glanced toward the open door then back to her daughter. “Listen to me, Len. Whatever happens, I love you with my whole heart.”

“Mother…” Her words sounded too much like goodbye.

“No, Len. You have to hear this. The throne is not worth protecting. It does nothing but destroy. You… your brothers… you’re worth it. Whatever happens, I need you three to make it out of this. Get free of Madra. Make it to Quinn. He’ll protect you.”

“But Cole…”

Her mother shook her head, fire entering her eyes. “They may be twins, but Quinn is not Cole. Promise me you’ll find Kass and Stev and leave this place behind. Promise you won’t try to win back the throne. It’s not worth your life.”

Shouting entered the hall, and Helena fixed her eyes on the open doorway, preparing herself. “I promise.”

Without warning, her mother ran into the hall, ball gown whipping around her legs. The sound of steel crashing together was the only thing ringing in Helena’s ears as she followed blindly. Her mother twisted and ducked, fighting two rebels at once with a skill Helena had rarely witnessed.

Torches lined the walls and without thinking, Helena pulled one of them free, needing to create a distraction. She held the flame to the edge of the giant tapestry spanning the wall, an image of the royal family—king, queen, four princes and one princess. A happy aura clear on their faces. She set it aflame, knowing those people didn’t exist anymore. Maybe they never had.

Flames spread rapidly, and she stood mesmerized by them until her mother pulled her arm. “We must go, Helena.”

They passed the bodies of the two men the queen has slain and peered around the corner at the end of the hall. Voices sounded from the sitting room at the center of the royal family’s wing. A sitting room the siblings spent countless hours in together.

Helena jerked her head that way, and her mother nodded. They pressed themselves up against the wall and inched forward until they could make out the conversation.

“You were never my father,” Cole spat.

“Of course I was.” The king coughed.

Helena’s wide eyes met her mother’s. Father was in there. She scooted forward to peer into the room.

The king kneeled in the center of the room with his hands tied behind his back. Blood trickled from his head.

Cole paced in front of him.

Ian Tenyson sat on the arm of the couch where the Rhodipus children had laughed together and bonded over the years. Where Cole had made promises of protection.

Was everything he’d ever said to her a lie?

“I don’t see Kassander or Estevan,” her mother whispered, pulling Helena back.

“Or Edmund.” Where would they keep the foreign ambassador?

“They won’t kill Edmund. Whatever power Cole thinks he has, he’ll still fear Bela. Madra would have no chance if they retaliated. No, the ambassador will be sent home.”

Helena knew something her mother didn’t. Edmund would never leave. Not while Stev was still here.

Ian’s voice drifted into the hall. “We need to deal with him, Cole. We gain nothing by drawing it out.”

Helena couldn’t help but peer into the room again, her breath coming rapidly.

Cole sighed. “Lord Rhodipus, I hereby strip you of the right to rule.” He bent and yanked the ring from his father’s hand, placing it on his own. “You have betrayed this kingdom.”

“You speak of betrayal,” the king spat. “What do you think this rebellion of yours is?”

Cole looked him in the eye. “Fewer people will be harmed here today than in one of your wars. Madra can be rebuilt. We can be great again as we once were. On our own. Without foreign influence.”

He straightened and held out a hand. A man at the back of the room walked forward and placed a long, thin sword in Cole’s open palm.

His finger’s curled around it. “I sentence you to death.”

The king opened his mouth to speak but his words were cut off as the blade slashed across his throat, spraying crimson life onto the ground as he fell forward.

A scream ripped through Helena. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She’d just witnessed her father’s murder and now she was next.

Her mother stood frozen, tears streaming down her face.

“Check the hall,” Cole shouted.

A hand clamped on her shoulder jerking her back. Smoke streamed from behind them, evidence of the fire they’d set.

Her mother pulled her into a run, rounding the corner into a room Helena knew well. The tunnels. They could get out. The ornate, unused bedroom sat untouched as if not a part of the palace outside its door.

No. She shook her head. Not without her brothers. Her mother pushed aside the painting hiding the entrance to the tunnels and yanked open the secret door before shoving Helena inside. As the door slammed, cutting off all light, the sounds of a fight broke through the darkness.

Helena sank to her knees, tears tracking down her face. She pounded her fists against the tunnel wall until her knuckles turned bloody.

Her mother was over-matched. She had to be. She counted shouts from four different men, including Cole and Ian.

But it wasn’t the noise of battle that killed everything inside her.

It was the silence that followed.

24

Dell’s back slammed against the wall as his brother put a hand to his chest. Reed threw a glance over his shoulder to where a group of soldiers ran by.

“Get off me,” Dell growled. “Unless you want to arrest me and take me to Ian right now.” He held out his wrists. “Come on, brother. Try it.”

Reed stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before someone slammed into him from behind. A soldier in a Madran uniform fought a palace guard.

Reed gripped the collar of Dell’s shirt and yanked him out of the way, pulling him through an open doorway and kicking it shut behind them.

He released Dell with a shove. “What are you doing here, Dell? Edmund promised me you’d be on the ship leaving Madra.”

Confusion warred with rage inside Dell as he stared at the brother who’d never had a kind word for him. Reed followed Ian’s lead in everything he did. The two of them had tormented him since the day he arrived in the city.

Dell wiped sweat and ash from his face. “Why do you care? You got what you’ve always wanted. You and Ian. Is your mother involved in this too? Being the tip of the spiral wasn’t enough for you. You wanted more. More influence. More power.”

Reed slumped against the wall. “Sometimes there is no other choice. And no, mother didn’t want to be involved. She didn’t come to the ball tonight.”

Dell advanced on him. “Of course there’s another choice.” He looked to the door. “Why are Madran soldiers fighting royal guards?”

“The army has chosen their side.”

Dell deflated. Then Madra really was lost. His brother had won. With the army behind the rebels, Edmund had never had any chance to stop this fight.

“Where is Edmund?” he asked, meeting his brother’s pained gaze.

Reed pushed himself away from the wall. His stocky frame ambled across the room as he paced in front of the long table near the wall. Buckets of cutlery and stacks of plates lined the surface. Dell took in the room as he waited. It must have been where servants prepared to serve the royal family. A large cherry wardrobe sat partially open at the far end, the corner of an apron hanging out.

Normal. The room spoke of normalcy in the palace. Life went on, and soon these servants would serve a new king.

“Reed.” He grit his teeth. “No more stalling. Tell me where Edmund is. And the royal family.”

Reed’s feet froze, but he didn’t turn to face Dell. “Edmund was arrested at the ball. He’s being kept under guard in one of the rooms in the king’s wing.”

Dell’s mind tried to process Edmund’s captivity. He’d be no help to them now. But Len… “And the royal family?” He swallowed past the thickness in his throat.

Reed finally turned, darkness swirling in his gaze. “Ian has… plans for them.”

A whimper came from the direction of the wardrobe, and both men paused, listening for any other sound. Footsteps stomped through the hall outside the door amid shouting voices, but the soft cry was all they focused on.

Reed approached the wardrobe cautiously and pushed the door open wider. He reached in between the hanging aprons and uniforms. A high pitch yelp sounded as he pulled a young boy free.

Dark curls fell over wide eyes as the boy tried to pull away from Reed.

Recognition sparked in Dell. “Your Highness.”

Fire entered the boy’s gaze, and he lifted his quivering chin, trying to be tough even as he stood before them in a child’s sleeping gown. “Unhand me.”

“You heard the kid.” Dell put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

Reed loosened his grip.

“I am Kassander Rhodipus,” the young prince stated. “Are you going to kill me?”

“We don’t kill children.” Reed pressed his fingers against his closed eyes.

“Does Ian know that?” Dell asked, his eyes scanning the kid who looked so very much like Helena. “What do you think is going to happen when he gets his hands on the entire royal family? The only way to cement the bastard prince’s rule is to make sure all his siblings are in the ground.”

The bravado in Kassander’s stance cracked and his eyes glassed over. “Cole won’t hurt me.”

“I wish I had as much faith as you, little prince.” Dell walked to the wardrobe to rummage through it until he found what he wanted. He draped a dark cloak over Kassander’s shoulders. There was no way he could just leave him. Not when he gazed up at him with Len’s hazel eyes. “I’m taking the prince. If you want to arrest him, you’ll have to take us both.”

Dell spared one more long look for his brother, waiting for him to make a move. Instead, Reed turned and opened the door, disappearing into the shadows once more.

Dust rained down as another explosion struck.

“People are pouring through the gates,” a soldier yelled as he ran by. “All those loyal to the king are called to fight.”

Kassander tried to take off, but Dell held him back.

“They need us to fight,” Kassander yelled.

Dell watched more soldiers rush by. Not palace guards, but military men and women. “I don’t think the king they mention is your father.”

“I remember you,” Kassander said. “From the docks… and the games. You’re a Tenyson. I’m not going anywhere with you, Rebel.”

Dell didn’t have time for this. He turned on his heel, gripping the boy’s shoulders and bent to look him in the eye. “You don’t have another option, kid. I’m not going to kill you, but I have one goal… to get Helena out of here alive. Come or don’t, that’s your choice.”

He released the prince and joined the chaos snaking through the halls. Blood stained the velvet carpeting. Furniture lay in broken pieces. Wall hangings were slashed and torn.

The palace was a war-zone.

“Dell.” Kassander pointed to a group of men and women in armor marching down the hall.

Dell pulled Kassander back into the shadows of a doorway as they watched the man who’d betrayed his own family for the crown pass by, blood spattered across his face.

Kassander’s entire body shook and Dell realized for the first time, he wasn’t so different from the royal family after all. Warring siblings. Betrayal. It didn’t matter if you lived in a palace or a loft in the stables, it all hurt the same.

Ian strode beside Cole, and they stopped as they came upon another guard. After they spoke a few words, they marched toward the stairs that would take them to the main level where the explosions were growing.

Dell pulled Kassander forward. “We need to get to the royal residence and find Edmund. He’ll help us.”

Kassander veered to the right into a hall flooded with light. Smoke seeped out under a door at the end.

“No guards,” Dell whispered to himself. “Cover your face, kid.”

Dell pressed his arm against his mouth and pushed the door open. Smoke curled around the ornate sitting room, choking the air from it.

Did they leave Edmund to die among flames?

Dell ran forward, stopping when he caught sight of the fire blazing along the tapestries on the wall. “Kassander, stay back,” he yelled.

His eyes stung as he forced open the first door he saw. Empty.

Kassander’s scream echoed through his mind, and he ran back the way he’d come to find a Madran soldier with a knife to Kassander’s throat. Dell pulled his knife free as he met the boy’s eyes, but before he could make a move, an arrow split through the attacker’s head, right between the eyes.

The knife he held nicked Kassander’s neck, drawing a bead of blood, before the man fell back away from the prince.

Dell prepared to fight whoever appeared to take the prince. A figure emerged in the smoke with two others behind him.

“Stev!” Kassander cried, flinging himself at his brother.

Prince Estevan didn’t take his eyes from Dell. “Are you going to put that down?” He gestured to the knife Dell continued to aim at him. “Dell Tenyson, Edmund trusts you, but I’d feel more comfortable if you didn’t try to stab me or the few guards who’ve chosen the right side in this.” He gestured to the men behind him.

Dell lowered the knife. Coughs racked his body, and he covered his mouth to keep the smoke at bay. “Where is Edmund? Have you seen him?”

Estevan shook his head. “One of my men said he’s here along with the rest of my family.” He moved closer.

Black grit streaked down the prince’s face and exhaustion lined his eyes. He breathed out, coughing as he inhaled more smoke. “We need to find them before it’s too late.”

Neither of them said what they were thinking as smoke swirled around them and the light of the flames flickered across the room.

It might already be too late.

25

The quiet of the tunnel sucked all life from Helena. She didn’t know what was going on in the palace or if her family was okay.

No one was coming to save her.

That thought swirled round and round in her mind until it latched on, refusing to break free.

No one was coming to save her.

So, she’d have to save herself.

She felt for the knife her mother had given her, its solid weight a comfort against the ice in her veins.

They killed her father. Probably murdered her mother. They would have no one else she loved.

Helena pushed to her feet. She had to get back to the royal residence to confront her brother.

She brushed her hands down the maid’s skirt she wore. No one would know her for anything other than a servant. Except Cole. He’d see her coming for him.

She’d always thought she had an unbreakable bond with her brothers. They were the ones who would always be on her side.

But now she knew the truth. That bond had been made of glass—easy to shatter and impossible to repair.

Just like their kingdom.

Because after tonight, Madra would never be the same.

She listened with her ear pressed to the door for a moment, hearing nothing on the other side. As she pushed into the familiar room, her mother’s face greeted her, lifeless and pale.

A sob stuck in her throat. Chloe Rhodipus was more than her father ever deserved, and it wasn’t until her death Helena felt she finally knew her mother.

She’d saved her.

Helena bent to touch her mother’s forehead, avoiding the pool of blood surrounding her. “I won’t let you down, Mother. I’ll find Kassander and Stev if it’s the last thing I do.”

She straightened and strode into the hall with purpose, her knife clutched tightly in one hand.

A rebel soldier passed nearby, and she pressed herself to the wall. As soon as he was right in front of her, she lunged, tackling him to the ground.

His strong hands gripped her, trying to push her off, but she locked her legs around his chest and pressed the tip of her knife up under his ribs. He weakened gradually as she slid it in until he stilled altogether.

She scrambled off him, pulling her dripping knife free.

“One less traitor,” she said to herself.

But her chest didn’t feel any less tight. There was no relief in taking the rebel’s life. She flicked her eyes to her bloodied hands, which she no longer recognized.

She had to move.

As she rounded the corner, she stopped. Two guards stood outside the door to a meeting room her father had rarely used.

Why were they guarding it?

There was something in there they didn’t want taken. Or someone.

No one will recognize you.

Her mother’s words helped her form a plan. Sending up a thank you to the mask she’d always hated, she slipped the knife up her sleeve and ran.

“Help me,” she cried when she reached the rebel guards. She gripped the closest one’s arm. “I was only doing what the new king asked—searching for the young prince—when a group of men in royal armor started chasing me.” Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath as if she’d just run through the entire palace.

The two guards looked to one another and then down the hall where no pursuers appeared.

“Please,” she pleaded, her fingers still gripping one of their arms.

New plan. This wasn’t working. Helena’s mind spun as she blinked rapidly. Whoever was being guarded in that room was most likely an ally.

Two rebels appeared around the corner, stopping when they saw her with the rebel guards.

“What do we have here, Astor?” one of them asked.

Astor must have been the guard whose arm she still held because the new arrival flicked his eyes to her hand before settling on her face. He smirked.

She removed her hand, using it to push her sticky hair from her sweat-dampened forehead. Her heart thundered in her ears as they neared.

Four rebels now surrounded her, and she finally understood why her father never let her out of the palace. Madra was a dangerous place. People always wanted to take things from those who had them.

In order to face the perils, one had to become dangerous themselves.

Helena rose up to her whole height—which, granted, was still much shorter than their muscular builds. But the look she gave them could have cut glass.

“I have orders.” She slipped the knife from her sleeve into her palm. “You will allow me to see the prisoner.”

If the guards were surprised at her sudden change in demeanor, they didn’t show it. Astor grinned. “Yeah, well we have orders too.” They closed in around her, cutting off any escape.

Helena sucked in a shaky breath, refusing to let the fear coursing through her show on her face. She clenched the knife so tightly it bit into her skin.

But the pain only reminded her why she was here.

They’d killed her father. Murdered her mother. For all she knew, Stev and Kass had joined them in the after.

A Madran princess experienced a transformation on the night of her name day ball. It was meant to change her from child to woman in the hearts and eyes of the people.

It was the day they were truly revealed to the world.

Hours ago, she’d ripped off her mask, but the transformation was now. No longer a princess of a kingdom she already knew her family had lost. Never to be royal again.

All she had left was the burning revenge inside her heart.

She flipped the knife into her other hand, light from the torches dancing across the ornate steel blade.

One of the rebels laughed. “I don’t think this one is on our side, boys.” He leaned in. “I was there, you know. When they took the young prince.” He drew a line across his throat with his thumb.

“You’re lying,” she lunged.

He jumped back. “Why are you loyal to a royal family who cares nothing for you?”

She swiped with the knife, and he gripped her wrist to stop its arc.

“When they brought Estevan Rhodipus to his knees,” he whispered. “I saw fear in the great warrior.”

“You lie.” Hot tears burned her eyes.

“Callum.” One of the other rebels said in warning. “Let’s just put her out of the palace.”

“No.” Callum’s grip tightened on Helena’s wrist until she feared it would break. “She should hear what happens to those who betray Madra. Then you can go into the city and tell others what their disobedience gets them.”

She ground her teeth against the pain. “You’re the traitors.”

Callum shook his head. “Oh, you should have seen it. The princess… we always knew she must have a pretty face beneath that mask, but she looked like an angel as her own brother took her life.”

The words ricocheted through her mind. The princess? Every word they said was a lie. They had to be. Maybe Stev and Kass were okay after all.

White-hot rage rose from the darkest pits of her soul, burning out every bit of mercy she had inside her. She twisted her wrist so suddenly he released her.

Without hesitation, she lunged for him, burying her knife in the soft flesh above his collarbone. Blood gurgled from his lips as strong hands pulled her away and shouts erupted.

Callum stumbled back before falling against the wall and sliding to the ground. He didn’t move again.

Astor wrapped an arm around Helena’s neck while the other guard drew his sword. The rebel who’d arrived with Callum bent to check his pulse.

“She killed him,” he said, surprise tingeing his voice.

Helena strained against Astor’s hold, jerking her head back to crack it against his chin. His arms only tightened as a curse left his mouth.

The second guard closed in as he brought his sword up to press the tip to Helena’s chest. All breath left her as the seconds ticked by.

She lifted her eyes to meet her captors’ in defiance. If this was how it ended, she would not make it easy. The other plain-clothed rebel watched with eagerness flashing across his face.

Was this a game to them?

Did the rebels take joy in destroying everything her family had built?

She kicked her heel back, connecting with Astor’s leg above his kneecap.

“Dammit,” he growled, his warm breath blowing across her neck.

The next words that left his mouth were so quiet, she almost thought she imagined them.

“Trust me.”

Trust him? Trust him?

He had to be kidding.

“We’re not killing the girl,” Astor said.

The rebel stood and backed away from his dead friend on the ground. “She killed Callum,” he growled. “Are you telling me her life is worth more than his?”

Astor paused, frozen for only a moment in time, before he shoved her to the side, knocked away the other guard’s blade and pulled his own. “I’m saying it’s worth more than yours.”

“Traitor,” the man yelled before the tip of a sword protruded from his belly.

Astor twisted to avoid being split in two as the second guard raised a giant broadsword. With an agility that only small men had, he lunged toward the rebel who was still gasping for breath and pulled his weapon free before rounding on his fellow guard.

Their blades clashed, sending the ring of steel echoing down the hall.

Helena backed away until her back hit the door. She inched sideways to where her knife protruded from Callum’s neck and yanked it free. Blood sprayed from the wound, splattering across her face. She wiped it, her sleeve coming away stained with crimson.

She clutched the knife to her chest. That was two. She’d killed two people now.

But she knew there would be more. It was for her family. There was no other choice.

The guard’s fight ended with Astor slicing his blade through a gap in the underarm of the other guard’s armor. He collapsed to the ground and was still sputtering for life when Astor bent to rip a ring of keys from his belt.

Helena tried to back away, almost forgetting about whoever was in that room, as Astor’s eyes found hers.

“Don’t move,” he growled with a shake of his head. “I’ve been standing here for the past hour waiting for a distraction that would stall the rebels who were sent to check on us every quarter hour. But you… we have little time because others will have heard the fight.”

She didn’t know what was going on, but as he jammed the key into the lock, she couldn’t move.

He opened the door, and she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Edmund.”

She tried to run forward, but Astor blocked her way.

Edmund sat slumped in a metal chair in the corner of the darkened room. Shackles ringed his ankles, chaining him to two iron hooks on the wall. Blood-streaked blonde hair stuck to the bruises on his face.

Hours.

She’d seen him only hours ago.

“My brother will pay for this,” she said to herself.

Astor grunted. “The rebels found him in this state.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “This was your father’s work.”

Her face dampened with tears of betrayal. Neither side in this fight was worth dying for. It was the only thing she knew.

Just as her mother said, her family was more important than any crown.

And Edmund was as much family as anyone.

She pushed past Astor to stop at Edmund’s side. He lifted his head as if noticing her for the first time. “Len.” A smile slid across his face. “How good of you to come.”

“What’s wrong with him?” She looked to Astor for answers.

The lithe guard shut the door, entombing them in the dimly lit, bare room. “They’ve drugged him. We were set to give him a new dose soon so it should be wearing off. It was the only way to keep him compliant.”

“How is he still alive?” She cupped his face gently, examining each bruise.

“Killing him would put us at odds with Bela.”

Understanding lit in her. “And the only thing Cole truly fears is magic.” Her foot hit the chains snaking across the ground and bile rose in her throat. “Get them off him. Now!”

Edmund looked as if he didn’t understand why she yelled, but her entire body trembled.

Astor flipped through the keys before bending to unlock the shackles.

Edmund stood as soon as he was free and Helena pulled him to her, burying her face in his chest. His arms came around her. “Lenny, what’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she sobbed.

He rested his chin on her head. “Let’s find the queen. She can make you some tea.”

Helena’s chest constricted.

Edmund looked to the guard who had yet to say a word to him. “Astor.” He grinned. “Nice of you to visit, but I don’t remember calling you from your mission among the rebel troops. Was it Estevan?”

“Sir,” Astor began. “The rebels have taken the palace.”

“Not possible.” Edmund released Helena and scratched his jaw. He furrowed his brow, clarity returning to his eyes. “Our sources had the date set for tomorrow.”

“They were wrong.”

“Come on, Edmund.” Helena placed a hand on each of his arms and peered up into his face. “Come back to us. Clear away the fog. Find your magic again. We need you.” She paused. “Stev needs you.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “Stev…”

“We don’t know where he is. The king and queen…” She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to say the words. “Are gone. But I refuse to leave this palace before we find Stev and Kass.”

“Stev.” He said the name almost like a prayer, and his shoulders went rigid. He blew out a breath and closed his eyes.

A gust of air whipped Helena’s bangs from her face. She smiled for the first time since the ball. Edmund was back.

The wind settled before disappearing altogether as if Edmund’s magic wasn’t there at all.

Edmund strode to the door and yanked it open only to stop as four swords blocked his way. Ian Tenyson stepped forward.

“Hello, princess.” He smirked. “I said I would have you and I never break my promises.” He turned to his guards. “The girl comes with us. Arrest the ambassador. Kill the traitor.”

26

Dell fell through the door into the servants’ stairwell from the royal family’s residence, smoke chasing him from the row of once grand rooms.

Nothing. They’d found nothing. No one alive at least. Anyone who’d been trapped in the wing was either dead or found some way to escape.

They’d found the king with his throat cut lying in a pool of his own blood. His cruel eyes no longer saw the destruction he’d created.

Because Dell had no doubt in his mind, this rebellion was the king’s fault.

The young prince Kassander landed next to Dell with a thump as his brother threw him from the flames they left behind.

Coughs wracked Dell’s body as he bent over, gasping for breath.

“We need to get lower,” Estevan wheezed. “Away from the smoke.”

Dell clambered to his feet. Helena, where would you have gone?

He didn’t have time to think of anything but escaping the heat and poisonous air they left behind. His feet thundered down the steps and he gripped a carved golden rail to keep from falling face first into the darkness.

The air grew clearer the farther from the smoke they ran, and Dell sucked it in as if he’d never tasted anything so sweet.

Kassander stumbled, his weak legs giving out beneath him. He collided with Dell, sending him tumbling down the last few steps and landing at the bottom in a heap.

Every muscle in Dell’s body screamed in agony as he tried to roll the boy off him. Keep going. You have to keep going.

Sounds of fighting reached them and Dell met Estevan’s gaze. “Takes two sides to fight.”

Estevan nodded. “We probably have allies out there.”

Estevan bent and lifted his brother. Did that man ever tire? Did the smoke in his lungs have no effect?

Dell rolled with a groan. Why’d he return to the palace on this night? He could have been safely away on a ship headed for Bela.

Oh, right… there was a girl.

As if the thought of her brought forth his strength, he pushed himself from the floor and pulled the thin sword from its scabbard. Wiping soot from his face, he turned to the prince.

“You’re going to need your hands to fight, prince.” He gestured to the unconscious boy in Estevan’s arms.

Estevan leaned his face down to listen to the boy’s chest. “He’s breathing.” He glanced around at the small room at the bottom of the stairs. The only light came through the cracked open door.

He set his brother down in the far corner, pain twisting on his face as he stared at the boy. “I’m coming back for you, Kass,” he whispered. “I promise.” He dropped a kiss onto the boy’s ashy hair and straightened to regard Dell. “I hope you know how to handle that thing more than the carving knife you threatened me with, boy.”

Dell bristled at the term ‘boy’ but now was not the time to argue with an arrogant prince. This time, they were on the same side.

Coughing the last bit of smoke from his lungs, Dell shouldered the door aside and charged into the back hall, normally used only by those serving the royal family.

He leaped at the still form of a young girl in Rhodipus livery, her light hair circling her head like a ring of light.

Rebels fought those servants who took up their king’s name. Royal soldiers fought royal guards.

Stev jumped into the melee without a second thought, swinging his long sword at those he could hack his way through.

“It’s the prince,” someone yelled. Dell didn’t know which side recognized the prince first, but it was a galvanizing call. Rebels wanted the reward they’d receive for capturing the true heir and delivering him to the pretender. Loyalists cleaved to the Rhodipus line as if Madra would fall apart without them.

Maybe it would.

Or maybe their demise would finally allow Madra to flourish.

Dell didn’t care. The rebels stood in the way of him finding the princess. Bemus appeared among the fray with the first signs of true life Dell had seen from the man who’d lost so much. He parried and kicked one leg out, using his foot to hook his opponent’s knee and take him down before ramming his sword into the rebel’s belly.

Cries of pain mixed with grunts of effort. Dell advanced to Bemus’ side, blocking an oncoming blow. The force reverberated up his arm as he was locked in a duel of strength with a narrow-eyed opponent.

He pushed the man’s sword away, and it clattered to the ground. Dell lost his grip on his own blade, but didn’t waste a moment as he dove at the rebel, knocking him to the ground.

His fists beat into his opponent’s face with every bit of viciousness he possessed. This was who he was. Not a dueler with fancy swords or formal training. A brawler. A boxer who preferred street fights to the ring.

By the time the man stilled, Dell’s knuckles ran red. As he jumped to his feet to help Stev, a scream ripped through the air, tearing the world in two.

Helena.

Len.

His eyes flicked to Estevan who battled two men. Bemus held his own alongside a squad of royal guards.

“Dell,” Estevan yelled as he twisted to avoid another blow.

Dell met his burning stare. What did he see there? Permission? A plea? An order?

“That’s my sister, Dell.” Desperation. Something he’d never expect from the prince. “Get her out of the palace. Please.”

An attacker advanced on Dell, but he ducked away, sprinting toward the entry to the main hall. Smoke no longer clouded his mind or choked his breath. Every pain he’d felt faded away. A new energy chased the exhaustion away.

“I’m coming, Len,” he said, mostly to himself.

He entered the hall cautiously, preparing himself for anything he saw.

Three men stood over a kneeling man and woman. Recognition burned into him as he realized Len and Edmund had their arms tied behind their backs.

Tears made tiny tracks through the blood on Len’s face, but no fear shone in her eyes.

“You’re going to pay for this, Ian,” she growled.

Dell snapped his eyes to the men he hadn’t truly looked at yet. His brother stood in the center of two broad-shouldered rebels. Two dead men and two dead women lay sprawled across the ground.

Dell advanced silently, letting the shadows hide his approach.

Ian laughed as he bent forward, his face only inches from Len’s. “I may not be allowed to kill you, Helena, but Cole didn’t say anything about harming this pretty face.” His fingers trailed down her cheek. “It’s a shame you had to hide it for so long.” His hand inched down her neck and over the bodice of her dress.

She sat impossibly still.

Edmund fought against his restraints. “Don’t touch her.”

Ian straightened. “Shame you care more for her than your precious Camille of Gaule.”

A growl ripped from Edmund’s throat. “What have you done with Camille?”

A smirk splashed across the asshole’s face. “Nothing, of course. She is to fulfill the promise of her kingdom. Madra will have a Gaulean princess as queen and the Gaule army as allies. The treaty drawn up makes no mention of which Madran heir she must marry.”

Ian patted the side of Edmund’s face. “Cole will be a better husband to her than Estevan, isn’t that right, Edmund?”

Edmund snapped his teeth, and Ian yanked his hand away with a muttered “rabid dog.”

Dell slid a knife free of his belt, trying to decide how to make his move. He’d be no match against Ian and his men. Estevan and Bemus were still fighting back in the servants’ hall.

Ian gripped Edmund’s hair, forcing his head to the side to expose his neck. He held out his hand and one of his men set a knife upon his palm. Ian took it and pressed the tip to Edmund’s skin just below his ear.

The ambassador didn’t even flinch.

“Neither side trusts you, Edmund of Bela. The king you defend had you beaten in his paranoid quest to find those who would do him harm.”

“I defend no king,” Edmund spat.

Ian pressed the knife harder, drawing a line of blood. “Interesting.” He removed the knife and wiped the blood with his thumb before drawing a crimson line down Edmund’s forehead. “You fight for no king… yet still you act against us, Madra’s rescuers.”

“You rescue no one,” Helena growled.

Ian issued a quick kick to her side. “I’m not speaking to you. You’ll learn to obey me once we’re wed.” A threat deepened his voice.

“You think you’re on the right side in this, Ian Tenyson.” Edmund lifted his eyes. “But I have been through war. I have seen kingdoms torn apart from within and enemies on the outside. War doesn’t heal. It only destroys. There is only one side here. Madra’s. And if you insist on rebellion, you act against the freedom you say you’re fighting for.”

Ian’s knee collided with Edmund’s chest and the blonde man fell sideways with a grunt of pain. “The Rhodipus line and their precious priests caused this, Edmund. Not us.”

Edmund lay on his side, unable to rock himself back to his knees. As his eyes scanned the hall, and they connected with Dell’s from his place hidden in the shadows.

He flicked his gaze from Helena to Dell. What was he trying to tell him?

Dell stepped forward, sword in one hand, knife in the other, but before he could make a move, the sound of many heavy boots entered the hall, stealing all chance of saving Helena and Edmund.

Ian’s new ally strode up beside him, a frown marring his face.

Cole Rhodipus had arrived.

* * *

Twine cut into Helena’s wrists as she stared up at the brother she’d revered only yesterday. Every one of her brothers had been heroes to her. No flaws. No weaknesses. They protected her and provided a barrier between her and their father.

She’d never thought she’d need protection from one of them.

Her mother’s face flashed before her eyes, and all love she had for Cole drifted away on a current of hatred and desperation.

Ian Tenyson stood at his side. Her father’s old ally fixed an intense gaze on her, cocking his head to the side as if he couldn’t quite figure something out. He looked to Edmund who lay beside her and seemed to stare off into the shadows.

“Sister,” Cole began.

Her lip curled. “Don’t call me that. I am not your sister. Not anymore.”

She’d have sworn she saw sadness pass his features, but he shook it away. “Whatever you may think of me, Len, I do love you.”

“Just not mother and father, right?” Hot tears burned her eyes.

Cole sighed. “She was not my mother.” He put a hand on Helena’s shoulder. “But I know you loved her. I am sorry for that.”

“Don’t touch me.” She jerked away, wishing more than anything to have a knife within reach.

He retracted his fingers and curled them into a fist. Ian whispered something in his ear before he marched toward an arch that obscured part of the hall from view.

A struggle sounded and Cole nodded to two of his guards to go assist Ian. They took off, pulling a young man from the shadows and disarming him.

“Dell,” Helena whispered.

Edmund rolled into a sitting position, his eyes scanning Dell. Helena couldn’t let them take him too. Without thinking, she jumped to her feet, her tied wrists making it difficult, and ran at the guards holding Dell. They weren’t able to reach for their weapons before she slammed her shoulder into the one on the right. Both released Dell.

“Go!” she screamed at Dell.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to urge her along after him, but pain ripped into her shoulder, searing down her arm as if her entire body cracked open.

“Stop,” Cole yelled, but his voice was only a wisp of sound in the haze of her mind. Her knees buckled and Dell caught her before they slammed into the marble floor.

“Someone help,” Dell called.

“Len!” Edmund tried to get to her, but his way was blocked and he couldn’t reach for a weapon with his hands tied.

Cole crouched over her, his eyes the stormy gray she’d always loved. They spoke of passion. Of fight.

She blinked away tears as numbness spread through her body like a tidal wave, taking everything in its path.

Cole pointed to the man who’d thrown the knife. “Arrest him. He harmed the princess against my orders to leave her intact.”

In the last moments before the darkness swallowed her whole, she almost thanked him for looking out for her.

27

Dell held Len’s lifeless body in his arms, her blood soaking into the sleeves of his shirt.

“Len,” he said, tears choking his voice. “Len.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Fetch me a healer,” Cole ordered. “Now. If my sister dies, I will have each one of your heads.”

Two of his soldiers ran off to find a healer, but Dell barely noticed them leave.

Cole pierced him with a dark gaze. “You’re the Tenyson bastard.”

“He’s no Tenyson,” Ian spat.

“That’s what my father said about me for the first ten years of my life.” Cole stayed quiet for a moment, brushing his hand over Len’s head. “Are you loyal to your family?”

“He’s never—” Ian stopped abruptly when Cole raised his hand.

If Dell said no, he had no doubt Cole would cut him down right where he sat. But if he said yes… would that betray everything he was?

Instead of answering, he lowered his eyes to Helena’s serene face. “She’s going to be okay.” He wasn’t speaking to anyone but himself, yet Cole put a hand on his shoulder. For just a moment, they were in their grief together.

Ian shifted where he stood. “If she dies, you owe me a wife.”

A roar ripped from Cole’s throat and he turned to Ian. “I owe you nothing.”

Dell tried to take pleasure in his brother’s chastisement but he couldn’t focus on anything but the girl in his arms.

Cole cut strips of his own shirt with a knife and handed them to Dell. Dell pulled the knife free from the right side of her chest and pressed the cloth to it. He dropped the knife, and it clattered to the ground.

Dell pressed two fingers to her neck to feel her heart thumping against them.

Edmund bucked against the rebel holding him back, freeing himself to run to Helena’s side.

A door crashed open, spilling loyalists into the hall. They froze when they saw the scene now playing out.

Dell lifted his eyes to find Estevan and Bemus leading their followers forward.

Around him, guards braced for a fight. But not Dell. He held Len tighter against his chest. Edmund took her hand as his glassy eyes found Estevan.

“Are you going to make me fight you, brother?” Estevan asked. He scanned the group, his eyes landing on Helena and widening before returning to Cole. “Why her, Cole? Why Len? I know how you’ve always felt about mother, father, even me… but Helena? She loved you more than any of us and you…” His voice grew thick. “She was good. And now she’s—”

“Not dead,” Dell said, his words echoing down the hall. “Not dead.”

Estevan’s shoulders dropped. “Not dead?”

Edmund met the prince’s eyes and shook his head.

They stayed locked in a silent communication. Edmund mouthed the word “no”.

Estevan nodded. “I’m sorry, Edmund.” He faced his brother. “I want this to end.”

Cole crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”

“The palace you fought so hard for is crumbling. People continue to battle through the night. The fire engulfing the royal residence will spread if not contained.”

“All things we are aware of, Stev. Tell me why I should negotiate with you instead of run you through with my sword.”

“I’ll surrender.”

“Stev,” Edmund groaned. “You can’t do this.”

Estevan ignored his protest. “I will allow you to take my throne and my person. You can do as you wish with me. Make an example. Kill me. I won’t fight it. I’ll tell the loyalists to stand down and begin repairing their kingdom. No more fighting. No more destruction.”

Cole narrowed his eyes. “What do you want in return?”

Estevan stepped forward, fire burning in his gaze. “Release them. All of them. Edmund. Helena. Kassander. Dell. Allow them to leave Madra. It’s the only way to complete your takeover of the throne. The people will never move past the unrest as long as they fight for me.”

“You can’t possibly be considering this,” Ian snapped at Cole. “You promised Helena to me.”

“Shut up.” Cole commanded.

The rebels returned with a graying healer in tow. Dell clutched Helena tighter, refusing to let her go. Dell scanned the healer’s gaunt face. Deep lines were carved into his skin. He moved past Cole and Stev in their now silent standoff and dropped to his knees slowly.

“I am healer Whiston,” he stated. “Let me see the princess.”

Dell finally relinquished his hold on her to turn her small frame, revealing the deep wound in her shoulder. Red seeped free of the gash, spreading out through the fabric of her bodice.

Healer Whiston leaned in, peering at it for only a moment before lifting his eyes to the new king. “Fatal, I’m afraid.”

No emotion coated his words, but they had the impact of a thousand battering rams driving the destruction from the inside out. Dell shook his head, unable to believe it. Not wanting to see this as the end.

Cole cleared his throat, fighting back his own feelings. “I accept your terms, Estevan Rhodipus. With Helena passing into the after, the rest of them mean nothing to me.” He turned away from his remaining family. “I will allow you to say goodbye. Dell will be allowed to leave with Helena and Kassander. I cannot let Camille join them, however. We will use Edmund’s gift to get your message out to the people and then he will be free to leave as well.”

“No,” Edmund’s voice cut through the tension like glass. “I can’t. I’m not leaving you.” His eyes pleaded with Estevan as Cole began walking away.

Estevan dropped to his knees in front of Edmund. “I once asked you to keep my family safe from rebellion. We didn’t know the threat would come from inside. But I need to ask this of you again. Protect Kass as if he was your own blood. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with his life.”

Tears streamed down Edmund’s face and he pressed his forehead against Estevan’s. “What is he going to do to you, Stev?” He closed his eyes. “I have this feeling I’m never going to see you again and that…” He sucked in a breath. “I love you.”

Estevan brushed Edmund’s tears away with his thumbs and pressed his lips to the Belaen’s. “You brought me to life, Edmund of Bela. I may be headed toward my own execution, but I will be grateful to you until the day I die.”

Dell wiped his own tears away. So, this was how it ended. A dead king and queen. A murdered princess, and a captured prince.

Estevan pulled back. “Find Quinn. He’ll help you keep them safe.”

Them. Them. Dell stared into Helena’s pale face. She didn’t need to be kept safe any longer.

Guards hauled Estevan to his feet and formed up around him.

As another gripped Edmund’s arm and yanked him forward, he met Dell’s watery gaze. “Get Helena and Kassander to the docks. Bemus will help you. If they had word of the rebellion, the ship would have waited for us.”

The ship. Corban.

This wasn’t the end after all. If he made it in time.

28

The final look Cole Rhodipus gave his sister would be forever burned into Dell’s mind. Eyes blazing with both fury and desperation as he watched her breathing slow. A jaw clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep any emotion from flickering across his face.

It was painfully obvious to anyone who watched him.

He may have hated his lot in life, but his sister had existed outside of the burning embers of his pain. She’d been the light in the otherwise dark world.

Dell knew because she acted as the same guiding force for him. And they were both going to lose her.

Cole issued orders to his men to escort Dell from the palace along with the near-dead princess. Estevan bent to kiss her cheek, a single tear breaking the facade of strength he emitted.

“Go.” Edmund’s voice thickened. “I’ll be there soon. Make sure she stays with us, Dell. Don’t you lose her.”

He only nodded, the words he wanted to say clogging in his throat.

He’d come to the palace to protect Helena. No other reason. And he’d failed. But he wouldn’t fail in this.

Bemus disappeared with one of the guards, returning a moment later with the half-conscious Kassander cradled in his arms.

A second guard attempted to lift Len from Dell’s lap.

“No.” Dell shifted Len to the ground and stood. He couldn’t stand the thought of rebel hands on her. He bent, sliding one arm underneath her back and the other under the bend in her legs. Her hair fell loose of her bun and fell in wild waves over his arm.

“Keep pressure on her wound,” Bemus said, leaning in. “And don’t let any of them know she still lives.”

Dell nodded, wedging the ball of cloth against him to keep it pressed to the gash as Helena’s life continued to seep from her.

Cole’s rebel soldiers surrounded them, marching through the halls. The fighting outside had mostly died down, but tiers of smoke rose from sections of the wall surrounding the courtyard. A giant hole now stood where part of the wall used to be. The smell of copper and ash tainted the air as blood ran through the streets of Madra.

Death hung over them all, but Dell kept his eyes facing forward, his mind on one thing. He had to get to that ship.

He no longer cared for Madra or the people he left behind. Many of them fought with the rebels. Others refused to fight at all.

And one girl had stood strong for them. Had fought for them.

The soldiers led them to a wagon that sat at the bottom of the great staircase in front of the smoldering palace. Bemus put Kassander in the back. The boy stirred and lifted his head, his gaze finding Helena.

Dell set the princess in the wagon gently and climbed in. As soon as Bemus took the reins, there was no more palace. The streets of Madra whipped by, but Dell didn’t see them. He didn’t look into the faces of citizens who’d been roused from their beds with news of fighting at the palace.

The full moon cast a silver glow across Helena’s pale skin.

Kassander spoke, but his words were lost to the sound of the wagon.

And then they heard it. Quiet at first before growing louder. Estevan Rhodipus was addressing his people.

“Citizens of Madra.” His voice hung over Madra like a cloak of hope, protecting them from the evils of that night. The words carried on the breeze of Edmund’s magic. This was why he’d had to stay behind.

Estevan continued. “The king is dead, but we are not without hope. To all those loyal to the crown, I tell you to stand down.” His words sounded scripted, lacking the anger Dell knew was hidden underneath. Cole wouldn’t risk any secret meanings. “There is a new king. I have given up my place in the line of succession to my brother, Cole Rhodipus.”

He paused. “I have suffered much and do not have it in my heart to lead any longer. Cole is one of the last remaining children of my father’s bloodline. In the coming days, Madra will be made stronger than ever before. Troops are being called home from wars we should not be involved in. The priesthood has been disbanded.” Dell flashed back to the slaughter he’d found at the monastery. “Madra will no longer be shackled to the past by priestly traditions. We welcome a brighter future. If you are a foreigner in this land, I advise you to return to your kingdom. Madran will belong only to Madrans from this point forward.”

He stopped and Dell thought he was finished until his voice began again, deeper than before. “Do not mourn my family. This night, one of my father’s men murdered Princess Helena. But she did not die in vain. She sparked this change. Cole, your new king, fights for her. He fights for all of us.”

Rage tore through Dell.

Kassander slumped forward, staring at his sister. “Is she truly dead?”

“No.” Dell shook his head. “Your brother just pinned this entire bloody rebellion on a lie.”

“Why did Estevan say those things?”

Dell’s eyes flickered between Len and Kassander while his mind wandered to Estevan. He’d never liked the oldest prince. Estevan was arrogant and seemingly uncaring. But a new respect bloomed within Dell.

“Because, little prince, Estevan loves you. He did it for you.”

A still breeze brought the briny air of the river delta. They’d made it. Dell blew out a long breath as he felt for a pulse again. Panic gripped him when he couldn’t find it.

“Helena,” he said. “Helena, you need to hold on. We’re here.”

They reached the Belaen ship and Mari rushed out, jumping over the side and landing on the dock with more agility than he knew she possessed.

Kassander scrambled from the wagon. “What are we doing here?” His eyes flitted around the ships, finally landing on the dark water. “We can’t leave. What about Estevan?”

Dell ignored him as he passed Helena down to Bemus. “Mari, we need Corban, now!”

As if hearing the commotion, Corban appeared on deck. He sprinted down the wharf and dropped to Len’s side.

“I think it might already be too late.” Dell backed away, putting his hands on his head. How had he failed so miserably? The one person who’d cared for him since his mother died… and now she was leaving him too.

A familiar wrenching in his chest had him turning away, unable to watch.

Everyone held their breath.

No sound came as Corban worked over the still princess. Dell closed his eyes. Was it selfish wanting her to stay? Her parents were murdered right in front of her. Her brother would most likely be executed. The kingdom her family ruled for generations was broken.

And yet… he couldn’t let her go. He turned just in time to see her chest rise.

A scream broke free as she arched her back, echoing through the night, as if the trauma of losing everything ripped the bones right from her body.

The sound cut off abruptly, her body sagging back to the wooden planks beneath her.

“Is she going to live?” Dell asked, desperate for the answer that would start his heart again.

Corban glanced up. “I don’t know. She… you may have gotten her here too late.”

Mari put a hand on Corban’s shoulder. “Get her on the ship. We leave as soon as Edmund arrives.”

29

Helena ran as smoke chased her from the rooms she’d known all her life. Destroyed, just like everything else. Her mother called to her, desperately trying to find her, but she couldn’t call back as the floor tilted, sending her flying toward the dark abyss.

Helena’s eyes snapped open to find herself in an unfamiliar room, smelling slightly of sweat and salt.

The sweat was probably hers. The dress she wore clung to her body with dampness. She lifted an arm to wipe sticky hair from her face, feeling the exhaustion in every movement.

Weak. She was so weak. Why?

The memories rushed in like a hurricane hurtling toward a ship at sea. And she was utterly lost to them.

“Mother,” she cried.

Tears streamed down her face as if her body was emptying itself of everything she’d seen. Everything she’d done.

Where was she?

Light broke through the cracks between the rotting boards of the door. She lay on a small bed in the corner of a room with little else. Netting hung from the ceiling, dipping down over stacks of crates on the far wall.

The door rattled, and she reached for her knife, but it was no longer hidden in the folds of her skirt. She pushed herself up slowly, her muscles screaming in protest.

Light flooded the room as the door burst open. She shielded her eyes as a figure stepped closer.

Kassander. Her brother didn’t smile in greeting, but the relief was clear in his eyes. “You’re awake.” He hesitated.

Tears welled in her eyes. At least one person hadn’t been taken from her. “And you’re here.”

He stepped toward the bed and she reached out, pulling him the rest of the way. “I can’t believe they got you out.”

“It was Dell,” he said, his voice muffled in her hair.

Dell. He was there too. The room swayed, and Helena pulled back. “Are we on a ship? How long have I been out?”

Kassander wasn’t the one who answered.

“Over a day.” Dell stood in the doorway, his gaze latching onto her face. “It’s good to see you conscious, Princess.”

Why the formality? She shook her head. “I’m not a princess any longer.”

Dell’s smile was tentative.

Helena hugged Kassander again, meeting Dell’s eyes over her brother’s shoulder. Thank you, she mouthed.

She pulled back and gripped Kassander’s shoulders. “You and I now, kid. We’re all that’s left until we find Quinn.” She hated to think of what could have happened to Quinn. The army was in league with Cole. Did they turn on Quinn?

“Stev is still alive, Lenny,” he whispered. “I know he is.”

Helena didn’t want to voice what she thought Cole would do to Stev, so she scooted to the edge of the bed.

A memory of pain shocked through her. The knife. She felt for the wound in her shoulder but perfectly smooth skin was all she found through the hole in her dress.

“Is this what it felt like for you every time?” she asked Dell. “Whenever Corban healed you?”

Sympathy entered his gaze. “Exhaustion? Utter weakness? A complete disbelief in what occurred?”

“That’s about it.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Mari explained it to me once. His magic uses your body’s own energy to heal the wound. It takes a while to get it back.”

Kassander stood and reached a hand out to her. She took it and pulled herself to her feet, stumbling before gaining her footing.

Kassander scrunched up his face. “You stink, Len.”

A laugh burst free from Dell, but he covered it up with a cough. “Mari left some clothes for you.” He pointed to a small stack of linen clothing. “I’ll have someone bring a bucket of water. Sponge baths are all we have, I’m afraid. But we’ll be in Bela in two days’ time.”

* * *

Somewhat clean and freshly clothed, Helena found Edmund sitting on deck, his eyes scanning the direction they’d come from. He didn’t look to her as she sat beside him, lowering herself with care.

She let the silence soak into her, soothing her fraying mind. The loss still hadn’t quite sunk in. She’d seen it with her own eyes, her burning kingdom, but it still felt like it happened to someone else.

Finally, he spoke. “Alex is going to kill me for leaving his sister in Madra.”

“Alex is the Belaen king?” she asked.

He nodded. “But there was nothing I could do. Short of tearing the palace apart stone by stone looking for where Cole hid her…”

Helena took his shaking hand in hers. “You did everything you could.”

“Then why does it feel like I failed him?”

He wasn’t speaking of Alex any longer. “Edmund, you didn’t. Stev knew what he was doing. I would give everything to change his decision, but it was his to make.”

Edmund’s chin dropped to his chest, and a strangled cry rattled through his lungs.

Helena wouldn’t let him give up. Not now. “My mother once told me Madra was a glass kingdom.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I didn’t know then she was teaching me a lesson.”

Edmund’s voice was so low she barely heard it. “Glass kingdom?”

Helena smiled at the memory. Her father refused to let her attend council meetings to learn about the six kingdoms, but her mother served as teacher. “Madra has always been fragile, sitting on the edge of its own destruction. Constant wars and inept rulers sent fissures through the surface. Mother told me when Madra finally shattered, it would destroy everything. Glass doesn’t just break. It creates shards, weapons. And once it breaks, there’s no putting it back together.”

Edmund finally turned to look at her, pleading with her for something, anything to hold on to. “What kind of shard did this create? Where is our weapon?”

She broke their stare, gazing out at the rolling waters slapping the side of their ship. She sucked in a breath, the need for vengeance coming on so suddenly it shocked even her.

When she turned to Edmund once more, her eyes swirled with every emotion in each of their chests. One simple word could shape their entire future.

“Me.”

30

Plans rolled through Helena’s mind. A light had entered Edmund’s eyes at her declaration. He was with her. They may not be able to save Stev, but they could reclaim the throne.

She could make Cole pay for everything he’d done.

And she would.

As if the desire for revenge fused the pieces together, she found herself feeling whole once again. This was who she was meant to be.

Madra may have been a glass kingdom, but she was stronger than that.

She stood on deck with Dell on one side and Edmund on the other. Kassander stood at the rail, eagerly scanning the shores of Bela.

White cliffs loomed over the sea surrounded by lush green forests and a white sandy beach. The docks were not quite the bustling port of Madra, but plenty of people witnessed their approach.

Four figures stood at the end of the wharf, waiting. As soon as the sailors tied the ship off, Edmund led them forward.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “Etta can be quite intimidating, but it’s really her horse that’s the scary one.”

Dell laughed. “Her horse? You’re scared of a horse?”

“You haven’t met Vérité.”

The woman who stepped in front of the others was not what Helena had expected. She didn’t wear the long gown of other queens Helena had met. Instead, fighting leathers stretched across her small frame. Long golden hair twisted into a braid that hung over one shoulder, but no crown sat nestled in the tresses.

“That’s the queen?” Helena asked.

Edmund chuckled.

The queen’s stern face transformed as soon as she saw Edmund and she sprinted down the wharf, throwing herself into his arms and wrapping her thin legs around his waist.

Dell raised an eyebrow and Helena looked on in shock. No formality or sense of decorum. Who was this queen?

Edmund squeezed her so tight, Helena thought the queen would explode.

“I’ve missed you, Edmund.”

Edmund set her down. The smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes and Helena wasn’t the only one who noticed. The queen touched his face.

“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through.” Her tone was serious, but it didn’t hold the weight it would if she knew the truths he was really carrying. She didn’t know everything he’d left behind.

A man joined them, hugging Edmund just as hard as the queen had.

“Alex,” Edmund said. “I need to tell you something.”

“Camille is still in Madra,” the man said, releasing Edmund. “I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Alex clasped his shoulder and turned to Helena and Dell. “I imagine you have stories for us.”

“How did you know we were coming?” Edmund asked.

“Ara is in Cana. Near the Madran border. Apparently, the Canan ambassador rode for the border as soon as the rebellion began.”

Edmund nodded as if it all made perfect sense.

“Am I the only one thinking that still doesn’t explain how you knew what happened so quickly?” Helena asked.

All eyes turned to her.

The queen studied her from loose-fitting trousers to soiled tunic. “Ara is a magic wielder. She can direct her voice to be heard over a great distance.”

Magic. Of course.

“Are you going to introduce us, Edmund?” the queen asked. “Or are you just going to be rude?”

Edmund wrapped an arm around Helena. “This is Princess Helena of Madra.”

The queen’s eyes widened.

Edmund continued, pointing to Kass. “Prince Kassander.”

“Edmund,” the king said his name as a curse. “Are we to have Madran forces showing up on our shores demanding their return?”

“The only way I go back,” Helena started. “Is to reclaim what’s mine.”

The queen smiled. “I like her.”

Edmund introduced the others as another man ran toward them. He launched himself at Edmund, thumping him on the back. “Never leave again,” the young man said. Dark curls flopped into his eyes.

“Hey, Ty,” Edmund said. “Meet the prince and princess of Madra.” Edmund looked to Helena. “This is Prince Tyson.

Tyson shot them a grin. “Ty is fine.” He turned back to Edmund. “Matteo is here too.”

A shadow crossed over Edmund’s face, and Helena slipped her hand into his. As they were led down the docks, she leaned in. “You okay?”

“I used to think I loved Matteo. When I left for Madra, it hurt. But not like this. Not like Stev. I can’t tell any of them about Stev. I can’t have them looking at me as if I’m broken. Especially Matteo.”

“You’re not broken, Edmund.”

She only wished she could feel that way herself.

Matteo greeted them, not meeting Edmund’s eyes, and then the royal family led them through the village. No guards followed them. The people smiled as they passed, but none bowed. No beggars sat on street corners. Elderly folk did not live in shacks at the edge of town. It was as if the village was frozen in time, untouched by poverty or strife.

But Helena knew that wasn’t true. They’d fought for what they had. The queen who looked more like a warrior had risked everything to give her people their freedom.

Why couldn’t Helena do the same?

She glanced back over her shoulder to where the sea could be seen between the squat buildings and thatched roofs. Madra was out there, across the expanse. Her people went on with their lives now under the rule of the wrong brother.

And she would fight for them.

Cole Rhodipus didn’t know what was coming for him.

I hope you’ve enjoyed Glass Kingdom. The story continues in Glass Princess on the next page!

Glass Princess

The True Story of Cinderella, Book 2

1

Thunder split the sky, crashing down around Helena. The roar echoed among the trees, but she didn’t turn back.

Freezing rain pelted her pale face as she made the daily trek.

Thirteen long days. They’d been in Bela too long, and all she knew to do was wait.

“Len!” Dell ran to catch up to her, his long strides matching hers. “You can’t keep doing this.”

His words barely made it past the drumming of the rain, but she knew what he meant. It wasn’t the first time.

Her feet picked up speed. “I have to,” she yelled back.

A bolt of lightning lit up the gray morning sky.

“No.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her back. “You don’t.”

She turned to face him, pushing at his chest until he released her. “My brother is out there. Quinn is the only one left besides me and Kass.”

He didn’t say the words they were both thinking. He didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. If he’s not dead. If he hasn’t joined his twin’s side in Madra, then where is he?

She shook her head. “No. He’ll come.”

She turned and trudged up the hill to Bela’s lookout post.

Before he betrayed them, she’d thought Cole would always be by her side. How well did she really know her brothers?

Her fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t think that way. Estevan gave his life to save her and Kassander, he was too good to betray his family. She knew them. She knew Quinn.

He’d come.

At the top of the hill, a small shack sat with a deck surrounding it. Helena had spent each excruciating day since her arrival sitting there. Waiting.

She wiped the rain from her face and yanked open the door. Aron turned at the sound of her entrance, a grim set to his handsome features. Shaking his sopping chestnut curls out of his face, he regarded her with surprise.

Dell pushed through the door behind her. “I thought you’d finally gain some sense and stay inside today.”

Helena moved to one of the windows spanning the far wall. “I’ve never claimed to have sense.”

Aron nodded as if that was a perfectly acceptable answer.

“I tried to stop her.” Dell wrung water from his dripping tunic.

Helena grunted.

A scowl marred Aron’s face. “She has her own mind. Let her use it.”

Helena barely heard their continuing conversation as her eyes scanned the countryside. She’d never seen anything so beautiful as Bela, but it wasn’t the vast thriving forests or plains of wildflowers she searched for today.

“Anything new?” she asked.

“Nothing more than a few traders from Dracon. The roads are clear.” Aron stepped closer to her near the warm hearth. “We’re unlikely to see much on a day such as this. Even with my gifts.”

Helena would never grow used to the incredible powers existing within Bela. Aron’s gift allowed him to see things others could not, and at great distances. Queen Persinette enlisted him to watch for the last Rhodipus sibling in case he did not arrive as a friendly visitor.

Still, Helena had faith in Quinn.

Aron moved around the small room with confidence, sliding chairs out of the way as he set about to stir up the small fire attempting to thrive in the stone fireplace.

Dell’s gaze held thinly veiled hostility. He’d never warmed up to the young man, and Helena knew he didn’t trust him. Then again, he didn’t trust anything in Bela, much to her annoyance.

Helena couldn’t fault him for that. She had a hard time believing Persinette and Alexandre had no motives other than helping them.

Aron turned from the fireplace. “I really should get back outside.”

“But it’s pouring rain out there.” Helena gestured to the window.

“I have a job to do and I see much better outside. My queen has entrusted me with this and I will do what I must.” He dipped his head once before slipping out just as another crack of thunder shook the walls.

“That man is crazy.” Dell flicked his eyes to the window.

Helena couldn’t disagree. The people of Bela had an unwavering loyalty to their king and queen. She’d seen nothing like it. It was… unnatural. In Madra, the people obeyed her father, but only because they feared what would happen if they dissented.

Was Cole now ruling with the same methods?

Anger seared through her blood when she thought of Cole. Her breath clogged in her throat. “I can’t stay here.” Before Dell could stop her, she ran out into the storm, finally able to breathe once she was outside. She dropped to her knees, her entire body shaking as images returned to her.

Flames. Flames. They seared across Helena’s vision until she saw nothing else.

Death. Her family was dead. Mother. Father. A sob caught in her throat. Estevan.

Arms wound around her, but they couldn’t hold her together.

Her ebony hair stuck to her lips as she sucked in a breath. A single rebellion had torn down everything she’d known in one night. Had it all really been that fragile?

“Helena.” Dell’s words warmed her otherwise icy skin. “Len, it’s okay. You’re here. We’re in Bela. It’s over. We don’t have to fight anymore.”

His words were meant to soothe her, to stop the panic clawing at her chest.

But he was wrong. Nothing was over. Their fight had only just begun.

* * *

By the time they returned to the village, the storm had moved on to ravage some other unsuspecting landscape.

Another day. Another disappointment.

Every morning, Helena woke with a small hope in her heart that it would be the day Quinn came for her.

Every night, she went to bed with the weight of defeat crushing her.

Dell walked beside her, a silent companion. They’d struggled to find much to say to each other. Both lost their families, but he didn’t feel it the way she did. His family wasn’t dead. They’d joined Cole in betraying the king, in killing her parents.

The palace of Bela sat on the edge of great white cliffs, across a small stream with a bridge connecting it to the rest of the village. Calling it a palace was generous. In truth, it only comprised four small bedrooms, a common space, kitchen, and a throne room lacking in any kind of grandness.

Just like the rest of Bela, its beauty lay in its simplicity.

Queen Persinette, who insisted on being called Etta, allowed Helena, Dell, Kassander, and Edmund to stay with her and her husband, King Alexandre.

The queen’s horse, Vérité, grazed outside the door as they walked up and Helena headed toward him. Dell walked by her without a word and went inside.

Vérité raised his head, fixing her with a golden-eyed stare that calmed her for the first time all day. The horse had taken an immediate liking to her as soon as she’d met him.

And she’d fallen for him when he’d bitten Edmund.

“Hey, buddy.” She reached out to dig her hand into his damp mane. “You stay safe in the storm today?”

Vérité stepped forward to nudge the side of her head with his nose.

A tear slipped from her eye as his understanding gaze pulled every bit of emotion she’d pushed down right up to the surface. Vérité dropped his nose to her shoulder.

“I’m okay, Vérité. Or I will be. One day.” She shook her head. “Why am I talking to a horse?”

“From my experience…” Etta stepped from the doorway. “It’s because there’s no better listener than Vérité. No judgment. Only comfort.” A smile curved the queen’s lips. “And he’ll never repeat anything you say. He’s honorable that way.”

Helena met Etta’s soft gaze. She’d heard the stories of the Belaen queen who’d fought La Dame… and won. Anyone who had doubts of the tales need only to look at the woman and they’d become a believer. Fierceness emanated from her.

In all honesty, Etta terrified Helena.

When Edmund appeared behind Etta, Helena’s shoulders relaxed.

“Supper is ready,” Edmund said, his voice as lifeless as it had been since they’d arrived on Bela’s shores.

At least one person felt the loss as strongly as Helena did.

She nodded to the queen as she walked past her to wrap her arms around Edmund’s waist. He stiffened in surprise before returning the hug and resting his chin on her head.

“No luck today, then?” he asked.

Helena shook her head against his chest. “Sorry I’m getting you wet.”

Helena could feel Etta’s eyes burning into her back. The two royal women experienced a strange tension every time Helena was around Edmund. Was the queen jealous of their friendship?

Edmund hadn’t told any of his Belean friends what Estevan had truly meant to him, and his morose demeanor put a barrier between them because they couldn’t understand the gravity of what he’d lost.

She walked further into the palace, one arm still hooked around Edmund’s waist. King Alexandre, Dell, and Kassander sat near the fireplace with full plates of boar steaks and some kind of leafy vegetable in front of them. Alexandre said something that made the other two laugh.

Helena’s arm tightened around Edmund.

“I know,” he whispered. “I feel it too.”

She tried not to hate them for their joy, but it had already entered her mind.

“I’m not hungry.” She released Edmund. “I think I’ll just change into something dry and lay down.”

He brushed a hand over her hair and placed a kiss on the side of her head. “I promised Stev I’d keep you safe, Len. Just remember, whether or not Quinn comes, Kassander isn’t the only brother you have left.”

She turned away before he could see the tears shining on her face. “Thanks for saying that, Edmund.”

After rushing into her room and shutting the door, she leaned up against it, whispering to herself.

“I’m not alone. I’m not alone.”

She stripped the wet clothes from her body and pulled on a sleeping gown before collapsing into her bed. Her mother would have chastised her for planning to sleep the day away, but she didn’t have it in her to rise again.

Tomorrow would be another long day of waiting for someone who might never come.

2

“Use your sword, Dell, not your body!” King Alexandre rubbed his side where Dell had rammed him.

Dell stopped. “Shouldn’t I use anything that will help me win?”

“Of course. But in most fights that’s going to be the blade you have in your hands.”

“Unless I’m shit with the blade.”

Alex grinned. “Unless that. Take it from someone who knows, you don’t want to be shit with the blade.”

Dell groaned. He was a boxer, a brawler, not a swordsman. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Why indeed.” Etta clapped from her position at the side of a large oak that had shielded her from their view.

“Here we go,” Alex grumbled. “Aren’t you supposed to have meetings all morning?”

“Still no word from Ty, so Matteo and I postponed a few until tomorrow.” She turned to Dell. “Did you know, Mr. Tenyson, that you have the great pleasure of being trained by Alexandre Durand, worst swordsman in Bela.”

Alex shook his head. “I’ve trained for years to get rid of the title and she won’t let me.”

Etta walked toward him and patted the side of his face. “He’s lucky he has a wife who can protect him.”

Alex trapped her hand against his cheek. “Very lucky.”

She grinned and kissed him before disarming him and shoving him away. Picking up his discarded sword, she passed it between her hands.

Dell backed away as she advanced.

“Sword up,” she commanded. “Stop staring at the blade. It can attack from any direction before you get the chance to react. Watch my feet and my body position. They will give you warning.”

She shifted her feet forward and lunged. Dell only had enough time to block the attack before she made her next move. He ducked out of the way, almost falling to the ground.

Dell had never considered himself unskilled and had even done okay against Alex, but Etta moved with the stealth of a cat while using the strength of a boar.

She peppered him with attacks before finally stepping back and wiping sweat from her brow. “I never feel right if a day goes by where I don’t hold a sword in my hand.”

Dell chuckled. “Bet that works great as the queen of a peaceful kingdom.”

Etta’s smile spread across her face. “I like you, Dell. Come. You and I need to have a talk.”

He looked to Alex, but the king only shrugged.

Etta started down the forest path without glancing back to make sure he was coming.

“I don’t have much time.” She pushed open the palace door. “But we can’t go on as we have been.”

He followed her inside. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sit.” She pointed to the table on her way into the kitchen. When she returned, she carried two mugs brimming with ale.

“Thanks.” He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I may have been fathered by a powerful man, but I basically raised myself on the city streets. Now I’m having an ale with a foreign queen.”

“And protecting a princess.” She raised an eyebrow.

He took a long drink, avoiding her gaze. As much as he tried to help Helena, the princess wouldn’t let him. It was as if she’d forgotten everything that happened before the rebellion. He no longer existed for her.

“Look, Dell…” Etta sighed. “Bela has been through a lot, lost a lot. So, I know the toll it takes. It hasn’t been easy rebuilding our kingdom, but this peace is our reward. I lived most of my life beholden to others, but more importantly, beholden to my own secrets. I recognize the signs. I have tried everything I can think of to get my Edmund back. There was a time when he saved me, kept me sane. When he chose to become our ambassador to Madra, I felt every moment of his absence. But it’s as if he’s still gone. He returned to us, but part of him is still across the sea.”

Dell almost told her. Of Estevan and his relationship with Edmund. Of everything Edmund had done to prevent the rebellion.

But those weren’t his secrets to tell.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty. I can’t help you. Just… don’t give up on him. Edmund is the only reason I’m sitting here today. He’s the reason Helena and Kassander made it out of Madra. I’ve never met anyone like him… but the sacrifices he had to make…” Dell shook his head. “I know what it’s like to watch someone you care about lose bits of themselves.”

Etta put a hand on Dell’s arm. “Then I’ll tell you the same thing. Don’t give up on her. She’ll come back to you.” She drained the rest of her ale and stood. “I must attend to a few things. Thank you for this.”

Before she made it to the door, a frazzled Matteo rushed in, his blonde hair disheveled from the wind and his cheeks rosy from the cold. “Tyson has returned.”

“About time.” Etta followed him to the throne room.

Dell joined them as the young man burst through the door and rushed to his sister, throwing his arms around her.

Was nothing formal in Bela?

Helena appeared at Dell’s side. “I was with Aron when they rode through the valley. For a moment, I thought it was Quinn.”

“I’m sorry.” Dell gripped her hand. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.

Alexandre appeared and reached Tyson is three long strides. “You were supposed to return two days ago.”

“You know mother.” He grinned. “She wanted to fatten me up.”

Dell would never wrap his head around the dynamics between Bela and Gaule. Alex and Tyson were the sons of the Gaulean queen but had different fathers. Tyson shared a father with Etta who married Alex. And then there was Camille who was still in Madra and the sister to both princes.

Alex’s smile dropped. “You went to see her, didn’t you?”

Dell had spent most of his time either following Helena to the lookout post or among the people of Bela. It was there he learned everything he needed to know about the family they now relied on for protection.

The young prince Tyson was in love with a girl who’d only ever been his friend. Once Dracon suffered defeat, the girl returned to Gaule to run her family’s estate.

Tyson studied the ground. “Amalie wasn’t at her estate. I tried, but…”

Alex put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, brother. What word do you have from Gaule? Does mother know of the happenings in Madra?”

A guilty expression flashed across his face. “She knows of the takeover. The new king has reached out to her and assured Camille’s safety and the continuation of the treaty. Mother intends to honor it.”

A stream of curses flitted through Dell’s mind, but he didn’t voice a single one as Helena squeezed his hand, the first sign she wanted his support.

The only hope they had of a peaceful resolution to this problem was if the other kingdoms put pressure on Madra. Gaule was the key to that.

“It’s happening again,” Edmund said. When had he arrived?

“No.” Etta’s braid slapped her shoulder as she shook her head. “We can trust Queen Catrine.”

“Can we?”

“Watch it,” Alex growled.

Edmund held his hands in front of his chest. “Look, I don’t mean to say Catrine is against magic-folk in the way your father was. But you have to see the signs. Non-magic kingdoms allying in fear of us? If Cana or Andes joins the alliance…”

“Cana will never ally themselves with anyone.” To Dell’s surprise, it was Helena who spoke up.

“We can’t know that,” Matteo chimed in.

“Actually, I’m the one person in this room who probably does. You say your friend is in Cana?”

“Ara,” Etta confirmed.

Helena continued. “That doesn’t mean you know anything about it. Most of the kingdoms live in blissful ignorance of what goes on beyond those borders because foreigners rarely make it out.” She breathed deeply. “Cana has no loyalty to one king or queen. They are separated into clans who are too busy fighting one another to worry about other kingdoms. You should certainly fear the individual Canaans with their assassin’s skill, but don’t worry about them signing any treaties.”

“How do you know all that?” Dell asked.

“It’s not important.”

Etta eyed her curiously. “Okay then. We need to maintain a close watch of Gaule and Madra. We have another matter of import.” She nodded to Tyson.

Tyson pulled out an unsealed letter. “They allowed Camille to write to my mother.” He held it toward Helena.

Helena snatched the paper, unfolding it rapidly. Dell read over her shoulder, his eyes only catching parts of it.

…

honor the treaty, mother. It’s the only way to ensure peace with Madra. The new king is an honorable man.

That didn’t sound like the princess at all, at least the Camille he’d met. “She didn’t write this.”

Most of the letter meant nothing to him until he came upon the words he knew would break Helena in two.

Prince Estevan died in his cell three days ago of illness. Cole was going to let his brother live.

The paper fell from her fingers, fluttering to the floor as tears cascaded down her face.

Dell tried to pull her to him, but she put up a hand to stop the movement.

“You could fix this.” Helena’s voice was so quiet, Dell wasn’t sure anyone else heard her until they all stopped. She lifted her eyes to scan the room, finally settling them on the queen. “Madra would be no match against Bela.”

“No,” Etta cut her off.

“But your magic—”

“I said no.”

“You won’t help? You’ll let me sit here idly for what… the rest of my life?” Helena straightened her spine, sending the queen a scathing look. “Madra is mine. Not Cole’s. Mine. My father is dead. They murdered my mother as I hid. I’m not hiding anymore. I am now the heir to the Madran throne.”

“We can’t.” Remorse mixed with stubbornness filled Etta’s eyes. “We have a responsibility as magic-wielders not to use our magic to overrun other kingdoms. We aren’t tyrants.”

“They. Killed. My. Brother.”

Edmund dropped to the ground at the words, needing to see the letter for himself. A strangled cry escaped his lips.

They’d all assumed Estevan wouldn’t live much longer, but the confirmation brought every emotion they’d hidden since the rebellion crashing into the room.

Edmund held the letter to his chest for a moment before ripping it in two, standing, and stalking from the room.

Etta and Alex’s gazes both followed him.

“Oh.” Understanding lit in Etta’s eyes.

“Len,” Dell whispered.

She shook her head, stumbling back until she reached the door. Dell didn’t follow her as she disappeared.

“I wish we could help them.” Etta leaned into Alex.

“Would it really be so bad?” Tyson asked. “We can’t let Camille marry a usurper.”

“Ty.” Alex fixed him with a stare. “If Bela marches into kingdoms to fix them or use the magic to subdue them, it sets expectations. Etta won’t live forever. We won’t begin down the road of dictatorship. That was how La Dame became so powerful. Magic cannot be used against non-magical folk. It isn’t right.”

Tyson sighed. “Sometimes, I wish you guys didn’t always do the right thing. I want to march into Madra and gut the king who killed Edmund’s boyfriend.”

Alex reeled back in shock. Matteo turned away.

Tyson looked between them. “You guys didn’t know?”

“You did?” Etta asked.

“From the first time I saw him. I know Edmund almost as well as I know myself. He loved the prince.”

Alex cursed. “I need to go find him.”

Dell blocked the door. “Your Majesty, the only person on this earth right now that Helena will let in is Edmund. Let them be there for each other. Just for right now.”

Alex looked as if he’d protest.

“He’s right,” Etta said. “If Edmund wanted us to help him, he’d have let us. That girl means as much to him now as you or I.”

Alex’s shoulders dropped.

Dell left them in the throne room to find some solace of his own. Estevan’s confident face flashed through his mind. Dell went against his family and joined Edmund because Edmund was so sure Estevan would do great things for Madra.

He’d been the hope for many people.

And now, like a candle in the night, he’d been extinguished, and all Dell could see of Madra’s future was darkness.

3

For weeks, Helena assumed Stev was dead. She’d seen Cole taking him prisoner in the moments before she’d succumbed to her injuries. One of Cole’s men had stabbed her, and the last thing she’d seen was Dell hovering over her, shielding her from her brother’s wrath.

But something nagged at the back of her mind. She had to know what really happened in that hallway. Every excruciating detail. Estevan was really gone, and she had to know why.

Why didn’t he escape with them? Why did he stay? Why did Edmund let him?

The questions were the only things keeping her from dipping her head under the current of her grief and refusing to surface again.

A freezing wind whipped her hair from her shoulders, and she pulled her cloak tight around herself. In the distance, a lone figure sat at the edge of the cliffs with his legs dangling over the side.

Edmund hunched his back, collapsing in on himself. As Helena neared, she took in the sound of violent waves crashing on the rocks below. Fitting.

She approached Edmund silently and lowered herself beside him, glancing over the edge of the cliff before inching back. “How are you not terrified of falling?”

Edmund continued to stare out at the churning sea. “I fear many things, Lenny. Falling to my death is not one of them.”

“That’s… morose.”

He finally turned to face her, but his eyes held a faraway look. “My greatest fear has already happened.”

“Mine too.”

His lips tugged down, and he ran a hand through his blonde hair. After a beat of silence, he slid back from the edge of the cliff and pulled Helena against his side. She buried her face in his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

“I wasn’t only afraid of losing Stev,” he whispered. “It’s anyone I love. So much has happened in the past few years. Bela’s war with Dracon. Turmoil in Gaule. The Madran rebellion. I’ve been living in constant terror of the people around me dying. Etta, Alex, Tyson, Matteo, Stev, You… Even Camille. At this point, I’d probably even get upset if Vérité died, and I hate that blasted horse.”

A sound between a laugh and a cry escaped Helena’s mouth. “I’ve never experienced fear like that. My entire life, I’ve been protected, shielded. Now it’s all I can think about. How do you live like this, Edmund? With your heart ripped out of your chest again and again.”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.” A tear tracked down his face, and Helena wiped it away with her thumb.

“I keep wondering if it would be better for Quinn to be dead or for him to have chosen Cole.”

“Not dead.” Edmund shook his head.

“But if he betrayed us too… I can’t live with that.”

“Yes, you can. It’s amazing the kinds of things we can live with.” He sucked in a breath and fell silent.

Helena shivered, and Edmund pulled her closer.

The words she wanted to say next clogged in her throat. Edmund’s eyes held so much pain. Was it right for her to make him relive it?

His entire body shook, and she knew he was reliving it anyway.

“Edmund.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment as he got his breathing under control. “Yeah, Len?”

“I don’t remember being taken from the palace. My final moments with Stev are just… gone.” It took all her effort to keep a quiver out of her voice. “I need to know everything.”

He sighed. “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t asked before now.”

“My brother wasn’t dead before now.”

Edmund’s gaze wandered away from her again. “Don’t fool yourself, Len. He’s been dead to us since we left that palace. We always knew we wouldn’t get him back.”

She pressed her lips together. “Please, just tell me.”

“Cole…” He cleared his throat. “He was going to arrest us all. You and I had been captured. One of Cole’s men threw a knife at you.” He rested his cheek on her hair. “I thought you were dead.”

He stopped speaking, and she squeezed his hand, urging him to go on.

He did. “Stev thought you were gone too. But Kassander wasn’t. He and Dell had hidden him. Once the healer said you wouldn’t live, Stev made a deal.”

Helena tilted her head up to look at him. “What kind of deal?”

“If Cole allowed me, you, Dell, and Kass to leave, he’d give himself over willingly and tell his people to stand down.”

Helena leaned away from him and scooted back. “It’s all my fault. He’s dead because of me.” She got to her feet.

Edmund followed her. “No. He thought you’d die whether we got you to Corban or not. Stev sacrificed himself for me and Kassander. Every bit of fault lies with me.”

Helena couldn’t hear any more. She turned on her heel and ran back to the palace. Etta and Alex stared at her as she sprinted toward the room she was staying in. She searched under the mattress for the only piece of her mother she had left.

Her knives.

Two golden-hilted blades came free, and she tucked them into the bodice of her simple shift dress before leaving the same way she’d come. Anger churned through her veins, and if she didn’t let it loose, she’d do something she regretted.

She reached the clearing behind the palace and pulled the knives free. Centering her body with the base of a tall pine tree, she raised one arm. Inhale. Exhale. Flick the wrist. Release.

The knife stuck in the tree with a thunk. She didn’t pause before sending the second in the same arc.

She ran to the tree and yanked them free before finding a second target. Anger and desperation fueled her drive, making her forget everything but the weight of the blades in her hands.

As Helena released the first knife again, someone screamed, ducking out of the way. The knife hit a tree and clattered to the ground.

Kassander’s dark head appeared in the clearing, his eyes wide.

Had she been so focused, she hadn’t seen her brother there? She ran forward. “Kass, you okay?”

He lifted his head, a grin spread across his face. “How did you learn to do that?”

In that moment, Helena realized Kassander didn’t know. No one told him about Stev. She pulled him off the ground and hugged his lanky frame, ruffling his familiar curls.

“Hey.” He pulled back. “What’s wrong, Len?”

Her face fell. Even her little brother could read every emotion in her eyes.

“I need to tell you something, Kass.”

“If it’s about Quinn…”

“It’s not. It’s about Stev.”

Kassander’s brow furrowed.

“He died, Kass.”

Kassander grimaced. “We already knew he was dead.”

“No, we’d only assumed.”

“I don’t see the difference.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I thought you were going to tell me we lost another brother.”

Helena bent to peer into her brother’s eyes. She took his chin between two fingers, forcing him not to look away. “Do you have faith in Quinn?”

He nodded.

“So do I. And Kass, if he never comes, you still have me. Okay, kid? You’ll always have me.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll always have me too.”

Every bit of anger she’d felt seeped out of her at those words. She wasn’t alone. Madra hadn’t only been her kingdom. She wasn’t the only one who would one day want it back.

* * *

Nothing changed in Bela as the days turned into nights. Helena continued watching for Quinn alongside Aron, but he never came. Edmund still went off on his own most days, but in the evenings, he’d sit with Alex and tell him of his time in Madra.

Kassander and Corban had taken to following Alex around, fascinated by the confident king, the man without magic who lived among the magic-folk.

Dell improved with the sword. Not like he’d ever get the chance to use it.

And each moment they sat across the sea, the people of Madra were ruled by a usurper, a bastard prince.

Helena tried to push thoughts of the brother she’d loved from her mind. Still loved? Was that even allowed? She couldn’t reconcile the brother she’d grown up with and the man who killed her parents.

She turned over in bed as light streamed through the window. The smell of bacon hit her as soon as she opened her eyes. The normalcy of that smell was like a shock to the heart. Nothing was normal.

After pulling herself from the bed, she changed into a pair of woolen pants and a heavy shirt before padding across the cold stone floor to the kitchen.

The king of Bela stood shirtless in front of the stove, sweat dripping down his back as he turned over griddle cakes and bacon.

Helena froze, her jaw falling open. Alexandre Durand was a beautiful man. In Madra, the royal family had a host of servants preparing every meal. It had taken quite a bit of getting used to over the last few weeks to have the king and queen do everything for themselves.

It was the way of Bela. Etta may lead, but she did not rule. And her people were more loyal because of it. Because she was one of them.

The queen in question stepped up to Helena’s side. “He wanted to cheer you guys up, make you feel more at home, after…” She didn’t need to say it. After they learned of their brother’s death.

Edmund appeared behind them. “So he decided to walk around shirtless? That’s one way to cheer us up.”

Etta pushed his shoulder. “No. He made breakfast.”

Edmund laughed, the sound making them all pause. He’d been in such pain he hadn’t so much as cracked a smile recently. He froze as if realizing what he’d done. That for just a moment, he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be feeling.

Alex turned. “If I knew all it took was bacon to hear that sound again, I’d have made it every morning.”

Etta covered her mouth with her hands and pretended to cough. “Wasn’t the bacon.”

Helena smiled, thankful for the lightness she’d missed so much. She’d always joked around with her siblings, but never had friends of her own.

Edmund blushed, but shrugged as if he wasn’t ashamed. Helena wished she knew herself so well. She spotted Dell sitting near the fire, his gaze trained on her. His eyes darkened, and Helena pulled hers away.

What would it be like to give in to her desires like everyone else around her? Stev had been so brave, so strong in being with the person he loved. She could only imagine what their father’s reaction would have been. The two men would have been separated at the very least.

What had Helena ever been brave about? She lived her life behind a mask, never showing who she really was.

Stev lived freely. He may have been stiff and formal at times, but he defied their father to give food to the people. He fell in love with another man. He protected her at all costs.

She turned to Etta who still stood ogling her husband. “Are you busy today?”

Etta raised an eyebrow. “Nah. I’m not the queen of an entire kingdom or anything.”

“I’m done watching for someone to come help me. Quinn may be out there still, but I can’t keep wasting time. You say Bela won’t aid Madra, but Madra isn’t alone. They still have me. Train me to fight.”

Dell choked on a laugh. “Len, what do you know about fighting?”

She scowled, swinging her gaze around the room. Tyson, Alex, and Matteo glanced away. Edmund stayed quiet.

Etta considered her response. “When I turned eighteen, I had to enter a tournament, fighting to the death to protect that oaf.” She pointed to her husband. “Every single man I met laughed at me.” She leaned forward. “And you know what I did?”

Helena shook her head.

A gleeful glint entered Etta’s gaze. “Beat them.” She turned to the others surrounding them. “Matteo, clear my calendar. I will be occupied today.”

The queen’s cousin shook his head. “Not today, Etta. We have meetings all day with the traders from Dracon and Gaule. Then you’re scheduled to hold court this afternoon.”

Etta waved his words off. “You can handle the meetings, oh trusted one. Alex will join you. Take Edmund too. He knows this kingdom as well as anyone and it’ll occupy his mind.”

Edmund started to protest, but one look from Etta shut him up.

“Grab some food, Helena. I don’t intend to be easy on you.”

Helena piled food onto a plate and took her seat next to Dell.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“Never been more sure of anything.”

“Persinette Basile is one of the greatest fighters there is.”

“Then there’s no one else I want training me to return to Madra.” She bit into her food.

“You really want to go back?” He eyed her skeptically.

“Do you believe in me, Dell?”

He nodded without hesitation. “Of course I do.”

“Then please… shut up.”

One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Well, okay then. But I get to watch.”

4

Dell sat with his back resting against a felled tree and bent one knee. The chill of the ground permeated his clothing, but it didn’t bother him as he focused on the piece of soft wood in his hands. He didn’t know what it was to be yet, but that wasn’t unusual. He never looked too far ahead of himself. His hands knew what to do. They’d create while his mind was elsewhere.

He gripped the knife between his thumb and forefinger as he dug in.

Etta and Helena stood facing each other. Etta held two long staves in her hands. She tossed one to Helena.

Helena snatched it out of the air.

Etta nodded in approval. “I’ve seen you out here with your knives, Helena. You have good hand-eye coordination.”

Knives? What was the Belaen queen talking about? Len was about as unthreatening as a princess could get. What did she know of knives?

“Thank you.” Helena’s fingers loosened and squeezed in anticipation.

“I wouldn’t thank me yet. Coordination is only the beginning. To best someone in a fight, it takes quick thinking, agility, and anger.”

“Anger?”

Etta twirled the staff in one hand. “Oh yes, that’s the most important part. We aren’t made to fight one another, to hurt each other… unless given a reason. The difference between someone who has what it takes and someone who doesn’t is the ability to channel that anger, to use it and mold it.”

Len’s jaw tightened, and she swallowed. “I have plenty of anger.”

Dell had seen the darkness growing within her for weeks. His entire life, he’d been mistreated and betrayed by his family. To him, it was life. To her, it was a tragedy and a betrayal.

A slow smile spread across Etta’s face. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

The intensity in Helena’s gaze hadn’t existed before. Dell remembered the softness in her eyes even when she fought with him on the beach. The sweetness when he kissed her at the ball. But then, he’d never truly known her. The girl who roamed the city streets was not the same one who hid behind a mask for most of her life.

Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes away from her.

He set the wood aside and leaned forward against his knees.

Etta circled Helena and Len turned to face her once more, letting her staff drop just enough to give Etta an opening.

The Belaen queen smacked Len’s weapon away, and the wood cracked against Len’s stomach.

“I asked if you were ready,” Etta yelled. “Do not lower your weapon. Ever.”

Helena bit back the pain Dell knew she must have felt and raised her staff. Etta’s next attack didn’t take her by surprise. She knocked it away only to be smacked across the back.

She fell onto her hands and knees.

“Get up,” Etta demanded.

Dell jumped to his feet. Helena was no warrior, and Etta went too far.

“No, Dell,” Helena wheezed. “I’m okay.” She released a ragged cough. Picking up her staff, she stood at the ready again.

Etta advanced with a flurry of moves. Helena stumbled back, blocking them as best she could. Etta kicked out with her foot, catching Helena’s stomach and sending her onto her butt.

Helena grimaced, her breath wheezing in her chest.

“Are you angry yet, Princess?” Etta asked. “Or has that been bred out of you too?”

Dell tried to move forward, but Etta pinned him with a glare. “If you interfere, we will find out just how inadequate with a sword you are, boy.”

Even with Alex training him, Dell knew he’d be no match for Etta. The stories of her skill had spread through Madra like wildfire. But he didn’t sit down until Helena stood.

“I’m okay, Dell.” She trained her eyes on Etta. “Again.”

Etta lunged forward, but Helena twisted out of the way.

“Come on, Princess,” Etta taunted. “Forget all the decorum they have taught you. Don’t hide your emotions in a fight. Show me your damn anger.”

Helena struck but there was no force behind the blow.

“You can do better than that.” Etta scowled. “Do you know how I won my first tournament?”

Helena shook her head.

“I hated them. Every blasted one of them—including Alex. Including Tyson. I wanted to kill them all. The only person I’ve ever shown mercy to is Edmund when I chose not to kill him.”

Dell gaped at her. The stories were true? Etta fought for her life in order to take up a position in the royal household of Gaule. But Edmund… why had he been in the tournament? And now she was married to Alexandre Durand.

Priest, he needed an ale.

Etta continued. “Mercy is not something you give your enemies. It’s something you give when you decide someone is not your enemy. Who are your enemies, Princess? If the time comes, will you be merciless?”

A war raged in Helena’s eyes, but she did not speak.

Etta advanced. “Your brother betrayed you. He killed your father. Your mother.” She leaned in. “Estevan.”

Tears tracked down Helena’s face.

“Quinn isn’t coming to help you, Helena.”

Dell saw the moment those words registered. Helena lashed out, bringing her staff down with such force the collision with Etta’s weapon echoed among the trees.

Helena didn’t stop there, pushing Etta back and swinging the long weapon over her head. Etta blocked each move, grinning as she did.

She was insane. There was no other way to describe this foreign queen. She pushed and pushed, goading Helena into action.

After a while, Etta lowered her staff, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat gleaned on both women’s faces.

Helena wiped her brow on her sleeve.

“Okay, Princess. Now I believe you’re more than a pretty face.” Etta pushed her golden hair away from her sticky face.

“Don’t call me Princess. I may have lived my entire life behind the high walls of a palace, but I’m not there anymore. I can’t be that girl in the pretty dresses who throws knives in secret and hides from the world. My family deserves better than that.”

Etta laughed. “We just might make a warrior of you yet, Pr-Helena.”

Dell stood but vines crept over his legs, holding him in place. “Stay there, boy,” Etta commanded. He gaped at the growing greenery.

“Magic,” he whispered. He’d only witnessed Edmund, Mari, and Corban using their powers, and it never shocked him any less.

Etta tilted her head. “We aren’t done yet. Now that we know you have the will to fight, I can teach you how. I could have dealt a killing blow at least ten times during your burst of attacks.”

Helena seemed to deflate, her unsure eyes seeking his.

“You can do this, Len.” He offered her a smile. “I know you can.”

She gave him a nod. “No one will ever best me again.” She turned to Etta. “I have to be able to protect Kassander. He is all I have left.”

“Then let’s begin.” Etta gestured to the center of the clearing and took up her stance.

* * *

The last time Dell had ridden a horse, it was just after a fight he’d lost and it had taken everything he had just to stay on the beast. But he’d had Helena to hold on to.

Now, it was just Dell and the open land. When he’d borrowed the horse from Alex, he hadn’t had a destination in mind.

Helena and Etta were practicing every evening now, and he left them to another night of sparring and bruises. Len refused to allow Corban to heal them. She’d said she wanted to feel everything, that it made her a better fighter.

But he hated seeing her porcelain skin mottled with stains of blue and purple. He couldn’t stand another night of watching the women battle.

He hadn’t planned a visit to the lookout post, but he soon found himself on the winding trail through rock and underbrush. Aron sat at the top of the hill outside the small shack. A lilting melody drifted from the miniature guitar in his lap.

He kept his eyes on the horizon where the sun sank beneath the trees.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a different watchman at night?” Dell asked.

Startled, Aron’s hands stilled on the guitar. “I enjoy this time of night. As soon as the sun disappears, I’ll head down to the village. This outpost is useless at night, but the night watch rides through the woods near town until daybreak. They’re already out there, I’m guessing.”

Dell nodded as he scanned the trees below. “Has there been anything?”

What was he expecting? New word on Quinn? If Aron knew anything, he’d tell Etta and Alex.

The big man sighed. “I wish I had better news for Helena.”

Dell had long since lost hope in her reuniting with Quinn. The man was either dead or a traitor to his family.

A commotion below had Dell and Aron both jumping forward to get a better look. Two horses thundered through the forest as if their tails were on fire.

“Dell,” Aron said calmly. “You brought your horse?”

Dell nodded.

“I think it’d be a very good idea for you to beat those travelers to the queen and king. One of those riders is wearing Madran red.”

Dell didn’t hesitate. He sprinted around the shack to where he’d tied Alex’s horse and untied the knot before climbing on.

He kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and took off down the now dark path, slowing along treacherous turns and tilting too far to the right in the saddle. For a moment, he didn’t know who was in charge – him or the horse. As soon as he reached the bottom of the hill, he nudged the beast into a canter, regaining his balance.

As he neared the village, torches illuminated the night. The few people who still lingered in the streets scrambled out of the way.

When he reached the palace, he slid down, not bothering to tether the horse before pushing inside.

Etta and Alex were the only two present near the fire. Upon seeing Dell’s face, Etta sat up from where she’d reclined on her husband’s lap.

“Dell, what is it?”

Dell swallowed. “Two riders are making their way through the forest. Aron saw them through the trees. One of them is Madran.”

Etta shot to her feet, the mask of a queen firmly in place. “Do not speak to Helena of this. Not until we know who these riders are.” She turned to her husband. “Find Edmund. I think he’s at the tavern in the village. If he’s done drinking his sorrow away, tell him I need him by my side.”

She rushed to the door. “Dell, come with me.”

He scrambled after her. They walked across the bridge and waited until they heard the sound of horses making their way through the village.

Where were the guards? In fact, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Etta with guards. He guessed when loyal magic folk surrounded her, she had enough protection.

As the riders left the cobblestone street of the village, tall grasses sprung from the ground halting their advance. Dell’s eyes widened as vines snaked up the horse’s flanks.

“Your Majesty,” a voice called out. The darkness hid their faces.

Etta froze. “Simon?” She ran forward as the vines and grass receded.

A brawny man with chiseled features slid down to face her. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“What are you doing here, Simon?”

Dell watched in confusion. Who was that man?

The second man dismounted and Dell stepped back. Him, he recognized. Landon Rhodipus. A distant cousin of Helena’s who was famous for leading the Madran units in the war against La Dame.

“General?” Etta looked between the two men.

“I am sorry, your Majesty.” Landon bowed his head. “But we must intrude on your peace here to speak with you. We’ve ridden for days, abandoning our posts to be here.”

Etta nodded, glancing back at the small palace. “Come inside. It’s cold out here.” She walked past Dell and the two men followed. “I’ll have someone tend to your horses.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Simon inclined his head.

She led them into the great room, walking straight to the table along the far wall where a pitcher of wine sat beside a tray of goblets. She poured one for each of them as they all sat.

“This is Dell Tenyson.” She pointed to him.

“Tenyson?” Landon’s eyes flicked to his. “Your Majesty, are you aware that the Tenysons have aided in the takeover of Madra?”

“Yes, General,” she snapped. “I will explain his presence once you explain yours. Dell, meet General Landon and Simon, personal guard to the queen of Gaule.”

Dell reeled back. His appearance couldn’t mean anything good.

“Has something happened to Catrine?” Etta folded her arms across her chest.

“Other than her daughter being held by a usurper?” Simon pinned Etta with a stare.

“It is my understanding that Camille is still in Madra because Catrine has chosen to honor the alliance.”

Simon shook his head. “They’re using Camille as a pawn.”

“It’s true,” Landon piped in. “Her safety is a bargaining chip Cole Rhodipus is using to bring his brother Quinn home.” When Cole stole the crown of Bela, his twin was in Gaule with his army unit. He’d had no role in the takeover and no one knew which side he’d choose.

A new voice entered the room. “Are you saying the queen of Gaule has my brother?”

Dell’s eyes snapped to Helena in the doorway. Fire burned in her gaze. The sudden silence from Simon and Landon was answer enough.

* * *

Helena waited for someone to voice what she now knew. She’d recognized Landon as soon as she peered into the room. It’d been years since she’d seen her cousin and they’d never been close, but he was still someone from home, someone who’d known her without the mask.

“Helena.” Her name slipped from his lips like a prayer as he stood. His eyes widened. “The reports said you were dead.” He swallowed thickly. “That everyone was…”

“Dead?” she finished for him. “Tell me, cousin, are you behind Cole? He had the support of the army, your army.”

“No, Helena.” He took a step toward her.

She stepped back.

“I would never betray your father.”

Her father’s loyalists weren’t much better than Cole’s. They still tore the kingdom apart.

But those loyal to her father would be loyal to her.

“I believe you.” She wrung her hands together. “Now, tell me where Quinn is.”

Simon rubbed a hand across his face. “That is why I came here with Landon.”

Landon returned to his seat and nodded. “I heard rebellious rumblings among my troops long before they revolted. By the time Quinn arrived in Gaule, they’d already chosen their sides. The rebels received orders to make haste back to Madra. Their mission was to return Quinn to his twin’s side. So, they attacked. Most of the loyalists were killed outright, but I escaped with Quinn. We sought refuge from the queen of Gaule.”

Simon scratched his face, exhaustion drawing down the corners of his eyes. “Word reached the new Madran king that his brother was in Gaule. He sent a messenger to inform Queen Catrine should she choose not to return Quinn to his rightful place, her daughter would suffer for it.”

“Camille.” Helena covered her mouth with her hand. They’d had no choice but to leave Camille in Madra, thinking she’d be safe as long as Cole needed the Gaulean alliance.

Before anyone got another word in, the door burst open, revealing two stumbling men and a third holding them up.

“Found Edmund.” Alex grinned. His smile dropped as he took in their companions. “What’s going on? Simon, is my mother…”

“She’s sitting on the edge of a moral precipice, but otherwise in good health.” Simon stood to greet the king.

Confusion flashed across Alex’s face as he shoveled both Edmund and Tyson into chairs. “Sorry about these two. They’re both going through rough times.” He reached out and clasped Simon’s hand. “Tell me what I’ve missed.”

Helena wrapped her cloak tighter around her sleeping gown and leaned against the doorway, trying to process everything they’d said. One thought rose above the rest. Quinn was alive.

Ire snaked through her veins and she slapped the door, jolting everyone in the room. “So the Queen of Gaule will send my brother back to Madra?”

“Yes, Princess.” Sorrow filled Landon’s eyes. “We were welcomed into the palace of Gaule and safe there for about a week before guards came to arrest Quinn and place him in the dungeons. I haven’t seen him since.”

There was one question she was scared to ask because the answer could break her. But she needed to know. “And Quinn… does he want to go back? To Cole?”

Landon’s eyes softened. “He fought with everything he had to keep himself from that fate.”

Helena released the breath she’d been holding.

“Was he planning to come to Bela?” Dell asked.

Landon shook his head. “There was nothing for him here. He thinks every member of his family died in Madra.”

Etta narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you here?”

Simon took a long drink before setting his goblet down. “Catrine is facing choices that only lead down a dark path. I will not let her compromise her character.”

Helena didn’t know the man, but she understood the look in his eyes. He betrayed the queen because he was in love with her.

Edmund lifted his head. “Simon, nice of you to join us.”

“Ignore him,” Etta said.

Tyson released a snore.

“And him.” She sighed.

“What would you have us do?” Alex asked.

“Talk to her.” Simon met the king’s gaze. “I didn’t come to Bela because I need the king and queen’s help. I came because I needed Catrine’s sons. Quinn isn’t scheduled to leave on a Madran ship for another week.”

“And if she won’t listen?” Dell asked.

Helena kicked away from the doorframe and strode toward them. “Then, we fight. Quinn will not be returning to Madra while I still have breath in my lungs. I’ll be ready to leave in the morning.”

She slapped the side of Edmund’s face. “Wake up, you drunkard.”

He startled awake. “What? What’s going on?”

“Sleep this off because you’re coming with me.” She turned to Alex, flicking her eyes between him and Tyson. “Decide which one of this queen’s sons can change her mind and prepare to ride.” She strode to the door.

“I’m coming too,” Dell called after her.

“Of course you are.”

5

Helena slipped into her room and put a hand against her throat. Her pulse hammered against her fingers. What was she doing?

Elation took control, drowning out any doubt. Quinn was alive. Not only that, but he wasn’t rushing to join his twin. The two had always had a bond that nothing on the outside could encroach upon—not even her.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She’d felt so alone—even when she’d still had Kassander by her side as well as a handful of others who cared about her. But Quinn… he truly was alone in a dungeon.

A groan came from the bed she shared with Kass and he thrashed.

“No,” he said. “You can’t take them. Helena!” His eyes shot open, landing on his sister.

Helena rushed to the bed and sat on the edge, pulling Kassander onto her lap. “Shhhh.” She stroked his hair. “It’s okay. I’m here.” For now. She’d have to leave him come dawn.

Kassander’s wide eyes lifted to hers. “I dreamed of that night.”

She dropped a kiss on his forehead. It wasn’t the first time any of them dreamed of burning castles and sword fights in the halls. Every time she saw it, a phantom pain seared up her arm where she’d been stabbed.

“It’s over, Kass. We’re safe.”

“Are we?” It was a question she’d asked herself many times. Would Cole come after them? He thought Helena was dead, but Kass…?

No. She knew with sudden certainty, Kassander wouldn’t be harmed. At least not by Cole. Their brother may have hated their parents and despised Estevan, but he’d loved his youngest sibling. She’d seen it. Not everything could have been a lie, could it?

She laid back on the bed with Kassander. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” He turned to bury his face in her shoulder.

“I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?”

Could she tell him about Quinn? No. By the time he woke, she’d be gone. If she was too late to help Quinn, Kassander would never know. She couldn’t bear his disappointment again.

“Just promise me you’ll keep yourself out of trouble until I return.”

She waited for an answer, but he’d already fallen asleep.

* * *

The sun had barely risen when Helena saddled her horse. She wasn’t comfortable in a saddle, but she supposed she’d learn quickly. There was no other choice.

Edmund grumbled beside her. “It’s too damn early, and my head is killing me.”

Helena knew he meant nothing by what he said. He wanted to find Quinn almost as much as she did. He was just Edmund, a complainer.

“Maybe if you hadn’t forced so much ale into me,” Tyson began, leading a horse up beside them, “We wouldn’t feel so rough this morning.”

Edmund snorted. “Forced.” He narrowed his eyes as he finally took in the beast at Tyson’s side. “No. Ty, you go put that horse back right now.”

Helena leaned around Edmund to catch sight of Vérité.

Tyson crossed his arms. “Unlike you, Vérité likes me. Etta told me to take him. He can help us.”

“He’s just a horse,” Dell said.

Simon joined them, shaking his head. “You don’t know Vérité. He’s more than a horse, but he only listens to Etta.”

“And me.” Tyson sent a glare toward each one of them.

“Fine.” Edmund took a step back. “But keep him away from me.”

As if he knew they were speaking about him, Vérité lunged for Edmund, snapping his teeth and catching the edge of the blonde man’s cloak.

Edmund released a high-pitched squeal and jerked away.

Dell laughed, but Helena didn’t join in the hilarity. She only had the mission on her mind. Get to Gaule. Confront the queen. Free her brother. Then take her revenge on Cole.

Landon helped her onto her horse, and she gripped the reins as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did.

The rest of their group mounted up and without a look backward, they left the village behind.

Helena kicked her horse to keep up with the rest, wobbling before righting herself and straightening her spine.

Dell pulled up beside her, a knowing look on his face. “You okay?”

She only nodded, her lips folding in to a grim line.

Sensing her need to not talk, Dell called up to Tyson. “How’d you get stuck with this mission instead of your brother?”

Ty shrugged. “Alex is king in Bela now. Plus, mother is more likely to listen to me. Alex and Camille have had a… tough relationship. Mother wouldn’t take anything he says about Camille to heart. Me, on the other hand, I love my sister. I also love my mother and know she doesn’t hand innocent people over. We will help Camille, but not this way.”

For the first time, Helena considered how hard it must be to hold the title of prince in two kingdoms. It had been difficult for her to be a princess of one.

But she didn’t think for one second that a queen could be swayed simply by talk. Not one who was said to be as strong as Catrine. What would it really take to free Quinn?

Landon rode beside her, looking as though he was trying to find something to say. “We’ll reach the border by sundown tomorrow.”

Helena only nodded.

“Is it true?” he finally blurted.

She turned to pierce him with her gaze. “Is what true?”

“The young prince Kassander. He lives as well? I heard rumors at the palace.”

She faced forward once again. “He does. He was sleeping when you arrived.”

A smile spread across Landon’s face. “That’s good. Really really good.”

“Estevan is still dead.” Her voice held no emotion.

“Yes.” He ducked his head. “I had heard that.”

“And Cole doesn’t have long to live.”

His brow furrowed at that, but he nodded.

“Two brothers dead or traitor,” she continued. “One imprisoned. One a child. Do you believe in vengeance, General?”

“I do.”

“What about killing one’s own family?”

He shifted his eyes away from her and didn’t answer.

Dell met her gaze with worry, but didn’t speak.

Weariness seeped into her bones by the time they stopped for the night. She dismounted, an ache creeping up her spine. She stumbled as she tried to walk after spending all day atop a horse.

Dell gripped her arm. “You’ll get used to it.”

She shrugged and freed her pack tied to the saddle before walking away.

Simon and Landon got a fire started. Tyson passed around a tin of the dried meat Etta had sent.

“Quinn should have chosen a better time of year to get imprisoned,” Edmund said, pulling his cloak over his mouth.

Tyson shoved him. “You can’t make jokes, asshole.”

It was a side Helena hadn’t known of Edmund. Flippant and uncaring. In the year she’d known him, he’d always had a joke in him, but it wasn’t like this. Had the loss of Stev stolen the man he’d become?

She shook her head and lowered herself onto the bedroll she’d laid out, pulling the wool blanket up to her chin. The nighttime chill seeped through the cover and she scooted closer to the fire than was safe. She wasn’t the only one.

A faint breeze suddenly stopped, throwing them into utter stillness. At least Edmund still had his magic.

Without the wind, the cold grew more bearable.

The men chatted as Helena let her eyelids droop. Tomorrow night she’d reach Gaule.

I’m coming Quinn.

* * *

Something brushed Helena’s arm, jolting her awake. Her eyes snapped open to find Dell hovering over her.

“What are you doing?” She pushed the blanket off to sit up.

He sat back on his heels and scratched his cheek. “You were shivering. I… uh…”

It was only then she noticed there hadn’t only been one blanket covering her. Both now lay crumpled to the side. “You were giving me your blanket?”

He shrugged, suddenly at a loss for words. That wasn’t like him.

“Dell…” Whatever she’d wanted to say, something else left her mouth. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

His jaw clenched. “You’ve made that rather clear.” He stood and stalked away.

Helena kicked off the rest of the blankets and jumped up to run after him. “Dell, wait.”

He turned so quickly, she collided with him. “For what, Len?”

“I’m sorry.”

He pushed out a breath and dipped his head to meet her gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Come here.” He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m only here because of you, Len. You may not need me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”

She pulled away. “What do you mean you’re here because of me? You had to run from Madra for your own safety as well as mine.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked to the sky. “Do you know why I defied my brothers to help Edmund?”

“Because you trusted Edmund.”

“I did… but Len, I became a spy. I risked everything… that’s not something you do just because someone you respect asks you to.”

“Then why?”

He lowered his gaze until it settled on her once more. “I knew what would happen to those inside the palace if a rebellion broke out.”

“But you didn’t know I was the princess.” It couldn’t have been all for her.

“No. I thought you were the prince’s mistress.”

Embarrassment flushed through her. “And you still wanted to save me?”

The rough pad of his thumb scraped across her cheek. “From the moment I met you, it didn’t matter who you were behind the palace walls. When you were with me, you were Len. I never stopped thinking about you.”

He rested his forehead against hers.

Helena’s heart lurched at his touch. She wanted more than anything to give in to the emotions swirling inside her.

“Do you ever wish we could go back to the ball?” she whispered. “To when you realized who I was and no one else existed but us?”

“Every day… without our families imprisoning us beforehand.”

She closed her eyes, a tear escaping. Life behind the mask seemed like so long ago, yet she found herself missing it. Days spent with her mother. Nights spent joking with her brothers. She hadn’t needed the rest of the world. She’d had them.

For a short time, Dell had given her everything they couldn’t. He’d shown her what kind of life she could have had. One of adventure… one of love.

“Helena,” he breathed. “I-”

He leaned in, his lips brushing hers.

“We can’t.” She pulled away. “That’s the problem, Dell. We can’t go back. Those people don’t exist anymore. If I’m going to do what needs to be done, I need to forget about the girl I was.” She stepped out of his arms.

He let them drop to his sides. “Len, don’t do this. Don’t let the anger consume you.”

“Didn’t you listen to anything Etta said? That’s how I’m going to fight.”

6

Rain enveloped the group on the second day’s ride. Dell pushed wet hair from his face and kept his eyes trained on Helena’s back. She was wrong. Anger wasn’t the only way to fight. He’d heard everything Etta taught Len, but didn’t think anger was the point of her lessons.

“Ty,” Edmund barked. “Aren’t you going to do something about this?” He glanced to the sky as another deluge struck them.

“Oh.” Tyson shrugged. “I guess I could.”

Dell startled as the rain stopped. No, it didn’t stop. The patter of it hitting the ground still sounded around them but it was as if the water bent out from where they rode. Like a shield had been placed around the group.

Helena gasped moments before Dell too felt the water drain from his clothing.

“Are you doing this?” he asked the young prince.

Landon cursed and looked around wildly. “You Belaens,” he grumbled.

Tyson shrugged. “I can be useful sometimes.”

What did that mean? Tyson’s power with water was the coolest thing Dell had seen in Bela.

Edmund shifted in his saddle. “Ty… of course you’re useful.”

Tyson looked down at his hands. “Nah, it’s okay. I know my role in Bela and in Gaule. I’m the messenger. Belonging to neither kingdom wholly. You haven’t been here the last year Edmund. After…”

“You left Amalie,” Edmund finished.

“Yeah, that. I spend most of my time on the road. Don’t worry though; I’m the best person to navigate Gaule. That’s something I can do.”

“Navigate Gaule?” Dell looked between the two men.

Tyson sighed, but it was Simon who answered. “Gaule has become a treacherous place, lad.”

Helena slowed her horse to move beside Dell. “No. I’ve studied Gaule with my palace tutors. It was a place of peace for many years.”

Simon fixed his stare on her. “It was a false peace, but that isn’t something they’d teach in Madra. Gaule hunted down those with magic within their borders for many years. For non-magic folk, they had peace, yes. But it came at a cost.”

“And then Alex happened.” Tyson rubbed his eyes as if it hurt his head to think of this.

“What did Alex do?” Dell flicked his eyes between each of those present.

Simon grimaced. “Nothing that should have cost him his throne. He wanted to halt the persecution. Many of the nobles acted out of fear and didn’t stand behind their king when the common folk rebelled. His own council took the crown from atop his head.”

“A council can’t do that,” Helena scoffed. “The only ones with the power to remove my father were the priests.”

“There are no priests in Gaule. The council and king ruled in conjunction with each other. They realized the people would never end their rebellions with Alexandre as their king. He was a magic lover.”

“Damn right.” Tyson crossed his arms.

“Wait.” Dell couldn’t fathom how this could happen. “Queen Catrine took the crown from her own son?”

“Alex let her.” Tyson’s voice held a defensive note. “This was at the same time Etta was marching to war against La Dame. Alex needed to join that fight and he never could have when his duty lay with Gaule.”

“Did Catrine’s coronation quell the rebellion?” Helena asked.

Dell wondered if she was thinking of the rebellion in her own kingdom. That too resulted in a new ruler.

Simon blew out a breath. “We’d hoped it would, but the kingdom was already divided. There are still many who are loyal to the queen, but others continue to sow unrest. Years of rebellions have resulted in food shortages, only adding to the unease.”

“That’s why she needs the Madran alliance,” Helena breathed. “My father said we promised her troops.”

Tyson grit his teeth. “And it is the only reason my sister would agree to marriage in a foreign kingdom.”

“They won’t release Quinn.” She gripped her reins, speaking only to Dell this time.

Dell couldn’t negate the truth in her words. If Gaule needed Madra why would the queen risk the alliance to release a single man?

Simon, overhearing Len’s words, brushed a hand over his head nervously. “You don’t know Catrine. She does the right thing no matter the cost. Her integrity is below none. That is why I came to Bela. There has to be another way. Gaule cannot be beholden to a king who killed his own family to take the throne.”

Helena flinched. Dell reached out to grip her hand in reassurance, but she nudged her horse to widen the gap between them.

He pressed his lips together.

Tyson looked to them. “Simon is right. This is bigger than handing one man over to Madra. Once mother does this, what’s next? Will they hold Camille’s safety over us always?”

They sank into silence, considering the implications of those words.

After a while, the rain disappeared and Tyson released his magic, slumping in his saddle from the effort.

The sun sank on the horizon as Simon stopped. “If we go much farther, we’ll be crossing into Gaule and I prefer not to do that in the dark of night.”

Edmund gazed at the expanse before them. A valley stretched into the night, white coating the grasses. “Snow. We don’t get much of that in Bela.” A smile slid across his face. “Could we not ride to the Moreau estate? It can’t be far and a soft bed sounds nice right about now.”

Dell didn’t miss the stricken looks flashing across both Tyson and Simon’s faces.

“Edmund,” Tyson began. “I keep forgetting you’ve been in Madra with little news of home.”

“Only what the traders brought us.”

Tyson nodded. “Duchess Moreau lost her lands soon after you left for Madra.”

Edmund’s eyes widened. “How?”

“Duke Ferenz has built quite a force. He laid siege to the great house. You’ve been there. It’s built for fighting since it sits close to the borders of both Bela and Dracon. But they stood no chance. The duke’s men ravaged her villages. We won’t find friends there.”

Edmund sat back in his saddle, stunned. “And the duchess?”

“Safe. She now resides at the palace full-time.”

He blew out a relieved breath.

Dell didn’t know the people they spoke of, but their grave expressions said enough. Gaule would not be friendly territory.

* * *

Helena patted the sword sheathed beneath her saddle before climbing on, pride blooming within her for doing it without aid.

She’d slept fitfully through the night, unable to rid her mind of Gaule’s tragic story. A people torn apart by something as simple as magic. In Madra, the few with magic were feared. Most of them took ship to Bela as soon as word of Persinette’s return reached their shores. Some stayed for various reasons.

But she didn’t know if they’d been hated. It was just one of the many things she didn’t know of her kingdom. How long had the Madran rebellion been brewing? Did the people support it? Had they loved her father or brother at all?

They didn’t see the first village until they crested the rise of the valley.

A watchtower stood tall with the black mark of fire stretching up its stones.

The wall surrounding it had crumbled in many places. They led their horses through the deserted streets. Food and personal items scattered along the cobblestones as if a mass of people left in a hurry.

“The duke’s army is camped near here.” Landon took the lead. “We must hurry and be off the Moreau lands quickly. There’s a Madran force patrolling the zone between here and the palace. Once we leave this village, we’ll no longer be able to stick to the road. The forest paths are treacherous for horses so keep an eye out.”

He barely got the words out before something slammed into Helena, knocking her from her horse.

“Len!” Dell yelled, but he couldn’t get to her because in that moment, a dozen riders appeared from the alleyways.

Helena shoved at the man who’d overtaken her. He grappled for her wrists, and she twisted beneath him.

She caught sight of his crimson uniform. Madrans. Rebels. Ire zipped along her skin until all she saw was an enemy trying to subdue her. She slammed her knee up, catching him in the groin. His hands on her loosened just enough for her to yank one free and pull the knife from where she always kept it in her bodice. With one jerk of her hand, he fell over sideways.

She scrambled to her feet, pulling her knife free, and prepared to face the next attacker. A woman ran for her and Helena ducked the slice of her sword. She looked for her horse to retrieve her own sword, but the animal was gone.

Blasted beast.

Tyson reared up on Vérité as the horse kicked his legs out at his attacker’s horse. It was as if the animal thought he too was part of the fight.

Helena turned once again to face the woman who came after her. She judged the distance between them, calming her breath before hurling her knife with deadly accuracy. It struck the woman between the eyes. She toppled from her steed, and the horse ran off.

A ringing sounded in Helena’s ears as the fight died down around her. The Madrans had been no match for the smaller but more skilled group they attacked.

She stumbled back. The last time she’d been in a fight… images played in her mind. Fire. Estevan. She shook her head, trying to free herself from the grip of the past. Would she have to do this again and again to secure the throne? Kill?

Dell jumped from his horse and sprinted toward her. “Len, you okay?” He gripped her shoulders, eyeing her up and down as if looking for injuries.

“We need to get away from here.” Simon grunted.

Dell dipped his head to peer into her eyes. “Len, look at me.”

The scene came into focus again.

“You okay?” Dell asked once more.

She shrugged him off and retrieved her knife from the dead woman as coldness seeped into her. “Fine.” Wiping her blade on her pant-leg, she rejoined the others. “They were Madran.”

“Deserters, Princess.” Landon’s lips tugged down. “The turmoil within the troops gave many a chance to break away. Bands of deserters now travel the roads, no better than ordinary robbers.”

“Why haven’t they returned to Madra?”

“How, Princess?” Landon shook his head. “They have nothing, no money for ship’s passage. Madran troops are sent to foreign countries with no knowledge of when they’ll return home. They enlist under the promise of food for their families. But your father and his wars… He kept many of them in war zones for years.”

Helena glanced at the dead men littering the street. She used to wonder what could drive a person to kill, to rob. But they hadn’t one day woken up and just decided to live their life that way. Circumstances, many of them created by her father, turned people into who they became.

How had she lived her life blind to her father’s faults? He’d failed his people. Cole hadn’t been wrong in believing he no longer deserved to be king.

She could forgive her brother for wanting the crown.

But her mother? Estevan? No, those were the deaths he had to pay for.

Once outside Moreau territory, they were on land owned by the Gaulean crown and patrolled by the Madran force.

Branches whipped Helena in the face as she rode across the snow dusted forest floor.

Each day, they drew nearer to the palace. What was she going to say to the queen to make her see?

Uncertainty curled her stomach, but it was Quinn. She couldn’t let him down.

* * *

The walls of the palace of Gaule were grander than any Helena had seen. They loomed above her, brushing the sky.

Simon rode toward the small gatehouse that looked newly constructed. He spoke with the guards in a low tone.

Edmund’s eyes never left the gates. “Last time I was here, Etta blew these gates apart.”

Helena’s eyes widened. “She has such power?”

“Not anymore.” He tore his eyes away. “There was a time when Etta held all the power of her ancestors. She destroyed her own magic to best La Dame. Now she only had that which she was born with. The power to make things grow.”

Dell scratched the back of his head. “It would have been amazing to be there for the battle of Dracon. To see that kind of magic.”

A new man emerged from the gatehouse and Edmund turned his horse away from them. “Be glad you weren’t.” With that final word, he dismounted.

An older guard in a crisp blue uniform approached.

“Father.” Helena had never heard such ice in Edmund’s tone.

So, this was the man who’d scorned Edmund his entire life. Helena scanned his stern face, instantly disliking him.

“You shouldn’t be in Gaule,” the man stated. “It isn’t safe for your kind even if the queen supports you.”

Edmund shrugged. “It’s never been safe for me, has it? We must see the queen.”

As if noticing them for the first time, Edmund’s father surveyed their group with a scowl.

Simon returned. “Anders.” He held out his hand. “I bring important guests.”

Anders refused to shake his hand. “You abandoned your post, Simon. I should have you thrown in a cell.”

“Anders, I have been and always will do what is best for the queen.”

The man sighed. “I know. She has been in a rather bad mood since you left. She’ll be glad to see you safe at least. Come. She has already retired to her rooms for the night, but she’ll want to see you straight away. Your guests can have their audience tomorrow.”

Helena opened her mouth to protest, but Simon held up a hand.

“Has the Madran ship arrived yet?”

Anders nodded. “This afternoon. It’s anchored outside the cove. They’re scheduled to leave in the morning with the prince.”

Each word stabbed into Helena’s heart. Tomorrow. They were almost too late.

The gates opened, their gears sending a screech into the night.

Simon hesitated for a moment. “Then our guests cannot wait. They must see the queen now.”

Anders didn’t stop them as they rode straight through into a town with rows of homes and shops along cobblestone streets. In the distance was another high wall separating the palace from this outer part.

Growing up in a Madran city, the villages of Gaule and Bela seemed small in comparison. She didn’t understand how their population could live so spread out.

At the stables, two lads took their horses.

They walked through the open inner gates into a courtyard. The steps up to the palace entryway stood at the far end, arches guiding the way. Torches stood on either side of the doors. Guards nodded to Simon, not stopping him to question those with him.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting after the humble palace of Bela, but it wasn’t the ancient splendor surrounding them now.

They walked across the marble floor, turning many corners until she wasn’t sure she’d be able to find her way out. Her heart beat faster the closer they got to the queen’s quarters. This was it. Her moment to save the one member of her family she could. Yet, she didn’t know what she would say.

They stopped outside a carved mahogany door. Simon paid no attention to the guards stationed there, and they didn’t hold him back. He knocked and waited.

“Enter,” a voice called.

One of the guards pushed open the door revealing a lush, velvet-carpeted suite.

A tall woman with dark hair and clear eyes appeared. Her brow furrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Simon.”

“Your Majesty.” He bowed.

“That’s it?” Her voice rose an octave. “That’s all I get? Your Majesty?”

“Mother.” Tyson pushed past Simon and she saw they weren’t alone for the first time.

“Ty?” She softened. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until winter left us.” She held her arms out, and he sank into her embrace.

Helena averted her gaze, tears burning at the back of her eyes. She’d give anything for her own mother to hold her like that again.

The queen looked to the rest. “Edmund?” She released Tyson. “Oh, dear boy. It’s been years.”

Edmund received a hug as warm as Tyson’s. He buried his face in the queen’s shoulder and his back shook as if the woman broke through every wall he’d built with one embrace. She pulled back.

“Edmund.” She tilted his chin so he’d look at her. “I was worried about you when the news out of Madra reached us. Are you…”

“Okay?” A tear slid down his cheek and he pulled away. “I…” He shook his head as if deciding against telling her. “We’re here for a reason. No matter how much I’ve missed you, that is not why I’ve come.”

Catrine’s queenly mask returned, and she gestured them into the room, eying the strangers.

“Landon,” she greeted him. “I did not think we’d see you again.”

“Your Majesty.” He had nothing else to say to her.

Catrine spoke to the guards at her door. “Find someone to fetch us some tea.”

“Wine,” Edmund corrected. “We will need wine.”

Catrine’s voice hardened. “Tea.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The guard disappeared and Catrine shut the door before turning toward the sitting room.

Two long couches faced each other in front of a crackling fireplace.

“Sit,” she said. “Please. Then you can tell me who you have brought to my kingdom, Tyson.”

Tyson swallowed thickly as he took his seat.

Helena remained standing. She faced the queen. “I am Helena, Princess of Madra.”

Queen Catrine’s only reaction was to raise an eyebrow. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that. Seems we may need that wine after all.”

“Told you,” Edmund grumbled.

“We don’t have time for drinks or pleasantries.” All uncertainties from moments before faded away, and Helena knew everything she needed to convey. She lifted her chin, peering into Catrine’s hard eyes.

“No.” Catrine crossed her arms. “That is my answer to you. You’ve come about my prisoner.”

“My brother,” Helena growled. “You will release him to me.”

“I’m sorry.” The queen averted her gaze and stepped around Helena to sink onto the couch beside Tyson. “I can’t do that. My daughter is at stake. My kingdom’s alliance.”

Helena turned to face her once more and opened her mouth to speak, but Simon cut in.

“And what then? We hand over an innocent man to the usurper and he comes back to us asking for more next time. Camille will never be safe while she’s there. You’re putting all of Gaule at risk.”

“Their troops,” she said. “We need them. I cannot continue to hold back the rebels on my own. Etta refuses to send help, so what am I to do?”

“Mother.” Tyson gripped her hand. “Etta can’t send magic folk into Gaule. Even if she tried, her people would refuse, and she’d let them. They will not come to the aid of the kingdom that persecuted them.”

The queen breathed out slowly. “I know. It is why I cannot release the prince. I’m sorry you have come this far. Madra is my only hope.”

“Then you will fall just as my father did.” Helena strode to the door and left them staring after her.

7

The palace of Gaule was foreign to Helena, yet so familiar. Servants bustled by, preparing for the next morning’s duties. Guards watched her, always aware of the stranger in their midst.

She’d felt someone following her as she left the royal wing and knew who it was without turning around.

“They sent you after me?” She said, not stopping.

Dell appeared from the shadows. “You shouldn’t have left.”

“I said what I came to say. She spoke her own words. I’ve lived my life around people who make decisions in a kingdom and I can read the signs of a lost cause. We all needed a moment to breathe.”

“Len.” He gripped her arm to halt her steps.

“We have to get him, Dell.” She turned, conscious of the eyes on her.

Heavy steps thudded down the hall and Edmund’s grim face appeared. “Not here.” He brushed past them, turning the corner into another hall. It came to a stop at a door that led into a practice yard. Wooden targets stood on one end, but no archers or swordsmen practiced at the late hour.

“There won’t be any unwelcome ears out here.” Edmund turned to them. “Tyson will continue to speak with the queen. That’s why we needed him. We probably won’t see him until the morning so we need to go to our second plan.”

Helena’s shoulders relaxed. She should have known Edmund wouldn’t rely on only talk to save her brother. He’d do what it took… even if it meant betraying a queen who was obviously like a mother to him.

Edmund scanned the surrounding area before settling back on Helena. “If the Madran ship has already arrived, we need to prepare ourselves for the possibility that there are Madrans staying at the palace.”

“Would the queen tell us of this?” Dell asked.

Edmund’s shoulders rose in a half shrug. “Catrine keeps her secrets. She would not want unrest within these walls. We’re no longer in Bela where the people trust their queen, nor Madra where the king has immense power. Ruling Gaule is like sitting on the edge of a knife. Many people see Catrine as having stolen the crown from Alexandre, but she saved him from this fate.”

Helena felt for the woman sitting in those lavish rooms. She knew what it was to feel caged by circumstances. But that didn’t mean Helena wouldn’t fight her with every breath she took.

She hardened her jaw. “It doesn’t matter what good she’s done. She has Quinn. Tell me, Edmund, are you on my side or on hers?”

Edmund closed his eyes, shielding her from the war raging in their depths. “Catrine has always taken care of me as if I were her own.” His lids slid open, allowing Helena a glimpse into the pain behind his words. “But she’s wrong now. And I have to do this. I have to protect you, protect your brothers.”

“For Estevan?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “For you. You’re my family as much as Catrine… as much as her sons.”

Helena held back the emotions threatening to spill forth. She wasn’t the girl who could break down anymore. Not when so much was at stake.

Dell stepped forward. “What do we do?”

“Ask him.” Edmund gestured behind them.

Helena and Dell turned to see who had arrived. Reed stood near the doorway listening to their hushed conversation.

Dell reached for his sword instinctively, forgetting they’d been disarmed before being allowed into the palace. Helena felt the weight of her hidden knife, secret within the fabric of her dress. She didn’t want to pull it, but if he made a move, she wouldn’t hesitate.

Reed threw his hands in the air seconds before Dell ran at him, slamming him up against the wall. He pressed his arm to Reed’s throat. “He heard everything. We can’t just let him go.”

Reed coughed. “If you release me,” he rasped, “I have information you want to know.”

“Dell.” Edmund clamped a hand on Dell’s shoulder.

Dell ripped his arm back and stalked to the other end of the training yard before returning. “Okay, brother, what do you have to tell us? Speak before I ask Helena here to slit your throat with the knife I know she has hidden somewhere.”

Reed’s eyes widened, and Edmund cursed.

Helena turned to hide her face.

“Princess?” Reed hadn’t ever seen her without the mask. If it hadn’t been for Dell’s blathering tongue, he wouldn’t know she stood before him. “They said you died.”

She turned to face him and her lip curled up. “They said a lot of things. Like that they were loyal to their king. Or that they loved their kingdom. Lies. Believe nothing that comes out of a rebel’s mouth.”

Reed pushed himself off the wall. He approached Helena, but Dell stepped in his path. “What are you doing in Gaule, Reed?”

“The king sent me to fetch his brother. He trusts no one besides me and Ian. And well, Ian never leaves his side.”

“The king,” Helena scoffed. “The king is dead.”

“Look.” Reed rubbed a hand across his face. “I saw you arrive today and have been following you since. I’m probably not the only one who saw. Luckily, the rest of Cole’s men who are with me would only recognize Edmund.” He faced Dell. “As soon as I saw you… we didn’t know if you’d made it out or where you’ve been since.”

“I’m surprised you cared,” Dell bit out.

“I didn’t.” The statement shocked Helena, but Dell didn’t even flinch. “But Cole… Madra is suffering. Bela refuses to trade with us and Gaule has nothing of value such as food.”

Helena glanced at Edmund. “Did you know Etta cut ties to Madra?”

“No.” He looked just as dumbfounded as her. The Belaen queen wouldn’t send forces in to help, but she’d bleed them dry. Bela had rich farmlands helped by magic. Since regaining their kingdom, they provided much of the food to the six kingdoms.

But this wasn’t Cole suffering. It was the people. Helena’s people. They were hungry before. Now…

Reed went on. “Cole has grown paranoid that someone will try to take his throne. It’s why he sent me to retrieve Quinn. Even if the brothers don’t agree on this now, Cole thinks his twin is the only person he can trust.”

“Camille.” Edmund clenched his jaw. “Is she…”

“She’s fine.” Reed averted his eyes. “For now. Cole hasn’t been the same since the day he took the crown.” He fixed Helena with a stare. “He blames himself for your death, and it’s the one thing in all of this that’s eating him from the inside out.”

Helena didn’t believe Reed’s words. In order for him to feel guilty, Cole had to have a heart, and she knew now that was the one thing he lacked. A brilliant mind. An iron will. He could have made a good king if he possessed the final piece.

“Cole is not my concern tonight,” she bit out. “Tell me of Quinn.”

Reed rubbed a spot on his head. “We’re set to leave tomorrow on the morning tide.”

“Can we break him free of the dungeons tonight?” Dell’s eyes bounced excitedly as if about to embark on some grand adventure.

Edmund brought him back to reality. “No. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time in those dungeons. I’ve even escaped them once with Etta. But they’ve been fortified since then as have the top of the walls. Do you see this?” He pointed to rows of spiked wire lining the walls stretching around the palace. “There’s no way out of the inner palace now if they don’t want you to leave. It’s late, so they have shut the inner walls. They’ll reopen at daybreak but will be heavily guarded.”

Helena studied Edmund for a moment before her eyes rested on a rack of arrows behind him. “How are you with a bow?”

His brow rose as if not expecting the question. “Decent.” Skepticism rang strong in his voice. “But if whatever plan is formulating in your mind hinges on accuracy, you’ll want Tyson’s aid.”

“Will he defy his mother and risk his sister?”

Edmund nodded reluctantly. “Ty will always do what he thinks is right. Gaule is his kingdom. If Camille becomes Queen of Madra, Tyson rises to heir of Gaule. If he believes this Madran alliance will plunge Gaule into further trouble, he will stop it.”

Helena faced Reed. “I don’t trust you Reed Tenyson, but I’m short on allies, and I know what you did for us in Madra. You helped Dell protect Kassander. For that alone, I will not kill you. But I will let Tyson shoot you.”

* * *

“We can’t trust him.” Dell pulled Helena away as Edmund kept his eyes trained on Reed.

“I know that.” She turned her back on him and put her hands on her head. “But tell me another way, Dell. Please, tell me how we’re going to save Quinn without his help.”

When she turned to face him again, the first emotion he’d seen in her other than anger since they began this journey broke through. Her eyes shone, but she didn’t let a single tear fall.

Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. She stiffened for a moment before relaxing into his arms.

“Dell,” she whispered. “Reed is the one who told Edmund where Ian trapped you.” She tipped her head back to look up at him. “I know you want to think of both your brothers as evil creatures, but without him, you wouldn’t have been able to come to our aid in the rebellion. Without him, I’d be dead.”

Dell blew out a breath as the truth of her words hit him. His eyes roamed her face, and his hand came up to cup the back of her head. When he thought of that night and what almost happened, he couldn’t breathe.

Helena had made it clear where things stood between them, and he would abide by her wishes. But he’d never lose the feeling she’d struck in him since that day at the beach when they had escaped the demands of their lives.

He hadn’t known the true extent of everything she ran from that day, but for him… his brothers. His step-mother. His life.

But that was no longer Dell’s life. She’d changed his fate. It now lay here, in a foreign kingdom, with her.

He released her with a nod. “Okay, but we have to take precautions.”

“Agreed.” He followed her back to where Edmund and Reed stood in an uncomfortable stand-off. Despite his help, Reed still worked for Cole.

Helena crossed her arms, eying their temporary ally. “Tell me everything. Your entire plan to get Quinn to the ship.”

Reed rubbed his jaw. “There are tunnels.”

Edmund let loose with a string of curses.

“Care to share?” Dell asked.

“Queen Catrine showed them the tunnels.” He rubbed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe it. “She’s so bent on this Madran alliance, she’s giving away the kingdom’s secrets.”

On some level, Dell understood the queen’s thinking. A usurper king held her daughter captive and signing his treaty was the only means to save her daughter. It seemed so simple. Trade one man for the princess’ safety. But he also understood why Simon had come for them. Why Etta had sent them. Why even Tyson didn’t want to trade for Camille.

What would be next? Would Gaule lose itself to Madra piece by piece? This was no longer about Quinn Rhodipus.

Reed clasped his hands behind his back. “We don’t want Quinn to be seen making his way to the cove where our ship is anchored. We’ll extract him from the dungeons and take him through the tunnels that lead to the sea. There, we will row out to the ship.”

Helena bit her lip, lost in concentration. Dell watched her consider Reed. He could practically see her mind working.

How had she only been an ornamental princess? Madra would have been better off with Princess Helena on the council rather than as the traditional head of merchants after her marriage.

Helena stepped forward, scanning Reed from head to toe. She tapped his leg while glancing at Edmund over her shoulder. “If he takes an arrow here, will he bleed out before he can get to the ship?”

Reed froze.

Edmund considered the question. “He should be fine.” He directed his next words to Reed. “Just don’t remove the arrow. Do you have a doctor on that ship?”

Reed nodded, taking a step back. “You want to put an arrow in my leg?”

“How else would we rescue Quinn without raising suspicion?” Helena lifted her eyes to his. “Are there fighting men on your ship?”

“Only a handful. There are two men here with me in the palace.”

“Do you care if they’re killed?” Her voice held no emotion, only a cold logical tone.

Dell’s jaw fell open.

Reed straightened. “They’re loyal to your brother.”

“Were they there that night?”

Everyone knew which night she spoke of. The rebellion.

Reed’s silence was answer enough.

Helena clenched her fist, but didn’t speak again before the door to the courtyard opened and Tyson appeared, a grim set to his mouth. He didn’t bother to ask who Reed was because his gaze locked onto Helena.

Helena rushed to him. “Have you made any progress?”

His eyes dropped, giving them the answer.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I will continue to try.”

Helena’s eyes hardened, glowing in the torchlight. “You have to know, Tyson… we’re going to keep Quinn from getting onto that ship no matter your mother’s decision.”

He nodded as if he expected no less. “I convinced my mother to allow you to visit the dungeons.”

Helena froze, her words choking her on the way out. “I can see him?”

8

A row of guards stood at attention at the bottom of the narrow dungeon staircase. The first thing Helena noticed was that each cell had some poor soul trapped inside. Did Gaule have this many criminals? Maybe they were rebels.

Their harsh screams and moans sent a shiver down her spine as she sidestepped the arms reaching out for her.

How could Quinn be in a place such as this? Her sweet brother, the best of them all. And this was his fate? Sorrow churned within her, turning over and over until it hardened into anger chilling her heart.

This too was Cole’s fault.

“There was a time,” Edmund whispered, “When these cells stood mostly empty. But Gaule has changed.”

Helena wasn’t interested in hearing of Gaule’s past. She scanned each face she passed until the guard leading them through the dank passageway stopped in front of a set of rusted iron bars. He took a knife from his belt and slammed it against the metal, jolting the man inside.

“Oy, Prince.” The guard sneered. “Seems like someone came to say goodbye.”

Quinn lifted his bruised face and Helena sucked in a breath. His hazy eyes drifted over her, and she wasn’t sure he truly saw her. The beginnings of a beard coated his sharp jaw, giving him a darker look than she was used to. But it was still him. She stepped back, for a moment feeling as if Cole sat in front of her with his identical looks.

Not Cole, she told herself. He’s not here. The fear subsiding, she sank to her knees on the dirt-covered floor to get closer.

Quinn’s eyes cleared, and he shook his head as his gaze locked onto her. He mouthed her name, not making a sound.

She nodded.

Ignoring the presence of the guard, Edmund, and Dell, Quinn scooted across the cell on his butt. “Helena.” His voice sounded as if he hadn’t used it in days.

“I’m here.” A tear tracked down her face, and she reached through the bars.

His eyes widened, and he gulped back a sob. “You’re dead.”

She shook her head; dark curls falling loose from her low tail. “I’m here,” she repeated.

Her strong brother shook as sobs wracked his body. He buried his face in his hands. “I thought…” He couldn’t get the words out. “I thought it was just me. And Cole…”

“Don’t speak his name,” she said, hardening her jaw. “He is no longer our family.”

He lifted his glassy eyes to her. “You found me?”

She nodded.

“You came for me?”

She reached farther into the cell, needing to touch him.

He squeezed her hand as if still not quite believing she was real.

“I was so scared that in the end…” He sucked in a breath. “That you died thinking I betrayed you along with Cole.”

She wiped a tear from her face. “No, Quinn. I know you. I know what’s inside of you. You loved us… you loved them.”

“Father.” He shook. “Mother. Stev. Kassander—”

“No.” She squeezed his hand to stop him. “Kass is alive.”

It was as if a light entered his eyes. “Both of you? I never imagined. Where is he?”

“Waiting for us in Bela.”

“Us? They tell me the queen has agreed to allow the Madrans to take me.”

“We have a plan, Quinn.” She gestured to Edmund and Dell.

“Did you help her?” Quinn asked Edmund.

Edmund shook his head and jabbed a thumb toward Dell. “It was all him.”

Color rose in Dell’s cheeks as Quinn climbed to his feet, legs wobbling beneath him. He stuck his hand through the bars.

Dell took it. “Helena was hurt. I wouldn’t have left her behind. If she hadn’t been injured, she’d have saved us all.”

“I know.” Quinn’s eyes bore into Dell for a moment longer before he released him.

“Quinn.” Helena regained his attention. “Tomorrow, when you hear someone yell your name, duck.”

“Be careful, Lenny.” He leaned his head against the bars. “I can’t lose you again.”

* * *

She had him back. Before seeing Quinn in person, the idea of him still existing was like a dream. She’d waited for so long to just hear him say her name, but the dream didn’t even compare to reality.

The palace of Gaule was a contradiction. The people treated their group as unwelcome guests. The queen planned to send Helena’s brother to her enemy. Yet, they’d been given lavish rooms. Servants had brought trays of cheeses and meats along with pitchers of burgundy wine stronger than any offered in Madra.

So much for Gaule being a starving kingdom.

But this was how it always was, wasn’t it? The average person went hungry while those higher up feasted. She’d lived her life on one side, always having more than enough food. Always receiving the best of the trade from neighboring kingdoms.

Locked inside her castle, she hadn’t known it could be any other way.

But now she saw it in the faces of the men who’d tried to rob them. She heard stories of the rebels who only wanted to eat.

Her mask no longer shielded her from the world.

And it was terrifying.

She rolled over in the four-poster bed that could have fit three people. Plush white blankets insulated her from the cold many of the Gaulean children would experience that night.

Overhead, a deep purple canopy hid the window from view. She pushed back the curtains and sat up to gaze down upon the sleeping castle. Her room looked out on the outer castle. The people who lived there were the lucky ones. The crown took care of them.

But what about the rest?

What about people like Quinn who were nothing but pawns to those with power? Who took care of them?

She let her legs hang over the bed, her bare feet grazing the soft white carpet. Before bed, a palace servant had brought water for her to bathe and provided her with a silk, pink sleeping gown. She hadn’t experienced such luxury since leaving Madra.

Back then, she’d expected it. She was a princess.

Now, it irritated her.

She slipped her hand under the pillow where she’d stashed a knife. Having it nearby gave her some sense of strength. But if they came under attack, she’d be no use against a host of well-trained guards.

Would the Gauleans give her up? If Cole found out she still lived and that his supposed allies were harboring her…

She tossed the knife into the air, catching the hilt with her other hand before throwing it toward the door. It started to open moments before the knife stuck into the intricate woodwork.

Dell froze. “Was that meant for me?”

Helena shrugged and stood from the bed. The sleeping gown only reached the tops of her thighs and she tried to pull it down as Dell’s gaze slid over her. A blush stained his cheeks, reaching all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Thanks for knocking.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.

He didn’t take the bait. “I had an idea.”

“It’s the middle of the night.” She gestured to where silver moonlight filtered in through the window.

“Yet, you’re up throwing knives about the room.”

She walked to the table in the sitting area where two pitchers sat. Pouring herself a glass of water, she lifted it to her lips without offering any to Dell.

With a sigh, she set the glass down. “Do you know why I throw knives? Why my mother taught me that one skill and kept her others from me?”

He shook his head and crossed the room, taking her cup. He sipped it as she narrowed her eyes.

“Throwing a knife requires great concentration. It’s almost as if it takes you into an entirely new world, one where life or death can be decided with the flick of a wrist.” She snatched the cup back from him. “My mother thought I needed something that allowed me to pretend nothing else existed. No expectations or limitations. Just me and a blade. It was never about protecting against others. She thought I needed protection from myself. From the doubts in my mind.”

Dell reached for the pitcher and poured himself his own glass. “Your mother sounds like an amazing woman.”

Helena averted her gaze. “I wish Madra had gotten to see more of her. My father and his priests placed her into the role of figurehead. She was a queen who was only noted for her beautiful dresses and the children she bore, but she was so much more than that.”

“I’ve never heard you talk of her.”

Helena rounded the white settee and sat, pulling her legs up under her. “Sometimes I forget.”

“Forget what?” He moved to a torch along the wall, pulling it free to dip into the smoldering fireplace. It lit, and he replaced it on a hook, his face now bathed in an orange glow. But it wasn’t just the flame. Dell shone from the inside out. She’d noticed it the first time she’d seen him, and it had never gone away.

He sat beside her.

Helena bit her lip. “That she’s gone.” She flicked her eyes to the fire as if ashamed of her words. “I’ve been so focused. I want to avenge her death, but I never really processed the fact she’s gone.”

“I was young when my mother died.” Dell twisted his hands together. “And then my father soon after.”

She sat up straighter, reaching for his arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think. Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one who has lost people.”

He placed his hand over hers. “That’s not why I’m telling you. It took me a long time to feel normal again. To stop looking around every corner for the next event that would further destroy my life. I didn’t let myself get close to anyone or believe in anything. My brothers… Ian has always been a lost cause. But Reed? I spent a lot of years just looking for a fight. And I found plenty. Maybe we could have been there for each other if things were different.”

Her hand squeezed tighter. “If you weren’t a street fighter, you’d never have met me. Or Edmund.”

A smile slid across his face. “I like to think we’d have met no matter the circumstances.”

Energy zipped along Helena’s every cell. The hair on her arms stood on end as she lost herself in the depth of Dell’s crystalline gaze.

She wedged her lip between her teeth, unable to move any further. He trapped her in his power.

They broke apart when someone pounded on the door. Helena jumped to her feet and ran to open it, desperate for a moment to breathe.

Tyson greeted her on the other side. “I have news.”

She gestured for him to come in. His eyes swept the room and one eyebrow rose when he saw Dell.

“I’d feel bad for interrupting, but this is important.” He crossed the room in a few strides and fell into a large wing-backed chair with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“What are you waiting for?” Dell asked.

“Edmund. I sent a messenger to rouse him and bring him here.”

Edmund barreled through the door, sleep still dogging his steps. His scowl softened as he shook himself awake. “What’s going on?”

Tyson leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “My mother will not tell Madra they can’t have Quinn.”

Helena deflated. She’d gotten her hopes up when Tyson arrived.

Tyson held up a hand to stop their questions. “But, if bandits were to overtake him somehow, she would not send her men to hunt them down.”

A smile spread across Edmund’s face. “She’ll let us go?”

Helena sat once more. “You told her our plan?”

“Yes.” Tyson directed the first answer to Edmund before turning to Helena. “And no. My mother is a bright woman. And she knows me. She also recognizes something in the speech you gave her. It sounded very much like the self-righteousness Etta once carried around here.”

Edmund laughed. “It did, didn’t it?”

“Self-righteous?” Helena’s lips drew down.

Tyson was the one who answered her. “Most of the people in Gaule hated Etta. But, there was one thing we all learned.” He smirked. “She was always right. She knew what the right thing to do was before the rest of us.”

Helena couldn’t decide if their description was a compliment or not, so she ignored it. “So, your mother assumed we’d try to get to Quinn, anyway? And go against her wishes in doing so?”

Tyson nodded. “She was blessed with insolent children.”

Edmund grunted in agreement. “We need to prepare. We won’t return to the palace. Landon will meet us with the horses once we have Quinn. If we are to be at the cove before the morning tide, we must leave soon. We have a trek ahead of us. The castle gates won’t be open yet, but that’s not the only way out of here.”

Secret tunnels. Hidden entrances. Maybe Gaule wasn’t so different from Madra after all.

9

Helena eyed Tyson in question as he laughed and turned into a chapel that looked like it hadn’t been used in a century.

“All these years and mother still hasn’t cleaned this place up.” He ran his fingers along a dusty altar before jumping onto the small platform to push at a door that groaned with disuse.

Helena started losing faith he’d get it open, but Tyson reached for a hidden panel. He pulled a latch, and the wood groaned as it turned on its hinges.

Bits of rock rained down as Tyson pushed it far enough for a person to slip through. He shook dark curls out of his face and turned to them with a grin. “Cool, right? I love this palace.”

Edmund patted his shoulder. “Bela will have its fair share of secrets one day as well.”

Tyson gave him an appreciative smile as if that had really been a concern of his.

Who were these people? Helena’s father would consider them the wrong sort to get mixed up with, but she imagined her mother would have liked them. Tyson was as tall as a man and as muscular too, but he had this childlike glee she hadn’t seen since… she glanced toward Dell. Since she’d met the boy of Madra who took nothing seriously.

She hadn’t seen that side of Dell since they arrived in Bela.

But then, she’d changed as well.

She shook her head. Her father would be wrong. Tyson was exactly the kind of person she needed by her side. While she and Edmund mourned, he reminded them there was still something worth fighting for other than vengeance. It wasn’t a childlike glee. She saw it clearly now. Tyson was just good.

He waved each of them through the secret door before shutting it behind them.

“We’re in the wall right now,” Edmund explained of the short tunnel.

“In the wall?” Dell’s voice was close in the darkness.

Ahead was a second door, illuminated by a sliver of dawn light.

Edmund reached it, turning back to them. “There’s a part of the castle where the inner and outer walls connect. We’ve used this many times with Etta and Alex. This hall takes us straight from the inner castle to the outside. We’ll exit on the eastern side of the walls. As soon as we get out, we have to run for the forest.”

They each nodded in understanding before Edmund pushed through the door, letting them out onto a grassy hill. Helena glanced back as the door shut. From the outside, no one would even know it was there.

Edmund took off, and she followed him, pumping her arms in time with her steps. The darkened forest stretched in the distance. Over the trees, the beginnings of a sunrise highlighted the morning.

Dell ran beside her, his chin down as his lithe frame moved gracefully.

By the time they reached the tree cover, Helena struggled to breathe. She put all her energy into not collapsing as she bent, air wheezing in her chest.

“Everyone okay?” Edmund asked.

“Never better.” Tyson grinned. Did nothing affect him?

He looked as if he’d only gone for a leisurely stroll and Helena almost hated him for it. At least Edmund and Dell had the decency to be short of breath.

She sucked air through her teeth and straightened. They had to move. Quinn was counting on them. She began walking, but stopped when she noticed no one followed her.

“Len,” Edmund called. “You’re going the wrong way.”

She groaned and turned to walk past them once more. “What do you expect from me? I spent my entire life in the same set of hallways.”

Tyson took the lead, claiming he’d made this trek many times before. “Last time,” he began, “Gaule was besieged. Alex and I arrived to save the day, of course. This was right after we helped drive La Dame from Bela. Well, not Alex. He was sort of under her power. The git. But when we got back to Gaule, our mother was surrounded. Alex was still king. We led our people through the woods to reach the tunnel entrance and save everyone.”

“You saved everyone?” Edmund scoffed.

“Oh, shut up. You weren’t even here.” Tyson leaned close to Helena as if telling her a secret. “He stayed behind in Bela when Etta was being a right bitch.”

Edmund pushed him. “She’d just had the curse broken.”

Tyson shrugged. “She was still a bitch. Well, it wasn’t really her. She had all this power inside her that controlled a lot of what she did, but that power left her once we defeated La Dame for good.”

Dell shook his head. “I’m so confused.”

Helena only knew the stories brought back to Madra from soldiers and traders. They had never told her the details behind the great magic war—as the non-magical folk of Madra called it. She’d never imagined she’d be traveling through a foreign kingdom with two men who were not only there, but deeply involved.

She knew nothing of war, but they did. “When I return to Madra, will you two join me?” She didn’t include Dell because she already knew he’d be at her side. It was his way. But with Tyson and Edmund… maybe she could take her brother down after all. Maybe she could avenge her family.

Both men were silent for a moment, the only sound coming from their boots hitting the soft pine of the forest floor.

Edmund swung his arm over her shoulders. “You don’t even have to ask, Lenny. I told Stev I’d watch out for you and that promise doesn’t end at crossing the sea.”

She smiled up at him. It was the first time he’d mentioned Estevan without stuttering over his name or shutting down completely. Progress.

Tyson shook his head. “I’m sorry. As a prince, I understand what you might be going through. If someone took Alex or Etta or my mother from me, I’d want revenge as well. But, I can’t go against my queen’s wishes and she wants magic kept out of this fight.”

Something inside her told her he didn’t mean his mother. Tyson wouldn’t disobey Etta, the queen who instilled such loyalty. Her heart sank.

Edmund squeezed her tighter to his side and leaned in to whisper. “I’ve never done what Etta tells me to.”

Tyson barked out a laugh. “No truer words.”

She wished Tyson would reconsider, but it didn’t change her plans. When she walked through Madra once more, she’d have Dell, Edmund, and Quinn at her side and her faith rested in them. She felt for the knife at her waist. A sword Tyson had procured from one of the guards hung from a scabbard she’d tied there as well, but it didn’t give her the same comfort as the shorter blade.

As they walked, she went over and over the plan in her mind. They hadn’t fully trusted Reed. He thought they planned to follow him through the tunnels and overtake him as soon as he stepped outside.

He was wrong.

They would still overcome the Madran party at the cove, but the attack would come from the forest.

As they neared the water, the trees thinned. The forest stretched to the edge of land right before the coast curved inward toward the cove.

They reached the edge of the trees, stopping where the ground fell off over a small cliff. A white beach sat below where the waves crashed, foaming toward the shore.

“This way.” Tyson’s voice brought Helena back to the matter at hand.

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

Tyson jerked his head to the side, telling them to follow him. He put a finger to his lips. They were close now.

Helena forced her tired limbs to trudge the rest of the way. They ceased moving as the rocky cove came into view. Still hidden among the twisting branches and thick trees, they watched. A ship sat at the mouth of the cove with its arched Madran style. Long oars stuck out from a dark wooden hull. Helena sucked in a breath. It was one of her father’s ships. The royal flag of Madra flapped in the stiff breeze.

Helena hugged her cloak around her shoulders tighter and pulled her knife free, not bothering with the sword.

A small boat approached laden with two men in Madran officer uniforms. As the water grew shallow, they jumped overboard, crashing through the sea as they pulled their boat onto the sandy shore.

“Only two,” Edmund whispered. “Reed kept his word.”

She heard the danger in his tone. Saw him fingering the hilt of his sword. Those two men wouldn’t live through the day.

And she couldn’t summon a single shred of remorse. Traitors deserved to die.

“Where are these tunnels?” Dell shielded his eyes against the morning sun.

Tyson pointed toward a curved gap in the rock face. “There’s a door through there. It can only be opened from the inside.”

Edmund retreated farther back into the trees. “Time to take our positions. All that’s left to do is wait.”

* * *

As the sun rose high above their heads, the two soldiers on the beach stood from the rock they’d been sitting on and approached the tunnel.

Helena met Dell’s gaze, answering the question in his eyes with a nod of her head. She was ready.

She crouched low in her spot behind a boulder at the tree line and gripped a knife in each hand. Tyson knocked an arrow, leaning against the base of a towering pine as he watched the tunnel entrance.

Edmund pulled his sword in one fluid movement, holding it as if it weighed nothing at all.

Silence filled the space between them.

Finally, the men reappeared. Reed walked behind them, his hand clamped around Quinn’s arm.

Helena gasped. They’d tied his hands behind his back and a trickle of blood ran from his hairline. Did he fight back?

Who was she kidding? Of course he did. It was Quinn.

A slow smile spread across her face, halting when another movement caught her eye. More soldiers poured from the tunnel, surrounding Quinn and Reed.

Soldiers they hadn’t expected or planned for.

“Well, what now?” Dell muttered.

“We can still get him.” Her voice hardened as she looked Edmund’s way. “We can fight.”

“They outnumber us three to one.” Tyson lowered his bow.

Edmund’s eyes spoke of defeat.

“No.” She clenched her fingers tighter around her knife. “Edmund, if this was Stev, you’d do it. We have to try. I won’t just leave him. If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.”

Helena jumped from her spot and ran, Edmund’s curses trailing after her.

Quinn’s eyes jerked up as she broke from the trees. The soldiers watched her in confusion until she launched one of her knives full speed. It struck the center of the Madran royal crest on the nearest man. He stumbled back, blood soaking his uniform.

That spurred the rest into action. The clatter of swords rang in her ears, but she blocked it out as she ducked the first attack, dropping low and slicing her knife along the back of the man’s knee. He collapsed, a scream she couldn’t hear on his lips.

Another soldier made for her, and she wasn’t fast enough to twist out of the way as he swung his sword toward her. It stopped mid-air as an arrow struck him through the eye. The blade fell from his grasp, and he dropped.

Edmund and Dell reached them, engaging their own attackers. Dell barely avoided a blade to the arm before he tackled his man to the ground.

Edmund twisted on his heel and swung his sword in a graceful arc as he fought two men at once. Helena had never seen a man fight with such grace before. She spared him one final glance before engaging.

Catching sight of Reed dragging Quinn to the small boat, her heart beat painfully. She had to help him.

Quinn bucked and fought against Reed, but two others joined them to lift him into the boat. Helena stood in a daze, warm blood spraying her face as Edmund fought beside her. Everything happened too quickly for her to help any of them. Tyson took out one of the men with Quinn as two arrows appeared sticking out of his chest. He toppled into the water.

Reed and the other men didn’t spare him a glance as they pushed the boat into the water.

“No,” Helena roared, running into the sea, trying desperately to reach her brother.

But he was too far.

Something bumped into her as she waded in waist deep water tinged with red. A sob caught in her throat as she looked into the face of a dead soldier. Revulsion swirled in her gut.

She lifted her eyes to the beach where Edmund and Dell had dispatched most of their foes. An arrow sailed overhead but landed in the water next to the boat.

Helena lifted her arm into the air, launched her knife with as much force as she could muster. Every lesson her mother taught her rang in her mind. A knife can be as deadly as an arrow at a distance granted you know how to make it so.

A scream ripped through the air as the knife stuck into Reed’s arm. Overwhelming despair quickly overcame any satisfaction of hitting her target.

She pushed the body floating beside her away and ran from the sickening stench coating the air. Dead soldiers littered the beach, but that wasn’t what caught her attention.

Edmund fought with the confidence of a seasoned warrior. Dell fumbled with his sword as his attacker advanced. Their blades clashed and Dell’s flew from his hands as he fell to his knees, driven by a kick to the stomach.

A scream lodged in Helena’s throat as a blade sliced into Dell’s side, steel biting flesh. A Belaen blade tip appeared through the attacker’s chest as Edmund pierced him from behind before kicking him to the side, leaving them alone on the beach once more.

Helena fell to her knees beside Dell as Tyson joined them and fired every last arrow he had toward the small boat. It was halfway to the ship when one of the arrows struck Reed in the leg as he stood to force Quinn’s cooperation.

“I’m out.” Tyson watched the boat reach the ship, unable to do anything more.

A tear slid down Helena’s cheek. They’d lost him. Quinn was gone.

But Dell was still there, and he’d been hurt. She turned her attention to him as his eyes slid closed.

“Dell.” She ripped at his clothes, searching for the wound. “Don’t you close your eyes. Stay with me. Please.”

“Len.” Every breath rattled in his chest as if it was a great struggle. “Trying.”

Edmund knelt beside him and gripped her hands to still their shaking. “Let me look.”

She nodded and Edmund lifted Dell’s shirt to find a deep cut. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

Helena tore the cloak from her shoulders and handed it to Edmund. He pressed it to the wound.

Dell jerked and sucked a breath through his teeth.

“Is he going to be okay?” Fear surged through Helena as she thought of the possible answers to her question.

“He needs a healer.” Edmund searched for any other injuries. “And soon. We don’t have time to return to Bela.” He lifted his eyes to Tyson as if waiting for permission.

Tyson ran a hand through his wild hair, emotions warring in his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. We can go.”

“Go where?” Helena leaned closer to Dell until she could hear his breathing. As long as that sound filled her ears, he was still with her.

“I have a friend,” Tyson began. “Here in Gaule. She has a Draconian healer in her household.”

Edmund tore strips from the bottom of his shirt. “We can’t move him until we wrap the wound. Ty, I’m gonna need water to clean it.”

Tyson ran forward as Helena helped Edmund bunch Dell’s shirt up to the broad span of his shoulders.

When Tyson poured a drop of water from the bag at his waist and it expanded over the wound, she jumped to her feet, her heart pounding in her ears. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning it.” Tyson’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I can send the water in and then call it back, dragging any impurities with it.”

She shook her head. Magic.

Tyson and Edmund finished cleaning Dell’s wound and wrapped it tightly. Dell hadn’t opened his eyes.

Helena couldn’t stare at his still face any longer, but when she turned away, all she saw was the expanse of sea and the ship where her brother was now a prisoner.

She added Reed Tenyson to the long list of people who’d betrayed her family.

Rustling came from the trees and Helena turned just in time to see Vérité burst free. He ran across the beach until he stopped at Tyson’s side and dipped his head.

Tyson breathed a sigh and rubbed the horse’s nose. “Perfect timing as ever, buddy.”

Landon appeared a few minutes later with the other horses in tow. His eyes widened when he took in the dead soldiers. When he settled his gaze on Dell’s prone form, he slid from his horse.

“Is he okay?” Landon ambled his thick frame over.

Edmund set his hands on Dell’s chest. “We need to get him to the Leroy estate.”

Vérité stepped to Helena’s side, nudging the side of her face with his nose. A sob shuddered in her chest and she turned to bury her face in the beast’s soft neck. He rested his nose on her shoulder as if wrapping her in an embrace.

That was stupid, he was a horse. But Helena needed some kind of comfort.

She’d failed. Again. It seemed she couldn’t save any of her brothers. A feeling of uselessness sank deep into her chest. Recovering Madra was a far-off dream with no hope of ever coming true. She’d never get to look Cole in the eye and take it all back from him.

It would have been possible with Quinn. Her brother could do anything. She gripped Vérité’s mane, needing something to hold on to.

“Put him on Vérité,” Tyson said.

Edmund started to argue, but then cut himself off. “You’re right. Vérité will take care of him. That horse takes care of everyone… except me.”

Landon and Edmund hoisted Dell onto Vérité’s back before Tyson slid up behind him. Helena pulled dry clothes over her wet ones as quickly as she could before mounting her own horse, never taking her eyes from Dell’s face. A peace settled over him, but she refused to let him keep it.

They’d get to the healer before he disappeared altogether. She couldn’t save Estevan or Quinn, but she wouldn’t lose Dell.

Her heart clenched.

No, she couldn’t.

10

“I’m not going to die,” Dell said simply.

“The illegal fights. Stealing. Do you even have a head on those shoulders?”

An angry flush rose in the young man’s face as if he was preparing to explode. Helena grabbed Edmund’s arm. “Edmund, leave him be.” 

Dell’s anger snapped away in an instant as his eyes fixed on Helena, seeing her for the first time. “Who do we have here?” He sat up to peer closer. “You don’t think you’re fooling anyone in that getup, miss, do you?”

Helena ripped the hat from her head. Her dark curls spilled out, and she turned to Edmund. “Am I that obvious?”

The first time Dell had seen Helena, he’d wanted to get under her skin. He’d wanted to test her, challenge her, to make her face flush with anger. She was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“Dell.” Her voice floated through the air as if in the dream itself. “Dell, are you still with me?”

Always, he wanted to answer. He’d never leave her. But the words wouldn’t leave his lips. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

As reality crashed in around him, a spearing pain shot through his side. A scream ended in a gurgle on his lips as something beneath him moved. Was he on a horse?

He could hear the people around him, but his body no longer followed the commands from his brain.

“Will they help us?” Helena asked, desperation plain in her voice. “I trust nothing in Gaule.”

Tyson sighed. At least, he thought it was Tyson. “Yes.”

“Who are these people?”

When no one answered Helena, her voice rose in anger. “We’ve been riding into the night to reach this estate and the mysterious people who live there. I deserve to know what we’re walking in to.”

Tyson grunted but didn’t answer as he kicked his horse and rode on ahead.

Edmund’s voice filled the silence. “The Leroy estate was once owned by Lord Leroy, the man Alex had executed for treason. His daughter now resides there.”

“Can we trust her?”

Edmund hesitated. “More than anyone else in Gaule. Amalie… she grew up with Tyson. They were the closest of friends even when she was betrothed to Alex. After the war with Dracon, Tyson stayed in Gaule for a time to be with her but returned to Bela about a year ago. Amalie felt she had a duty to return to her family’s estate. The people in the villages nearby needed someone to get them through these hard times. Tyson loved her. That was never a secret. Yet both of them chose duty over that love, and it didn’t end well.”

The words filtered through Dell’s hazy mind, but he only wanted to sink back into the darkness. Not allowing himself that mercy, he latched onto everything Edmund said as a way to maintain his hold on his conscious state.

“So, things aren’t amicable between them, yet she’ll help us?” Skepticism rang in Helena’s voice.

“You don’t know Amalie. She’d help anyone who showed up at her door. That’s just who she is.”

“And this healer in her household?”

Edmund paused for a moment. “Maiya. She was once an agent of La Dame. We all knew she didn’t have a choice in any of it, but after the war ended, she didn’t feel as if she could stay in Bela among the people she’d betrayed.”

They fell quiet and Dell wanted to tell them to keep talking, to keep filling his mind, to keep the darkness at bay.

Instead, he focused on the pulse of pain, letting it leech into every cell.

Without the pain, he feared he’d disappear.

* * *

The guards spotted them before they reached the Leroy estate. Helena watched them approach warily.

“Prince Tyson,” one of them called. “You shouldn’t be on the roads this late.”

“We’ve been lucky, Cameron. Haven’t seen a soul for hours.” Tyson rode up to the guard and stuck his hand out.

Tyson must have been here many times before.

“Lady Leroy is away for the night.”

The tension in Tyson’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s okay. Is Maiya at the estate house?”

The guard spotted Dell for the first time. “Yes, of course. We’ll escort you to make haste.”

He asked no questions before motioning to the rest of the guards and turning to gallop down the road into the village. The road winded between storefronts and homes before coming to a dead end at two massive gates with a small door at the base of them.

Cameron yelled to one of his guards. “Go wake mistress Maiya and bring her here.”

The door opened, and another guard appeared. “Prince Tyson? We weren’t told to expect you tonight.”

Tyson slid down. “It’s been a long time, Calvin. We must catch up, but right now I need a bit of help.”

Helena jumped to the ground, her tired legs almost giving out beneath her. A hand gripped her elbow, keeping her upright. “Careful, Len.” Edmund pulled her to lean against his side and wrapped an arm around her waist.

The guards lifted Dell down and carried him through the door.

Cameron gave orders to have their horse’s taken care of, but Helena barely heard him over the roaring in her ears. She sprang free of Edmund and followed the guards to where they laid Dell on the ground in a stone courtyard.

She knelt and pressed her fingers to his neck, needing to feel his life for herself. When his pulse thumped against her hand, she pulled back with a sigh.

They’d made it. Tears cascaded down her face as the day’s desperation washed over her. What if someone had stopped them on the dangerous Gaule roads? What if Dell hadn’t been strong enough? So many possibilities rolled through her mind, and she closed her eyes.

A gentle hand on her shoulder had them snapping open to find a dark-skinned young woman with black corkscrew curls standing at her side in a long sleeping gown.

Helena wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Please, save him.”

The woman offered her a smile. “You’re the princess?”

Her eyes widened as panic built in her chest. No one in Gaule was supposed to know who she was. She scanned the faces of the guards surrounding them, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Finally, her gaze settled on Tyson.

“The people here can be trusted.” His face pinched as if it hurt him to say.

She remembered what Edmund had said of the lady of this estate. Tyson had loved her once.

“Don’t worry, Princess.” The healer’s soft voice held a musical quality that soothed Helena’s nerves. “You’re safe here.”

Helena’s shoulders sagged as the words permeated the aura of fear she’d trapped herself in.

“Maiya.” Edmund gestured to Dell.

The healer knelt and lifted the bottom of Dell’s shirt to press her palms against his skin. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, lost in some unseen force.

As Maiya worked, Tyson nudged Helena out of the way and used his knife to cut the strips of fabric binding his wound.

Helena’s mind protested—he couldn’t afford to lose more blood—but as she caught sight of the wound, the words died in her throat. Dell’s skin tugged and pulled, closing the gap where the knife had sliced through soft flesh.

Dell’s breathing—a struggle only moments before—evened until he appeared to be only sleeping. The hard lines of his face softened into a peaceful mask, and Maiya pulled her hands away.

Helena choked back a sob. “He’s…”

Maiya reached for her hand. “He’s going to be okay.”

“But he’s still…” Helena gestured to where Dell remained unconscious.

“His wounds were deep. Any longer and I wouldn’t have been able to save him. It took a great deal of his remaining energy to heal.” She lifted her eyes to Cameron, giving him a signal. “We’ll bring him to a room and make him comfortable. It could be a day or so before you’re able to speak with him.”

Helena sniffed and nodded before rising to her feet. Cameron and one of his fellow guards lifted Dell and carried him toward the enormous stone entryway of the great house. Helena made to follow them, but Edmund gripped her arm.

“We could all do with a bite to eat, a hot bath, and some sleep.”

Helena pulled her arm free and ran a hand over the top of her head. He was right. Her oily hair was proof of the need for a wash. Her stomach growled. But she couldn’t.

“I won’t leave him.” She took off through the mahogany front doors. This time, Edmund didn’t stop her.

The guards carried Dell through dark halls lit only by a few candles that burned through the night. They didn’t see a single other person before reaching a simple room with a large bed sitting against the far wall covered in furs. Dim light spilled in through an open window, illuminating the green draperies.

Helena made to pull her cloak tighter about her, forgetting she hadn’t had it all day. The air’s chill hadn’t touched her on their ride as Edmund used his magic to keep the winds at bay. Yet a sliver of ice had still worked its way into her heart.

The guards laid Dell on the bed before turning to her.

“I’ll send someone to get a fire started.” Cameron looked to the barren fireplace. Two chairs sat before it. A long table rested against the wall near the bed.

Helena only nodded as they left. She went to the window, pulling the two glass panes shut to block out the night. She turned to Dell who had yet to move. Pushing out a breath, she crossed to the bed and tugged at the laces of his boots. As soon as she had the shoes off his feet, she shifted him to free the fur covers and pull them over his body to trap him in warmth.

A knock came from the door, and she answered it to find a handful of servants who looked as if they’d been roused from their beds.

“Miss,” one of the said with a bow. “We are here to ready the room.”

Helena stepped aside for them to enter. A young man went straight to the fireplace while two women carrying trays of food moved to set them on the table. Her mouth watered as she smelled the meat pastries and wine.

How long had it been since she’d eaten a proper meal? At the Gaulean palace, she’d been too worried about their upcoming battle for Quinn. On the road, none of them had wanted to waste time stopping when Dell’s life hung in the balance.

She muttered a ‘thank you’ as the servants retreated from the room, leaving her alone once again with Dell. Walking to the fledgling fire, she stood closer than her mother would have approved to thaw her frozen limbs.

When she was warm, she used every ounce of strength she possessed to push one of the high-backed maroon chairs to the side of the bed.

She then stood in front of the table, examining the trays. A bowl of water sat on one with a rag inside. She lifted it and sat on the edge of the bed.

When Dell woke, he would want the grime cleaned off his face. She wiped the dirt that had been kicked up onto his skin as he’d rested across a horse all day.

Each stroke of the cloth brought his handsome face further from the darkness. She set the rag in the now muddy water and ran her thumb down his soft cheek to the firm jaw covered in short blonde hairs.

She closed her eyes, imagining him as he’d been in Madra the day she saw him bathing in the river. Cocky. Confident. So damn charming. And infuriating. She’d hated him and been completely fascinated by him. He was the reason she continued to risk going into the city without her mask.

Where had she lost that feeling? She was still risking herself for many reasons, but for months, she’d only felt this crushing defeat that led to a burning need for revenge. Against her brother of all people. A man she’d once loved with her entire heart—just like the rest of her family who were now gone.

She pulled her hand away from Dell’s face and stood to put the bowl aside. Her stomach pleaded for food, but nausea rose up in her when she thought of eating. Instead, she settled in the chair by the bed, pulling her legs in beneath her.

The movement of Dell’s chest mesmerized her until all she saw was him.

11

Dell didn’t know where he was as his eyes slid open. Heavy furs weighed him down on the unfamiliar bed. Was he back in Bela? How did he get here?

His eyes roamed the sparse room until settling on the girl sleeping next to the bed. Helena. If she was there, he knew he had to be somewhere good. He was okay.

Early morning light streamed through a window, casting a glow along the floor.

An ache began in his head, stretching down through his entire body. He tried to push the covers aside, but his arms lacked the strength.

“Len,” he whispered, trying to force strength into his voice.

She didn’t stir.

“Len.” Louder that time.

Helena shifted in the chair that couldn’t have been comfortable, her lids peeling back slowly. She took a moment to find his gaze, but her entire body jolted when she did.

“Dell.” She stood to get a closer look. “You’re awake.” A sad smile slid across her lips. “I should wake Maiya to check on you.”

As she turned, he finally forced his arm to move enough to catch hold of her wrist. She froze, breathing deeply for a moment before turning back to him.

“Tell me what happened,” he pleaded.

She shook her head, unshed tears hanging in her lashes.

“Please.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, she squared her shoulders. “There was a fight at the cove and someone stabbed you. We rode a long way to bring you to the only known Draconian healer in Gaule.”

Something sparked in his memory. He’d heard them talking. Maiya. Yeah, that was her name. But that wasn’t what mattered in that moment.

“Quinn?” He asked, fearing the answer.

Her gaze hardened. “On his way to Madra.”

Dell slid his hand from Helena’s wrist to lace his fingers through hers. “Come here.”

Surprising him, she didn’t object as he pulled her into the bed, lifting the covers for her to slide underneath.

The warmth of her body burned into his memory as he pulled her into his arms. She melted against him, burying her face in his chest.

“How long have I been out?”

His shirt muffled her voice. “The fight was more than a day ago.”

“Did you spend the night in here?” He settled his accusing glare on the chair as if it was the offender.

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Dell had known how he felt about Len from the moment he saw Ian with her at the Madran games—before he knew who she truly was.

For him, nothing had changed.

But she’d given no hint of how she felt… until now.

Neither said anything for a long moment as he stroked her back.

She pulled back to look at him. “I’m gross. I’m sorry. Edmund tried to get me to bathe and eat, but I—”

“Len,” he cut her off. “You could appear covered in Vérité’s droppings and I wouldn’t care.”

A laugh shook her. “Yes, you would.”

“Okay, bad example. Please don’t cover yourself in horse dung.”

“I don’t know. Now that I know you enjoy the smell of barns, I may have to try it.”

He brought his lips to her ear. “It won’t change the simple facts.”

“And what simple facts are these?” She lifted her face to gaze at him.

“I don’t think I annoy you as much as you pretend.” He smirked. “I even think you might like me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I tolerate you.”

“Yeah?” He dropped his voice. “Then why do you feel so damn good in my arms?”

“I’m only here because I was cold.”

“Okay, Princess.” He rested his chin on the top of her head, his words dropping off at the thoughts her title provoked. Princess. And she’d just lost another brother.

He ran a hand the length of her back before inching it along her side. “I’m sorry about Quinn.”

She didn’t respond for a long moment. “You don’t know Cole and Quinn. Those two… they were as close as siblings could be. I always envied them. But Quinn… he’s good. And Cole will try to take that from him. What if he turns Quinn against me and Kass?”

Dell shifted down to press his forehead against hers. “I’m not sure goodness is something that can be stripped away. Have faith in your brother, Len.”

She nodded, swallowing heavily. “I’m going to help him.” Her eyes darkened. “It’s time, Dell. No more waiting. I need to return to Bela and find a way back to Madra. It’s time to go home.”

He didn’t respond. He’d seen it coming, her decision. Helena had wanted to go back to Madra since she woke aboard a ship bound for Bela. It was her kingdom. He couldn’t blame her, could he?

But he feared if she set foot on Madran soil, he’d never see her again, that she wouldn’t make it out alive. His arms tightened around her.

He released a sigh into her hair. “Len, I don’t want to lose you.”

He didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud until she lifted her head to look at him. She didn’t make false promises, but the determination in her eyes softened. She’d do what she needed. He had no doubt of that.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt and she pulled him closer, her lips finding his.

When they’d kissed at the ball in Madra, Dell had seen every possibility before them. It had been powerful and all-consuming, but it ended too quickly.

Now, they took their time to pour everything into that moment. Len’s lips moved over his as she opened for him, pressing harder against his body.

Dell ran his fingers over her cheeks, her shoulders, down her sides before wrapping his arms around her waist, wanting every part of her and terrified he’d end up with nothing.

The coming trials held a darkness neither of them was prepared for. He only knew he’d do anything to keep the vengeance from shattering his princess.

* * *

Helena hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until a pounding on the door woke her. Before she could rise, the door opened, and Edmund walked in.

She scrambled from the bed but not before Edmund saw her and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t mention it. Instead, he gestured to Dell’s still sleeping form. “How is he?”

“Getting better,” she answered. “He woke early this morning.”

Edmund nodded. “Good. Then we can leave him alone. Lady Amalie returned late last night and has requested our presence at breakfast. First, you need to bathe.” He wrinkled his nose, and she swatted at him.

A young maid entered behind him and curtsied. “Miss, I can take you to your room.”

Helena glanced toward Dell once more before following the girl into the hall. In the light of day, the estate house held a cheerier air. Brightly colored fabric decorated the walls, yet its appeal was in the simplicity. They used no great amount of money on the house, and Helena appreciated the modesty.

The room she arrived at was identical to Dell’s save for a washroom attached. The maid showed her where a fresh set of clothing lay and a copper tub sat, filled with steaming water.

As soon as she was alone, Helena removed her clothes and sank into the tub, allowing the water to relax every muscle.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back. Had it only been a day since they fought on that beach? It seemed as if a lifetime had passed. She scrubbed the dirt and road dust that was caked on her skin, feeling like a girl for the first time in a while. Her fingers worked lye soap into the tangled strands of her once beautiful hair.

Her mother and Sophia used to spend hours washing the dark tresses, brushing them, and pinning them so she always looked as proper as a princess should. What would Sophia think of her now? The old maid hadn’t approved of the things the queen taught her daughter, considering knife skills too manly.

But her mother never cared what anyone else thought. She made sure Helena always appeared the perfect and obedient princess around her father or his priests. But then she also gave Helena the means to be her own person.

The throne hadn’t been everything to Chloe Rhodipus, and it wouldn’t be everything to her daughter.

Helena dipped her head beneath the water before emerging fresh and new with a different thought. She didn’t want the crown from Cole. She had no desire to issue commands or collect taxes. That wasn’t why she needed to return to Madra. Even if Helena couldn’t be the queen, Cole didn’t deserve the title of king. He didn’t deserve the respect and obedience when he’d had none.

She stood in the tub, letting the water drip down her body before stepping out. Someone knocked on the door.

“Len?”

Dell? What was he doing out of bed? She dried herself as best she could and pulled her clothes on, jumping to secure the snug pants. There was no doubt in her mind how much Dell meant to her. She’d seen him fall and her heart stopped. But she didn’t have the luxury of being an infatuated girl. She had to be hard, cold, and calculated. She could no longer be the pretty princess behind the mask. It was time to be a warrior.

Feet still bare, she padded across the cold stone floor to let Dell into the room. He practically fell in as she opened the door.

“Hey.” She caught him around the waist. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

“You were gone when I woke. One of the servants told me where I’d find you.”

A smile tried to break free, but she held it back. “Lady Amalie wants to see us.”

“I’m coming.”

“Dell…”

“I can’t stay in bed anymore. I’m okay.”

She studied him for a moment and narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Wait here for a second.” She shifted him so he could use the doorframe for support and went to retrieve her boots. Dry mud still covered them, but they’d have to do.

After pulling them on, she ducked under Dell’s arm and let him lean on her to walk down the hall. As a few servants eyed them, Dell leaned in to whisper. “Does this place give you the creeps?”

“A bit,” she admitted. It was as if ghosts of a brutal past roamed the halls. Lord Leroy and his eldest daughter were long dead, but their influence must have lived on.

“I heard a few maids talking when they thought I was asleep. Lady Amalie fought to recover this estate after the queen seized it.”

“She fought the queen?”

“Her father was a traitor, and the crown has rights to a traitor’s lands, but…”

“But Amalie was no traitor,” she finished for him. How could the queen take everything from the woman her son loved? “Do you think she knew about Tyson and Amalie?”

Dell shook his head. “I hope she didn’t. If she did… that’s just wrong.” He was quiet for a moment. “They say Amalie’s hard. She disappears for days at a time and no one other than a few trusted people know where she goes.”

Helena swallowed, not relishing the thought of meeting the woman. Then she thought of Tyson. The man with a boyish charm and infectious joy. How could he love someone with ice in their heart?

The same way Dell could have feelings for Helena, she supposed.

They reached the dining hall where Edmund and Tyson sat at a long table. Tyson jumped up when he saw them and ran forward to help Dell.

“I told him he should have stayed in bed.” Helena shook her head as Dell stumbled and latched on to Tyson’s arm.

Tyson didn’t respond as he’d gone still. Helena followed his line of sight to a woman standing in the doorway. An elegant deep green gown hung from her slim frame. Golden laces ran the length of her sides from bodice to skirt.

Chestnut hair spread around her shoulders in ringlets, framing a heart-shaped face. Wide dark eyes sat in contrast to her pale skin. Her chest rose as if she prepared herself for something difficult before stepping farther into the room.

“Edmund.” Her pink lips pulled into a tentative smile as she walked past Tyson without so much as a glance.

Edmund rose and stepped around the table to hold his arms out. “Amalie.” He grinned. “Beautiful as ever.”

She stepped into his hug. “It’s been too long.”

He chuckled. “I don’t make a habit of entering Gaule if I don’t have to and seeing as you no longer visit us in Bela…”

She pulled away and flattened her palms against her stomach. The smile that had been there before was no longer visible. “I have too much to do here. I can’t just leave.”

Tyson grunted as he helped Dell down into a chair. “If you don’t leave, where were you when we arrived?”

Amalie turned a scowl on him. “That is none of your concern, Prince.” She said the title as if it were a weapon before facing Dell. “Is this the man Maiya healed? He shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“That’s what I said,” Helena muttered. She thought no one had heard her until Amalie fixed her with a suspicious glare. “Edmund, Tyson, what trouble have you brought to my door? Cameron said something about a princess.”

Edmund rubbed the back of his neck. “Amalie, meet Helena of Madra.”

Amalie only raised an eyebrow at that. “The dead princess? She looks very much alive to me.” Amalie crossed her arms, moving on from Helena and scanning the rest of the faces there. “I know you have only come to my door because you had no other choice, but while you are here, I have rules.”

“Rules.” Tyson scoffed.

She narrowed her eyes. “First, this is no longer my father’s house. The people here will be treated with respect, even the ones who served my father or sister. I have worked very hard to cultivate loyalty. I come from a family of traitors, but that is in the past.”

Edmund nodded. “We wouldn’t dream of pissing you off.”

Amalie almost cracked a smile. Almost. “Elegant, Edmund, as ever.”

“That was only one rule.” Helena sat beside Dell.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you, Princess?”

Dell tried to sit up straighter before slumping back. “You ask for respect and then give none.”

Amalie pushed her hair over one shoulder, regarding him. “Rule number two, you stay out of my way. I don’t want to see anything from you or hear anything. My people will take care of you, but I have sensitive goings on at this estate, and I will not have you butting your heads in where you’re not wanted.”

“What has happened to you, Amalie?” Edmund shook his head, sadness in his gaze.

Amalie pinched her lips together as she considered him. “What has happened to me? In the three years since I rode to fight La Dame, I have seen Gaule descend into a pit of hunger and despair. I returned to my family estate, only to find it seized by the crown. It took events I will not speak of to win it back. My only goal in this life is to see all those who live on my land fed. As the nobles sit in their estates feasting, the people starve. And what does the queen do about it? She allows these same nobles to control every food shipment, every trading route. She never even leaves her damn palace. I’m sorry Edmund, but I have long since lost faith in queens or nobles.” She glanced sideways at Tyson. “Or princes.”

With that final word, she turned on her heel and left them all staring after her.

Tyson collapsed into a chair.

Edmund’s jaw opened and closed as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. He settled for, “Well, I’d say she’s changed.”

“I don’t know.” Dell leaned forward against the table. “I always felt the same way. I saw hunger in Madra every day. Yet the king did nothing but levy more taxes and take more food for his armies.”

Tyson buried his head in his hands. “Amalie resents that I stayed in Bela away from the problems of Gaule even though she told me to go. The last time I saw her, she called me a coward. Maybe I am.”

“Ty.” Edmund’s hand landed on his shoulder. “You fought your war. Everyone in Bela did. Peace is their reward for generations of abuse.”

Two servants entered the hall, both carrying trays. They set a bowl and a plate before each person present before leaving as silently as they’d come.

Helena regarded the food before her. Thin broth, a bread roll, and a piece of salted fish. Respect grew within her. Amalie wasn’t only a woman with high ideals, she actually walked the walk. This meal couldn’t have been any better than what the people in the village were eating.

She dipped her spoon into the bowl and brought the tasteless broth to her lips. They ate in silence.

When they were finished, Edmund helped Dell back to his room. Tyson disappeared. Helena wandered the halls of the barren estate, her mind wondering about the traitorous acts carried out within those walls.

She skimmed her hand along a wooden banister as she ascended a staircase into the upper levels of the house. She came to a crossing of hallways. Looking down one, it seemed only to be the servants’ quarters. But the other… the glow of a lantern seeped through a doorway.

Helena couldn’t stop her feet from moving that way.

Voices drifted into the hall.

“Did you find them?” Cameron. At least she thought it was the guard.

“I tried.” Amalie’s voice was much softer than it had been before. “We’re going to need to search farther out. Tuck is already out looking. We came upon a string of wagons headed for Duke Ingold’s estate. I have the boys out distributing the food right now.”

“That was lucky.” Cameron paused. “Did you have to…” He stopped as if cut off.

“No one died. We knocked out the wagoneers and left them far enough back from the road that bandits wouldn’t have found them before waking.”

Helena couldn’t wrap her mind around what she was hearing. Amalie was… stealing? For her people, but still… they could hang her for the offense.

She inched back along the wall and down the stairs. Her breathing didn’t even out until she was back in her room. She settled in a chair by the fire and stared into the glowing flames until a knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.

She sighed. What did they want now? Edmund and Dell both had nasty habits of barging in without knocking so it must have been Tyson, and she didn’t think she could take his morose attitude for one moment longer.

Opening the door, she reeled back as Amalie’s face came into view.

“I know it’s late.” Amalie spoke with none of the confidence she’d had before. “But may I come in?”

Helena nodded and stepped back to allow the young woman entrance.

Amalie shut the door and took no time in dropping into a chair, exhaustion tugging at the features on her face.

“I—” Helena started, but Amalie shook her head.

“I must apologize for the way I spoke earlier. Whenever Tyson shows up, I see only anger.”

Helena sat in the chair opposite her. “It’s okay.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not. But many… things are hard right now, and he only makes them more difficult.”

Helena couldn’t look at Amalie without a chorus of thief running through her mind, but her mother raised her to hide her own thoughts, so she smiled in sympathy.

“I’m sorry we had to come here.”

Amalie waved her words away. “I’m glad Maiya could help. I know she misses using her magic regularly, although my people give her plenty of opportunities. Look, I wanted to talk to you because I obviously know who you are. Not only that, I understand. Ty would like to think I’m this hard, unbreakable person now, but I still know who I am and where I’ve come from. My father and sister betrayed the king. I know it’s different for you because your father was the king when your brother betrayed him.”

Helena let the girl ramble.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need me dredging this up. What I really wanted to ask is what you plan to do about it?”

“Do?”

“I got my revenge on my father when I fought him in battle and I continue to live my vengeance every day as I run his estate while he’s buried deep in an unmarked traitor’s grave.”

Vengeance. The thing Helena had pledged to enact on Cole but had made no move to do so.

She shifted in her seat. “I’m going back to Madra.”

A grim smile slithered across Amalie’s face. “Do Edmund and Tyson know this? They’ve been raised around an army. Plan. Plan. Plan. I much prefer to let spontaneity be my weapon.”

Helena shook her head. “They won’t come. Well, at least Tyson won’t.” As she said it, she knew it was true. But Edmund? It was one thing speaking the words in the woods of Gaule, but actually bringing Edmund back to Madra was another matter. Why should Edmund and Tyson leave the safety of Bela? Edmund may have lived in Madra, but it wasn’t his kingdom. Without Estevan there, it held nothing for him. No, Cole was her responsibility. None of this would stop until she faced him.

“I have someone you need to meet.” Amalie shot to her feet. “Come.”

Helena followed Amalie through the halls until they reached the courtyard. Instead of turning toward the gate, she veered around the corner to where a set of barracks stood at the back of the estate. Their walls leaned in on each other as if they might fall and pieces of thatching littered the ground.

“We haven’t had the funds to repair the barracks, but my people don’t care. They don’t spend much time here, anyway.”

Helena glanced from side to side nervously as they ducked inside. Rows of bunks lined each wall, but most stood empty. Only a few people lingered about. Amalie nodded to each. In the back, she stopped in front of an occupied bunk. A monster of a man slept with his legs dangling over the end.

Amalie kicked the bed. “Will. Oy, wake up.”

The big man stirred but didn’t wake. “Will.”

He cracked one eye open. “Shove off, Ames.”

“Get your hairy ass out of this bed right now, or I will stick an arrow right through your thick skull.”

He groaned and rolled over.

Helena sucked in a breath as she caught sight of the line of tattoos snaking down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. A Madran Mercenary.

“I’m counting, Will.” Amalie tapped her foot. “One. Two…”

“I’m getting up.” He sat and rubbed a hand across his angular jaw before pushing his long, dark hair away from his face. “I was up late because someone knocked out a couple of traders who obviously hadn’t been starving by the weight of them.”

Amalie’s eyes widened as they flicked to Helena. Will, seeing her for the first time, scrunched his brow.

“Who is she?” He jabbed his thumb toward Helena but kept his eyes on Amalie.

Helena’s heart seized as he turned his gaze on her and slid it down her body. She’d never been face to face with a mercenary before.

Amalie ignored the question. “Do you remember the story you told me of how Quinn Rhodipus saved your life when the Madran army captured you in Cana?”

He nodded, hesitation in his eyes.

“Who did he save you from?”

Helena got the impression Amalie already knew the answer, and the question was only for her benefit.

“His own priest damned brother,” Will spat. “I’ll never forget that. When Cole Rhodipus controlled the army, he viewed mercenaries as traitors. I can’t believe that blasted bastard is king now.”

Helena understood now. Why Amalie had brought her to this man. She had allies.

Amalie bit her lip for a moment before turning to face Helena. “Will has contacts in Bela. Traders. It’s how we… let’s just say he’s an asset to me. He can get you to Madra.”

Will scowled. “Ames, I work for you. I’m not helping some blasted…” His eyes scanned her again. “Noble get across the sea unless you give me a priest damned good reason.”

Summoning every ounce of courage she could muster, Helena stuck out her hand. “Helena Rhodipus, rightful heir to the Madran throne. How do you feel about a little vengeance?”

Will stood, taking his time to examine the truth in her eyes. “You are her, aren’t you? The masked princess?” He grasped her hand. “I’m a mercenary, doll. We’re always prepared to fight.” He considered her for a moment longer. “I won’t set foot in that kingdom again, but if finding you a way across aids in taking down that bastard king, I will do it.”

That was it.

The plans formed in her mind. No more waiting. She was going to Madra.

12

Helena gripped the horn of her saddle, every muscle eager to begin the journey back to Madra. Will’s words the night before ran through her mind. He knew more about the current situation in Madra than he should have, but each time mercenaries passed through, they stopped to try to convince him to join them. His family was well-respected within their ranks.

A ship. That was the first part of the plan. Then a place to stay once she reached Madra. He’d told her the mercenaries were staying out of the city but that there were rebels hidden throughout. A bakery held their secrets and she’d find them there. They would help her get into the palace.

No one knew of her meeting the night before, and now Will was nowhere to be found. He’d travel into Bela by a different route. Madran mercenaries weren’t welcome in the kingdom they’d fought to destroy only a few years ago.

Deep-seated resentment ran through every bit of Bela, and it would probably never go away. It didn’t matter that the mercenaries were only doing a job they were paid handsomely to do. They’d had no loyalty to La Dame. Loyalty was a foreign concept to them altogether.

Helena’s eyes slid over Tyson, Edmund, and Landon. What would they think if they knew she planned to put her trust in someone they’d consider an enemy?

What would Dell think? He didn’t have the same hatred inside him, but she hadn’t told him, and she didn’t know why.

Beside her, Vérité lifted his head as if giving his approval. The horse was right. They’d wasted enough time waiting for Dell to recover from the healing. But it hadn’t been wasted if he recovered, had it? Her anxiousness to return home overrode all sense.

Dell’s exhaustion would last a while longer. Helena had enough experience with healing to know that. She observed him for any sign of struggle. He showed none.

After meeting Will, she’d slipped into Dell’s room to find him thrashing on the bed. He only calmed when she crawled in beside him and wrapped her body around his.

He hadn’t woken, but his heart had slowed, and his breathing had evened. His body may recover but his mind… that would take longer. She could still remember the moment before a knife sliced into her as she fought during the rebellion. The second she thought it was the end.

It wasn’t something she’d ever forget and now Dell had a similar memory. The bite of metal sliding into his flesh would be forever burned into his brain. He’d been a street fighter in Madra, but his weapon had only been his fists.

She tore her eyes away from him to find Tyson standing in front of Vérité feeding him an apple.

Edmund mounted his horse. “Is Amalie coming to wish us well?”

Maiya appeared at his words, walking down the steps until she stood in front of them. “Mistress Amalie had to take care of something. She wishes you well on your travels.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Tyson grumbled under his breath. Was he upset she didn’t bother to say goodbye or that they’d come there in the first place?

Helena hadn’t missed his many glances toward Amalie when he thought no one was looking. His eyes held a longing that sent a crack right through the center of her heart. He still loved her, but something in Helena told her Tyson didn’t know the girl who ran this house. Not anymore. She had her own secrets now, just as they all did.

Helena’s eyes drifted back to Dell. Were her secrets going to break them? She wanted to tell him to come with her. To stand by her side. But Cole would kill Dell without a second thought. She didn’t believe Cole wanted to kill her. It was maybe a foolish hope, but if true, his hesitation would be her opening. Cole never loved Estevan or their parents… but she’d thought he’d loved her, despite how hard he tried not to.

Tyson patted Vérité’s neck before climbing on. “I just want to be back on the road home.”

Home. Helena envied him. But soon she’d be returning to hers as well.

Edmund nodded in agreement. “The quicker we’re away from the Leroy estate, the better.”

“Prince Tyson.” Maiya’s small voice made them all pause. “Mistress Amalie wishes you could have parted as friends.”

Tyson turned the horse away from her. “Yeah? Well, she sure showed it, didn’t she?”

Helena didn’t like the sarcasm in his voice. It was so very different from the kind prince she knew.

Maiya fixed Tyson with a soft stare. “She wishes me to ask you…” She sucked in a breath. “Please do not return here. But should you have need of us we will come to your aid. The past counts toward something.”

Tyson clenched his fists but bowed his head. “Yes, lady Maiya. I will do well to remember your words.”

Unlike Amalie the night before, the young man couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes.

He kicked his heels and took off through the open gate.

Helena spared one final glance for the fortress at her back before following him. Soon, she’d return to Bela, but that was only the beginning.

13

Helena glanced over her shoulder at her companions as they crested the rise in the valley before riding down into the village.

Relief washed through her when she spotted the shack at the top of the hill. Aron would have seen them by now from his spot in the watch tower—if they could call it that.

As if to prove how right she was, four horses cantered toward them bearing Belaen guards. Etta and Alex’s version of city guards wore no armor. Helena suspected they didn’t need it when they could rely on magic.

Riding in the center of the guards was none other than the king himself.

Alex shouted a greeting.

“Oi, King.” Edmund smiled, more in exhaustion than from any sense of joy.

Helena had long since stopped being shocked by the informality in Bela. She reminded herself Edmund wasn’t disrespecting Alex. They were friends. She suspected her father had never had any friends. Stev hadn’t either… until Edmund.

Such was the price of power. But here in Bela, those rules didn’t seem to apply. Etta and Alex had surrounded themselves with people who loved them despite their crowns, not because of them.

Helena’s cheeks warmed as she caught Dell studying her, but she glanced away and nudged her horse forward.

Alex stopped in front of them, the guards hanging back. “You’ve returned.”

“Good observation, Alex.” Tyson turned away from him. With that, he snapped his heels against the horse’s sides and took off toward the village.

Alex raised an eyebrow.

Edmund’s gaze followed Tyson until he disappeared among the trees. “We had to stop at the Leroy Estate for a few days.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Which one of you was hurt? Ty would only go to Amalie if he had need of Maiya.”

Dell raised a hand. “That would be me.”

Alex nodded. “You okay now?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. Now tell me what the bloody hell happened to you in Gaule. We’ve had no word and you all look as if you’ve been…”

“In Gaule?” Edmund finished for him.

Alex rubbed his eyes. Helena struggled to see the man before her as Queen Catrine’s son. He’d grown up as a prince of Gaule before the kingdom fell apart and became a haven for civil war and the bandits picking over the carcass of a troubled land.

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “My mother?”

“Can rot in that kingdom of hers.” Helena directed a challenging gaze to him. At the mention of the woman who had handed Quinn to Madra, rage slammed under her skin, twisting around her heart.

Edmund sighed. “Can we talk about this once I have an ale in me… or three?”

“Priest, that sounds like heaven.” Dell tried to sit straighter in his saddle, but Helena saw the struggle.

Alex glanced to the guards at his sides. “Fine. Etta will want to know you’ve returned. I swear, she loses her mind with worry every time someone she cares for steps across the border.”

Helena’s anger simmered, lessening with each passing moment. She couldn’t resent Bela for what Gaule had done despite their connections. The world still wasn’t safe for magic wielders. They’d fought for every bit of freedom they had.

But hadn’t everyone?

She touched her cheek out of habit, half expecting to feel the confining lace of a mask. Instead, her fingertips brushed soft skin that didn’t feel like hers. She wasn’t this beautiful princess. Not anymore.

Her hand slid into the dark tangles atop her head, unkempt from days on the road.

Alex took them down the path that circled the village and led to the bridge across the narrow river.

Once on the other side, they dismounted outside the palace stables.

Etta ran out to greet them, passing each person until she reached Vérité. She threw her arms around his neck. “You’re back.”

Vérité rubbed his nose against the side of her head.

Edmund snorted. “I survived Gaule as well, but no… nobody cares about Edmund.”

Etta released Vérité and grinned before stepping to Edmund and rubbing his nose. “You’re a good boy too, Edmund.”

He swatted her hand away and pulled her into a hug.

“Looks like the journey was good for you.” She pulled back and reached up to touch the edges of his smile.

He shook his head. “This journey wasn’t good for anyone. I’m just glad to be back in Bela.”

Etta turned to Helena. “Tyson arrived a few moments before you. He explained the basic events. I’m sorry about your brother but relieved you have returned safe.” Her gaze flitted to Dell. “And that you survived your wounds.”

Dell dipped his head in thanks.

Etta met Helena’s gaze once more. “We must talk. Alone.” She began walking. “Edmund, see to the horses.”

“Yes, my liege.” A mocking note rang in his voice but also affection.

Where was Etta leading her? They rounded the side of the small house and Helena sucked in a breath. She hadn’t seen the gardens before.

Laid out before her were rows of the most vibrant flowers she’d ever seen. Living in the city, the only flowers most people saw were in small window boxes or on dying stems in the markets. The palace of Madra had gardens, but even those didn’t compare to this.

Yellows, pinks, and blues stretched across the landscape, winding around paths of pale stone. Large trees hung their flowering vines over the paths.

A white stone bench sat in the center.

Helena imagined she was seeing things, but it was as if the flowers woke to Etta’s presence and an excited buzz filled the air, tingling along Helena’s arms.

She’d heard of the queen’s power of growth, but this was beyond anything she’d imagined. “Did you…” She shook her head. No, even after all the magic she’d witnessed, it still felt impossible to her.

But Etta confirmed her first thought. “I created this place to think.” She closed her eyes, inhaling the floral scented air. “When I was younger, I lived in a forest and my world was so dark, I made a field of flowers just to add light to my life. Some beauty. It was the first time I realized being surrounded by my magic allowed my mind to clear. When we built this home, the first thing I knew I needed was a place like that.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Etta lowered herself onto the bench. “You must be exhausted from the journey. I know a lot has happened since I saw you last, but we’re short on time. First, I am so very sorry about your brother.”

Helena lowered her gaze to hide the sadness in her eyes.

Etta patted the seat beside her. “Sit, please.” When Helena obeyed, she continued. “I know you’re disappointed in how little help you have received from foreign kingdoms. In your eyes, we should all act against a usurper. I’m not going to defend what Queen Catrine allowed to happen, because I don’t agree with her decision. But I do understand it. Gaule is not what it once was, and Camille is the heir. It does sound as though she offered small aid in letting you try to capture Quinn. She couldn’t have known Reed would betray Dell.”

Etta fixed her eyes on a flowering yellow bush. “I want to help you, but I can’t ask any of my people to fight in a foreign land. Not again.”

Helena stopped her. “I understand your decision. If Bela gets involved in Foreign affairs, you become the peacekeepers of the six kingdoms. I don’t want magic used in my kingdom any more than you want it used outside yours.”

A smile lit Etta’s face, and she brushed her blonde braid over her shoulder before growing serious once again. “There is news out of Madra. The port has been closed to all foreign trade. We had already ceased trading with them, but now they’ve cut off the rest of the six kingdoms.”

Helena snapped her eyes to Etta’s. “But that’s…” She had no words to describe exactly what it was, but Etta seemed to understand.

Etta tapped her fingers against her leg. “Your brother has also pulled all troops from the Draconian border.”

Helena’s brow scrunched. “I thought the war was over years ago.” She suddenly hated her father for refusing to allow Helena to learn of the other five kingdoms.

“It was, but when we signed the peace accords, Madra promised a significant force for five years to ensure Dracon rebuilt their towns, but not their army. I have a sizable force there as well and this morning I received word from one of my generals that our allies have abandoned them.”

Helena’s mind refused to quiet. What was Cole doing? Isolating Madra from the rest of the six kingdoms? There’d long been a sentiment within Madra that the struggles of the kingdom resulted from foreign involvement. They weren’t wrong. Her father’s wars kept the people from thriving. But to shut the borders entirely?

“Will you be able to hold off Dracon without the Madran units?” Helena asked.

Etta didn’t hesitate. “Oh yes. Without La Dame, Dracon is no real threat. I’m more concerned with our supposed allies abandoning us.”

“Then don’t let them.” Helena turned her body to angle toward Etta. “Let’s go to Madra. Let’s remove Cole from the throne.”

Before Helena finished speaking, Etta was shaking her head. “I’m sorry. When I said I can’t do that, I meant it.” She scrubbed a hand across her face. “I’ve only been a queen for a few short years. I only know what I can’t do. I’m not sure how to fix this.”

It was on the tip of Helena’s tongue—to reveal the man who promised to help her. But would Etta allow a mercenary into her kingdom?

Helena sat up straighter, thinking of something Etta had said. The port was closed to foreign vessels. How was she supposed to return home? She refused to believe her plan had failed before she even started.

What plan, though? So far, all she had was “Get to Madra.” She hadn’t seen Will on the roads into Bela and didn’t even know if he’d made it.

Etta’s eyes stayed transfixed on the flowers before them. Was she thinking of everything to come as Helena was? This would only get worse before it got better, and they both knew it.

“I respect you, Helena.” Her words were so sudden, they made Helena jump. “You would make a wonderful queen.”

Queen? Helena couldn’t think that far ahead. She’d never wanted the role. All she could see was the fight ahead.

Etta hadn’t finished. “But I need to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“Okay.” She could try, at least.

“If you go to Madra, what is your purpose?”

Helena clenched her hands together. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Our sources tell us Cole Rhodipus has not made sweeping changes that will hurt the Madran people. He hasn’t raised taxes—in fact, he lowered them. Madran trade will suffer, but it will drive prices down for the average city-dweller. He may not do right by the rest of us, but he could be good for Madra. You can stay here in Bela where you’re safe and set up a life for yourself. Why fight this fight?”

“Cole has Quinn. I have to do it for my brother.”

“Quinn can take care of himself from all accounts. That isn’t your true reason.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Etta gave her head a sad shake. “Now you aren’t even being honest with yourself.” She stood. “Just… be careful, Helena. I’ve been down the vengeance road before. All it does is break you apart until the only thing left is a shattered girl. You don’t want to be the person with nothing left to lose.”

Those words stuck in Helena’s mind, rattling around until they latched on and refused to let go.

As Etta walked back to the house, another face appeared, breaking into a wide smile as soon as he saw Helena.

“Kass.” She scrambled from the bench and sprinted toward him, ignoring her tired muscles.

He jumped into her arms, nearly knocking her over. “Len. You came back.”

She pulled away to look at him and wiped a tear from his damp cheek. “Kassander, did you think I wouldn’t return?”

He shrugged, and it broke her heart. “Quinn isn’t with you.”

She smoothed down his unruly curls.

“No. He’s in Madra now.” Bending down, she peered into his glassy eyes. “But we’ll get him back. I promise.”

He nodded. “I know you’ll try.”

When did her kid brother lose the hope he’d always had inside him?

“Come here.” She pulled him back into her arms. “If nothing else, you and I still have each other, right?”

“Lenny, please don’t leave me behind again. I know you’re going back to Madra, and I want to come.”

She closed her eyes, resting her chin on his head. No. It was too dangerous. You never want to be the person with nothing left to lose.

As long as Kass was safe, some small part of her would remain whole.

14

Helena felt eyes on her with every movement as she slid into the bench at the village tavern. A young woman with bright eyes and auburn hair twisted into a bun appeared at their table.

Her eyes fell on Edmund and Tyson. “Rumor is you two were across the border.”

She gestured to a small man darting between tables, and he appeared carrying a tray laden with mugs of ale.

As soon as he set them in front of the boys, the tension surrounding them snapped.

Edmund sighed as he lifted the cup to his lips. Dell and Landon drank half of theirs in one gulp. Tyson, moving more slowly, eyed the young woman.

Helena didn’t touch the cup in front of her.

“Lana.” Tyson seemed to be the only one still focused on her question. “Crossing the border isn’t anything new for me.”

Lana leaned down, the bodice of her simple dress bunching at the waist. “Is it as dangerous as everyone says?”

Roaming bands of Madran thieves. Gaulean bandits. A Queen who lacked control over her own nobles.

“No.” Sarcasm dripped from Helena’s words. “It was just like a stroll on the beach.”

What was this girl thinking? Of course, it was dangerous. But not everyone had the luxury of sitting in Bela where none of that danger could reach them. And just like that, she resented everything in this kingdom.

Lana couldn’t hide the shock on her face, but Helena didn’t care if she was being rude. Those who considered the truth rude weren’t worth her time.

Before she said anything else, a movement caught her eyes in the corner of the room. A large man sat in the shadows with a cloak covering every inch of skin save his face. A face she recognized.

Will.

He’d come.

“I need air.” Helena shot to her feet.

“But we just got here.” Dell reached for her arm, and she stepped away.

Her eyes scanned the noisy tavern, crowded with people laughing and joking as if the world wasn’t breaking apart. Maybe only her world was.

She walked with purposeful steps to the door and yanked it open. Moonlight cast the ground outside in an ethereal glow. She shut the heavy door behind her, cutting off the laughter from other patrons.

Only a moment later, the door opened again.

“Not here.” Will walked past her as if he didn’t know her at all.

She followed him into an alley connecting the main road to the docks. Living in Madra, she’d grown up used to the constant smell of fish, but in Bela it seemed to permeate everything, as if the sea was a part of the kingdom.

Only a few sailors lingered this late at night. Will came to a stop and turned to face her. He didn’t push back his hood, but she could make out the edges of black ink on his neck.

“I want to get something straight right now,” Will said in a low voice. “I’m here because Amalie asked it of me. I don’t give a lick what happens to Madra. It is no longer my home. I fight for more than gold now, and that means I am no more mercenary than you.”

Everything Helena had learned of Amalie came to mind. She still hadn’t told anyone of the conversation she’d overheard. She cocked her head to the side. “Then what is it you fight for?”

His lip curled up. “The first thing you’re going to learn about me, Princess, is not to ask questions.”

“Noted.” Helena crossed her arms. “Tell me how you plan to get me to Madra.”

Will blew out a breath. “You should be going to the Belaen Queen for help.”

“This isn’t Bela’s problem.” She grabbed his arm, regretting it as he sent her a cutting look. But she didn’t let go. “You may claim Madra isn’t your home, but it’s mine.”

“How do you plan to even get close enough to the king, let alone take the crown from his bastard fingers? The people I’m sending you to can keep you safe for a time, but they can’t work miracles.”

Helena released him. “You don’t get to ask questions any more than I do.”

“Fair enough.” He lifted his eyes to the darkened sky where ominous clouds gathered, threatening to cut off the village from its silver spotlight. “There’s a mercenary ship here in Bela.”

Helena sucked in a breath. “Etta would never allow it.”

He lowered his face to pierce her with a stern gaze. “The queen assumes she knows everything happening in her land, but we’re good at what we do. A mercenary knows how to mask themselves. Something you have experience with.”

She touched her face before even realizing she was doing it. His eyes followed her hands, but he didn’t say another word about it.

Swallowing thickly, Helena peered around Will to make sure they were still alone. She had to get back to the tavern before Dell came looking for her. Was she really considering boarding a mercenary ship? The only thing she knew about the mysterious Madran warriors was the danger they represented.

“This… ship…” She pushed out a puff of air. “When does it leave?”

“The third day of every week at dawn.”

“That’s only hours from now.”

He dipped his head to speak. “Unless you want to wait a week.”

No. She bit her lip nervously. Would she have the courage to face Cole a week from now? What would happen to Quinn in that time? She could use a week to gather help.

She shook her head. “I have to get to my brother.”

He nodded as if he had known that would be her answer all along. “It’ll be the only ship preparing to leave before the morning tide. Be there before the sun rises. It won’t wait for you.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” she called after him. “You’re not coming with me?”

He didn’t face her, but his words rang in her ears. “Like I said before, Princess, Madra is no longer my home. My loyalty lies elsewhere. I will not see you again.”

He left before she could utter the words “thank you.”

15

“Helena’s been gone a while.” Dell glanced over his shoulder toward the door. “Should we go look for her?”

Tyson only grunted, his mood no better than when they’d been at the Leroy estate. Landon watched the door, suspicion clouding his face.

Edmund didn’t look worried. “Lenny sometimes just needs to be alone. She’s been like this as long as I’ve known her.” He reached over to slap Dell’s back. “Relax, Dell. The village is as safe as any place.”

He didn’t understand. Dell wasn’t worried for her safety. Helena hadn’t been the same since they left Gaule.

It was as if she was pulling away from him, refusing to let him near. He’d thought she’d finally let him in. The cold princess had warmed.

But now the ice was back, and he didn’t know what to do.

When the door opened, and she slipped inside, relief spread through his chest. Just the sight of her calmed him. And then she looked at him and all calm faded away. The light he’d seen in her eyes when he first met her was gone, replaced by a dullness that didn’t fit the princess.

He stood when she walked toward the table, her dark curls pulled over one shoulder.

“I was getting worried,” he said, fully aware of the eyes on them.

Helena gave him a tight smile. “I’m okay, just tired. I think I’m going to go back to Etta’s. I could sleep for a week.”

His heart sank, but he let out a soft “okay.”

Without saying goodbye to anyone else, she turned and left the way she’d come.

Dell dropped back onto the bench and lifted his mug, swallowing the contents before slamming it onto the wooden table.

Tyson jumped with a curse.

Edmund shook his head. “Dell…” He laughed but there was no joy in it. “You just had to fall for the princess, didn’t you?” He drained his own mug seconds before the thin man appeared to refill it. Edmund wasted no time in drinking the fresh ale.

Dell watched him, noticing his drawn face. The Edmund he’d known in Madra had walked with the kind of confidence few possessed. He’d moved with grace and had a deadly charm.

Now, his shoulders slumped forward as he hunched over the table. Remnants of stress lined his skin. His hands, once made to wield a sword with power and skill, now shook as he wrapped them around the mug.

Landon rose, breaking Dell from his examination. “I’m done for the night.”

Dell nodded a goodbye, but no one else acknowledged him as he left.

Edmund lifted one hand to run it through his hair, tugging on the ends. He raised his eyes and for the first time, Dell saw how closely they resembled the desperation he’d seen in Helena’s.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the heady scent of ale swirling in the air. The drink buzzed through Dell’s veins as he lost count of how many he’d had. In Madra, ale wasn’t a common drink. They stuck to cut wine—nothing as strong as in Bela or Gaule.

Edmund leaned his forehead against the table, his words muffled by the cracked wood. “Why did you let yourself do that, Dell?” He turned his head so his cheek rested against the surface and his eyes found Dell. “She can’t give you everything you want, and you’re going to end up like the rest of us. Empty.”

Edmunds words were like salt in the wound of Dell’s life, but he knew the Belaen wasn’t truly speaking of Helena.

“They all leave you empty, princess or not,” Tyson grumbled.

Edmund closed his eyes. “I just… I wanted to do something. He didn’t let me save him. I thought if I helped Quinn it would feel like he was still with me. Some part of him.”

How much had Edmund had to drink already? He traced unseen shapes on the table with a finger. No tears stained his cheeks, but his voice broke. “I miss him.”

Dell put a hand on his friend’s back. He owed so much to Edmund and yet couldn’t do a thing to help him. “He’s with you as long as Helena and Kassander are. As long as you keep them safe for him.”

Dell had only met Estevan Rhodipus on two occasions. When he’d thought Helena was the prince’s mistress, he’d fought to keep him from controlling her, even brandishing his carving knife knowing full well the consequences of threatening a royal.

The second time, he’d also been fighting for Helena, but this time the prince had been on his side. He’d thought Estevan to be cold, ruthless. But Edmund saw something else.

He squeezed Edmund’s shaking shoulder.

While they had a purpose, a mission, they could all push the events in Madra from their minds. Now they were back in Bela with no path forward. Were they supposed to forget? Was it even possible?

All Dell knew was with each passing day, Helena drifted further and further away. Yet, she was still there with him. Edmund didn’t even have that.

He needed to see her. To touch her. To help her forget. Bela was their life now. They couldn’t return to Madra where they’d be arrested on sight. There was nowhere else for them to go.

He stood and gripped the table as the world tilted around him, and his stomach lurched.

Tyson laughed. “Looks like Dell had a bit too much.”

Dell swatted at him, but missed and almost toppled over. All he wanted was his bed, but he wasn’t sure he could leave Edmund in his state. “You going to be okay?”

Edmund lifted his head, but no answer left his lips. Instead, a new voice intruded on their night. “I’ve got him.”

Dell turned and tried to place the man behind him. His uniform spoke of importance… “Mathew?”

“Matteo.” Tyson corrected. “My cousin.”

The man hadn’t removed his eyes from Edmund. “We met when you first arrived in Bela.”

Dell remembered then, but it was hazy.

“You going to make it back okay?” Matteo finally glanced at him.

There was an intensity to the man Dell had only ever seen in one person. Estevan.

“I’m going with him.” Tyson stood and stepped around the table, the drink seemingly not having as much effect on him. He eyed his cousin. “Take care of him. He isn’t himself tonight.”

“Always.”

Tyson patted Matteo’s arm before issuing a quick “coming, Dell?”

Dell hadn’t been in Bela long enough to understand the relationships between the people there. They’d fought together, bled together, and that was sure to bond, but it was more than that. Even through Tyson’s dark mood, he watched out for Edmund as if they were family.

Dell hadn’t ever had that until Edmund came into his life. Not even his family would have fought for him.

Neither man talked as they began the short walk among the deserted village streets, both stumbling occasionally.

Finally, Dell couldn’t hold his questions in anymore. “Matteo… he loves Edmund?”

Tyson nodded. “Yes.” Dell didn’t think he would elaborate until he heaved a sigh. “They’ were together for two years when Edmund asked Etta for the open ambassador position. None of us wanted him to take it, but he was searching for something. Nothing had ever been easy for him growing up. The war with Dracon only made Edmund want to do something grander with his life than play the day to day political game.”

“And Matteo didn’t want to go with him?”

Tyson rubbed the back of his neck. “Edmund didn’t ask him to.”

Dell glanced back at the road they’d just walked down to where the tavern stood. When he’d first met Edmund, he’d known the stories of the battle with La Dame and the Belaen ambassador with magic. But he’d never truly considered his past. That while he was risking himself playing a dangerous spy game in a kingdom that wasn’t even his, he’d had people in Bela who would have mourned him if it all went wrong.

Who would mourn Dell?

They stumbled into Etta’s “palace”, finding the king and queen sitting together near the fire. They both looked up.

“I didn’t want to go back to my empty home in the village.” Tyson looked to the ground as if afraid they’d tell him to leave.

Instead, Etta rose and crossed the room to wrap her arms around Tyson. “You smell like an alehouse.”

Her shirt muffled Tyson’s laugh as he buried his face in her neck.

Dell walked toward the back hall to give them some privacy. He stopped outside Helena’s door, preparing to knock, needing to see her. Raising a fist to the wood, he paused. If she’d managed to escape their realities for a few hours of sleep, didn’t she deserve the peace? Besides, Kassander shared her bed.

With a resigned sigh, he turned to push into his own room, freezing as he caught sight of the wild dark strands splayed across his pillow, illuminated by a single candle on a table nearby.

Helena shifted and turned to face him.

He wanted more than anything to bring the light back to her eyes.

“You’re in my room,” he breathed.

“Dell.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I need you tonight.”

He toed off his boots, almost stumbling, and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She bunched his shirt in her hands and pulled him down beside her, scooting over to give him room. His fingers skimmed from her face down to her shoulder. He thought of Edmund and the words he’d said. You just had to fall for the princess.

“Like I had any other choice,” he whispered as he pressed his lips to hers.

They came from different worlds. He’d spent much of his life swabbing decks, mucking stalls, and avoiding beatings from his brothers. No one to love him. No one to care.

She’d grown up in a beautiful palace, but hidden from the kingdom. Loved by her brothers and betrayed by one as well.

How could a man with nothing to give deserve a woman like her?

He couldn’t. And yet he’d show her they weren’t the people they were raised to be. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her flush against him.

Helena opened, allowing his tongue to dance with hers, sending sparks through his blood. Digging her fingers into his hips, she kissed a line across his cheek and down his neck.

“Dell,” she breathed.

He pulled her shirt free of the trousers and pushed it up to run his hands across the soft skin of her stomach. She shivered under his touch.

“Tonight I’m yours.” She’d broken the kiss to speak. “All of me. I’ve never… I know you’ve done this before.”

Dell smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve never been in love before.”

She closed her eyes, a brief smile flickering across her lips before it disappeared. “I can’t promise you anything… just right now. I really need you to hold me together.”

Dell inched his hands up, tracing every curve, memorizing the way she felt in his hands. She hadn’t told him she loved him, but he didn’t need her to. Not yet. They had time.

16

Helena watched the slow rise and fall of Dell’s bronze chest. Only hours ago, she’d run her hands over every ridge, every muscle. And Dell had plenty. His body resulted from years of hard labor. He hadn’t had a choice in how he spent his days.

“Just like I don’t have a choice now,” she whispered into the dark. Would he forgive her? She lifted one finger to her lips. A part of her knew this decision would change everything. She just hoped he’d understand.

Confronting Cole wasn’t something she could run from. Even if it weren’t for the people he now ruled, she’d have to do it for herself. Dell wanted to have a peaceful life. He thought they could start fresh in Bela. But there’d be no peace within her until she dealt with the past and the person who took it from her.

Bending down, she brushed her lips across Dell’s. “I’m sorry.” As she slid from the bed, she glanced back, wishing she could take him with her. He’d go if she asked. She knew that.

But he’d never make it out of there alive.

Would she? She wanted to not care, to not feel anything. Risking her life to get vengeance for her family should have been simple.

But nothing was ever simple.

She stepped into her clothing, pulling the trousers up her legs and tying them at the waist. After dragging on a tunic and tucking it in, she paused.

Sitting on the table beside the short candle was a tiny wooden sword. Of all the things Dell could have carved… She’d seen him create angels and elegant shoes, but this… maybe it was an omen of what was to come. Making a quick decision, she slipped it into her pocket and peered down at the sleeping man once more.

The first time she’d met him, he’d had blood running down his face from a fight. And still, he’d been beautiful. Even after years of hardship, there was no darkness inside him. Unlike her.

She closed her eyes, her hand hovering over the top of his head. She could wake him. Decide it had all been a mistake and beg him to come. Her fingers curled into a fist as she retracted her arm. This wasn’t his fight.

A tear slid down her cheek. “I love you, Dell. For what it’s worth.”

Wiping the back of her hand across her face, she slipped into the dim hall before returning to her own room. Kassander curled in on himself in the center of the bed.

She walked forward and leaned down to kiss his forehead. His eyes fluttered open.

“Len.” Sleep coated his words.

“It’s okay.” She brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

He rolled away from her, a soft snore echoing through the room. Trying to be as silent as she could, Helena pulled on her boots and then slipped one of her knives into the sheathe. She wrapped a scabbard around her waist.

Unable to look at her brother again, she left, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it.

She’d promised not to leave him again. His voice entered her mind and tears pricked her vision. There was no time for sentiment. She wiped her eyes and walked into the living space. A leg was draped over the back of the couch. She rounded it to find Edmund sprawled face first on the velvet cushions.

“Matteo dropped him off.”

Helena jumped at Etta’s voice. Etta walked around her to sit on the arm of the couch, a mug of tea clutched between her hands. She gave Helena a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t get him into a bed and didn’t want to wake anyone.”

“When did he get home?”

“Oh, that was hours ago. I just couldn’t sleep after seeing him like that.” She peered into her tea as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. “He’s struggling, and I don’t know how to help him.”

Helena glanced at the door. She didn’t have time for this. But it was Edmund. “I don’t think anyone can help him right now.”

He rolled over with a groan and peeked one eye open. “Why are you two here in the dark?”

Etta, as if noticing the early hour for the first time, gave Helena a questioning look. “I know why I’m awake. But what are you doing?”

Helena shrugged, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “Couldn’t sleep either.”

Etta didn’t look as if she believed her. She scanned Helena’s outfit, taking note of the visible knife at her waist. “You’re leaving.”

Edmund groaned. “She isn’t leaving, Etta. Where would she go?”

Helena clasped and unclasped her hands, but the queen only studied her. “How do you plan to get there?”

Silence hung between them for a long moment. Edmund glanced between the women, eyes wide, before sitting up. He grabbed his head. “Remind me never to drink again.” He closed his eyes.

Finally, Helena relented. “There’s a ship leaving at sunrise.”

“The mercenary ship.” Etta nodded.

“How…?”

Etta waved away the question. Helena guessed she truly knew everything that happened in her kingdom.

“You can’t stop me.” She crossed her arms.

Etta sighed. “I know. You have to do this. I’ve been in your shoes before.”

Edmund snapped his eyes open. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You need not understand, Edmund.” Helena put a hand on his bare shoulder and squeezed once before walking past them.

Etta’s voice stopped her at the door. “I’m not going to you do the disservice and assume you don’t have a plan. You’re a smart girl, Helena. Remember what I said though. Make sure this is about more than revenge.”

“It is.” It was about family. She stepped into the pre-dawn darkness, letting the beginnings of light guide her way. Sleep still hung over the quiet village as she made her way through the streets and turned into an alleyway.

Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned but saw no one. Was someone following her?

She tugged in the edges of her cloak and removed the knife from her belt. As she reached the docks, she breathed out a sigh of relief. One small ship sat amid commotion on its decks as sailors readied it to set out. Men and women loaded crates across a ramp.

A sense of familiarity hit her as she took in the Madran vessel. High Cherrywood walls circled a wide deck, dipping and rising in an intricately carve design. Whoever owned the ship had wealth. She could tell that just by looking. At the bow, a golden statue of a serpent hung out over the water, protecting the seafarers from anything lurking below.

She walked closer, her heart pounding in her throat.

Dawn light stretched out over the water and she focused on it for a moment of hesitation before turning her gaze on the sailors who’d paused their work to stare at the approaching girl.

Three large men stood on deck. One set down the crate he was carrying, his thick muscles stretching. The other two continued to wrap ropes, clearing the deck of all debris. Tattoos stretched down each of their necks in the same way Will had worn them. Thick black scrawl that gave them a darker appearance. She didn’t know what the symbols meant, only what it signaled. These men were mercenaries.

The man closest to the rail jumped over, landing with a heavy thud on the dock. Helena’s limbs froze in place as he approached. “And who might you be?”

She swallowed thickly, unable to form a single word. How many times had her father warned her of mercenaries? They weren’t allowed in the city and for good reason. His voice rang in her mind. “They’re dangerous, Helena. They do not obey their king.”

She worked her throat, trying to breathe as he stopped only feet in front of her. Now that he was near, she could see he was younger than he’d appeared, probably even younger than herself. Wavy chocolate hair framed a boyish face that didn’t fit a man of his size.

He grinned as if taking pleasure in making her squirm. “You can speak. I don’t bite.” He leaned in. “Much.”

“Leave her alone, Ez.”

Helena’s closed her eyes briefly. She knew that voice. Forgetting the boy in front of her, she sighed. “You followed me.”

Edmund stepped up beside her. “Of course I did.”

Helena wanted to be mad, but instead, she was just so damn relieved Edmund was there.

He turned to the mercenary whose grin had widened. “Since when do you transport more than just goods, Ezio?”

Ezio’s eyes widened. “You’re the one uncle Will sent?” He smacked his own forehead. “Of course you are.”

Uncle?

Edmund seemed to sense her confusion. “Len, this is Ezio. His mother captains this ship.”

Len… that was a signal. No real name? She nodded, understanding his meaning. He didn’t trust them enough to reveal her identity.

A woman appeared on deck, hands on her hips. “Ezio. There’s work to do.”

He shot Helena a wink before running back to the ship.

Edmund raised a hand in greeting.

“Edmund.” She leaped from the ship and walked forward. “Are you delivering our passenger?”

Helena studied the woman, seeing the resemblance to Will in the confident set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head. Not her looks though. He’d been larger, looming. This woman had a slight build and delicate features. From the way she walked, Helena guessed she was anything but delicate.

Edmund leaned close. “This is Damara,” he whispered. “Be careful around her.”

She still didn’t understand why Edmund was there or how he knew these people, but she trusted him.

“Damara.” Edmund met her gaze, hardness entering his eyes. “When the queen told me Len had left, I knew you were behind it.”

Damara raised one arched brow. “I’m not behind anything, boyo. My brother came pleading for her passage. He knows I will give aid to anyone trying to escape Bela.”

Escape Bela? Who’d ever want to do that?

Edmund’s jaw clenched. “Queen Persinette allows you to move your trade through Bela despite my advice to turn you away. The least you can do is respect her.”

Damara turned to Helena, ignoring Edmund’s words. “Do you wish me to get you out of this kingdom or not?”

Despite Edmund’s tension beside her, Helena couldn’t deny that was what she wanted. Even if this woman couldn’t be trusted, she was the only way back to Madra.

Slowly, Helena nodded.

“Speak, girl!”

“Yes.” She sucked in a breath. “I need passage to Madra.”

Damara clapped her hands together, making Helena jump. “Good. Will already paid me, a gift from his mistress he said. I knew there was a reason he refused to return to Madra.”

She was wrong. Helena had seen it. It wasn’t money keeping Will with Amalie. It was loyalty.

Edmund gripped Helena’s arm, preventing her from moving forward. “I’m coming as well.” He released Helena and strode past Damara. “Consider my payment your continued ability to enter Bela.” He didn’t turn back. “Len, come.”

She ran after him, not wanting to spend another moment in the harsh woman’s presence. “You can’t be serious, Edmund.” Fear overcame the relief she’d felt that he was there.

He didn’t respond.

“You can’t come with me.”

He stopped before boarding the ship as she grabbed his arm, holding him back.

“Edmund…”

He turned so suddenly she took a step back.

“Why, Len? Why can’t I come?”

Her voice dropped as if she didn’t want to hear her own words. “He’ll kill you.”

A strangled sound escaped Edmund’s throat, but he held back a sob. “Does it matter anymore?” One last flash of pain flickered across his face.

Ezio held out a hand to help her across the wooden walkway. The ship bobbed in the waves crashing against the docks.

Edmund spoke to no one, and Helena didn’t know what else she could say to convince him to stay behind. She’d never recover if something happened to him. But at the same time, his presence made her feel as if maybe this mission wasn’t as stupid as she’d thought.

Oars dipped into the water in syncopated rhythm as the ship began its journey. Colors streaked across the horizon, welcoming a new day, but in Helena’s world, everything remained dark.

17

He was alone. Dell reached an arm out, feeling for the warm comfort he’d had through most of the night. Images from only hours ago rolled through his mind. Helena had given him everything in one night. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life. She loved him. Her scarred, broken heart hadn’t frozen him out completely.

Maybe there was happiness to be found among the heartache after all. But where was she? For the first time, they didn’t have some journey to start out on or some mission to accomplish.

Why wasn’t she here?

Dell rubbed his tired eyes, blocking out the light streaming through the window. Did last night mean Helena was finally telling him she was giving up her vendetta? That she knew there was still a future for her? Quinn would be okay. He could stay by his twin’s side as long as Helena let him.

No one had to risk their lives.

He didn’t have to lose her.

He rolled over, groaning as his muscles ached from days in the saddle. He sat up, pushing the blanket from his lap and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Food. He needed food. As if in agreement, his stomach growled. Maybe that was where Helena had gone. Alex usually cooked breakfast. It was his thing. Etta said he’d only learned to cook once he lived in Bela without people to do it for them. She’d refused to hire servants, so he did it and fell in love.

And he was good at it.

Dell’s mouth watered as he pulled on a fresh shirt and trousers, not bothering with shoes. The weather turned colder each day as they inched toward winter, but Etta’s home was never cold.

He reached for the carving he always carried, never leaving without his current work in progress. But it was gone.

Maybe Kassander took the small sword replica. Even as he thought it, he knew Kass wouldn’t have even come in here.

Only one person had entered this room besides him.

Panic coursed through him as he ran to the living space. Alex and Etta were awake and talking in murmured voices in the kitchen.

No one else was there.

“Where’s Helena?” Dell’s eyes searched every corner of the room before he sprinted out the front door to the stables. Vérité greeted him with a snort. Alex’s horse only lifted its head.

Landon lay passed out in the loft above.

No Helena.

He turned to search the yard and found Etta standing on the front porch with her arms crossed in front of her.

Her lips drew down in sympathy. She knew something.

Dell crossed the yard, stopping in front of her. His chest heaved with a single word. “Why?”

Not where. He had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer to that.

Not how. That wasn’t important at the moment.

He should have known. On some level, he did. She’d never give up. But… “Why did she leave me behind?”

His shoulders sagged. He’d have gone. Without question. He didn’t care what the risks were. He wouldn’t have left her side. And she’d known that.

“Dell.” Etta rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.

In that moment, he understood how their family worked. How Etta had so many people who would follow her to their deaths. She took care of them. Not in a motherly fashion, that wasn’t her. But when they fell apart—as they all seemed to do frequently—she could hold them up.

But he couldn’t take it. Her arms weren’t Len’s. He shrugged out of her hold as Kassander appeared in the doorway. “Where’s Len?”

Suddenly, Dell hated Helena. She’d left him to tell her brother he too wasn’t needed. That the fight belonging to both Rhodipus children would only be fought by one.

He put a hand on Kassander’s shoulder, resentment curling in his gut. “She left, buddy. And I don’t think she plans on coming back.” He walked into the house and dropped onto the couch. Putting his head in his hands, he let anger overwhelm him. Around him, people spoke. Etta comforted Kass. Alex welcomed Mari and Corban when they showed up at the door.

It all blurred together in Dell’s mind until Kassander sat beside him. “Are we going after her?”

Those words were like a bucket of ice being dumped over his head, waking him from the nightmare he was living in. There was something he could do. He didn’t have to just sit in Bela and wait for news of her fate.

Helena may not have wanted him there with her, but it was time she realized she didn’t make decisions for him.

He lifted his eyes, seeing the prince as he truly was for the first time. They’d treated Kass as a child, too innocent and too young to be part of this fight.

But he’d lost his innocence the day they murdered his family. Youth was a luxury he no longer had. And he looked… ready? Dell shook his head, not knowing if that was the right word. He had a stubborn bravery Dell admired.

“Yeah, Kass. We’re going after her.”

All chatter in the room stopped as his words wrapped around them. Mari came to sit beside him, the closest thing to a mother he’d had in years. Along with Corban, she’d tended Dell’s physical wounds for years. Now, she tried to soothe his emotional ones as well. She squeezed his hand as if comforting a child. “Dell… you can’t return to Madra. Helena has made her choice and I wish it were different, but I don’t want that danger for you.”

“You don’t understand.” He shook his head. “I have to… I…” He leaned in to Mari, letting her wrap an arm around his shoulders. “I would walk through fire for that girl… I’d face La Dame herself. The only risk that matters is losing her.”

Alex broke the tension with a chuckle, surprising all of them. “Well, being that I did ride to face La Dame because I was in love… I’m probably the only one here who understands.”

Tyson’s tired voice came from the doorway. “Please, Alex. You didn’t even have to enter Dracon until the fighting was done. Etta was the only one of us who faced La Dame.”

Alex took a plate of fresh fruit from the kitchen and set it on the table. “But I still gathered an army and rode to Dracon ready to fight. I could say it was some noble reason like wanting to help the people of Bela. But Etta was there, and I’d have done anything to protect her.”

Etta grunted. “You boys need to realize we don’t need you to protect us, only fight beside us.” She snagged a piece of bacon from the tray Alex had grabbed. After taking a bite, she pinned Dell with a look. “Okay, everyone. Family meeting. Right now.”

Tyson grumbled something under his breath as he plopped down into a chair near the fire.

Mari moved to get up, but Etta held out a hand. “Stay. You’re family now. Someone wake Landon.”

Mari gave Corban a push, and the boy ran out to the barn, returning a few minutes later with a half-awake Madran general.

Someone was missing. “Where’s Edmund?” Dell met Etta’s gaze. Her eyes gave him the answer he needed.

She’d taken Edmund and left Dell behind. Perfect.

“Dell.” His name was a sigh on her lips. She didn’t know what to say to him.

Tyson drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I don’t understand. Where is he? Where’s Edmund?”

“He’s on a ship headed to Bela with Helena.” Alex was the only one who seemed to be able to voice the words.

Tyson shot up to his feet. “What the hell? Why was Helena allowed to leave for Madra? Why wasn’t I asked to go? I know I told her I couldn’t… but that was before we lost her brother.”

Dell had those same questions.

Alex scratched his jaw in confusion. “Why would she ask you when she didn’t even let Dell go?”

Tyson crossed his arms. “Not Helena. Edmund. I go where he goes. He already left for Madra once over a year ago and you just let him go again? What if this time he doesn’t return?”

“Ty…” Etta said it like he was a child.

But Dell knew Tyson had a point.

“He’s my best friend, Etta.” He sank back into his chair.

Dell looked to each of them, realizing he wasn’t the only one with something to lose.

Etta slammed a fist into the table behind them, the crack echoing around the room. “Everyone sit.”

Alex and Landon had been the only people still standing, so they pulled chairs over from the table and obeyed.

Etta crossed the room to stand in front of them, the flames from the fireplace at her back. “This isn’t easy on any of us, and we won’t get anywhere if we’re arguing at every turn.” She faced her brother. “Tyson, your behavior has been unacceptable. I won’t let Amalie Leroy turn you into a simpering fool. So, get it together or you won’t be a part of this at all. I know you love Edmund. I love him too. Alex loves him. Hell, everyone who has ever met that blasted idiot loves him. But he loves Helena.” Matteo interrupted her by walking through the door. He took in her expression and hurried to pull over a chair.

Breathing out slowly, she spared a glance for her cousin. “And Edmund loved Estevan Rhodipus. He had to go. They both did. I wasn’t going to stop them. We can worry about them, but we can’t let it tear us apart.”

“How are they getting to Madra?” Dell asked. “I thought they’d closed their port to all foreign ships.”

“They aren’t on a foreign ship.”

Dell scrunched his brow. They all knew official Madran vessels had stopped coming to Bela over the past few weeks.

Etta straightened her posture as if preparing herself. “They’re on a mercenary ship.”

Protests erupted throughout the room. The mercenaries had fought for La Dame. No one was more hated in Bela. Not even Draconians for they had been forced to do her bidding. The mercenaries did it for gold.

Etta held up a hand, and to their credit, everyone quieted. “It is done. There’s nothing more we can do but wait for news.”

Dell couldn’t believe her. Or any of the rest of them for that matter. The anger he’d felt toward Helena simmered over, finding a new direction. She really hadn’t had a choice. If she’d asked the Belaens, they’d have said no. Unlike him.

His anger was just about to spill from his mouth, but before he had a chance to speak, Kassander jumped to his feet. “We can’t just sit here.” Tears dampened his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. The boy wasn’t ashamed of his emotions. “Lenny is going to Madra where Cole…” A sob shook his chest, but he tightened his jaw and lifted his chin. “We should be with her.”

“Kassander.” Etta reached to draw him to her, but he twisted out of her grasp.

“No!” His scream stunned them all into silence. “No.” The look he sent her could have cut glass. “You’re a coward, Persinette Basile.”

No one spoke as the meaning struck them. Kassander didn’t back down. He stared at the magic queen who’d once fought La Dame—and won—as if she were nothing.

Dell looped an arm around Kassander’s waist and pulled him back into his lap. The boy’s entire body shook.

Breaking the silence, Dell spoke. “This isn’t only Helena’s problem. Madra is closing itself off, insulating themselves from the rest of the world. With Cole Rhodipus in power, you can no longer draw on them as an ally.”

“We survived without them before.” Etta’s words didn’t have the confidence they’d once had.

He could recognize when it was time to stop fighting. He breathed in slowly, tightening his grip on Kass. “You’ve made your stance on the issue clear. You may not consider Madra your problem, but as long as Helena is there, it is mine and Kassander’s, and I intend to go after her.”

“So do I,” Kassander said.

Dell nodded. “I’m taking the kid. He deserves to be part of this.”

Tyson lifted his eyes, but the only person he seemed to see was his brother. “Alex…” Pain threaded through his voice. He scrubbed a hand across his face. “We can’t let them have her.”

Dell had been wrong. Tyson and Alex had just as much to fight for in Madra as he had. Their sister was trapped within the castle walls, betrothed to the man who’d killed his own family to take the crown.

Alex didn’t respond as he busied himself cleaning up from a meal they didn’t eat.

“She’s our sister.”

A clang came from Alex’s direction as a heavy cast-iron pot hit the ground. “Dammit,” Alex growled. He didn’t bother picking it up as he straightened.

Etta had gone pale as she watched her husband.

Tyson stood and closed the distance between him and his brother. He put a hand on each arm and met his dark eyes. “It doesn’t matter how we feel about her or what she’s done, Alex. Camille is family, and we don’t abandon family.”

“Edmund is family too,” Etta whispered. She closed her eyes, one tear squeezing through. A breath shuddered out of her. “I can’t believe I was going to abandon him to his interests in Madra.”

Alex rushed to pull her into his arms. “You were thinking of your people.”

She clung to him. “Sometimes I get so caught up in being the queen, I forget to be me.”

Matteo, who’d been quiet, leaned forward. “Etta.”

She pulled away from Alex to face her cousin.

“It’s okay.”

As if his permission lifted a weight from her shoulders, she straightened and crossed to stand in front of Kassander and Dell. Leaning down to meet the boy’s eyes, she smiled. “Thank you for reminding me who I am, young prince. I’ve been so worried about keeping Bela safe, I’ve forgotten about the rest of the world.”

She straightened and walked to Tyson, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I love you, you know that?”

“Even if I’m a simpering fool?” The sound that left his throat was half laugh and half sob.

She pulled back. “Even if you’re making me go help Camille.” She scrunched up her face in distaste.

Alex laughed, the tension leaving the room. “No one said you had to like your family.”

Landon stood. Dell had almost forgotten his silent presence. “We have preparations to make.”

“Yes.” Etta clapped her hands together, reverting to queen mode. “There aren’t any more Madran vessels in port, but I have a few Belaen captains I can question about passage. We’ll need horses since they won’t allow a Belaen ship into the city. So much to do.”

As she issued orders, Dell lifted Kassander off his lap and strode out the front door. Preparing horses would take his mind off the emotions swirling inside him.

He’d go to Madra. He’d fight his brothers and even the king. But what then? Helena hadn’t trusted him. She’d forced circumstances on him when his place was with her.

Dell had grown up in a lonely household, but he’d never experienced true loneliness until that moment. Even surrounded by people who cared for him for the first time in his life, something he hadn’t known he needed was missing.

And he didn’t know if he’d ever get it back.

But what did it matter to him, anyway? He may not make it through this. But Helena… she would. He knew it.

18

Helena watched Madra draw near with dread clenching her stomach. She was home.

The noon sun hung above them as sailors took up their oars and the sails lowered. The once busy port of Madra now seemed… abandoned. It wasn’t a sight she’d ever thought to see. With no foreign vessels coming in and no Madran trading ships allowed to leave carrying goods, a sad aura sat over the place.

They reached the river bordering the city in the early morning and left the expansive sea behind. Any chance of turning back was gone now.

Who was Helena kidding? It had been gone since she boarded the mercenary ship.

She’d spent a long couple of days among the gruff men and women aboard, their suspicious looks needling her skin everywhere she went. Mercenaries didn’t trust foreigners like Edmund, but then, who did? As time marched on, each one of the six kingdoms isolated themselves. Bela refused to help others reach the peace they enjoyed. Gaule was too embroiled in their own civil wars. Dracon no longer had high walls protecting them, but the battle scars didn’t go away.

Cana and Andes were both too dangerous for anyone to venture.

What did that leave them with? A broken world.

She didn’t hate Etta for her decision. Even Queen Catrine of Gaule she understood. They had done what was necessary for their people. Now it was her turn.

But could she do it? Could she kill her own brother if it came to that?

A hand covered hers on the rail. She didn’t turn, but leaned into Edmund. Every time she’d caught sight of him over the last two days, she was thankful he was there. She’d explained everything Will had told her and shouldn’t have been surprised that he already knew of the rebel hideout. He knew of many within the network of people wanting to take their kingdom back.

And she’d thought of Dell. Did he hate her for leaving him behind? Probably. Would she do it again? Yes. It didn’t matter how he felt about her as long as he was safe from her brother. Cole wouldn’t take another person Helena loved.

Edmund rested his chin on Helena’s head. “It looks the same.”

Helena snorted. Edmund was just trying to make her feel better. This wasn’t the same port she’d left behind.

A few ships bobbed in the water, knocking against the wooden planks. A handful of people walked the boardwalk going about their various tasks.

“What happens next, Len?” Edmund’s sigh rustled her hair. “Now that we’re here. I know you want to follow Will’s instructions, but that won’t get you close to Cole.”

She had a plan, but she still felt lost. She had to get to Quinn as quickly as she could. Whatever happened, she just needed to see he was all right. Will told her to go straight to the safe house, but now, she knew she couldn’t risk it. If word of her presence in Madra reached the palace before she did, she’d lose the upper hand.

She didn’t have an army to challenge Cole with or even the skill to battle him. But she did have his affections. If anything had been true in her life, it was how each of her brothers had always loved her. Each in their own ways. Stev protected her, shielding her from anything that could hurt her–including their father. Kassander looked up to her as if she were the best part of his life. Quinn respected her, trusted her. He was the one who went along with any crazy idea she’d ever had. But Cole? How had he loved her?

With everything he’d had.

His love had never been easy, but it was always powerful.

And he’d let Edmund and Dell go because of it. Cole already had Estevan in his power. He hadn’t needed to bargain with Stev for their lives. But then she’d been hurt. The pain she’d seen in his eyes had been real.

Helena steeled herself for the words she had to say. She slid her arm around Edmund’s waist, knowing he wouldn’t like the plan forming in her mind. “I’m going to walk up to the palace gates and demand entrance.”

Edmund reeled back. “Len…”

“I can’t be seen before approaching them. If I am arrested and arrive a prisoner, it’s over.”

“You’ll be a prisoner as soon as you set foot on the property.”

She shook her head. “Cole won’t hurt me.” She lifted her gaze to Edmund, needing to know the thoughts causing his eyes to darken.

“You can’t know that. He killed Stev.”

She shook her head. “No. Stev died of sickness in his cell. All indications were that Cole would execute Stev, but he couldn’t go through with it. He never had much love for our oldest brother. But me? This might be our only chance to take him down. Even if he won’t hurt me… it doesn’t mean I won’t hurt him.”

Edmund’s grip on her tightened. “For Estevan.”

Helena nodded. “For my parents.” Her mother’s face flashed in her mind. “And Edmund…” She sucked in a breath. “I have to do this alone.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she clapped her free hand against it. “Don’t argue. Cole might not kill me, but you don’t have a chance with him.”

Edmund sighed, brushing a hand over her hair. “Okay, but I won’t sit idly by while you save Madra. That’s not why I came. You need a backup plan. I still have my network in the city. I’ll reach out to my people. You have two days. If I don’t receive a message that you’re okay, we’re coming for you.”

She nodded, some of the tension leaving her. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.” She closed her eyes, leaning against him for support. “I’m scared.” The words were only a whisper, but when she opened her eyes, it was clear Edmund had heard them.

He lifted his gaze to the nearing city. “Me too.”

Ezio skidded to a halt as he found them, intruding on their last moments of peace. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair before rubbing his tattooed neck. “Captain wants you two below deck.”

Helena released Edmund and turned to scan her eyes over the young man. He’d been one of the few mercenaries to talk to them on the journey to Madra. Maybe it was his youth or just some sense of innocence, but Helena had grown to like him… despite everything screaming at her not to trust the fighters for hire.

When you fight for nothing, you’re bound to no ideals, no kingdom. They may have lived in the mountains of Madra, but they were not Madrans.

Ezio shifted from foot to foot. When neither Helena nor Edmund responded to him, he flicked his eyes to the galley door behind him. “Ummm… I need you to come. Please? Captain doesn’t want you seen until nightfall.”

Helena sighed, eager to get off the ship and into the city. Ezio was right, though. If the docks were being watched, they needed to wait until darkness hid their homecoming.

Without a word to Ezio, Helena walked past him and yanked open the door before descending the narrow staircase into the dimly lit galley.

Edmund followed her down, and the door shut behind him. All the sailors were on deck preparing to dock, so Helena and Edmund were the only ones in the small space.

Helena picked up a roll from a platter on the table in the center of the room and slid onto the wooden bench, propping one leg up underneath her.

Edmund dropped into a chair with a heavy breath and scrubbed a hand across his face.

Waiting was the worst part. Neither of them knew what the night would bring. Helena took a bite of the bread before setting it aside as her stomach protested.

She drummed her fingers on the table, her mind escaping back to Bela as she closed her eyes. Rolling hills. Flowering gardens. It was no wonder Etta ignored the rest of the world’s problems. She had everything. It was her people’s reward for generations of struggle.

She fixed a stare on Edmund. What was his reward? He should have lived his life in Bela, never having to face another hardship.

Instead, here he was, hurting. The man he loved was dead. And now what did he have? Revenge?

Some days, it felt as if that was all she had left as well. If she didn’t take it, hold on to it, she’d truly lose.

But she’d already lost. This mission would have no winner.

She didn’t know how long they’d been sitting in that room. Hours? Finally, Edmund hunched forward, his elbows on his knees. “Lenny?”

She retreated from the chaos of her thoughts. “Yeah?”

“Did Ezio seem nervous to you?”

Helena shrugged. “He’s always a bit hyper.”

Edmund thought for a moment. “I’ve known that kid a while now. And his mother. Something’s wrong.” He stood, glancing over his shoulder at the stairs. Straightening his spine, he crossed the room and bounded up the steps. As soon as he reached the top, a litany of curses rained down.

Helena shot to her feet as he reappeared.

Edmund’s jaw clenched as he tried to contain the fury beneath his skin. “Locked.”

“Locked?” She didn’t understand. Taking the steps two at a time, she ran up and gripped the handle, giving the door a shove. Nothing. She did it again, this time, slamming her shoulder against the wood.

“You won’t get it open that way.” His eyes drew down, defeated.

Helena wouldn’t stop. She crashed into the door again, ignoring the pain slicing through her shoulder. She prepared to strike again when Edmund gripped her shoulder, holding her in place.

“Edmund. Let me go.”

His grip tightened. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

She turned on her heel and shot a hand out to grab the railing. The step wasn’t big enough for both of them. But Edmund wasn’t going anywhere. Pushing past him, she stormed down the stairs.

“Why would they lock it?” She twisted her dark hair over one shoulder and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Edmund didn’t respond. As Helena took in his resigned expression, she finally understood. Mercenaries were loyal to whomever paid them. Damara had no great love for Etta or Edmund. Ezio’s nervousness…

“They didn’t bring us here so I could face my brother.” The thought sent a wave of fury rushing through her. “We’ve been prisoners since leaving Bela.”

Edmund cursed. “I should have known. They might not know who you are, but I’m still a wanted man in Madra.”

Heavy footsteps sounded above them. A lot of heavy footsteps.

Edmund pulled Helena away from the stairs, and the door flew open, letting in the little remaining light from the day.

A shadow appeared at the top, tall and lean. As he descended into the room, Helena took in the crisp Madran uniform, glowing red in the candlelight. Her eyes skimmed up over the straight lines and pressed folds to the angular jaw and sparkling eyes she knew so well.

“Quinn.” His name was only a breath on her lips. Her heart leapt, and she wanted to go to him, to have him tell her everything would be okay, to comfort her as he’d done most of her life.

But he wasn’t alone.

Three more Madran soldiers followed him.

Quinn’s eyes held no recognition for his sister. They were darker somehow. And that was when she knew. The uniform. The stiff reception.

Quinn hadn’t returned to Madra as a prisoner. He’d joined Cole’s side as an ally.

Edmund stepped in front of Helena as if he could protect her from the crushing realization the brother she’d come to save may not want to be saved.

“Stay back,” Edmund ordered.

Quinn showed no emotion as he gestured to the men behind him. “They come with us. Pay the mercenary and tell them to get out of our city.” He turned without another glance and marched up the stairs.

Helena collapsed in on herself. Tears clogged in her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. As she gasped for air, a strong grip yanked her arm forward.

She cried out as Edmund fought back and received a heavy punch to the gut. He would have fallen if not for the men holding him up. With one final hit to the head, Edmund’s chin fell against his chest and his body sagged.

Helena didn’t fight after that. Up on deck, her eyes burned into Quinn’s back, but he didn’t turn.

She’d thought Cole couldn’t hurt her any worse than he already had.

She was wrong.

19

The cart rumbled beneath her, and Helena focused on each bump of the road. They had bound both her and Edmund with ropes tethered to the side of the wooden wagon. Two speckled mares pulled them through the city streets.

Beside the cart, Quinn and his soldiers rode large steeds.

In the waning light, Madra looked unchanged. In Helena’s heart, everything had changed.

As they approached the city center, Helena saw shops boarded up and the streets of the once busy marketplace were now empty. At this time of night, the shopkeepers should be closing up their stalls for the day and going home to their families. They were the backbone of the kingdom. The citizens who were neither merchant nor pauper.

And yet, where were they?

Quinn’s low voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere as he spoke to his guards. “We will ride through the front gates. My brother will want to see the prisoners immediately, but he will also want the rest of the palace to see them.”

One of the guards nodded. “Sir, can I ask who the girl is? I recognize Edmund of Bela. When the mercenary’s messenger said she brought him to us, we expected him to be alone. Why did we take her?”

Another guard spoke up. “We aren’t in the habit of kidnapping young ladies.”

“No,” Helena growled under her breath. “Only killing their families and following a man who didn’t deserve to be king.”

The guards didn’t seem to have heard her, but Quinn snapped his gaze to hers. He was still watching her as he answered the guards. “It is not up to us to question the king. But you can trust him not to harm her. Not while I’m there.”

She got the distinct impression his words were meant for her instead of her guards. Was Quinn saying he wouldn’t let anything happen to her?

It should have made her feel better, but instead, it only reminded her that the last brother she thought would protect her had chosen Cole instead.

The guards continued to chatter, but Helena tuned them out, focusing on Edmund’s unconscious form beside her.

Their party turned onto a side street that would take them to the palace road. Someone shouted from the road ahead of them, and the lead guard’s horse reared up as an arrow soared past, striking the ground at the beast’s feet.

Quinn yelled orders as a volley of arrows sailed into the alley amid shouts. Helena ducked low in the wagon, shielding Edmund’s prone form, and scanned the rooftops, finally making out shadowed figures.

“Fire,” the shout came from up high. More arrows rained down, striking two of the guards next to the wagon. “Don’t hit the prisoners!”

“Edmund.” Helena shook him. “Wake up. Please.” She tried to free her wrists, but the rope only tightened. They were under attack, and all she could do was watch.

Quinn.

She searched frantically for her brother. An arrow struck his horse, and he jumped to the ground, aiming his own bow toward the rooftops. Firing rapidly, he didn’t even pause when a few people fell from the roofs, his arrows embedded deep.

People swarmed the street, crude weapons in hand, surrounding Quinn. His guards lay dead in the road. Quinn paused, taking in the tightening circle of fighters. He lowered his bow and straightened.

A man popped up at the back of the wagon, a grin stretching his brutish face. It dropped when he took in the sight of Edmund.

“He…”

“Alive,” Helena said quickly. She didn’t know the man, but by the worry in his gaze, he must have known Edmund.

She relaxed. Edmund hadn’t needed to find his people. They’d found him.

Panic struck her, and she whipped her head around to find Quinn once more. Two men pushed him to his knees. A woman stood above him, her sword drawn.

Before she knew what she was doing, Helena screamed. “No!” She turned back to the man nearby and held out her wrists. “Get me out of here!”

He pulled a knife and made quick work of the ropes. Helena scrambled from the wagon and pushed through the people in her way until she reached Quinn. Looking into his eyes was like looking into Cole’s. And that… she couldn’t take. She hardened her gaze. He didn’t look to her in apology, only resignation, and that angered her more.

But this wasn’t Cole. It was Quinn. She couldn’t kill him. She lifted her eyes to the tall woman. “Knock him out. He comes with us.”

Amusement lit in the woman’s eyes. “Darlin’, you don’t issue orders. We came for Edmund. Who are you?”

She met Quinn’s warning gaze. He shook his head, but she was past the point of listening to those who betrayed her.

Not releasing her brother from the intense stare, she sucked in a breath. “My name is Helena Rhodipus. I am the rightful heir to the Madran throne.”

Quinn seemed to sag at the words.

Helena turned away from him. “Can I give orders now?” She walked back toward the wagon without another glance. “We can’t be in the street. I assume you all have somewhere safe to take me. Let’s go.”

The wagon’s driver lay dead in his seat, so Helena climbed onto the bench and pushed him off. He hit the ground with a thud as she took the reins.

A man strode forward, jamming the hilt of his sword into Quinn’s head before lifting his now unconscious body into the back of the wagon beside Edmund.

Helena sighed. News that she was alive and back on Madran soil would travel fast. Tonight, she’d follow Edmund’s people. Tomorrow, she’d return to her home.

* * *

Helena’s eyes widened in shock when she realized Edmund’s people were taking her to his home on ambassador row. But with Madra forcing all foreigners out, it was an unused part of town.

She hopped down from the wagon and waited as someone removed Edmund and then Quinn, carrying them through the back gate.

The man who’d appeared at the wagon stepped up beside her. “Someone will take care of the horses. We need to get inside.”

“Bemus,” someone snapped. “Bring the princess.”

A wide hand landed on Helena’s back, urging her past the swinging gate and up the steps into the house she’d only been to once before. She remembered thinking there was nothing distinctly Edmund about his house. He left no trace of himself, but that was before she’d truly known him.

Now, as she walked down a long sparse hall, she could see him there. He was a simple man. She stopped, her feet freezing as she saw a row of floorboards they’d pried up to reveal a hidden compartment. Empty.

What had Edmund kept there?

Had she known him at all? Here she was, surrounded by people who were loyal to Edmund instead of the Rhodipus name. They followed him, spied for him, fought for him. He’d been creating a network of people to protect her family while she’d been sneaking out of the palace in search of freedom.

Suddenly, she felt like nothing more than a silly girl playing at rebellion.

Bemus led her into a sitting room where stiff furniture surrounded a crackling fireplace. As she stepped closer, the warmth licked her skin and she unclenched her frozen fists.

Rebels dropped into chairs without ceremony. Others scrambled to make space near the fire for Edmund. Two men set him on the ground, his face awash in an orange glow.

They didn’t give Quinn the same consideration. Bemus tied the prince’s wrists the same way Quinn had tied Helena’s that very night.

Helena could only go to one of them. Only one of them hadn’t betrayed her. Tearing her eyes from Quinn’s olive-toned face, she knelt at Edmund’s side.

He mumbled something and his eyelids shifted but didn’t open. She bent down. “I need you to wake up, Edmund. Please. I don’t know these people.”

The rebels watched her with wary fascination. They hadn’t exactly said they didn’t believe she was the princess, but she felt their skepticism in every glance. Judging by the raggedy state of their clothing, these weren’t the type to attend balls at the palace so they hadn’t gotten the brief glimpse of her face on her name day—before Cole had spirited her away.

She rubbed her eyes to hold back the tears as she thought of that night. But she wasn’t the only person to have suffered. Many people died in the fight, and the group surrounding her had fought. They may have lost ones they loved as well. For her. For her family.

Because Edmund asked them to.

What was it about him that brought out such loyalty?

She brushed a hand over his forehead, pushing hair out of his face. He’d have made a good partner on the throne for Stev.

Edmund’s eyes fluttered open, and a groan rumbled through his chest. “My head.”

Helena released a relieved laugh. “You’ll survive.”

“What happened?” His eyes cleared, and he finally took in their surroundings. “What… Helena… we’re not in the palace?”

Bemus crossed the room and leaned over with a grin on his face. “Welcome home, Edmund.”

Edmund closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before opening them once again. “Help me up and then tell me what the hell happened.”

Bemus reached a hand down and hauled Edmund to his feet. The blonde Belaen put a hand to his head with a wince as he took in the room.

His eyes landed on the woman sitting on the arm of the couch, her arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow raised. “Catsja?” His eyes scanned the group, settling on the man who’d carried him in from the wagon. “And Orlo. You two…”

“A lot has changed in Madra, Edmund.” Bemus clapped him on the back. “But we’ve been waiting for our chance, watching the docks for all ships entering and leaving. We even have our people within the new palace guard. We lost the battle, but we’re still waging this war.”

Edmund rubbed the back of his neck.

Catsja set her feet on the ground and stood, matching Edmund’s height. “They took our tavern, Edmund. Our livelihood. It’s now a business run by the crown for the crown’s soldiers. Most shopkeepers can’t keep their doors open with no foreign trade coming in. The king has turned both merchants and the poor against him. Do you know how rare it is they agree on anything?”

Orlo broke his silence with a grunt.

Helena didn’t know what her brother was thinking. Many Madrans had long since blamed foreigners for the kingdom’s problems. But it hadn’t been their fault at all. The constant wars in foreign kingdoms caused famine and poverty. But Cole wasn’t bred to be king. He wasn’t taught the intricacies of keeping one’s crown… or one’s head. Their father had spared no time to teach his bastard sons.

Only Stev and Helena received formal educations. Only they attended meetings of the crown. Estevan was meant to be king, but Helena would be his right hand as head of the merchant council.

But what happens when the merchants no longer bring trade into the kingdom? She jerked her head up, eyes snapping to Catsja.

“Has the king disbanded the merchant council?”

Catsja peered at her as if she didn’t want to answer, but she did anyway. “Yes. Ian Tenyson is the sole head merchant now.”

“The spiral,” she whispered. Everything Madran society was built on. Merchants worked their entire lives to near the tip of the spiral, the peak of status and power. “What are the priests saying about this?”

The rebels exchanged glances, none of them wanting to speak. Edmund gripped Helena’s elbow. “Len… Dell and Bemus went to the monastery as the rebellion began. The priesthood had been…” He closed his eyes. “Massacred.”

“Gone?” The breath rushed out of her.

Edmund nodded. “Gone.”

She stumbled back, pushing away from him. Everything she’d known, everything they had taught her… The spiral… the priesthood…

Cole hadn’t just taken the crown, he’d changed Madra forever.

In the corner, Quinn stirred. Catsja wasted no time in going to him. Before he even opened his eyes, her fist flashed and crashed into his head. He sagged against the wall once again.

Helena winced and forced herself to turn away. Quinn was not her main concern.

“Edmund,” Orlo demanded. “This girl says she is the princess. Tell us she lies.”

Edmund fixed Helena with a stare, and she didn’t know what it meant. These were his people. Surely it was time for them to know. She met his gaze, refusing to back down.

Finally, he scrubbed a hand across his face. “It’s her.”

Silence followed his statement.

Catsja laughed, bending forward to slap her leg. “Of course she is. This is just bloody perfect.” When she smiled, Helena stood mesmerized. The woman had an unusual beauty. Her laugh cut off, and she straightened, all humor gone from her face. “Here’s how it is, Princess. We fight to keep the little we have from being taken, to keep our kingdom safe. We do not fight for the Rhodipus name. As far as we’re concerned, your father was no better than this new king. We owe you nothing. We do not follow you.” She stepped closer. “Try not to get in our way.”

She bumped Helena’s shoulder on her way into the adjoining room.

Bemus shook his head. “Welcome to Madra’s rebellion, Princess.”

* * *

Helena tried to get some rest in a corner far from prying rebel eyes, but also far from her unconscious brother. Thoughts of better times blocked her sleep. Times when it had been her and her brothers against the world. Back when her mother could hold her and tell her it would be okay.

She wiped at a tear as Bemus sat beside her. He held out a mug of tea, and she took it gratefully. Not waiting for it to cool, she sipped the scalding drink, letting it burn through her, enjoying the pain.

It seemed pain was all she knew anymore. Not for the first time, she wished Dell was there with her.

Bemus sat silently for a moment before speaking. “I knew who you were tonight when I first saw you.”

She pulled herself into a sitting position and waited for him to continue.

“I fought alongside Estevan and Dell in the rebellion.”

She lowered her gaze to the cup in her hands.

“I was sorry to hear about Estevan’s death.”

Her hands shook and Bemus took the cup from her. “Stev was… he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Bemus set her cup aside on the floor. “No. He did not.”

“I know you rebels hate my entire family. My father… was not a good king. But Stev would have been. Maybe if more people had fought for him, he’d be sitting on that throne right now.”

And there was the truth Helena had been scared to voice before. She was bitter. Angry. Not only at Cole. No. Some of the blame lay with the Madran people who hid in their homes while their ruling family was slaughtered.

“Maybe so,” Bemus said. “But we’re here now. Our numbers have grown rapidly since Cole Rhodipus became king.”

Helena shook her head. “And you all think we need more blood staining the palace walls?” She pulled her knees in and rested her chin on top. “My father told me never to trust a rebel. That they always had another motive and did nothing for the good of the kingdom.”

Bemus didn’t respond right away, but his eyes drifted to Edmund. “Princess, I hate to tell you, but you’ve been trusting a rebel this entire time.”

She shook her head. “Edmund only wanted to keep my family safe.”

“He wanted to keep you safe and the princes Kassander and Estevan. But he has never been beholden to the bastard princes.”

Helena let her eyes rest on Quinn’s still unconscious form and Bemus’ final words took a moment to register.

“He was never loyal to the king.”

She peered sideways at the monstrous man. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but she didn’t need Edmund to be loyal to her parents. He hadn’t risked everything to keep the Rhodipus line ruling Madra, and she’d known that. He only wanted to keep her and Estevan alive.

Even now, he hadn’t returned with her to take the throne. Only to take his revenge. And maybe help the people he’d left behind. His place was among them, and Helena wished more than anything hers was too.

But the time for indecision had passed. She rose to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Bemus asked.

Steeling herself, she took a step. “To do what I came here to do.”

He didn’t move to stop her as she reached the door. Out in the hall, Edmund spoke to Catsja in a low murmur as they bent over a table laden with various weapons. He lifted his head as Helena approached.

She studied the blades and axes. The mercenaries had taken her knives, and she felt naked without them. Yet, she pulled her hand back without picking one up. They wouldn’t let her into the palace without first taking her weapons, so there was no point.

Edmund opened his mouth as if to say something, but Helena shook her head.

Edmund nodded, understanding shining in his gaze.

She held up two fingers. If she didn’t send word within two days, the rebels would launch an attack on the palace.

Edmund must have told Catsja of her plan because the woman looked on in sympathy. “If you have need of aid, look for our top rebel contact inside the palace. His name is Reed.”

Helena’s blood froze.

Reed.

Edmund had gone pale. “Reed Tenyson?”

Catsja nodded, flicking her eyes between them. “He came to us the day after you two left Madra. His information has been invaluable.”

Helena clenched her jaw. “If I find myself in danger, the last person I will seek out is Reed Tenyson.”

She turned to stride past them without another word. Reed was the reason they had been unable to save Quinn in Gaule. If it hadn’t been for the youngest Tenyson, she might have had her brother by her side now. Instead, he sat as a prisoner inside a rebel base.

Instead, he was a traitor.

As she stepped into the courtyard, she tried to control her breathing. Dell. She’d been trying so hard not to think of him. A fresh wave of pain washed over her. Reed’s men almost killed him that day on the beach. There would be no forgiveness for that. The panic from that day returned, and a tear rushed down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand as the door opened behind her.

A hand wrapped around her upper arm and turned her into a solid chest. Edmund wrapped his arms around her.

“Promise me again he won’t hurt you.”

Could she? She was starting to think she didn’t know Cole at all. Edmund’s arms tightened at her silence.

Finally, she lifted her face to peer up at him. “I’m going to be okay.”

He swallowed thickly, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You’re my family now, Lenny. If something happens to you…”

She squeezed his arm. “Nothing will happen to me.”

She wished she could be as confident as her words. Edmund released her as an older man led a horse from a stall.

Edmund helped her into the saddle. Helena swallowed back the tears threatening to choke her. “Edmund… if something happens… tell Dell…” She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing his face. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

And that I love him, she wanted to say. But she held back those words as Edmund squeezed her leg and stepped back.

With nothing else to be done, Helena nudged the horse forward.

Ambassador row sat on a stretch of now abandoned streets. The sound of the horse’s hooves striking stone was like a drum beat to her ride to battle.

As she’d always worried, Helena was now utterly alone. But the knowledge didn’t weigh her down as it once had. Now, there was no one else at risk. No one to keep safe.

As she turned onto another empty street—this one with shops and homes crowded on each side—she let the moon bathe her in its silver glow. These streets, this kingdom was worth any sacrifice. She knew that now.

Her father hadn’t ever known, but her mother had. Rule without sacrifice was only tyranny. War without hope was only death. A fight without reason was only murder.

She loved them all. The merchants climbing the spiral. The poor struggling for food. The priests who’d once thought they were doing good and lost their way.

Her family. Madrans. Foreigners. Magic-folk. Non-Magic-folk.

They were her reason.

She rode through town until she could see the high walls of the palace she’d once called home. They’d fixed the parts of the wall blown to bits by explosions, but black still streaked much of the surface, a reminder of what took place here only months ago.

Guards lined the top of the wall, shadows in the night. Their torches lit up the sky, casting orange across the vast expanse.

Shouting erupted as Helena neared.

“Oi, you there! Stop!” Heavy footsteps pounded down the steps behind the wall.

Helena held her breath, reminding herself this was what she’d come for. She slid down from the horse, setting her feet on solid ground.

The door at the base of the gates opened, spilling guards onto the street. They jogged out, their armored boots crashing against the ground as they surrounded her, weapons drawn.

Lifting her chin, Helena found the guard with the general’s stripes on his uniform.

“I am here to see the king.”

None of the guards moved. Their faces were impassive masks. The door opened once more, and a man Helena would recognize anywhere stepped through.

A grin slid across Ian’s face. “Helena.” He gestured to the guards to drop their weapons. “Your brother will be happy to see you alive.” He held out a hand to her. “Come.”

She didn’t take it. After a moment, his smile dropped, and he grabbed her elbow, jerking her forward. The guards followed them closely.

Was this how they treated everyone who came to the palace or had they known she’d come to them?

One of the guards broke off from the group, leading her horse away. Helena barely noticed as she walked up the familiar steps, knowing her parents or oldest brother wouldn’t be there to greet her on the other side of the tall doors.

But she wouldn’t allow herself to cry for them. Not now. Not here. They’d be better served by how she’d deal with Cole.

At the door, one of the guards patted her down, looking for weapons. Once he was satisfied, Ian gestured inside. He hadn’t touched her again, but his eyes slid over her, making her skin crawl.

Inside, the palace sat unchanged. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the crown hadn’t changed hands at all. Her father’s tapestries and maps adorned the walls, the opulence grander than anything she’d seen in Bela or Gaule.

But the warm cherry walls and plush carpets didn’t soothe her as they once had. Now she saw them for what they’d been. Unnecessary. Paid for by taxes the people couldn’t afford.

Servants watched her pass with curious eyes. She looked for faces she knew but found none. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the pulse throbbing in her ears until it was all she heard. There was no turning back now. No getting out. She either took care of Cole or spent her life trapped within these walls.

As she’d spent her entire youth.

Ian turned the corner, and she followed him wordlessly. He burst through a door to a stairwell, and Helena’s feet stopped moving. She knew where they were going.

No.

It was destroyed.

The place her family had been happy. Where she’d enjoyed life with her brothers by her side.

The royal residence.

A guard prodded her forward, and she climbed the stairs. At the top, Ian unlocked a door and held it open for her. The hall leading to the residence remained the same, untouched by the fire she’d started to free herself from Cole.

After the ball that had forever changed her life, they had locked her in her mother’s rooms. Her mother—being trained as a Canan assassin—picked the lock. Once in the main corridor, Helena had set flame to the tapestry hanging nearby. She hadn’t known it would spread so rapidly.

Ian procured a second key at the end of the hall and pushed Helena through the door. The living space that greeted her had new furniture, and she suspected the old was too damaged. But there was no other sign of destruction.

A doorway opened and Helena sucked in a breath.

Cole stood stock still on the threshold, his face displaying no emotion other than shock. “Lenny?” He shook his head as if not quite believing his own eyes.

Helena took in his haggard appearance. Shaggy, uncut hair. A scruffy face. Wrinkled uniform.

This wasn’t the man she’d expected.

She pushed away any sympathy she might have once had for her brother and straightened her spine. “My name is Helena.” Her eyes narrowed. “Lenny is a family name.”

The unspoken meaning behind her words hung between them. He was no longer family.

He nodded as if believing he deserved everything she said to him. “I just…” His eyes found Ian and hardened. “Leave us.”

“Your Majesty…”

All weariness faded from Cole as the coldness she recognized from the night of the rebellion set in. “Ian, not now.”

Ian bowed stiffly and turned on his heel. The guards followed him, leaving Helena with only her brother.

She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly unsure of what she should say to him. She’d come to pledge her support—however fake it was. But now the words wouldn’t come.

He took a tentative step toward her.

She stepped back.

Pain flashed across his face, quickly replaced by something she couldn’t interpret. “I thought you were dead.”

“I almost was.”

Interesting. Reed hadn’t told him she lived. That still wasn’t proof of his loyalty to the rebels.

Cole swallowed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m glad you came home.”

She scanned the room and its unfamiliar furnishings that stood as a symbol of what happened here. “Home.” She shook her head. “This isn’t my home.” In her mind, she saw the vast fields of Bela, but that didn’t feel like home either. Not without her family.

Uncertainty shone in Cole’s eyes. That had never been like him. He was confident. Sure. He shifted his weight to his other foot, never taking his eyes from her.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Helena.” He brushed a hand through his unkempt hair. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Good.”

“Can I…” He rushed forward before she could stop him and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

She stiffened, and a sob escaped her throat. The comfort felt as it always had. Growing up, Cole had been her companion, her protector.

And now he was the one breaking her apart.

He buried his face in her neck. “You’re alive,” he breathed. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

After a moment, she put her hands on his chest to push him away. “Cole, I’m here, okay. I came back. But it wasn’t for you.” She had to mix pieces of truth in with her lie. “You killed my mother. That isn’t something I can…” She sucked in a breath, stepping farther away from him. The words came to her. Quinn wouldn’t be able to refute them while the rebels held him. “Quinn sent for me.”

Cole straightened in alarm. “Quinn. I sent him to the docks. A mercenary captain claimed to have Edmund being held prisoner.” He looked to the door. “He should have returned hours ago.”

Tears swam in Helena’s gaze. “I was with them, Cole. I didn’t know Edmund was a rebel. I swear. He told me he’d escort me home, and I let him. When Quinn arrived, I was so relieved. But Edmund’s people came for him. And…” Her lip shook as she met Cole’s eyes. “They took Quinn. That’s why I told your guards I needed to see you as soon as I got here.”

Cole stumbled back. “We need to find him.”

She nodded, wanting Cole to go out searching himself. It was his twin after all. Getting him away from the protection of the palace would allow the rebels to help her.

Cole pulled her back into his arms and this time, she let him. “We will. We’ll get our brother back. Then we’ll kill every last rebel.” He spoke into her hair. “I want us to be a family again, Helena. Now that I know you’re alive…” He pulled back. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve had no word of Kassander. Many people died in the fight, including some who were burned beyond recognition. I’m afraid he might have been one of them.”

Tears spilled from Helena’s eyes but not for the younger brother she knew was alive and safe. No, they were for the one she was sure was gone forever.

Her shoulders dropped. “Word reached me of Estevan as well. It seems you, Quinn, and I are all we have left.”

A smile split Cole’s face, and Helena wanted to wipe it off with the blade of a knife. He’d always hated Stev, but the obvious joy on his face cut straight through her.

He strode across the room and threw open the door to speak to the guards and Ian waiting outside. “Scour the city. The rebels have Quinn. The order is to kill all you find.”

Ian nodded. “They won’t have him for long. I’ll call in the regiment that just returned home.”

Cole shut the door once more and turned the lock.

“You aren’t going with them?” Helena asked, her stomach dropping in disappointment.

Cole shook his head as he faced her. “They’ll find him. As for you… there’s something you need to see.”

He reached the door he’d first come out of and pushed it open before grabbing a candle from the table near the couch and entering the room.

Stale air struck Helena as she followed Cole inside. The room once belonged to Stev. Someone had erased all smoke and fire damage. A large four-poster bed sat against the far wall with the shape of a sleeping man under the blankets.

Cole reached him and as the light from the candle hit his face, Helena gasped.

The man’s chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. Sweat soaked hair clung to his face as he turned his head. Pale skin stood in contrast to the dark circles under his closed eyes.

Helena’s legs weakened beneath her, and she fell. As her knees crashed into the cold stone, one word escaped her lips.

“Estevan.”

20

Dell stared out at the dark water, letting the first morning light wash over his face. In the cabins below deck, people slept. Only a few sailors managed the sail as the rest of them finished morning preparations. They’d reach Madra soon. He could see it getting closer, a sleeping city on the edge of the river.

Sometime in the night, they’d left the sea behind to sail into the delta and upstream. A failing wind made the journey slower than Dell would have liked.

He wanted to reach Helena.

Before it was too late.

He closed his eyes, feeling as if she stood next to him, dreaming she slipped her hand into his. If he’d had any doubt in his mind, their last night together washed it away. He loved Helena like he’d never loved anyone in his life.

He only wished she loved him the same. He tried to be angry, to feel betrayed, but it only ended in a crushing realization he wasn’t enough for the Princess of Madra. He never had been. She did what she thought was right in fighting for her kingdom. He was only a man who had nowhere else to go. No one to return to in Madra.

Except her.

He opened his eyes as Kassander leaned up against the rail beside him.

“I couldn’t sleep any longer,” the boy admitted.

Dell sighed. How could he feel sorry for himself when the young prince had lost so much? Was it better to have never had a family or to lose the one you had?

“Is everyone else still sleeping?” Dell rested a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

Kass shook his head. “They were talking when I left, but I couldn’t take the quiet whispers any longer.”

Dell knew what he meant. Alex, Etta, and Tyson’s anxieties were getting to the rest of them. They still didn’t know if they’d made the right decision. Could the queen and king of Bela involve themselves without involving their kingdom? If they failed and Cole Rhodipus kept his throne, would it throw them into war?

Kassander shuddered under Dell’s grip. “What do you think it’ll be like to see Cole again?” When Dell didn’t respond, he answered his own question. “I think it’s going to hurt.” His eyes scanned the city they approached. “But then, it already does.”

Dell wrapped an arm around Kassander. The boy was almost as tall as Helena and had the same dark hair and olive skin. There was a common look to the Rhodipus children that was both enchanting and disarming. Innocent. Beautiful. But also wild.

He pulled Kass away from the rail and directed him to a crate near the wall. They sat side by side. Dell leaned back and pulled his newest work in progress from his pocket. Helena had taken his unfinished sword, but now his hand closed around a crown. He worked his carving knife along the various dips and curves of the wood as Kassander watched in fascination.

He’d whittled so much over the years, he didn’t need to keep his mind on the work. Instead, he thought of every possible scenario that could occur once they reached Madra.

Morning mist hung low on the water, shrouding the ship in a haze.

“What’s going to happen once we reach Madra?” Kass asked.

A new voice joined their conversation. “We’re going to find your sister.” Etta stepped in front of them, bending to look Kass in the eye. “Do you believe me?”

Kassander nodded.

She smiled. “Good. Now, run down to the galley. You’re going to want food in your belly. Alex and Tyson are down there. By the time you’re finished, we’ll have reached Madra.”

Kassander’s eyes lit up, and he jumped from the crate.

When he was gone, Etta took his seat.

Dell dug harder into the wood, cursing as the knife got stuck in a rut he hadn’t meant to carve. With a sigh, he set the wood aside.

“Landon is preparing the horses.” Etta pulled her legs up under her. “Captain Smith will set us ashore west of the city. From there, we’ll ride in.”

Dell nodded. A Belaen ship wouldn’t be allowed to dock in the city. It was the only plan that made sense.

“You know Helena more than any of us. What’s the first thing she’d do when she reached Madra?”

Dell scratched the side of his face. “Well, that depends.”

“On?”

“If she’s calling the shots or if she’s listening to Edmund.”

“Why would they want different things?”

Dell peered sideways at Etta. She claimed Edmund was her best friend. She’d given him the ambassador position, but even she hadn’t known what her ambassador had been up to. That he’d become more ingrained in Madran life than he was supposed to. So, Dell explained. He told Etta of the network of spies reporting to Edmund. Of the rebels who were more loyal to a foreign ambassador than their own king.

And then it came time to tell him of his own role in Edmund’s world. “Edmund came to me because my brothers were integral in Cole Rhodipus’ plans to take the crown.”

Through it all, Etta remained silent. Finally, she lifted a hand to her mouth. “He did all of this to protect Estevan?”

“And Helena and Kass, but yes.”

She shook her head as if not quite believing it. Tears hung in her lashes. “When I was first told of Edmund’s feelings for the dead prince, I didn’t know what to think. Edmund’s infatuations have always changed with the wind. At one point, he even fancied himself in love with Alex, but I truly think it was only because it would never become more. They love each other, but as brothers now. Then Matteo… My cousin lost himself to Edmund the first time they fought.” She smiled. “Then it grew serious, and Edmund begged me to send him to Madra.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “But he risked everything for Estevan… and then he lost him. I didn’t understand before now. I even resented his new loyalty to Helena because there was a time I was the most important woman in his life.” She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t come for him. He has never once let me down, and I almost failed him.”

Dell didn’t know how to comfort a crying queen. He patted her back, deciding to answer her original question. “Both Helena and Edmund are strong willed. I think they’d split up.”

She lifted her head. “He wouldn’t leave her.”

“No.” The words hurt to say, but he felt every one of them. “But Helena would leave him if she thought it would save him.”

She’d done the same thing to Dell.

Dell watched the sailors prepare to head below deck and man their oars. Their movements were like a choreographed dance. Everyone knew their place, their job.

Helena knew hers as well.

Dell leaned his head back against the wall. He suddenly knew exactly why Helena had left him behind. “She’s going to face her brother. Alone.”

Etta opened her mouth as if she wanted to argue, but then shut it. She couldn’t refute the truth in his words.

Fear engulfed him because he knew if Helena had gone to speak to the king, they were already too late.

21

Cole left Helena alone with Estevan and hadn’t returned. She didn’t know how long it had been, but she sat beside her oldest brother, staring at him as if he’d disappear again.

She stroked the damp hair away from his face.

Helena held back the tears threatening to break free. Estevan needed her strength, not her weakness. If she’d ever had doubts coming to the palace, they vanished the moment she set eyes on Stev.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered. “We mourned you.”

Edmund. His name popped into her mind so suddenly, she pulled her hand away. If Helena and Edmund had known Stev still lived, would they have come for him sooner?

Helena thought Stev was still sick with fever, but though his skin was damp, it wasn’t warm. He didn’t shiver, yet there was an alarming pallor to his skin.

His eyelids twitched. “No,” he murmured. “No more. Don’t touch me.” He flipped onto his side and the blanket slipped down to reveal his naked chest. Helena gasped, jumping off the edge of the bed.

Fresh red lines crisscrossed his torso. The long deep cuts crusted with dried blood, flaking and falling onto the bed..

Anger welled up in Helena as she saw the truth right before her. Estevan wasn’t sick. His weakness was from blood loss.

Cole. His name burned through her mind, and she turned on her heel, determined to march from the room. To find the brother who caused her family so much pain.

But a voice called her back.

“Helena?”

She froze, thinking she’d imagined it. Turning slowly, she swallowed back a sob. Estevan’s eyes slid open, and his clear gaze found her.

Helena ran to him, dropping to her knees beside the bed. “Stev.” She took his hand, the tears finally pouring forth. “Stev.” She rested her forehead against their joined hands, not wanting to let him go.

He took a shuddering breath. “They told me you were dead.”

She made a sound that was half laugh and half sob. “They told me you were dead.”

His free hand rose to her hair, arching over the crown of her head. His chest shook, and she lifted her eyes to his tear-stained face.

She’d never seen Estevan cry before. Reaching up, she wiped a tear from his cheek. “What has Cole done to you?”

He shook his head. “Not Cole.” His eyes slid shut for a moment. “Our brother--”

“He’s not our brother.”

Estevan shuddered at the words, and when he fixed his eyes on Helena once more, the force of his pain seared into her. To those who didn’t know him, Stev had seemed cold and calculating.

But Helena knew differently. Her oldest brother had been the best of all of them. He’d felt everything on a level she couldn’t imagine, but had always seemed ashamed of those emotions. So, he internalized them, hardening himself in the presence of others, especially their father.

But right then, when it was just two Rhodipus children mourning the death of everything good inside another, he finally let her see him.

She leaned forward, running her fingertips down the side of his face. He was really there.

“Kass?” He whispered, fear edging into his voice.

Helena pushed out a breath. “Safe.” At least she could give him that. She may have abandoned Stev to Cole’s control, but she’d kept the youngest brother alive. Stev’s eyes held more questions, but the words didn’t leave his mouth as a breath rasped through his chest.

“Edmund is here,” she whispered.

Estevan jerked his head from side to side. “No. He can’t be. He was supposed to leave with you and never look back. I never wanted…” He coughed, blood dripping down his chin.

Helena didn’t have time to say anything more because Camille appeared in the doorway. Jumping from the bed, Helena sprinted across the distance, throwing herself at the other princess.

Camille caught her, her arms stiff. “Helena.” She pushed her away, smoothing a hand down the front of her sapphire blue dress. She fixed her ebony curls over her shoulder, not sparing a glance at Stev.

Helena scanned her for any sign of poor treatment. Camille leaned on the same cane she’d had since the day she arrived. Her attire was smoothed to perfection almost as if she wasn’t a prisoner at all.

“I was so worried about you,” Helena finally admitted.

Camille’s stern stare cut through her. “Helena, you’re to come with me.”

And then she did the last thing Helena had ever expected. Camille raised one hand that held something Helena hadn’t noticed before. Something she never thought to see again.

A mask.

She shook her head, hair splaying about her shoulders wildly.

“Put it on.”

“Camille.” Helena stumbled back. “Why are you doing this?”

In that moment, the Gaulean princess looked very much like her mother—the woman who’d sold Quinn to the Madrans.

And Helena hated her for it. “No.”

Camille narrowed her eyes. “It’ll be much easier for you if you just obey.”

Helena’s eyes flicked to the mask. Not again. She’d spent most of her life imprisoned by such fabric. She wasn’t that girl anymore.

Two guards appeared in the doorway.

Helena glanced back over her shoulder at Stev who was trying to climb from the bed to help her. He fell back, his body jerking as his eyes rolled up into his head.

“Stev!” Helena tried to turn and run back to him, but one of the guards grabbed her to hold her in place. “Let me go, you bloody bastard.” A meaty arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her off her feet as she kicked and screamed.

Camille’s words barely registered in her mind. “Get the healer. If Estevan dies, the king will be very aggravated.”

No, Helena thought. Cole wouldn’t care what happened to any of them.

Her own words came back to her. He’s not our brother.

Only he was. And that made the pain all too real.

“Stev,” she cried once more before a fist flashed in front of her face, and the darkness beckoned to her with its peace.

* * *

Voices surrounded Helena, but she struggled to open her eyes. Heavy footsteps crossed in front of her. The jangle of many armored boots came and went.

Where was she?

As she took in the surrounding room, it all came back to her. Coming to the palace. Cole. Estevan. How could her brother be alive after all this time?

Her father’s council room took shape around her. No, not her father’s. Not anymore. Sound echoed off arched ceilings, only slightly muffled by plush carpets.

Helena lifted her aching head off the soft white fibers of a pillow. She lifted a hand to her face as another piece of herself broke apart. The mask clung to her skin, a cage she had never really escaped. She wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the place down, but she wouldn’t give Cole that satisfaction. She refused to fall apart. Not again.

The mask strengthened her, bolstering her need for vengeance. She’d felt the anger slipping through her fingers after Cole brought her to Estevan, but now as she scanned the faces of those loyal to the new king, she wanted them all to pay.

Two boots stopped in front of her before a stocky man crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet.

Helena lifted her eyes to Reed’s and all she could see was the man who took Quinn, who let his people almost kill Dell.

Sympathy entered his gaze, and he held out a cup of water.

When Helena didn’t move to take it, Reed sighed. “I’m not going to hurt you, Princess.”

A hand landed on Reed’s shoulder, jerked him backward. He landed heavily on his butt, water spilling over his shirt. “Dammit, Ian.”

Ian ignored Reed’s exasperation. “The princess is needed.”

Without waiting for a response, he gripped Helena’s arm and jerked her up, pulling her toward the table in the center of the room.

Cole stood ramrod straight, newly shaven. His hair was slicked back in the same style he’d always worn it. Only now, he seemed… older. His cold eyes found hers, none of the emotion from earlier appearing in the dark globes.

“We have had great fortune,” he said, his eyes scanning the faces around the table. Helena recognized a few generals and merchants, but some were strangers. Camille stood to Cole’s right. “Princess Helena has returned to help lead Madra to greatness.”

Helena choked on a breath.

Cole continued. “But Prince Quinn has gone missing. We believe rebels have taken him. The palace guard has been scouring the city, but I’ve brought my sister here to shed some light on his whereabouts.”

Helena froze. Did Cole know about her connection to the rebels?

He rounded the table, stopping at her side and peering down at her. False affection rang in his voice. “Dear sister, tell me where Edmund is.”

“I-I don’t know.”

Cole struck her before she even knew what was happening. His palm left a biting pain burning her cheek.. She lifted a hand to her stinging cheek, stumbling back.

“Here in this palace, we do not abide lies.” Cole’s low voice rumbled through her.

Danger lurked behind his gaze, and Helena swallowed heavily. Did he want her to fear him?

She stood straighter, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Cole gestured to one of his guards who struck Helena in the stomach. She doubled over, gasping for breath as pain shot through her abdomen.

She bit back a scream and stood tall once again.

Not a single person at the table made a move to stop Cole.

“Where is my brother?” Cole screamed, the veins in his neck pulsing with his irritation.

Helena narrowed her eyes. “I could take him from you in an instant. You stole everything from me. Why shouldn’t I do the same?”

Cole smashed his fist against the side of her head, knocking her sideways. She stumbled, falling to her knees when he kicked the back of her shin. The beating continued with Cole unleashing every bit of his fury on her until all Helena could focus on was the pain.

She held onto consciousness like a falling man holds on to the edge of a cliff. The strikes eased as Cole let out a roar and covered her body with his.

“I had to,” he murmured. “Helena, I had to.” His tears dripped onto her skin.

The mask hid her ashen face, and Cole’s weight on top of her crushed her into the floor. She felt as if she no longer existed.

She’d told Edmund Cole wouldn’t hurt her. That had been the one thought holding her together. As evil as her brother was, he loved her. She’d wanted it to be true. It would have made the mission possible, but it also would have healed some small part of her.

Her bruised body may not have completely broken, but she lay there as if she’d been nothing more than a glass princess.

And now, finally, she’d shattered leaving only razor sharp shards that would slice through anything they touched.

For the second time that day, darkness pulled her under its swift current.

22

The midday sun hung in the sky by the time Dell rode through the city streets of Madra. Beggars sat on each corner, more common than they’d once been. The few shops that had opened had long lines stretching out of the doorways as people tried to get their share of food brought in from the Madran farms.

“We need to ditch the horses,” Dell said, coming to a stop and sliding down. He glanced each way down the busy street, pressing back into an alleyway as a cart rambled by.

“It’ll take us too long on foot.” Etta scanned their surroundings, always watchful.

Dell shook his head. “It won’t matter how far we have to walk if we never make it there. This is not Bela. The average Madran doesn’t have a horse because they can’t afford one. We’re marking ourselves with wealth and I’m getting the distinct impression that’s an even worse thing now than it was before.”

A man walked by, scowling as he caught sight of them, but he didn’t pause.

No one else argued as they dismounted and led their horses down the narrow alley.

“We’re close to the ambassador’s sector. Edmund’s house is there.” Dell peered around the side of a shop, scanning the road. A troop of palace guards rode through town. People scrambled out of their way, and Dell grabbed a young boy by the front of the shirt.

“Why is the guard in the city?” Before, the king had been careful not to impose his warriors on the people. Force didn’t work in Madra. Only money did. They claimed the mercenaries had evil inside them with their only loyalty being to the gold in their pockets, but it wasn’t only their way of life. Madra had been built on the concept.

The boy’s lip shook. “The prince be missing, sir.”

“The prince?”

The boy nodded. “They be saying them rebels got Prince Quinn.”

Dell released the boy. “You want to earn a bit of gold, kid?” He gestured to the purse on Etta’s belt.

The boy’s eyes lit up. “How, sir?”

“You’re going to help my friend here.” He put a hand on a confused Landon’s shoulder before turning to the others. “Change of plans. We can’t go to Edmund’s when the city is crawling with guards. Landon will take the horses to the public stables since he knows the city as well as I do.”

The last time Dell had been at the public stables was when he spirited Helena away from her own tournament. He refused to let the memories cloud his mind this time.

Etta leaned into Vérité, whispering words none of the rest of them could hear. When she backed away, she looked to Landon. “Worry about the others. Vérité will follow you or he won’t. That’s his choice.”

Landon scrunched his brow, issuing a short nod. “Stay safe.”

“You too.” Dell thought for a moment. “If you make it before dark, there’s a bakery in the market square. It’s run by a woman named Agathe. Search for us there.”

Dell wasted no time strolling out onto the street as if he had every right to be there. This kingdom and this city had once held such familiarity for him… and also a lot of pain. It’d shaped him into the man he was. Allowed him to form his own convictions.

When he’d first helped Edmund, he hadn’t known which side of the fight he wanted to be on. He hadn’t thought the Rhodipus line deserved to keep their rule.

Now, he knew. He fought to take back what had been stolen. This wasn’t just out of loyalty to Edmund any longer. He’d have joined the fight, eventually. Madra was his home.

He led them past Catsja’s tavern and images from another life assaulted him. He’d chased the woman only after her husband called Dell’s mother a whore.

The boy he’d been thrived on rage, fighting illegal street matches and enjoying every hit. He’d been foolish and desperate for anything to give his life meaning.

The sign no longer read The Cooked Goose. Instead, it had been changed to The King’s Tavern.

With a sigh, he turned away. Etta, Alex, and Tyson asked no questions about Madra as they took in the crowded city. In Bela, everything smelled fresh and new. Madra’s air hung stale between the buildings; a combination of fish and urine.

A troop of palace guards in gleaming black armor rode down the street.

“Come on.” Dell ran around the corner, barreling through a familiar door. The others skidded in behind him, ducking below a table so they couldn’t be seen through the window.

The smell of fresh bread replaced the putrid Madran air. Dell had spent as much time in Agathe’s bakery as anywhere else growing up. She’d helped raise him when his stepmother refused.

The counter near the back wall sat barren, no longer filled with pastries and sweet treats she was so known for. Then why did it smell as if she’d recently baked a new batch?

“Stay here,” he said. Something didn’t feel right. Where was Agathe? Why was her store open if she wasn’t there?

Along the walls, candles burned, signaling someone’s recent presence.

“Latch the door,” he hissed back to Tyson. Alex and Etta watched guards walk past the window as Dell crouched low.

He ducked behind the counter, almost crashing into a bucket of dishwater, and pulled his sword free as he nudged the door leading to the back rooms open. Agathe lived behind her bakery in a one room home. Darkness greeted him, but he sniffed the air, smelling the remnants of burning candles.

Someone was still there.

Agathe’s bed sat across the room, a blanket folded over the surface. The only other furniture was a table pushed against the wall and a high-backed chair with ripping seams sitting in front of a still burning fire.

Dell froze.

Still burning.

Dell felt a presence at his back and turned, ready to strike. Tyson raised an eyebrow, his face aglow in the light of the candle he carried.

“I told you to stay back,” Dell growled. Back in Bela and Gaule, he’d listened to them, followed them. But now they were in his kingdom, around his people.

He was in charge.

In true Tyson fashion, he shrugged as if the nerves weren’t getting to him at all. “Thought you’d want to know about the staircase Alex found in the ceiling.”

Staircase? Of course.

A thud sounded from above and Dell moved without thinking. He’d only ever been in Agathe’s large attic once when she needed help carrying storage containers. The stairs folded up into the ceiling, but Dell had seen her pull them down enough he knew exactly where the string wrapped around the top corner of the larger oven, out of sight.

Reaching up, he pulled it free.

Please let Agathe be okay. His plea went up to the heavens while at the same time, never leaving his mind.

He couldn’t take losing anyone else.

The steps descended from the ceiling, and Dell began the climb. Wood groaned under his feet as the stairs swayed with his weight.

He held on with one hand while keeping the other gripped around the hilt of his sword. At the top, a thin board covered the opening into the attic. Dell slammed his palm into it, shifting it out of the way and pulled himself through. Before he could brandish his sword, a length of steel flashed in front of his face.

His heart pounded against his ribs, threatening to burst through his chest. He sucked in a breath, reaching a hand down to tell those below him to wait.

A flame appeared with a familiar face behind it. Dell lunged, knocking Orlo onto his back. “What have you done with Agathe, you bloody bastard?”

Hands grabbed him, hauling him from a grinning Orlo.

“Should have known you’d show up.” A low chuckle drew Dell’s gaze to the man still holding him back.

“Edmund.” He shook his head and sat back on his heels. “You can come up now,” he yelled down to the others. “It’s safe.” He didn’t know what Orlo was doing here, but at the moment, he didn’t care because he caught sight of a weathered face smiling at him.

Crawling forward on his knees, he wrapped Agathe in a tight hug.

She gripped him with surprising strength. “Wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again, boyo.”

“You know me, Agathe. I can’t seem to stay away from trouble.”

She barked out a laugh and released him.

Tyson, Alex, and Etta crawled into the small space. Edmund’s eyes widened when he saw them.

Tyson shrugged. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”

It had been a given that Tyson would want to help Edmund. But the blonde man stared at Etta and Alex as if he was seeing them for the first time.

“You and Camille are family,” Alex said.

Edmund nodded. “I’m glad you guys are here.”

“What have we stumbled into, Edmund?” Etta pinned him with a stare.

“How did you find me?”

Dell was the one who answered. “I had a hunch Agathe would know where you were.” As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he took in the cramped space. Empty platters were scattered over the floor next to overturned cups. How many people had been here? A shadowy figure sat hunched in the corner. Dell studied him for a moment before recognition set in.

“Quinn Rhodipus.”

The man’s head jerked up, and it was only then Dell noticed the ties around his wrists.

“Do I know you?” Quinn’s glare was so much like Helena’s, Dell looked away.

“I’m just the man who almost died trying to save you back in Gaule.” He faced Edmund. “Why is he tied up? What’s happening around here? We came to help, but we can’t do that until we know the full story.”

Edmund rubbed his tired eyes. “When the king sent the guard out searching for Quinn, it forced the rebels to split up and abandon the post they’d set up at my old house. We have rotating scouts out picking up information and others searching for any sign that Helena may send us a message.”

Dell’s blood surged. “I knew it. That’s why she…” He couldn’t say the words left me behind. “She knew I’d never let her do something so foolish.”

“Finally someone who sees how stupid it was.” Quinn scowled and shifted where he sat. “You were supposed to protect her, Edmund. Isn’t that what Stev asked you to do?”

Edmund lunged toward Quinn, stopping just short of pummeling him. “You don’t know what Stev wanted. Every breath you take betrays him. You work for the man who killed him.”

A look Dell couldn’t discern flashed across Quinn’s face, but Edmund didn’t notice it.

“You think he won’t hurt her?” Quinn said lowly. “You don’t know him at all.”

“Is that a threat?” Edmund pulled a knife free from his belt. “I should kill you for everything you’ve done.”

Quinn focused his eyes on the blade. Dell wondered if he should stop Edmund, but he didn’t dare intercede.

“I did it for her.” His voice was so quiet it took a moment for the words to sink in. Quinn hunched forward, burying his face in his hands.

Edmund sat back, tucking the knife away. There’d been a time when Edmund had been friends with most of the princes.

“What do you mean you did it for her?” Danger lurked behind Dell’s words.

Quinn lifted his eyes, allowing Dell a glimpse into the pain he tried to keep hidden. His family was tearing him apart. “I knew she’d come back.” His eyes flicked to Edmund. “I knew you both would, and I’d be no use to you locked in a cell at the ghostly monastery.”

Edmund pushed out a breath and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve known you since the day I set foot in Madra, Quinn. Yet, I’m not sure if I should believe you. You showed up at the docks to arrest me. Cole wouldn’t have known she would be there too, but you would have.”

“I had to. If I didn’t go, Cole would have sent someone else. I’m not going to lie to you, Edmund. I wouldn’t have been able to protect you. But Helena… you don’t know what has been going on at the palace in the months you’ve been gone. We have people there—more than you know—who have been working on returning Stev…” He stopped speaking as if he’d said something he hadn’t meant to.

It took Edmund a moment to react. He jerked forward, pulling his knife free once again and holding it to Quinn’s throat. “What about Stev?”

Quinn didn’t flinch away from the blade as he held Edmund’s gaze.

Dell and the others watched with bated breath.

Quinn lifted his chin. “We want to put Estevan back on the throne.”

Edmund’s knife clattered to the ground, and he fell back, his head shaking as if not believing a single word spoken. “He’s… He’s…”

“Alive.”

It was strange. How one word could change the entire outlook of a mission. Dell barely knew the oldest Rhodipus, and even his heart leapt. They’d come to Madra to take down a king, never thinking of what came after. Helena could have taken the throne, but Dell knew all she wanted was her family returned to her.

But Estevan?

If Helena was at the palace, had she seen him?

Edmund sucked in air like a man who never thought he’d take another breath. He ran a shaking hand through his hair.

Etta sat beside him and pulled his other hand away from where it scratched at the skin on his face. She laced her fingers through his.

“He’s alive, Edmund,” she whispered.

As if her words snapped something inside him, he folded in on himself, his back shuddering.

Dell knew he should look away, but he couldn’t. He’d only seen Edmund look so… breakable twice before. Once when he’d been forced to leave Estevan in Madra. And again when he’d learned of the prince’s supposed death.

For most of his life, Dell hid behind charm and a false ego, letting no one get close enough to have the kind of power over him that Estevan had over Edmund. He’d thought strength was being unbreakable.

He’d been wrong.

If he didn’t get to Helena in time, he’d never recover, but he loved her anyway.

Edmund had never stopped loving Estevan even when he thought he was dead, and it was the bravest thing Dell had ever seen. He let himself feel it all.

Edmund wiped his face. “I have to get to him.” He crawled toward the stairs. “We can’t sit here waiting any longer.”

Quinn, who’d silently let Edmund process this world-changing information, called Edmund back. “And what do you think you’re going to do?”

Edmund paused. “Whatever I have to.”

“If you go to the palace with nothing but vengeance on your mind, you won’t make it out. Cole has no ties to you like he does Helena.” At least he hoped Cole wouldn’t hurt his sister. If Stev was still alive, there had to be hope, right?

“I don’t care if I survive as long as Estevan does.”

Dell reached forward to grab Edmund’s arm. “You know what you went through after you thought he died. Do you wish that for him?” Dell had to make him see reason.

The door slamming down below made them all freeze.

“It’s probably just Landon.” Dell wished he was as confident in that as he sounded.

“Landon?” Quinn’s gaze snapped to his. “My cousin?”

“He’s the one who brought us to Gaule to try to save you. Then he decided to accompany us here.”

Quinn’s eyes widened.

“I’m going to see if it’s him,” Edmund said.

“Wait!” Quinn tried to move forward, but the ropes holding his wrists hindered him. “You can’t trust him.”

“He’s the only reason we knew you were being held prisoner in Gaule.” Alarm bells rang in Dell’s mind.

“Because he gave me to them.” He hardened his jaw. “Landon works for Cole.”

And he knew exactly where they were. Dell cursed. Should they have seen it? “We have to leave this place.”

Footsteps sounded below. Without thinking, Dell lowered himself through the opening in the floor, not bothering with the stairs. He hung for only a second before dropping on top of the intruder.

A string of curses flew from the woman’s mouth. A mouth Dell knew too well. They landed in a heap on the floor. He rolled off her with a grunt. “Catsja?”

She grimaced in pain as she sat up. “Dell Tenyson, you bloody fool. What was that for?”

He shocked her by pulling her into a hug. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

The others descended the stairs, and Orlo’s thick hand gripped the back of Dell’s neck, hauling him away from Catsja.

He shook his head, surprised both Orlo and Catsja had joined the rebels. He shouldn’t have been. They hated the Madran army like none other.

“Another rebel?” Etta asked, checking her weapons.

Dell didn’t get a chance to answer because voices sounded out front as the door opened.

“Get down,” Edmund hissed, pulling Agathe behind a crate with him.

“They’re here,” a familiar voice said. “Find them.”

Landon. Fire raged through Dell’s veins. They couldn’t just wait to be found. He met Tyson’s gaze, knowing at least the impulsive young prince would agree with him.

Tyson nodded, gesturing to Etta. Without waiting to make sure the rest of them followed, Dell pulled his sword and charged into the front of the bakery.

The guards still pouring through the front door looked up, startled for only a moment before arming themselves to meet the charge.

Dell didn’t stop moving until he barreled right into one of the guards, swinging his sword in a wide arc.

Beside him, Tyson sprang forward, crashing his sword against Landon’s.

The rest of their group jumped into the fight, bumping into each other in the tight space. Tyson jumped away from Landon, letting Etta take over. The queen muttered under her breath. Dell knew little of her history with the general. Only that they fought La Dame together.

Tyson ran behind the counter, finding a bucket of water. He threw it into the air, holding his hands high and expanding the substance with his water magic, before sending spears of water crashing against each guard with enough force to drive them through the glass windows.

Shards rained down, but before hitting them, a gale of wind pushed the sharp pieces through the now open windows.

Out on the street, a crowd formed to watch the sopping guards pick themselves up. Quinn appeared and held out his wrists to Edmund. It was now or never. Trust him or don’t.

Edmund glanced sideways at him before slicing through his ropes and then extending the knife hilt first.

Quinn took it. “I need to return to the palace.”

Edmund, seeming to understand his meaning, nodded and faced him. “Do it.”

In a flash, Quinn’s fist connected with Edmund’s cheek, and he took off running toward the guards who were preparing for another fight.

“We have to get out of here.” Edmund glanced at Agathe, and the old woman smiled in understanding. “Catsja, get the powder.”

The powder. Dell knew instantly what kind of powder it was. He’d seen kegs of it in his family’s cellar while trapped there.

“Dell, Alex, Tyson.” Edmund looked to each of them. “You get Agathe out and far from here. We’ll hold them off.”

Etta shot him a grin, tossing her sword between her hands. “It’s been too long since you and I have fought together, Edmund.”

“Go!” Edmund ordered to the rest of them.

Dell didn’t want to leave Edmund to the fight, but he couldn’t have Agathe in danger. And he knew he wouldn’t be the kind of help Etta would.

Everyone did as they were told. Dell let the others out the back door, only looking behind him once as the sounds of the renewed fight filled the air.

They ran down the back alley until they reached a crossroads and turned into a seedier part of town. Agathe seemed to know the way, so they followed her.

Before they got too far, an explosion rent the air. Dell froze, glancing behind him. They were okay. They had to be.

“Edmund and Etta know what they’re doing,” Alex said as if reading his mind.

How did he have such faith in them? Dell wished he had that kind of confidence in anyone other than himself. He still felt the need to protect the people in his life rather than let them protect themselves.

A thought struck him as they paused. “Kassander.” He froze in the doorway. “We sent Kassander with Landon.” They’d thought it was the safer option. Going to the stables had to be safer than meeting the rebels.

Only it wasn’t. They’d given the young prince over to his brother.

Once again, Dell failed Helena.

His horror was mirrored on the faces around him.

Agathe ushered them down another familiar road, not stopping until they reached the gates Dell never wanted to see again.

“Agathe.” He froze, staring up at the ominous structure. “What are we doing here?”

“This is another rebel base.” She pushed past him and pounded her fist against the gates.

How could the home he’d grown up in have become a base for the rebels when Ian and Reed stood by the king’s side? Was it further proof of Reed’s disloyalty to Cole?

The gates swung open slowly, and a weathered face greeted them, showing no surprise at the site of Dell.

He blew out a breath. “Stepmother.”

She ignored him, instead settling her eyes on Agathe. “I heard the explosion from here. I’m glad you found a use for the powder I supplied. Come in. Let’s get you out of sight.”

Agathe smiled. “Thank you, dear.” She led them in, leaving the gates open slightly for the others.

Tyson leaned in to Dell as he eyed the grand Tenyson house. “You grew up here?”

“No.” Dell’s eyes fell on the familiar building out back. “I lived in the stables.” The young prince looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but Dell sped up to prevent the conversation. His mind whirled with the possibility of his stepmother fighting against the king. A king her sons supported.

The last time Dell had been there, his brothers trapped him in the cellar. Now, he walked through a front entrance they had never allowed him to use. The once grand house, seemed sparser than before.

Agathe, as if reading the questions in his mind, spoke in a low tone. “Your stepmother has been forced to sell many things to get by with the port closing. She released all of her staff and now lives here alone since both your brothers live in the palace. Ian hasn’t been home since the rebellion. Reed comes often on rebel business.”

“How did she become a rebel?” he asked. The woman he’d known only ever looked out for herself. She wouldn’t care what a king did to the kingdom.

“With the spiral gone, she has lost her place in society. Everyone has something to fight for in this.”

Dell nodded. It made sense. She was still looking out for herself.

His step-mother led them to the stables he’d spent most of his life in.

“I can’t have rebels in the main house,” she said. “I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

Dell hadn’t ever heard her apologize for anything.

Agathe put a hand on her arm. “Of course. When the others arrive, please show them to us. We won’t bring you any trouble. I promise. We’ll be gone in the morning.”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes finding Dell as if she had more to say. Instead, she only nodded and walked out.

Dell inhaled, his heart pounding against his ribs as the inadequate feeling of his youth came back to him. No matter what she said, she’d always had that effect on him.

A horse neighed, and he breathed out a sigh as he caught sight of horse-Ian. The familiar sight of the beast in his stall calmed him. He was no longer the boy with no family who mucked stalls and let that woman push him around.

No, now he had more purpose. A family. She could no longer control his life or his mind. He let Agathe have the bunk he’d spent most nights in and sat down with his back against horse-Ian’s stall.

Wiping at his face, his fingers came away red.

He felt for a cut but found none. The blood wasn’t his.

Silence choked the room for what seemed like an eternity until Edmund burst through the door. His shoulders sagged in relief. “You’re here.”

Alex pushed past him to wrap Etta in his arms.

“Why did you come here?” Edmund scanned the sparse room.

“It’s a rebel safe house.” Catsja elbowed him out of the way. “I told you, Edmund, the movement has grown since you left.”

“But Lady Tenyson?”

Dell studied Agathe. She’d led them there. How involved in the rebellion was she? They’d just destroyed everything the woman had. Her shop was nothing but rubble. Her livelihood gone.

And yet, there was life in her eyes like he’d never seen before.

Dell met Edmund’s gaze. “What’s next?”

Catsja sat with an exaggerated grunt. “That’s why I came to find you all in the shop. I have news.” A smile slid across her face. “It seems like the princess’ return is what we needed. Our sources inside the palace indicate the king will make his first public appearance. He wants to show Madra that the Rhodipus line is intact and supportive of his reign. His advisors seem to think it’s the only way to quell the rebel movement.”

Dell took in each word, turning it over and considering it. He needed to see Len, so he asked the one question that would bring her closer to him.

“When?”

23

A warm hand pressed against Helena’s forehead as someone coaxed her back to the waking world. Soft blankets tangled around her legs and she tried to roll onto her side, confusion clouding her mind. Where was she?

“Dell?” she murmured.

“Sister.”

The voice had her jolting awake and flinching away from his touch. Her eyes snapped open to find Cole’s face staring down at her, a concerned frown tilting his lips.

Pain pulsed in her temples and radiated down her torso as images flooded her mind. Cole’s fist. A foot to the stomach.

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She’d been so sure he wouldn’t hurt her. So sure the brother she’d known was still in there somewhere.

Because she saw him. As he sat on the edge of her bed, his hand hovering over her hair, he looked like the man she’d known.

“Don’t touch me.” She pulled the blanket up to her chin, wincing at the pain the movement caused.

Cole’s brow creased. “You know I wanted nothing to happen to you, Lenny. I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Cole. Maybe you never did.” She knew she needed to be careful with him. He’d proven to be unpredictable, volatile. Had he really changed so much? Or had he hidden this part of himself from them all? Even his twin.

The thought of Quinn and his loyalty to Cole burned within her. At least Kass was safe and…

“Estevan,” she whispered. Had that been a dream or did he truly live?

“Helena.” Cole sighed. “My people need to see my strength. If I do not instill fear in them, what do I have?”

“Father didn’t rule by fear.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could have them back. Lies. That’s all they were.

Cole moved to stroke her hair again and then thought better of it and curled his fingers into a fist. “You aren’t that naïve. All father had was fear. His armies spread across the six kingdoms under the guise of keeping peace. His priests arrested and imprisoned people. Even you, Sister, had to wear a mask your entire life for fear of what they’d do to you.”

Helena touched the bridge of her nose. Someone had removed the mask. A thought came to her. “You forced me to hide behind a mask as well.”

True sadness crossed his face. “It was how my council would instantly recognize you as the princess. The people do not know Helena Rhodipus, only the image father allowed them to have. I’m sorry I have to use that image as well.”

A harsh laugh pushed past her lips. “You aren’t sorry for anything.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sister. I’m sorry for everything.”

He stood, smoothing down the jacket of his uniform.

“But if you had to do it over again, you wouldn’t change anything.”

He didn’t turn to face her as he answered. “No. I wouldn’t.”

His footsteps echoed across the high ceilings long after he’d left. Helena buried her face in the pillow, letting it dampen with her tears until the door opened yet again.

She lifted her head, trying to ignore the pounding in her skull. Camille stood on the threshold.

“I think I’m quite done speaking with traitors today,” Helena ground out, letting her head fall back. She needed to pull herself from the bed and find out where she was. She still had a job to do—find a way to take down her brother before the rebels stormed the palace and got a lot of other people killed.

Someone else pushed past Camille, pulled her inside the room, and shut the door.

“Quinn.” Helena’s eyes widened. What was he doing in the palace when he was supposed to be missing?

He rushed to the bed and dropped to his knees. “Len.” His fingertips whispered over her bruised cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

She finally pushed herself up to sit and let the blanket drop. Dried blood speckled the side of her shirt.

Quinn uttered a curse and reached for the hem to push it up, revealing a small gash in her abdomen. Purple bruising spiraled out from the wound. Crusted blood sealed it.

Across her stomach, yellow and purple discoloration marked each place they had beaten her.

Quinn closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Anger surged into Helena and she pushed his hands away. “Leave me alone, Quinn. You don’t get to act like you care.”

Camille crossed the room to stand at the window. Sunlight lit her pale features as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell her, Quinn.”

“Tell me what?” Helena flicked her eyes from Quinn to Camille.

“I spent the night as Edmund’s prisoner, but he released me.”

Her jaw fell open. “Is he okay?”

He covered her hand with his. “He’s fine. He’s still with the rebels.” His mouth twisted. “I just wish he hadn’t brought a foreign kingdom into this.”

“Foreign kingdom?” This time it was Camille’s turn to be surprised. She turned from the window, letting her arms fall to her sides. “Bela is here?”

Helena couldn’t ignore the fact she didn’t suspect it was Gaule. She knew well her mother wouldn’t send help.

Alarm rang in Helena’s mind. “Etta? She’s here?” That meant… Dell. She shook her head, praying Quinn would tell her it wasn’t true, but also hoping he’d confirm her fears. Dell had come for her even after she’d left him behind.

Quinn scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, along with the king and prince of Bela.”

A smile warmed Camille’s face. “They came.”

Helena clenched her hands around a fistful of blanket. “Well, run along then. You two should go tell Cole. It’s what you want to do.”

Camille’s smile turned into a sneer. “What I want to do is put a sword straight through his heart.”

Quinn glanced at the door as if they’d be overheard. “I’m sorry, Len. That I ever made you doubt me. That I ever doubted myself. Cole is… he used to be everything to me. Before we came to the palace, we were the only family either of us had. That changed for me. It didn’t for him. I saw the signs over the years. His hatred of father and your mother. His friendship with Ian Tenyson. Ian always wanted more power than a merchant could have. He didn’t want to reach the top of the spiral. He wanted to be the spiral, to be everything Madra needed, the only merchant supplying the kingdom with goods. An empire worthy of a king.”

“So…” She glanced from Quinn to Camille. “You’re not on Cole’s side in this?”

When they both shook their heads, a wave of relief washed over her. She had more allies than she’d thought.

“I can’t stay much longer.” Quinn stood. “Cole has people watching me. I’m only supposed to be delivering Camille to you.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “We’ll get through this, Len.”

She swallowed back a sob as he left.

Camille walked to the bed. “Come on, Helena. They sent me to help you wash and dress for the ceremony tonight.”

“Ceremony?”

Camille nodded. “Cole has invited the city-dwellers to watch him speak. It’s to show them that the Rhodipus family is intact and loyal to their king. He hopes it will quell the rebel movement especially after last night.”

“Last night?”

“Explosions rang across the city. Many of them. I only saw the dust clouds from my window, but they shrouded the entire city.

Edmund? She’d worried about him every second since she arrived at the palace. And now it wasn’t only him. Dell, Etta, Alex, Tyson. All of them were in danger.

As if reading her thoughts, Camille spoke in a reverent tone. “I can’t believe my brothers are here.”

Helena let her legs hang over the side of the bed before setting her feet on the floor. “Why should it surprise you that they came for you?”

Camille pinned her with a stare. “You don’t know our history. I’m not sure why they’re here, but it isn’t for me.”

For the first time, Helena saw a loneliness in the Gaulean princess that matched her own.

Camille gripped her arm and helped her to her feet. Helena stumbled, but the other girl kept her upright, wedging her shoulder under Helena’s.

With the help of her cane, Camille aided her into the attached washroom where a tub of steaming water sat waiting.

Camille helped Helena perch on the edge of the copper tub. “Cole won’t allow any servants near you. He trusts very few people.”

“Why does he trust you?”

Camille frowned. “That’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

A sigh pushed past her lips. “I’ll just say Quinn has convinced him and leave it at that. Come on, Helena. We don’t have all day.”

It took every bit of strength Helena possessed to remove her clothing without crying out in pain. She stepped into the water and sank below the surface, letting out a whimper as if it simultaneously soothed her aching body and stung where the wound opened her skin.

Unable to lift her arms enough to scrub, Camille aided her in removing a days’ worth of travel grime.

“Camille,” she whispered as the girl scrubbed soap through Helena’s dark hair.

“What?”

“I don’t understand so many things. Tell me what has happened since I left.”

Camille’s hands stilled. “That’s a heavy task, Princess. Are you sure you want the truth?”

Helena stared at her hands. If she was going to save the people she loved, she may have to do something she’d never thought possible. Remove one of her brothers from this world. She nodded. “I need to know what Cole has done.” She needed to know he was truly as evil as she suspected.

Camille lifted a cup above Helena’s head. “Tilt your head back.” She poured the water to rinse Helena’s hair. “The first thing he did as king was have the royal residence repaired. Your fire did a lot of damage. He claimed it would need to be ready when his family returned to live there. Most of us thought it was the ramblings of an insane man. We didn’t know Estevan lived. Not at first. He was kept in a far wing of the palace, and Cole had someone questioning him every day.”

“Questioning him about what?”

“Secrets of the kingdom. People who were loyal to him and the old king. There were even rumors of hidden tunnels Cole wanted information on.”

Hidden tunnels? She sucked in a breath, goosebumps racing along her arms. Other than her, Estevan and Kassander were the only living people who knew about the tunnels. And Edmund, she supposed. He’d helped her get back to them in what seemed like another life.

Camille continued. “Once the royal residence was finished, Cole shocked the entire palace by revealing Estevan and putting him in a room there. Then Quinn returned. Reed Tenyson brought him to the palace in chains. Something Cole still hasn’t forgiven Reed for.”

Reed. Helena clenched her jaw. He’d been the source of so many of their problems. Yet… the rebels said he could be trusted.

“After that, Cole’s mind slipped further into darkness, blaming his own people for the fact you were dead and wouldn’t be returning. He had his guards turn over the city in search of Kassander even though he knew he must have left. Ships were no longer allowed in or out of the port in fear that he’d lose another sibling. Everything he’s done has been to keep a family around him.”

Helena shivered, and Camille helped her stand, wrapping a towel around her body.

Cole had always clung to both Helena and Quinn as if they’d abandon him one day. As if they’d die like his mother had. He’d never had affection for Stev, but it seemed that had changed.

But then… “Why’d he kill my father if he was so set on family?”

Camille sat Helena in a high-backed chair and pulled a comb through her wet hair. “I don’t know, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t think the rebellion was entirely Cole’s doing. That Tenyson boy is dangerous.”

She’d always known Ian was dangerous. How could two boys grow up together and turn out so completely different? Ian and Dell. Cole and Quinn.

Silence descended as Camille braided Helena’s hair around the crown of her head. She showed her the dress Cole had chosen for the occasion. A simple midnight blue gown that flared out at the hips. The bust line dipped down low. A sapphire necklace, mask, and the glass slippers she hated so much rested next to the dress.

Camille helped her put it on. “I must go make myself ready,” she said. “Cole will be pleased with your appearance. Tonight is a big night.” She gave one final nod and disappeared through the door.

Helena’s heart beat solidly in her chest as she laid back on the bed. The dress covered each bruise as if someone had considered it. The silver mask would cover the marks on her face, making it seem like none of it had happened.

But it had. Nothing would erase the scars on her heart or the images in her mind. Her father hitting the ground. The last look of fear on her mother’s face. Estevan’s wounds.

She’d come looking for revenge, but now it had changed. Vengeance alone would only leave her more shattered than she was before.

She had to protect her family. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

Helena sat up when the door to her room opened and Ian stepped through. She pulled her knees to her chest as if that could protect her from the hard glint in his eye.

“I’ve wanted to have you alone for quite some time.” He smiled, his eyes flashing.

“Leave me or I’ll scream.”

Ian laughed. “The only person in this wing right now besides you and me is your dear brother, Estevan, and he’s in no condition to move.”

“Why are you doing this? Isn’t it enough to steal my kingdom? My home? My brother? What else do you want from me?”

“What I’ve always wanted, Helena.” He cocked his head as if it should be obvious. “You and I were always meant to wed. I love you, Lenny.”

She shook her head. “Don’t call me that. I will never be your wife.”

“Oh, but dear, your father promised you to me, and then your brother upheld that promise.”

She ground her teeth. “My brother has no power over me.”

His smile widened. “I like my women strong. It makes it so much more fun to break them.”

Helena hid her wince as she stood. “Get out of my room.”

His eyes narrowed in challenge. “Gladly, but you’re coming with me.” He lunged forward, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Cole sent me to show you something.”

She turned her head away from his rancid breath. With a different personality, Ian Tenyson would have been considered a good suitor. Power, money, looks. He had it all. Yet, his touch made her skin crawl.

He pulled her into the main sitting room of the residence and out into the hall. His grip was so tight, she couldn’t break free. Holding up the mask he must have snatched, he gestured to her face. “Now.”

She complied but only because she wouldn’t get anywhere by fighting. Ian led her through the maze of halls and down a stairwell before stopping outside an unadorned door. He didn’t release her as he pushed it open.

Helena’s heart fell into her stomach. A cot sat across the sparse room and a boy’s sleeping form sprawled across it.

Kassander.

She covered her mouth with her hand.

“He’ll be moved to the royal residence once he wakes and is questioned.” Ian’s tone was smug.

Questioned. She swallowed thickly, knowing what that meant. “What kind of information could Kass possibly have?”

“He was brought in with a man claiming loyalty to the king, and the boy is needed to confirm the information he has given us. Don’t worry, he is unharmed at the moment, only drugged.”

“What do you want from me?” Helena whispered. “Why did you bring me here?”

“You can help him.”

“How?” Her voice was so small she was sure he hadn’t heard her until he turned.

“Tell me where the tunnels are.”

Her eyes widened. So, Estevan hadn’t told them the palace’s biggest secret? She released a shaky breath. The tunnels might be her only way out of there after she did what she came to do. It gave her some small comfort that Cole hadn’t yet found them. There was one piece of information she could still use.

“I know of no tunnels.” She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze.

He slammed his fist into the wall next to her head, and she jumped. “Don’t lie to me, Helena.”

She narrowed her eyes and clamped her lips shut.

Ian reach down, sliding a knife free from the scabbard at his waist.

I will not flinch. I will not flinch. He doesn’t deserve my fear.

He’d thrive on it, bask in it.

He dipped the tip of the knife under the edge of her mask and pushed it up to reveal her face. Trailing the blade down along her cheek, he pressed the tip just hard enough to draw a single bead of blood.

Helena’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he traced her jaw with his free hand, letting it wander down over her neck and across her collarbone before stopping at the swell of her breasts. “Where are the tunnels, Helena,” he whispered, leaning close.

“Go to hell.”

His chuckle vibrated against her skin.

She focused on Kassander’s sleeping form over Ian’s shoulder, silently praying he didn’t wake. She didn’t know what Ian would do to her.

Stepping closer so his body was flush with hers, Ian pushed her harder against the wall. “You’ve always smelled so sweet, Princess.” He lowered his face and inhaled. Keeping the knife gripped tightly, he smoothed his hands over her sides, sending a shiver along her spine.

Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach, but she stayed frozen in place. She’d rather Ian try to get the information from her than Kassander.

Tears streamed down her face, but Ian didn’t seem to notice as he pressed his lips to her jaw. “Where are the tunnels, Helena?”

She didn’t speak.

Ian bit the sensitive skin of her neck sending a shooting pain through her. She let out a tiny whimper, and he smiled against her, enjoying making her suffer. “Today will be the final day of the little rebellion.” His hand snaked around to her backside. “I’m going to gut those bastards.” His lips moved down to her chest as his hands bunched up her dress to slip underneath.

His clammy fingers latched onto her upper thigh.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” He bit her again, and she held back a yelp.

“My brother will kill you for this,” she growled.

Ian laughed. “Cole has already said you’re mine to do with as I will.”

She didn’t say he hadn’t been the brother she’d been speaking of.

“I can’t wait to show my new woman to my entire family.” He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I’ve heard my half-brother has returned to Madra. I think he’ll like my new bride, don’t you?”

Dell. She closed her eyes, willing the tears away. How did Ian know he was in Madra? Her eyes caught on Kassander again. What had he said? Someone had brought him.

Landon. She gasped. There was no other explanation. Another member of her family to pledge loyalty to Cole. And he’d dragged Kassander back here as well. Her entire body shook as Ian continued his attentions.

“Dell is just a boy, Helena. Tell me where the tunnels are, and I’ll show you everything he doesn’t have.”

She shoved at his chest. “Dell is more than you’ll ever be.”

Her limbs recovered from their frozen state of shock, but his strength overpowered hers, and the knife he held pressed against the hollow of her throat.

“Don’t move,” he commanded.

“You can’t kill me.” She wished her confidence was as strong as her words.

“So sure about that?”

Another presence appeared over Ian’s shoulder, stopping in the doorway with a finger raised to his lips.

Helena almost couldn’t breathe as a trickle of blood slid over her shoulder. “Do it,” she breathed. “What are you scared of, Ian? Cole?”

Ian laughed. “Cole doesn’t scare me. You really know nothing, do you, little princess? Cole was put onto his throne by us. Me and—”

His words trailed off as a blade pierced through Ian’s back. He glanced down in shock, blood gurgling from his mouth, before stumbling back and falling sideways. The carpeted floor muffled the sound of his body crashing into it. Crimson life seeped into the thick fibers. Helena couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away.

A groan left his mouth, and then Ian Tenyson was dead.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of silence, Helena found Reed’s bewildered gaze. He backed away from the short sword still protruding from his brother’s back. His hands shook as he clenched and unclenched them.

“I…” He started, unable to voice what he’d done.

Helena watched him cautiously, sensing the pain in his gaze. Had he felt that pain as he set his men to attack Dell? Or as he’d taken Quinn hostage?

“Reed.” She put up a hand to calm him. “It’s okay.”

“I… Ian. He’s dead.”

The rebels’ words came back to her. “You can trust Reed Tenyson.” She didn’t know if that was true, but she didn’t have the luxury of waiting to find out. If she was going to make it out of this, she had to trust him.

“Reed, we can’t stay here.”

He shook himself as if waking from a long slumber. “You’re right.” His gaze slid over her bloodstained gown before settling on Kassander’s restless form. “He’s waking up. Cole sent me to move him. You must change. Tell Cole there was a tear in your gown and throw this one into your fireplace. I’ll have one of my people come here and clean up…” His eyes settled on his brother again, and he swallowed. “Come.”

Reed went to the bed and lifted Kassander. “The king was waiting until we could gather information from the boy, but we’ve run out of time. He’d like his entire family by his side in one hour’s time.”

Helena followed him into the hall, conscious of the blood on her chest and dress. Her carefully braided hair now lay askew. But none of it mattered. Ian Tenyson was dead. Cole’s right-hand man. What would he do?

She couldn’t bring herself to care about the consequences as she still felt Ian’s touch slithering along her skin like a snake wrapping around her limbs, ready to squeeze the life out of her.

The man who’d spent his life tormenting Dell was gone.

She breathed out heavily, walking in step with Reed. “Are you okay?”

Reed looked sideways at her, a hard glint in his eyes. “Ian had it coming.” His jaw tightened. “He has been threatening to kill our mother for being a suspected rebel.”

“Your mother isn’t loyal to Cole?”

Reed shifted Kass higher in his arms. “My mother can be a horrible woman. But she was loyal to the king who’d given her the power on the merchant’s council. She didn’t appreciate her son jumping her in station.”

“Lenny,” Kass mumbled as they passed a gaggle of wide-eyed servants.

“Kass.” She reached for his hand. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re going to be okay.”

“No. We’re not.”

She squeezed his hand as his words swirled in the recesses of her mind, clouding her thoughts in darkness.

They reached the royal residence and Camille appeared, hands on hips. “What happened?” She directed the question to Reed.

Reed carried Kass to an empty room. “Ian is dead.” He said nothing more as he disappeared.

“There’s no time to explain.” Helena stopped in front of Camille. “I need another dress.”

Once Helena bathed and dressed once again, Reed joined her on the couch. “Tonight is Cole’s first public appearance. You’re going to be at my side the entire time. I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

“Why would something happen to me?”

He hesitated for a moment before dropping his voice. “There will be a rebel attack. In the chaos we will have our best chance to take Cole down for good.” He slipped a tiny knife into her palm. “I’m told you know how to use this.”

She quickly slipped the blade down the front of her dress, eying the passing servants. “I can do it.”

He nodded. “I know.” Considering her for a moment, he spoke again. “This will not be easy. The things you will see tonight…”

“What am I going to see?”

“Cole has a plan to show the people who holds power in Madra. It was Ian’s plan. Just… stay on mission. Remember what you have to do.”

She nodded. “I can do that.” She just didn’t know how hard it would be.

24

“Lady Tenyson has had word from inside the palace.” Catsja approached Edmund from across the barn.

Dell had watched many rebels come and go throughout the night. Something big was happening and they wouldn’t give him any information.

Edmund sat up where he’d been lying. He brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Is it what we’ve been waiting for?”

Catsja hesitated. “Edmund…” She sighed. “It’s not from Helena.”

Dell leaned back against the wall, his entire body deflating. He scanned the stables. Bunks sat at one end with a table in the center. In them, men and women caught what little sleep they could. A heavy iron lock hung on the door, keeping people both in and out. The rebels trusted no one.

Beneath Dell, the packed dirt floor made for a poor bed. Morning light fought past the edges of dark window coverings as Dell took stock of each ache and pain in his body. There’d been little time just to consider what it was they tried to do.

Removing a king from the throne wouldn’t be easy.

Edmund took his time getting to his feet. He held out his hand for the message Catsja carried. She handed it to him and his eyes scanned the words as he walked to the table where a tray of water pitchers, cups, and simple food sat.

After a few moments of tense silence, Edmund startled them all by slamming the paper on the table. The crack of palm against wood echoed against the stone walls.

Orlo appeared from an adjoining room with others following. They’d all heard the commotion but none dared approach Edmund.

Except Dell. He got to his feet and moved to stand beside his friend. Edmund pushed the paper to Dell.

The king has invited select citizens to the palace to witness a demonstration.

Today. When the sun is high. That is our chance.

Use the tunnels to gain access to the palace.

Dell stopped reading. “Tunnels?”

Edmund closed his eyes. “They lead from one of the rooms in the west wing and come out into the city.”

“Those are just a rumor.” Catsja crossed her arms over her chest.

Edmund shook his head. “I know where they are.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Helena must trust him if she showed him the location.”

Dell was about to ask who Helena trusted when his eyes scanned the rest of the message.

The king will not allow Helena, Estevan, and Kassander to leave this palace alive. You must come for them.

R.

R? “Reed.”

“I’ve been telling you he’s one of us.” Catsja regarded Dell coolly.

His jaw tightened. Reed wasn’t Ian, but did that mean he could be trusted? Probably not.

“What does he mean the king won’t let them leave alive?” He handed the note back to Edmund.

Edmund read the words again. “I swear I didn’t think he’d do it.” He lifted tortured eyes. “I would never have let her go if I thought Cole would hurt her. Now he has all three of them.”

“Hurt her? We don’t even know what Reed’s words mean!” Dell searched frantically for any meaning that had Helena returning to him.

Orlo grunted. “Of course we do. The king will end his family to cement his rule.” His eyes bore into Dell. “He’s going to kill the princes and the princess.”

Dell pushed away from the table, turning only to find Edmund behind him. “Get out of my way.”

“We can’t fall apart now, Dell. I want them back as much as you.”

“You read the note. He’s going to kill them.”

“Not if we stop him.” He turned to the other rebels watching him. “Prepare to leave.” To Catsja, he gave different orders. “Go to our other safe houses. Warn our rebel brothers and sisters of what we plan. Make sure there is a rebel presence at this demonstration should our plan go wrong.”

“And what is your plan?”

Dell finally understood. This was what they’d been waiting for. He didn’t wait for Edmund to answer. “We’re going to take the palace.”

* * *

“Our intel says the palace will be mostly empty as everyone is required to attend the king’s demonstration.” Edmund’s voice echoed along the dark tunnel.

Dell traced his hand along the wall. So, this was how Helena had gotten out of the palace dressed as a boy. His feet crashed through a puddle on the stone floor as he pictured the princess creeping along in the darkness. Had she been scared?

If it hadn’t been for this tunnel, he might never have met her.

Someone crashed into him from behind, sending him flying forward. His knees slammed into stone and pain radiated up his thighs.

“Sorry,” Orlo grumbled.

Dell grunted and pushed himself to his feet.

“Shhh.” Edmund held up a hand for them to stop.

Rebels packed the long tunnel, their steps the only sound breaking the silence. Edmund led the way with Alex close behind him. Etta and Tyson would be with the rebels viewing the king’s demonstration. Dell wished he was with them, but he trusted them to keep an eye on Helena. He had bigger things to do.

“There’s a door ahead,” Edmund whispered.

As they neared, Edmund’s magic cloaked them in silence. No one on the other side of the door would know what awaited them.

They stopped moving and Dell’s pulse throbbed in his temples. Waiting had never been his strength. In a fight, he was an attacker. Quickness and agility had won him many boxing matches. In his experience, hesitancy allowed the opponent to strike.

And without the numbers, the rebels’ advantage lay in making the first move.

Edmund ran his hands over the door.

“Did the note say how to open it?” Alex asked.

Edmund shook his head. “Helena never mentioned it either. But…” His hand caught on something, and a piece of the door broke free revealing a hidden latch.

Dell exhaled in relief.

Edmund turned to face the rebels awaiting his orders. “We go in silently and take stock of our location within the palace. Then we move out to our positions and wait for the demonstration to begin in order to strike.”

Dell nodded along with the rest. By the end of this evening, he’d have Helena back.

Edmund pushed the door open, leading them into what looked like an unused bedroom. Furniture covered in white linen sat in the center of the room. Near the wall, a crimson pattern stretched across the carpet as if no one had bothered to clean it up. What had happened in this room?

Edmund shut the door after the last person came through, and if Dell hadn’t known it was just there, he’d never have seen it. A painting now took the place of the tunnel entrance.

Edmund scanned the wall. “How did I not know this was here?”

Dell shrugged. “Being that the entire plan rests on the king who grew up here not knowing about it, I wouldn’t feel too slighted.” He eyed each of the rebels as they took up positions along the walls. Scraping steel rang out as blades slid free of their entrapments. Dell pulled his own and positioned himself near the door opposite Alex.

Edmund put his ear to the door, and a rush of wind hit them as he pulled every sound toward that room. Concentration strained his face.

His eyes widened after a moment, and he pulled back. “Into the tunnel. Now!”

No one moved before the door burst inward, rocketing off its hinges as a heavy battering ram crashed into it.

Splinters tore through the air, and Dell shielded his head and neck. When he righted himself again, he came face to face with a man he’d known in his gut he couldn’t trust.

One the rebels had been taken by.

Reed.

He grinned. “Hello, brother.”

Dell gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles went white. One swing of his sword and he’d take his brother’s life. One small movement and he could make up for the years of torment. He glanced behind Reed, expecting to see Ian at his side as always.

As if reading his mind, Reed chuckled. “Our oldest brother was touching something that didn’t belong to him, so I’m afraid he’s no longer with us.”

Ian was dead? The words swirled through Dell’s mind but he was unable to comprehend it. Ian couldn’t be dead. He was behind everything. The devil moving his puppet of a king.

But Ian had never been the smart one. Reed had seemed incapable of evil, and that was possibly the most genius thing of all.

“You,” Dell breathed. “It was all you.”

Reed motioned to his men out in the hall, and uniform clad soldiers swarmed into the room.

Edmund waved a hand through the air as if to tell them their fight was over. It was time to give up. But rebels didn’t give up.

Reed reached for Dell’s sword, and Dell knew to fight him would be instant death. He’d be no good to Helena from the afterlife.

A satisfied smirk crossed Reed’s lips. “We outnumber you, Rebels.” He spat the term. “You are traitors to the crown of Madra, and you’re under arrest.”

The guards disarmed every rebel in the room before pushing them into the hall. Edmund stayed quiet.

“I should have expected another betrayal from you, Reed.” Dell still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this was the brother capable of so much evil. How had he not seen it coming? From Ian, yes. Never Reed.

But that was the brilliance of Reed’s plan, wasn’t it? His brother didn’t answer him with anything more than a satisfied grin. He thought he’d beaten Dell. What he didn’t understand, was Dell would never stop fighting as long as Helena was in that palace.

He met Edmund’s eye knowing at least one other person would do what had to be done. He wasn’t alone in loving a Rhodipus sibling.

Alex walked alongside him, unrecognized by Reed. What would he do if he knew he’d just arrested the king of Bela? Or that the mythical Persinette Basile awaited them?

A smile curved Dell’s lips. Reed didn’t know the troubles he invited upon himself. Dell only had to stay alive long enough to see retribution come.

25

The sickening sound of a switch hitting flesh rose above the din of the crowd who’d been coerced into watching the king’s demonstration.

This was how Cole wanted to solidify his power. Fear. Brutality.

The crowd had murmured in confusion when the royal family marched out side by side. Helena and Estevan were supposed to be dead.

That confusion had quickly turned to horror as their king’s plan became clear.

Cole wanted to bring Estevan to his knees.

Helena flinched but refused to look away as a new stripe of red marked Stev’s bare back. Two guards had torn his shirt from his body.

Helena glanced over her shoulder, watching for someone to bring Kassander forth. Reed said he’d bring him once the boy woke, but Helena was beginning to wonder if Cole knew of their youngest brother’s presence. He’d made no mention of it. Had Ian meant to hold Kassander captive to gain leverage against Cole?

Not for the first time, Helena sent silent thanks to Reed. She knew what would have happened if he hadn’t prepared. She hadn’t wanted to trust the man, but he’d proven to have her best interests at heart.

Where were the rebels? Reed had sent word about the tunnels and Helena expected them to storm the courtyard from inside the palace.

A platform sat at the base of the steps leading to the doors of the castle, erected for this very purpose. The courtyard spanning the distance from the palace to the gates was vast and packed with so many people they could barely move.

Each time a horrified gasp rose from the crowd, Cole turned heated eyes on them, and they quieted. This is what he wanted. Horror. Pain. It’s what he thought Estevan deserved.

It was better than the deaths he’d given their parents.

Stev’s face strained with his attempts to keep from crying out. He wouldn’t give Cole that satisfaction.

A shiver wracked Helena’s body, and she hugged her arms across herself.

A presence appeared beside her, and she looked sideways at Reed.

“I’m going to stop this.” Reed stepped forward.

Helena gripped his arm. “No.” She fixed her eyes on Estevan’s face. If Cole didn’t complete what he thought was necessary, he’d only do it again. This would never end.

“Helena, this isn’t right. Cole is out of control. We can no longer wait for the rebels to arrive.”

She lifted a hand and felt for the solid weight of the knife she’d slid into her bodice. Even as she watched the lash streak through the air before connecting, she didn’t know if she could kill her brother. It had been so easy to think of vengeance from the safety of Bela. Now, the thought of what she must do cracked something inside her.

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes.

“Lenny,” a soft voice said behind her. Quinn wore a matching look of desperation in his eyes. He shifted his gaze to Reed, distrust in the dark irises, before turning back to her.

“Quinn.” A sob escaped her throat, but he didn’t move to touch her. Not in front of the rest of the guard. He had to remain cold. Loyal to his twin.

“You shouldn’t watch.”

“I have to.” She sniffed. “For Stev. For me. I need to see everything Cole does. He has to be the monster, or else…”

“I know.” He leaned in, dropping his voice so only she could hear. “There has been a mass arrest inside the palace.”

She sucked in a breath. Dell. Edmund. Their entire plan rested on the rebels being there. But how were they found?

Before she could ask Quinn, he’d returned to stand at attention with the rest of the guard. Camille watched nearby, a guard on either side of her. Her face showed no emotion.

The rebels had come in through the tunnels. They should have been able to get into the palace unseen and spread out, melting among the staff. Edmund knew the palace as well as anyone.

Their plan was supposed to be unstoppable.

How had it been stopped?

Her heart sank as realization seeped into her. They’d failed. She would never get herself or her siblings out of the palace now. Unless… She fingered the cold steel of the blade and fixed her eyes on Cole.

How much time would she have? Her gaze flicked to the guards. She only had one chance. If she missed… but Helena never missed.

A blonde head appeared among the crowd as if the face of the Belaen queen called to Helena. Etta? What was she doing there?

Beside her, Tyson stood, taking in every movement. He was ready.

They’d come all the way from Bela to help her, but what if it had all been for nothing? As soon as the knife left her hand, she’d be surrounded by guards who wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

A loud thwack rang out. Blood poured down Estevan’s back, staining the ground at his feet. The ropes around his wrists held him in place. Still, he didn’t scream.

Cole drew his arm back, a grim expression on his face. He looked as if his actions hurt him as much as they hurt Stev.

The thought sent a bolt of anger through Helena.

When Stev’s first scream rent the air, it tore through Helena, driving her to her knees as tears streamed down her face.

* * *

Reed disappeared as soon as they lined the rebels up against the wall, their wrists tied. An entire unit of guardsmen watched them, weapons at the ready.

Dell glared toward the tip of a sword aimed at his face. “Do you really feel the need to be that close, mate? Don’t think you could catch us with just a bit more space?” He smirked. “I get it, you’re slow.”

In answer, the guard shifted onto one foot and slammed the other into Dell’s chest.

Dell let out a grunt of pain. “That’s going to bruise.”

“Dell,” Edmund hissed. “Shut your mouth for a second. I’m trying to concentrate.” His brow creased with the effort.

Alex met Dell’s confused gaze and mouthed the word ‘magic’. For someone who hadn’t grown up around the power, it didn’t come to mind as a possibility, but now Dell understood. Just as he’d done when they exited the tunnel, Edmund was using air movement to pull sound toward them.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“Edmund.” Alex nudged him. “What is it? What did you hear?”

He swallowed thickly. “Estevan… the demonstration. Cole is showing the people who controls the city by weakening Stev. He’s…” He shook his head again, unable to continue.

“Do you hear Reed?” Dell leaned forward, careful to avoid the guard’s blade.

“He’s reached the courtyard.”

“Oi,” one of the guards shouted. He must have been in charge. “No talking, you dirty rebel bastards.”

Edmund’s face reddened until he looked as if he’d explode. Alex tried to put a hand on his arm to calm him, but his tied wrists prevented the gesture.

“Edmund,” Dell whispered. “You okay?”

Dell had almost forgotten about Orlo’s presence until he spoke. “Don’t be an idiot, Tenyson. None of us are okay. We’re prisoners because your brother…” He didn’t finish his sentence as a guard kicked him.

Orlo grabbed the guard’s foot midair and yanked with his brute strength. The guard collapsed forward and tried to bring his sword up to fend off Orlo, but the big man knocked it away and pummeled the guard before any of the others could stop him.

The captain shouted to his men to move, but as they lunged for Orlo, a blast of power erupted from Edmund, sending them slamming into the opposite wall. A tunnel of air kept them frozen in place.

“Get his sword, Orlo,” Dell yelled.

Orlo held the blade between his knees and sawed through the rope binding his wrists before moving on to help Dell.

Edmund’s power held firm as they released the other rebels. Dell cut through the magic man’s ropes.

“Go,” Edmund ordered, jerking his head toward the corridor.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I have to keep them here until my magic fails.” He flicked his eyes to Dell. “Stev and Helena need you.”

Dell didn’t hesitate any longer. He took off running down the hall, passing stunned servants. None of them moved to stop the thundering rebels. Dell never thought it would be a comfort to have Orlo beside him, but he trusted the man’s fighting ability.

“Edmund will be fine.” Alex was speaking more to himself than anyone else.

Orlo grunted. Dell kept his mind focused on what was in front of him. He had to trust Edmund to take care of himself.

“Let me go,” a cry echoed from the hall leading toward the open entryway. “Please.”

Dell’s heart clenched as he turned on his heel, searching frantically for the source. The last time he’d seen Kassander, he’d left with Landon, a man they’d trusted.

Landon appeared, dragging the boy behind him. They reached the door before Dell could force his feet to move. They stepped into the columned courtyard.

Dell went after them. The steps leading down to the gates were littered with people. A scream ripped through the air, and Dell tore through the crowd, his sword still drawn. There, at the base of the steps was Estevan Rhodipus. The man who’d once intimidated Dell with a single look. That day in Mari’s shop seemed so far away now as blood poured across the prince’s back.

A line of guards muttered among themselves, pointing to where Dell stood with Alex and Orlo at his back. Four of them broke off, led by Quinn Rhodipus himself.

Dell’s gaze bounced around the scene as his pulse picked up. He twisted sweaty palms around the hilt of his sword. No one would have ever bet on him in a sword fight.

“I hope you know how to use that thing,” he said to Alex.

Alex grimaced. “We have to get out of here.”

Dell shook his head, his stare returning to Estevan. Would Edmund survive losing him again?

Commotion nearby caught his eye as a masked girl fell to her knees. A mix of emotions swirled in Dell’s chest. Elation at seeing her alive. Relief she seemed unharmed. Anguish at the sight she was forced to witness.

He wanted to go to her. To shield her from Cole’s cruelty. But she’d proven not to need a shield, only a knife in her hands. He saw the glint of metal slide from her sleeve and shifted his eyes to Cole.

Alex pulled him back from the scene, jerking his head toward the coming guards. Quinn said he was on their side, but his face was that of the king’s, and it told him to run.

Before he got a chance, a gasp rose from the crowd and the blood drained from Dell’s face.

What had Helena done?

26

When asked about that day, Helena wouldn’t remember the thoughts flipping through her mind. She wouldn’t recall what caused her to change direction or how the responding chaos ensued.

All she knew was one brother had become a spectacle to keep the people in line and another wielded the whip, leeching strength from the strongest person she knew one lash at a time.

Estevan’s single cry echoed in the recesses of her mind, breaking every part of her it touched. But that was the thing about glass. It was more dangerous broken than whole. Sharper. Deadlier.

Movement caught her eye from where she still knelt on the steps. Kassander appeared, his eyes finding hers before settling on Estevan. But he didn’t cry.

He made no sound as Landon pushed him forward. His expression didn’t change as Reed yanked his arm to pull him to his side.

Fire burned in Helena. She bounced her gaze from Kassander, held prisoner, to Quinn as he detached from his guard. They landed on Cole, standing over Estevan, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted from the exertion. Stev lay still.

The fury she’d felt since the day Cole betrayed the family had lain like a line of explosive power, waiting for someone to set it ablaze. It exploded through her, uncontained, out of control.

She slid her knife free, knowing she’d have only one chance to hit her target. The man who’d been behind all of her pain.

He thought he’d shatter a princess, break a kingdom, and avoid the raining shards.

He’d been wrong.

Helena closed her eyes for a moment. Inhale. Exhale. She calmed her heart rate, finding a place of peace in which to concentrate.

Her mother taught her never to expect accuracy while emotions drove her actions.

And they had killed her mother because men wanted to rise above their stations. To grasp even the edges of power they didn’t understand and didn’t deserve.

Power held in cruelty was only weakness in disguise.

As her eyes slid open, she lifted her face to the warm sun, letting the sound of Cole’s whip fade from her mind.

With one final breath, she rose to her feet with the agility of the greatest boxers of Madra, twisting on her heel and snapping her wrist as her fingers released the blade. She didn’t watch as it sailed end over end. Closing her eyes once again, she didn’t open them until a scream wound through the ranks of guards as they scrambled to catch a fallen superior.

Her knife had found its intended target.

She turned, settling her eyes on her brother who’d frozen, lash in mid-air.

Someone barreled into Helena, sending her rolling down the steps as an arrow sailed through the space she’d been standing.

She pushed at the man on top of her. If they wanted to arrest her, she wouldn’t go without a fight.

“Len, stop.”

She stilled her hands, finally focusing on the man’s face. “Dell.” She breathed his name and everything from the past few moments struck her full force. A sob ripped past her lips. “I killed your brother.”

Dell rolled off her and pulled her to her feet to avoid getting trampled. A wave of water, pulled from the river, broke over the crowd, and the screams intensified.

Tyson was there.

Her breaths came rapidly until it seemed no air entered her chest. She gasped, trying to suck in oxygen as she saw what she’d done. Kassander lay trapped under Reed’s still form. The knife Reed had given her now protruded from its owner’s chest.

Blood seeped through his jacket.

Taking in the scrambling crowd, she noticed Cole had disappeared.

Fighting broke out near the gates.

“The rebels are here,” Dell said into her ear.

She barely heard him as she ran to where Alex freed Kassander. Her brother sobbed when he saw her.

She squeezed him to her chest. “Stick by me, Kass.” She searched the crowd. “I need a weapon.”

Alex leaned down, drawing Reed’s sword from the scabbard at his waist, handing it to her. She didn’t stop to thank him as she pushed through the crowd, running down the steps to where Estevan struggled against the ties binding his wrists and ankles.

She was so relieved to see him moving, she almost threw her arms around him. When he’d screamed and gone still, she thought she’d die right along with him.

At her touch, he flinched. “Stev, it’s me.”

His body relaxed. “Len.”

“Yeah, it’s Len. I’m going to get you out of here.” She flicked her gaze over her shoulder to where a line of guards approached, weapons ready.

“We must take the prisoner back into the palace for his own safety,” one of them said.

Helena knew what they meant. They had to make sure he didn’t escape.

She opened her mouth to speak, knowing Dell and Alex wouldn’t be a match for all of them.

But another voice cut in. “We can’t let you do that.” Quinn stepped in front of Helena.

“Sir,” the guard in charge narrowed his eyes. “The king’s orders…”

“Cole Rhodipus is not the king of Madra,” Helena said, her voice ringing loud and clear. “He is a usurper who murdered his own father for power. Reed and Ian Tenyson were his puppet masters, putting ideas into his mind. How many of you have seen the starvation in the streets as the so-called king cut off all foreign trade? How many have had family members apprehended for being suspected rebels when they were nothing of the sort? Has Cole asked you to leave everything you believe in behind?” She paused, examining her audience. No one moved to stop her.

“Tradition has always been important to Madra, but it has been wielded as a weapon by our kings.” She lifted a hand to the back of her head, untying the mask and letting it drift to the cobblestones beneath her. “That doesn’t mean it should be nothing to us. Have we forgotten what makes Madra great? What has always made Madra great?”

She shook her head. “I have not forgotten because I feel it. And so do you. We’re supposed to take care of each other. To take care of anyone needing our aid, whether they are Madran or not. To protect our lands from the acts of those who would do evil.” She pointed to Estevan. “Is this not evil? Is this what Madra stands for?”

Helena slipped her sword under the edge of one of Stev’s bindings. To her surprise, two of the guards moved to cut the other ties. The rest of their unit, along with a group of Madran citizens who’d heard her every word turned away from her, standing as guards against any who’d take Stev away again.

Quinn cut the final rope, and a groan gurgled in Stev’s throat.

Helena examined the open wounds on his back. Reed may have been behind Cole’s lust for power, but Cole wasn’t innocent in any of it. He’d chosen this.

And now he had to pay.

She lifted her eyes to Dell and Quinn. “Find the man who stole my brother’s throne.”

* * *

Quinn insisted on being one of the men to help Stev himself. Careful to avoid the cuts on his back, he helped Dell lift Stev, looping an arm over each of their shoulders. Helena winced when she took in his pale face.

Sounds of battle circulated around them, but the guards who’d flipped to their side provided a barrier as they climbed the steps.

Rebels fought Cole’s people while ordinary citizens scrambled for the closed gates, herding themselves against them.

Alex followed Helena’s gaze. “Someone needs to get those gates open before those who do not wish to fight are lost.” His eyes brightened as he caught sight of the woman Helena now saw.

Persinette Basile, queen of Bela, fought two men at once as if it was what she was meant to do. Helena had seen her in training, but it was nothing like this. The stories about her became more real. Maybe she was as strong as the mythical figure they’d heard about in the minstrels’ songs.

As if sensing her husband’s gaze, she glanced up, her face brightening. Without breaking the stare, she slammed her knee into one guard while slicing her sword through the back of the other’s legs. They both fell.

“The gate,” Alex yelled, pointing to the now unmanned gatehouse.

Dodging other fighting pairs, Etta raised her arms over her head. Bright green vines shot up the gates from the ground. Stone broke apart, sending rubble showering down. She yanked her hands back, and the vines tightened.

The parts that Cole repaired after the explosions of the first rebellion hadn’t had time to strengthen. They were the first to fall. Tyson stepped up beside Etta, using the force of his magic to pull water from the ground and prevent the rocks from crushing the crowd below.

Helena’s jaw fell open when he stopped, and a sea of rocks now stood where the gates had. Dell was the first to speak. “Couldn’t she just have fought her way to the gatehouse and opened them?”

Alex laughed, a sound so foreign in that moment. “That would have been easier.” He rubbed his face. “Living among the magic folk, I’ve learned they think with their power before anything else. Believe it or not, that’s the third time Etta has destroyed a castle’s gates.”

Helena shook her head as she turned away from the crowd of people pushing through what was now a hole in the wall around the palace. “Come on.”

She took the steps two at a time, knowing the others would catch up. Alex kept stride with her along with another rebel man she didn’t know.

The fight hadn’t reached inside the palace yet, and the silence slammed into them. Every guard who’d been on duty was now out amidst the battle. Guards. Rebels. They each thought they were fighting for the soul of the kingdom.

Helena was fighting for her family.

Alex glanced down the hall. “We need to get to Edmund.” Something akin to fear flashed across his face.

Helena didn’t ask why Edmund hadn’t come out to the demonstration. Only something of extreme importance would have kept him from Stev.

She followed Alex until they heard the crash of steel on steel.

Unconscious guards littered the hall and up ahead, two figures fought. One of them seemed no match for the other.

“He’s exhausted,” Alex breathed. “He’s used too much magic.”

She glanced at the still guards again. Edmund had done all of this?

Alex took off running, and Helena wasn’t far behind. Cole had Edmund pinned against the wall as Edmund fought off his attacks.

“You don’t belong here,” Cole growled.

Edmund lifted his chin in defiance. Blond hair clung to his forehead and cheeks, sticky with sweat. His eyes blazed. “You don’t deserve them.”

Cole knocked Edmund’s sword away, and it clattered to the ground. He leaned forward. “I deserve anything I take.”

Helena was still too far away to stop him as Cole raised his sword.

“He’s too weak to use his magic.” Alex picked up speed, but they both knew he wouldn’t make it.

Blood pumped through her veins, and it was as if she could feel every bit of it drain from her body. Not Edmund. He was too good. Too loyal. Too kind-hearted. Cole couldn’t take him. Not like he took everything else. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn’t stop moving.

“Cole,” a voice cried from behind her. “Cole, don’t.”

Helena turned so quickly she almost fell. Kassander had followed her inside.

Cole froze, finally seeing all of them. That single moment was all Alex needed to reach them. He dropped his shoulder, slamming into Cole and sending them both sprawling to the ground. He gripped Cole’s wrist and slammed it against the stone floor until the sword fell from his grasp.

Edmund slumped against the wall, gasping for air.

Kassander streaked past Helena.

Alex pinned Cole’s arms. He might not have won in a sword fight, but his strength overpowered the pretend king’s. Helena stopped at Edmund’s side, looking into his eyes. “You okay?”

He nodded wordlessly, bending forward to put his hands on his knees.

Cole kneed Alex in the groin and pushed him off before lunging for his sword. He leaped to his feet, facing all of them.

Kass raised a tear-stained face to their brother. “You don’t have to do this.”

Regret flashed in Cole’s eyes, but it was gone so quickly, Helena thought she’d imagined it. “You haven’t left me any choice.” He straightened. “You are under arrest for treason against the crown.”

“Treason.” Helena sucked in a breath. “What about your treason, Brother? What about when you betrayed the crown? When will you pay for that?”

Cole tightened his grip on his sword. “Your father had betrayed Madra with his foreign wars. I saved us.”

“Our.”

“What?”

She raised her voice. “Our father, Cole. You might want to feel better about slaughtering the man, but there’s no changing the fact he was your father as well. He wasn’t perfect, I know. But what about us, Cole? Does Kassander deserve to be a prisoner in the palace?”

His face tightened in sadness, and he lowered his sword slightly. “I gave you all the option to stand with me. To be allies instead of prisoners… and yet, you chose these foreign monarchs and low-born rebels.”

Helena took a step forward against her own judgment. “You killed my mother.” She took another step. “Whipped my brother.” She stopped when the tip of his sword was only inches away. “And raised fists to me. Are you going to kill me now, Brother?”

A unit of guards entered the hall and relief flooded Cole’s eyes. “Guards, arrest them!”

Their long strides quickened as they tried to reach their king. Helena didn’t take her eyes from Cole despite the tip of the sword now touching her chest. One movement from him and she’d be dead, unable to save Kassander and Stev. No good to Dell.

But what good was she to them if she didn’t fight for them? If she didn’t swallow her fear.

“Arrest them!” Cole screamed again, his eyes bouncing wildly.

The stern-faced guards stopped moving and stood still for a moment, staring at their would-be king. The one in front, lifted his chin. “Cole Rhodipus, surrender your weapons.”

Cole’s jaw clenched, and his eyes slid along the blade for a moment before he took a step back.

Helena released a breath and rubbed her chest in the spot the blade had touched. A tiny dot of blood smeared across her skin, dripping down onto the bodice of her gown.

She saw the signs seconds before Cole made a move. Helena had spent many years watching her brothers at swordplay. His fingers tightened, twisting around the hilt as they always did when he was preparing to lunge. Since he was younger, it had taken his mind a while to catch up with his body.

But it wasn’t enough time. All Helena could do as Cole swung his sword was push Alex out of the way.

The blade bit deep into the stomach of the rebel who’d come with them. His big frame stumbled back.

“Orlo,” Edmund groaned.

“Stay there, Edmund.” Alex ran to Orlo’s side as the guards jumped to action.

Edmund tried to push his weakened body off the wall. The stories called him one of the greatest warriors in the Draconian war but now he couldn’t fight.

Helena watched as Cole fought two men at once.

Heart thudding in her chest, she dodged a guard as he stumbled back, a gash in his stomach. He dropped to the floor as Helena reached Edmund.

“I need to help them.” Edmund tried to step away from the wall’s support again and stumbled back.

Helena gripped his arm. “You’d only get yourself killed, and Stev wouldn’t survive that.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “You’ve seen him?” Thickness choked his words.

Helena rested her forehead against his. “We’re all going to get out of this.”

Before he could stop her, Helena ducked away from him, and slipped around the guard who was holding Kass back from the fight. Orlo lay unmoving, his blade beside him. Alex had already joined the fight. There was no one left to stop her.

The princess of Madra grabbed the sword, its weight foreign in her hands. She prowled toward Cole, standing with his back to her. His arms struck in fluid motions, never making a mistake.

But he already had made a mistake. He’d killed her parents and let her live. He’d underestimated her. She was no longer the masked princess of Madra, meant to be neither seen nor heard.

She’d traveled foreign kingdoms, consorted with mercenaries. She’d been a prisoner, a warrior and watched too many people she loved fall into danger.

No, in all her time away from Madra, she’d never once been a princess.

The point of her blade dug into Cole’s back and she lifted her voice. “Stop this!”

Another thing she’d never been: a killer. At least intentionally. Cole deserved death, but she didn’t deserve the bite of vengeance. Not anymore.

Revenge had only left her cold and alone, making her leave people behind in her single-mindedness. What Cole had done hadn’t broken her. Her quest to destroy him had.

But she didn’t want to be a jumble of dangerous shards of broken glass any longer.

Not a single person in the hall moved as Helena pressed the sword harder against Cole’s back.

“Do it, sister. Kill me. Then you’ll be no different from the monster you think I am.” Cole’s words sank into her. She didn’t want to be a monster.

“I should,” she growled. “You took everything from me.” She turned the blade and leaned in, dropping her voice. “But you’re wrong. I am not you.” Growing louder once again, she said. “Drop your sword.”

Eying the guards who each had their weapons pointed at him, Cole complied. Alex kicked the sword out of reach, and a guard pulled the knife free of Cole’s belt.

“Treason sounds too good for you.” Helena circled him, her sword skirting his waist until she faced him.

Cole’s looks hadn’t changed in many years. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him as the brother who taught Kass to fight or who wore a mask to her name day ball in a show of support along with her other siblings.

“Did you ever love us, Cole?” she asked, not sure which answer she hoped for. “Were we ever your family?”

He swallowed. “I never stopped loving you, Sister.”

She grimaced. “Yes, you did. You stopped loving me the moment you took my mother from me. I don’t know why you did this, Cole. I don’t care if Reed and Ian Tenyson forced it upon you or if you were behind everything. Because it doesn’t matter. You are responsible for breaking Madra.”

“Len…” He reached toward her.

She shook her head, tears clouding her eyes. “So, you don’t get death. Cole Rhodipus, I place you under arrest. Murder. Treason. After this day, you will never see my face again. I won’t visit you. If you die of illness, I will not mourn you. Because you are nothing. When we rebuild Madra’s standing in the world, no one will think of you. We’re going to have peace, Cole.”

“That’s all I wanted.” The fight had left his eyes. “Peace from Father’s wars.”

Edmund’s harsh laugh broke through Helena’s thoughts. “Peace. You wanted peace?”

Helena lowered her sword and gestured to the guards. “Bind his wrists and take him away.”

Two guards stepped forward to do her bidding, but before they reached Cole, he jerked back. Helena snapped her head around. An arrow protruded from Cole’s throat.

He reached up in surprise. His lips moved but nothing more than a low gurgle escaped. Blood trickled from his lips, and he fell back, his head cracking against the hard floor.

“Cole.” Anguish ripped through Helena as she dropped to her knees beside her still brother.

A single tear escaped her eye, rolling over the bridge of her nose. Why was she crying? Cole killed so many people. He almost destroyed the monarchy.

He didn’t deserve her tears.

Yet, as more broke free, she couldn’t stop them.

Her brother was dead. It was what she’d thought she’d wanted. Flashes of the young boy she’d known flickered in her mind. Cole and Quinn coming to the palace as children who’d just lost their mother.

Cole spinning her in his arms each time he returned from far kingdoms.

The twins joking with each other as they wedged her between them in the sitting room.

She’d lied when she said she wouldn’t mourn his death. Commotion sounded around her, but she couldn’t focus on it as she stroked Cole’s pale face. He couldn’t be dead. The brother who’d defended her to her father and protected her had to still exist. Somewhere.

Or maybe that Cole had died a long time ago.

Arms wrapped around her, and she buried her face in a familiar shoulder. Dell held on tighter.

She didn’t know at what point in the fight he’d arrived, but Quinn stood behind him, using his body to hold Stev upright. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost something. Both his brothers were dead. Kassander, Estevan, and Quinn lost Cole too.

She lifted her face to Estevan who had dropped the bow he’d used to shoot Cole. He’d seen what Helena couldn’t. As long as Cole was alive, the peace she strived for wouldn’t have been possible.

He’d done too much evil.

Estevan stumbled to the wall with the help of a guard. A piece of Helena’s heart melded back together as Edmund finally managed the strength to stand on his own. Tears streamed down his face.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Edmund choked out.

The guard release Stev, and he stumbled into Edmund, wrapping his long arms around him. “You kept them safe.”

Edmund wound his arms around Stev’s waist, careful to avoid his bare back and the wounds. “I promised.” He pressed their cheeks together. “Besides, they’re my family too.”

A sob shook Estevan’s chest moments before he claimed Edmund’s lips with his.

Helena shook in Dell’s arms, Edmund’s words echoing in her mind. They’re my family too. He was right.

She scooted back from Dell and stood, leaving Cole behind. Quinn stood back, his face white and his eyes trained on his twin.

Helena wrapped an arm around Kassander’s shoulders, and the two approached Quinn.

“I gave him the bow.” Quinn ran a hand through his hair, the same dark hair as Cole’s. “I thought Estevan deserved… I let him kill Cole.”

Helena took his hand in hers, stilling its trembling. “It was the right thing.” She slipped her free arm around his waist. “We don’t have to remember him like that. Let’s remember the brother who never took anything seriously.”

Quinn’s laugh was barely audible. “He liked to keep us smiling.”

“He always had time for me,” Kassander spoke up.

The three of them fell into silence until Stev approached. “He was the reason I could help so many people. He stole the routes of food shipments from the merchant’s council.”

Quinn held out an arm as Estevan joined them. The four of them were all that was left of their once great family. Now what?

Helena breathed, trying to calm her frantic heart. She still had her brothers around her. She had Dell and Edmund. The pieces of her soul began sliding back into place.

“What’s happening outside,” she asked. How many of her people were dead?

As if the question snapped him back to the present, Quinn straightened. “I have to go.” He shrugged out of their embrace, pulled his sword, and sprinted down the hall.

“This isn’t done yet.” Helena ran after him.

Outside, the courtyard looked as if a great battle had taken place. The fighting had stopped and stunned people tried to pick up the pieces of their lives. Some cried over bodies. Others collected swords from the fallen. A few wandered aimlessly.

Helena searched for where Quinn had run off to and found him standing with Tyson and Camille. Relief shot through her as she took in the unharmed princess of Gaule.

Etta approached Helena, a grim smile on her face. “We took care of those loyal to Cole pretty quickly. Many of the guards flipped sides, but the rebels still suffered heavy casualties.

Helena scanned the bodies for any recognizable faces. Dell stood behind her, bent over the body of a tall woman.

“You’re with Orlo at least, Catsja. Thank you for everything.” He straightened and met Helena’s eye.

Etta continued speaking. “Your cousin, Landon was apprehended and has been arrested along with any traitors who didn’t turn to our side. They took him somewhere called the priests’ holes.”

Helena grimaced, remembering her days in that dank place. They’d have to find a better prison than that.

Quinn and Camille approached, their hands locked together as she leaned on him for support.

“We’ll need to get you a new cane before you return to Gaule.” Helena gestured to the girl’s twisted foot.

Camille’s brow creased. “I do not wish to return.”

“Cam—”

“My kingdom signed a treaty with yours and I intend to honor it. Gaule and Madra will be allies.”

Helena shook her head. “Estevan won’t marry you.”

“Then it’s a good thing Stev isn’t the one I’m in love with,” she snapped, her face going pale as she realized what she’d said.

Helena stepped back, her eyes flicking from Quinn to Camille and back again.

The first light she’d seen in Quinn since Cole’s first betrayal entered his eyes. He didn’t smile. It would take a while for that. But at least there was hope.

Quinn nodded once. “Len, I’d like permission to honor the treaty.”

She raised a brow. “I’m not the person you need to ask.”

Surprise flashed across his face as if he hadn’t thought about that. Estevan would become king of Madra—something they’d never thought possible after hearing of his death.

Dell pulled Helena away. “You would have made a good queen.”

She bristled. “I never wanted the crown.”

He pressed his lips to the side of her head. “I know.”

The chaos of the day hit her suddenly, sending a wave of dizziness crashing over her. Dell gripped her arm as she stumbled.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She tried to nod, but her entire body shook. “No. I’m not okay at all.” She pushed away from him and climbed the steps before entering the palace.

The residence wing held many painful memories, but it was also where her family had been whole. Where they’d loved and supported each other. She walked through the halls, each step heavier than the last. Once she climbed the stairs and entered her family’s home, she knew exactly where she needed to be.

Most of the rooms had been destroyed by the fire, but Cole had repaired them to look as they had before. She pushed open the door to the room where she’d always felt safe and half expected her mother to be behind the door. Or for Sophia to enter carrying tea.

She climbed onto the canopied bed identical to the one her mother had and sank into the plush white pillows, letting her mind linger in the past to avoid the realities of the present.

27

Dell didn’t understand how he’d gotten where he was. Growing up in a small village, he’d had nothing except his mother. When she died and his father came for him, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the city, especially with a cruel stepmother and two conniving half-brothers.

But his father had been kind. In a single storm, that too was taken from the scared boy. He went from returned son to the stable boy within days of his father’s shipwreck.

He swabbed the decks of ships, cleaned horse stalls, and slept with the animals. Unlike his brothers, he’d never had any ambitions other than to find a way out of the city.

And then he’d met her. Or them, really. Edmund and Helena changed his life.

Lenny. She’d come dressed as a boy and seemingly in need of saving. But he’d been the one needing to be pulled out of his lowborn life.

To be honest, he had no problem with his low status, only his family who refused to claim him as one of theirs, yet treated him as if they owned him.

Now, he was the only Tenyson boy left.

As he walked across the courtyard, a familiar face appeared. His stepmother had never been kind to him. She’d berated him and forced labor onto him.

But now she had nothing left. He swallowed every bit of pride he possessed and approached her.

“Dell.” She lifted haunted eyes to his. “I’m… glad you’re okay.”

He scratched the back of his neck and looked away. “I’m sorry about Ian and Reed.”

She sighed. “Those boys… They were my sons. I loved them and it was for that reason I told no one what they were up to.”

His eyes widened. “You knew they wanted to take the throne?”

She hesitated a moment before nodding. “But they were my sons.” Her eyes glassed over. “I can’t help but wonder if I’d revealed their plans, maybe they’d both be alive now. Imprisoned, but alive.”

Dell never thought he’d feel anything but hatred for the woman, yet as he watched her sunken face, sympathy entered him.

She nodded to herself as if coming to some conclusion. “The princess did the right thing. I’m Reed’s mother… or was… but that wasn’t him. He’d always been the more dangerous of the two boys. Too smart for his own good. But there was a time when his kindness was real. When I thought he’d escaped…” She trailed off.

“Escaped what?”

She rubbed her eyes. “The circumstances of being my son. I’m a hard woman, Dell. I take full responsibility for Ian. But Reed was supposed to be different.”

“Is that why you joined the rebels? You thought it was your fault?”

She nodded and averted her eyes. “I don’t expect any understanding from you. I know the kind of life I forced on you. But maybe… just maybe… you should consider yourself lucky. This is not the family you wanted to be part of, Dell. If you’d been one of us, you might have made different choices.”

He shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have. Reed and Ian didn’t do this because of you. They could have been different too.”

A sad smile tilted her lips. “That’s a nice thought, Dell. I only wish it were true.” She met his eyes once more. “Your father would be proud of you.” With those final words, she turned and walked across the rubble of the fallen gates, disappearing from view.

For the first time, he saw his stepmother as just a woman. A woman who’d lost everything. But he couldn’t be for her what his brothers were. He had other people he needed to stand by. Others to now call family.

* * *

Dell leaned forward in his chair to get closer to the bed where Helena rested. She hadn’t risen in the two days since the fight, not even to change her clothing. He studied her delicate features, stained with tears. Blood smeared across her slowly rising and falling chest. She didn’t deserve anything that had happened to her, but if there was one thing life had taught him, it was that everything happens to make you stronger.

And Helena was the strongest of them all.

He brushed his fingertips down her cheek.

Outside those walls in the coming days, people would return the palace to a state of cleanliness as much as they could. The gate would take a while to repair. The palace guard who’d once pledged allegiance to Cole now put their efforts into removing the bodies of the slain.

Rebels had returned to their homes, safe for the first time in months.

And the people who would bear the scars of this day for the rest of their lives? They each tried to deal with it in their own ways. Quinn had ridden his horse past the gates, needing to be alone to mourn the man who’d been part of him. His twin. His new betrothal couldn’t take the pain away from him. He hadn’t returned in two days.

Estevan and Edmund were both being attended by healers throughout the day as they recovered their strength.

Kassander hadn’t left Alex’s side.

Voices drifted in from the common room and Dell stood, walking to the door to see who’d arrived.

Edmund leaned back on the couch, weakness still etched across his face. Alex sat at his feet with Kass not far.

“He’s struggling, Alex.” Edmund shook his head.

“Give him time.” Alex put his hand on his friend’s leg.

“I’ll give him all the time in the world. He’s the man… Alex, when I lost him, I lost a piece of my soul.”

Alex nodded. “I remember the feeling well. Every time I lost Etta, it ripped me apart.”

Edmund dropped his voice. “I think being here only makes it worse.” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced to Kass who didn’t seem to pay them any mind. “His own brother tortured him. How do you get over that? How do you walk the halls and not remember?”

“He isn’t an ordinary man. Don’t forget that. Estevan will be king. He must move past it.”

A cough broke free of Dell before he could stop it, and both men startled. “Sorry, just coming to see what was going on?”

Edmund sat up. “We’re waiting for Estevan to return from the healer.”

In the absence of a Draconian with healing magic, Estevan’s wounds were being treated the non-magical way with salves and potions.

Dell nodded. “How is he doing?” Helena and her brothers had avoided big family moments in the days since the battle. She’d had Dell checking on Estevan.

“Better today, I think.” Edmund’s lips tugged down. “At least his body is.”

Just then, Quinn barged through the entryway, his hair mussed from the wind. He glanced around with wild eyes before calming and dropping into a chair. Camille entered behind him as if she’d been awaiting his return.

“How is the city?” Edmund asked.

Quinn was the only one who’d ventured beyond the palace walls. His face strained in consternation. “The people are jovial. They’re marching in the streets to celebrate the end of Cole Rhodipus’ reign and calling for a new monarch to be crowned.”

“Estevan will be pleased of their support.” Edmund sighed as if each reminder of Estevan’s duty added more weight to his shoulders.

Quinn’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t Estevan they call for.”

Each eye in the room snapped to his before Helena’s voice spoke from her doorway. “What do you mean, Quinn?”

His eyes pinned her in place, and Dell would’ve sworn a hint of pride appeared in the dark irises. “They want you, Len.”

She shook her head, sucking her lip between her teeth. “What… how… no. They can’t. I’m just the princess.”

Estevan had entered the room when they were all focused on Helena. Her eyes found him first, and Dell followed her gaze.

The prince moved with the gait of a much older man, lumbering along as if afraid to hurt something. He lowered himself onto a chair, careful not to lean back.

Everyone in the room stayed quiet. Had he heard Quinn?

Helena’s hands shook at her sides. “Estevan is meant to lead us.”

* * *

Helena couldn’t have heard Quinn right. The people calling for her? She’d never been more than a symbol to them. The mysterious masked princess, an icon of the tradition Madra loved.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

She searched the tired looking faces of her family as Etta and Tyson entered the room, stopping when they took in the seriousness around them.

“What did we just walk in to?” Tyson asked.

Estevan released a breath. “My brother stole the crown that was meant to be mine. My entire life, I’ve been raised thinking it was my future. When he took that away from me, I hated him.” His eyes settled on Edmund. “But I soon realized it was because he’d taken everything else as well.” He pushed himself to his feet, struggling with each movement, and walked until he stood in front of Helena.

“I’m sorry.”

She sputtered. “What? Why?”

He searched her eyes. “I didn’t see you. Before… everything. I loved you and wanted to protect you, but I didn’t see you. Who you truly are. The strength you possess. And then you returned for me. You gave yourself up to save me. Even then, I did not understand.”

“Understand what?” she breathed.

“You.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “But I heard you. In your speech to the guards. You were right. Tradition has been used as a weapon wielded by kings. I’d forgotten, just as you told them, what makes Madra great. If we’re going to get back everything we’ve lost, I can’t be the one to rule.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he covered it with his hand. “Cole wasn’t the only one who damaged our kingdom. Father created these circumstances. And I stood by his side. Yes, I did what I could to help the people, but what good is feeding them one day when father’s policies meant they’d still starve the next? I should have fought him, but I was afraid. Of Father. Of the priesthood. You’ve never been afraid.”

She pushed his hand away. “Stev, you can’t do this.” Tears hung in her lashes. “You can’t put this on me.”

He wiped a tear from her face with his thumb. “I can’t be what Madra needs. I can’t be hope. Not anymore.”

“I don’t want to be the queen.”

He nodded. “I know.”

She glanced around the room, searching for someone to back her up, to tell Stev he’d lost his mind.

But all she found was agreement.

She breathed heavily, settling her gaze on Quinn. He’d always been her ally—helping her sneak out of royal events and defending her to her father. The tiniest smile tilted his lips and seeing it was enough to make her heart stop.

She pushed out a shaky breath. “I will never forgive you for this, Stev.”

He smiled. “You will.”

He stepped back, and she almost collapsed without his hands holding her up.

Tradition still had its place in Madra, and there was even one for this. Stev held up one hand and said the words every prince knew, but none had spoken in generations. “I, Estevan Rhodipus, cede my position in the line of succession for the throne of Madra. This decision is made with great thought and no coercion. Madra is a great kingdom and those after me in the line of succession will lead it well.”

The air deflated from her chest. It was done. With witnesses. There was no turning back. Those words were as binding as any law in Madra.

Helena practically felt herself sliding up into a new position as heir to the throne. She straightened her shoulders and wiped her face. This wasn’t finished. In Madra, in order for a new leader to take power, he or she must be wed. Both thrones demanded occupancy. It was another tradition Cole flaunted.

“Dell Tenyson,” she turned. “How do you feel about the title of prince consort?” His title would be symbolic, holding no real power. She held her breath, waiting for an answer.

Dell frowned. Not the reaction she’d been expecting when she just proposed.

He shook his head and crossed the room, yanking the door open roughly and disappearing from view.

* * *

Dell clenched and unclenched his fists as he paced outside the door to the royal residence. The royal residence! Who in their bloody right mind would have expected him to be here? He was nothing. Nobody.

There was not a single person left in this world to spare a thought for him.

Except her. Irritation emboldened his anger. Helena had just asked him to marry her, hadn’t she? He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wall. He wanted her more than anything, but he’d never expected Estevan to give up the throne. Hell, he hadn’t really known if they’d overcome Cole.

When they were in Bela, he’d imagined a simple life for them among the magic folk. The rolling green hills of the once forgotten kingdom had called to him with its peace.

Did a queen ever truly know peace?

Tradition. It was all that mattered to the Rhodipus line. They’d nearly driven Madra into the ground in pursuit of adhering to the old ways. Law stated an unmarried man or woman could not wear the crown.

As much as Helena and Estevan claimed they differed from their predecessors, they proved to be nothing but the same. And now, she expected him to marry her only because she needed a king.

There’d been no emotion in her voice during the proposal. Everything he’d felt for her… when she’d left him in Bela, she’d torn them apart. She couldn’t piece them back together for no reason other than a crown.

A crown she didn’t even want!

He’d heard every word Len said to the guards and again when she spoke to Cole before his death. He hadn’t seen it before, but there was no doubt in his mind she was meant for this. The kingdom didn’t yet know her, not in the way they knew Estevan.

But they would just as he did. He curled his fingers into a fist and slammed it against the wall. Their timing had never been right. All he wanted to do was take her away from here. Away from the place where bad memories ran rampant. Where blood had been scrubbed from the stone floors again and again.

A light touch on his arm had his eyes snapping open. He twisted away from Helena as she watched him with guarded eyes.

He breathed heavily, noticing the hurt she wore like a shield. He’d caused that. He’d forced the walls around her into place.

But what was he supposed to do? Marry her out of some misguided obligation to the past? The priesthood was dead. They no longer enforced the rules of life in Madra.

“We need to talk.” Her voice was small, and he hated the tremor in it. The Helena he’d seen over the last few weeks didn’t waver.

As she stood before him, she was no longer that woman. Now she was the girl who’d stood nervously on the bank of the river, wringing her cap as he inched his body closer to hers. She became the defensive girl who yelled at him on a beach of black sand under the scorching heat of the sun.

Finally, he nodded.

She led him away from the ears of her family on the other side of the door. They descended the stairs wordlessly. He knew where she was taking him before they arrived.

The walled garden hadn’t changed in the months they’d been away. It stood as a remnant of what was. Untouched by the war that changed Madra forever, its beauty was soothing. Flowering bushes lined the walkways with leafy overhangs shielding them from the sun. A cold breeze whipped the hair from Helena’s shoulders, and she hugged her arms across her chest.

Dell shrugged out of his jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She hugged it close.

The sleeves of Dell’s linen shirt billowed out as he reached for her. He snatched his hand back when she gave him a cutting look.

They walked down the winding path to a stone bench that sat at the back. Vines twisted up the walls behind them.

Helena pushed out a breath.

“I’m sorry.” They both spoke at the same time.

Dell cracked a smile and gestured for her to speak first.

She hesitated a moment. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. Asking you for such a decision in front of my family was…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Steel entered her gaze as she turned to pin him with a stare. “Well, yes I do. I thought you and I…” She gestured between them. “I thought something that obviously wasn’t true.”

Unable to stop himself, Dell took her hand. “Helena… Len, I love you. I am in love with you. Please don’t think I’m not.”

She narrowed her eyes, pulling her hand away. “But you… you said no! I asked you to marry me and you said no.”

“First, you never actually asked me to marry you. Second, I want to be with you for the rest of my life whether it be long or short. I’ve been lost to you since the moment you ogled me when I was naked in the river.”

Her mouth fell open. “I did not ogle you. I… you…”

A smile tilted one side of his lips. “It’s okay.” He leaned in, pressing his lips you hers. “I ogled you when you were standing on the riverbank, dripping water and wild.”

She put a hand on his chest to push him away. “Then why won’t you marry me?”

“I’m going to marry you, Len. One day, I’m going to marry the heck out of you. But it won’t be to adhere to some tradition you don’t even believe in.”

She sighed. “No Madran monarch has claimed the throne unmarried. It’s law.”

He dipped his head to look straight into her dark eyes. “It’s also law in this kingdom that a princess must be masked until her eighteenth name day. Do you plan on obeying that with your own daughter?”

She gasped. “Of course not.”

“Then this law can be changed as well. Len, you don’t need a king by your side to be a queen. You can lead your people on your own. I know you can because I believe in you, and they will too.”

“Alone?” She swallowed nervously.

He cupped her cheek in his palm. “You’re strong enough for this. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not.”

She leaned her forehead against his. “I think Stev is going to leave me.”

He nodded against her. He’d had his own suspicions. Edmund and Estevan would return to Bela with Etta, Alex, and Tyson.

“You’re not going to leave me too, are you?”

“Never,” he breathed.

She pressed a tentative kiss against his lips. He responded instantly, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her to him. She fit against him as if it was where she was always meant to be. Her arms wound around his neck as she deepened the kiss.

This time, it wasn’t fire or passion that held them together. The warmth and comfort of knowing they had forever wrapped around them, allowing them to take their time, to savor each other.

Dell kissed a path to Helena’s ear. “I forgive you for leaving me.”

She leaned back, a smile on her lips. “We’re back at this now?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t need me. I see that now.”

“You’re wrong, you know.” She put her hand against his face to turn him back into the kiss and spoke against his lips. “I’ll always need you. No matter how strong you think I am, or how many guards I have at my back, you’re all I need.”

He hummed in the back of his throat, knowing she was everything to him. His best friend. His lover. His queen. Even life itself.

They’d fought battles and almost died. They’d faced betrayals and lost people they loved. Yet, they weren’t broken. The glass shards had been put into the fire, melted, and hardened into something stronger than what was there before.

Epilogue

Helena stood in front of a portrait of her mother. Chloe Rhodipus looked radiant on the day of her coronation. Her marriage and coronation took place on the same day. It had been a marriage of alliance like Stev’s would have been to Camille.

Camille stood beside her in an understated, yet elegant yellow gown. “Only months ago, this was supposed to be me.” She gave Helena a sideways smile and leaned heavily on her cane. “If Cole hadn’t betrayed the crown, I’d have married Stev and become queen of Madra.”

Helena flinched at the reminder of the one brother who wasn’t there for the biggest day of her life. In the weeks following his death, she’d tried to forgive him, to put aside her anger, but that meant letting the sadness inside.

What would her mother think of her on this day? She flattened her palms against the brilliant blue of her ornate gown. Silver threading wound through the bodice. It wasn’t unlike the gown she’d worn to her name day ball.

She touched her face as had become a habit, feeling for the missing fabric of her mask. But she was no longer the caged princess.

“What did you do,” she began, “When Alex abdicated the throne of Gaule and you became your mother’s heir?”

Camille chuckled. “I cursed my brother.”

Helena laughed. She’d done the same in her moments of solitude.

“I imagine she’ll need a new heir.” Camille sighed. “Now that I am to stay in Madra.”

“Quinn could return to Gaule with you should rule fall to you.”

She shook her head. “He does not wish it and neither do I. I am not… beloved in Gaule. Though, my mother has fallen out of favor as well. I imagine she’ll name Tyson the heir. He may not have been my father’s son, but my mother is queen now so her line is royal.”

A laugh burst free of Helena. “Does Ty know this yet?”

Camille smiled ruefully. “We’d know if he did because he’d have drowned the entire kingdom of Gaule with his magic just to avoid the throne.”

They fell into silence until footsteps sounded behind them. Quinn wrapped an arm around each woman’s shoulders. Helena leaned into him, grateful she wouldn’t have to say goodbye to at least one of her brothers. Kassander would stay as well, but she’d been right about Stev. After the coronation, he was set to leave.

Edmund had stayed for the ceremony as well and saying goodbye to him would be just as difficult. Etta, Alex, and Tyson had already returned home, but wished her well. Lucky for them, Landon had brought Vérité to the palace stables before bringing Kassander to Cole. Helena doubted Etta would have left without her horse.

Kass appeared beside them and wedged himself in between Helena and Quinn. “It’s up to us now, yeah?” She looked up to Quinn.

He nodded. “When father sat on the throne, I never imagined we’d have control of Madra. I still feel like a child in this palace.”

Helena laughed at that. Quinn was an army general. He’d led men into battle, but he’d always felt unsure of himself among these halls.

“Are you going to walk me into the hall?” She directed the question to Quinn.

Kass was the one who answered. “Of course I am.”

Helena, Camille, and Quinn all laughed.

“I’m going to take my seat.” Camille kissed Quinn’s cheek and broke away from them.

“Give me a moment.” Helena slipped out of his hold and walked toward the back door of the hall. Opening it just a crack, she found Dell immediately. As if feeling her presence, his eyes snapped to hers. She waved him toward her.

When he reached the door, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Tell me I’m not going to mess this up.”

He chuckled. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

She swatted him away. “You’re useless.”

He grinned and caught her around the waist. His black jacket was embroidered with the same blue as her dress. He reached into his pocket and procured a small wooden carving.

He held the wooden crown between them. “You’re going to be the best queen Madra has ever seen.”

She took the crown, letting her fingers glide over the smooth dips and curves. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you.” He pressed his lips to the side of her head.

Music poured from the open door, signaling the start of the ceremony. Dell left to find his seat again, and Stev’s tall frame replaced his presence.

“Thank you.” He nodded toward her. The words may have lacked emotion as most of Stev’s words over the last few weeks had, but Helena read the meaning in them.

He needed a new start away from the place where so much had happened. He’d recovered from the wounds on his flesh, but the wounds on his mind and his heart would take much longer. She only hoped he found what he was searching for in Bela.

The string quartet played louder, and both doors flew open, revealing a hall teeming with people. Helena had made sure any in the city who wished could attend the coronation. With foreign trade resuming, many people were busy getting shops and ships operational again, but still many had come.

She breathed deeply as Kassander stepped into the aisle first. He walked slowly in front as Quinn and Estevan each took one of her arms. Camille had joined Dell and Edmund in the front row. By the time Helena reached them, her heart beat so fast it threatened to burst free.

She smiled at them as she passed and climbed the three steps to the dais they’d built for this occasion. A seat for each royal rested on the platform.

There had been no remaining priests to perform the coronation, but since they were forgoing tradition anyway, it hadn’t mattered.

The music stopped and silence stretched in the hall.

Helena knelt as her three brothers turned to face the crowd.

Estevan spoke. “Madra has long been a kingdom ruled by the past. On this day, we change the fate of our land. We look to what is in front of us instead of behind. Helena Rhodipus becomes a new kind of ruler, the first of a new generation. She will change many of the laws we are beholden to only because we have always been. The first among these is that an unmarried monarch will sit on the throne.”

His harsh eyes scanned the crowd. When no one objected, he turned to Helena and crossed to the table at the edge of the dais where a crown sat. Not her father’s crown… She glanced up in confusion, but Stev forged ahead.

“Helena Rhodipus, do you promise to be a fair and just queen?”

She nodded. “Always.”

“Will you put Madra first in all things?”

“Yes.”

“Will you lead with compassion and understanding?” That was a new one.

“I will.”

Stev lifted the crown. “This crown belonged to Chloe Rhodipus, our mother.”

Helena shook her head. She didn’t recognize the blue gems or crossing gold pieces.

Stev continued. “It was taken from her when I was a boy.” Helena had heard the story. The priesthood forced her mother into a symbolic role instead of one with any real power. And they’d taken her crown? The only headpiece Helena ever saw her mother with was a delicate tiara.

“Helena Rhodipus.” Stev handed the crown to Kass. “I crown you queen of Madra, one of the six kingdoms.”

Kassander grinned as he set the crown on Helena’s head. The weight that bore down on her differed from the weight of the mask. That had been a prison. But the crown was the ultimate freedom. She could turn Madra into the kingdom it was always meant to be.

Every eye in the room settled on her, asking her to make life better for them. And she would.

Dell had been right. A queen didn’t need a king. One day, she’d have one. Dell wouldn’t avoid the throne forever.

But for the first time in her life, she believed in her own strength. She’d returned to Madra determined to save her people or die trying. As she stood and turned to face the expectant eyes of her people, she knew she’d make that choice a thousand times more.

Because that was what a queen did.

She raised her hand to wave and a roar of applause echoed off the high ceilings. People stood, cheering for their new queen. Pride spread through Helena.

She met Dell’s eyes. When he winked, her smile grew.

She may not have known it until that very moment, but she was always meant to stand here. The crown fit her as if it had been made for her. And her people’s acceptance wrapped her in a cloak of strength, unbendable and immovable.

This was her time.

Madra’s time.

-----

Thank you for reading Glass Princess! Let’s jump back to Gaule and Bela in Noble Thief as we get Tyson’s story!

Noble Thief

The True Story of Robin Hood

1

Amalie Leroy should have been used to spending her nights in the wild, but something about their mission still tugged at her. Darkness cloaked their movements as they passed through the shadowy trees.

It didn’t feel right.

Not what they were about to do—that was the right thing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling it was all going to go horribly wrong. Why this night? They’d done this same thing many times before and returned home safely before the sun rose.

To the east lay the village on her estate. Yes, hers. She was Amalie Leroy, daughter of the traitorous duke who led his villagers in a battle against the crown in order to keep magic from their kingdom. Now, she was the only resident of their grand family home.

What was a noble lady doing skulking about in the night? Why was she surrounded by commoners—some of them once-crooks?

Because she had no other choice. She had to make up for the pain her family caused.

And that village to the east? They were starving. All of Gaule was starving while the fat nobles ate at their pleasure.

Pulling her hood up to hide her chestnut hair, Amalie glanced to the man at her side.

He shot her a grin as if this was all great fun.

“John,” she hissed. “We’ve come across no tracks in the last hour. Are you sure this was the route they took?”

He gave her the same look he’d been giving her since they were children running through the village. It was an eyeroll meaning “think before you speak, Amalie.”

Rain drizzled through the canopy overhead as Amalie scanned her surroundings. She’d been friends with John since she was six years old. Her father tried to stop the association with the orphan village boy, but at times, they were all each other had.

Until Tyson… she shook her head, needing to erase him from her mind. At least for the night. She could think about him tomorrow, as she always did after nights like this one.

Her feet stuck in the mud with each step and it oozed around her boots as she tried to move. “The mud is covering their tracks.”

John nodded, pride showing in his eyes. He was a few years older and had always acted like a big brother, teaching her to track and to hunt. When she’d decided to find a way to feed her people, he hadn’t hesitated in joining her. In fact, it was his idea to feed them this way.

“They’ll have ridden through the night.” Tuck, positioned near the front of their group as he always was, bent down to examine something on the ground. He straightened and held up a curved metal horseshoe. “With any luck, it’s one of the wagon beasts’.”

Amalie pushed through her band of men to Tuck’s side, reaching for the muddy shoe he offered. The young friar had joined them when she’d needed someone to help her make sense of the life she’d chosen.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “We’ve got them.”

Tuck’s mouth curved up in a smile, and he nodded. “That we do, my lady.” He sometimes insisted on the formal title, knowing it bothered her. After a year of having Tuck by her side, she realized it was just who he was.

“Come on.” Amalie led the band through the twisted woods. “They’ll have made for the village for a new shoe. We need to catch them on the road.” She pulled her bow from where she’d strapped it to her back.

Over three years ago, she’d had her first taste of battle when she rode through the Gaulean palace gates to face her father, to protect those with magic. And again, when she joined Alexandre Durand as he led a small group to Dracon to aid in the fighting there.

She’d had no skill, no knowledge.

But in the years since, she’d trained until her fingers couldn’t draw a bow any longer. She’d hardened her body and her mind. She’d become a warrior, fighting for her people, giving up everything dear to her to protect them.

The caravan they searched out carried an entire shipment of food to the Ferenz estate in the west. The Leroy lands were in the center of Gaule, positioned to pick off any shipments that passed through. And she enjoyed enraging Duke Ferenz, the man who’d taken control of the Moreau lands, forcing the duchess from her ancestral home.

At the edge of the trees, they saw them. Four heavily laden wagons rumbled in the distance. The roads of Gaule weren’t safe for anyone so waggoneers no longer made camp each night. They slept in the back of moving wagons and ate on the road.

“Do you see any guards?” Amalie asked.

John shook his head. “That’s strange, right?”

Royal guards avoided entering the village. They received a cold welcome and suspicion. Amalie smiled to herself, enjoying the thought of her people keeping the guards away

As much as she once loved the royal family, she’d never trust them or their guard again. They’d allowed Gaule to descend into hunger and chaos.

Amalie lifted her bow, tracking the waggoneers with one eye closed. She lowered it, knowing they were too far even for her. “I’m just as likely to kill as wound at this distance.”

“Ames.” John urged. “We can’t lose them.” Before she could stop him, he lifted his own bow and released an arrow.

The moment froze in time as they watched the arrow arch through the sky, disappearing in the dark.

A scream echoed from the torch bearing waggoneers. Amalie didn’t smile in satisfaction because worry gnawed at her.

Tuck released a string of curses. “You might have killed someone.”

He was right. There was no way to control where the arrow hit at this distance. But John wasn’t one to play it safe. That trait had both endeared him to her and made her wary. They were all tired of waggoneers and guards and nobles who took advantage of her people, but her band of men operated under a code. They weren’t killers. Or, at least they tried not to be.

“Come on.” She jumped to her feet and took off, hoping the darkness would hide her approach.

Her men, following her every order, thundered after her.

Waggoneers, already on high alert from the arrow, yelled as they saw the oncoming horde.

Without slowing her steps, Amalie fired three arrows, each finding their target on the legs of men scrambling for their weapons.

John passed her, dropping his shoulder to ram into a man too slow to draw his sword. The pair dropped to the ground. John took the man’s sword and rammed the hilt into his head. The guard stopped fighting and John leapt for another.

Amalie always loved watching him fight. He was more of a brawler than a swordsman. He had to be strong, growing up in a village her father controlled.

They made quick work of the rest of the men until a circle of unconscious figures surrounded them.

Amalie turned to Will, a monster of a man. He wasn’t a Gaulean, and she loved him more for it. “Drag these men into the woods. We don’t want any bandits to come upon them before they’re awake to defend themselves.” She examined their wounds. “We will send word to the village for a healer.”

“Maiya?” Tuck asked, referring to the Draconian who healed with her inherited magic.

Amalie shook her head. “I don’t want her near them. It’s too dangerous.”

The Madran mercenary nodded and bent to haul a man over his shoulder.

“Ames,” John called. “You need to come.”

She ran to his side and looked into the face of the man lying before them, horror slicing through her.

Simon.

The queen’s own guard. An arrow protruded from his stomach. There was too much blood.

“He’s not going to make it.” John put a hand on her shoulder.

She shook him off. He didn’t know who was in front of them. Of course, he didn’t. She’d never talked much about her time at the palace. It was too painful.

“He has to make it.” She wiped a hand across her face. Was she about to ruin everything? There was no choice. “Tuck,” she called. The lithe man appeared at her side. “Take a horse and get this man to the estate… before he dies.” She paused. “We can allow Maiya to help this one.”

Unlike John who didn’t hide his confusion, Tuck gave a shrug of acceptance and went to unhitch a horse from the wagon.

Amalie’s men examined the wagonloads of fruit, cabbage, and grain.

As Tuck and John hoisted Simon onto the horse, a thought came to Amalie.

She pulled John away from the others when Tuck left. “What was Simon doing with a band of waggoneers?”

John’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure who Simon is.”

She sighed. “That man I sent with Tuck is the queen’s personal guard.”

His eyes widened before shifting toward the woods. “She sent him to guard them.”

She nodded. “And where there’s one guard, there’s—”

Shouting cut off her words as men broke from the trees, darting across the uneven terrain, dodging rocks and roots like ghosts in the night.

“Get to the village,” Amalie yelled.

Their people would protect them.

The guards were on horseback but her band was much closer to the village. Amalie ran as fast as her legs allowed. John never left her side.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins until all she could hear was a rushing wind drowning out the hammering of her heart.

They didn’t slow until the dirt road turned into a cobblestone street and squat ramshackle buildings rose on either side. The guards neared, their approach deafening as horse hooves hit stone.

John veered into an alleyway and Amalie followed. He leapt for the edge of a roof, and his legs collided with the side of the building as he hung from the terracotta stones. His wine-colored hair blazed in the night when threw his head back and strained his muscles. Using his feet against the wall, he pulled himself onto the roof before extending a hand down to her.

Amalie didn’t hesitate taking it. With his help, she pulled herself up. Her bow clattered to the ground and for a moment, she stopped. But there was no time to retrieve it.

The buildings stood only inches from each other, allowing Amalie and John to escape over the flat roofs.

An arrow sailed toward them, but Amalie ducked, managing to stay on her feet. She sprinted across the rooftops, leaping from one to the next. Up ahead, the buildings parted for an alley. She charged ahead and jumped across the wide gap, rolling as she landed. She popped back up.

Another arrow arced through the sky and a yelp of pain sounded beside her. John fell to his knees, the arrow shaft protruding from his thigh.

“John,” she screamed, scrambling toward him.

“Don’t stop, Ames,” he wheezed. “Don’t let them see who you are.”

“I’m not leaving you.” She glanced back over her shoulder to where two guards had climbed onto the roof.

“You have to. I can’t run.” He gripped her hand. “What you’re doing is good. But if anyone finds out about you, it’s over. Who would the people have to protect them then?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “John.”

“Go.”

She placed her forehead against his. “I will come for you. Wherever they take you, I’ll come.”

He nodded before pushing her away.

Amalie couldn’t look back again as her feet took her from one of the most important people in her life. John was her brother, whether they shared blood or not.

But he was right.

There was more at stake.

The guards stopped when they reached John, letting her fade into the night. She slipped over the edge of the roof at the next alleyway, dangling by her fingertips before dropping to the ground.

Glancing down the street, she saw no further pursuit, so she made her way across the village to the estate house she’d always called home.

She slipped through the street side door to the barracks, allowing her to avoid being seen at the gates. Only her most trusted people knew of her nighttime occupation.

A few men lingered about, but these particular barracks housed only those who were part of her merry band of men, seeking justice in a world that had none. Most had yet to return.

She breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes settled on Will. He rushed forward, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“The others?” he asked.

She shifted her eyes away. “I don’t know.” She wasn’t ready to tell her men of John yet. He was her second in command and truly beloved.

What were they going to do without him?

She walked from the barracks unable to find the words of comfort her people needed. They were ambushed. It wasn’t the first time they’d fought on their missions, but it was the first time the guard had been waiting for them.

They were no longer an anonymous group of bandits. The queen had taken notice.

She’d almost forgotten about Simon until she walked into the estate house and crossed the stripped down rooms in the front. She refused to live in an ornate home when her people suffered.

Simon lay in the sitting room with Maiya tending his injuries. Tuck hovered nearby.

Simon’s gaze found her, scanning the dark green hood still covering her hair and the outfit that was not fit for a noble lady. Loose-fitting pants that made it easy to run, a cotton tunic, and mud covered boots.

His gaze hardened. “The Hood.”

She nodded. There was no use denying it. She’d heard her people use the nickname, but it was with a lot more warmth than Simon currently possessed.

Maiya stood. “My healing took a lot of your energy. You will need a few days to recover.”

Simon pushed himself from the couch. “No. I will leave now.”

Amalie flicked her eyes to Tuck who’d moved to stand by the half-open door.

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that.” Amalie crossed her arms over her chest.

Simon’s jaw tensed. “Taking prisoners now, Amalie?”

She saw the accusation in his eyes. He wasn’t the first person to think it. Her father had been a traitor, maybe it was in the blood.

But there was a difference. Her father did what he did to serve himself. He betrayed a king who’d only wanted to make life better in Gaule. Now their queen had lost control of the kingdom. Amalie only wanted to end the needless suffering.

Simon wouldn’t understand that. His blind loyalty was his greatest fault. Queen Catrine could do no wrong.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess I am.” To Tuck, she said, “Get him set up in one of the guest rooms. Make sure he has everything he needs.” She flicked her eyes to Simon once more. “Remember, his magic emboldens his strength. I want four men guarding him. Then find your own bed. It has been a long night.”

She stepped into the hall with Maiya close behind. The caramel-skinned healer said nothing. She’d lived in Amalie’s household for over a year now. She too was the daughter of a traitor. Her father betrayed Queen Etta of Bela in the war with Dracon. He even forced her own betrayal.

After that, the girl felt she had no place in the world. Not in Bela or Dracon. Amalie had the same feeling inside her so she’d taken her in, and now Maiya could read her with a single glance. She knew something was horribly wrong.

And yet, she only waited.

Reality crashed in around Amalie as everything struck her at once.

“John…” Her entire body shook. “The queen’s men have him.”

Maiya put an arm around Amalie’s shoulders, letting her healing magic soothe Amalie’s pain.

“Do you know the punishment in Gaule for thievery?” Amalie lifted her face to peer at her friend.

Maiya shook her head.

“Hanging.” Like her father. Like her sister.

It seemed she was doomed to watch the people in her life meet the noose one by one.

Only this time, she couldn’t let it happen.

“What are you going to do?” Maiya asked.

“Find him.” Amalie breathed. “I will find him.”

2

Two letters. One fate.

Tyson Durand stared down at the papers in his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed in his small one-room home near the palace of Bela, but he didn’t need to read the words to know what they said. He’d committed them to memory.

The first came months ago, almost a year to the day after they’d returned from Madra. Camille, the sister he’d once considered power hungry and cruel, no longer wanted the throne of Gaule.

Their mother had named her heir once Alexandre married and became the king of Bela.

No one thought Camille had been an adequate choice at the time, but she’d grown into a woman they would have supported.

And Tyson… he was more Belaen than Gaulean. The magic running through his veins should have been an automatic disqualifier. The people of Gaule would never support him.

Brother, I know this puts a lot onto your shoulders, Camille had written. You’re the only one of us left to carry on the family rule. Durands had ruled Gaule for centuries. His mother wasn’t of Durand blood, but she’d married one who was.

If he was being honest, Tyson didn’t have a drop of Durand blood in him either. His true father was Viktor Basile. But he was raised a Durand. His brother and sister were Durands.

You’re the only one left.

He crumpled up his sister’s letter. It wasn’t a surprise. She was marrying the queen of Madra’s brother and staying in the kingdom across the sea. At least she’d have Helena there with her. She may be queen now, but Tyson knew her. She’d watch out for Camille. Madra was known for its scheming ways, and Len would make sure Camille didn’t fall into old habits.

Tyson thought of the young queen more often since receiving the letter. Helena never expected to be the queen, yet she did what she must to help her people.

Helena was the noblest ruler Tyson had ever met … aside from his sister, Etta.

He’d waited patiently for the other letter he held, and it only confirmed his fears. It was a summons to the palace of Gaule. His mother had a plan, she always did.

He didn’t know when he’d grown to distrust his mother. Maybe it was when she sold Quinn Rhodipus to his brother after Cole Rhodipus stole the throne of Madra.

Maybe it was when she allowed Gaule to fall to pieces.

She’d lost control, and that was unlike her.

He stared at the summons again. What would she do if he refused it?

Send another.

And another.

She wouldn’t give up. Eventually, she’d send Simon across the border to drag him to the place he’d once called home.

He couldn’t refuse her. No matter what he thought of her decisions, she was his mother and she’d always protected him.

Footsteps sounded in the doorway of his house. He’d helped build it himself and loved every inch of it. It was time he had his own space. He couldn’t live with Alex and Etta forever.

A throat cleared, and he looked up into his sister’s sympathetic eyes. Etta was once a cold and seemingly uncaring woman, but the past couple of years had made a difference in her. She was… happy.

It stopped grossing him out that his brother and sister were married the minute he saw them in their new home. Alex and Etta shared no parents, but they each shared one with Tyson.

Etta kicked the door closed behind her and threw herself down beside him on the bed, taking the paper from his hands.

“When did this come?” she asked, scanning the document.

He sighed. “Two days ago.”

Her only reaction was a raised eyebrow. None of them had reconciled with his mother after she openly supported the usurper king in Madra.

“Maybe it’s time.” She passed the paper back to him.

He pushed a hand through his dark hair. “I know. Something is happening in Gaule, and I need to know why my mother has let it fall so far.”

Etta pursed her lips. “Ty… being a queen isn’t easy even in a kingdom like Bela where the people support my every action. I can’t imagine what ruling Gaule must be like. That kingdom has always danced on the edge of a knife, ready to fall into disruption and chaos.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t want you to go alone, though. It isn’t safe. Take Edmund.”

“Edmund has refused every mission you’ve assigned him that would take him away from Estevan.” Edmund’s boyfriend had suffered many traumas at the hands of his own brother in Madra – Cole Rhodipus, a man who wanted Estevan’s throne; a throne Estevan ultimately gave to his sister.

“Stev needs separation,” she finished for him. “He gave up his throne in Madra and hasn’t been able to fully settle here because Edmund keeps watching his every move as if he’ll break. It’s been more than a year and Estevan needs to stand on his own two feet. I’m going to give him a position working for me. He knows how to run a kingdom, and I don’t want Edmund hovering.”

“So, you’re making me deal with Edmund?”

She nodded. “Please… just take him.” The corner of her mouth curled up. “Before I tie him up with vines and hang him over the cliff just so I can get peace and quiet in my house.”

Tyson almost laughed at that, but he didn’t find humor in many things lately. Etta had the magical ability to make things grow. It wouldn’t be the first time she used her powers on Edmund, but he usually deserved it. He may have his own home with Estevan, but he spent just as much time imposing on Etta’s.

Tyson sighed and Etta grinned. They both knew Tyson felt better with Edmund by his side. Over the past few years, he’d been his best friend, the only person who didn’t ask him why returning to Gaule whenever his mother asked hurt him so much. He seemed to understand without Tyson having to say her name.

Amalie.

Tyson laid back to stare at the ceiling, his chest constricting. “I guess I’m going to Gaule.”

Etta laid beside him and bumped his shoulder. “Hey, you know it’ll be okay, right?”

He snorted. “You always say that.”

“And I’m always right.” She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe when you’re there you can—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” He knew what she’d been about to say.

“I don’t understand any of it, Ty. You and Amalie…”

He cringed at the sound of her name.

Etta continued. “I was sure you two would last forever.”

He had thought so too.

He’d fallen in love with Amalie Leroy when she was betrothed to his brother, Alex. She’d become his friend first, exploring the castle at his side. She’d fought beside him in battle and risked her life for his.

He would have done anything to keep her safe.

“Etta—”

She gripped his arm. “Edmund told me about the last time you saw her.”

They’d taken Helena and Dell to Amalie’s estate because Dell was mortally wounded and needed the magic of a healer in Amalie’s residence.

“He said there was a lot of anger between you two. I’ve seen you change over the last two years, Ty. You’ve gone from the happy boy I knew to a man with hardness in his eyes and drink in his belly.”

He turned onto his side to face his sister. They hadn’t grown up together, but he felt like he’d known her his whole life. “I know you’re worried about me, but I’m okay.”

“Do you promise?”

He nodded.

She closed her eyes for a moment before sitting up. “I won’t keep asking you about it, Ty, but I hope you know I’m here for you.”

His lips tilted into a rare smile. “Will you tell Edmund you’re kicking him out of the kingdom, or shall I?”

Before she could answer, Tyson’s door burst open and a panicked Alex rushed in. Etta sat up. “What’s wrong?”

Alex’s eyes flicked around the room as if searching for something he knew wouldn’t be there. “Viktor. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Etta jumped to her feet. “What do you mean gone?”

One of the few things Tyson enjoyed lately was watching Etta and Alex obsess over their new son, named for her father.

Alex ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I left him asleep in his room and walked out to the stables because Vérité was kicking his stall. After I fed the beast, I did more work in the barn. By the time I returned to Viktor’s room, he’d disappeared. This is why I keep saying it’s time to have guards stationed at our home.”

Etta’s jaw clenched as worry entered her gaze. “Okay, don’t panic. We can’t panic.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Don’t panic? Our son is gone. It’s the perfect time to panic. We have too many enemies.”

Etta shook her head. “No one from Dracon or Gaule could get through Bela unseen. We’d have heard about it.”

“Well, then where is he?” Alex yelled.

Tyson scooted to the edge of his bed. He knew exactly who had Viktor. Who always took him. But Etta and Alex weren’t of sound mind.

They didn’t notice Tyson pushing past them into the sunlight beyond his door. The seaside village bustled around him. Carts full of fish and grains rumbled down the road, pulled by raggedy looking horses.

Shopkeepers did their best to attract customers, wafting smells out onto the streets. Tyson’s stomach growled, but he didn’t stop. He reached the end of the road and turned the corner into an alleyway leading to a door he knew too well.

He pushed it open without knocking to find a laughing Viktor lying on the fur-lined rug on the floor. Edmund hovered over him, tickling his sides and muttering nonsense in a voice he’d never want anyone to hear.

Tyson shut the door. “Again, Edmund?”

Edmund glanced up, not surprised by Tyson’s presence. He only shrugged before returning his attentions to the baby.

Tyson crossed his arms. “You realize he’s Alex’s baby, right?” Tyson counted in his head, waiting for the door to open again. Etta and Alex only needed a calm moment to think before realizing where they’d find their son. The door opened, but Tyson didn’t turn.

Edmund kept his gaze on the kid. “Alex is a boring old man who doesn’t snuggle this baby enough.”

Alex cleared his throat.

Edmund still didn’t look at them. “Yes, Viktor. I know your papa can hear me. It doesn’t make it any less true. Aren’t you glad your uncle Edmund is around?”

“Edmund.” Etta sighed. “You can’t keep taking him.”

Edmund lifted Viktor from the floor and cradled him against his chest. “I’m his uncle. If I walk in to your house and find him awake, I can’t just walk away. He was looking at me with these eyes that said ‘snuggle me’.”

Tyson suppressed a laugh. Snuggle me?

Alex held out his arms, but Edmund shook his head. “You’re just jealous of my snuggles.”

“Stop saying snuggle, Edmund.” Tyson covered his mouth with his hand.

Edmund shielded the baby from them and whispered “Don’t listen. I love snuggles.”

“He’s my son.” Alex stepped forward. “I want to snuggle him.”

Etta couldn’t hold in her laugh as she leaned into Tyson and dropped her voice. “Are they fighting over baby snuggles right now?”

Tyson nodded. “Sure you want me to take Edmund? This is entertainment.”

“Please. Just get him out of here. This is the third time he’s absconded with Viktor this week claiming uncle duties.”

Another presence loomed in the doorway. “Edmund.” Estevan sighed. “Give the queen and king their son back. We’ve gone over this. Uncle duties don’t give you the right to steal children.”

Finally, Edmund relented. “When he grows up and loves me more than the rest of you, it’ll be your fault.” He set the baby in Alex’s arms.

Etta stepped away from Tyson. “Now that we’ve solved the great uncle crisis, you’re heading to Gaule with Tyson.”

Edmund gave Tyson a shocked look. He knew more than most what lay in Gaule. There was a lot Tyson never told him though. About his time there. About Amalie. But Etta was right. He needed Edmund with him.

Edmund always had his back. Tyson never knew his true father and his mother was a distant queen now, but he was surrounded by people who loved him.

Amalie Leroy never had such a family.

Before heading into Gaule, Tyson had to clear her from his mind. He wouldn’t be going near the Leroy estate. It was time he stopped dwelling on his past because Amalie Leroy had no place in his future.

3

Three Years Ago

War ages a person.

Tyson felt every one of his sixteen years and many more. In Gaule, most commoners would be married at his age. They’d spend their days working the fields or manning their shops and then go home to a family. Each day would be the same.

But not for a prince who didn’t know which kingdom was his. He was raised as the son of the Gaulean king only to discover his true father was none other than Viktor Basile, descendant of the Belaen kings.

He had magic, but still didn’t know where he belonged. Among the magic folk?

An arm wound around his waist and he relaxed his stance to let Amalie into his moment.

“Why are you out here all alone?” Her voice calmed the darkness inside him, washing away the confusion in his mind. He knew where he belonged. With her.

“It’s hard to think around the noise.” He closed his eyes, listening to the waves crash along the shore.

She leaned in to him, letting the silence sink into their bones.

Only a week ago, Tyson rode beside his sister, Etta, as she faced the sorceress, La Dame. They’d won, but it hadn’t come without cost. He’d thought everything was lost. He’d lost faith in Etta. In himself.

And then the wall crumbled to the earth and on the other side was Alex. His brother had come. Behind him was a small Gaulean contingent. Amalie rode at his side. She’d faced the worst thing any of them had ever seen. For him.

He tightened his grip on her. If he hadn’t known it before, he’d realized it then.

Amalie Leroy was his future.

They’d never crossed the line between friendship and… more. Growing up, she’d only been Alex’s betrothed. Then she became Tyson’s companion in many of his misadventures.

“Amalie,” he whispered.

She stopped him with words of her own. “We should return to the party.”

Away from the beach, in the little town they’d created in Bela, the people celebrated their return home. They mourned those they lost and rejoiced in having a kingdom of their own, safe from foreign rulers.

Amalie turned to leave, but Tyson grabbed her hand to stop her. It was a new life post La Dame. Their world had fallen down around them and yet here they stood. Maybe it was their chance.

“Ames.” He tugged her back toward him, and she turned.

Dark eyes peered up at him, lit only by the silver starlight.

Her lips parted as she released a breath.

His lips curved into a smile. “I-I’m not sure I’m truly a prince anymore.”

Her brow arched.

He went on. “I have nothing. No house to call my own. Not a gold piece in my pocket.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “My only skill, that of the sword, is no use in peace time.”

Amalie’s laughter was like music punctuated by the drumming of the sea. “Ty, I can honestly say I have no clue where this is going.”

“Just listen, okay?”

She nodded.

“I am nothing. Not anymore. But Amalie…” His hand drifted up her arm and over her shoulder until his fingertips skimmed the curve of her neck.

Amalie’s smile fell as the words hung between them, both said and unsaid. She dug her fingers into his shirt and pulled him forward.

“You’re wrong, Ty.” Her words were only a whisper against his lips. “You could never be nothing.”

When she kissed him, Tyson believed. In the future. In himself. The war was over and there were so many possibilities. One thing had never changed. He loved Amalie Leroy.

4

Present

Home. It was a strange word, implying a warm feeling of comfort. As Tyson glanced up at the towering walls of the palace he’d once called home, wariness sat in his stomach like a stone.

The last time he visited the Gaulean castle, he escorted the princess of Madra on a quest to save her brother.

So much had happened here and not much of it good.

Edmund rode up beside him. “The palace of Gaule is so grand, yet I’d rather ride toward the small home Etta calls the Belaen castle.”

Tyson didn’t take his eyes from the wall as a foreboding stirred in his chest. “Me too.”

Edmund wasn’t happy about leaving Stev, but—as Tyson knew it would—his duty overrode personal feelings. Stev had pleaded with him to go, to keep Tyson safe. He said he owed it to Ty after how much he’d risked to put Helena on the Madran throne.

Tyson didn’t see it that way. He’d needed something to fight for. It didn’t matter it was a foreign princess battling with one of her brothers or that Etta initially said Bela didn’t belong in the war. She’d eventually come around and done what he knew she would.

Unlike his mother.

Ignoring Edmund’s chatter beside him, Tyson rode through the open gates. The outer castle teemed with activity. It operated much like a village with shops and rows of houses. His horse knew the way because he’d been there many times over the last three years. At the stables, a lad he didn’t recognize took the horse from his care, leaving Tyson to walk through the inner gates on foot.

A row of guards lined the inner wall, recognizing him. They made no move to stop him. A few men Edmund knew at the stables had stopped him to welcome his return. Tyson didn’t wait. Edmund would catch up.

Familiar walls greeted Tyson with shadows of the past. Tapestries that had hung in the halls since he was a child marked his way.

Outside the castle walls, Gaule was almost unrecognizable with its constant rebellions, dangerous roads, and starving people. But inside, all seemed right with the kingdom. Was this how his mother insulated herself from the problems facing her people? Did she stay among the paintings depicting great victories and prosperity, imagining they resembled the present world?

The serving staff seemed smaller than before, but people still bustled through the halls going about their morning tasks.

He’d visited enough to know his mother’s routine never changed. At this hour, she’d be sitting in the throne room, allowing select people to bring forth their troubles. It was a practice she’d adopted only after the battle with La Dame. She wanted to seem as if she truly cared about them.

The sad thing was, Tyson didn’t know if she actually did. The crown had changed his mother. She’d transformed from the loving woman she once was into a cold and unfeeling ruler he no longer recognized.

Two guards nodded to Tyson and allowed him entrance into the throne room. His eyes found his mother. She sat on the throne, her back straight, her eyes hard. In front of her stood a gaggle of Gaulean commoners.

The queen nodded, seemingly deep in thought, before addressing a woman nearby. “I understand your situation and will have my people look into it. The bandits will be apprehended.”

The woman thanked her, and the queen stood, her eyes sweeping the room. When they landed on Tyson, a spark of life entered them. It was gone just as quickly, and he wondered if he’d imagined it.

“I’m afraid that is all we have time for today.” She stepped off the raised platform and two guards escorted her to a private entrance at the side of the room.

“Sir,” a guard approached Tyson. “The queen has requested you come with me.”

Tyson nodded and followed him without a word. He didn’t need an escort. He knew where his mother was having him meet her. The private royal residence seemed so devoid of life with only the queen living there. Once upon a time, Tyson had shared the hall with his brother, sister, and both his parents. Even Etta lived there for a while.

His heart hurt for his mother and sudden regret had his steps speeding up. He’d dreaded returning home, forgetting his mother was all alone.

The guard knocked at the door to the queen’s sitting room before pushing it open. Tyson stepped inside, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. His mother stood with her back to him fiddling with a tray of mugs.

It was rare to get a moment alone with her. Duchess Moreau and Simon were her constant companions, but he’d seen neither of them.

The door closed behind him with a definitive slam. Tyson clasped his hands behind his back and waited for her to acknowledge him.

When his mother turned, she held a mug in each hand. “Tea?”

Tea? That was the first thing she had to say to him after all that had happened? The problem was, he didn’t have the words either. All he could do was step forward and accept the mug.

He studied her over the rim as he took a sip. Dark circles ringed her eyes where they sank into her lined face. She’d gained weight and her beautiful dark hair had streaks of gray.

His mother broke their gaze and walked to the settee facing a glowing fire. A chill setting into his limbs, Tyson followed her.

The weather had turned warm after a long winter, but the stone palace of Gaule always seemed cold no matter the season.

He’d sat on the same chairs many times before talking with his mother of every topic imaginable. They’d been close, and it hurt to feel the distance between them now.

He sat in a high-backed chair and set his cup on the table beside it before crossing his legs.

His mother set aside her tea as well. “It’s good to see you, Boy.”

He wanted to tell her he hadn’t been a boy since the day she told him of his true parentage.

But he didn’t. Instead, he forced a smile. “I’m glad to be home, Mother.” Lies.

She pursed her lips. “Tyson, let’s not pretend this is your home any longer. You only come when you have no other choice.”

He could have tried to refute her words, but he was so tired of lies. Instead, he lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Her expression softened. “I know you are, dear. A lot has happened and we can’t change the past. I know what those in Bela and Madra think of me, but I’ve only ever done what I thought was right.”

He sighed. He knew she thought that. But what was right or wrong? Who got to decide what constituted as such?

“Gaule is in trouble, Tyson.” She leaned forward, folding her hands on her lap.

“That’s an understatement.”

Her lips tugged down. “Bandits roam the roads, cutting off supplies to the villages and killing my people. The royal guard now combs the countryside to keep the kingdom safe from those who would throw it further into chaos.”

“The guard?” Tyson scoffed. In his father’s day, royal guardsmen were no better than the bandits themselves.

His mother raised a brow. “These are my people, loyal and obedient. It is not the days of old. Every time they hang a thief, another comes to light. It is out of control.”

Tyson rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure what this has to do with me. Didn’t you call me here because of Camille?”

Surprise etched across his mother’s face. “Tyson, I know your feelings about Gaule. I would never force the throne upon you.” She reached for his hand but thought better of it and pulled back. “Gaule would never accept a Belaen as king.”

Tension that had coiled in Tyson’s belly since reading the letter from Camille unraveled and he felt as if he could breathe again. “You need an heir, Mother.”

His mother’s hand rubbed over her stomach. “And I will have one. I do not plan on dying for many years yet.”

“No one ever plans…” He froze. “You’re…”

She nodded. “Tyson, I’m pregnant.”

A wave of relief washed over him. Another child. One they’d raise to rule Gaule. A brother or sister. He closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s wonderful news.”

When he opened his eyes, he noticed the glassy quality of hers and went to her, sinking into the settee. “What’s wrong, Mother?” When she didn’t answer, he tried again. “Why have you summoned me?”

When she lifted her eyes to his, a tear tracked down her cheek. “You’re the only one I trust to find him.”

“Find who?”

“Simon. He’s missing.”

5

She shouldn’t be there. The palace was no longer a welcoming place to Amalie Leroy. She’d once been as a daughter to the queen. But that disappeared when they disagreed on her people’s fundamental rights and the way to achieve justice. It vanished when the royal guard seized her father’s estate, law or not.

Amalie no longer trusted anyone in power. They all had motives beyond the wellbeing of ordinary citizens.

She sat in the hall, eating too-rich foods beside guards and servants. There was another place for nobles and their parties to dine, but Amalie no longer thought of herself as one of them. To their eyes, she was Lady Leroy, always clad in beautiful gowns and adorned with jewels.

But in her mind, the only identity that mattered was the Hood.

A wall at the back of the hall depicted the kingdom’s most wanted criminals. The Hood’s image had no distinguishing features. The drawing, hanging among images of murderers and traitors, was of a man with a shadowy face.

Amalie stared into the stew before her, a similar dish to the food she served at her estate rather than the fancier meals the nobles would eat. She never wanted to have more than her people did.

Tuck let out a belch beside her. At one time, she’d have flinched, but now she spent most of her life surrounded by vulgar men. He smoothed a hand over his sun-kissed hair and smiled in apology. She shrugged as she shoveled another spoonful into her mouth.

If only her father could see her now.

What would the great Lord Leroy think of his youngest daughter sitting among the common workers? What would her sister, Liza, say about her desire to make Gaule livable for the average man or woman?

Nothing. Because they were dead. Hanged as traitors to the crown. Amalie didn’t miss her father or her sister. She’d never known her mother as she’d died in childbirth.

So, it was just her. Once, she’d thought she was all alone.

She’d been wrong.

Commotion near the arched entryway jerked her from her thoughts as a recognizable blonde head ducked through. Amalie shrank in on herself. No one had told her Edmund was present at the castle.

From the looks of it, he’d just arrived.

His voice boomed across the open space as soldiers greeted him. “It sure is cold out there.”

Amalie watched the excitement surrounding her old friend, willing him not to spot her. He’d always been popular in the castle but returned home seldom these days.

Home. This wasn’t his anymore. He was not a man of Gaule.

As if her thoughts reached him, Edmund met her gaze. He froze for a moment, surprise widening his eyes, before a wide grin spread across his face. “Amalie Leroy,” he bellowed.

The surrounding soldiers turned to stare at her, no doubt recognizing the family name of the notorious traitor. She’d hoped to go unnoticed while at the palace, have an audience with the queen, and then leave with John in tow.

So much for that plan. With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the table. Tuck, ever the watch dog, stood at her side.

“You know him?” He nodded toward Edmund.

“Yes.”

Edmund reached them and pulled her into a hug before she could stop him. He squeezed so tightly she worried her eyes would pop out of her head.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Edmund. In fact, her fondness for him knew no end. But being near him reminded her of what she’d once wanted. What she’d given up.

She pushed at his chest and he released her.

“What are you doing at the palace?” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Ty told me you no longer came here.”

Hearing his name sent a chill up her spine. She stepped closer to Tuck, reminding herself that he and John were her present and future. Edmund and Tyson represented the past.

If Edmund knew she spent her nights running through the woods chasing unsuspecting traders, he’d never look at her the same way.

But everyone would find out why she’d come as soon as she spoke to the queen.

Edmund, as if sensing her discomfort, reached for her hand. “I’m not hungry anymore. Let’s go.”

He led her out of the hall and through the entryway, pushing out into the starlit night. Tuck followed. Out in the courtyard, only a few guards lingered. Edmund dropped her hand and sat on the step, leaning his back against the stone barrier. He said nothing, but his eyes never left her face.

Avoiding his obvious question, Amalie asked one she’d already heard the answer to through rumors spreading across Gaule. “I heard congratulations are in order.”

He raised a brow.

“Last I saw you, the princess of Madra was looking for a way back to her kingdom. I’ve heard she now sits on the throne and suspect you had something to do with that.”

He shrugged. “Actually, it was mostly her. She wasn’t given that crown. She took it.”

“And you saved the boy.” Amalie smirked.

Edmund’s expression turned sheepish. “Well… Stev.”

She grinned. “Are you blushing, Edmund?”

“No.” He turned his head so she couldn’t see his face any longer, and she laughed.

After a beat of silence, Amalie gestured beside her. “This is Tuck.”

Edmund pinned her with a stare again. “Now that we know who everyone is, tell me why you’re here.”

Amalie sighed and hugged her arms across her chest as she sat on the step above Edmund. “A friend of mine has been arrested.”

Edmund jerked his head back in surprise. “I did not expect that answer.”

Worry had her tugging the ends of her hair. What was happening to John in those dungeons? Had they tended to his wound? “He was caught stealing from a group of traders.”

Sympathy entered his gaze. They both knew what happened to thieves.

“Why are you here?” Her voice shook as her mind stayed with John.

Edmund spoke as if she should have known the answer to her own question. “I came with the prince.”

The prince.

Tyson.

He was here.

The blood froze in her veins as her heart refused to pump in its shattered state. She sucked in a breath and her lungs expanded painfully. The last she’d seen him was months ago when Tyson showed up at her door. If it weren’t for the wounded man with him, she would have turned him away.

But here, in the palace where they first became friends, it felt as if seeing him would break the remaining parts of her soul. As if it would unravel every long held secret inside her.

Long fingers slid against hers as Edmund gripped her hand. “Hey, you okay?”

She thought she nodded but wasn’t sure if she’d managed the movement.

Edmund tapped a finger under her chin and tilted it up so she had no choice but to look at him. “Amalie, what happened between you and Tyson?”

She shook her head. “He never told you?”

Edmund sighed. “About two years ago, Tyson stopped journeying into Gaule. He would no longer visit his mother unless she summoned him. He ceased speaking of you. But it was more than that… Amalie, it was like he stopped living. I was away in Madra for much of that time, but when I returned, he wasn’t the same man I’d known.”

The words should have comforted Amalie, knowing he’d had as hard a time as she had after everything he’d done, but instead, a tear slid down her cheek.

She pictured the young prince’s smiling face as he raced through the castle tunnels when they were children. The way his cheeks grew red when he looked at her. His mindless determination to protect those he loved.

He’d been everything she could dream of. But their match hadn’t been fate. Their paths weren’t meant to intersect. She’d known that the moment he refused to come when she needed him most.

“Amalie.” Edmund scooted to her side, and it was only then she realized Tuck had left to give them privacy.

Amalie had never told most of her men about her romance with the prince. They wouldn’t understand. They knew she’d had someone who let her down, but the man was a mystery. She surrounded herself with people who had only ill thoughts of the crown and the nobility. Except for Tuck. He’d known because he came into her life when Tyson was still there and everything was perfect. Before she’d known perfection didn’t last.

Then there was John, the friend she’d counted on when Tyson wasn’t there for her. He never brought up Tyson’s name and Amalie had always been grateful for that.

“I don’t want to talk about Tyson, Edmund.” She tried to shift away from him, but he pulled her closer into his side.

“I’ve known you too long not to meddle. You’re both here, and you obviously still care about him. So, why don’t you talk?”

She shrugged off his arm and stood, smoothing down the dress she had to wear to play the part of a lady. “You’re wrong, Edmund. Tyson Durand means nothing to me. He never did.” The lie was still on her tongue when she turned on her heel and came face to face with the boy she wished she’d never known.

6

Three years ago

“I think I could stay like this forever.” Tyson sighed in contentment as he smoothed a calloused hand down Amalie’s bare back.

She rested her cheek against his chest and traced the ridges of his stomach with light brushes of her fingertips. “I do too. You know why?” She propped herself up on her hands, letting her hair hang about her creamy shoulders as early morning light streaked through the window, illuminating her skin.

He’d never seen anything so beautiful. “Tell me.”

“Because I have you right where I want you.” She leaned down to press her lips to his. “Under my power.”

He smiled against her lips. “Completely under your power. Enthralled. Entranced. Yours.”

“Mine.” She kissed him again, pressing her chest against his.

A knock at the door stopped their morning before it began. Amalie buried her face in his neck and laughed.

“Breakfast is ready,” a gruff voice called in.

“Thank you, sir,” Tyson answered. “We’ll be there in a few moments.”

They listened for his footsteps to fade away. They’d stopped in a border village on their way to the Leroy lands, bringing Amalie home for the first time since her father was hanged.

Much of the village was damaged and many of the people had left in the weeks leading to the battle with La Dame, but they’d managed to find an inn.

Amalie rolled off Tyson, and they each pulled their clothes on before stopping at the door for one final kiss.

In the dining room, an older woman greeted them with a smile. “It’s always nice having young people in residence who are just beginning their lives together… Even if the walls are thin.” She winked.

Tyson laughed, and Amalie slapped his arm as the woman hurried away.

He leaned in. “She thinks we’re married.”

“And we need to keep it that way.”

Tyson wound an arm around her waist. “What if we did it? What if you returned to your father’s lands as not only the rightful duchess, but one married to a prince?”

* * *

Present

Amalie had never wanted to be a princess. Tyson hadn’t considered that at the time but even now, he still didn’t know what she wanted.

As he stared at the woman before him, her words bouncing in his mind, he couldn’t find a trace of the girl he once knew. The softness of Amalie Leroy was gone, replaced by a woman with hard edges.

Tyson Durand means nothing to me. He never did.

He’d had two years to wonder if what they’d had was real, but being hit with the truth so suddenly sucked the air from his lungs.

Amalie’s mouth moved, and he thought she tried to say his name, but he shook his head. The day had gone from bad to worse, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

Simon was missing, and his mother pleaded with Tyson to find him, the guard who also happened to be the father of Tyson’s newest sibling.

No one would have claimed his family was ever normal or even sane, but some days, he wished for a different kind of life. One where he could have stayed in the border village where all his dreams had come true. Where he’d fallen in love.

Tyson shook his head and turned to Edmund. “I’m going to find food in the noble’s hall. I can’t stomach that gruel the guards eat. Not tonight.”

A scowl flashed across Amalie’s face. “Right. The prince needs his fine foods.”

He didn’t acknowledge her words. In the years since the rebellions and war with Dracon, Amalie’s hatred of the wealthy increased.

Tyson wondered if she realized that she too had noble blood in her. One didn’t get to choose the circumstances of their birth.

He turned without another word. Edmund followed soon after.

“I don’t want to hear a word about it, Edmund.” His friend tried to push him about Amalie, but she no longer mattered. He had bigger worries.

They seated themselves at a short table along the wall and leaned back as a servant filled their wine goblets.

Edmund took a long drink and eyed Tyson. “Out with it. Did Catrine make you agree to take the ever-changing position of Gaulean heir?” He smiled, burgundy wine coating his teeth. “Gaule will fall apart when they learn the new heir is half Belaen… well, more than it’s already falling apart.”

Tyson studied the plate a servant set in front of him. Roasted fowl and potatoes. If there was one thing he missed about Gaule, it was the food. In Bela, it seemed every meal centered on either venison or fish.

But he suddenly had no appetite.

“My mother is pregnant.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

Edmund’s grin widened as a laugh slipped past his lips. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

Tyson ran a hand through his hair. His mother was in her forties. No one expected her to produce another heir. He should’ve been relieved, but everything else she’d said rolled through his mind. He tried understanding everything his mother told him. She wanted him to find Simon. Many of her guards were on the same mission, but she needed her son to do everything in his power to search out the man she loved.

His mother wanted him to seek out the bandit responsible for terrorizing the supply chains of Gaule. The Hood. Tyson had heard the name last time he was in Gaule. A master archer with nerves of steel, the Hood attacked wagons containing food and other goods, bringing them to the villages. He never killed anyone, but his men were still dangerous.

Releasing a breath, Tyson looked to Edmund. Would his life ever be his own? It seemed there was always some mission that needed his attention.

“It seems I’m going to be staying in Gaule a while,” he said.

“As heir?” Edmund’s gaze bore into him. He didn’t know what it was like to have the responsibility of a kingdom thrown at you, but he loved a man who did. If things had gone differently, Estevan would rule Madra, not Helena.

Tyson shook his head and explained everything he’d learned. About Simon’s task. About the Hood.

When he was finished, Edmund set his fork down. “I’ll be with you, of course.”

Tyson knew he’d say the words. Edmund would always do what was asked of him, always the honorable thing.

He nodded, grateful he wouldn’t have to face this alone, because the place where he needed to start was the last place he wanted to go.

The Leroy lands.

The Hood’s last known whereabouts.

He’d need Amalie’s help, a safe place to stay. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, trying to ward off the coming headache. Most of Gaule held dangers for someone like him, someone with magic.

He had to remind himself it was for Simon, the guard who loved his mother, and his mother deserved even the smallest bit of happiness in this life.

“When do we leave?” Edmund asked.

“As soon as Amalie does.”

Edmund looked like he wanted to say something more but stayed quiet as he dug back into his food.

Maybe this would be easier if Tyson could hate her. If he could see her as the self-righteous lady most of the other nobles saw.

But the only image in the spaces of his mind was of a shy girl with the prettiest blue eyes and the warmest heart.

Where had she gone?

7

Amalie’s steps echoed off the stone ceiling as she paced in front of the door to the throne room. She’d had to wait two days for an audience with the queen. There was a time when she wouldn’t have had to wait at all.

But as Lady Leroy, she’d spent the past two years criticizing the crown and distancing herself from the woman who’d once treated her kindly.

If Catrine knew how she spent her nights, or who she had locked up back at her estate, any remaining amount of goodwill would vanish.

How had they gotten here?

It was for John, she reminded herself. All for John.

Her first instinct was to offer a trade. Simon for John. But Simon knew the missions she carried out while the rest of the kingdom slept. He knew the name they’d given her.

Admitting she had Simon would reveal it for all. Even Catrine couldn’t stop the noose from tightening around Amalie’s neck then.

She would figure out what to do about Simon later. John’s problem was more pressing. How did she free him without revealing herself?

The door opened, and a guard stepped through, nodding at her to approach. Inside the throne room, nothing had changed. The same velvet carpeting made a path between pillars to the gold carved throne, worn with age and neglect.

Images flashed through her mind. She saw her father kneeling in front of the fuming Alex. Guards dragging the lords and ladies away. That had been the turning point for Gaule. From then on, many of the nobles lost all faith in the crown.

They increased the size of their own forces, raising rents in the villages to pay for it. They abandoned some of the kingdom’s laws in favor of their own. Alex had done the right thing, but Gaule was not a kingdom built on justice, and the quest for equality fractured it into many pieces.

Catrine did more good than Alexandre could have. Amalie admitted that. But she never left the palace. She didn’t see the state of her people’s lives. Instead, like many of the nobles, the queen stayed in the safety of her home where she was afforded every luxury, while the villages were left with precious little.

Amalie’s feet froze when she looked into the queen’s face.

Catrine stood and rushed down the steps, pulling Amalie into a warm hug. “Dear girl, it is good to see you.”

Amalie nodded, willing back the tears that sprung to her eyes. Wrapped in a motherly embrace, she longed for the time when she’d been part of this family. Before, just like the kingdom they ruled, that had shattered as well. If she hadn’t made the hardest decisions of her life two years before, she would be a part of it still.

Reluctantly, Amalie pulled back.

Catrine cupped her cheek. “I wanted to see you as soon as word of your arrival reached me, but I was ill yesterday.”

Amalie tried to hold on to the ire she felt toward the woman, but it unraveled too quickly until all she felt was exhaustion. She no longer had the energy for pleasantries.

“Your Majesty,” she began.

“Since when do we rely on formalities, Amalie?”

“Since you’re keeping a man from my village in the dungeons.”

Catrine pursed her lips and stepped back, smoothing her hands over her emerald silk gown. “It seems we must talk business then.” She turned and walked back to her throne. As she sat, she waved a hand, gesturing Amalie to come forward as if she were any other petitioner.

Nerves twisted in Amalie’s gut, and she wished more than anything she could have her hood and bow. They infused a confidence in her she never felt as a lady of court.

But she’d trained for this her entire life so she pasted on a complacent smile and stepped forward. “Your Majesty, a man by the name of John Little was arrested weeks ago in a village on the Leroy lands. His family is adamant it was a case of mistaken identity.”

Lies. John had no family other than her.

Catrine’s dark gaze studied Amalie’s face. Only torches lit the windowless room, casting an orange glow across their skin.

“John Little.” The queen nodded. “Yes, he is here.”

Relief bloomed through Amalie’s chest. Tuck had searched all the nearby village prisons, even checking the rolls of the hanged, before learning John was brought directly to the palace.

The queen’s next words pushed all relief away. “But I cannot release him.”

Amalie opened her mouth before shutting it and trying again. “His family—”

“Is lying.” She said it so calmly Amalie’s anger bubbled to the surface.

“These are good people, Catrine.” Her jaw clenched. “Maybe you aren’t used to honest, hardworking folk, but they don’t deserve to have the crown destroy their lives. Maybe you forget what empathy feels like, but I can’t let that happen.”

Catrine folded her hands in her lap. “Are you done?”

There were so many other things Amalie wanted to say to the queen, but none of them would help John, so she only nodded.

“Good. Listen to me, Amalie Leroy. I don’t know what happened to the obedient, sweet girl I knew—”

“She grew up.”

Catrine cut through her with a harsh stare. “The boy you plead for was found with the Hood. I have testimonies from no less than three of my trusted guards. Do you want to know about the bandit your friend was aiding?”

Amalie stood stone still, barely able to breathe.

“The Hood travels the roads at night, looking for unsuspecting travelers. He sets his men upon them to steal what these good people have worked for. People have been injured. We’ve heard of a few deaths even. But that isn’t the worst part. This hooded bowman galvanizes the kingdom, sowing unrest. Do you know how many copy cats we’ve apprehended?”

Amalie shook her head.

“Eleven. With each arrest, the people grow more uneasy. They turn against the crown when all we want to do is protect them. With La Dame dead and Madra once again stable, our greatest threat now comes from within. This is the time for our kingdom to come together, and the Hood is only tearing it further apart.” Her chest heaved with anger.

Amalie’s throat constricted as the words struck her with the full force of an accusation. It wasn’t her fault others had attacked travelers in her name. She pictured the arrow John had shot into Simon. Yes, people got hurt. A few died. But how many more had lived?

How many families had she fed? The villages across the Leroy and surrounding lands welcomed her men upon sight, knowing they kept their children from dying of empty bellies.

She steeled her gaze. No. The unrest wasn’t her fault because the people had many reasons to be discontented.

The queen calmed her breathing, and the anger left her gaze. “I’m sorry about your friend, Amalie. I truly am. I wish I could take the trouble from your mind. But I need to put Gaule first. John Little will hang at first light.” She stood. “I’m afraid I must return to my bed. I am suddenly overcome with weariness.”

She left Amalie standing in the throne room with only a silent guard for company. Amalie closed her eyes, a tear escaping. She’d failed him. John had always been there for her and because of that, he’d hang.

Tuck waited for her in the room they shared. As soon as he saw her face, he wrapped his arms around her. Once, she’d enjoyed more lavish rooms at this palace with connecting rooms for servants. But that was a long time ago.

“We’ve lost him, Tuck.” The men who pledged their loyalty to her had become her family, and she knew this would break them. It would break her.

The big man sighed. “Not yet.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “What we always do. Fight for the ones who can’t fight for themselves.”

* * *

The dungeons hadn’t changed. Musty air assaulted Tyson as soon as he descended the narrow stone staircase.

“Have you ever wondered if we spend too much time in these dungeons?” Edmund asked, the humor in his voice masking the hatred Tyson knew he felt for the place.

He wasn’t wrong. They had a habit of meeting people in these cells. Edmund had even been locked in one for a while. The last time they’d come had been with Helena, the new queen of Madra, when her brother, Quinn, was held prisoner here, waiting to be sent home to his usurper twin.

Tyson’s mother told him they had a man in custody, a man connected to the Hood. He was scheduled to hang in the morning, so Tyson hoped he could convince him to do some good before he died. Maybe he’d want to make up for a life of thievery.

The guards nodded to them, recognizing Tyson, and pointed to a cell near the end of the hall. Despite the prison’s full capacity, an eerie hush fell over the place.

They passed the turn that would have taken them to the cell both Etta and Edmund had occupied at different times. It still amazed Tyson to think of everything they’d all been through.

In the final cell, a man sat in the center with his legs crossed and his eyes closed as if in meditation. The first thing that struck Tyson was his youth. He couldn’t have been much older than him.

An unkempt beard covered the lower half of his face. How long had he been here?

A tear up the side of his trousers revealed a bandage wrapped tightly around his leg with blood seeping through it.

Edmund gripped the bars in front of them. As if sensing the movement, the man’s eyes snapped open.

“John Little?” Tyson asked.

No movement. No sound. The man only stared.

“Answer me.”

The corner of the man’s mouth tilted up. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I only answer to one person.”

“The Hood?”

John’s eyes snapped to Tyson’s. That was answer enough.

Tyson held his gaze. “Have they told you you’re due to hang in the morning?”

“And you think that means I’ll talk to you, Prince?”

Tyson rubbed his jaw. “So, you do recognize me.”

“Of course I do. I saw you once before when you lived at the Leroy estate. You Durands think Gaule owes you everything; that the common people deserve less. I don’t care what happens to me. I will never help you.”

His sentiment sounded eerily similar to the words Amalie had once flung at him.

Tyson clenched his jaw. “The Hood is nothing more than a criminal. You’re loyal to a man who will show you no loyalty in turn. He steals, and murders, and abducts people.”

John rose up on his knees. “You know nothing of which you speak.” He tilted his head. “Have you ever been loyal to someone, Prince? Truly loyal? Someone who infuses the belief that they’ll make a better world. That they are the kind of person who will fight until they can’t any longer?”

Tyson had been loyal to many people in his life. His mother. Alex. His friends. But there was only one person he’d ever heard spoken of with such reverence. His sister, Etta. The fire in John’s eyes was the same he’d seen in Etta’s people. He knew then, he’d never get the information he sought. Not from a man whose loyalty had become more. It was love.

Just as Etta’s people loved her and believed in her, so too did the Hood’s followers. How did a criminal garner such passion?

Tyson turned to Edmund. “We won’t get anything out of him.” He marched back through the dungeons, barreling out into the open-air corridor.

Edmund came up behind him. “We barely questioned him.”

Tyson shook his head. “He won’t be any help.” That man back there would be dead in the morning. He’d give his life for this Hooded figure.

Why?

Tyson needed to find out.

8

Amalie would never forget the day her father and sister died. They deserved the traitor’s hanging they got, but they were still the only family she had. She was a coward then, refusing to watch them leave this world. She’d hidden in the palace tunnels with Tyson, letting him occupy her troubled mind.

But today was different. Today, she had to be there, to keep her mind on the happenings in front of her even if it tore her heart out to watch.

Officials in the villages hanged many Gaulean citizens across the kingdom over the last few seasons. The royal guard roamed the land, upholding laws and acting as sheriffs over the people.

Amalie stood near the back of the gathering crowd. Their whispers told her word had circulated that one of the Merry Men who followed the Hood was set to die.

And if she knew one thing, it was that people loved a tragedy.

She backed away from the platform, through the throng, her eyes scanning the market square. She’d once wondered why the hangings no longer took place on the hill near the castle as her father’s had.

Then she learned the truth. The crown cared more for perception than justice. They wanted the punishments to be seen as given out by the people, by the officials in the villages, rather than the queen herself or her guards.

Tuck nodded from the doorway of a nearby shop, and Amalie quickened her step. Inside, a pungent scent hung in the air. Jars of herbs lined every surface, mixing their odors.

“This is David Caster.” Tuck gestured to the older man rearranging jars near the window.

Amalie studied him. Before joining her, Tuck was a traveling friar. He had those he trusted in every town, every village. But she was cautious.

She bent to peer at a ceramic bowl filled with dried purple leaves. “You an herbalist, David?”

“Yes, my lady.” He stood straight but lowered his eyes in respect.

Tuck reached behind a table, revealing a bow and quiver of arrows. It put Amalie at ease, providing her with some semblance of control. With a bow in her hand, she decided what happened next. She reached for it, running her hands along the smooth wood. The lady Amalie couldn’t travel with a bow and risk being seen with anything connecting her to the Hood. As far as anyone knew, she was just a helpless noble who relied on people like Tuck and John to protect her.

But they didn’t have John this time. She lifted her eyes to Tuck. “Just us then?” None of the others had traveled with them. Most of her band were wanted for some infraction or another and wouldn’t be welcome so near the palace. She’d have felt better if they were there.

She flicked her eyes to David, not knowing how much she could trust him.

Tuck eyed him cautiously as well.

Before Tuck could say another word, the door crashed open and a girl burst into the room, red hair flying about her heart-shaped face.

“Uncle,” she addressed David, ignoring Amalie and Tuck. “It’s true. I saw him. They have one of the Merry Men.” Excitement rang in her voice.

Amalie shared an alarmed look with Tuck. It was time.

The excitement wasn’t only in the girl. Out on the streets, the mood was palpable. No one had ever been that close to the Hood and John was seen as an extension of the elusive criminal.

Only, these people didn’t see the Hood as a criminal. Hushed whispers and awestruck words told a different story. Among the great houses and palaces of Gaule, the Hood was a nuisance, interrupting their otherwise comfortable lives. But in the villages, in the streets, he was one of them. Fighting for them.

What would they think if they knew it was a woman they spoke of? A noble one at that.

Amalie hid the bow and quiver beneath her cloak and moved closer to the platform. She’d exchanged her flared dresses for tight fitting brown trousers and a forest green tunic, loose enough to hide the curves of her body.

A wagon rumbled up with the prisoners chained in the back. Her eyes went to John. His handsome face looked drawn with dark circles under his eyes and an uncharacteristic beard coated his cheeks. Gone was the warmth she knew him for. The easy smiles and kind eyes.

The world had beaten him down. Weeks in a prison cell awaiting one’s own execution was the worst kind of torture.

Tuck gripped her elbow and pulled her to the side of the crowd.

“Are you going to be able to do this?” he asked.

She nodded. She had to. They had a plan. Tuck gave her one last long look before leaving to perform his duties. The town’s friar had taken to his bed in sickness thanks to an herb from David’s shop. So, it fell to Tuck to provide the last rituals for the condemned.

Amalie entered an empty storefront and thundered up the stairs. The window they’d chosen overlooked the day’s activities. A few men David trusted agreed to watch the building and be on the alert for anyone following her.

Movement at the back of the crowd caught her attention, and Amalie froze momentarily. Tyson stood with his arms crossed, surveying the scene before him. Amalie couldn’t tell what was going through his mind as she peered down from the window. There was a time when she could read him so easily. She’d known everything about him.

Now, a stranger walked in his shoes.

She shook her head and shifted so the giant wooden shutters hid her. The room was obviously lived in with a rumpled bed in the corner and still warm coals in the fireplace. But David had assured Tuck it would be unoccupied.

Amalie would never get used to the high stakes of the game they played. She couldn’t count the number of missions she’d led her people on, but the nerves never went away. Plucking her finger against the string of her bow, she waited. Their plan was risky, but it was all they had.

A guard led the prisoners onto the platform and Tuck stepped forward, black robe billowing around his legs.

Edmund stood to the side of the platform as he turned, his eyes seeming to find her hiding place. No, he couldn’t see her. Could he? He stared for a moment longer before turning back to the ceremony happening before them. They allowed prisoners a few final words before the friar performed the ceremony of the dead, giving them peace before their last breath.

Amalie didn’t hear what any of the other prisoners said as she focused on John. He spoke last.

When he cleared his throat, the entire crowd grew quiet, listening for any word about the Hood.

John stared at them unapologetically. He’d never been ashamed of his station in life. It was one of the things Amalie loved about him.

“I am not innocent,” he began. “At least of the things they accuse me of. I have spent the last two years beside the most honorable person I know. The one you call the Hood.”

Amalie sucked in a breath as murmuring broke out among the crowd.

“They call us thieves,” John continued. “Bandits. Criminals. But it is them who steal from us. They take food from the mouths of our children. The nobles care nothing for us. I am one of you. I grew up with no home, nothing to call my own except my honor. And that is not something they can take from me in death.”

A cheer rose up. They rooted for him.

When the hangman put a hand on John’s shoulder and jerked him back, the people screamed in protest.

Amalie’s heart thudded against her ribs, but John showed no fear. In that moment, the man they called John Little was the giant among them.

Tuck’s voice rose above the rest as he addressed each man and allowed them to drink from the chalice he held. Their final rites.

He stepped in front of John. To her friends’ credit, neither of them showed any sign of recognition. Their lives rested on their ability to remain anonymous.

“John Little,” he began.

Amalie couldn’t see his movements but she knew the moment Tuck must have shifted his hand to slip the herb into the chalice. John, with his hawk-like eyes, must have seen it too because he straightened.

But he trusted Tuck.

He took a sip before handing the cup back. Tuck stepped away, giving Amalie the clear view she needed.

Hopefully John would forgive her for what she had to do next.

She pulled an arrow free and rested it against the string of her bow as she flexed her fingers and took a deep breath to still her shaking hands. Edmund, still next to the platform moved, distracting her as she loosed the arrow. His head jerked up to stare at her as her arrow continued its arc. Amalie knew immediately it would miss her intended target.

The crowd screamed, pushing each other out of the way as they scrambled for safety from the supposed attack.

Amalie quickly knocked a second arrow, cursing herself, and set it free. John jerked back, the shaft of wood stuck in his arm. Tuck caught him as he pitched forward, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“It’s the Hood!” someone cried. “They’ve come to keep him silent.”

Amalie didn’t have time to consider what it meant if the people believed she’d kill her own men. She dropped the bow and sprinted from the room to run down the stairs and out into the crowd.

Missing on the first try lost her precious time. She’d lost her focus and John deserved more than that. What if she’d hit something important? She’d been aiming for a non-life threatening injury, but it all happened so quickly. The herb Tuck had given John would make him appear as if he’d stopped breathing. Her job had been to give them a cause for his supposed death.

She’d meant to shoot her best friend.

And now she only hoped he wasn’t truly dead.

She slammed into a solid wall of muscle and hands gripped her shoulders. Glaring up into the eyes of the man who could ruin everything, she ripped herself free. “Let me go.”

As she tried darting around him, Edmund yanked her arm back. She reached for the knife tucked into her belt, knowing full well she couldn’t use it on her friend.

“Stop,” he commanded, pulling her after him into a narrow alleyway and away from the crowd.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you,” he grunted.

Something about his words rang true, and it was only then she realized he didn’t mean to turn her in to the queen. She stopped struggling and let him guide her around the corner. Noise from the crowd faded behind them and she looked back over her shoulder. Was John okay? Worry gnawed at her, but she didn’t turn back yet.

Edmund reached out and ripped the hood from Amalie’s head. “Take that off.”

How could she have forgotten she was wearing it? At least anyone at the hanging would have seen the hood, but not the woman behind it.

Edmund shoved the hood at her chest and she stuffed it quickly in the bag hanging over her shoulder. He stopped walking and turned to her.

“Did you even consider how you’d get out of there?” His scowl irritated her. This man didn’t know her anymore.

“Of course I did.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Then I’m sure you knew of the guards who spotted you as soon as you exited the building? Or the villagers who were almost close enough to get a peek underneath that hood of yours?”

Amalie blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Of course.” She was lying. In her haste to get to John, she’d grown careless. She’d never been so ill prepared in her life. It was why she was normally so good at what she did. She left her emotions behind.

A thought struck her. “You can’t tell Tyson.”

He raised a brow.

But she didn’t stop. A man she’d barely seen in years now held her life in his hands. If he went to the guards or told the queen her identity, everything would come crashing down.

And if Tyson knew… she shook her head. The self-righteous prince would tell her to stop. He’d never imagine the girl he’d once claimed was too good for her family would skulk around forests, stealing to support her people.

Anger burned through her as Edmund studied her. He hunched his shoulders to peer into her eyes, his tall frame towering over hers.

“Why did you help me?” Her voice had lost some of its confidence.

He blew out a breath. “You really have to ask that, Amalie? I’ve known you for many years.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “What you’re doing is dangerous. I’ve heard the stories of the Hood all the way in Bela.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Someone had to feed my people.”

He put a hand on her shoulders and peered into her eyes. “I get why you’re doing it, but…” He pushed out a frustrated breath. “Fine. I won’t tell Tyson, but you need to prepare.”

“For what?”

“We’ve received a mission from the queen. She has asked Tyson to search for the Hood. Apparently, Simon is missing.”

She averted her eyes, but Edmund didn’t move his hands. “Where is Simon, Amalie?”

She sighed. “Alive. That’s all I can tell you. I have to go. My friends are counting on me.”

He released her. “Once upon a time, we were your friends too.”

At those words, Edmund walked away, back toward the crowd they’d left behind.

But Amalie stood frozen for a moment longer. Tyson was tasked with capturing the Hood—capturing her.

She reached into her bag, curling her fingers in the rough woolen hood, letting it calm her frantic heart. She couldn’t control many things, but she would decide what Tyson saw, what he learned.

John’s face flashed across her mind. Tyson Durand would have to wait. Another man needed her.

She ditched the bag containing the hood in a corner of the alley, knowing it would be a death sentence to be caught with it. Armed with only a simple dagger in a sheathe at her waist, she left the relative quiet of the alleyway and skirted the edge of the still panicking crowd.

On the platform, two men hung by their necks. They’d decided to go ahead with the executions after all. Neither man was John, and she sighed in relief.

Avoiding the platform altogether, Amalie kept her pace even to avoid the appearance of running from the scene. Hopefully Tuck would be at the rendezvous point with John. Tuck had asked David to procure a cart and horses for them.

It was a fair bit of walking to the edge of the village where a vast plain stretched between them and the dark edges of the Black Forest.

She’d feared the ominous place before she learned there were real monsters that existed outside the stories of a haunted wood. La Dame had been pure evil, but so had Amalie’s own father and sister.

Behind one of the houses at the end of town, a small stables housing only a few horses stood, rotting boards leaning in. Moss stretched up the side of the building. Beyond it, black cows lingered in the green pasture.

“Hello, dear.” A voice said behind her.

Amalie jumped at the sound before turning to face the plump older woman. Her dusty hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She carried a pail of milk with one hand as she wiped the other on her dirty apron.

“You must be the lady Amalie.” The woman’s face stretched into the kind of smile Amalie rarely saw anymore. Warm. Sweet.

Spending her life surrounded by men who belonged in a cell as much as in the open had taken most kind interactions from her world. She loved her boys, and they loved her, but no one had spoken to her with such warmth since she’d forsaken Queen Catrine.

Remembering her manners, Amalie returned the smile. “I hope this is the right place.”

The woman nodded. “My David said you’d be buying our cart and a couple horses for your travels.”

Of course. She wanted to be paid. Amalie reached into the pouch at her waist, procuring a few gold coins. It was more than a cart and horses were worth, but from the state of the falling down barn and small house, she knew it would be a help. Her father left the estate with fat coffers. If she couldn’t help the people who needed it, what good was the money for? She held out the coins.

The woman took a step back. “Oh no. I can’t take your money, dear.”

“It isn’t charity. It’s for the cart.”

The woman smiled again and reached out. Amalie thought she’d take the coins, but she folded Amalie’s fingers closed and held onto her wrist.

“There are many others who need your help. We get by.” She pierced Amalie with a knowing stare.

Panic built in Amalie’s chest. She knew. How many people knew of the Hood’s identity? It would only take one for it all to come to light.

The woman released her as the rumble of cart wheels reached them. Two horses pulled a wagon that had seen better days. The sides were cracked and splitting. The wheels creaked with each turn.

But that wasn’t what caught Amalie’s attention. Forgetting about the older woman, she ran toward the cart. It pulled to a stop in front of her. David and the young girl from before sat atop it, steering the horses.

Tuck jumped from the back where Amalie could now see John’s form.

“How bad is it?” Amalie asked, rushing to the side. She reached in to feel John’s pulse.

Tuck pulled her back. “We won’t know until he wakes. The herb makes him appear dead, but he’s been wounded badly. I removed the arrow and wrapped the wound quickly, but it will need to be taken care of with more precision.

“What did we do, Tuck?” She turned her face up to his. “Did we kill him?”

He gripped her shoulders. “He’d have died if we didn’t try. At least this gave him a chance. It’s only an arm wound. He should live. I worry more about infection setting in from the old wound in his leg.”

She shuddered, and he pulled her into his side.

It took her a moment to remember everything that had happened. “I shot him.”

Tuck cleared his throat. “You had to.”

The girl stepped forward. “I would have never imagined it was a woman. This is… wow.”

“You can’t tell anyone.” Amalie didn’t take her eyes from John’s serene face. “I need your vow of silence. What happened here today is not to be spoken of.”

The girl nodded.

“You have our promise,” David said.

Amalie nodded. “We must be on our way. Thank you for your help.” She didn’t say the words out loud, but they needed to return home before Tyson arrived. She knew the prince almost as well as she knew herself. His mission might be to find the Hood, but he wouldn’t be able to resist a visit to her, no matter the chilly reception he received.

Princes were stubborn beasts.

Tuck climbed onto the driver’s seat and Amalie pulled herself into the wagon bed beside John.

Before long, the village lay in their past and open road stretched out before them.

Amalie checked the bandage. Tuck wrapped it in a hurry as he rode in the back of the cart, but it wasn’t any worse than she would do. Sweat soaked John’s hair and Amalie caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. His chest rose before going still again.

She placed her finger on his neck, taking comfort in the thumping of his pulse. She hadn’t had Tyson on her side in a long time. Her family was dead. Catrine was more queen than friend now. But John… he was always there, picking up the pieces of her life each time they scattered on the winds of change.

* * *

Three years ago

Home.

Amalie hadn’t been back to her father’s lands in a long time. No, not her father’s. They belonged to her now. From the Eastern river to the grain fields along the edges of the Hinton lands. The village in the south and smaller settlement to the west.

All of it had been in her family for generations.

And they’d failed the people who relied on them.

Amalie rode beside Tyson as they descended the hill leading into the village that had seen better days. Empty storefronts greeted them with shattered windows. People and animals alike sat on street corners, hoping someone more fortunate than them also had a heart.

Amalie was too stunned to approach any of them. She only wanted to get behind the high walls of her estate house. There, she’d find warm fires and a hot meal.

They’d been traveling for days, and it had been so carefree. She’d never been as happy as the last weeks. Tyson made her feel as if she could do anything.

The gates to the estate were closed when they arrived. A man in her family’s emerald green colors stepped through a small door. She didn’t recognize him, but she’d never made a habit of getting to know her father’s men.

“I’m afraid the estate is closed to commoners.” The guard widened his stance and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Amalie raised a brow and scanned her eyes over her and Ty’s clothing. They looked like commoners in their simple wool pants and tunics. They’d left Bela after the battle with La Dame. It had been a brutal fight in which they almost lost everything. Before reclaiming the duties they couldn’t avoid forever, they wanted to just live, to be happy together. The friar and inn keepers they’d stayed with on the border had given them these clothes when he realized they traveled with nothing.

Amalie sat straighter in her saddle. “This estate is never closed to me.” She slid down and Tyson followed her. “I own it.”

Tyson only chuckled as she pushed past the guard and led her horse through the door at the base of the large gates.

“I need to start saying that,” Tyson joked. “Nothing in Gaule or Bela is closed to me because I own them both.”

She threw a look over her shoulder. “You don’t own two kingdoms, Ty.” She shook her head with a laugh. “You’re a prince of both who will never be king of either.”

He shrugged.

It wasn’t until they were farther into the courtyard they realized something was wrong. Guards stood at each entrance to the house and stables, but they weren’t all wearing uniforms of the Leroy men.

They were queen’s men. Royal guards.

“Tyson,” Amalie hissed. “What are your mother’s men doing here?”

Someone spotted them and yelled. The guards closed in, trying to cut off any means of escape.

“Who goes there?” One called.

Amalie released the reins of her horse. It would be fine in the enclosed courtyard. “I should ask you that question. This is my house.”

A guard, larger than the rest, stepped forward and removed his helmet. “By order of the crown, this estate now belongs to the kingdom. A traitor’s lands are forfeit.”

Amalie whipped her head around to stare at Tyson. “Did you know this?”

Betrayal stabbed through her. His mother stole what was rightfully hers. She’d seen Catrine as a mother when she’d had none.

The guard went on. “You are trespassing on royal property. We can’t allow you to leave until you’re questioned.”

“What?” Amalie sputtered. “First you take my home and now… am I under arrest?”

Tyson stepped forward to intercede, but the guard put up a hand. “I’m sorry, your Highness.” Of course, they recognized him. “This estate house is under close guard.”

Amalie met the eyes of the man in Leroy colors who’d allowed her to enter. Had he known what would happen to her?

She didn’t have time to consider it before two guards gripped her arms.

Tyson was slow to react as he swung a stunned gaze from the guards to Amalie. Fight for me, she wanted to yell at him.

But she knew it was futile. Tyson wouldn’t use his water magic or his sword on his mother’s men. She’d seen the torn loyalty in his eyes.

“My mother will hear about this.”

Amalie sighed. All Tyson had left were his words. They’d been enough for her, to make her happy and keep her smiling. But they weren’t enough to keep her safe. Not if his loyalty didn’t completely rest with her.

All he did as they hauled her away was watch, his mouth arguing for her, but his body remaining in place.

They took her to the cells her father built to keep the village in line. He’d confined many thieves behind these bars.

Each cell was meant to house many people, but only one man sat in the corner. The guard opened the door, and Amalie stepped in, no longer fighting it. The guards at least didn’t treat her roughly.

As the iron clanged shut behind her, the man on the ground tilted his face up to hers. An unkempt beard coated his cheeks, but his laughing blue eyes hadn’t changed.

“John.”

One side of his mouth curved up into a smile. “Hey, Ames.”

A piece of her heart she hadn’t known was missing fit back into place as she let her eyes linger on his face. John Little had been her best friend and brother since the first time she escaped into the village when she was young.

She hadn’t seen him in years, but meeting him in that cell was the beginning of the greatest adventure of their lives.

And she hadn’t known it at the time, but it was the beginning of the end for her and Tyson.

9

Present

“He’s waking up!” Tuck’s call cut through the evening air as Amalie fastened the tie of her pants. She’d walked off for some privacy to relieve herself, thinking it would be okay to leave John for just a moment.

When she reached the wagon, Tuck knelt in the back, his face so close to John’s it looked as if he was kissing him.

Amalie pulled herself up and pushed Tuck aside. John’s eyelids shifted, and his lips parted as he gasped for air.

“Hey,” she cooed, touching his cheek. “You’re okay.”

His breath calmed at her touch, but a groan rumbled in his throat. He didn’t open his eyes before he spoke. “Ames?”

A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away. She didn’t have an emotional friendship with John. Theirs was based on strength and courage.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

“Why do I feel like I’ve had an arrow rip through me? Again.” He opened his eyes and pinned her with a dark stare.

Tuck laughed and Amalie sent him a scowl before turning back to John. “You’ve been through a lot. Tuck has your wound wrapped, but you should try not to move too much. Your head might be a little foggy from the herb we gave you.”

“Amalie Leroy,” he rasped. “Why do I have another wound? And apparently, I’ve been drugged?”

Amalie bit back a smile. He was in pain. She shouldn’t be laughing at him, but the way he stared at her in accusation, after she’d saved his life… she couldn’t help it.

“You should be dead.” The reality of the situation crashed over her, and her muffled laughs turned to swallowed sobs. She wouldn’t break down in front of him.

His expression softened. “You save me, Ames?”

He knew very well she had, but she nodded anyway. “I will always save you. You are my family.”

He tried to sit up but Amalie put a hand on his chest. “We’re only a few hours from the village.”

He stopped fighting her, his entire body relaxing under the weight of her words. They all knew what it meant that she’d said village instead of her estate. As soon as the guards realized John’s body was missing, he’d be a wanted man. He couldn’t be seen associating with Lady Leroy. But the people in the village would protect him. They may not know the identity of the Hood, but they knew everything she did for them. They were the Hood’s people as much as Lady Leroy’s.

“We need to get moving.” Tuck placed a hand on Amalie’s arm.

She nodded, giving Tuck a brief look before he climbed onto the driver’s seat, and the cart lurched forward.

Exhaustion and confusion kept John quiet as Amalie held his hand. With each bump in the road, his face creased in quiet grimace. Her fault. The pain. Everything was her fault. They’d captured him because of one of her missions and almost hanged for his association with her. She should have protected him.

Blood seeped through the bandage on his shoulder, but she had no means to change it. Hold on John, she thought. We’re almost there. But even her thoughts betrayed her because she knew it wasn’t as easy as returning home. John had to get out of Gaule or risk being an outlaw like so many of her men who lived in the woods. It wasn’t the life she wanted for him.

And then there was Tyson, on his way to the last place the Hood was seen. The same village they neared now.

Darkness still shrouded the world as they approached the mass of huddled buildings. They stopped right outside the village near the Leroy estate and Tuck turned to her.

“You can’t be seen with him.” He jerked his head to John who’d fallen asleep.

“What about you?”

“I have to risk it.”

She saw the wisdom behind his words, but leaving John didn’t feel right. Finally, she breathed a sigh and heaved herself up, jumping from the wagon bed. “I’ll fetch Maiya.”

She trudged through the streets, John heavy on her mind. Wanted posters lined alleyways. Her face and the faces of some of her men held so much more depth than they showed. They couldn’t be reduced down to a single crime. They weren’t only worth what others thought they did wrong. She released a sigh, resisting the urge to tear the posters down as she kept walking.

Cameron stood guard at the gate. He recognized her immediately and rushed forward.

“You’re alive,” he said, stating the obvious with a grunt as he looked her over.

“Cam, we don’t have time. I need Maiya.”

Cam nodded and ushered them through the small door. The larger gates had remained closed since the day she forced the royal guards from the grounds. Amalie ran up the steps and into the hall, winding her way through the long corridors until she reached Maiya’s room. Three short knocks brought the heavy-lidded girl to her door.

One look at Amalie’s face wiped the sleep from Maiya’s expression. “John?” she asked.

“In the village. He needs you.” She nodded, pausing only to change from her sleeping gown into loose fitting linen pants and silk shirt.

Amalie didn’t need to say where in the village Tuck had taken John. The town blacksmith had a room behind his shop he reserved for the Hood’s business. Many of her men couldn’t show their faces in the middle of the city, but they were injured frequently, and Maiya healed them there.

John was now just another one of her hidden people. Another man condemned by the crown for crimes he had no choice but to commit.

“How have things been in my absence?” Amalie lifted her tired eyes to Cam’s. One of her most trusted guards, he was always honest with her in a way few others were. “Have the men behaved themselves?”

“For the most part.” His jaw clenched and Amalie waited for him to say the words she could see behind his troubled eyes. “We had a visitor while you were away.”

She sighed. Nothing good ever came from visitors. They only brought with them pain and suspicion. “Which of the queen’s men did she send?”

That could be the only explanation for the troubled expression on Cam’s face. They all knew the queen would do everything in her power to find Simon. Until then, Amalie had been too consumed with her journey and the need to save John to consider what came next. Simon knew who she was, and she didn’t know what to do with him yet.

Darkness clouded Cam’s eyes as he spit out a name. “Anders.”

Surprise surged through Amalie. Edmund’s father was one of the queen’s most loyal captains. If she sent him, it was only a matter of time before they discovered the truth. Anders had never taken a liking to Amalie because of her closeness with the princes. He loved the queen, but not her sons. Or his own son for that matter. Like many Gauleans, Anders continued to see magic as a scourge, rather than the blessing that erased La Dame from their lives.

Amalie rubbed the stiffness from her neck. Riding did torture on her body. “What does Anders suspect of us?”

Cam glanced from right to left, making sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “He didn’t connect you to the hood, but Simon disappeared from your lands. There were accusations in his words. He doesn’t suspect you of wearing the disguise yourself, but he thinks this estate harbors the man.”

Amalie’s heart pounded inside her chest. He was too close. If she knew Anders at all, she knew he wouldn’t give up. She took a step back. “Why would he think such a thing?” Had she made some mistake? Revealed her true feelings about the Hood’s mission?

Cam pinned her with a stare. “You’ve never hidden your feelings about the nobility. It isn’t a far stretch to think the Leroy estate took some pleasure in food meant for the rich going to the poor instead.”

Amalie’s shoulders relaxed. Cam was right. All Anders had on her was her willingness to help the poor and the fact that the Hood operated on her lands. She’d made sure to also steal shipments on the lands of her neighboring nobles, but it wasn’t enough.

“Will he be back?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Anders would insist on speaking with her.

Cam nodded. “He said he’d return after a journey to the young Duke Caron’s estate.”

“Duke Caron?” She didn’t know the duke, but she’d known his father when he was a constant presence at the palace. That wasn’t what concerned her in that moment though. A village on the edge of the Caron lands, at the northern edge of the Gaulean border, held the biggest secret of her life. Tucked away in a suffering village was the biggest sacrifice she’d made as the Hood. If Anders discovered everything she’d given up, her entire life as the Hood would come crashing down around her.

No one could know what existed in that town. Not only would the Hood be finished, but a life would be in danger.

Amalie hardened her jaw. She wouldn’t let this break her, make her feel. Emotions were a weakness she couldn’t afford.

“You can return to your post, Cameron. Tuck and Maiya should return soon so watch for them. I’m going to see our guest before retiring for the night.”

He nodded once and left.

Amalie walked to the room she’d given Simon while she was gone. Four guards stood outside his door. Simon was a magic man. His power was an added strength, but he still had limitations and wasn’t strong enough to best four other men at once.

He was still human after all. She’d counted on his acknowledging that fact and not attempting escape.

“Report,” she said as she stepped up beside one of the guards.

He didn’t hesitate. “The prisoner has eaten everything we’ve brought.”

“How has his demeanor been?”

“We’ve barely heard anything from him.”

That wasn’t a surprise. She knew Simon. He wasn’t one to treat people poorly even while they held him captive.

Amalie glanced to the guard once more. “Don’t call him a prisoner.” She took an offered key and unlocked the door, pushing it open before closing it behind her.

Despite the late hour, he sat in front of the dwindling fire, a glow dancing across his chiseled face.

“Amalie.” He lifted a cup of tea to his lips, not turning to her. “Welcome back.”

She eyed the tray of china cups with a pot of tea in the center, relief striking her. Her people treated him well. That was something at least.

Practically collapsing into an oversized chair, she sighed. Like Catrine, Simon had always been kind to her. But she’d never forgive the crown for trying to take her home or forsaking the people of the kingdom.

Simon studied her over the rim of his cup. “I overheard the guards speak of Captain Anders’ visit.”

She’d already pushed the captain from her mind. He was a problem for a new day. Finally, the words she’d wanted to say tumbled out of her. “Tyson’s coming here.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. He was one of the few people who knew everything she’d been through with Ty. Well, not everything. But Simon was the only person they’d told of their impulsive decision all those years ago. Still, he waited for her to explain.

“He’s been sent to find you.”

Simon nodded as if he’d expected that all along. “Tell me, Amalie, does your husband know of your secret identity?”

No, she thought. But he didn’t deserve her secrets. Not anymore.

10

Three years ago

Tyson froze. When it was time to fight for the woman he loved, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go against his mother.

Tyson had seen it in her eyes. The knowledge that some part of him might never be hers.

He’d seen things in Dracon he’d never imagined. So much death. He’d almost lost everyone he loved. At the end of the fight, his sword was bathed in blood and his soul was forever tarnished. He’d almost given his life to protect everyone he loved. His mother. Etta. Alex. Edmund. How could he give every bit of his loyalty to only one person after everything they’d all been through?

He had to figure out a way. Amalie deserved every part of him.

The guards who’d taken Amalie away offered him a suite of rooms once belonging to Amalie’s father.

Because he was the prince, and she was the daughter of a traitor. He’d sent word to his mother and then spent days sitting idly by as they’d questioned Amalie. What more could he do? The guards wouldn’t allow him to see her.

Soon, they’d realized she was no threat and released her. But what of her estate? Until recently, she’d refused to return, stating she didn’t want lands that were so tainted. But then word had come from the village. A friend of hers had disappeared.

Tyson didn’t know the friend, but he knew he’d do anything to wipe the worry from her eyes. To make her smile, as carefree as she’d been only a week ago when they’d decided their futures and tied themselves together.

He smiled at the memory, lost in his own mind until the clop of a horse’s hooves entered the courtyard. Tyson jumped up from his spot near the steps as soon as he recognized the man sliding down from the beast.

If his mother had sent Simon, it must mean Amalie would be okay.

Tyson ran forward, stopping himself from throwing his arms around the other man in relief.

“My prince.” Simon dipped his head. He’d always insisted on formality between him and the royal family.

“Si, they’re keeping Amalie in a cell.”

“I know.” He handed his horse’s reins to a stable lad and marched toward the line of guards near the front entryway. “We will fix this, your Highness. Show me to the captain.”

Tyson led Simon inside and to the room he’d spend most of his time in recently. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d pleaded for her release. Treason tarnished the names of entire families in Gaule. Amalie would never be free of it. There would always be suspicion.

The captain looked up from his desk as they barged through the door. He straightened immediately upon seeing Simon. “Sir, what brings you so far from the palace?”

Simon let the charged air linger in silence for a moment before answering. “You’re imprisoning a young woman who has done no wrong.”

The captain’s jaw tensed and he narrowed his eyes. “The traitor’s daughter refused to leave the queen’s property.”

Anger burned in Tyson. “You arrested her before she even had a chance to refuse.”

He wanted to unleash his magic, showering the captain in a torrent of water, but the power stopped at his fingertips, fighting the urge to break free as it had every day since the battle.

And Tyson hated himself for it. He hated that he couldn’t bring himself to do what was necessary to protect the woman he loved. He despised himself for being weak, for letting the battle steal the fight from his soul.

Simon remained calm as ever. “Amalie Leroy is not her father. The queen regards her highly.”

Tyson averted his eyes, not wanting to dwell on the thoughts rising to the surface. If his mother loved Amalie so much, why did she seize the Leroy estate?

The captain scoffed. “That girl and her family no longer deserve to hold a title in Gaule.”

Simon crossed his arms. “By order of the queen, I demand you release her.” He jerked his head to the door. “Go. I’ll wait here.”

For a minute, Tyson thought the guard would refuse, but he only shook his head and left them.

Tyson collapsed into a chair in front of the desk.

Simon put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “It’s good you sent for me.”

Tyson leaned forward to put his head in his hands. What was wrong with him? All he could do for Amalie was send for help.

“I’m the prince, Si. I should have been able to get her released.” But he knew the truth. The captain may not have arrested him because he was the queen’s son, but he was also a magic man, not trusted or obeyed. The last few days had been full of suspicious looks and lack of conversation. They didn’t want him there.

Maybe Gaule was no longer his home. He shook his head. Amalie was in Gaule and he’d go wherever she was.

“I tried to get her to come with me to Bela,” Tyson admitted. “But she said it was time to right her father’s wrongs and take care of the people living on Leroy lands.”

Simon studied him for a long moment. “You care for her a great deal.”

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. “Yes, I care for her.” He lifted his face, meeting Simon’s gaze. “She’s my wife.”

* * *

Present

Wife. It used to seem like such a big word to Tyson until the day he married Amalie in a small village near the Caron estate with only strangers as witnesses. A friar performed the ceremony, a young man named Tuck who’d befriended them both.

They’d thought the future lay open before them, theirs for the taking.

Within a year, everything fell apart. Tyson still didn’t know why they hadn’t told his family of their happiness. Maybe they’d thought it wouldn’t last once they shared their secret with the world.

Well, they’d only ever told one man, and it still faded like the autumn sun, bright one day and cloudy the next.

He didn’t know why Simon hadn’t told his mother, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He only knew he was grateful and that he now had to be there for the guard who’d always been there for him. He had to fight for him.

For the past two years, he’d heard the comments from those he lived with in Bela, never recovering the man he once was. Etta and Alex’s constant worry exhausted him, but he couldn’t bring himself to take joy in the life around him.

Not when he was so broken. Not when something vital was missing inside him.

Edmund stood beside him, staring at the walls of the Leroy estate. If there was anyone who understood how he felt, it was the blonde warrior. He’d spent months thinking Estevan was dead.

“Are you sure we have to do this?” Edmund asked, glancing sideways.

No, Tyson wanted to say. They could stay at an inn in the village as they searched for any information on the Hood. But he’d never been able to help himself when he had the opportunity to see Amalie, no matter how cold her welcome was.

“I…” He blew out a breath. This was Edmund, a man as close to Tyson as his own brother. They’d been through a lot together and he trusted him with his life. The secrets he carried in his heart threatened to blow it to pieces one final time.

He closed his eyes. “There’s something I never told you, Edmund.” His eyes slid open to view the structure that had always had an ominous air around it. “Amalie and I… we got married.”

Edmund’s eyes widened in shock, but his lips tilted into a smile. “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

His grin widened. “I’m not sure why you never told us… but it’s kind of funny, you have to admit.”

“Why is it funny?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Edmund chuckled. “Amalie Leroy, the lady who has gained a reputation for despising her fellow nobles and forsaking the queen is a princess of both Gaule and Bela.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Tyson, but he didn’t get a chance to respond as a guard approached them.

“Back away from the wall,” he commanded.

Tyson sighed. “Tell Lady Amalie that Tyson has arrived.” Amalie had to have known they were coming and knowing her she was prepared.

The guard disappeared through a door in the wall, appearing a few moments later. “Come with me.”

He led them into the courtyard and gestured for a stable boy to take their horses. “Lady Amalie has retired for the night. I will show you to the guest wing and she’ll see you after first light.”

Something in Tyson’s chest deflated, and his nerves calmed. He’d both wanted to see her and dreaded it.

Edmund gripped his shoulder and laughed once more before stepping into the first room they were offered.

The guard gestured for Tyson to follow him to another room. Nothing had changed in the Leroy estate. Sparse furnishings sat in barely decorated rooms. No luxuries were afforded the residents of this house. Amalie spent all of her land’s earnings making life better for the people who relied on her.

It was one of the things he loved best about her. She cared in a way few people did. In a different life, a different world, they could have been happy together.

He jumped when the door slammed behind him, shutting him in the silence of his mind. He’d experienced many stages of loneliness over the last two years, trying to forget the emptiness inside him with missions into foreign kingdoms and duties for his mother and sister. When one belonged to two kingdoms, it was almost like they belonged to neither.

He wasn’t truly Gaulean or wholly Belaen. For a while, Amalie understood what it felt like to be a stranger in one’s own home. But she’d found her place. He never had.

He toed off his boots and loosened his sword belt to let it drop to the floor. Stripping off his travel clothes as he walked, he made it to the edge of the bed before collapsing into it and letting himself dream of a time when life had seemed so damned easy.

* * *

A throat clearing woke Tyson as the sun streamed through the window, casting shadows on the floor.

The throat cleared again, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. He could feel her presence before setting eyes on her delicate face.

“You shouldn’t be here, Tyson.” Amalie’s voice cracked on his name.

He groaned as he rolled onto his side to face her. She sat in a chair across the room, one leg crossed over the other. Her hard eyes betrayed her calm countenance.

The fabric of her pale blue dress bunched at her waist, and she smoothed it out. Her silken hair billowed as a breeze filtered in through the window, chilling the air.

She stood and crossed the room to shut the thin pane of glass, her movements stiff.

Shaking himself out of his momentary stupor, Tyson spoke. “You knew I was coming, Ames.”

She closed her eyes. “Don’t call me that. Please.”

He sighed. “Amalie, I have orders to seek the Hood and find the queen’s guard he’s taken prisoner.”

A flicker of emotion he couldn’t decipher crossed her face. “You are a guest in my house, and I won’t turn you away, but the information you seek will not be here. Just ask Captain Anders. He’s already interrogated my people when I wasn’t here. You’d do better seeking a bed in the village.”

“Ames,” he breathed. “Can we be civil for one moment?”

“I was being civil.” She crossed her arms, refusing to look at him.

Tyson wanted one look, one moment when he could try to read her like he’d done so well in the past, but she gave him nothing. He nodded, realizing he wouldn’t get anywhere with her. He’d never understood her vitriol toward him when she’d been the one to break them. “Okay then. You’ve come this morning to let me know I am unwelcome here. Message received. I see no need for us to suffer one another’s presence any longer. I will risk staying in the village.” He pushed the blanket off him, not caring about his state of undress.

Amalie looked away.

Tyson stood and pulled his pants on. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He paused, turning to her as she refused to meet his eyes. He’d known how she’d treat him when he arrived, yet he came anyway.

Where was the girl he’d once known?

He walked past her, still shirtless. “This was a mistake. I’ll inform Edmund to seek us accommodation elsewhere.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but before the words were out, the door opened, revealing a smiling Edmund.

“Morning prince.” Edmund glanced from Tyson to Amalie. “And princess.”

Tyson froze. He should have known Edmund would make a big deal of his revelation.

Amalie turned on him. “You told him?” The accusation in her voice stung.

Tyson only shrugged.

She huffed out a breath, looking as if she had more to say until she met Edmund’s gaze. Something passed between them, unspoken words, and Amalie stepped back.

Tyson didn’t understand what was going on.

Amalie gritted her teeth. “I am not a princess.”

Edmund hadn’t stopped grinning. “On the contrary, my dear, the law says you are. And you’re like a double princess since your husband here has two kingdoms to call his own.”

Tyson winced at the term husband. “Edmund, let it go. We’re leaving. There should be a few open rooms in one of the inns.”

He picked up his discarded shirt and sword before stepping in to the hall. Footsteps followed him and he assumed it was Edmund until Amalie’s voice called him back.

“Tyson, wait.” She ran to catch up with him, her cheeks flushed as he’d seen so many times before.

He slung his shirt over one shoulder and turned. “What is it, Amalie? Do you have to get one final word in before I leave? I didn’t come here for you, but I won’t lie and say you hadn’t crossed my mind. It was a mistake and one I won’t make again. This is the last time I will bother you. You have my word.”

Insecurity crossed her face, revealing some of the girl he’d once loved. “You can stay.”

“But you said—”

“I know very well what I said. And my mind has altered. Edmund is always welcome in my home.”

“And me?”

“You?” She ran a hand through her long chestnut curls.

“Last time I was here with Helena and Dell there was ice between us. I don’t want my presence to cause us both pain.”

“You don’t cause me pain, Tyson.” Her voice softened, but her next words were the worst of all. “Everything between us is in the past. The world continues to turn, and we must move on with our lives.”

He looked into the eyes of the woman he’d once pledged his life to and saw nothing but cold acceptance in their depths. She truly had moved beyond the love that continued to consume him. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. We’ll stay.” It was all he could do to not leave the estate behind and never return.

But the only thing worse than seeing Amalie and not being able to hold her would have been never seeing her at all.

11

Tyson’s mother had sent him to hunt down criminals in Gaule before. He’d spent the years since the war with Dracon doing his mother’s bidding as well as his sister’s. It was never easy serving two queens, but he loved them both.

Edmund remained suspiciously quiet as they left the home of another person who refused to give them the information they wanted, stating they’d told everything they knew to the guard who’d come before.

Tyson hated that Anders had been there before him. He tried to imagine the captain gently asking these people the questions he had, but there was nothing gentle about the man. One of the estate guards told him Anders planned to return soon, and Tyson wanted to be long gone before then. He hadn’t yet told Edmund of his father’s involvement, but suspected that wouldn’t go over well. Edmund had no love for the man who’d raised him and now despised him for his magic.

Tyson’s mind ran through the possibilities and scenarios that might lead them closer to their target. Each thought that struck him came out in a jumble of words.

He sidestepped a young boy who was lying against the nearest building, huddled in a threadbare blanket. One naked foot stuck out into the chilly air. He wasn’t the first beggar they’d come across, but he was only a child. The boy stared up at Tyson with wide, all-seeing eyes. There was an innocence in them that would be taken with a few more winters on the streets.

Tyson paused and crouched down to peer into the boy’s dirty face, an idea striking him. The people of the village only watched him with thinly veiled hostility and suspicion. They spoke in short sentences, choosing their words carefully.

All Tyson had learned was the Hood was a revered figure in these parts rather than the villain the guardsmen painted him as, the criminal who abducted Simon. It was time he learned the truth.

“Hello.” He offered the boy a smile. “What’s your name?”

Indecision flashed in the boy’s eyes, but he lifted his chin. “Arthur, your Highness.” Tyson should have been shocked the kid knew who he was, but word traveled fast in the villages.

“Well, Arthur, you look hungry. Would you like to come to the tavern with me and my friend here?”

Arthur’s eyes widened, and he licked his cracked lips before nodding. Tyson helped him to his feet. The blanket fell to the ground, but he didn’t bend to retrieve it. Instead, Tyson unfastened his own cloak and set it around the boy’s shoulders. Arthur tensed for a moment before wrapping the cloak tighter around him.

Tyson wondered for a moment where the kid’s parents were, but some things were better left unasked.

Arthur walked in front of them, leading the way to the tavern. Edmund pulled Tyson back. “Where is this going?”

Tyson shrugged off his hand. “The boy needed some kindness.”

Edmund shook his head. “We passed many people in the same condition. Why choose him?”

Tyson couldn’t explain the way he’d felt drawn to Arthur as if he had everything the prince was looking for. He didn’t know how to say he’d seen some of himself, his hopelessness, reflected in the eyes of a beggar. Tyson was a prince. He should have everything. And for years, he’d felt as if he had nothing.

Darkness clouded his life. If he couldn’t help himself, he could help the young boy. He could help Simon.

As the door of the tavern opened, raucous laughter spilled out. They stepped through and all sound died except the scrape of their boots against the stone floor. Suspicion choked the air. Tyson tried to ignore the looks sent his way. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced this in the same village. They had no love for their royal family, and Tyson only represented everything they hated.

Not only was he a known magic man, but he was also a Durand.

Arthur, seeming not to notice, led them to an empty table in the corner. Edmund tensed beside Tyson and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, a clear threat.

Tyson sighed. That was sure to win the villagers trust. He waved a hand to Edmund, telling him to relax, and strode to where Arthur sat with an expectant look on his face. Chatter resumed, the jovial aura from before a distant memory.

Relaxing in the wooden booth, Tyson ran a hand over the top of his head. How had his mother allowed the kingdom to sink into such a state where her son’s presence turned a village into a viper’s nest? Was this only because of Anders’ visit the week before, or did the resentment run deeper than that?

Had she known? Part of him wanted to believe there was nothing she could do to stem the tide of hatred. His father—or at least the man he’d always thought was his father—kept strict control over his guardsmen through fear and brutality. His mother attempted kindness, and they responded by becoming an undisciplined force that terrorized the people they were meant to protect.

It wasn’t the queen who led these people down this path, but the people sworn to serve her.

He thought back on a time soon after the battle with Dracon when they seized the Leroy estate. It was true it had been the law that a traitor’s lands were forfeit, but that hadn’t made it right.

And Simon had stood by his side, allowing him to work through every internal difficulty. He’d been a friend that day.

Tyson narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to face Arthur. He hated himself for what he had to do, but it was for Simon.

Arthur darted his eyes away, fixing them on a serving girl ambling their way.

“What can I get you?” She didn’t meet their eyes as she twirled a curl around her finger.

Edmund was the one who spoke. “Three ciders, bread, and some of whatever you have on the spit.”

She walked away without another word.

“Arthur,” Tyson began. “You’d like to fill your belly, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur nodded vigorously.

“You can have whatever you want, boy… as long as I get the information I seek.”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and fixed his eyes on the table. “I know nothing, sir. I swear it.”

“Nothing about what?”

“I heard you was looking for the Hood. Everyone in town knows that. Just like that man before.”

Tyson drummed his fingers against the table, ignoring the man before comment. “Why are people here protecting a criminal?”

Arthur finally lifted his eyes, fire blazing in their depths. “The Hood ain’t no criminal. You come here and feed me for a day expecting me to betray the one who feeds me all my other days.”

Tyson pursed his lips as the serving girl returned, practically throwing four wooden plates onto the table. A foul-smelling meat sat in front of them, turning Tyson’s stomach.

Arthur, however, eyed the food like the starving boy he was. Tyson slid the plate out of his reach.

“You speak of betraying the Hood, but that man betrays the kingdom with every action.”

A hand landed on Tyson’s shoulder. “Don’t answer him, Arthur.” A man slid into the long booth and pushed a plate toward the boy. Arthur didn’t hesitate in availing himself of the offered meat.

“What are you doing here, Tuck?” Tyson growled. He hadn’t seen his friend in two years.

“You know this guy?” Edmund asked. “He was at the palace.”

“I used to.”

“Used to?” Tuck laughed, his large frame shaking. “I married the bastard to Lady Amalie. Tell me, Ty, how did you instill such venom in one so small?”

Tyson ignored the comment because he’d wondered the same thing many times. “I didn’t know you’d come to these parts.” He flicked his eyes to Arthur who’d practically licked his plate clean. “And you’ve obviously been here a while.”

Tuck shrugged. “I came about a year ago and realized this village needed me more than I needed to maintain my traveling ways. Amalie needed me.”

Tyson bristled at that. “Well, as you can see we’re busy so our reunion will have to wait.”

Tuck slid an arm over Arthur’s shoulders. “The problem, Prince, is that I can’t let you question Arthur here. The boy deserves better than the traitor stamp he’ll receive if he tells you what you seek.”

“He’s already a traitor for protecting a man wanted by the crown.”

Humor sparked in Tuck’s eyes. “Yes, we can’t have anyone protecting wanted… men.” He scratched his chin. “I’ll tell you what… release the boy and I’ll tell you what you want to know. But only you.” He looked to Edmund. “You must send your body guard back to the estate.”

“I don’t need body guards,” Tyson grumbled.

“Right.” Tuck waved his fingers through the air. “Because you have powers.”

Tyson scowled. “Fine. Edmund, go back to the estate. I’ll be okay with Tuck.”

“You sure you can trust this guy?” Edmund narrowed his eyes.

“Yes.” Tyson’s shoulders sagged. He’d known the moment he met Tuck in that broken village he was a good man. When he’d convinced his family to open rooms at their inn to two travelers who refused to divulge their names at first, he’d become a friend.

And then when he tied them together, he’d become a part of their lives, forever cemented into their memories. As Edmund led Arthur away, Tyson studied his old friend. Sitting across from him brought all the memories he’d tried to keep buried to the forefront of his mind.

The harsh lines of Tuck’s face relaxed. “It’s good to see you, Ty.”

Emotion thickened in Tyson’s throat and he cleared it away. “It really is.”

“I was sorry to miss you at the palace a few weeks ago, but Amalie needed me.”

Tyson didn’t show his surprise that Tuck had been there. “I’m sorry about her friend.” And he was. Even if John Little had been an agent of the Hood’s, he’d meant something to Amalie and he’d be forever sorry for any pain she felt.

Now that Tuck sat in front of him, he couldn’t focus on the mission he’d been set on. “How is she, Tuck?”

Tuck smiled in sympathy. “Good. I think. Amalie isn’t one to allow any of us to see into her mind. After… everything between you two happened, I came here with her and haven’t left her side.”

“I’m glad she has people around who care about her.” He’d been worried about that since the day she forced him to leave. Amalie no longer had any family.

Tuck dipped his head to meet Tyson’s gaze, something unspoken in his eyes. “We’re taking care of her.”

Tyson laughed. “She’d say she doesn’t need to be taken care of.”

“And she’d be right.” He tilted his head. “She never told me why you left… or why you didn’t come back.”

The mystery of what happened had haunted Tyson every minute of every day for the last two years. One minute, he’d been inescapably in love and the next, he was in mourning for what he’d lost. Something died that day and at times, he wished it had been him.

Tyson coughed and reached for his untouched cider. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments.

Tuck, maybe sensing he wasn’t going to get the story, asked a question that was more like a statement. “You still love her?”

Tyson set his cup down. “Amalie… shit, yes. I never stopped. She’s the most infuriating person I’ve ever known, but for the last two years, she’s stolen my every thought.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to come back here again. I was going to try moving on with my life. But the man who is missing… he’s a friend. I’ll do anything to get him back, even if it means stirring up old feelings better left buried.”

Tuck considered his words for a moment before nodding. “You aren’t going to find what you’re searching for in the village. They all owe the Hood too much. Frankly, I do too, but I don’t want you harassing innocent boys like Arthur.”

Tyson only heard part of what he’d said because his mind stuck on only a few of the words. “You know who the Hood is.”

“If I say yes, are you going to arrest me?” He slid out of the booth. “Come with me.”

They walked across the tavern and stepped out into the chilly air. Finally, Tyson could breathe again.

Tuck started walking. “I’m not going to give up the Hood, but I do want to show you something.”

Tyson cursed. “Why is everyone protecting a thief?”

“That’s what I wanted to show you. This village has long felt abandoned by the crown. Then the Hood came and showed them someone still cared, someone saw their plight.”

“You’re trying to tell me that a man who attacks caravans and traders is noble?”

“I’m only going to show you why this village needs help and let you come to your own conclusions.”

Tyson didn’t say another word until they’d reached the market district. Empty shops showed no signs of use. Cracked stone roads and crumbling buildings surrounded the square.

Tuck walked through the center. “Three years ago, Duke Leroy let his guard descend on the town to force all able-bodied men to join him in his rebellion against the crown. They had no choice but were painted as traitors, anyway. Traders avoided the village, taking their goods on roads just outside of town. The crown ceased providing extra food stores.” He turned into an alleyway that led down a road between two hills. A large tree sat atop one, its branches reaching toward the sky.

Tuck pointed to it. “That’s where Lord Leroy’s men hung anyone suspected of magic.”

Tyson had heard the story from Etta. She’d traveled to the Leroy estate to protect the magic folk, arresting the Duke and delivering him to the palace. Standing where it happened had a sobering effect, but it didn’t change his mission.

Find the Hood. Save Simon. Bring the Hood to the queen. Return home to Bela where he could once again try to forget the girl who’d made him leave her behind.

Nothing in that plan left any room to feel sympathy for a man who was nothing more than a criminal. He turned away from the tree on the hill.

Tuck sighed. “They needed hope, Tyson. Surely you can see that after everything your people went through.”

His people. The magic folk. The ones who weren’t welcome on this side of the border.

He clenched his jaw. “Tuck, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I am a prince. My first loyalty is to my mother. You say the Hood is some noble man, but he has abducted the noblest man I know.” He took a step back down the alley and paused. “I’m sorry. I have a job to do.”

Tuck didn’t follow him back across the abandoned market square. Exhaustion weighed on Tyson’s mind as he tried to put the pieces into place. He couldn’t count the number of people he’d questioned, and he was no closer to finding this man who was supposedly a figure of hope.

This village had suffered. That much was clear. It hurt to see any part of the kingdom he’d once called his own fall on such hard times, but it wasn’t his problem. After he found the Hood, he’d once again leave Gaule behind.

At least he told himself those things.

In truth, he wished there was more he could do.

He entered the darkened space between two buildings, just wanting to get back to the Estate house and sink into his bed.

A noise behind him made him freeze. The scuff of boots running toward him. He didn’t even have time to yell before a sack was thrown over his head and his head hit something hard, sending his already dark world into blackness.

12

Amalie sat on a wooden bench in the courtyard watching a few of her men train with swords. The clang of metal swirled in the air and she soaked in the sounds. She’d always loved the feel of an estate at work. As a girl, she’d made a habit of escaping her tutors to watch her father’s men battle each other. She’d only picked up a sword a few times growing up, and it wasn’t until she’d reclaimed her father’s estate that John trained her with a bow.

Thinking of that time sent a stab of pain through her chest. She’d lied to Tyson. Her life had changed so drastically in the past years, but moving on from him had proven impossible.

She didn’t know why she treated him so poorly. In his presence, her anger gained the best of her.

Someone dropped onto the seat beside her, and she peered at Maiya out of the corner of her eye.

“I’ve heard talk,” Maiya began. “Tyson and Edmund have been questioning the villagers. After Anders and his men tore through town, they don’t look kindly on another inquisition.”

Amalie glanced around to make sure they were not overheard. The guards she hired were part of her hidden life, but most of the servants were unaware of how their mistress spent her nights. On top of that, having houseguests made her nervous.

Tyson had come in search of Simon. What would he do if he found the queen’s man in her home?

Amalie pursed her lips as she took in the girl’s muddy boots before reaching out to pull a leaf from her unkempt ebony curls. She raised an eyebrow. “You were in the woods today?”

Maiya only shrugged in answer. She had a habit of seeking solitude wherever she could find it, but the woods behind the estate weren’t her usual place of contemplation. For travelers, they were dangerous. Some of the Merry Men wanted by the crown had set up a homestead among the trees.

Amalie nodded in understanding. She’d lived most of her life in grand houses or the palace, but this girl had spent her years among simple village folk in the peace of her father’s healing shop.

“Have any of the villagers been harassing the prince?” She didn’t want the queen’s guard to be called to protect Tyson. That wouldn’t end well for her people.

Maiya shook her head. “They’ve been trying to keep their distance, but he’s persistent. John doesn’t think he’ll ever give up.”

Amalie turned to her. “You saw John?” Her friend had been a constant weight on her mind. She’d been unable to see him since Maiya healed his wound, but Tuck had kept her apprised of his situation. He’d joined some of her other men in their forest dwellings.

Maiya lowered her gaze. “That’s why I went to the woods. I wanted to check on him. When I healed him… there was a moment I thought I was too late.”

Amalie reached for Maiya’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you for saving him.”

She still didn’t raise her eyes. “He sent me with a message for you. Stop sending Tuck to him with supplies. He worries with the prince at the estate, someone will connect you to him.”

Amalie had considered the same thing, but she’d refused to leave John to his own devices. “What else?”

“A few of the men have returned from a village nearer to the palace. They speak of raids. The royal guard has been harassing villagers in search of the Hood and her associates. It won’t be long before they reach our village.”

Amalie sucked in a breath. She knew it would be a possibility as soon as they arrested John. Soon, single arrests wouldn’t be enough for Catrine.

Amalie had waited for more units of the royal guard to come, but Catrine only sent Anders’ men and Tyson. Why?

“Did John say how long we have?”

Maiya shook her head. “No, but he knows how to get the information.”

She didn’t like where this was headed. “Just say it, Maiya.”

“They’re going to extract it from the prince.” She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if the words didn’t send a chill down Amalie’s spine.

Her people would do anything for her, and that was what scared her the most. She needed to get to Tyson.

“Fetch my horse,” she said, jumping to her feet, fear making her pulse leap in her throat.

“Amalie.” Maiya held her back. “What can you do? We both know John doesn’t operate like the rest of the men. He won’t listen to you.”

“I can’t let him…” A quiver ran through her. “It’s Tyson.” And John. She loved her friend, but if anything happened to Ty, she’d never forgive herself. She’d never admitted it to anyone, but he was the reason she accepted the missions of the Hood. Tyson was pure, good. She’d never deserved him as the daughter of a traitor. But in trying to do the right thing, trying to clear the darkness from her soul, she’d lost him, anyway.

Maiya sighed and took off toward the stables.

It wasn’t Maiya who returned leading two horses, but Tuck. He took one look at her and gestured to the beast.

“Maiya told me everything. We need to get to the village.” He shook his head. “I was only with Tyson a few hours ago. I shouldn’t have left him on his own.”

“It’s not your fault, Tuck.” Amalie had never been more grateful for her friend. He’d once been a friend of Tyson’s as well. Tuck was the one person who knew what Ty had really meant to her. He’d been there on the best day of her life performing the ceremony.

Amalie ordered a guard to open the gates. As soon as a wide enough gap appeared, she nudged her horse’s flanks and took off into the village. There was only one place they’d take Tyson.

Two men lingered outside the blacksmith’s shop so Amalie and Tuck turned down an alleyway away from prying eyes and jumped down, leaving their horses tied to a post before slipping through a back door.

The sharp trill of a hammer on steel provided a steady beat in time with the pounding of her heart. She wished she could believe John wouldn’t hurt Ty, but she knew better. When it came to protecting everything they stood for, John would hold nothing back. He had even less regard for royalty than she did.

Dim light greeted them, a candle burning low, but the room was empty. Panic threatened to swallow her whole. When Tuck grabbed her arm, she jumped.

“John wouldn’t do anything he can’t take back.”

She turned to face him. “We both know the falseness in your words, Tuck. John and some of the others don’t have the same morality as you and I. If there is a raid planned, Tyson isn’t safe.”

She put her hands on her head. “This is my fault. I should never have let him stay. He doesn’t belong in this. Tyson has always been too good for the world of criminals and thieves.”

She tried to remember John as he once was, kind and calm before the world beat him down. She loved him like family, but it didn’t mean she was blind to the darkness in his eyes. It had been there since she was first reunited with him as prisoners.

And now, as a wanted man, he had nothing left to lose.

Her heart clenched painfully. “We need to find them.”

13

Three Years Ago

Amalie was no longer a prisoner, but she couldn’t rid herself of John’s words. He’d sat in that cell as if none of it bothered him. Simon left, taking most of the queen’s guard with him. Only a few guards remained. They allowed Amalie Leroy to live in the house once belonging to her family, but it was no longer hers. That much was clear.

Tyson’s chest rose and fell steadily beside her. He was so close yet so far away. Her arrest put a distance between them that hadn’t been there before.

The village needed a warrior, John had said. Someone with good intentions and an even better aim.

She rolled over and away from Ty. The queen, Ty’s own mother, had taken the only thing that belonged to Amalie. Her estate. And she’d ignored the village beyond those walls. Amalie climbed from the bed and paced across the cold stone floor, weighing the decision in her mind.

The people needed John. With a final glance at Tyson, she pulled on a cloak over her silk sleeping gown and drew the hood up over her hair.

There was no time left for indecision. Two weeks had passed since her imprisonment and each day felt as stifling as the one before. She stepped from the room and walked toward the stairs that would take her to the lower level.

The lone guard outside the cells was one she’d heard laughing about the traitorous villagers getting what they deserved. Her father forced them into a situation that now meant the crown would not come to their aid. They’d marched to the gates of the palace, ready to fight because they’d had no other choice. They didn’t get to decide if they’d betray their king, yet they were labeled traitors all the same.

If he wasn’t already dead, she’d have turned her father in herself.

She crept in the shadows readying herself to make the jump Etta had taught her. When a man is bigger than you, incapacitate him before he knows you’re there. And don’t let him see your face.

She stood on the bottom step, judging the distance. Releasing a shuddering breath, she bent her knees and launched herself at the man, driving him sideways into a wall. Flattening her palm against the back of his head, she slammed it sideways into the stone. He collapsed to the ground, and she landed on top of him.

Rolling off, she unclipped the keys from his belt and ran toward the cells.

John must have heard the commotion because he was already on his feet. She unlocked his cell. He didn’t speak as he gave her a quick hug.

Before she could stop him, he crouched beside the guard, drew the other man’s knife, and slid it across his throat.

Revulsion rolled through Amalie. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Do you want your estate back?”

“The queen will just send more of them.”

He shook his head. “I overheard this one say she no longer cared about the Leroy lands. That she didn’t have the stomach to keep them.”

Amalie hugged her arms over her chest as she watched the candlelight flicker across the guard’s crimson blood. The John she’d known as a child wouldn’t have the ability to end a man’s life without even a flicker of emotion.

“Come on.” He tugged her arm.

Each guard they met faced a similar end. John cut through them with precision and coldness until each of the guards were only a symbol of what the queen did to her. A carcass of trust now broken.

The Leroy men on guard held no regard for the queen’s men and left them to their fates, disappearing into the barracks to avoid the deadly assassin in their midst.

John left as he’d come, the ghost of a future that scared Amalie. Before he left, he made her promise to meet him in the woods two days hence. She’d agreed, never planning to fulfill the promise.

He left her with an estate full of dead men, the looming prospect of life painted as a traitor, and the exhilarating knowledge that she’d taken back what was rightfully hers.

When she climbed back into bed in the early hours of the morning, her husband pulled her frozen limbs against his heated ones, letting her cold heart meld with his warm soul. She changed with each passing moment, and she feared more than anything leaving him behind.

* * *

Present

When Amalie woke that morning three years ago, the bodies of the slain royal guards were gone, but rumors remained. That was the day Tyson began seeing her for something other than the sweet noble lady he’d met at court. The one who’d spent her entire life believing she’d marry his brother, the king.

But still, he hadn’t seen their end coming as she had. Tyson was always too good for his circumstances.

Now, she dug her heels into the flanks of her horse and wound through the village streets with Tuck close behind her. Feeling for her bow tied to the saddle behind her, she clenched her jaw. Her fault. If John hurt Tyson, she’d never forgive herself. Somehow, keeping her secret wasn’t as important anymore. Protecting herself wasn’t worth what could happen to Tyson out there among her men.

She snapped her reins, picking up speed as the horse’s hooves pounded along the path leading from the village into the woods. Wild trees gave way to well-used and familiar paths that marked the way to the forest dwelling created by a few of her wanted men who could no longer show their faces in public.

She stopped at the twisted tree she knew so well. “I hope we aren’t too late.”

Tuck nodded grimly. They’d both known the type of men they consorted with. Even John, someone Amalie had known as a shy little boy, never tried to hide the danger inside him. She loved them all despite their darkness and sometimes because of it.

But she’d never expected that darkness to affect Tyson as well.

Rustling sounded from the trees behind her and she froze. As much as she wanted to save Tyson, she also didn’t want outsiders stumbling upon the forest dwelling. Those who wouldn’t understand her need to protect the rough men who lived there.

The enclave wasn’t too far off the road. To any passing traveler, it only looked like a small grouping of simple folk… as long as they didn’t linger long.

But someone was following her. She stepped off the path and her boots sank into the soft, leaf-covered floor. Tendrils of white moss hung from the branches above like a veil.

A stick snapped, and she gestured to Tuck as she raised her bow. Her friend had already drawn his sword and lunged into a bush to his left.

A grunt exited the twisted thicket before Tuck pulled Edmund free. Amalie breathed out heavily and lowered her weapon. “What are you doing hiding in the woods, Edmund?”

He pushed Tuck off him and rested a hand on the knife sticking from his belt, a move Amalie didn’t miss.

Edmund’s face darkened, a look she’d rarely seen on him. “I was looking for Tyson.” He brushed his hand down his pants to rid them of the leaves clinging to the fabric.

“I figured.” Amalie matched his scowl. “But that doesn’t explain why you were in a bush.”

“I saw them take him.” He glanced to Tuck. “You told me to leave, but there’s something you don’t know about me. I never abandon my friends. I’ve been looking out for Tyson since before La Dame tried to destroy Bela. I’m sorry, but your word that no harm would come to him wasn’t enough for me.”

Amalie met his eyes. “What did you see? When they…” She swallowed. “Took him.”

“A group of men I assume were working for you jumped him in an alley. I was watching at a distance but by the time I’d sprinted across the market square, they were gone. I tracked them to the woods, but heard someone coming and didn’t have time to think. I jumped for the nearest cover.”

It made sense. Tuck didn’t know Edmund, but Amalie did. She knew Edmund would never allow Ty to be put in danger unless he was by his side.

Tyson wasn’t any different. He’d give his life for Edmund. When they were wed, Tyson’s desire to go home was one of the things tearing them apart. He felt he’d abandoned his family and was torn between staying with her and returning to Bela. She’d refused to move to Bela when she was needed in Gaule, but eventually she’d pushed him to go home.

Finally, she broke eye contact. “There are dwellings up ahead.”

Edmund narrowed his eyes. “I know who you are, Amalie Leroy. And I don’t trust you. If something happens to Tyson, nowhere will be safe for the Hood.” He started walking. “I felt like you should know.”

What she didn’t say was if something happened to Tyson, there wasn’t anywhere she’d hide. She’d let them have her.

“Edmund,” she called. “I appreciate the threat and all, but I feel like I need to tell you something as well.”

He froze, but kept his back to her. “What?”

“You’re going the wrong way.”

He turned and brushed past her without another word.

For so long, the Hood had been a mask she wore to protect her from herself. Amalie Leroy had lost everything. The Hood gave her a purpose. But what if that mask took from her as well? What if Tyson wasn’t lost because of her family name, but her secret one?

Then who would she be?

How could she hide her brokenness when each face she wore bore the same cracks?

14

Tyson struggled to retreat from the quiet of his own mind. Fog invaded the space between sleeping and waking. A dim light came into focus as he opened his eyes. A candle sat on a table beside where he lay on the floor of a one-room hovel.

His eyes searched the darkened surroundings. When had night come? A thin pallet lay only feet from him, so why was he on the packed dirt floor?

His head throbbed, a reminder of what happened. Someone abducted him. Was this how Simon disappeared too?

His eyes flew to the door as voices entered on the chilly breeze. The Hood could stand just on the other side of that door.

Tuck’s words came back to him. He truly believed the Hood was a force for good. But no one good abducted a prince and held him prisoner.

A hand pushed the door flap open, revealing a man Tyson had seen twice before. Tyson’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. John Little was supposed to be dead, shot by an arrow and buried in an unmarked grave outside the Gaulean palace walls.

The beard still coated his cheeks, but Tyson got the distinct impression it didn’t belong there, as if the man was trying to hide.

He probably was. As soon as they’d realized his body was missing, his mother would have issued a warrant for the man’s arrest.

A grim smile settled on John’s face. “Hello, Prince Tyson.”

Tyson ground his teeth together. “What does the Hood want with me?”

John stopped in front of him and crouched down. Tyson wasn’t restrained. He could have attacked the Hood’s man right there, but how many more were outside that door? He felt for his sword, knowing it was gone before brushing his hand over the empty scabbard. He could use his magic, but how many people would he have to kill?

John studied him for a moment. “The Hood does not know you’re here, but she will understand.”

Tyson’s blood froze. She? After all his searching, this was his first clue. But to follow the lead, he’d have to get free.

“Listen to me, Prince, and listen closely. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, the Hood doesn’t appreciate violence. But I care more for protecting her than making her proud, so I will do what I must.”

Tyson swallowed. “What do you want from me?”

John straightened. “The most valuable thing you own. Information.” He reached down and hauled Tyson to his feet before pushing him out the door.

Tyson stumbled before righting himself and taking in his surroundings. Tall, thin trees stood in a circle around a clearing. At his back, a row of small ramshackle forest dwellings sat, looking as if mud and rusted nails held them together. Was this how people outside the villages lived?

Faces swam before him, each one rougher than the next. Hard eyes glared at him. These were the kind of people the Hood associated with? And yet, Tuck was convinced of the nobility of her fight.

There was nothing noble about these men. Only one woman stood among them, her skirt soiled with dirt. Thick black curls fell about her shoulders, and a grim smile slid across her lips. Tyson looked away.

How did he get here? A prisoner in the woods of a kingdom he both hated and loved. A prince tasked with a mission doomed to fail.

John gripped the back of his neck and urged him forward. “Welcome to our home, Prince.” He gestured to the group before him. “Meet the Merry Men of the forest.”

The Merry Men. He’d heard that term before.

John continued. “The king’s guard raided a village four days ago. There were rumors of Hood impersonators tearing up the countryside.” He bent and jerked Tyson’s head back so their gazes locked. “Tell us everything you know.”

Everything he knew? Tyson had never been invited to take part in any of his mother’s schemes, but he had a hard time believing she’d ordered the raid of one of her own villages.

“I know nothing.”

John released his head, straightened, and circled Tyson. His foot collided with Tyson’s back, sending him sprawling into the dirt. He spit dirt and rocks from his mouth with a groan. A tingling began in his fingertips as his magic begged for an escape. He could end this right now, but what good would that do?

If he escaped now without resolution, they’d only come for him again. And they were his only connection to the Hood. If he wanted to succeed in his mission, he had to hold his power back. At least for now.

Getting his arms under him, he pushed himself onto his knees.

John paced in front of him. “I know of the power you possess, Tyson Durand. And I do not fear it. You need us as much as we need you.”

“You have some way of showing it.” Tyson wiped the dirt from his face.

John stopped moving. “When are they coming?”

“Who?”

“The guard!” His scream echoed through the woods. “When will they be upon us? How much time do we have to evacuate our people from the village?”

Tyson pulled back in surprise. How many of them were there? If he was being honest, he hoped the guard wouldn’t come at all. His mother sent him on this mission for a reason. She’d betrayed Amalie once when she took control of the Leroy estate—even if she never believed Amalie would return to Gaule. She wouldn’t send in the guard to terrorize a village on the Leroy lands. But as long as Simon was missing, the queen would be unpredictable.

Yet, there was a reason they’d called Tyson from Bela. He was the one person his mother thought could accomplish anything under the watchful eye of Amalie.

She’d underestimated the girl’s hatred of the prince.

Tyson didn’t tell them that. He didn’t say there was nothing to fear yet. Instead, he climbed to his feet.

A few of the people watching drew their weapons.

Tyson ignored them. He saw his chance and had no choice but to take it. “The guard moves swiftly over the land, giving my mother a long reach. It’s almost too late. You’ll never get your people out in time.”

“How long?” John growled.

“Even if I knew the answer, I wouldn’t tell you.”

A roar ripped from John and he slammed his fist into Tyson’s stomach. Tyson doubled over, trying to catch his breath. A force drove him to his knees, and his magic swirled within. It wanted to fight, was meant to fight.

A kick knocked him onto his side. The last thing he saw was a boot flying toward his head as a piercing scream ripped through the air.

“Noooooo!”

Amalie?

But he was already gone, lost in a darkness where the sun never rose.

15

“John!” Amalie ran into the clearing. She was too late.

John froze with his knife hovering over Tyson’s still form. “You shouldn’t be here, Amalie.”

“And neither should you.” She pushed through her men who were looking anywhere but at her. She’d had no delusions about those she allied herself with, but seeing them hover over an unconscious Tyson, made her rethink every choice she’d made since becoming the Hood.

She dropped to her knees at Tyson’s side and felt his neck for the telltale thumping that would allow her to breathe again.

Tuck and Edmund moved to each side of her, keeping John at a distance. She dropped her bow on the ground and pushed the hair out of Tyson’s face.

He never changed. When the world turned around them, everything becoming unrecognizable, his face remained the same.

Tears pushed at her eyelids, but she refused to let her men see how much Tyson meant to her. He was supposed to be the past, a pretty fantasy crafted by a girl who’d been raised to be a noble lady. The Hood was emotionless, strong.

When two worlds collided, she no longer wanted to be strong.

Edmund, sword drawn, pointed it at Alan, Gilbert, and Regina who watched them with cautious eyes. They wouldn’t come near or threaten them, not while she was there. But Edmund didn’t know that. He didn’t know that she’d suffered much alongside these people. That they’d become her family when she’d had none. That they’d healed her when she was broken.

Tuck put a hand on Edmund’s arm. “It’s okay. They aren’t a threat.”

Edmund shifted his glare to Tuck. “We found them beating Tyson into unconsciousness and you tell me they aren’t a threat? I could kill them for what they did, and it would be well deserved.”

Amalie had once wished someone was as loyal to her as Edmund, Tyson, and Alex had always been to each other. She’d longed for that kind of bond.

Now that she had it, it threatened to drown every other part of her life. She flattened her palm against Tyson’s chest one final time before wrapping her fingers around her bow and standing.

She hated what they’d done to Tyson, but it had a purpose. “What did he tell you?”

Edmund turned to her. “That’s what you care about? They abducted him and beat him, yet this is what you do now? Will we find Simon beaten in some cell?”

Amalie ignored him, focusing on John.

John glanced once more at Tyson before facing her. “Nothing. The man is as useless as he always was.”

She shook her head. John hadn’t known Tyson well. After Ty left, she’d sent John with a letter she hoped would bring Tyson back to her. In it, she wrote the words that should have shaped their future, but that letter was written by a scared girl facing her own mortality. Tyson never returned, and all John brought her were regrets from the man she’d thought had loved her.

She shook the thought from her mind. That was a long time ago. As long as Anders never found what she protected on the Caron lands, she may never have to introduce Tyson to that side of her life.

The Tyson she knew never would have given information freely. He’d been imprisoned by La Dame herself and escaped. Her brow furrowed. “Why didn’t he use his magic? He could have stopped this.”

“You don’t know him at all.” Edmund slid his sword into its sheathe. “Tyson never uses his magic for himself. Not since La Dame. The only time I’ve seen him use it was in Madra because he knew it was the only way to save Estevan… for me.”

He bent to slide his arms under Tyson’s still form and hoisted him into his arms. “You can try to stop me, but I’m taking Tyson. Maiya can heal him. By morning, we won’t be your problem anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anders will return soon to continue seeking the Hood. Tyson and I will leave the mission to him and return to Bela, the kingdom we never should have left. You broke him once, Amalie, and it seems you never stop trying to hurt him. You and your people call your mission noble, but you’re nothing more than thieves and thugs.”

His words slammed into Amalie like a bludgeon to the chest. She sucked in a breath, holding in the tears trying to spill down her cheeks.

As Edmund disappeared into the trees, Tuck stepped up beside her. “Go,” she pleaded. “Help him. Please. I… I can’t.”

Tuck only nodded and took off after Edmund.

Her chest heaved with the effort of containing the emotions ravaging her mind. A thick drop of water struck her cheek. For a moment, she thought it was a tear, but then another came and another as the torrent of rain broke free of the thick clouds overhead.

People scrambled into their homes, but Amalie remained, staring up into the dark void of the night.

All of her reasons for choosing this life suddenly seemed as murky as the dark clouds above. She kept the village fed through thievery and deception. Did that make her the criminal everyone said she was?

One thing was clear. If Tyson knew the mask she wore—or hood in her case—he’d never see her the same way. Even through the pain swirling in the air every time they saw each other, she hadn’t missed the longing in his eyes. She wasn’t delusional enough to think it was for her, only for what they had. But he’d forsaken her when he refused to return with John two years ago.

Would she go back to what they were when they were younger?

She pushed wet strands of hair back from her face. No. That answer came unbidden, but it was the truth. She was more herself traipsing through the woods and firing arrows at her targets than she’d ever been in pretty dresses attending balls.

Yet, she wasn’t a warrior. She’d gone to war, fighting both her father’s force and La Dame’s. There was an emptiness in battle, a lingering void she felt even now.

She didn’t want to take lives or abduct good people. Simon was comfortable in a seldom-used wing of the Leroy estate, but he wasn’t free.

She rubbed a hand against her stomach, longing for a life she’d once felt with every inch of her being.

A presence hovered behind her. She sighed, her feelings toward her best friend on the edge of hatred. “Go inside, John. You’ll catch a chill.”

He tried to slip his hand into hers, but she pulled away. “Ames,” he sighed. “You know it had to be done. He deserved everything he received after abandoning you.”

Over the years, John had never missed an opportunity to disparage Tyson. Tuck once claimed it was because John felt more than friendship for Amalie. But Amalie could never see him or any man in that way. Not again. She’d given all her love to those who could not give it back. One who abandoned her. And another she’d abandoned.

She turned to him so fast, she collided with his chest and stumbled back. “Be glad he survived because I would never forgive you.”

“He isn’t one of us, Amalie. Don’t forget that. Tyson Durand is a prince, loyal to the queen who has nothing but disdain for the likes of us. You’d do well to get your priorities straight.”

She scowled, barely feeling the rain that continued to fall, creating a curtain between them. “And you’d do well to remember who I am.”

He laughed. “The Hood? I made you.”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.” She turned on her heel to storm away but he gripped her arm, holding her back.

“I’m the same man I’ve always been.”

She closed her eyes, images of the dead guards flashing in her mind. He’d shown her who he truly was the night she set him free. Not the boy she’d known as a child or a man who wanted to keep the people of the village fed.

She’d failed to believe his true face then because he’d offered her a life beyond the high walls of the estate. He was right. He’d turned her into the vigilante she’d become.

She ripped her arm free. “It’s time I become who I want to be.”

He didn’t follow her as she trudged to where her horse was still tied. As she freed the reins, climbed on, and left the forest behind, she realized what she should have known all along. The Hood was an excuse, a way to fight back in the shadows when she should have braved the light of day.

16

Two years ago

Tyson always slept so peacefully. It was one of the things Amalie envied about him. But then when morning came, the restlessness in his eyes never left.

He didn’t want to be there. They’d been at her estate for months now, involved in running the Leroy lands. Each day, Tyson ventured into the village and each day, he grew more distant.

At night, he never woke. Not when Amalie slipped from the bed to join John in the forest for her lessons with the bow. Not now when she returned, weary and satisfied.

If she were honest, her time training with John was the only hours of the day or night she enjoyed.

The queen hadn’t sent more guards to the estate when hers went missing. Tyson said she accepted that they were staying. He made excuses for his mother, saying she hadn’t wanted the estate to fall into the hands of people who’d been loyal to her father. The lands were too valuable.

No one thought they’d return, and she knew Tyson questioned that decision every day.

But not her. She knew in her heart it had been right. The people living on her family’s lands suffered, and she wanted to help them.

Tyson stormed into the room where she’d sat drinking her morning tea. She hoped he couldn’t see the weariness on her face.

He dropped into a chair. “Did you hear? Someone attacked a trade caravan on our roads last night.”

“Really?” She sipped her tea, trying to ignore the guilt building within her. Tyson was too honest for his own good. He’d never understand what she’d started, or that she spent her nights with an old friend instead of her husband.

“We have to do something about this. We have enough trouble getting food and goods to the village without traders avoiding our roads.”

Amalie set her cup down. “Those traders rarely stop in the village to unload their wares. They use our roads to get to the Caron lands. Another gift from your mother, I assume.” She couldn’t hide the scowl on her face.

Tyson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “My mother has nothing to do with that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My people are tainted, Ty. They fought for a traitor. It doesn’t matter to anyone else that my father forced them into it.”

Tyson sighed. It was a conversation they’d had with more frequency of late. He refused to see her side of things. But what had she expected? She knew his true loyalty was never hers. He’d pledged himself to his mother, his brother, and his sister, Etta, before his wife. They took precedence in his mind. Duty trumped love, though he loved them all too.

She thought she’d accepted it. That she could live with never being first in his heart.

But with each passing day, it only hurt more, breaking off pieces of her own heart. Soon, she feared there would be nothing left.

“I don’t want to argue, Ty.” She stood and moved to sit on the arm of his chair, wrapping her arms around him.

“You know how much I love you, right?” He peered up at her, every ounce of sincerity he possessed shining in his eyes.

She nodded, because it was the truth. She did know how much he loved her. Tyson had never been hard to read. His openness was one of the reasons she’d been drawn to him over his more serious brother. He had an innate goodness she feared was slipping away.

Because as much as he loved her, it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

And so did he.

* * *

Present

By the time Amalie returned to the estate, the silence of the night echoed through the empty halls. She roused a stable boy who’d been dozing on a hay bale and left her horse’s care to him. As she walked her tired limbs up the front steps, she unclasped her sopping cloak. A shiver raced through her, the cold finally settling in to her bones.

But she couldn’t return to her rooms. Not yet. She had to see him. To remember the parts of herself she’d tried so hard to forget and confront the parts she’d wanted to hide.

Her pants stuck to her legs as she strolled through the familiar and somehow haunting halls. So much had happened there. Her boots left wet prints behind her, a reminder that she’d been there.

As she got to Tyson’s room, Edmund stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. He’d changed into dry clothing, and his wet hair was pulled back into a tail.

He didn’t scowl when he saw her. That was something. Instead, weariness coated his features. “I’m not going to let you in there.”

She could have retorted with something about it being her house, but that didn’t seem to matter anymore, so she accepted Edmund’s words. “How is he?”

“Maiya healed the bruises.”

“Did he… did you get to talk to him?” She bit her lip and pulled her arms across her shaking body.

He sighed. “Ty… dammit! He should have used his magic.” He rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. “He gave me some noble bullshit about not using it against non-magic folk, but his life was in danger.”

“They wouldn’t have killed him.”

“You don’t know that.” Edmund paced across the hall before turning. “You can’t control your people.”

She wondered if she’d ever had control over them. Their loyalty to her hadn’t changed who they were. She thought back on the attacks that had gone too far. The traders and waggoneers who’d been hurt. She’d allowed men with less noble goals into her circle because John told her they’d needed them. She cared about her friend, believing he was truly as good as he’d claimed.

She glanced at the door to Tyson’s room. But who was as good as the man on the other side? Certainly not her.

A weight pressed down on her shoulder and it took her a moment to realize it was Edmund’s hand.

His expression softened. “Come on, Ames.” His use of her nickname calmed her troubled mind as she remembered she was safe with Edmund. He’d only ever tried to help her.

He slid his palm down her arm and took her hand. “I need a drink.”

She only nodded and allowed him to pull her down the hall. She paid no attention to their location in the house or the time it took them to reach another closed door with two guards standing on each side of it.

Her eyes finally focused, and a small gasp escaped her. “You knew.”

He looked sideways at her. “Of course I knew. I’m me.”

She would have laughed in any other circumstances. Sometimes she forgot this was a man who ran a network of spies in Madra before the rebellion, or the man who stood by Persinette Basile’s side as she fought for Bela. He’d been the best swordsman in Gaule, but he’d also always just been Edmund, fighting for his friends and keeping secrets every step of the way.

He still hadn’t told Tyson her identity as the Hood, and she didn’t know why.

She nodded to the guards in greeting and knocked. A voice she knew well told her to enter.

Simon sat in the same chair she’d found him in during her last visit. Still calm. Still a prisoner. He showed no surprise at Edmund’s presence. “Edmund,” he smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

Edmund rushed forward to grip his hand. “Simon, it’s damn good to see you. Everyone is worried.”

Simon released him and leaned back. “I decided a visit to Amalie was in order.”

“Bullshit.” Edmund walked to the table along the back wall to pour three glasses of wine.

Amalie, still in her wet clothes, crossed the room to the fireplace where flames danced, casting their glow about the room.

Edmund appeared at her side and handed her a glass.

She sipped the burgundy wine, letting the warmth flood her limbs. Once her teeth stopped chattering, she spoke. “Simon is a prisoner; how did you know he’d have wine?”

One corner of Edmund’s mouth curved up. “You think you’ve changed, Amalie, but I have watched Tyson mourn for the last two years as if you’d died. You try to hide it, but you do the same.” He took a long drink. “No, Ames. You haven’t changed. You’re still the girl in a situation she can’t control who is irreparably in love with a man she doesn’t think she can have.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Her voice shook.

“The girl I knew wouldn’t hurt Simon, and she definitely wouldn’t coop him up without wine.”

Amalie couldn’t help the laugh that rolled through her. “You say that as if wine is essential to life.”

“Isn’t it?

She shook her head. “Still the same old drunkard, I see.”

His expression darkened for a moment and when he smoothed his features, she wondered if she’d imagined it.

Simon, who’d been watching them, cleared his throat. “Edmund, if you’re here, I can only assume Tyson has come as well.”

Edmund threw himself down into a high-backed chair. The firelight reflected off his blue eyes, making them dance. “He’s asleep at the moment.”

Simon shifted his gaze from Edmund to Amalie and back again. “He’s either avoiding Miss Leroy here or something has happened that you aren’t telling me.”

Amalie stepped closer to the fire, trying to let the crackling of the wood drown out the pounding of her heart. There was a time when Simon’s council had been that of a father’s. She once cared for him like family. But she had to remember he was the queen’s most trusted guard, the man Catrine loved. Which meant she could no longer put her trust in him.

The disappearance of the royal guards who’d controlled her estate was never investigated. The queen let it rest, but if the truth were ever revealed… if Simon learned Amalie had a hand in murdering his comrades, the kindness in his eyes would disappear. And that… she couldn’t take.

She had a talent for stripping the best qualities from a person. One only need to look at Tyson to see what she could do.

Edmund leaned forward. “He’s okay, Si.”

Simon seemed to relax. “Does he know?”

Edmund shook his head.

She didn’t have to ask what Simon meant. There were so many secrets she’d kept from Ty. Her identity as the Hood. The fact that John, the man who’d beaten him, was one of her closest friends.

The whereabouts of the one person Ty should want to see. Yet he hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t offered the information freely. Maybe he didn’t care after all.

Then there was Simon’s presence in the estate.

That was the big one. The Tyson she knew could forgive her for anything else, but holding Simon prisoner was a different matter altogether.

Even if she’d kept him in comfort.

She couldn’t stand to stare at Simon anymore. He represented every awful thing she’d done. Without a word to either man, she set her glass down on the table and turned on her heel to march toward the door.

Once out in the hall, she glanced sideways at two of the guards. Part of her wanted to tell them they could abandon their posts. Maybe it was better if she allowed Simon to leave.

Something stopped her. She opened her mouth and the words that came out sounded foreign to her ears. “Watch Edmund carefully. He has magic, just as Simon does. Don’t let him cause any problems.”

The guard closest ducked his head. “Yes, lady Leroy.”

As she walked away, his words blazed in her mind. Lady Leroy. She wasn’t one of them. Her family betrayed the realm again and again. Was she just following in her father’s shadow?

A chill raced down her spine and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

17

Two Years Ago

“Amalie.” Tyson’s voice broke as pain unlike anything he felt before seared through him.

His flesh had burned in a village fire. He’d faced La Dame and almost lost the people closest to him.

But it was the girl before him who finally broke his will.

Magic seeped from his fingertips, little drops of water breaking free as if it wept the tears Tyson held back.

Amalie shook her head, her long chestnut hair blowing into her face as the wind swept through the courtyard. He wanted to reach out and brush it back, to feel her skin one more time and pretend nothing had changed between them.

When everything had changed. He’d felt it for months. The distance. Amalie thought he didn’t notice her slipping from the estate late at night. He never followed her because he feared what he’d find.

Another man. Some dark secret she wouldn’t even tell her best friend. That’s what they’d been once. Friends. Confidants. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d stayed that way, maybe he wouldn’t have to lose her. He would have been content riding by her side his entire life even if it meant he never knew her touch in the dark of the night.

They’d fought the night before when he demanded to know what was going on. He’d felt the finality of her words.

‘Maybe I wasn’t destined for marriage,’ she’d said. ‘I want to have a greater purpose’.

He’d tried many times to convince her to leave the estate behind. To travel to Bela where they could have served Etta and lived for more than overseeing staff and training for battles that never came.

“I need you to leave, Ty.” She held her arms across her chest as if protecting it from the pain in his eyes.

“I don’t have to obey this.” He held up the paper they’d received a week before. A summons to the palace of Gaule. To his mother. They’d spoken of it every day since, but Amalie still didn’t see. He loved his mother, but he’d have given her up. Yet she never believed him. She claimed he’d always choose his family.

He’d have given everything up.

So, he told her.

Her hard eyes met his. “That’s the problem, Ty. We shouldn’t have to give up our lives for each other. I don’t want to be a princess. I don’t want to be beholden to the crown of Gaule or Bela.”

He didn’t understand. She’d always known who he was. “I’m not beholden to anyone but you.”

“Yes, you are.” She reached out but then pulled her hand back. “The Tyson Durand I fell in love with would do anything for his family. I may not love your mother anymore, but you need to go to her if she needs you.”

“I don’t.”

She took his hand. “I’ve seen you change over the last year as you’ve lived in this house. As you’ve experienced the damage done by my father. He’s dead, but his soul remains. It taints everything here. I don’t want that for you.”

“I want you.” Tears gathered in his eyes.

She pulled her hand from his and drove the final dagger into his heart. “But I don’t want you. Not anymore.”

The pain in his gaze hardened, turning into unbridled anger. One of the stable lads appeared with a horse and Tyson turned toward the beast.

He climbed on and looked down at Amalie once more. “I will always love you, Amalie Leroy, but it seems like that isn’t enough.”

He rode through the gates without another thought and dug his heels in to canter down the road. Amalie had taken everything from him, and the emptiness threatened to consume him.

The magic he’d held back in the year since fighting La Dame poured from him, pulling the rain from the clouds above. He thought he’d lost his desire for battle since the war, but now all he wanted was to join in a fight. He didn’t answer the summons from his mother.

Instead, he turned toward the roads leading into Bela. His mother had always told him home was where his heart resided. But what happened when that heart cracked and its once steady rhythm faded into nothing?

* * *

Present

Amalie’s feet took her to Tyson’s door once more. But this time, she didn’t stop herself from entering. Thunder ripped through the sky outside his window, and a flash of light lit the room. The maids had allowed his fire to dwindle, and she suddenly wished she’d gone for dry clothes before coming here.

But she couldn’t leave. Tyson lay on the bed with his legs tangled up in the blankets. His bare chest rose and fell steadily. After his healing, she doubted he’d wake anytime soon.

All her reasons for making him leave two years ago no longer made any sense.

I don’t want you. Not anymore.

It was the greatest lie she’d ever told. The truth was, she’d been on the edge of what she thought was the biggest purpose in her life. He’d have known better. He wouldn’t have understood.

And she didn’t want to be stopped.

The Hood needed to exist. After Tyson left, the only time she felt alive was when she ran through the woods with her bow in her hand.

She pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, never once taking her eyes from Tyson’s innocent face. That was the thing about him. No matter his age, no matter his fight he never lost the pure innocence.

A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of the weeks following his departure. She’d thrown herself into training with John, running her body into exhaustion just to keep her mind occupied.

She’d treated Ty so poorly the last time she’d seen him. What he hadn’t known was how each night he’d spent under her roof had broken her.

“I’m so sorry, Ty,” she whispered. “This is all my fault.”

She leaned her forehead on the bed as more thunder rumbled through the room.

“Not your fault.”

At first, she thought she’d imagined the voice because it was so faint, but then a hand brushed over the back of her head. She choked back a sob and lifted her head.

Tyson’s eyes slid open, and she recognized the exhaustion in their depths.

She pulled away from his hand.

His gaze held hers. “Why would you say this is your fault? I was abducted by some men in the forest. I’m assuming Edmund found me if I’m here.”

She closed her eyes, and another tear squeezed between the lids. “The man who took you…”

“I know,” he said quickly. “He was sentenced to death. He shouldn’t be alive. I know he was a friend of yours and that you were at the palace to save him. Looks like the Hood did your job.”

He watched her carefully, but she didn’t react. “I guess the Hood did one thing good.” She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. John had just beaten Tyson unconscious. His survival wasn’t something Ty would want to celebrate. She shifted her gaze away from him.

Tyson grabbed her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. He was important to you. Regardless of his actions, that feeling doesn’t go away.”

She wiped away the tears threatening to spill forth. “Why are you being so kind to me? After everything I did… you should hate me.”

He released her hand to scratch his face. “I don’t know, Ames. For so long, I thought I did, but being here with you feels…” He shook his head. “I can’t hate you.”

Unable to believe his kindness after everything that had passed between them, she pulled her hand back and stood. “I must find some dry clothes and my bed.” She walked swiftly to the door and stopped with her hand on the latch. Without turning back, she sucked in a shuddering breath. “I’m glad you’re okay. Goodnight, your Highness.”

When she returned to her room, she ripped off her clothing, wanting to rid herself of any memory of that night. Flashes of an unconscious Tyson took hold of her mind. She closed her eyes and rested her hand on the icy skin of her chest, letting her own heartbeat calm her. He was okay.

Tyson was always okay. No matter what he did, he found a way out of it. Join the battle with La Dame—not even a scratch. Fight a usurper across the sea in Madra—no problem for the prince of two kingdoms. Father a child and refuse to return—it didn’t even weigh on his mind.

He acted like their life together had never happened. Like she hadn’t sent John to Bela with a letter begging Tyson to return, revealing the baby that grew inside her.

By the time she’d realized she was pregnant, he was gone, and the Hood had already become a renowned figure. She hadn’t stopped her mission, scaling walls and running through the woods. Fighting men twice her size at night and then pretending she was nothing more than Lady Leroy during the day.

But then the pains came along with a torrent of blood. It had been too early, and the healer feared for both Amalie and the baby’s lives. The baby was born, and she’d said her goodbyes while waiting for Tyson to come.

When John returned, he only brought Tyson’s refusal and Maiya, the young magic woman. Amalie closed her eyes, remembering the feel of Maiya’s healing magic warming her skin.

It had changed nothing regarding the child. Whether Amalie lived or died, she couldn’t involve someone so helpless in the life of an outlaw. Her enemies would come. At the very least, the queen would if she knew of the birth of her grandchild. No, Amalie couldn’t have anything more tying her to the regent she betrayed with every draw of her bowstring.

The Leroys were traitors. Amalie only carried on the family business. The goodness of her mission wouldn’t matter to Catrine. Or Tyson.

Her eyes snapped open. What would he say if he knew of her occupation?

She took the silk nightgown from a hook near the washroom and slipped it on over her head before crawling into her bed and wrapping her shivering frame in soft furs. Exhaustion won out over conscious thought and she drifted into slumber.

18

Throughout the next day, Amalie attended to matters of the estate. She inspected a crumbling part of the walls, approved the next week’s meager menu with the cooks, and met with townsfolk who pleaded for her intercession in disputes of land ownership.

What she did not do was visit Tyson’s room. He should be mostly recovered by now with only a little weakness lingering.

Edmund was a constant presence in the halls, walking from Tyson’s room to Simon’s and back again. He held so many secrets inside him, and she still didn’t understand why he kept hers from Tyson. Those two were as close as brothers.

He walked up beside her as she entered the great hall for supper. When she didn’t have guests, she was the only person to occupy the long table. She’d grown used to eating alone. Solitude suited her, but she also missed a time when laughter echoed throughout the room.

“How has your day progressed, Duchess?” Edmund smirked as though he knew how his use of the formal title she no longer held vexed her.

“Busy.”

He nodded, accepting her terse tone. “Tyson has healed well.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you wanted to.” He seated himself at the table without waiting for her and glanced up.

She sank into a chair, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her legs. “Do you enjoy irritating me?”

“Very much so.” He flashed her a smile and reached for the pitcher of wine to fill both their cups. “In truth, Ames, Ty has been a pain in the… uh rear today.”

She sipped her wine, trying to hide her curiosity.

Edmund continued. “He’s restless.”

She snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth.

Edmund’s grin widened. “Very lady-like, Ames.”

Pulling her hand away, she took another sip. “I’m sorry. It’s just that some things never change. Tyson has always had a restless soul.”

Edmund smiled at the servant who set a plate of salted fish and roast potatoes in front of him. He leaned toward Amalie as if sharing some great secret. “It’s the energy. He has too much of it. He always has to have some purpose, and sitting still just does not suit him. It’s why he jumped at the chance to help Helena reclaim the Madran throne. Not only to save his sister, Camille, but also to have a mission.”

Amalie had always seen that in Ty, but in recent years, she’d found the same to be true of herself. “I know the feeling.”

“I imagine you do.”

“Can I ask you something, Edmund?”

He stuffed a forkful of potato into his mouth and nodded.

“Why haven’t you told him?” She busied herself with her own supper while waiting for his answer.

He sighed and set his fork on the table. “Because the woman he loves is running around Gaule risking her life with each mission she takes on. Because, I suspect your need to help the people drove you to send Tyson back to Bela with a broken heart.” He met her gaze. “Because, though I worry about you and the company you keep, I believe in what you’re doing.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if he couldn’t believe his own words. “What is it with the women in my life and their penchant for trouble?”

She laughed at that. Edmund was loyal to Persinette Basile, queen of Bela, who served her people in any way she could—just as Amalie wished to. Amalie had no love for royals or nobles, but Etta was different. And Alex, the king of Bela, many in Gaule held no love for him, but he’d always tried to do the right thing.

Edmund’s next words pulled her from her own thoughts. “For the record, Ames, Ty would too. If you let him.”

“He would what?”

“Believe in you.”

The door to the hall burst open and Will entered, his large stature making the room seem smaller. Upon seeing the seriousness of his expression, Amalie rose from her chair. “What is it?”

“Captain Anders has been spotted in the village.”

The mercenary’s words took a moment to register. She didn’t know where Anders had gone when he disappeared, but she’d known he’d return. With Ty here, Anders wasn’t the only one searching for the Hood on her lands, but she’d never worried Tyson posed the same threat.

“I’m coming.” She skirted the edge of the table. Edmund rose to follow her, and she shook her head. “Stay here.”

“He’s my father, Amalie. Let me help.”

She turned back to face him. “He may be your father, but he has been tasked with arresting me just as you and Tyson have. I don’t want your help. This is a problem for the Hood, and I’m sorry Edmund, but I have my own people to stand at my side. Men I trust. You and Tyson will stay within these walls.”

She marched from the room with Will following. “Where is Anders now?”

“At the tavern, my lady.”

Nodding, she turned the corner to enter her room. “You and Cameron will accompany me. We’ll set up watch posts. I want eyes on the captain for the duration of his stay.”

Will left to retrieve Cameron as Amalie changed into a pair of trousers and a tunic. She stepped into her boots, slung a quiver over her shoulder and left the room with her bow in one hand and hood in the other. She couldn’t put the hood on until she was away from the estate walls.

In the courtyard, Will and Cameron waited. She spoke no words to them as she led them through the gates. They’d know what to do.

She’d spent years training and running missions with the same men. Each knew their roles. Each could anticipate the actions of the others.

She wasn’t lying when she told Edmund she didn’t trust him. Not in the way she trusted those who’d fought injustice by her side. The ones who risked everything for her.

The moon rose high above them, full save for a missing sliver. No stars dotted the clear sky. The darkened streets held few dangers. Her band of men kept a tight rein on the village. A breeze whipped between the buildings, and it was only then she remembered she’d forgotten her cloak.

Clenching her teeth against the cold, she used the torches outside the tavern as a beacon. Raucous laughter sounded every time the heavy wooden doors opened and spilled men onto the street.

She gestured to Will to take up a position in the alley beside the tavern. Cameron left to enlist a few more of their men for the rotation the next day. Amalie glanced to each side before crossing the street and entering an alley. It was so familiar. This was where guards chased her and John up onto the roof before they had arrested him.

She pulled herself up the same way she had before and ran across the tiles with light steps until she could peer down at the tavern. She knelt down and set her bow beside her, preparing for a long night of watch.

* * *

Tyson paced the length of the room before turning and walking back again. The door opened, and he turned as Edmund walked in.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Edmund put up a hand. “Ty, I have kept something from you and you’re going to be angry with me, but there’s time enough for that later.”

“What are you talking about?” Tyson lifted a brow.

Edmund shook his head. “You aren’t going to believe me unless you see it for yourself.” He paused for a long moment. “The Hood is in the village right now.”

Tyson stilled. “What? How could you possibly know that?”

“There’s no time to explain. My father has returned, and I think the Hood is in danger. The information said he was alone, but he never travels alone. Our archer friend is walking into a trap. I’m sure of it.”

Tyson crossed the room and slapped the side of Edmund’s head. “Have you gone mad, man? We’re here to arrest the criminal. If Anders succeeds, we’ll be able to find Simon.”

“Ty, do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then we have to go.”

Tyson watched him for a moment longer. Edmund was the most honorable man he knew. He always did the right thing. If he truly thought the Hood needed their help, Tyson could set his doubts aside.

He reached for his sword belt and tied it around his waist before pulling on a cloak and grabbing his bow. Edmund already had his weapon ready, so they left without another word.

At the gates, the guard only nodded to them. They’d long since realized no one in the estate cared what happened to the prince. They were a land of people more loyal to their duchess than their queen.

Tyson should have been troubled by it, but he’d seen first-hand how Amalie gained the trust of even the toughest, crudest men.

“Edmund, I’m not going to ask where you get your information. Not yet. But I need all of it. Where was Anders seen?”

“The tavern.”

Tyson nodded as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, lit only by the silver moon from up high. “Come on.”

They neared the tavern. “You can guarantee the Hood is near?” A shiver raced down Tyson’s spine. He’d heard many stories of the criminal he now knew was a woman. She fought for those who couldn’t, but her aim was deadly accurate, and the wanted men who traveled with her were loyal.

Noise drifted from the tavern, and they ducked into a nearby alleyway. Tyson’s feet collided with something on the ground. He bent to see what he’d kicked, and his breath lodged in his throat.

“Edmund,” he hissed. “It’s Will. One of the estate guards.”

Edmund cursed and bent to feel for a pulse. “He’s alive.” He felt lower before pulling his hand back. Blood coated his skin.

Tyson rolled Will over to find a small knife wound in his stomach. Blood seeped out between the folds of skin.

“Dammit!” Edmund kicked the wall. “I knew this was a trap.”

“Shit, Edmund.” Tyson pressed a hand to Will’s wound and looked up at his panicked friend. “I think the time has come to cease keeping secrets.”

Edmund turned his back to Tyson and breathed out. When he spoke, his voice rumbled through the air. “Will is one of the Merry Men.”

Tyson’s eyes widened. “He’s the Hood’s man?”

Edmund finally turned to face him. “You need to go Ty. I’ll help Will. The Hood needs you. Ander’s guards knew he’d be watched. They counted on it. They’ll find her.”

“Why me?” Tyson swallowed. “Why is she our concern? Stop lying to me, Edmund.”

“You don’t need me to say it, Ty.”

Tyson pulled his hand away from Will and jumped to his feet. He stumbled back. It couldn’t be true. “Amalie,” he whispered, knowing the truth in his gut. He should have known the moment he saw John alive.

He’d have to sort through it all later, because she needed him. He ran from the alley, scanning the rooftops as he did. She’d have to be around there somewhere. A troop of palace guards ran along the shadows on the other side of the street that led toward the woods. Their recognizable armor shone in the moonlight. Anders wouldn’t be among them. Tyson was sure of it. But they’d find the Hood’s trail.

He sprinted after them, veering off the stone streets of the village to head into the woods he’d never wanted to visit again.

“I’m coming, Ames.”

Drawing his sword, he prepared to meet the first group of guards. He lifted his free hand, curling his fingers into a fist to draw moisture from the damp earth. His magic molded it, expanded it. He’d almost reached them when he opened his palm, sending a blast of water at the three guards. The force knocked them to the ground sputtering. Before they could pick themselves up, Tyson was there with his sword.

He told himself he was doing the right thing. These guards weren’t his mother’s normal men. No, they belonged to Anders, and the captain only accepted those into his service who took no issue with finding wanted men of Gaule by any means necessary. They terrorized villages, stole from the poor, and brutalized any who held information.

Tyson’s sword cut a clean path through the men. They never stood a chance.

He didn’t slow even as his legs grew heavy. Using that amount of magic weakened him after his recent injuries.

He curled his fingers tighter around the hilt of his sword and pushed through hanging branches, stumbling over a fallen tree.

He didn’t slow until he caught sight of more guards surrounding a small figure in a hood. She shifted from foot to foot, never lowering her bow.

“Try to come closer.” She turned to aim the arrow at a guard behind her. “I dare you.”

The four guards advanced as one, and the Hood danced between them, dodging arcs of their swords. She released an arrow, striking one of the guards in the neck. She nocked a new one before he’d even collapsed.

The guard in front lunged toward her, and she bent backward. The sword skimmed the front of her tunic, missing her body entirely. When she straightened, she wasted no time in pulling another arrow free and ramming it under the guard’s chin.

Two more.

Tyson reached her as she fought one guard. The second jumped for her, his sword almost reaching her back before Ty’s blade blocked it.

Tyson kicked his foot out, catching the man in the stomach. He grunted, but didn’t fall. All sound from the other fight ceased as Tyson continued to fight off the man in front of him. Their blades locked together.

“I know you, Prince,” the guard growled. “Why do you protect this whore?”

Anger burned through Tyson, and his magic swirled in his fingertips. Water rose from the earth, and the guard’s eyes widened seconds before a torrent of water flooded his throat. He coughed and sputtered, dropping his sword.

Tyson release the last of his magic, and the guard crumbled to the ground.

A voice sounded behind Tyson. “You drowned him.”

Tyson’s shoulders dropped as the energy drained from him. He turned toward the Hood, the shadows still hiding her face. But he knew her. He’d always known her.

He crossed the space between them in three strides and pushed back her hood.

Amalie’s wide eyes greeted him, and relief flooded his mind. She was safe.

“Ty,” she whispered. “I’m—”

He cut off her words by crushing his lips to hers. She stilled for only a moment before gripping his shoulders and spinning him so his back hit the nearest tree.

Adrenaline raced through him, and he remembered Amalie’s every dip, every curve. The shape of her lips had once been burned into his mind. He’d tried so hard to forget, but he realized in that moment, there was no forgetting Amalie Leroy.

She gave him life.

He pressed his palms against the rough bark of the tree and rested his forehead against hers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ty,” she breathed. “Your mother sent you here to hunt me down.”

He wished he could erase every bit of pain in her eyes. “You had to know I’d have protected you. Always.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and he wiped it away before kissing her once again. This time, he took it slow, soaking in every emotion she brought out in him.

She put a hand to his chest and pushed him away with a shake of her head. “Don’t you get it, Ty? I can protect myself now. I needed you once, and you didn’t come.” She brushed past him, but he grabbed her arm.

“Ames, you forced me to leave. I didn’t have a choice.”

She pulled her arm free. “And when I called for you? When I sent John with the letter? What then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ames, you know me.”

She stepped away. “I thought I did once. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Her feet crashed through leaves and sticks as she widened the distance between them until Tyson couldn’t see her anymore. He leaned back against the tree and rested a finger against his lips.

19

Two Years Ago

Death came calling as Amalie thrashed her head from side to side. Pain ripped through her, and she knew her end was near. At least the child was now free of its mother’s ailing body. A healthy girl she couldn’t bring herself to name.

She thought she could ignore the child growing inside her, that her life as the Hood didn’t have to end.

She was wrong. It wasn’t only the Hood who would disappear from Gaule, but Amalie Leroy as well. Would anyone mourn the daughter of a traitor, the sister of a traitor?

“They’re all gone.” Tears blurred her vision as a cough shook her chest.

“Who, Ames?” Tuck knelt beside her, gripping her hand. “Who is gone?”

“My father. My sister.” She sucked in a breath, feeling it burn in her lungs. “Tyson.”

Tuck shook his head. “Tyson is coming. He’ll be here.”

Each word was a struggle. “Shouldn’t…” She took a short breath. “Have sent letter.”

Tuck bowed his head. “Amalie, Tyson loves you. He’ll be here.”

Six months ago, she’d forced the man she loved to return to Bela. He’d fought for her, but she couldn’t let him become involved in what she saw as her future. The life of an outlaw was not something one wished on the ones they loved. He hadn’t seen it then, but she’d done it for him.

At the time, she didn’t know of their child.

But now she was weak. In her final moments, she needed him. The burden she’d place on Tyson by allowing him to come was one she knew he’d accept. Especially after the letter she’d sent John to deliver begging Tyson to return to her. She told him of the child, but not her illness.

Tuck jumped to his feet as John burst into the room. “Is he with you?”

John fell to his knees at Amalie’s bedside, and his eyes scanned her face. “I was so worried I’d be too late.” He buried his face in her shoulder. “I love you, Amalie.”

She attempted a smile as he lifted his face and placed a kiss on her forehead.

Tuck gripped John’s shoulder and pulled him up. “Where is he?”

Amalie had seen despair many times before, but when John looked to her with glassy eyes, she knew the words he wanted to say. She’d never imagined silence could break her more than her failing body had.

“He didn’t come,” she rasped.

John shook his head. “I delivered the letter, but he would not return to Gaule.”

She bit her lip to still its quivering and nodded. “Then I am ready.”

“No, Ames.” John pointed to the door. “I retrieved something better than Tyson Durand.”

A caramel skinned young woman stepped from the shadows of the doorway. Candlelight lit her corkscrew curls.

“I know you.” Amalie tried to push herself up, but failed.

“I am Maiya.” The girl smiled.

The Draconian healer. Amalie’s eyes widened. She’d taken Alexandre Durand to Maiya and her father when he suffered a curse. The Draconians had magic, but not that of the Belaens. Theirs was a prized healing power.

John moved out of the way to allow Maiya near the bed.

Maiya pulled a knife free of her belt and cut away the fabric of Amalie’s tunic. She stopped when the skin just below Amalie’s neck was exposed.

Amalie held her breath as Maiya placed her palms on the bared skin. After a moment where nothing happened, warmth seeped into Amalie, chasing the chill away. It spread down her chest, easing Amalie’s breathing before attacking the pain in her lower abdomen. Amalie’s skin buzzed with the power.

She’d spent many years in the Draconian war surrounded by those with magic in their blood, but she’d never experienced it for herself. She’d never felt as if it was a part of her.

In the moments after Tyson Durand broke her heart for the last time, she finally understood him. The magic was everything.

After a while, Maiya pulled her hands back, her chest heaving from the exertion. She wiped sweat from her eyes. “You will live Amalie, but you will remain weak for some time. My magic used your own body’s energy to heal. Eventually, you will be whole.”

When death comes, it is supposed to take you away from the pain of life. It’s supposed to be unbeatable. Amalie had longed for the relief of death.

Worse than dying was being forced to live.

In the end, Tyson never came. But a dying girl sent that letter. Amalie Leroy grew weak in her final moments.

The Hood was her strength. That identity was all that mattered now. One of the maids entered the room holding a baby girl that could have no place in that world.

Amalie turned her face away. “Take her. Please.” In order to protect the child, she had to let her go.

* * *

Present

Amalie threw her bow on the table as she entered her sitting room. Why did Tyson have to kiss her? She wanted to hate him, needed to hate him.

Yet, being that close to him, felt just as it had before. He was her family, once. Her whole world. Legally, he was still her husband. Practically, he was the man sent to arrest her.

And then there was Anders. She cursed as she poured a cup of wine. After taking a sip, she slammed the cup down. Burgundy liquid splashed over the sides, but she didn’t care. None of it mattered anymore. Not her house or the damn estate.

Even her mission as the Hood seemed to be ending. Could she continue while the queen kept sending her people in search of a criminal? They already knew the Hood operated on her lands. How long would it be before they connected her to the outlaw?

“It was a trap,” she growled before picking up her cup and chugging the rest of the wine. “A damn trap.” Anger burned through her, and she hurled her empty cup against the wall before ripping the hood from her head and dropping it to the ground. She stomped back into the corridor and went in search of Tuck, finding him outside the barracks.

“How’s Will?” She’d calmed enough to hide her anger.

“Lucky the wound wasn’t deep.” Tuck ran a tired hand through his hair. “Edmund brought him back, and Maiya has tended his injury.”

“Good, what of the others?”

“Cameron awaits orders. Do you want me to send for John as well?”

She considered that for a moment. Did she trust John after what he’d done to Ty? Should she care about what happened to Ty? John protected her with every breath he took… but he was unpredictable. She shook her head. “No. We fell into Anders’ trap, and he is still a danger. We don’t want to make contact. Tell Cameron to assign a watch to Anders for the duration of his time here. He’ll know he’s being watched so we must be careful he can’t connect them to us here at the estate. Cam is to only use men from the forest, not those who also serve here. Send our guards to the forest instead. There are men to bury.”

Tuck nodded and moved to walk away.

“Tuck,” she called one final time.

He turned.

“Has Tyson returned yet?”

He dipped his head. “I’m sorry, Amalie. He has not.”

She gestured for him to go before entering the barracks to check on Will. Where would Tyson have gone in the middle of the night? She tried not to worry that something happened to him, but worrying was part of who she was.

She’d always fear for those she cared about and despite all desire to stop, she cared about the prince.

20

Tyson knew he shouldn’t return to the woods where the outlaws lived. There would be no warm welcome for a prince among thieves in the middle of the night.

The criminal who escaped his mother’s death sentence had things to answer for.

The small huts they called home came into view in the middle of a clearing. No candles burned at this hour. Some of these men and women would be following Anders no doubt, but there was one Tyson hoped was home.

It was time they faced each other. Despite still being weak from using so much magic, the thought of facing John Little didn’t frighten him. Tyson had confronted many worse people in his life.

He barely saw anything else as he made his way to John’s home and slammed his heavy boot into the door. Wood splintered. He kicked again, and the roughly built door burst inward.

Tyson stood in the doorway, his chest heaving as John scrambled from his bed, a long knife in hand.

“What do you want, Prince?”

Tyson stepped forward, drawing his own blade. Blood from the guards he’d slain coated the steel. John’s eyes flicked from the blood to Tyson and narrowed. “What have you done?”

Tyson glanced at the blade as if he hadn’t noticed its state. The silver light made it shine. “I protected her.” He didn’t need to say who he meant.

John swallowed. “Please, tell me what has happened. Is she okay? Is that why you’ve come?”

The fear in John’s eyes matched his own. “You’re in love with her.”

John swallowed but didn’t respond.

Tyson advanced and knocked John’s knife out of his grasp with a flick of his sword. He closed the remaining distance, his eyes wild, and lifted the blade to press the tip against John’s chest. “Years ago, something happened to Amalie. She thinks things of me that are not true. You will tell me the truth.” He gestured back to the bed with his sword. “Sit.”

John lowered himself, never once taking his eyes from Tyson.

“Speak,” Tyson ordered. He lowered his sword and dropped into a chair near the bed. While waiting for John to find the words, he lit the candle on the table beside him, bathing the small room in its orange glow.

John sighed. “You were never supposed to return.”

“Why? Because of Amalie’s mission as the Hood?”

John’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know. Are you going to arrest her and take her to your mother?”

Tyson leaned forward against the hilt of his sword as he dug its tip into the dirt floor. He hadn’t considered what any of this meant. His mind still couldn’t grasp that the shy girl he fell in love with was now one of the kingdom’s greatest outlaws. She must have known where Simon was this entire time. She’d lied and broken laws.

But the thought of watching her dangle from a noose stole every bit of life from his bones. No, just as he’d said to her, he would protect her even if it meant defying his mother.

“If I answer your question…” Tyson fixed his eyes on John. “Will you answer mine?”

John only nodded.

Tyson sighed. “Amalie is safe from me, but this night, one of my mother’s most ruthless captains almost ensnared her.”

John shot to his feet. “I must help her.”

Tyson scowled. “Sit down, man. If she wanted you, she’d have sent for you. Amalie is fine.”

John’s eyes rested on the bloody sword again. “You killed your mother’s men? For the Hood?”

“Make no mistake, John Little. Not every royal guard who comes through these parts is loyal to the queen. I know what you all think of her, but my orders were to bring the Hood in alive and find the guard who’d been abducted. The men who came tonight wanted the Hood dead. That was the captain’s doing. If we are going to protect Amalie, we can’t be trying to beat each other bloody at every opportunity.”

John’s shoulders dropped. “I’ll do anything.”

“I have answered your question, now I need the truth. Amalie claims I didn’t come for her when she asked and somehow I know you were involved.”

“I’ll tell you, but I don’t want you holding a sword while I do.”

Tyson considered him for a moment before setting his sword aside. “I’m waiting.”

John sighed. “Amalie was sick. We thought she was dying. She…” He squeezed his eyes shut as if the words hurt to say. “She wanted you there… in the end. She sent me to Bela with a letter.”

“I received no letter.” Tyson crossed his arms over his chest, his hatred for the man before him making it hard to sit still.

“I know.” John opened his eyes and fixed them on Tyson. “I was in the village in Bela, but couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give it to you. Amalie was no longer yours.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide,” he growled.

“No.” John shifted his eyes away. “It wasn’t. When I made my decision and was preparing to leave, I met a young healer who claimed she could help.”

“Maiya.”

John nodded. “She returned to Gaule with me and saved Amalie’s life.”

“I should slit your throat, John Little.” Anger burned through him, pulling his magic to the surface. “I should drown you right where you sit. You say you want what’s best for Amalie, but you do not listen to her.” An image of Amalie on her deathbed thinking Tyson refused to see her one last time nearly broke him. All her anger and hatred over the last couple years suddenly made sense. “You say she wasn’t mine, and you’re right. Amalie belongs to no man. She has her own mind, her own wishes, and she…”

She thought he’d abandoned her.

He’d broken her.

He lunged for John, wrapping his hands around the other man’s throat. “She needed me,” he yelled. Amalie had no family left who loved her as he had. She wasn’t accepted in noble circles or palace drawing rooms. She’d only had him. “How could you do that to her?”

John choked, trying to breathe. “She was dying.”

John’s grip on Tyson’s arms weakened, and he sagged back on the bed. Tyson released him and fell away, sense returning in full force. Did he kill him? He watched with bated breath until John’s chest rose and fell. Only unconscious.

Tyson burst from the house into the fresh air, gasping for breath. He wiped a hand across his face as a few others stepped from their homes, awakened by the commotion.

Tyson didn’t spare one glance for them as he took off running through the trees. He had to get to her, to tell her she was wrong. That if he’d gotten the letter, he wouldn’t have wasted a single second in coming for her. Not even La Dame could have stopped him.

By the time he made it back to the estate, dawn had thrown colors across the sky, lighting up the dark.

He knew his tired body wouldn’t be able to rest, but the estate slept. He passed the guards and entered the great house where he ran into Tuck outside the hall.

Relief washed over Tuck’s face. “You’ve returned. We’ve been worried. The village and the woods are not safe for the Prince of Gaule. Especially with guards roaming the streets tonight.”

Tyson stopped in front of his old friend. “Tell me, Tuck, were you more worried about the guards finding me or Amalie’s own people? Are they the sort to hurt a prince?”

The grimace flashing across Tuck’s face was all the answer he needed. The Hood was considered a danger not only for the events she caused, but for the company she kept. The rumors hadn’t gotten that wrong. How could Amalie believe in what she was doing while she consorted with such people? With thieves and murderers.

Tyson turned away from Tuck in disgust. He’d stormed into the house wanting to confront Amalie about everything John told him. Wanting her to know the truth. But maybe the truth would make no difference.

Tuck gripped his arm, holding him in place. “She’s been waiting up for your return all night.”

Those words stopped Tyson. Amalie said she no longer knew him. She said she didn’t want him. But she still cared. That much was in her very being. It was who she was. Some of the anger he felt toward Tuck dissipated.

“Where is she?”

“Her father’s hall.”

Tyson reeled back. When he’d lived here with Amalie, she’d closed off the large room her father had used to meet with his people. She’d claimed too much wrong happened there. He’d taken advantage of his people, plotted against his king.

“Do you need me to show you the way?” Tuck asked.

Tyson shook his head. “I know this estate almost as much as I know my own home in Bela.”

Tuck released him. “Just… Ty… Amalie tries to be strong. She’s a proud woman. These last few years have changed her, but I still see glimpses of the girl who arrived at my door wanting to marry the man she loved.”

“Thanks, Tuck.” Tyson patted his shoulder. “You’ve been there for her when I couldn’t. She doesn’t think she needs anyone, but we all do. I’m glad she’s had you.”

Lord Leroy’s hall lay at the far end of the estate. Two enormous carved mahogany doors marked the entrance. They usually sat locked, the room only a remnant of the long-dead ideals of a traitor.

Now, one door sat cracked open. Tyson gripped the cold iron handle and pulled it far enough to slip through. Darkness shrouded the room save for a single lit torch near the front, illuminating a wooden chair with lions carved into each arm and a girl sitting in it with her face in her hands and her back impossibly still.

The flicker of the light danced along her ornate purple threaded gown and ivory skin. At the sound of the door closing, she jerked her head up.

She jumped from the chair, but then seemed to remember their current circumstances and sat back down. “I’m glad to see you’ve come back safely, your Highness.”

Tyson took a tentative step forward. “I didn’t expect to find you in here, Amalie.”

A harsh laugh pushed past her lips. “Isn’t this where all traitors belong?” She ran her hands along the arms of the chair, feeling each groove as if making them her own.

“You’re not a traitor, Ames.”

“Whatever you want to call me. Outlaw. Criminal. Fraud. The facts are the same. I’m betraying Gaule, betraying your mother. I kept her most trusted man captive in my household.”

“You were desperate, Ames.”

She shook her head. “My mind was clear. I made each decision. And do you know why we can’t be together, Tyson?”

He shook his head, letting her speak.

“Because if I had to do it again, I’d do nothing different. This is who I am. I am my father’s daughter.”

“I don’t believe that for one second.”

She sighed. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. Gaule will soon tire of their masked vigilante. They will turn on me as their villages and their homes are searched by the queen’s men.”

“I’ll protect you.”

Her lips drew down. “Have you forgotten our conversation already, Ty? You and I cannot be together. I’m sorry if that causes you pain. It was never my intention.”

“You’re wrong.” He walked forward until he entered the circle of light and looked down into her tired eyes. “I never got your letter, Ames. John… he didn’t bring it to me. I would have come for you. I would have done anything for you.”

Her expression didn’t change at his news. “Like I said, I’m sorry if this causes you pain-”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

She studied him for a moment, her eyes glassing over. “I’m sorry to cause you pain.”

“Stop saying that!”

“What would you like me to say, Tyson?”

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “That you love me. That you know how much I love you.”

She closed her eyes, one tear escaping. “You think you know everything. Every reason. Every feeling. But you don’t. Not even close. The Hood was not my biggest secret, Ty. Not from you. But you’ll get no answers here. Like I said, I’m sorry to cause you pain.”

Tyson took a step back. “That’s it then? That’s the end?”

She wiped away her tears and met his gaze. “That’s the thing about this life, Tyson. Endings are inevitable.”

21

The problem with allowing cracks to remain in one’s heart was that eventually they widened. And one day, they’d be large enough to swallow a person whole.

Tyson had allowed Amalie to remain in his heart as a crack, as damage that had never been repaired. And now, she’d broken him wide open.

But she wasn’t the only one.

He burst into Edmund’s room, slamming the door open without knocking.

Edmund lay sprawled on top of the thick furs. He didn’t wake.

Tyson threw his hand out toward a water pitcher on the table at the far side of the room. The clear fluid rose into the air before sailing across and dropping on Edmund’s head.

He sputtered awake. “What in La Dame’s name do you think you’re doing?” He flicked wet hair out of his eyes. “Oh, let me guess. You tripped and your magic just fell out.” He sat up. “Well, come on. Don’t tell me you’re out of power now.”

Tyson curled his fingers, and the water drained from Edmund’s hair and shirt until they looked as dry as they had before.

Edmund smiled, all tiredness fading from his face. “Good. Now tell me what has your knickers in a twist.”

“How long have you known?” He huffed out a breath. When Edmund didn’t respond, he stepped closer to the bed. “Dammit, man! I have been searching for the Hood for weeks now, planning to bring him to my mother. And it isn’t even a him.” He dropped into the chair near the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Why didn’t Edmund stop Tyson from letting himself hope again?

Edmund pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He shoved the blanket from his naked body, but Tyson barely noticed. All he could see were Amalie’s eyes the moment she’d walked away from him. Pain. Years of pain. He’d caused every bit of it. He wanted to use every ounce of his magic on John for what he did, but he thought of everything Etta taught him.

The people of Gaule feared magic users because of what they could do to them. No matter Tyson’s anger, he refused to be the monster they wanted him to be.

The monster Amalie would see him as.

She had secrets still, but she didn’t trust him and that hurt worst of all.

Edmund scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “If you’re going to wake me at such an hour, the least you can do is stop ogling me and fetch me my clothes.”

Red crept up Tyson’s neck to the tips of his ears as he realized his gaze had been directed Edmund’s way, even though his mind focused on the girl he couldn’t quite figure out. He averted his eyes before standing and walking to where Edmund’s trousers hung on a peg on the wall. He tossed them to his friend and faced him once again when he was partially dressed. “No more stalling, Edmund. I want answers and you’re the only one who can give them to me.”

Edmund settled back onto his bed and studied him for a moment. “The hanging.”

“What?” Tyson leaned forward.

“John’s hanging. That was when I found out about Amalie. I still don’t understand everything that went on that day, but I would guess Tuck did something to John when he performed his last rites. Then Amalie shot him and he appeared to die. I caught Amalie sneaking from a building in the village. That was when I knew.”

Tyson shook his head. “All this time, I’ve questioned villagers and slept under Amalie’s roof, and you’ve known she was the Hood?” Had everyone lied to him? Another thought struck him. “You didn’t trust me. Neither of you did. I thought… Never mind what I thought. I was obviously wrong.” He stood and made it to the door before Edmund called him back.

“What did you think, Ty?”

Tyson paused with his fingers wrapped around the handle. “My entire life, I felt out of place. The man who raised me held no love for me. My mother tried as best she could, but she lived in a kingdom that hated the magic inside me. My true father never claimed me. And my siblings… Alex always had you. I was envious for years because I never had that person in my life who’d do anything for me.”

Edmund opened his mouth to speak but shut it when Tyson turned and pinned him with angry eyes.

“It’s been years since I felt like that. Since I didn’t know my place. Because I had you now and Etta and Alex. Even when I lost Amalie, you were there. I trusted you with everything.” He rubbed the back of his neck and studied the floor. “This is big, Edmund. The woman I still love with every bit of my soul is the outlaw I’ve been hunting.” He lifted his eyes once more. “And my best friend let me. I don’t know what to do with this, with any of it.”

He pushed out a long breath. “I have to ask you a question I know you know the answer to. I can move past most of this eventually, Edmund, but not Simon. You know where he is, and I need you to tell me.”

Edmund scrambled from the bed and crossed the room, meeting Tyson’s gaze unflinchingly. Regret shone in his eyes, but he didn’t voice it. There were no sorries that could fix what had broken inside Tyson. Nothing that could erase the fact that Edmund lied to him, deceived him. That Amalie broke them instead of just voicing her actions, her desires.

But what would Tyson have done? If she’d told him back then that she felt called to serve the people as a renowned criminal, would he have accepted it? Loved her anyway?

He didn’t know the answers to his own questions, but Edmund’s next words sliced through him.

“Simon is here.”

Tyson sucked in a breath. “He’s in the Leroy estate?” Right under his nose? Ty accepted this mission to find his mother’s guard, but Simon was more than that. He’d been a friend to Tyson and an ally to Etta.

“Show me.”

Edmund brushed past Tyson and pulled open the door without bothering to put on a tunic. His blonde hair fell in a mane about his shoulders, wild and unkempt.

Tyson ran a hand over his tired face, knowing he must look rough after a night of no sleep. Only servants roamed the halls at the early hour but as they turned into a corridor on the other side of the estate, four guards came into view.

Simon was in there. Tyson was sure of it.

He leaned close to Edmund, forgetting for a moment the chasm between them. “Does Amalie think those guards could overcome Simon?”

One corner of Edmund’s mouth curved up. “Most people underestimate magic until it’s in front of them.”

Tyson straightened before facing the guards. If Simon was still here, it was because he’d chosen not to break free, not because they’d prevented his escape. Not even the illustrious Hood could hold a magic man with the strength of Simon.

The guards nodded to Edmund and Tyson narrowed his eyes. How often had his friend visited Simon and failed to mention it?

One of the armored men pushed open the door. The sight that greeted Tyson sent relief exploding through his every bone, every organ. He’d spent weeks worrying about Simon, thinking the guard was dead or worse.

Instead, his friend looked up from a chair in front of a roaring fire and paused with a china cup tilted against his lips. He lowered it and a smile spread across his face.

“Si.” Tyson stumbled into the room until he stood in front of his mother’s guard. “You’re okay.”

Simon set aside his tea and stood. “If you’re here, I assume that means you know.”

Tyson didn’t have time to consider Simon’s words before he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his old friend.

A chuckle rumbled through Simon. “It’s good to see you too, my prince.”

Tyson pulled back, gripping Simon’s upper arms in his large hands. “I wasn’t sure we’d meet again.” Some of the anger and the hurt he’d been feeling since the previous night loosened in his gut. He’d succeeded in his mission and could send Simon home to his mother—even if he didn’t capture the Hood.

“Lady Leroy has been a gracious hostess.”

Tyson released him and turned back to Edmund. “You may leave.”

“Ty—” Edmund protested.

Tyson hardened his jaw. “If you’re going to make decisions as if our friendship means little, I can as well. Edmund, I am the prince of both the kingdom you currently stand in and the one you call home. I’ve given you an order. Go. You aren’t needed here.”

Edmund’s shoulders dropped as he gave a slight nod and turned to the door. Tyson didn’t speak again until it shut behind him.

Simon lowered himself back into his chair. “I’ve never known you to be cruel, Tyson.”

Tyson sighed and sank into a chair beside Simon, ignoring his comment. “They’ve kept you here this entire time. Amalie and her men. You’re their prisoner.”

Simon was quiet for a long moment. “I could leave this place any time I wanted to. You know that as well as I do.”

“But Amalie—”

“Spent years around magic folk, including but not limited to you. She’s not quite sure how powerful I am. I see the uncertainty in her eyes. But she knows her men can’t keep me here. I could overpower them easily.”

“Then why are you still here?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting the fire warm his face.

Simon kept his eyes trained on the dancing flames. “Because the moment I’m free, I have a duty to return to your mother. To tell her everything I know. But not just her. I am bound to reveal my knowledge to her guards who now search for the hooded archer we call an outlaw.” He shook his head. “I’m not ready for that burden. I’m not prepared to put Amalie at the mercy of Gaulean law.”

Tyson turned his head to study his friend. He’d always respected Simon, but the man was like no other. He always did what he thought was right, no matter the cost.

“So, for now, you’re a prisoner.”

He nodded and repeated the words. “For now, I’m a prisoner.”

In a prison that couldn’t hold him.

Tyson relaxed back into his chair as exhaustion washed over him. In only a day’s time, everything he thought he knew had changed.

He closed his eyes, imagining the rolling hills of Bela. Etta once told him nothing good happened to a person when they crossed into Gaule. Maybe she was right. A few years ago, he’d imagined he could make a life here. He’d been wrong.

“I miss my nephew.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, and he almost laughed at the mundane nature of them. Here he was with life altering secrets on his tongue, but Viktor pushed all the shadows from his mind.

Simon’s eyes lit as if shining from within. “Etta has a child?”

Tyson nodded. “Viktor. When I left, she hadn’t yet sent the royal birth announcement to foreign kingdoms, but I assume my mother knows by now that she has a grandson.” His lips slanted up. “Edmund and Alex fight over who gets to hold him every time he wakes. One little baby has changed our entire world.”

Simon laughed. “They have a tendency to do that.”

Tyson didn’t bring up his mother’s pregnancy or the fact he knew Simon was the father. Instead, he spoke of home. Of his small house in the village. Of his family. In the years since leaving Amalie behind in Gaule, he hadn’t considered himself happy. But now, as he caught Simon up on life in Bela, he realized he’d been wrong.

Amalie hadn’t broken him.

She hadn’t removed his heart from his body.

He’d gone on loving the family who awaited him back home.

“What are you going to do?” He met Simon’s clear gaze.

They both knew he couldn’t remain a prisoner forever. Not when he had a child coming and a queen to protect. “One of the guards keeping an eye on me is a man named Will.”

Tyson nodded. He knew the man. The Madran mercenary Edmund had carried unconscious back to the estate only the night before.

Simon continued. “If Amalie continues as she has, it ends only with a noose around her neck. Will can get her to Madra where Queen Helena will protect her. As soon as they are gone, I will return to your mother.”

It was a sound plan. Tyson knew Helena Rhodipus. She’d take care of Amalie better than anyone.

He rose from the chair and stuck out his hand. Simon grasped it.

“I assume I’ll see you soon, my friend. With the royal births and the delays in foreign assemblies they’ve caused, there is bound to be a summit of kingdoms.”

Simon released him. “You’re leaving?”

Tyson nodded. “It’s time I return home. Gaule holds too many ghosts for me now.”

As soon as he was back in the hall, he froze. Edmund leaned against the opposite wall waiting for him.

“Are you going to say farewell to Amalie before you scamper away?” Edmund pushed off the wall.

Tyson brushed past him, sighing when Edmund’s steps matched his own. “I’m not welcome here, Edmund.”

“She needs you.”

“No, she doesn’t. Amalie will be safe as soon as she gets to Madra. She has many people she trusts far more than she trusts me, and they can get her on a ship. I do no good by causing her any more pain than I already have.”

“This is bullshit.” Edmund gripped Tyson’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “I’ve thought it was this secret identity of hers keeping you two apart. She was afraid of revealing it to you. But you don’t care about the Hood. I know you don’t.”

“Edmund, just because you’ve found the one man who can put up with you for all of eternity does not make you an expert on relationships, especially mine.” He pulled his arm free.

“But you love her.”

“I will always love Amalie Leroy. It is my curse. Something inside her is broken, and it’s not something I can fix. Loving someone does not come easy for a Leroy, and it’s a task she seems to find impossible. I don’t think there’s a single person in the six kingdoms she’d love more than her mission.” He began walking again. “It’s time I find something else to wish for in this life.”

Edmund didn’t follow him, but his voice echoed off the stone ceilings. “I’ve never known you to give up, Tyson Durand.”

Tysons turned to Edmund one final time. “It is not giving up to accept defeat, my friend. It is growing up.”

Tyson collected his belongings from his room, his eyes scanning the familiar walls. When he’d arrived, he planned to arrest the Hood once he discovered the outlaw’s identity. Amalie had known why he was here and invited him to stay anyway. She’d willingly brought her would-be pursuer into her home.

He might never know her reasoning, but he’d never forget these last few weeks with her. Even as she hated him, being near her gave him a sense of peace he’d lacked these last few years. But that was gone now as he stood like a stranger inside those walls.

When he arrived in the courtyard, it surprised him to see Edmund standing with their horses. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Edmund had come with him to Gaule in the first place, but he didn’t know where they stood. So many lies rested between them now.

Edmund smiled. “You didn’t think I’d let you leave without me, did you?”

Tyson ran a hand down his horse’s soft nose. “I never know what you’ll do, Edmund.”

Edmund’s face pinched in pain. “Look, Ty, I’m sorry. I should have told you. You deserved honesty from me.”

Tyson sighed and tied his bag and sword to the saddle. “I know Etta asked you to accompany me. But, Edmund, I’m not any less capable than you or my sister or brother.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

“Then you need to stop treating me like it.” He hauled himself into the saddle and nudged the horse around.

“I can do that.” He paused. “I bid adieu to Amalie for both of us. She wished us well and said she will miss our presence in her house.”

Tyson sighed. “No she didn’t.”

Edmund laughed. “Well, she did say she wished us safety on the road.” He coughed and lowered his voice. “And that it was about time we left them in peace.”

“That sounds more like her.” Tyson gripped the reins in one hand and kicked his heels to take off through the open gates.

His mother would forgive him for not going back to the palace since Simon would return to her. That was all she’d wanted from this mission. And Ty wouldn’t feel better until he set foot in Bela once more. Until he sat with his sister and looked into the innocent eyes of his nephew. Eyes that had yet to see how cruel the world could be. He had a heart that had yet to be broken and a mind that had yet to be filled with falsehoods.

Edmund pulled his horse up beside Tyson. “Do you think Viktor will remember me?”

“He’s a baby,” Tyson deadpanned.

“Yes.” Edmund scratched his jaw, deep in thought. “But that’s not what I asked. Will he remember me? Or has Alex stolen him.”

Tyson laughed. “You realize Alex is his father, right?”

Edmund waved a hand. “That doesn’t matter. Kids like their uncles better, anyway. I hated my own father so there’s still time for me to win Viktor’s loyalty.”

Leave it to Edmund to make Tyson smile when he’d thought that impossible. “It’s not a competition, Edmund. And you shouldn’t want Viktor to love you more than his own father.”

“It’s not like it’ll be hard. Alex is so… Alex.”

“That’s the king of Bela and my brother you’re speaking of.” Tyson suppressed his grin. “Have some respect. Besides, the kid will be smart enough to love his Uncle Tyson more than both of you.”

Edmund sighed. “You’re right. I didn’t take pity into account. Pity love is stronger than awesome Uncle Edmund love.”

Tyson reached over and shoved Edmund. The blonde giant pretended to tilt from his horse before righting himself. “Violence is mean,” he grumbled.

“Says the best swordsman in both Gaule and Bela.”

Edmund shrugged. “Someone has to protect you.”

Tyson tried to push him again, but Edmund kicked his heels and cantered through the village. They reached the paths that would take them from the busy streets into the rolling countryside. The nearest village was half a day’s ride away, but they wouldn’t enter it. The people of Gaule were no longer theirs.

Both Tyson and Edmund had grown up in the kingdom they were so desperate to be rid of. Neither had been accepted for who they were. Both wore the revelations of their pasts like armor protecting them from the memories.

Tyson glanced back at where the estate walls rose above the rest, seeing it one final time. He didn’t plan on returning. He’d still see his mother on her royal visits to Bela, and he loved her, but Amalie was the final string tying him to Gaule. Now that it had been cut, there was nothing left for him but pain.

With a shake of his head, he left the village behind, hoping one day it would get easier. That one day, he wouldn’t miss the love of his life, the most important part of his childhood. That he could eventually forgive Amalie for breaking them.

22

Cold seeped into Amalie’s bones as she walked the halls of her seemingly empty estate. In truth, people surrounded her. Guards. Maids. Cooks.

And Tuck. He caught up to her, but she didn’t slow. Continuing to move was the only way to keep the ice from freezing her entirely.

“Just say it, Tuck.” She pulled her chestnut hair over one shoulder, weaving her fingers through the strands.

“Tyson and Edmund left. One of the servants brought the matter to me. I then questioned the stable lads and guards at the gate. They rode out early this morning.”

She’d known. Edmund had wished her well before leaving, but even before that, her conversation with Tyson in the early hours of the morning had the distinct feel of finality to it.

She wouldn’t see Tyson again. She’d pushed him away so even the most loyal man Gaule had ever seen would leave her behind. For good this time.

She thought over his words. He hadn’t known. He could have been lying, but the rational part of her knew Ty would never lie like that, not to her.

John, on the other hand… She couldn’t even muster up the anger necessary to confront her oldest friend. As she considered why, the reason became obvious. John’s betrayal didn’t surprise her. He’d trained her, taught her everything she knew. He’d created the mission she now called her own.

But he’d always done what he wanted. For years, she kept a careful eye on him during raids, for fear he would harm the waggoneers and traders. The night she’d help him escape his cell was forever implanted into her mind. The way he killed effortlessly when anyone got in his way.

For the first time, she truly considered the men who claimed complete loyalty to her. They protected her, sure. They helped the people of the village. But they didn’t operate on the same level of morality as she did.

And she’d unleashed them on Gaule. She’d trained them to take up the mantle. Told them they were noble in their actions.

The mission couldn’t change who they were.

It couldn’t make John any more honest. Any more true.

He’d kept Tyson from her in the weakest moment of her life. At a time when she’d needed him. Maybe if Ty had come, she wouldn’t have given up her child. Maybe strangers wouldn’t be raising a little girl who was in constant danger just because of who her mother was.

If anyone ever found out the Hood’s identity… that was why Amalie played in the shadows instead of giving the people a face of hope.

“Ames.” Tuck took her elbow and pulled her to a stop. “You need to talk to me.”

“Why?” She lifted her eyes to his. “What about any of this requires words? They’re gone. John deceived me. My mission is…” She sagged against the wall. “It’s all over, Tuck. I can’t keep Simon here. The queen will soon know who I am. How am I to continue then?”

Tuck bent his neck to peer into her face. “The Hood is not who you are, Amalie.”

“What if I can’t be anything else?” She shook her head. “What am I supposed to do? I’m not a lady of court.” She ran a hand over the deep purple gown that fit her like a second skin she wanted to shed. “These dresses are no more who I am than that hood.”

“What is it about you people thinking your station in life has anything to do with who you are?”

“You people?” She pushed away from the wall.

He took a step back. “Those born into a life of titles and duties know nothing of life outside those bonds. I grew up in a village where the people had little. Their lives comprised working the same job every day to put food into their children’s mouths. They didn’t try to save the world or even leave their little corner of it. Yet, they had lives just as big, just as important as yours.”

“What about you?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You left your village to join this mission. It’s part of you as well.”

He shook his head. “I am a part of it, but it has never been part of me. Do you want to know what I’m made of? It isn’t noble duties or grand adventures. Inside me exists every single person I have loved in my life. They make up who I am. So, Amalie Leroy, you are a part of me, but your hood never has been.”

His words struck Amalie, taking all the air from her lungs as she imagined Tyson stealing away with a part of her. The cold intensified until she could barely feel anything at all.

Tuck wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “There’s still time to get him back.”

She shook her head. “I’ve done so many unforgiveable things in the name of the Hood. I don’t know how to be the woman he loved anymore.”

Tuck squeezed her against his side. “You don’t have to be her, Amalie. Maybe the real you is somewhere between the old and the new. Let Tyson grow to love her.”

She peered up at him. He’d only been part of her life for a few short years, but Tuck was the closest thing to family she’d had other than Tyson. The love she felt for him was different, but no less true. There was nothing romantic about her feelings as she said, “I love you too, you know.”

He smiled. “Good. Because you and I are a pair, Ames. I’ll follow you anywhere. Even to Madra if that’s where you want to go.”

Footsteps sounded against the stone, breaking them from their conversation. Will rushed toward them.

Amalie met him halfway. “You’re still recovering, Will. You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Before he could respond, Maiya joined them in the hall. Amalie looked between the frightened expressions on both their faces.

“What has happened?” Tuck asked.

Will swallowed. “Captain Anders. He knows.”

“He knows?” The ice in Amalie’s veins thawed as fire raged inside her. “About what?” But she already knew the answer.

“John arrived here only minutes ago. He told us Caldon is gone. His smithy has been closed up and they don’t think he’s coming back.”

The town blacksmith, Caldon, knew everything. He kept a room in the back of his shop for the Hood and her people to meet. And he’d accompanied Tuck’s sister and her husband as they returned to their village with a new child they promised to keep safe.

If Caldon had left town… “He told the captain everything, didn’t he?”

Will looked to Maiya. She cleared her throat. “We don’t believe he revealed your identity because you would already be in chains if he had. But there are other secrets Caldon held.” He paused for a moment. “A few people in the village reported Caldon buying supplies this morning with gold coins instead of on credit.”

“Gold?” Tuck cursed. Gold coins weren’t often seen in the poor villages of Gaule. Silver yes, bronze even. Never gold.

“And that is not the worst of it.”

Amalie kept her gaze on the healer, watching her irises shine orange in the candlelight. “Tell me.”

Will flicked his eyes from Tuck to Amalie in hesitation. “Captain Anders and his men have left town as well.”

Amalie took off down the hall. The others followed her. “We have to leave. There is only one place Anders would go after speaking to Caldon. Cal might not have told Anders who I am, but he said enough to show the captain exactly how to draw me out. We make for the border village as soon as we can. Tuck, I need you to ready the horses. The three of you will accompany me. We don’t have time to summon the rest of the men. Tell John to meet me in my rooms.”

“John left, my lady.” Will’s strides matched hers.

Amalie halted. “What do you mean he left?” He would have known exactly what this meant. Even when things were bad between them, she wanted to believe he’d be there for her. Maybe she was wrong.

After everything she’d done for him, he let her down again. But there was someone in the estate who would help.

“Fine.” She turned in the opposite direction. “Forget John, but make haste in preparing everything else. I’ll meet you all in the courtyard.”

They broke off from her path, but she didn’t stop until she was outside a familiar door. The guards opened it for her.

“Simon.” She stepped in. “I need you.”

He rose from his chair. “Amalie, what’s wrong? What has happened?”

“Captain Anders will find my daughter. I can’t let harm come to her.”

Surprise flickered across his face.

“Will you help me?”

He hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and placing a hand on each of her shoulders. “How long of a head start does he have?”

“Only hours.”

He squeezed. “Then we don’t have time to waste.”

The breath she’d been holding expelled from her lungs, and her shoulders dropped in relief. “Thank you. I—”

Simon released her. “There will be time for us to talk on the way, Amalie. We must leave.”

She nodded and walked back into the hall. The guards followed them to her room to gather her bow and then to the courtyard where a dozen men lingered.

She sucked in a breath. “What is this?”

Tuck appeared at her side. “Word of what has happened traveled through the barracks. All those who are not needed to guard the estate have decided to come.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked over her men. These were not the criminals of the woods, but the simple villagers she’d raised up and trained. Some, she’d known most of her life.

Will led her horse forward. “We’re with you, Amalie.”

Tuck eyed Simon. “Are you sure about him, Ames? You’ve kept him prisoner. How do you know he won’t turn on us as soon as we set him free?”

She turned to her friend. “Because… Simon is better than me. And because he can’t go back to the palace and tell the queen he didn’t do everything in his power to save her granddaughter.”

“Captain Anders is a queen’s man too. Won’t he want to bring the girl to her?” one of her men asked.

Amalie shook her head. “Anders doesn’t know who the child’s father is. He only knows her mother is the Hood. If he knew my identity, he wouldn’t bother going after the child. He’d come for me.”

She stepped into the stirrup and swung her leg over her horse. “I don’t know what the captain is planning. All I know is we’ll be walking into a trap. I want to say I can’t ask any of you to venture into the trap with me, but I’m too selfish. I’m not any kind of mother, but I have to save her. I need to.” She glanced to Tuck, remembering his words. She wasn’t made of the missions she undertook, but the people she loved. “My daughter is part of me.”

Tuck placed a hand on her leg. “We’re with you.”

As she rode out into the village with her people at her back, she envisioned Tyson sitting beside her. He didn’t know of the girl, but he’d have loved her with everything he had. “I’m going to save her, Ty,” she whispered. “Anders won’t use her as a pawn. And then maybe one day, she can be part of you too.”

23

Tyson cursed as he bent to examine his horse’s leg. After galloping through the woods, his horse threw a shoe when he tripped over a dip in the path. Tyson should have seen it coming, but he wasn’t paying attention.

Edmund slid down from his horse.

“Vérité would have jumped that on instinct.” Tyson straightened and turned away from the horse.

“No, he would have sent you tumbling off just for the pure pleasure of it.”

Tyson shook his head. Etta’s horse was more human than many actual humans Tyson had met in his life. He protected the Belaen queen with his life. And this horse was no Vérité. “This beast won’t be getting anywhere fast. We’re almost to the next village. Let’s camp here for the night and in the morning, we’ll find a new horse at one of the farms outside the village.”

“Good plan.” Edmund unbuckled his horse’s saddle. “I’m starving, anyway.”

They made quick work of setting up camp as the sun hung low over the trees. They had time left before darkness descended.

The horses drank from a small pond Tyson created with his magic. This wasn’t how he expected the journey to go, but it seemed as if something was trying to keep him from leaving Gaule.

The endless roads winding down through the countryside and into the woods only made home feel farther away. Was it just that morning they left the Leroy estate?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent night’s rest, or a decent meal for that matter. When Edmund held out an apple, Tyson took it and sank his teeth into the hard flesh without tasting it.

Edmund stood and began preparations for a fire to keep the chill from overcoming them in the night. They’d spent many nights together like this. First, when Etta was arrested in Gaule. She’d smuggled both Edmund and Tyson out of the magic-hating palace only to be found by Alex’s men and taken back.

Tyson had been a mess leaving his home for the first time, but it opened an entirely new world for him.

And it solidified the bond between him and Edmund. Sitting in the woods with him held a familiar comfort. They were in it together. He could even forget the lies that got them here.

“Is it weird,” Tyson began. “To have someone waiting for you back home?”

“Estevan?” Edmund sat down again as the fledgling flames flickered before them. He pushed air toward them with his power and they grew. He smiled. “I’m getting used to it. He’s… everything.”

There was a time when Tyson knew how that felt. “I hope you never lose that.”

Edmund’s smile faltered. “Ty, I almost did. We all thought Stev was dead for months. But just because I no longer had him, it didn’t mean I lost him. He was always with me.”

“Because he never gave up on you.”

Edmund shook his head. “He gave up on himself. He let them take him so the rest of us could get away. It took me a long time to forgive him for that.”

“He had good reasons to let you go.”

“Ty…” Edmund sighed. “Have you ever thought Amalie made the choices she has to protect you?”

“Protect me? No. Protect her mission? Maybe.” His magic rose with his anger and he curled his fists to hold it back. It burned through his blood, drawing water from the ground. “She hates me because of the position I was born into.” His power pulsed. “Because my mother dares to hunt down criminals in her own kingdom.” His hands shook until finally his magic broke free, dousing the small flames in water.

Edmund sighed. “That was stupid.”

“I know.” Tyson rubbed weak hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t want to go on living like I have for the past couple of years.”

“Then don’t.”

“That easy, huh?”

“No. None of this is easy. It’s going to take time, but you’ll be okay. And you’re wrong, you know.”

“I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.” Tyson stared at the now soaking logs. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

Edmund sat forward, forcing Tyson to meet his gaze. “You asked me what it felt like to have someone to go home to, but you forget who we are, Ty. Estevan is there, yes, but Bela holds so much more for both of us. Amalie isn’t there. She may never be there. But Alex and Etta are. They wait for us with little Viktor ready to make his uncles forget all about Gaule. We’re a family, Ty. And we’ll get you through this.”

Edmund leaned back on his elbows. “Now, you’ve ruined our fire. Go find some dry brush to make a new one.”

Tyson got to his feet and walked past the horses. Dusk was upon them now, but it wasn’t yet too dark to see. He was bent over, picking up sticks and branches when he heard it. The muffled clop of a horse’s hooves on the forest floor.

Dropping the sticks he’d gathered, he sprinted back to where he’d left Edmund and went straight to his pack. His bow lay on the ground beside it.

Edmund was on his feet before Tyson picked up the bow. “What is it?”

“A rider.” Tyson wrapped his fingers around the smooth wood and knocked an arrow.

Edmund retrieved his sword. “How many?”

“I only counted one.” It made no sense. Bandits traveled Gaule in roving packs. It was even too dangerous on the roads for them. Queen’s guards wouldn’t stray from their units, and the woods were no place for ordinary citizens.

Tyson crouched low behind a tree as the horse walked into their clearing. He lifted his bow and pulled the string back, releasing it quickly. The arrow sailed over top of the horse’s head, missing the rider. A warning shot.

The horse reared back, and it took a moment for the rider to regain control. He pushed back his hood and scanned the trees.

“Tyson,” he bellowed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Recognizing the voice, Tyson met Edmund’s gaze. John Little was the last person he trusted. The last person he wanted to associate with.

“Tyson.” John turned his horse, still searching the trees. “Please.” The desperation in his voice was not something Tyson expected from him. “Amalie needs you.”

At those words, Tyson lowered his bow. If there was one thing both he and John wanted more than anything, it was to protect Amalie.

But she hadn’t wanted his protection anymore.

He stepped from the trees. John’s face relaxed as soon as he saw him.

Edmund revealed himself with a scoff and slid his sword into its scabbard. “As if you could hurt us, criminal.”

Tyson ignored him. “How did you find us?”

“This is the swiftest route to Bela for those who wish to stay off the main roads. I took a chance you wouldn’t want to be seen.” His hands relaxed on the reins. “We don’t have time for distrust or idle chat. Amalie has left for a town near the Draconian border.”

Tyson shrugged. “The border is no longer the danger it once was. In fact, Dracon is probably safer than Gaule. If she wishes to hide there instead of taking ship to Madra, she won’t be found.”

John shook his head. “You don’t understand. She didn’t go there to hide, and the village will be crawling with royal guards.” His eyes danced from Tyson to Edmund. “It’s a trap, and she’s willingly walking in to it.”

Worry sliced through Tyson. “Why would she do that?”

John’s lips pressed into a thin line as he hesitated. “I cannot tell you that. I know you and I will never be allies. I can’t imagine what you must think of me. But all I’ve ever wanted to do is protect my oldest friend. In that, you and I are the same. I know what loving Amalie Leroy feels like. That’s why I know you will come with me. You will show up for her whether she returns your love or not.”

“I…” Tyson opened his mouth and then shut it with a sigh. Amalie had been putting herself in danger for years, and he knew nothing of it. Why would John come to him now? He sighed. Did it matter? Amalie was in danger. As angry as he was at her, he’d still come when she called.

Edmund put a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

Tyson nodded, swallowing the thickness in his throat. “There’s nothing to decide, Edmund. It’s Amalie.”

He patted Tyson’s back. “It’s Amalie.”

Tyson glanced toward his horse. “I’ll need a new ride.”

John nodded. “Come. There’s a farm near here. The woman who runs it has given aid to the Hood before. She will help us.”

Tyson and Edmund saddled their horses and mounted them. It was slow going when his horse couldn’t even trot, and by the time they came upon the patchwork crops, only the sliver of moon lit their path.

The woman was as accommodating as John promised and before long, the three men were racing across open ground, hoping they weren’t too late to make a difference.

24

It took three days to get to the small border town where too many memories lived. Amalie sat on the edge of their camp as dawn streaked across the sky. Behind her, the men and women who’d come to help roused themselves.

She closed her eyes, imagining the last time she’d set foot in the area. She hadn’t been able to stay away like she knew she should have. Only a month after giving her daughter to Tuck’s sister to keep safe, she’d found herself crouching on a rooftop that looked down into a courtyard surrounded by small homes.

The wail of a baby pierced the air moments before a petite woman with honey blonde hair stepped from the house. The bundle in her arms wiggled and Amalie held her breath.

“Hush,” the woman cooed. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with you today, baby girl, but momma needs a bit of quiet.”

Amalie scooted forward to peer over the curved terracotta roof. A tile broke free, tumbling over the edge before crashing into the stone below.

Amalie cursed herself and scrambled backward, but it was too late. Sara glanced up, her eyes finding Amalie’s hiding spot.

“You can come down, my lady.” Her voice sounded tired, but not unkind.

Amalie only hesitated a moment before straightening and walking across the roof to the side where she climbed down the uneven stones jutting from the building. Once in the courtyard, she approached Sara.

“Does my brother know you’re here?” the woman asked.

Amalie shook her head. “I received a summons to the royal palace. Tuck thinks I have obeyed and journeyed there.”

“You’ve come all this way alone?”

“Yes.” She didn’t tell her John waited on the opposite roof, his bow at the ready in case anyone followed them.

Sara nodded, not questioning the woman who’d given up her own daughter. She pushed back the blanket, revealing the child who stopped crying as soon as her eyes fell on Amalie.

As if some forced tugged at her, Amalie stepped forward, needing to see more.

“This is Elayne.” Sara smiled.

“Light,” Amalie whispered. “Her name means light.”

Sara nodded. “We never thought we’d have a child of our own, but she’s been like a light illuminating this dark world.”

A tear fell down Amalie’s face. “It’s perfect.” She reached forward, but then pulled her hand back.

“We call her El.”

Amalie wiped her face. “Hi El. I’m your… I’m a friend.” She leaned down, taking in every feature from the chubby cheeks to dimpled chin. “I’m going to keep you safe. I promise you that.”

A door opened behind them and Amalie turned to see Sara’s husband Ayden walk out, arms crossed over his chest. “You shouldn’t be here, lady Amalie.” He stepped farther into the courtyard. “You need to leave and never come back. For the child’s sake as well as your own. It isn’t safe.”

She nodded, hearing the truth in his words. It would never be safe for El as long as Amalie remained attached. She turned back to the baby and placed one hand on her head. She said nothing, but the child’s eyes found hers, boring into her soul.

Ayden cleared his throat and Amalie pulled her hand back. She ran to the edge of the courtyard and pulled herself back onto the low roof. John joined her seconds later. As she sprinted away, a ghost in the night, her daughter’s cry ripped through her.

She didn’t let herself stop moving, stop widening the distance between them even as every bone in her body bid her to turn back.

A hand landed on Amalie’s shoulder, jerking her from the memory. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes before turning to Tuck.

“Will has returned.” He nodded to where Will and the men who’d accompanied him into the village dismounted.

Straightening from her crouch, she crossed the leaf covered path. Her breath swirled in front of her face in the cool morning air, but she didn’t feel the chill as impatience burned within her.

“Report.” She stopped in front of Will.

Will met her gaze. “They’re here. Hidden, but here. We saw a few guards disguised as villagers entering the house and then leaving. There was no sign of the child or her parents.”

Amalie lifted her eyes to the gray sky, wishing for clarity. “They don’t have them. If they did, they’d be causing such a scene it would be sure to get back to me. The fact that they’re trying to blend in means they’re searching for them.”

Tuck joined them, Simon at his side. “Then there’s only one place they could be.”

She nodded, taking in Will’s confused expression. “We had a plan in place in the event someone ever came for her.” She lifted her voice. “We go in on foot. Leave a few men here with the horses. We don’t want to cause a stir by thundering through the village.”

A clamor of activity sounded behind her as her people gathered what they needed and readied themselves, but Amalie paid attention to none of it. All she saw were the edges of the village. Somewhere in that maze of homes, was a little girl she’d made a promise to.

“I’m coming, El.” A drop of rain hit her cheek and then another. By the time they marched across the marshy ground, the skies opened, sending a torrent of angry tears.

Thunder split the world in two, as if ripping it at the seams and opening a gully inside each of them.

Muddy fields turned to crooked streets. This village had seen much destruction during the war with La Dame. It had once been protected by wards as all of Gaule had been. Once those fell with the death of their creator, magic folk and non fought in the streets, each trying to claim the kingdom for their own.

Tensions still ran high, but most magic folk had long since abandoned the damaged town for the safety of Bela.

They turned off the brick path and onto a dirt road that wound up toward the small abandoned house on the hill overlooking town. This village was a part of the Caron lands, but one of his lesser nobles presided over it. It was forgotten, ignored by the rest of Gaule, which had made it the safest place for El. An ignored village that may as well have been part of Dracon. A feared town where evil had once happened.

A small chapel stood ahead. A place Amalie knew well. It was where Tuck had once performed the ritual tying Tyson and Amalie together as husband and wife. Now, she hoped it protected the fruit of that union.

She motioned her people to spread out along the street. They knew how to blend in. She approached cautiously and pulled open the partially damaged chapel door. Inside, pews lined each side leading up to an altar in the front. Disuse was clear in the dirt covered floor. Amalie walked forward and ran a finger along the dusty golden surface of the altar.

Tuck sighed behind her. “They haven’t had a friar in residence since I left years ago.” Regret rang in his voice.

“It wasn’t your duty to stay when you yearned for more.” She turned back to face him. “Come.” Her eyes traced the footsteps near the far wall. “They’re here.”

Tuck lifted the heavy wood over a staircase hidden at the back of the room, and they descended into the dark cellar.

A man screamed as he ran at them with a short blade glinting in the candlelight. Amalie twisted out of the way moments before the clash of blades reached her ears.

“Ayden,” Tuck grunted, pushing him back. “It’s me.”

Ayden dropped his sword, the steel crashing against the packed dirt floor. “Tuck?”

“It’s me.”

Ayden shrank back against the wall, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Amalie approached him and surprised flashed in his eyes as recognition set in. “My lady?”

“Where are Sara and El?”

“Here, my lady.” Sara stepped forward into the light of the single torch hanging on the wall.

She pulled a young girl behind her and the tension Amalie had felt since hearing they were in danger eased.

Dark curls framed a wide face. Some of the chubbiness was gone, but the dimple in her chin remained.

Sara’s voice snapped Amalie out of her trance. “What is happening out there?”

Amalie took her hand and led her to the wall before sliding down to sit, her legs unable to hold her up any longer. “You tell us. When my people didn’t find you at your house, I knew you’d be here, but we only just arrived. What can you tell us?”

Sara clasped her shaking hands around El’s waist and drew the girl into her lap before resting her chin on the child’s head. “Ayden has been getting work at a farm. He walks there each day. Yesterday, on his way home, he noticed men he’d never seen before. They were talking to villagers, asking questions about a child. We knew they searched for our El so we escaped with only what we could carry.”

Amalie nodded. “They’re at your house now. We need to get you out of this village and to safety.”

“Safety?” Ayden scoffed. “There is nowhere in Gaule safe for El. It was only a matter of time. They will always come for her because of who you choose to be.”

“Ayden.” Sara sighed.

“No.” He narrowed his eyes. “She puts us in danger with every mission she embarks on. What would you have us do? We will protect our daughter with everything we have.” Amalie didn’t miss the emphasis he placed on the word our. “But what can we do against the royal guard?”

Amalie climbed to her feet to meet his gaze. “I will make this right. I will protect her.”

His eyes blazed, but he turned away. That would have to be enough for now. El slipped from her mother’s lap and waddled across to Amalie before lifting her arms.

In a simple world, Amalie could have picked her up. She could have told her she loved her or that not a day passed when she didn’t think of her.

That she wondered if every choice in her life had been the wrong one.

Instead, she turned and walked to the stairs, stopping when she reached them. “I’m sorry. You won’t be able to return home for any belongings. We will get you everything you need. Tuck and a few loyal men will get you to Bela.”

“Bela.” Ayden’s tone had gone from angry to resigned.

Amalie nodded. “Go to the queen there and tell them everything.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “El’s father will protect you.”

She didn’t wait for the surprised questions she knew followed her. Instead, she climbed the stairs. Tuck and Simon would be able to help them. Etta and Tyson would protect them.

And he’d know.

As if the secret were already revealed, she could feel his hatred slither along her skin. Her life as the Hood was over as soon as Simon returned to the palace. But she wouldn’t be welcome in Bela.

Tuck followed her out. “So, I’m to go to Bela?”

She nodded. “You must keep them safe. I trust no one else. Then… I want you to stay with them.”

“Will you join us?”

She shook her head.

“I won’t leave you, Ames. I’ll get them settled and then join you wherever you are. I’ve told you before, I believe in you. My loyalty is yours and yours alone.”

She gripped his hand. “I will leave that decision to you. Will and I are taking ship to Madra where the queen will welcome us. Most of the merry men will remain behind to care for the people of the village, but the Hood is too polarizing a figure to do much good anymore.”

He squeezed her hand. “We will see each other soon.”

She nodded, wishing she believed his words. “You need to leave. Get them out of here. You know the way through the back alley. I will stay long enough for you to get away. The rest of us can hold off any pursuit.” She walked toward the chapel door to signal her people who waited concealed.

But as she stepped outside, the silence struck her. Her eyes darted to the rooftops and then the alley up ahead. No one was there.

“Simon,” she whispered. “Come with me.” She pushed Tuck back inside. “Bar the door. Don’t open it unless you’re sure it’s me.”

His eyes held an argument, but he only nodded and shut the doors, leaving Amalie and Simon standing alone on a deserted road.

“They won’t hurt you, Simon, will they?” She glanced sideways at him.

He grimaced. “I’d like to think Anders won’t, but he has little control over the men he commands.”

That was news to her. She’d always attributed every atrocity she’d witnessed by his men to him, assumed they’d been following orders. She’d known the captain a long time. He was fiercely loyal to the throne of Gaule, but he operated under no moral code. He’d do whatever he thought was needed to keep them safe.

Even if it meant taking a child as a bargaining chip to draw out the notorious outlaw.

Amalie calmed her breathing and pulled her hood up around her head. Her fingers flexed on her bow as Simon drew his sword. They walked down the steps and crossed the street, the only sound was the patter of rain hitting the dirt, turning it to mud.

Amalie paused as a thought came to her. “Where are all the people who live here?” Her eyes darted to the buildings on either side. No movement at windows. Not a sound of a closing door. Nothing.

Simon spoke the words she’d been thinking. “They’re gone.”

She lowered her voice. “We feared a trap at Sara and Ayden’s house, but they never expected us there.” She shook her head. “Calden.” He’d even revealed this plan to Anders.

Before another thought came to her mind, shouting drew her eyes to the far end of the street where horses barreled toward them. Armored men poured from the alleys and appeared on rooftops, their bows drawn.

Amalie’s heart thudded in her chest, but she dared not lift her bow. She widened her stance and lifted her chin to meet the eyes of the man riding through the center of the throng. Anders couldn’t see her face underneath her hood, but she could see his, eyes blazing in triumph.

Simon lowered his weapon and stepped forward. “Captain.”

Anders sneered. “Look here, men. Simon, the great protector of Queen Catrine has allied himself with the Hood.” He leaned down. “We’ve been searching the kingdom for you, magic man.”

The venom in his voice wasn’t new. There was a time when Anders was the top guard for the king, commanding men from the comfort of the palace. But Catrine hadn’t wanted him involved in her reign so she sent him to a roving unit, meant to keep peace in Gaule.

All they did was terrorize the kingdom instead.

The guards lined up in a half circle around their new prisoners as Anders jumped down, his feet crashing into a puddle. He splashed his way forward, flicking rain out of his face.

Amalie no longer cared what happened to her. The person she loved most in the world was hidden in the chapel behind her, and she’d do whatever she needed to keep the promise she’d made. She would protect her.

She would save her.

Simon’s muscles flexed as he prepared to use his magic to fight. But Amalie knew even he could not take on so many men. She placed a hand on his arm just long enough to feel him relax. And then she did the only thing she could.

Her fingers shook as she gripped the edges of her hood. “I am who you want.” She lifted her voice. “I am the Hood.” She pushed the heavy fabric off her head and raised her gaze.

Captain Anders froze as a slow smile spread across his face. “This is a surprise. I imagined it was one of your guards. How do we know this isn’t a ruse? That the real Hood isn’t getting away as we speak?”

She shook water out of her eyes and raised her bow, knocking the arrow and drawing the string in one fluid motion. Before anyone could react, the tip of the arrow was embedded in the thigh of one of the men hidden in a nearby alley. He howled in pain and dropped to the ground.

“You’ve underestimated me because I was a lady of the court.” She lowered her bow. “It protected me once, but I suspect it will protect me no more. I will come with you, Captain. Under one condition.”

“You are in no position to be making demands.”

She scowled. “Release my people. I know you’ve taken them.” She’d expected a dozen to be waiting for her.

“I have done no such thing.”

“Lies no longer do us any good.” She lifted a brow, trying to quell the fear blossoming in her chest. “You want the Hood. I understand that, Captain. But I knew you once, and I don’t believe you want to kill my people. At least not without questioning them. You’re holding them in case I didn’t appear.”

Anders studied her for a moment before turning away. “Take them both into custody. Then search the chapel.”

“No.” Amalie thrashed as three guards grabbed her. “Simon, stop them!”

Beside her, Simon bucked and fought but there were too many. He went impossibly still as the hilt of a sword struck him in the head.

“Please,” she yelled as a hand pushed her to her knees. “Leave them alone.”

Anders only glanced at her in pity. “All those associated with the Hood are a threat.”

Seconds later, guards dragged Tuck from the chapel unconscious. Ayden wasn’t far behind.

“Sara!” he screamed. “Sara!”

Amalie met his defeated gaze, and she tried to jump to her feet and run into the chapel. A hand yanked her back.

“They killed her.” Ayden’s entire body shook. “My Sara is dead.”

The words sank like a stone in Amalie’s stomach. Sara, the woman who’d spent the last year keeping Amalie’s daughter safe had paid for it with her life.

Amalie ripped her arm free and twisted to kick the man who held her. She tried to draw her sword, but he knocked it from her hand.

“Where’s El?” She tried to get to Ayden, but the hard hilt of a sword struck her gut and she fell back. Mud splashed her face, and she wiped it away.

She tore her eyes from Ayden just in time to see a final guard leave the chapel with a little girl draped over his arms. Amalie cried out as a guard yanked her to her feet.

The guard holding El handed her to Anders. “Dead, sir.”

“No!” The air left Amalie’s lungs, and she gasped for breath. Everything crumbled around her until she no longer recognized where she was. Every part of her ached. She’d failed.

When a guard lifted her off the ground, she no longer fought. When he put chains on her wrists, she held them still for him. As they loaded her into the back of a wagon, all she wanted to do was join her sweet girl in peaceful slumber.

25

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Tyson scanned the small cellar below the derelict chapel.

John’s troubled eyes traveled the dirt floor before something caught his attention. He reached toward Edmund and grabbed the torch from him before crossing the small space and crouching low.

Tyson followed him. “What is it? What do you see?”

John looked up, meeting Tyson’s eyes. “Blood.” His brow creased. “Fresh blood.”

“They were here.” Tyson didn’t know whether to feel relieved or alarmed. They’d traveled days to the village but seen no sign of Amalie other than a camp in the woods where a few men corralled horses. They hadn’t approached it, not wanting to be delayed.

Edmund blew out a breath. “Well, that’s better than what we had before.” They’d first gone to the house John claimed was where Amalie would have gone, but it was swarming with soldiers.

Tyson rubbed the back of his neck. “That depends on whose blood this is. They wouldn’t kill her, would they? She’s still a noble lady of Gaule. My mother wouldn’t stand for it. She loves Amalie.”

John straightened. “She did. Once. But there have been years of strife between the queen and those on the Leroy lands.”

Tyson hardened his jaw and repeated his words. “My mother wouldn’t kill her.” She knew it would destroy her son, but that wasn’t the true reason. There’d been a time when Amalie was like a daughter to the queen. When she’d lived in the palace after they convicted her father of treason. Those times seemed like a distant past from a far-off land.

Edmund pulled Tyson away from John and lowered his voice. “You forget who has been searching for her. Amalie is a known friend of magic folk and my father hates us most of all. He’ll have no mercy for her. Her crimes only give him the excuse he needs to make an example. Especially here on the border where the battle with magic has caused much strife. Your mother would stop this were she here, but my father has always preferred asking forgiveness rather than permission.”

Captain Anders had long been a problem officer in Gaule. There was a time Tyson thought he’d be banished for disobeying the crown. But Anders always managed the wriggle out of whatever situation he put himself in.

Still, he knew Amalie.

John’s voice intruded on their private conversation. “The Captain has been searching for the Hood since she began her mission. It’s an obsession for him. Many of his men have died while trying to find her and the rumor is the queen has lost confidence in him for his lack of results. He’s lost everything. He’ll want to make a spectacle of this, no doubt.”

Tyson’s fists clenched at his sides as he thought of what Amalie must be going through. Why had she come here? Willingly walking into a trap. “That means we still have time.”

John nodded. “Exactly.”

Tyson walked toward the stairs. “We’ll find them. Edmund, I need you to go back to the camp in the woods. If anyone got away, they’ll return there for supplies. I need any information you can gather.”

Edmund didn’t argue. “Where will you be?”

Tyson glanced at John. He didn’t trust the man and wouldn’t let him out of his sight, but he also needed him. “We’ll go to the house where it seems like the royal guard has set up post. We can monitor their movements. Eventually, they’ll lead us to where we need to be.”

Edmund grabbed his arm. “I will return to you at dawn.”

Tyson placed his hand over Edmund’s. “Be careful.”

“You too, Ty.” He hesitated. “I know how much you love her… but don’t play the hero. Don’t sacrifice yourself.”

“Edmund, when Stev was a prisoner in Madra, did you worry about your own safety? When you almost died for him, did you think your sacrifice was worth it? Would you have given everything you had to break him free?”

Edmund released him, but didn’t step away. “I hope she deserves you, Ty.”

Even after everything she’d done, that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Amalie tried to break him, yet it changed nothing. “I love her, Edmund. I’ve spent most of my life loving her. That isn’t something she has earned or something she can lose. It just is. There’s no stopping it. It’s like my magic, a force inside my soul that I have little control over.” He gave Edmund a sad smile. “Be safe, my friend.”

Stepping past his greatest friend, he considered his own words. Over the years, he’d tried to gain some level of control over his feelings for Amalie, lessen it somehow. Sometimes he didn’t want to feel anything at all.

But he was wrong. When he’d let her push him away. When he’d thought she was lost to him. And again, when he left only days ago, planning to never return. His entire life, he’d had people around him to show him what it was to be cared for, to know someone would always come to save him.

It was time to show Amalie what she’d never known. She was not alone. She never had been.

John followed him from the chapel into the half-deserted town. Many of the buildings were still fire scorched and crumbling from the battles years before. Some of the residents had retreated to Bela and others had fled into the interior of Gaule in fear of La Dame. Many never returned.

Neither man spoke for a long while until John’s voice filled the space between them. “I didn’t know.”

Tyson didn’t look at him. “There are a lot of things you didn’t know.”

“The things you said to Edmund…” He sucked in a breath as if the words hurt to say. “I hated you. When I was a prisoner and then after Amalie set me free. You had everything. You were a prince of two kingdoms and Amalie loved you. Your life seemed easy compared to that of a beggar boy who had to scrounge for every scrap he received.”

“You know nothing about me or my life,” Tyson growled. “I had to run from the palace when my own brother was king because having magic once meant death in this kingdom. The person who was supposed to get me out—who I later learned was my sister—was arrested and imprisoned. Then, La Dame took me. I spent weeks as her prisoner, doing her bidding while my brother was locked in her tower. I fought a war, thinking none of us would survive it, so La Dame didn’t take control of Gaule and Bela, so people like you didn’t become prey to her whims.”

He kicked at a rock on the ground, the toe of his boot sticking in mud. “Easy.” He scoffed. “There is nothing easy in this life, John Little. The people in the villages don’t own hardship or strife. But you don’t get that. Neither does Amalie. Gaule is falling apart, yet she thinks only those she wishes to serve have troubles. What about the men she sticks her arrows in? Or the queen who lost the father of her child to an outlaw?”

“Simon?” John’s jaw fell open.

Tyson didn’t answer him. He turned the corner onto another empty street. Those who lived in this part of town were safe in their beds with no idea of what happened in their village that night.

Tyson, John, and Edmund had left their horses behind, choosing to venture into the village on foot to draw less attention. The guards had known Amalie was coming, but Tyson had the benefit of surprise.

They took the better part of an hour to reach the seemingly sleepy house. It backed up to a courtyard shared by four other houses. A man in a simple tunic and brown trousers sat in a chair out front, his eyes closed as if asleep.

But Tyson knew better. “One guard on the porch,” he said. “Where are the others?”

John pressed himself into the shadows across the street. “They already have Amalie. They think no one will come for her.”

“Do you think she’s in there?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Tyson snapped his eyes to John. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“We can’t go in there for her. We’ll have to wait until they bring her out.”

Tyson’s shoulders dropped, and he rubbed a hand across his face. John was right, and Tyson couldn’t use his magic to get in without risking everyone inside the building.

He jerked his head toward a building nearby with broken windows. “Abandoned?”

John pushed away from the wall. “Half the homes in this forsaken town are, so good chance.” He slammed his foot into the wooden door. It splintered and broke inward. He kicked it again, and it burst open.

Tyson looked inside, waiting for any residents to come out screaming. No one came. He entered, eyes scanning the front room. Broken furniture lay scattered around the space, but nothing else of value sat within view. “Looters.”

John shrugged and kicked broken glass from a spot near one of the windows before removing his cloak and laying it on the ground. He sat, his eyes focused on the house nearby. Tyson leaned against the wall. If he sat, he worried his tired body would relax into sleep.

Throughout the night, no guards came or went. Tyson eventually let himself relax onto the floor, and his eyes drifted shut of their own accord.

By the time he woke, a dim light filtered through the window and muffled voices reached his ears. He sat up quickly, all sleep fading from his mind as he caught sight of Edmund talking to John and… Simon? He jumped to his feet and rushed toward them.

“Si, where’s Amalie?”

Simon’s lips drew down. “They’re keeping her locked in a room across the street with her men.”

“How did you get out?”

Simon glanced from John to Tyson as if trying to decide what to say. “A few of Captain Anders men used to be mine. They follow him now, but they also know holding me prisoner is no way to gain favor with the crown… They also wanted me to get the child to safety.”

“Child?” Tyson finally saw the sleeping form wrapped in a cloak on the floor near Simon’s feet.

John crouched down, pushing the cloak back from the girl’s face. “Elayne.” He said her name in reverence as if not quite believing she was there with them.

Simon addressed John. “Amalie thinks the child is dead.”

John lifted his face, pain in his eyes. “That’s… They’re destroying her.”

The girl roused herself, lifting her head of dark hair. Large sapphire eyes landed on Tyson, and something inside him stirred. He couldn’t explain it but it was as if his magic called to her.

“Simon.” He could barely breathe. “Who is this child?”

Before Simon could respond, the girl wiggled out of the cloak and stood on wobbly legs. She reached out a hand, connecting her skin to Tyson’s. Warmth spread through him, a happiness he hadn’t felt in years. He could sense it. Her magic. It covered him in a blanket of comfort.

But it was too much, too false. There was no happiness that lived inside him while Amalie marched to her death. He snatched his hand back, and the girl gave him a questioning gaze.

“She has magic.” He turned away from them and paced the length of the room. He stopped in front of them once more.

John shook his head. “I didn’t know.” He put his hands on his head in exasperation. “We should have guessed. She would never be safe in this village with magic in her blood.” He leaned against the wall and slid down. “What have we done?” His face fell into his hands. “I told her to do it. That she had to do it to keep the girl safe, to continue on with her mission.”

“Told who?” Tyson yelled. “I need to know what’s going on.” Suspicion warred in him as he looked at the girl once more. He shook his head and backed away. “She couldn’t… she… Amalie?”

“Tyson.” Edmund tried to calm him.

Tyson pushed him away and advanced on John. “This is why she came?” It all made so much sense now. “I need you to say it, John. I need to hear the words.”

John lifted a tortured face. “Amalie is the girl’s mother.”

Tyson stumbled back as the words battered into his chest. His eyes fell on the girl they’d called Elayne. She couldn’t be much more than a year old, probably less. And her magic… His breath clogged in his throat until he couldn’t breathe.

Amalie, how could you do this?

He thought he knew her—that he knew the worst sins of her heart, but he’d been wrong. “John, when Amalie sent for me…”

“It was the childbirth killing her,” John finished. “She’d have had you take the girl.”

He shook his head. “Get out before I kill you.”

John opened his mouth to respond, but Tyson pulled water in from the rain-soaked streets with his power and sent it barreling into John’s chest, throwing him through the broken window. John sputtered and picked himself up out in the street. “What about Amalie?”

Tyson’s eyes blazed. “We don’t need you to save her.”

It went against everything Tyson believed in to use his magic to fight every battle. He’d done it before, but never with such premeditated intent. This time, though, Anders would pay.

Tyson’s anger lessened until it only simmered inside him as his eyes found Elayne once more. She cowered against Simon’s leg. Fear sprang to her eyes when she lifted them to Tyson, and it sent a dagger straight through his heart.

He wiped a hand over his face, regaining his composure. His magic once again reached out to her, and he dropped to his knees.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, holding a hand out to her.

She only hesitated a moment before taking it. The warmth of her power mended his frayed nerves.

How had he not seen it immediately? She looked every bit like his mother, the queen. The dark curls. Wide eyes. But there was some Basile in her as well. Tyson thought nothing could make him feel whole again after the hell of the last few years, but as he stared into the face of a girl who was a part of him, he felt some of the cracks in his soul heal themselves.

He knew then that everything Amalie had done was to protect the one person in this world she’d always love. She’d given her up, wanting the child to have no connection to the Hood. She’d come back when the danger reached her daughter’s doorstep.

Tyson cupped Elayne’s tiny cheek in his palm before pulling her into his chest. Her little body shook in his arms. He couldn’t imagine what she’d been through in the last day, but she released it all.

Tears filled his eyes as she asked, “Mama?” It took him a moment to realize she didn’t mean Amalie.

Simon smoothed a hand over Elayne’s head and whispered to Tyson and Edmund. “Her mother was killed by the guards yesterday. Captain Anders has her father imprisoned with Amalie.”

Tyson lifted Elayne into his arms and passed her to Simon, hating to relinquish her safety to anyone else. “Si, you’ve already done more than we deserve, but I need you to do one more thing for me.”

Simon nodded for him to go on.

Tyson breathed deeply before he could force the words out. “Leave. Take Elayne from this place.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Today, Edmund and I will go against an untold number of guards. I can’t do that unless she’s safe, and she won’t be safe in Gaule. Get her to Bela, to my brother and sister. Please. I can’t…”

Edmund put a hand on his shoulder, and Tyson was grateful for the support.

“I can’t risk myself unless I know she’s safe.”

Simon nodded. “I’ll protect her as if she was my own.”

“You’re a good man, Si. There isn’t enough time in this life to repay you for everything you’ve done for me over the years.” He leaned forward, pressing his shaking lips to the back of the girl’s head.

It wasn’t enough time. He’d only had minutes to come to terms with his fatherhood, but nothing had ever felt so important in his life.

And it only strengthened his resolve. He wouldn’t leave his child without a mother.

“They’re leaving.” Edmund fixed his eyes on the house across the street where a line of shackled prisoners streamed out the front door and down the street. They were out of time.

He nodded to Simon once more before grabbing his bow and sword, leaving through the back into an alleyway between homes.

Edmund caught up with him. “We’ll save her, Ty. Then they’ll both be okay.”

He wished he was as confident. “Edmund, we have to use our magic.”

Edmund didn’t respond.

“It’s Amalie. I know how you feel about using it in Gaule, and it probably means we’re going to have to run from this place with a mob demanding our deaths, but—”

“Ty.” Edmund gripped his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. “If there’s ever a time to fight using whatever we have, this is it.”

Tyson breathed out in relief. They wound through back alleys and side streets, trying not to lose sight of the prisoner train. Guards lined the street, more than Tyson could count in a hurry.

“I don’t like this,” Edmund whispered.

Tyson didn’t stop moving.

Edmund spoke again. “Ty, my father—”

“Needs to be stopped.”

“I know that better than anyone.” Edmund cursed as his foot hit a water-filled hole in the road and he stumbled forward. Righting himself, he grunted. “But there are a lot of soldiers we have to go through. Your mother’s soldiers.”

“My mother would never stand for this, for her guard to be used in such a way.”

Edmund stepped in front of him and turned. “Ty, if we’re going to do this, you need to go in with open eyes. The queen might not allow Amalie to be treated this way. She’d do everything to save her granddaughter, but she has also allowed her guard to rove the land in search of outlaws. Amalie is the person they think she is. She is the Hood. But many who’ve been captured before her were innocent. They. Do. Not. Care. We aren’t just going to grab Amalie and escape. We’ll need to fight.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes burned into Tyson. “After we do this, that’s it. You will no longer be able to set foot in Gaule. Your old home will be lost to you. You won’t see your mother unless she makes royal visits to Bela. Royal visits that may cease after this. After two Belaens use their magic against an entire unit of the royal guard. This is the end of your life as a prince of two kingdoms. After this, you will only have one.”

Tyson lifted his chin. “And you don’t think every word you’ve said hasn’t occurred to me? You don’t think it’s worth it to me? Like I said, I know what this will cost. And just like those guards, I do not care.”

A grim smile spread across Edmund’s face. “Then we fight. I never wanted to return to Gaule, anyway. Exile will be a welcome fate.”

“And your father? Can you truly fight him?”

Edmund turned and started walking again. “That man is no father of mine.”

“Thank you. For doing this for me.”

Edmund shrugged. “It’s what we do. We come for each other. No matter which of the six kingdoms tries to strike us down, we aren’t alone in our fights. Ever.”

Tyson thought of the little girl he’d sent with Simon. Elayne. And her mother. They weren’t alone either. They had him.

26

Ayden was dead. He’d tried to escape in the night only to receive a sword through the belly. He’d left the world behind. Just like his wife and daughter. Daughter. Amalie closed her eyes picturing rosy cheeks and a kind smile. Yes, she was Ayden and Sara’s. Amalie had no claim over the mother’s grief raging through her. She’d given her up. No matter the reason, however noble the cause, it didn’t change the facts.

Amalie no longer cared what waited for her at the end of the long walk. She was finished, done with a life of hiding. Through with the pain of losing everything she loved again and again.

If this was brokenness, she hoped the cracks shattered her completely.

Behind her, Tuck whispered soft prayers to himself. He didn’t deserve what was coming. He hadn’t deserved to watch them carry his sister’s limp body from the cellar below the chapel where he’d once performed weddings. How could such a happy place be stained with so much blood and so many tears?

In front of her, the men and women who’d placed their faith in the Hood walked to their ends. Thieving was punishable by death as was abduction and attacking royal forces. All of which they were guilty of.

But they were good, trying to make some sense of their shit world by helping those who couldn’t help themselves. They’d given up everything to join her, to become her Merry Men. And it seemed they’d make one final sacrifice.

Will lumbered at her side, a hulking mercenary who’d once killed for gold. Far off in the distance lay the walls of Dracon, a kingdom once ruled by the dark sorceress, La Dame. A kingdom Will had fought for, bled for. He’d joined the Hood out of some misguided notion of atonement. Would this final act absolve him of his sins?

The town’s scaffolds came into view as the guards marched them into the square. Villagers mingled nearby, waiting to witness the act, relieved that this time, it wasn’t them waiting for the ground to fall underneath their feet.

Amalie wanted to hate them, but she couldn’t muster a shred of emotion.

Everything was a calculated move by Captain Anders. He’d announce the names of the prisoners before ushering them into their final moments. The news of the Hood’s demise would spread throughout the kingdom and his fame would only grow. The people would fear him. They’d obey him.

The queen would be distraught upon hearing the news, but would she be more upset that her precious Amalie had deceived her or that she’d been hung with no trial, no chance for absolution.

The guards had learned their lesson with John’s execution. No friar stood waiting to give last rites. They cleared each surrounding building, allowing nowhere safe for a rescuer to hide.

What they didn’t understand was there was no one left to rescue her. Everyone who may have tried was either a prisoner or far away in another kingdom.

Tyson would hear of her death eventually, but he’d never know the secrets she took with her. He’d never learn how she’d deceived him and kept him from looking in to the face of their daughter, born of a love so intense it haunted her days and filled her nights with never-ending darkness.

Amalie lifted her face to the morning sun. The gray skies of the day before had disappeared, leaving a dazzling blue in their wake. At least she wouldn’t spend her final day in shadow.

She scanned the backs of each man in front of her, making a mental note of the names of those crossing over with her. They deserved to be remembered even if she wasn’t there to shout their names.

One was missing, but she wasn’t surprised. Anders couldn’t punish Simon, the queen’s own man. Just like the others, he’d tied himself to the Hood when he journeyed to the border village with her. Where had he gone?

She scanned the surrounding area. Maybe he couldn’t watch. She didn’t blame him for staying away.

Tuck sucked in a breath behind her. She turned her head. “What is it?”

“Oy!” a red-headed guard to their right yelled. “Shut yer mouth.” He moved past them.

Tuck leaned in, his breath blowing across her cheek. “John is here.”

She searched the crowd, finding him quickly. He had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, but she’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

“I don’t know what he thinks he can do against all these guards.” She lifted her hand to brush it through her hair but the iron chains stopped it halfway there.

“Ames…”

She shook her head, stepping away from Tuck. There were no more words to be said. Accepting defeat was one of the tenants of a great warrior. She’d had years of glory, saved many people. It was someone else’s turn now.

She rubbed a sore spot, remembering the sword hilt that had rammed into her when she tried to get to El’s body. They hadn’t let her see her or say goodbye. One of the guards had walked past Amalie’s temporary cell carrying a still bundle in his arms. He hadn’t even glanced at her.

Amalie thought the safest place for El would be in a rural town living as an unremarkable girl. She was wrong. She should have known they’d get to her eventually. That the Hood’s enemies were relentless and ruthless. Finding the child was the one surefire way to draw Amalie into their trap.

Now she was a prisoner, and it had all been for nothing because she couldn’t save her. Elayne was dead. The light she’d been in the world was extinguished, leaving only ash behind.

Her eyes found John once more on the edge of the crowd. He’d done so much wrong, but the Hood wouldn’t have existed without him. Even after the tragic end of her mission, she couldn’t regret it. She wouldn’t take it back. For a short time, she’d had purpose. There was a reason she was still there when everyone else who bore the Leroy name was gone.

For a while, she’d bested them. Her father, a traitor just as she was, did not control how she would be remembered. From this day forward, Amalie Leroy would not be spoken of in hushed tones as people cursed her father.

No, she’d be known as the woman who inspired her people in a way even the queen could not. She lifted her chin. She wasn’t a fire to be stamped out by the boot of the crown.

She was an uncontrollable blaze at the edge of the kingdom, catching fire to everything she touched. Gaule couldn’t go back. They couldn’t forget.

A guard grabbed her arm, jerking her forward. She stumbled until she stood at the edge of the raised platform. The wood hit her mid-chest, digging into her flesh as she knew the swinging rope soon would.

The guards pushed two of her men up the steps to where their end waited. A masked figure stood at the lever, his dark eyes catching hers. A hand landed on her back, pushing her forward. The crowd murmured words she couldn’t make out. Were they shocked to see a woman preparing to hang? Did they care?

She sucked in a breath. They would.

Her feet took the four steps slowly, deliberately. Her eyes didn’t leave the crowd. They wouldn’t escape the memory of her fiery gaze. Three nooses hung in a row. Once her legs stopped kicking and her lungs stopped expanding, the executioners would move on as if she hadn’t been there at all. Those behind her in line would suffer more for having to watch their comrades lose their final battle before hanging themselves.

She no longer cared what happened to her, but her people deserved better.

Hands gripped her shoulders, moving her toward the farthest rope. Will stood beside her, loyal to the end. He issued a prayer to the heavens. On his other side, one of her most loyal guards, Cam, stood stoically.

The heavy stomp of Anders’ boots alerted them to his presence behind them as he climbed onto the platform and addressed the crowd.

“This is a good day in Gaule,” he began. “A good day indeed. You may have noticed the royal guard overrunning your village for the past two days. The queen sent us on a mission to capture the most notorious traitor in the kingdom.” He paused. “The Hood.” The crowd gasped. Eyes bounced from Cam to Will as they tried to discern which man was the outlaw they’d heard so much about.

Anders went on. “The Hood is no symbol of hope as you’ve been led to believe.” He turned his gaze on Amalie. “She is nothing more than a thief.”

Someone in the crowd screamed while others clamored for answers.

“The Hood is a woman?”

“She fights for us.”

“Free her.”

“She betrayed our queen.”

All these sentiments and more swirled in the air, but Amalie paid them no mind. Her only focus was on Anders, the man who’d taken everything from her when his men killed El. If her hands weren’t chained behind her back, she’d wrap them around his neck and squeeze the life from his bones.

He raised a brow as if he could hear her dark thoughts before turning back to the crowd. “The Hood steals at her pleasure. She murders the innocent and abducts those with the ear of the queen.” He let his words settle over them. “She harbors magic folk.”

Their gasps were all Amalie needed to know the captain had won the people to his side. Magic was no longer illegal in Gaule, but in the small villages, especially those along the border who’d been harmed the most, magic meant evil. Their irrational hatred of it blinded them to all else.

One of the guards hauled Maiya forward. “A Draconian in the Hood’s employ.” The air changed and those who’d voice their support for Amalie only moments ago, yelled demands for her end.

These people hated all those with magic, but Draconians inspired a special kind of ire. They’d once belonged to La Dame. Maiya herself had been the sorceress’ slave.

But they didn’t understand what Amalie always had. Everyone had evil inside them. She lowered her gaze to John who’d moved closer. The difference between good and bad lay in the decision to let that evil out.

A guard slid the noose over Amalie’s head. The rope bit into her skin as he tightened it, sliding the knot until it lay underneath her chin.

A calm overcame her, and she closed her eyes, ignoring the rest of Captain Anders’ words.

When it came time for the accused to make their final confessions, Cam was first. He lifted his voice. “I have no confession to make. I have lived my life in good conscience and regret nothing. You people want blood? Look to those who’ve held you down. The Hood only ever tried to lift the common man up. You should be ashamed of yourselves. You think this is the queen’s desire? She will not stand for this.”

He swept his eyes over the crowd before meeting Amalie’s gaze one final time. Cam had been one of her father’s men, but through no choice of his own. He’d been the first to switch his allegiance to her and stayed at her side since.

He deserved better than an angry mob and a noose. For the first time that day, a tear slipped down her cheek. He gave his head a tiny shake and opened his mouth to speak one final time. Whatever he’d wanted to say was cut off as the floor beneath him dropped open and the sickening snap of bone ripped through the air.

He didn’t move as he hung there. There was no more struggle left in him. The crowd let a few moments pass in impossible silence before the horror struck them. Amalie forced a breath out past her lips, her fate feeling real for the first time.

She pictured Cam marching through her estate on the day he pledged his allegiance to her. She’d thrown most of her father’s men from her home as soon as she took it back from the queen. But he’d been so sincere, so true. And she’d never regretted the trust she placed in him. He’d been one of the first in her band of Hood followers.

Anders looked to Will. “Speak.”

Will’s jaw clenched, and he fixed his eyes on the distance, not looking at the crowd, refusing to utter a single word.

“I’m sorry,” Amalie whispered. She’d led them here. She’d killed them all.

Will finally turned his head to her, his words so low only she could hear. “I’ve done so much wrong in my life. I never thought I’d get to die for something good.”

Will had come to her a year after the Draconian war. He’d chosen not to remain with the mercenaries who fought for the dark sorceress, leaving him alone and hungry. He’d attacked her camp, but left her unharmed. She didn’t know what she’d seen in him that day. A need for redemption? Desperation. Her men searched until they found him. The day he finally pledged loyalty to her, she realized anyone could be saved. Anyone could be good if they desired it. That knowledge shaped the Hood into who she became.

When the door underneath Will’s feet opened, a scream lodged in her throat. She cried not for herself, but for everyone who’d followed her so blindly to this fate. Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked, proving to her in her final moments that her heart still beat inside her chest. That she could still feel something after she thought the cold would never cease.

Fire raged in her belly as she lifted her eyes to Anders. “You think this is the end.” She raised her voice so others could hear, but her focus remained on the captain. “But my mission will never end. The people deserve more than they’re given. Someone will give it to them. Someone will replace me. We are not disposable.” She stilled her quivering lips. “This was never about me. The Hood never belonged to me. This kingdom is falling apart village by village. Soon, it will tumble so far into the abyss, not even Catrine can pull it back. Your hatred has blinded you.”

She looked to where a guard still held Maiya by the arm. “Her magic heals people while your hatred of it tears them apart.” She lifted her eyes to the brilliant blue above. “I am ready to die, but my mission is woven into the fabric of this kingdom. I do not take it with me.”

She closed her eyes, listening to the gears underneath her feet as they worked to open the hole that would take her to another world.

For a moment, she suspended in air before her body dropped and the rope inched up, cutting off the last breath she hadn’t had time to take.

27

Tyson pushed through the crowded alleyway. Everyone in the village had come, clogging the streets. Guards lined the rooftops overlooking the square. And he had no way to get to the platform.

He rammed his shoulder into a couple in front of him, breaking them apart and darting through the gap they created. He’d lost Edmund, but they both knew what they had to do.

A gasp reverberated around the crowd as Anders’ voice rose above them all, revealing the Hood for who she was. Tyson couldn’t hear the rest of the Captain’s words over the din of the surrounding people.

He stumbled as he knocked into a large man. His hands slammed into the stone walkway and he scrambled back to his feet, lifting his eyes to the platform.

Amalie stood next to Will and Cam, her eyes closed. Was she afraid? Did she feel the same fear that sliced through Tyson’s heart?

His magic pooled in his fingertips, but he couldn’t release it yet. They had a plan. Saving Amalie from the hangman’s noose was only the beginning. They also had to escape the village.

He scanned the lines of guards in the eaves. They pointed arrows toward the crowd as if expecting an incursion.

A guard bulled through the crowd, towing Maiya behind him. He shoved her forward, proof that the Hood wasn’t someone the villagers should want to follow. They’d carry the knowledge of her acceptance of magic far and wide.

She’d go from revered hero to scorned traitor. It no longer mattered in Gaule what the crown’s view on magic was. They didn’t care whether it was legal or not.

The people would always fear the power. They’d always hate the ones who wielded it. Anger sizzled along Tyson’s skin as the crowd turned on Amalie, calling for her death. If they hated magic so much, he’d give them true reason to fear it.

He’d show them what it could truly do.

He made his way to the line of shops across the square and searched the empty buildings until he found a bucket of wash water sitting behind a counter. As he carried it outside, a guard stopped him.

“Oy, no one is allowed inside during the demonstration.”

Demonstration? That was what they were calling executions now? He tamped down his ire and smiled nervously. “I’m sorry, sir.” He pointed to a horse he’d never seen before. “My beast there needs a wee drink.” He held up the pail with a shrug.

The guard considered him for a moment before gesturing for him to leave. Tyson walked toward the horse until the guard no longer watched him and then veered away.

He’d only turned his back for a moment when a thump sounded behind him. He whipped his head around to find Cam’s swinging from a rope. They were too late. His neck must have broken because his legs didn’t thrash. His face changed color as his head lulled forward.

They were out of time.

Tyson’s gaze scanned the surroundings, searching for Edmund. Why hadn’t he been in position yet? Another crash broke through the chaos of Tyson’s mind.

Will.

He shook his head, alarm raising the hair on his arms. He needed Edmund. If he tried to use his water magic to save Amalie, he’d just as likely drown her or weaken himself into a state that did neither of them any good.

“Where are you, Edmund?”

He was so focused on finding Edmund, he didn’t hear most of Amalie’s words until one phrase stuck in his mind. “I’m ready to die.”

No. He wasn’t ready for her to die. He shouldered through the crowd, ignoring the nasty looks directed his way as water sloshed over the sides of the pail. He was only steps away when the door beneath Amalie’s feet crashed open. Her body jerked as it fell through the gap.

Tyson screamed, the sound enveloping him in a haze of panic. He dropped the bucket to the ground and drew the water towards him, his power attaching to every drop. The magic flowed through him like a rushing river wanting to break free of the dam.

Anger fueled it. Desperation made it uncontrollable. Grief turned it deadly.

The water expanded in the air before contracting to form a solid wall. He pushed it out from himself and it exploded forth, striking the guards and villagers nearest, sending them crashing to the ground, unconscious. He pulled it back just enough to prevent them from drowning.

Wave after wave of magic released from his every pore. No one was safe. Royal guards. Innocent villagers. Men. Women. Children.

Prisoner or free.

They all experienced what true power meant. What it could do to them. Tyson twisted his body, sending the water spiraling, a cyclone smashing through the crowd as they screamed and ran, seeking any kind of safety.

Tyson’s chest heaved with the effort and he stumbled back, the magic pulling every bit of energy from his limbs.

He lifted his head, seeing Captain Anders trying to pick himself up off the ground. He’d been knocked from the platform. Tyson clung to every bit of strength he had left as he advanced.

The first true fear he’d ever seen in Anders crossed his face. Tyson had known the Captain since he was a child. He’d been a loyal follower of the man Tyson once thought was his father. He’d caused trouble since that king died, betraying Alex and taking advantage of his mother now that she was queen. He had to be stopped.

He only gave small thought to the knowledge that this was Edmund’s father. The fact remained. He’d killed Amalie. He’d taken everything from Tyson.

Tyson let the magic take control, burning along his skin. He drew water from the ground, letting it pool at his feet.

“My prince.” Anders stumbled back. “Please. I am your mother’s man.”

Tyson growled at that. “Do not mention my mother to me. If she knew what you were truly doing…” He shook his head. “No, you don’t get to plead for your life.” His eyes darkened as he thought of the final moments of life the three now hanging had. “Consider these your last rites. Confess your sins, Captain.”

Anders shook his head, his gaze searching the ground. Tyson sent a spear of water to wash away the knife that lay near his feet. His impatience grew, but Anders remained silent.

I’m ready to die. Amalie’s words rang in his ears. Anders did that to her. He took her desire to live. Tyson curled his fingers, pressing them into his palms as his pulse hammered in his head.

Captain Anders considered him dangerous, not a true prince because of his Belaen heritage, because of his magic. He didn’t know the half of it.

Tyson flicked one palm open, sending a torrent of water flooding into Anders’ every orifice. It streamed through his mouth. His nose. His ears. Taking everything from him, emptying him. The water roared like a rushing river, never wanting to stop as it pulled the life from the man who’d hurt so many people.

Until finally, the captain crumpled right where he stood.

Tyson fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He cried for Amalie. For all the death he’d seen and caused. He could feel his soul shattering. Tyson had killed people before, but only in war.

He supposed this was a kind of war.

Around him, villagers picked themselves up off the ground. Guards tried to contain the mass confusion. The other prisoners remained chained together.

Tyson fell forward onto his hands, struggling to keep his eyes open. It took everything he had to lift his head for one final glance at where Amalie hung lifeless.

Only, what he saw returned some bit of the strength he’d lost.

Amalie hovered, noose still around her neck but not pulled taught. A tunnel of wind kept her from dropping. Her wide eyes found him.

He pushed himself off the ground, stumbling to his feet as he ran on uncoordinated legs. Someone else reached her before him, jumping onto the platform, knife in hand. John’s scarf fell, revealing his haggard face. He held a knife in his teeth as he reached for the rope. He grabbed it and sawed through the fraying threads. The rope dropped over Amalie’s shoulder and the wind lessened, lowering her to the ground.

Tyson lunged forward to catch her before her legs collapsed beneath her. They fell to the ground, both too weak to hold the other up.

“Ty?” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

Tyson pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m here, Ames. I’m here.” Her entire body shook as Tyson rocked her in his arms.

Edmund stumbled out from where he’d hidden himself in an empty storefront. “I was too late.” He fixed his eyes on Cam and Will. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond as she clung to Tyson.

Tyson had almost forgotten about the guards still in the village. He had no more strength to fight as they closed in around them. It wasn’t over yet.

“Magic man,” one of the guards shouted. Not prince or highness. If they addressed him with the respect his birth earned him, they’d have to face what they did.

His eyes slid shut as he waited for them to issue their final condemnation. The few villagers who hadn’t fled for their lives, now stood soaking from head to toe. They screamed and jeered, calling for Tyson’s head.

They’d known of their prince’s magic before, but now that he’d used it against them, he was no longer one of them.

Finally, he lifted his head to look at the guard. “What do you want from me?”

The guard strode forward a few steps before veering to the right and stopping in front of Edmund. “You are under arrest for your attack on Gaule.”

Tyson tried to untangle himself from Amalie and push himself to his feet. His mother’s men couldn’t arrest Tyson without raising questions from the queen, but Edmund was different.

Tyson tried to call on his magic, but all strength had left him. Edmund’s entire body sagged with weakness, but he held his chin high and drew his sword. “You can try.” His sword wavered as he struggled to hold it up. His magic had depleted him.

The guard lunged forward as Edmund’s sword dipped low. Tyson didn’t have time to scream a warning before someone rammed into Edmund’s side, throwing him out of the way. The guard’s sword bit into flesh.

Edmund hit the ground hard, his sword skittering away. But that wasn’t the sight that had them all gaping in horror.

The guard slid his bloodstained blade free of John’s side. John looked down in shock and lifted a hand to feel for the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers as he faltered back, his stance wavering. “Amalie, I’m sorry.” His eyes met Amalie’s as he sank to his knees.

28

Amalie choked on a breath as she forced her body to move, pushing away from Tyson. John. She had to get to John.

The guard stood over him, a scowl on his face. “Traitors always get what they deserve.”

Amalie knew the words were meant for her, but at that moment, she didn’t care. All she saw was her oldest friend lying in the dirt with his life seeping out of him. For her. It was all for her.

She reached his side, and the guard didn’t stop her as she rolled John onto his back. His breath rasped out as if liquid filled his lungs.

It no longer mattered what he’d done to her. She didn’t see the man who’d kept Tyson from her these last few years or the one who’d lied countless times. She’d worried for so long about the blood he’d spilled, not knowing what kind of man that made him. But now, as he tried to speak, the only blood staining his hands was his own. He was still the boy she’d known. The one who’d convinced her she could make a difference, that she wasn’t tainted by the name of her family.

“John.” His name was only a whisper on her lips, but he snapped his eyes to hers.

“Ames.” His chest shook as he coughed.

“Shhhh.” She brushed the sopping hair from his forehead. He’d been hit with Tyson’s magic, yet he still saved Edmund. For the past couple years, he’d spoken of how magic had no place in Gaule. And yet in his final moment, he’d given himself up for it.

“That’s enough.” The guard gripped Amalie’s arm and yanked her to her feet.

“No.” She tried to fight him, but he was too strong. “John!”

“Ames.” Tears streamed down John’s cheeks. “Ames, I’m sorry.” His eyes slid closed.

“No! Don’t you die on me, John Little.” She slammed her head back until it connected with the guard’s nose. He released her with a curse, and she ran back to John’s side. “They’ve taken everything from me, John. You can’t do this. It’s supposed to be you and me against the world.”

He didn’t respond. Amalie shook her head, rage thrumming through her. An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back, but she wasn’t the grieving damsel they thought she was.

She was the Hood.

And the Hood took care of her people.

Amalie slammed her foot back, catching the guard in the knee. She clutched her hands together and brought them down on his hands as hard as she could, breaking his grasp and giving her the opening she needed.

She ran past John’s now lifeless body to where Tuck and Maiya were still chained with the others. Picking up speed, she rammed into one of the guards hovering near them keeping watch. He stumbled back but didn’t fall. By the time he reached for her, she’d knocked the bow from his hands.

Tuck found an arrow one of the guards shot at them during the chaos of magic and threw it to her. She didn’t stop running as she set it against the string, feeling more like herself than she had in a long time.

She drew the string and jumped, twisting her body to fire toward her target. The guard who’d killed John clutched at his throat as an arrow pierced his skin. Blood gurgled from his lips as he collapsed next to John.

Amalie landed nimbly on her feet and tossed the bow aside. It was useless to her without more arrows. She bent over the dead guard and lifted his sword, still coated with John’s blood. Crimson drops dripped from the tip as she held it in front of herself and faced the remaining guards.

“I know what you’ve heard about me. The outlaw. The Hood. I’m uncaring. A thief. Unhinged. I kill queen’s men just for the pure pleasure of hearing them scream. I’m a traitor from a long line of traitors. Any of this sound familiar?”

She turned in a half circle, meeting each guard’s eyes. They didn’t approach, but they held their swords ready.

“I wasn’t the person you all thought I was. I never betrayed Gaule. I only wanted to save it.” She narrowed her eyes. “But now? Unhinged is only the beginning. Before, I had something to protect. My identity. My daughter. But you’ve ripped the hood from my head. You’ve taken everything from me.” She swept her gaze across the square. “My father used to say the most dangerous person was one with nothing left to lose.” She’d lived her life trying to escape her father’s legacy. He was an evil man, but he was right in one thing.

Fear was the greatest motivator there was. He’d used the kingdom’s fear of magic against the magic-loving king.

The royal guard hadn’t chased the Hood for months only because she was a normal thief. They feared her.

She lifted her chin. “Are you going to arrest me?”

As the first guard approached, she focused on the memory of the burn of a rope as it tightened around her neck. When she turned on her heel, launching her knife at the guard, all she saw was Captain Anders offering to let her confess her sins.

As blood sprayed her face, she felt the rush of air as the door opened beneath her feet.

She was ready to die before, but now, she’d take some of the bastards with her.

She didn’t notice when Tyson joined in the fight. His movements were slow as he tried to regain his strength. But he was there.

“Tyson, stop,” she yelled as she ducked a guard’s blade. “This isn’t your fight.”

She’d gone into this day knowing it would be her last, but Tyson shouldn’t have to suffer for her pain.

His sword crashed into his attackers, and he grunted from the effort. “You were wrong, Amalie.” He kicked his foot out, catching the guard in the stomach and forcing him back. “They didn’t take everything from you.”

She grit her teeth as a knife slid across her arm. The physical pain couldn’t compare to the agony raging inside her.

“You don’t understand, Ty.” The guards who jumped into the fight didn’t stop. They attacked their prince and the outlaw as if they were ordinary insurgents. Catrine would never stand for this, but she didn’t have true control of her kingdom. She wasn’t there.

Others hung back, indecision holding them in place. They didn’t want to fight the queen’s son.

Tyson blocked another attack. “Yes. I do.” He let out a roar and jabbed his sword into the man’s stomach.

The guard fell off the sword, landing in a heap on the ground.

“I’m not talking about me when I say they haven’t taken everything.” He readied his stance for another attack. “Elayne. She’s alive.”

Amalie’s sword almost fell out of her grasp. She couldn’t have heard his words right. She’d seen El’s body, mourned her loss.

Shouting erupted around them, jerking her from her thoughts, as Tuck and the rest of her people joined them. Edmund followed behind, keys still clutched in his grasp. He must have taken them from his father.

Before the guard in front of her could attack, a large hand ripped him back, throwing him farther than any normal man could.

A shudder ran through Amalie as Simon appeared among the guards, the people he should be loyal to. He was a queen’s man just as they were. The difference was Simon’s true loyalty was to the queen and not the officers.

“Stop this.” His voice echoed along the village center. He turned to face the guards. “You would attack your own prince?”

“He’s chosen his side,” a guard spat.

Simon’s movements were so quick, Amalie almost missed them. He flipped a knife into his hand and threw it to the guard who’d spoken. The guard didn’t have time to say another word as the knife lodged in the side of his head.

Simon bulled his way back through the crowd to where a village woman stood holding a young girl. He took Elayne into his arms and rejoined the rest, holding her up for them to see. “Do you know who this child is that you tried to murder?”

When no one answered, he shook his head. “She is the queen’s own grandchild. Her Majesty will have each of you imprisoned.” He set El down. “Unless… stand down. There need be no more fighting this day. Your captain is dead. All blame for this…” His eyes scanned the courtyard. “… event lies with him. If you do not leave this place, there will be consequences. You are no longer welcome among the queen’s guards. Whatever you do from here on out will not taint the power of the crown.”

Amalie’s chest heaved as exhaustion seeped into her. Simon’s words stuck in her mind, but all she saw was the child who clung to his leg.

The daughter who did not know her had lost much this day. Both her adopted parents now existed only in the next life.

She’d been ripped from her home and exposed to things no child should have to see.

Tuck appeared at Amalie’s side, and she leaned into him as they waited for the guards to make a decision.

Finally, after many long moments, they dispersed, leaving as if they’d never been there at all. But Amalie would never forget and that village would never be the same. Once blood ran in the streets, it was impossible for them to ever truly recover.

Amalie didn’t hesitate in running to El and dropping to her knees in front of the girl. Tears clogged in her throat, and she crushed El to her chest. “I’m sorry, my girl. I’m so so sorry.”

“Mama?” El’s shy voice only deepened the rift within Amalie.

Amalie had rarely been in El’s presence, yet she knew every inch of her. And El didn’t know Amalie at all. She’d only ever known Sara and Aydan as her parents.

Tyson approached cautiously and set his weapons on the ground. He fell to his knees beside Amalie, and for the first time in a long time, Amalie wanted him there.

She wanted him to look into the face of the best thing either of them had ever done. Tyson slid his hand into Amalie’s.

“Elayne.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand, leaving a smear of blood on her pale skin.

Amalie ripped Tyson back. They couldn’t taint her with their battles. Battles that would never end as long as they remained in Gaule.

She’d once thought nothing could take her from her mission, not even if her identity were discovered. She’d been wrong.

Elayne reached a hand out and laid it on Amalie’s shoulder. Warmth spread through her. A kind of happiness she hadn’t experienced in years. Her eyes widened. She’d suspected, but hoped it wasn’t true. El had magic… just like her father. Those with magic suffered a lot in Gaule.

“Tyson,” Amalie whispered. “We have to get her out of here.” She looked sideways at him, speaking the words she never thought she’d say. “We need to leave Gaule.”

Tyson lifted his eyes to the people trying to put themselves back together. Edmund. Tuck. Maiya. The other loyal people who’d come with them from the Leroy lands. “We all do.” He met her gaze. “None of us are safe here anymore.”

Edmund approached. “After today, Ty, you and I won’t be welcome in Gaule again. Not even your mother can change that.”

Tyson flicked his eyes from Amalie to Elayne. “I know. It’s time we leave it all behind us.”

Amalie stood and lifted El into her arms. The girl curled into her, seeking comfort or warmth. Possibly both. Amalie carried her to where Tuck stood watching Maiya heal the last remaining wounded.

“I’m sorry about your sister. More than you can ever know.”

Tuck shook his head, a sad glint in his eye. “She knew the risk she took on by taking El into her home. This wasn’t your fault, Ames.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll all heal. It’ll only take time.”

She rested her chin on El’s soft curls. “But not here. Not in Gaule.”

He brushed a hand over her head. “There’s nothing left for me in Gaule. You’re my family, Amalie. I’ll go wherever you lead.”

The weight of the past few days crushed down on her until she could barely stand. Tuck took El from her arms moments before her knees hit the dirt. She covered her face in her hands, but no more tears came. She’d cried every last one she could cry.

Now was a time to be strong, to march into the future, but all Amalie wanted to do was curl up right there on the ground and let her mind and body rest.

Rest wasn’t for warriors though. If there was one last thing she could do to succeed in her mission to help the people of Gaule, it was getting those loyal few to safety. She tilted her head back, meeting the eye of each man and woman who’d come with her, remembering those who couldn’t stand before her. They were the noblest of Gaule. The best the kingdom had to offer.

And their kingdom no longer wanted them.

“Leave the village as it is. Do not wipe the blood clean from its surface. They will remember us, remember that someone will always fight for those who can’t. Tonight, we make for the camp we left in the woods. If it was not overtaken, our horses will still be there. We ride at first light for the border. They will have no more pieces of us.” She pushed herself to her feet and took her daughter from Tuck before leaving everything else behind.

29

Coming home. It was as if an entire lifetime had passed since Tyson rode through the rolling hills of Bela or took in the peaceful pastures. It stood in such contrast to the chaos and troubles Gaule faced.

The camp had still been where Amalie left it with a few men guarding the horses. They’d only allowed themselves to rest for one night before riding hard for the border. The village sat at the nexus of Gaule, Bela, and Dracon, and it had only taken them a day to cross into more friendly territory.

Amalie had barely spoken, but her face held a look of contentment as she took in the men and women surrounding her. It didn’t take long to realize it was due to the little girl bundled up in a cloak and sitting in front of Amalie atop the horse. Elayne was too young to control her magic. Most magic folk saw no signs of their power at such an age, but El had Basile blood running in her veins. Tyson’s father was Viktor Basile, a descendent of the long line of kings of Bela, each more powerful than the last.

The Basile power. Etta once had it, but it died soon after she overcame La Dame, and the world no longer needed the power to protect it from the great sorceress. Yet, both little Viktor and Elayne would have many gifts because of their heritage.

Tyson still didn’t know how Amalie thought she could keep Elayne a secret for much longer. But then, Amalie was not a magic-woman. She didn’t understand the power or how it manifested.

She’d barely spoken to him on the ride, but Tyson was grateful Tuck never left her side. Even if Amalie never came back to Tyson, he wanted her to have someone she could count on.

On their second day, the village came into view. Before they reached the cobblestone streets leading to the wharves, three riders crossed the expanse. A Belaen hunting party.

They stopped in front of the large group of refugees and surveyed their faces.

Tyson met the eyes of the leader. “Paint a picture, brother. It’ll last longer.”

A smile crept across Alex’s face. “About time you returned.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you missed me so much.”

Alex grinned. “Actually, I was talking to Edmund.” He turned to Edmund. “Vik cries. All the time. I think I’m going crazy. He just wants you.”

Edmund sat up straighter in his saddle, all weariness disappearing. “What have you done to the kid?” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Uncle Edmund is back.”

Tyson laughed. “He couldn’t have been missing Edmund this entire time. We’ve been gone for months.”

Edmund shot him a look. “You obviously know nothing of our bond.”

El chose that moment to wake. She shifted and lifted her head, piercing Alex with a clear gaze.

Alex went silent for a moment. “Amalie?” He nudged his horse closer.

One of Alex’s companions approached. Matteo, Tyson’s cousin, examined El with the keen eyes of his. “It seems we have much to discuss, cousin. Come. Our hunt can wait. Etta will want to see you immediately.”

“Your highness.” The third rider was Alex’s ever-present guard. “Who are all of these people? We cannot just bring them to the palace.”

Alex rubbed his chin as if seeing Amalie’s people for the first time. His eyes flicked from Tyson to Amalie. “They come. If my brother trusts them enough to bring them into Bela, that’s good enough for me.”

He turned and led the way through the village where onlookers came from their shops to watch them ride by. They crossed the bridge and stopped outside the Belaen palace that looked more like a normal home than a castle. Etta had always preferred simple to grand.

She’d grown up in a forest dwelling so to her, this was extravagant.

They dismounted in the yard as Etta appeared in the doorway. She raced down the steps and threw herself at Tyson. He caught her in a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered. “We’ve heard many things coming out of Gaule and none of them good.”

Tyson pulled back. “We’re okay, but there’s a lot to say.”

She nodded and turned to Edmund, wrapping her arms around his waist for a hug. By the time she released him, a larger presence burst from the palace. Estevan took the steps two at a time, not slowing until he’d crashed into Edmund and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

Edmund, seemingly forgetting about their audience, kissed him back with just as much force. When they finally broke apart, Estevan checked every inch of Edmund, making sure he was intact. “We’ve been so worried. You were gone for far longer than we expected.”

“I suspect there’s a story to hear.” Etta crossed to where Amalie stood at the back of the group. “Amalie.” She smiled.

“Majesty.” Amalie dipped into a formal curtsy. There was no warmth in her voice.

Etta ignored it as she bent down to Elayne. “And who do we have here?”

Amalie stood frozen, but Tyson stepped in. “My daughter.” He met Amalie’s fearful eyes. “Our daughter.”

Etta straightened, shock coating her features. She covered her mouth with her hand and tears pricked her eyes. “Your daughter? She’s—”

“It’s a long story.”

“Come inside. I want to hear all of it.”

Amalie finally found her voice. “If it’s okay, your Majesty, El and I are weary from our travels. Is there a place we could rest?”

Etta placed a hand on Amalie’s arm. “Amalie, we were friends once. You know you can call me Etta.”

Tyson knew what Amalie wanted to say. He’d heard it before. Royals were not meant to be friends. But she held her tongue. It was true. Before Etta claimed her birthright, she’d been a prisoner in Gaule, and Amalie was kind to her.

But that version of Amalie no longer existed. She’d hardened herself.

Etta removed her hand and nodded before gesturing to one of the servants. “Show Amalie and her daughter where they can wash up and rest.”

Once Amalie was gone, Tyson could finally breathe again. Etta wound an arm around his waist and led him to the steps. Most of the others had already gone inside to avail themselves of the queen’s hospitality. The servants busied themselves serving ale and preparing food.

“Just a moment.” Etta stepped away from Tyson and marched to where Edmund was peering down the hallway. “Edmund, so help me, if you wake Viktor from his nap, I’ll lock you in his room and throw away the key.” She narrowed her eyes. “And no, I won’t leave him in the room during your punishment.”

Edmund sighed. “Fine. But if he’s grown while I’ve been away, I’m blaming you for allowing me to miss it.”

Etta crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s a baby! Of course he’s grown.” She smacked the back of his head before returning to Tyson. They sat together on the couch and Tyson leaned his head back.

“So,” she started. “I have a niece.”

Tyson shifted to lean his head on her shoulder. “It doesn’t feel real. I don’t know how to move past Amalie keeping her a secret. How do I forgive her?”

Etta brushed a hand over his head. “Do you still love her?”

He nodded.

“Then you’ll be okay. The forgiving part is easy as long as it hasn’t taken the love part. You just have to make sure she knows how you feel.”

“If she doesn’t, I don’t know what else to do.” The story poured out of him. His mother placing the task of hunting down the Hood on him. Weeks and weeks spent living under Amalie’s roof in search of the outlaw. The revelation of just who it was she sent him to arrest. The hanging.

By the time he’d finished, Etta’s people led the others to where they could sleep on floors or in hay lofts. Better accommodations would be made for them.

Only Tuck remained sitting by the fire with Alex listening to Tyson tell the sequence of events that led their group to abandon Gaule for Bela.

Etta laid her arm over Tyson’s shoulders and squeezed. “It’ll be a change to receive an influx of people who have no magic, but they’re welcome in Bela.”

Tyson met her gaze. “Even Maiya?” She couldn’t help but think of how Etta and Maiya hadn’t acknowledged each other yet. Maiya once worked for La Dame, betraying Etta to do so. But it hadn’t been entirely of her own will.

Etta sighed. “Yes, even Maiya.” She unfolded her legs from underneath her and stood, holding a hand out to Alex. “We’re going to bed now, but Ty?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re back.” She smiled.

Alex wrapped an arm around her. “And we can’t wait to get to know our niece.”

As they walked away, Tyson couldn’t help but think of how he knew so little of El. She was of his blood and held some of his family’s magic, but she was a stranger to him.

Tuck leaned back in his chair, the glow of the fire lighting up his face.

Sometimes, Tyson forgot just how much others had lost as well. Tuck’s sister along with his friends Will and Cam should be with them now, yet their chance had been stolen.

Tyson closed his eyes, letting the darkness be his shield. “Do you ever wonder why we ended up here, safe, and they didn’t?”

Tuck didn’t answer at first, and Tyson opened his eyes to find him staring into the flames.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Every day.” He shook his head. “When I met you and Amalie, La Dame had just almost ripped the world apart. Magic folk were being persecuted in Gaule. The people had no food to eat. Yet… you two were the hope I saw. When I performed your ceremony, it made me feel like there was something good in this life. It’s why I joined Amalie’s fight. But even as we brought food and other goods to the people, I saw the light dimming.”

He turned toward Tyson. “The two people I saw pledging themselves to one another would have lit the world on fire before ever being separated. That doesn’t just disappear.”

Tyson shook his head. “Amalie had made it clear—many times—she feels nothing for me.”

“Because she tries to feel nothing at all. She thought that made her strong, but look at what happened. She tried to protect El by giving her up, and it only put her in more danger. No one is ever better off alone.”

Tyson opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut off by a cry coming from the spare room Amalie occupied. Elayne.

He jumped to his feet and crossed to the door. When he pushed it open, Elayne was sitting up in bed beside a sleeping Amalie, tears rolling down her face.

Tyson plucked her from the bed and cradled her against his chest as he walked back into the living room. She stopped crying immediately.

Tuck smiled when he returned. “I’m off to find a place to sleep.”

Tyson only nodded as he sat and stared into the face of the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her cheeks were red from crying, but her eyes were clear and piercing.

“Hey,” Tyson whispered. “I’m your father.”

She blinked, staring at him as if she understood.

“I will never let you down. That I promise you. I’m going to love you with everything I have.”

Her eyes slid closed as if his words allowed her the peace she needed to sleep.

30

Amalie clutched the doorframe as if it was the only thing that could hold her up. Tears welled in her eyes. Tyson’s words surrounded her, filling her with regret. Regret for everything she’d done, for the life she’d chosen.

Not the Hood. She’d never regret that. But for choosing not to allow Tyson or Elayne to go through the mission with her. For deciding it was better to be alone than to put them in danger.

They were in danger regardless if they were with her. She just hadn’t seen it at the time.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t turn back into the room as Tyson bent his head to kiss El’s soft curls.

He whispered something she couldn’t hear. Everything inside her wanted to be part of their moment, to belong with them. She’d lied to Tyson when she claimed her love for him had left. It was the only thing she still had.

And yet, she didn’t deserve him. His love. His forgiveness. She saw that now in the way he looked at Elayne like she was all that mattered in life. Like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Amalie had separated them. Kept them from all they had to give each other. She should have known John was lying when he told her Tyson refused to come. She should have had more faith.

With a sigh, Amalie turned away from the scene she intruded upon, re-entering the room and closing the door.

Etta and Alex were simple people, even as king and queen of Bela. As much as Amalie had fought against any connection to nobles or royals, she knew they weren’t like any other. She respected the sparseness of the room. They had no need for grand canopied beds or marble floors.

They’d built the palace themselves with the help of their townsfolk. It belonged to the people of Bela. A simple wooden bed sat pushed up against the far window, moonlight streaming across the soft fur blankets.

Amalie ran her hand along the hand-carved table stretching along the opposite wall.

“That was a gift from Dell.” Tyson’s voice made her jump. She hadn’t heard the door open.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she turned to find him standing with a sleeping Elayne in his arms.

At a loss for what else to say, she nodded. “I suspected as much.” Dell was the new king of Madra. He’d married Queen Helena only the year before. Amalie had declined her invitation to the wedding.

Dell had amazing hands, crafting beauty where there was once only rough wood. Amalie had always envied those who could create rather than only destroy.

Tyson shuffled past her and laid El on the bed, covering her with furs. She murmured unintelligible words and rolled over.

A smile curved Tyson’s lips. In the dark, the silver light illuminated his eyes as he faced Amalie.

“Thank you.” She lowered her gaze. “For getting her back to sleep.” She sat on the corner of the bed and rubbed her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t wake up when she did.”

“It’s okay.” He offered her a sad shrug and moved to the door.

But she couldn’t let him leave. “Ty.” The desperation in her voice forced him to turn back toward her. “I…” She shook her head. “How am I supposed to do this?”

“Do what, Ames?” He sat beside her, careful not to wake Elayne.

“This.” She gestured to the sleeping girl. “I don’t know how to be a mother. It was never supposed to be me.”

Tyson stiffened at her words before sighing. “I’ve thought about this a lot. You thought I wasn’t ever coming back and any child of the Hood’s would always be in danger. I don’t agree with your decision, but I understand it. Just because you didn’t feed her every day and hold her as she cried didn’t mean you weren’t her mother. Have you ever thought by giving her up, by trying to keep her safe, you were being the best mother you could be this entire time?” He moved to stand, but Amalie placed her hand over his.

“Thanks, Ty. I don’t just mean for your words.” She swallowed a sob. He deserved more than her tears. “You’ve always taken care of me, saved me.”

He shook his head. “You’ve never needed me to take care of you, Ames. Even as you stood with the hangman’s noose around your neck, you didn’t need me. If you’d died, you would have been okay. I saw your face. You were ready to give yourself for something you believed in.” He dropped his voice. “I didn’t save you because you needed me to. I came because I couldn’t live in a world where you no longer existed.”

“Tyson,” she whispered. His words traveled straight to her heart. When she learned Elayne still lived, she’d felt it begin to beat again. But now, the cracks in her heart had actually started to heal.

Tyson peered sideways at her. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want me to say things like that to you.”

Honesty had always been one of the things she loved about Tyson. He cared little for how people would react to his words. If he felt the truth in them, he didn’t hold back. He’d always been the least self-conscious person she knew… until she’d broken him.

It warmed her to hear the old Tyson coming through.

“Amalie—”

“No. Say nothing else. I’ve screwed everything up, Ty. And I know you better than anyone. There are some things you need to hear from me.” She inhaled. “For so long, I’ve thought the best way to face the world was alone. It was something my father instilled in me. Then you came along and I lost sight of everything else. I blamed you. For a long time, I told myself you were the reason I didn’t see the plight of my people. But that was wrong. I don’t have to follow the Leroy road in anything but name.”

“I don’t understand.” He shifted his eyes away as if afraid to see what resided in hers.

“Ty.” She reached for both his hands. “I love you.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “You love me?”

A smile slid across her face. “I never stopped. I only lost my way. The Hood will always be a part of me, but I realize now it isn’t the only part.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “You’re here too.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for everything. I—”

He cut off her words by pressing his lips to hers and sliding his hands around the back of her head. It only took Amalie a moment before she wound her arms around his back. Every bit of longing of the last few years poured into a single moment.

Amalie once thought being unable to return to Gaule, to continue her self-proclaimed mission meant her life no longer had meaning. She was wrong. This was a new kind of mission. As she kissed the boy she’d married in a tiny chapel on the border of three kingdoms, the boy who’d given her hope after the darkest battle of their lives, contentment settled over her. Home. It wasn’t a feeling she’d ever known. Until now.

Until the best man she’d ever known saved her one final time. He thought she didn’t need him, that she was strong enough to take care of herself. But the truth was, she’d only broken herself, and Tyson gave her the strength to heal. His true magic wasn’t controlling the water of the earth.

It was in allowing those waters to wash them clean of the past.

Tyson leaned his forehead against hers, their breath mingling. “It’s a good thing we’re already married.”

She grinned. “Why is that?”

“Because now I don’t have to drag Tuck out of bed and tell him to make you my wife.”

“Your wife, huh?”

His brow creased and his smile dropped. “You’ve been my wife this entire time, you know. Even when you denied me, we’ve remained connected.”

Her hands snaked up into his hair. “I know,” she breathed.

His next kiss was softer, letting her know they had all the time in the world. Because they did.

A cry came from the bed and Elayne sat up.

Amalie broke away from Tyson with a smile and turned to the red-faced girl. “It’s okay, honey.” She pulled El into her arms. The child still barely knew her, but she would soon. They were forever too.

Tyson crawled over Elayne to sit on her other side. He brushed the hair from her face. Elayne shifted so she leaned against both of them. Tyson grinned in the boyish way he had. Even after everything, his face held an innocence she was drawn to. As if he didn’t carry around the events of the past like everyone else did.

“Sleep,” he whispered, shifting his body down to lie beside her. Elayne curled against him.

Both father and daughter fell asleep with little trouble. Amalie watched their chests rise and fall in sync, not wanting sleep to take the moment from her. A moment she’d never thought she’d have.

She bent to kiss each head beside her and then settled in for a too-short night of watching her world turn.

Epilogue

Edmund bounced on his toes as he stood next to Tyson at the edge of the docks. Tyson smirked sideways at him.

Estevan, standing on Edmund’s other side, gripped his arm. “You’re going to fall in the water if you don’t calm down.”

“I won’t fall.” Edmund shielded his eyes from the sun, peering at the ship as it neared.

“Let me translate what Estevan said.” Tyson lifted a brow. “If you don’t relax, I’m going to push you in the water.”

Edmund stepped back from the edge with a grunt. “Since when did you two become so serious?”

Estevan laughed. “I’ve missed my sister too, Edmund. But she won’t disembark any faster if you stand there acting like you’re going to piss yourself.”

Tyson grinned. The more time he spent with Estevan, the more he liked him. But it was nothing to how he felt about Helena Rhodipus. The queen of Madra was unlike anyone he knew—perhaps besides Etta.

She hadn’t been to Bela since recovering her kingdom in the Madran rebellion. Etta and Alex visited Madra, but Tyson had been in Gaule at the time.

A dark-haired woman peered over the wooden rail of the bow.

“There she is.” Edmund jumped up and down like a child getting a new toy.

Helena’s gaze found them and her smile lit up the already bright day. Blue skies hung overhead as if welcoming the foreign royals to their shores.

Dell appeared next to Helena and lifted a hand in a wave.

Edmund waved excitedly. Tyson and Estevan only laughed.

“Why isn’t Etta here to greet them again?” Edmund asked.

“Last minute meeting with Alex and Matteo.” Tyson heard the conversation between Etta and Matteo when he walked into the palace before leaving for the docks. They hadn’t yet told Tyson, but his mother had been making moves. The Moreau lands, which had been taken by a rebellious noble, were recovered and returned to their rightful owner. The duchess was the queen’s biggest ally. That signaled a shift in Gaule.

It had been months since Tyson returned and they’d had no word from his mother or Simon. Not even an apology for what her people almost did to Amalie. He’d long since reconciled himself to the fact that a relationship with his mother would only prove more difficult.

He shook off his dark thoughts as Helena leapt from the ship without waiting for the ramp to cover the gap. She landed on the deck with a thud and sprinted toward them. Dell and her guards scrambled to catch up.

Helena launched herself at Estevan. He caught her around the waist. “I’ve missed you, your Majesty.”

She swatted his arm. “Don’t you dare call me that, Brother.”

Dell finally caught up, panting. “She’ll hurt you if you do.”

Edmund rocked back on his heels. “You can’t keep all her attention, Stev.”

Helena laughed and threw herself at Edmund with the same vigor as her brother.

“Lenny.” He whirled her around in a circle, and she laughed.

Dell pulled Helena off Edmund and for a moment, Tyson thought it was because he didn’t like the length of their embrace. But he was wrong. Dell stepped forward and gave Edmund a much rougher hug.

“Damn,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

Edmund reluctantly released him so Tyson could greet the king and queen he loved like family. He looked over Helena’s shoulder, hoping to see one more person come from the ship. But she wasn’t there.

Helena followed his gaze. “I’m sorry, Ty. Camille couldn’t travel this close to the baby coming.”

It made sense, but it didn’t lessen his disappointment. He hadn’t seen his sister in years. “Come on. We aren’t the only people in Bela who wish to see you.”

They found Alex inside the palace sitting on the ground with Viktor and Elayne. Both children crawled on top of him as he screamed that he was being attacked.

It took him a moment to realize he had company. He grinned. “Queen Helena. King Dell. Welcome to Bela.”

Etta appeared from an adjoining room and rushed to Helena. “Welcome back.” The two women spoke with rapid words as the men watched the children play.

Arms wound around Tyson’s waist, and he smiled as Amalie rested her chin on his shoulder from behind.

Dell flashed them a grin. “I knew it. When you took me to the Leroy estate to be healed and Amalie acted as if she’d rather kill you then help you, I knew there was something there.”

Amalie shrugged. “I could never kill him. I’m just a sweet young damsel.”

A laugh burst out of Tyson.

Dell shook his head with a grin. “We’ve heard the stories about you all the way in Madra.” He leaned forward. “You’re the Hood.”

“Was. I was the Hood. Now I’m Amalie Durand.”

Dell eyed her. “The warrior will always find new battles to fight.”

Amalie nodded. “I’m always here. Remember that for the next time your people rise up and demand the Madran crown.”

He grinned. “So, that’s how it is now?”

She only crossed her arms in response.

“Alright. Make fun. Madran society still works more smoothly than that of Gaule.”

“I’m no longer from Gaule. Bela is my home now.” And it was. She didn’t have magic, but they accepted her and her people, anyway. She met Tuck’s eyes across the room. If anyone had told the two of them they’d one day stand among kings and queens and be treated like equals, they’d have scoffed at the notion.

John would have hated it.

But Amalie wouldn’t live her life for what other’s thought of her, for how righteous they considered her actions.

The party lasted into the night. For now, they would celebrate reunions. Over the next few days, Madra and Bela would enter a new phase of alliance. One that protected them from the turmoil in Gaule or the distrust of Dracon.

Amalie let her eyes rove over the crowd. Kings. Queens. Princes. Guards. All mingling with common people as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

But if there was one thing she’d learned about people like Tuck or Maiya or countless others, it was that there was nothing common about them.

* * *

Tyson woke to a pounding on his door. He’d been living with Amalie and El in his small home in the village for a while now. No guards. Nothing to impede them living their lives.

But he was still a prince of Bela and urgent matters couldn’t wait.

He expected to find a servant at the door urging him to the palace. When he swung it open, Alex stood there with haunted eyes.

He held a candle in one hand and the flames flickered off his tired face.

“What is it?” Tyson grabbed his cloak off a hook near the door. “What has happened?”

Alex opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed and finally spoke. “Mother. She’s here.”

Tyson followed him out into the sleepy village, a million questions racing through his mind. Why would the queen of Gaule be in Bela? Had she come alone, or did the entire kingdom know she was there?

He hated that he didn’t trust her to simply visit. She had to want something.

Alex bulled through the front door of the palace. Tyson followed him and stopped abruptly when he took in the scene before him. His mother sat on the couch cradling a baby. Simon hovered behind her. Various guards lingered nearby.

“Tyson.” She stood.

Tyson said nothing until his eyes fell on Simon. “Si, it’s good to see you.”

Simon only nodded.

Alex took the sleeping baby from their mother’s arms before she could protest. “You two need to talk. Tell him everything you’ve told me.”

Simon followed Alex out and gestured for the guards to do the same.

Tyson turned his back on his mother and stepped close to the fledgling fire, needing the warmth to thaw the ice in his veins.

A hand on his arm made him pivot. He towered over her small frame. The lines in her face were deeper than he remembered, her hair more gray.

The anger that had pooled in him unraveled until all he felt was a deep exhaustion. His shoulders dropped, and he turned away from her to flop onto the couch.

Not waiting for him to acknowledge her any longer, the queen of Gaule spoke. “I have been ill this past year. That is no excuse for anything that has happened, but we’ve only recently learned it wasn’t only the child growing in me making me ill, but a potion found its way into my food.” She sat next to him, careful to allow some space.

“Gaule is not an easy kingdom to rule. Your father knew that, which is why he used fear to keep his people in line. Alex learned the difficulties when he tried to be a fair and just king. But for me, a woman not of Durand blood, the troubles have only increased. I only tell you this because I hope you’ll understand how deeply the treason goes within my own troops.”

She shook her head. “Anders… well, he was loyal once. His hatred of magic turned him into the monster he became. I never imagined… well, let’s just say Amalie wasn’t at the top of my suspect list when searching for the Hood. I used the Hood’s search to keep Anders and his men busy while I planned the next phase of my reign.”

She reached for Tyson’s hand but thought better of it and pulled back. “I have helped Duchess Moreau take back her lands on the border, but that is not all. My loyal units of the guard have been making arrests of those nobles who do not distribute food to the villages. It was always my plan to care for my people, but I am a queen. I cannot go on a jaunt in the woods to shoot arrows at traders and then give the stolen food to the people. I must create lasting ways for them to be fed. Policies and recurring methods, not single events.”

Tyson lifted his eyes to hers. “You almost killed them, mother. You allowed the search for the Hood to ravage villages, and it almost took the most important people in my life.”

She let her gaze fall to her lap. “I know. I cannot ask for forgiveness for my short-sightedness. Amalie was once like a daughter before everything got so far off path.” This time, when she reached for his hand, she didn’t stop herself.

Tyson had often wondered what he’d say to his mother should he see her again. Now, no words would come.

Her grip on his hand tightened, and he didn’t pull away. His mother was once his best friend. She’d hidden his magic when he was a child and the power meant death in Gaule. She’d planned his escape.

She smiled. “Simon tells me you and Amalie got married quite a while ago.”

He nodded. “Right after the battle with La Dame.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could tell me.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t that. We wanted to keep something just for ourselves. At least for a little while. By the time I was ready to announce it, I’d lost her.”

His mother let her hand smooth over the curve of his arm and up over his shoulder. She cupped his cheek. “But you’re together now. That’s what matters. Can I… I know I don’t have a right to ask, but I’d very much like to meet my granddaughter.”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s fair.” She let her hand drop. “But you should at least meet your new brother when he wakes.”

“Brother?”

She nodded. “Caleb looks like you. We need to keep Simon’s Belaen heritage a secret for as long as we can. He’s managed to hide his magic all this time. One day, if Caleb inherits powers, he will bring our kingdoms closer together.” She went quiet, and neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“Mother.” He closed his eyes. “I want to be so angry. A part of me knows you had no hand in anything that happened, but you could have stopped it.”

“I know, my boy. I know.”

He couldn’t hold on to any ill feelings toward her any longer. Some people said he forgave too easily for grave offenses, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was his mother, and he needed her.

He turned to her and wrapped his arms around her narrow shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

He nodded against her. His mother was finally gaining control of the seemingly uncontrollable kingdom. A kingdom that would no longer welcome their prince home. But at that moment, it didn’t matter which kingdoms they called their own. Not with family.

His mother held his cheeks in her hands and stared into his eyes. “I love you, Son.”

He hugged her again.

They spent the next few hours talking. Alex and Simon returned with baby Caleb.

When morning came, everyone descended on the palace as if it was their home as well as Etta and Alex’s. Tyson met Amalie, El, and Tuck at the door. Helena appeared with Dell at her side and Edmund and Estevan trailing behind.

Maiya even made an appearance though she spoke to few people.

Tyson’s mother pulled him aside. “I haven’t been around family in this way since you, Alex, and Camille all lived with me in Gaule.” Her eyes shone.

Tyson wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her to where Viktor and Elayne hunched over Caleb, staring into his chubby face.

“It doesn’t matter where we are, Mother.” Tyson’s eyes settled on his daughter. “We’re still family. Sometimes we make mistakes—quite large ones—and sometimes we forget just what it is we’ve fought so hard to achieve. Peace. Safety. One day, I hope Gaule gets to experience what Bela has.”

“I wish for that too.” She turned a fierce gaze on him. “I’m going to work toward showing the people of Gaule what life can be like. Our fight doesn’t have to last forever.”

He rested his chin on her head as Amalie wedged under his other arm. “As long as there are things worth fighting for, there will be battles worth jumping in to. Someone will always try to take what we have.”

His mother smiled at him and crouched down to play with the kids.

Amalie led Tyson away, squeezing him to her side as she peered up at him through dark lashes. “I won’t stop fighting the battles either.”

He dipped his head to catch her lips. “Whatever we have to do.” He kissed her again. “Whoever comes to rip us apart.” He smiled against her mouth. “It’s you and me.”

She shook her head, chestnut hair cascading down her back. “No, it’s not.” They’d made that mistake after getting married when they’d returned to her estate in Gaule and lived separately from the people they cared for.

“You’re right. How could I forget?” He pinched her side. “I’m married to the Hood, and she takes care of everyone.”

“Nah, she only protects them from royals like you.”

“Like me, eh.” He tried to catch her around the waist again, but she jumped back with a laugh.

“Yep. Evil royals.” She turned and darted out the front door, her laugh trailing behind her.

Tyson glanced toward the kids. “Well, aren’t you going to catch her?”

Viktor and Elayne jumped up and sprinted out the door as fast as their little legs could take them. Amalie hid around the side of the barn where Vérité stuck his head out of his stall. Tyson rubbed the horse’s nose as he waited for the telltale shrieks that would tell him the kids caught Amalie.

When he rounded the corner, they tackled her to the ground. He joined them in their play as the rest of their group streamed from the house.

Tyson didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such a life. He met Etta’s gaze. Fought La Dame?

Helena said something to Etta and laughed. Saved the Madran queen during the rebellion?

Amalie shrieked again. Saved the Hood?

They’d all been through a lot, but their happiness didn’t feel like the ending to some great tale of magic and sacrifice, raging battles and traitorous deeds. No, this was only the beginning of a new story. He didn’t know what kind of adventure it would be, but the future mattered just as little as the past. Because right now, right here, he had everything he’d ever dreamed of.

And that was enough adventure for him.

Want more? Cursed Beauty (my favorite of the series) begins on the next page!

Cursed Beauty

The true story of Sleeping Beauty

About Cursed Beauty

So, if you’ve read the rest of the Fantasy and Fairytales series, you know that this is the seventh book.

Aurora and Phillip were such a pleasure to write. I was worried, like I know some of you will be, that I wouldn’t be into it as much because it happens 200 years before the events of the other books, meaning it doesn’t feature any known characters.

BUT, I was wrong. This book quickly became my favorite. Just don’t tell Etta and Edmund.

Here’s the skinny. In Golden Curse, Etta suffers under a family curse tying her to the Durand heir. You get a little bit of the back story and a few mentions of her ancient ancestors, Aurora and Phillip, but nothing more than some cursory information.

Well, tada! This book explains everything. It’s the only true standalone in the series because it’s its own story with no influences from the others. In fact, it’s the other way around. Cursed Beauty shapes everything that happens in the first six books. And we get to see what makes La Dame such a big bad!!

This is the story of the Basile curse and how it came to be. I hope you love it as much as I do.

If you haven’t read the others in the series, hopefully this will leave you hungry to start from book 1, Golden Curse.

Sometimes to understand the end, you have to go back to the beginning.

Welcome to Bela, 200 years before the events of Golden Curse.

Part I

1

Phillip

The drums of war held a foreboding rhythm Phillip Basile would never forget. The general prince—as they called him—had stood on bloodstained fields many times before. This time was no different. He still saw no end to the continuous wars between his kingdom of Bela and their greatest enemies, the hordes of Gaule.

Phillip stood atop the eastern tower of one of the border fortresses watching the savages streak across the hillside in the distance. Gaule was a crude land led by a cruel king who had attacked Bela’s border villages for too long. They lacked Bela’s sophistication and common decency.

Shaking his head, Phillip turned to the men at his back. They’d die for him. He knew that. The warriors of Bela had always been loyal to the crown, and the crown was loyal to them as well.

“Call the archers to line the walls. This fortress will not stand another assault. I want my best magic wielders to meet me at the gates. We will ride out to face them. Once the fight begins, prepare those inside these walls to make for the forest.”

One of the armor-clad men dipped his head. “Yes, General.” Among his men, Phillip was not a prince, not royal. To them, he was a seasoned fighter, one of their comrades. The general.

He strode back into the tower and thundered down the stairs with his guards following behind. Alfred and Chandler were magic wielders who’d been with him since they were all young boys spying on soldiers in the palace.

“General,” Chandler called as Phillip marched across the courtyard. He didn’t pause, so Chandler tried again. “General.”

“Phillip,” Alfred barked. “Stop for a damn minute.”

Phillip turned, his jaw clenched. “There is no time. Within the hour, they will overrun us.”

“You can’t ride out. What will protect you?”

Chandler nodded in agreement. “Phillip, the entire Gaulean force is out there. Even with our magic, we can’t match them. You’re the heir to the Basile magic. We can’t risk you.”

Bela was the least populated of the six kingdoms by more than half, but each person born in their land held magic in their blood. The only other kingdom that could boast such a feat was Dracon. Magic had protected Bela for centuries, yet only when the ancient power of the kings was also present. Each Basile king possessed a magic matched only by that of the dark sorceress of Dracon.

And the king was dying. Phillip thought back to the last time he’d spoken to his father. The old man had wanted to make the journey, to ensure they won the day, but he wasn’t even able to stand. He wouldn’t have had the strength to travel, let alone wield his own magic. If he died, Phillip would inherit the power, allowing him to protect Bela.

What would his father do now? Would he abandon the last remaining border fortress? Would he try to protect the few people Bela had left?

No. Phillip stood taller. His father would fight until he couldn’t any longer. He met the worried gazes of his two oldest friends. “I won’t force you to join me, but I’m not allowing those savages to cross into Bela.”

He turned on his heel and marched to the stables, barking orders as he did. “Ready the horses.” All those who wished to fight gathered their weapons. Steel flashed in the early morning sun, but it was only a tool, a ruse. Their greatest weapons lay inside them.

Each magic-wielder’s power was different. Some could call on the heat of the sun, others forced the winds to obey their commands.

And Phillip? His greatest weapon was his protective shields against the enemy. A king should have been able to do more in battle. He’d always thought it ironic that his gift wasn’t more.

One day, it would be. One day, he’d know what it felt to be invincible, to harness the power of his ancestors, the magic that belonged to the Basiles, transferring to each new generation as they stepped up to rule.

And when that time came, Gaule would regret the day they made an enemy of Bela.

* * *

Phillip knelt down in the middle of the battle, digging his fingers into his thighs as he tried to hold the parts of his invisible shield that hadn’t already fallen. An arrow sailed for Alfred’s back. Phillip clenched his teeth, pulling in his little remaining energy to expand his shield, throwing it out toward Alfred. The arrow hit the invisible force and snapped in two, sending a tremor through Phillip. The prince slumped forward.

“General!” Chandler ducked away from the arc of a sword before slicing his attacker across the back—not with his own blade, but with his magic. His power was an extension of his sword.

He sprinted toward Phillip and grabbed his arm to haul him to his feet. “I told you not to use your shield to protect all of us. You can’t hold it that wide.”

“You don’t give me orders.” He sucked in a breath, and it rattled painfully in his chest.

Chandler scanned the battlefield where many of their comrades had fallen. Horses darted from the fight. The Gaulean savages continued to come.

“You need to order a retreat.” Alfred joined them, wiping his dripping blade on the grass.

Phillip shook his head. A retreat meant defeat. It meant allowing their enemies to have a piece of Bela, to encroach upon their land. He lifted his eyes to the hill where the Gaulean king sat atop his horse, never joining the fight. Such was the way of the Durands.

Alfred gripped Phillip’s shoulder. “We’ve already lost. Now is the time to save what little we can.”

He was right. There was no denying it. Enough people had died this day. Phillip nodded and Alfred lifted his chin. “Retreat.” His voice carried on the strength of his magic. He could make himself heard at great distances. Those on the battlefield and in the fortress would hear his call. “Retreat.”

“We have to get to the woods.” Phillip looked toward the Gaulean king once more, and the man’s dark eyes turned in his direction as if he could see the Belaen prince amidst the chaos.

The woods were their only chance. The Gauleans were a suspicious sort, fearing the dark forests that stretched across Bela.

Phillip tried to pull his magic forth, to shield them as they ran, but it was no use. He had no strength left for it. His feet thundered across the open land. His head turned each way to make sure the rest of his army followed. The remaining Belaens fled for their lives, abandoning a fortress they’d held for centuries.

But some things were more important than buildings and land.

A man collided with Phillip, knocking him to the ground. The prince tried to roll him off, but the Gaulean was too strong. He held a knife in one hand and slashed it across Phillip’s stomach. Pain radiated from the point of attack, and then someone hauled the man off him. Chandler stabbed his sword through the savage and pulled it out in one movement. As the dead man collapsed to the ground, Alfred pulled Phillip back to his feet.

Phillip pressed a hand to his wound, trying to stem the bleeding. Crimson life seeped between his fingers.

Chandler and Alfred both yelled his name, but he didn’t hear them as he fell to his knees. Agony seared through him.

The end. It comes before you’re ready. It never takes into account how much you have left to accomplish.

Death cares little if you’re the prince, if the Basile power should one day belong to you.

It takes everything and leaves you with only darkness to call your own.

2

Aurora

Aurora Rose Brynhild never imagined the kingdom’s battles would come so close to her home. Since she was a child, she’d lived among the trees with only her grandmother for company. But her grandmother was gone now, and she’d been alone for over two years. Had it really been that long since she’d spoken to anyone other than the dark sorceress?

Her grandmother told her people were dangerous. When she was a child, the subject came up frequently in conversations with her father. He would leave her for weeks, and then one day he never returned.

She knew who’d taken him. The sorceress over the wall—the Draconian queen. She held Aurora’s life in the palm of her hand, never letting her experience true freedom.

Aurora pressed herself against the tree in her perch high in the branches as men trampled through her beautiful woods, leaving blood in their path. Most weren’t followed. Those they’d fought stayed at the edge of the forest.

Something caught her eye, and she leaped from one branch to another until she could get a closer look. Two men huddled over a third, trying to lift him. Their voices reached her.

“He’s dying.” One looked to the other.

A scream tore through the air, followed by a mass of large men in leathers breaking through the trees at the edge of the woods. Soon, they’d spot the dying man and his companions.

“They can’t find him.” The first man lifted his eyes. “We have to lead them away.”

The second shook his head. “And just abandon him?”

The first stood and gripped the injured man under the arms, hauling him into the thick underbrush. He covered him.

“He needs a healer.” The second man gripped his sword.

The first man met his eyes. “And we’ll get him to one. We won’t let him down. But we won’t be any good to him if we’re overrun. Don’t you think the Gaulean king would love to have him as a prisoner?”

Together, both men turned and ran back the way they’d come.

Aurora leaned against the tree, listening to the sounds of battle, waiting for the men to return.

After a few moments, she gripped the branch in front of her and dropped down onto a lower one before jumping to the pine-covered ground. She approached where they’d hidden the man and ripped aside the bush covering him.

The face that greeted her was younger than she’d expected. Dirt and blood streaked across his tanned skin and into his sun-bleached hair.

His eyelids twitched but didn’t open. Aurora bit her lip, considering the man. She felt for injury, finding a hole in his leather tunic. Wadded fabric lay pressed against his skin, bulging behind his shirt. Yet, blood continued to run free.

They were right about one thing. This man needed a healer, and he needed one fast. Glancing up to make sure no other soldiers remained in this part of the woods, she made a decision. Her father would scold her for her compassion. Her grandmother would worry, trying to hide the pride on her face. She could picture them now, waiting for her at the cottage.

Tears threatened to prick her eyelids, but there was no time for sentimentality. She dragged the man into the open, past thick pine trees, and across the clearing to where she’d hidden her only friend. Lea’s soft brown eyes bore into hers. The mule shifted as Aurora dug through the bags on her friend’s back, looking for the length of rope that was an ever-present companion to the girl who spent her days climbing trees looking for the freshest fruit and setting snares for rabbits.

She pulled the rope free and tied an end to each of the man’s arms before looping the middle around a hook on Lea’s saddle.

“Come on, girl.” She patted Lea’s neck before untying her. “I couldn’t just leave him.” She took the reins and led Lea into a deeper part of the woods where very few people ventured. It was too close to the walls of Dracon, and the only thing that frightened Belaens more than the hordes of Gauleans was the Draconian Queen, La Dame.

Aurora grimaced as the man’s body hit a bump in the road, but she reminded herself there was no other way home. It took the better part of an hour to reach the small cottage where she lived alone. Thick pine trees shielded it from anyone who didn’t know the way. A field of white lilies came into view before the stone structure.

Aurora breathed out a relieved sigh as she pulled Lea to a stop and got to work untying the man she’d brought to her sanctuary. It was probably a mistake. Her family wouldn’t have approved, not with the curse inside of her. They’d claim it was too dangerous, that she risked activating La Dame’s threat. But wasn’t it also dangerous to leave a dying man alone in the woods? Soon after she was born, her mother grew ill, and her desperate father turned to the dark queen of Dracon for help.

But her aid had come at a cost, a curse on the family.

On Aurora’s eighteenth birthday, she would fall into a magical slumber that would end when one hundred winters had passed.

She only had one short month remaining of her young life. Slumber wasn’t death, but the uncertainty of it might prove to be much worse.

Aurora looked to the stranger once more. At least with her final act, she could do something good.

* * *

Aurora stepped out her front door and turned to examine her home. The magic pooled in her fingertips just as it did for all Belaens. She’d inherited the same power her grandfather once had. Not all types of magic ran in families, but the power of growth lived strong in their line. Her grandmother called it a power over life. She didn’t know if she believed that, but it allowed her to remain hidden in the woods.

She curled her fingers in, pressing them against her palms as vines snaked up the sides of the cottage until she could only see the door. Someone would have to be looking for it to find it. The solitude suited her. If she had nothing in her life, then sadness couldn’t overwhelm her. No one would miss her while she slept, no one besides her would live with the anguish of her curse.

With a sigh, she brushed her hands down her pale pink dress. The laces frayed, but each time they broke, she repaired them. The only clothing she owned was that which she made herself or that which belonged to her long-dead family.

She picked up a bucket she’d left by the side of the house and smiled at Lea as she passed her. The walls of Dracon stood ominously close, but they’d never frightened her as they had most other people. Not even La Dame herself scared Aurora. She’d already done her worst when she set the curse on a newborn baby girl.

Aurora had resigned herself to her fate. Nothing in life could hurt her now.

The best berries hung on the bushes at the base of the wall. Purple and juicy, they were one of the few pleasures she had left to enjoy in her remaining days. She walked through the woods until a line of thick and thorny bushes stretched out before her.

A small smile played on her lips as she pulled the first berry and popped it in her mouth. An explosion of sweet juices had her closing her eyes. It had never taken much to bring Aurora joy. She didn’t need fancy clothes or a handsome prince to show her how lucky she was to be alive.

The fresh breeze stopped, and she snapped her eyes open. It was the first time she noticed the absence of birds singing overhead. The berry she chewed turned sour, and she spit it out before pivoting on her heel and coming face to face with the tormenter who’d become a frequent visitor in the woods.

“Oh.” Aurora crossed her arms. “It’s you.”

La Dame flashed her a smile. Aurora always got the impression she amused the sorceress, and it always irritated her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

La Dame’s long inky hair hung in waves down her slender back. Her beauty was no secret, but the stories said little else about her. She continued to stare.

Aurora bristled. “I asked what you wanted. You’ve already set my curse. Can’t you leave me alone and let me enjoy the little remaining life I have left?”

La Dame reached forward, and her icy finger wiped at Aurora’s chin. “It isn’t proper to let the juice dribble down your skin, my dear.”

Aurora pushed her hand away. “I’m not your dear. If you have no important reason for infringing upon my solitude, then I’ll be on my way.” She turned and walked away.

La Dame followed her. “But I’m not the only person interrupting your peace, am I?”

“Go away.”

“I think I’ll stay and meet your visitor.”

Aurora froze. “He’s not capable of conversation right now. Go get your entertainment somewhere else.”

For a moment, she wondered if the sorceress had listened to her because she heard no further pursuit. When she reached her home, however, La Dame stood at the door.

“How did you…?”

La Dame’s eyes danced. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Aurora.” Without another word, she ducked her head and pushed through the door.

Aurora ran after her, stopping inside when she saw the strange man struggling to sit up in bed. When she’d brought him to her home, she’d removed his dirty, blood-soaked clothing and cleaned him as best she could.

He stilled when he saw them. “Who are you?” His voice was deep and rich and so utterly male it took Aurora a moment to realize he’d asked a question.

He didn’t wait for an answer as he lifted the blanket she’d covered him with. “And why am I naked?”

A blush crept up her cheeks. “Umm…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “You…”

La Dame laughed. “I think what my dear Aurora is trying to tell you, young man, is that she found you injured and alone in the forest before bringing you here where she had to cut away your shirt to tend to your wound. And the rest of your clothing was wrecked from the battle.”

Aurora snapped her gaze to La Dame. “How do you know all of that?” The sorceress hadn’t been there when she’d brought the stranger home.

La Dame shrugged and stepped closer to the man. “I am watching you, young man. Nothing you do goes unnoticed in Dracon.” Before Aurora could stop her, La Dame uttered a few unintelligible words and placed her hand against the man’s head. He struggled against her touch, uttering a few curses that only made La Dame laugh.

“No,” Aurora gasped.

The man slumped back on the bed, his eyes closed.

“What did you do to him?” She dropped to her knees beside the bed.

La Dame walked toward the door. “He wasn’t needed any longer. Be careful, Aurora. One month.” She glanced back at the man. “This one might be the one.”

“What are you talking about?”

La Dame tapped her chin. “You’ll soon find out, I think.” Without another word, she disappeared as if she’d never been there at all.

A tear slipped down Aurora’s cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, leaning over him.

When his chest rose, she sucked in a breath. Not dead. She closed her eyes, thanking the stars La Dame hadn’t taken this stranger’s life. He was only here because of her, and Aurora couldn’t stand to see La Dame take someone else’s life. She already had hers, but it gave her some comfort knowing the people of Bela would go on with their lives, never knowing she’d been there, never missing her.

La Dame required payments for deals she made. She didn’t want deaths. No, nothing so simple as that. She wanted lives. Aurora would sleep for one hundred years, and when she woke, she’d become just another servant of La Dame’s.

Sometimes, Aurora wondered if La Dame only wanted the entertainment her curses provided.

Aurora sighed. “Only one way out,” she whispered to herself. La Dame’s curses always held something twisted. There was a way to break the curse, but it was up to the curse bearer to figure it out, and, once she did, she was sure she’d regret it. No one ever liked the consequences of breaking a curse.

La Dame’s cruelty knew no ends.

She sat back on her heels, watching his chest rise and fall and wishing the world had let her fade into the sleep as her curse demanded. Instead, it had given her one final test.

3

La Dame

A cry pierced the solitude of La Dame’s slumber. How dare the child wake her at such an hour? She rolled from her bed, planning to yell for one of her servants to care for the baby down the hall. Rapunzel. What a stupid name.

What possessed the sorceress to bring the girl back to her palace? Images from the night before flickered through her mind, moving pictures she cared little for. A fire wound through one sector of the village nearest the palace. The commotion pulled their queen near to see what was happening.

She could have stopped it. She could have saved the people who didn’t survive the raging flames.

But no one in Dracon would have been surprised at her inaction. Then she found her. A tiny baby someone had thrown from an upper balcony. La Dame caught the child and hadn’t let go until she returned to her home. No one would miss the babe. Her parents were now nothing but ashes.

All La Dame remembered of them was a woman wailing for her Rapunzel.

Where were the damn maids? Didn’t they hear the obnoxious piercing wail? La Dame pushed out with her magic, forcing the door to Rapunzel’s room open. The child thrashed in the crib one of the servants provided.

As soon as La Dame hovered over her, crystal blue eyes popped open, and the wailing ceased.

“It’s been a long day, little one.” She sighed. “You interrupted my sleep.” She’d spent the day on the other side of the wall in Bela visiting Aurora, the girl who would one day be hers. When she’d first placed the curse on the Brynhild family, she hadn’t imagined the relationship she’d develop with the Belaen.

Aurora hated her, but that was nothing new. La Dame couldn’t remember a day in her life when she hadn’t been hated.

One day, Aurora would be like a daughter to her, a family she’d never had. But only after the curse played itself out.

“Rapunzel.” She tested the name out. The girl looked up at her like she understood. “I don’t like having anyone else living in my palace.” She expected her servants to be mostly unseen unless called for. “Your parents died a horrible death, I’m afraid.” Yet, the baby was here. “So did mine.”

The difference was La Dame held full responsibility for what happened to her family. She angered her father every day of his life. He’d been a revered and loved king in Dracon decades ago, but when it came time to choose the successor for his magic, he’d chosen La Dame’s younger brother. The only way for him to inherit the magic was for her to die.

Her mother tried to stop the events that happened next. She tried to save her only daughter as a mother should, warning her of her brother’s treachery. But in saving one child, she doomed the other.

“I drove my brother’s own knife through his back, severing his spinal cord.” She smiled at the memory. “He couldn’t even move in his final moments. Then I went for my father.”

Her family was torn apart by their lack of love, as many families were. Her mother eventually succumbed to self-inflicted injuries, leaving La Dame alone in the world with untold power in her hands.

And a promise.

She’d take care of children whose parents chose themselves over their kids.

Which brought her to Aurora and Rapunzel. Leaning in, she dropped her voice. “You’re mine now, Rapunzel. And one day, once her curse has finished, you will have a sister.”

4

Phillip

A dull pain throbbed in Phillip’s chest as he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Right, he’d been injured. He remembered nothing other than seeing Alfred and Chandler jump into a fight with Gaulean savages. After that, everything went dark.

No light lit the room save for a fledgling fire in a small stone hearth. He scanned the room, noting the windows were covered with what looked like… branches? He lay on the only bed, but a small form huddled under a blanket in front of the hearth.

Phillip tried to ignore the intensifying pain as he slid from the bed. The blanket fell, revealing his state of undress. He picked it up and wrapped it around his waist before walking across the tiny room. A privy sat to the right with a small simple kitchen to his left. Whoever lived here had everything they needed in this one room.

His brow creased as he moved close enough the see the girl. An orange glow from the fire lit her pale face. Straw-colored hair fanned around her head. She mumbled something and pursed her full lips.

Phillip’s blood rushed in his ears as he watched her, unable to look away. This was his savior? He bent down to get a better look at her high brows and rosy cheeks.

Memories flashed through his mind. Had he woken before? Had he met her? An image of a tall, dark-haired woman came to him. What had she said?

She’d called her Aurora. That was all he remembered.

His legs wobbled beneath him as he breathed deeply. Blood dripped down his chest, and he looked down to see his wound had opened up and soaked the bandage. He stumbled back, crashing into a small table. A chair clattered to the floor.

The girl he’d been watching only moments before shot to her feet, her eyes wide. “You’re awake.” Her voice had a breathless quality he wanted to hear again.

He nodded. “I can’t sleep forever.”

A dark look crossed her face, but it was gone so quickly, he thought he’d imagined it.

She shook her head. “No, but you can sleep this night. You shouldn’t be out of bed.” Her eyes drifted to his bare torso. “And you’ve opened the wound. Go lay down. I’ll get a new bandage.”

He obeyed her without question, lowering himself to the bed. “I’m really okay.”

“No, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need a few days’ rest.”

“What I need is to return to my men. They’ll be searching for me.” He tried to sit up, but she pressed a strong hand against his shoulder.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know who I am. I will go where I please. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

She raised an eyebrow and lifted her hand. After a moment, she met his eyes again. “Go ahead. Try to leave.”

He pushed her away and got to his feet, holding the blanket around his waist, and stumbled to the door. He gripped the handle and pushed. The door didn’t budge. He rammed his shoulder into it, mustering every bit of strength he could. Pain shot through him, but still, the door didn’t open.

He turned back to her, leaning against the door for support. “What did you do?”

“The trees and grasses and vines all obey my magic. You won’t be going anywhere until I’ve decided you’re recovered enough. Now, sit back down and allow me to change that bandage.”

When he sat without further argument, she pressed a palm to his chest. Her touch warmed him. She cleaned the blood from his skin with a rag she pulled from a bowl of warm water beside the bed. When she finished wrapping a new bandage around his chest, she sat back to examine her work.

He used it as an excuse to study her. She looked so fragile, yet had a surprising amount of strength, both physically and in strength of will. He couldn’t remember the last time someone contradicted his demands.

She ran a hand through her wild hair and smiled. “You’re going to live.”

He relaxed, his earlier anger dissipating. “I… you saved me, didn’t you?”

She bit her lip. “Really it was Lea. She dragged you all this way.”

“Lea?”

“Oh… um, my mule.”

He couldn’t help the laugh escaping him. She credited her mule with saving his life. “Well, thank Lea for me.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “I don’t know your name.”

“Phillip,” he said quickly. He didn’t know why he needed her to have his name so badly. Names held a power, and he wanted her to have a piece of him, even if it was just in thanks.

“Phillip,” she repeated in her soft lilting tone. Her eyes widened and when she spoke next, he got the distinct impression she spoke only to herself. “Phillip. The battle. Please, Aurora, tell me you didn’t trap the crown prince of Bela in your home.”

Phillip waved a hand in front of her face. “Uh, hi. Yes, crown prince here. The kingdom will forever be in your debt for saving me.”

She distanced herself from him. “I don’t need the kingdom’s gratitude.” She hugged her arms across her chest. “But I’m still not letting you go. You wouldn’t make it across Bela to the palace in your condition. I’m sorry, your Highness. I have the power to keep you here, and I’m using it.”

Phillip grimaced. His friends would tear the kingdom apart searching for him if they didn’t already mourn him as dead. His father was ailing, and his mother ran the kingdom on her own. She needed his help and yet, here he was trapped with a strange girl he couldn’t take his eyes off.

“At least tell me your name.”

“Aurora.” She blushed. He’d already realized she did that a lot. In his mind, he heard La Dame speaking her name. Maybe she had been here after all. “Please don’t call me Highness, Aurora. Just Phillip.”

She frowned. “But that’s what you are. A prince. I don’t…” She brushed a hand through her hair. “I don’t have experience with people. I may be simple, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to treat royalty.”

Her words brought a smile to his lips. She said she was simple, but he could already see there wasn’t a simple thing about her. “Please.” He met her gaze. “Just Phillip.”

She sighed and got to her feet. “Fine, but Phillip, you need sleep. So, rest.”

“You should have your bed.”

“Are you going to question every decision I make?” She turned away from him, mumbling to herself. “This was a mistake. You don’t have any right to be in the presence of a prince.”

He grinned as she continued talking to herself. This girl was one stop short of crazy. She lived alone in the woods, talked to herself constantly, and locked people in her cottage.

Yet, her soft murmuring allowed him to drift into a peaceful sleep with only one question on his mind.

If it had been real, what association did a girl like Aurora have with the dark sorceress?

5

Aurora

Lea whimpered from her place in the yard as Aurora let herself into the dim morning light. “It’s just me, buddy.” She patted Lea’s neck and bent to pour grain into her bucket at the side of the cottage. When she straightened, she looked to the sky. “It’s going to storm today, Lea.” Swirling dark clouds hung overhead, visible through the swaying tree canopy. Wind whipped Aurora’s hair away from her face. “Once you eat, go find your shelter, okay?”

Lea only shook her head and lowered it to begin eating. The beast hadn’t understood a word Aurora said, but she’d sense the storm and find the cave she retreated to whenever the weather turned bad.

Glancing back at the cottage, Aurora hoped Phillip wasn’t awake yet. She’d have to trap them inside again once he could move about. He’d been injured and unconscious when she brought him here three days ago. He still had quite a bit of healing to do before he could journey back to his home, his life. And by then, Aurora would be preparing for perpetual slumber. One hundred years. That was the curse. By the time she woke, she didn’t know what kind of world she would find.

A raindrop hit her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away as more fell from the sky, soaking into the faded yellow skirts of her dress. “Aurora.” She sighed. “This is not your life. You don’t mingle with a prince. He isn’t even supposed to know your name.”

Why not? A voice in her head asked.

“Because.” She turned back to the only home she’d known since she was a child. “You belong to her, and soon, she will claim her prize.”

She trudged across sopping ground to push open her door. As soon as she shut it, her magic pulled vines to hold it in place, keeping her inside with Phillip and the rest of the world outside.

Phillip still slept as she toed off her wet boots and made her way to the kitchen. She gripped the handle of the cast iron teapot and hung it over the flames before twisting to the side to reach for more wood to keep the fire going.

She cast another look at the prince to make sure he was still asleep before pulling her dress off over her head, laying it on the back of a chair to dry in front of the flames. Digging in her single trunk at the end of the bed, she found a comfortable pair of worn trousers and a tunic that was two sizes too big. They were her father’s clothes. She didn’t wear them outside the cottage, fearing the damage that would come to the last remaining parts of him she had. But she wouldn’t be going anywhere today.

As if to punctuate the thought, a crack of thunder shook the cottage. She closed the trunk and stood to find Phillip watching her from the bed.

She clutched the clothes to her chest, uniquely aware of how her underclothes left her stomach exposed. Her muscles rippled like no woman she’d ever seen and shame filled her. Since she was a child, Aurora spent her days traipsing through the woods, hunting and climbing trees. The activity had made her strong, but ever since her grandmother died and the curse grew closer, she hadn’t wanted to stop moving, to stop using her body. Now, it was hard where a woman’s should be soft.

Phillip’s eyes blazed into her.

“Um,” she stuttered. “Can you…”

He coughed uncomfortably. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Red tinged his skin from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

She turned away from him and slipped into the clothes. The whistling of the kettle gave her the excuse she needed not to look him in the eyes.

He sat up, his fingers probing his wound.

“Don’t get out of bed.” She didn’t even turn to give him the order.

His chuckle vibrated through the cottage. “Wouldn’t think of it, but… uh… do you have my clothes somewhere?”

She focused on pouring water over the tea leaves in two chipped cups. It wasn’t the finery he was used to, but it would have to do. “I tried washing your clothing but gave up and burned them instead.”

He choked. “You burned my clothes?”

She shrugged. “They were disgusting, and I didn’t want them in my home.” Her voice lowered. “I couldn’t get the blood out.” In truth, it had reminded her too much of her grandmother’s death. She closed her eyes as images of blood returned to her.

“Breathe,” she muttered to herself. “Just breathe.”

“Do you always talk to yourself?” His voice held no judgment, only curiosity.

She turned, two cups in hand, and crossed the room to him. “Who else would I talk to?” Her question seemed to catch him off guard because he didn’t say another word as he accepted the tea. She set hers on the bedside table and returned to her trunk. “Some of my father’s clothes will most likely fit you.”

“Your father?” Panic entered his gaze. “Will he return to find me here with you?”

With that statement, Aurora saw him as just a boy, not the prince who led the kingdom to war. But it didn’t lessen the stab of pain she felt at the mention of her father. “He’s dead.”

Sympathy entered Phillip’s eyes, but Aurora didn’t want his pity. She could survive on her own. She was strong enough to walk into La Dame’s curse with open eyes. She didn’t break so easily.

With a shrug, she procured long trousers and a tunic with holes in the bottom of it.

* * *

A tense silence filled the cottage for most of the day. Phillip slept a lot, regaining his strength. Aurora busied herself mending clothes and making bread between periods of watching the prince sleep. He thrashed about the bed, his eyes shifting beneath his lids. She’d found him at the end of a lost battle. What kind of horrors had he witnessed?

He was right when he said the entire kingdom would be searching for him, but they’d never find him this close to the Draconian wall. At that thought, her brow scrunched. La Dame’s words returned to her. He might be the one.

The one to what?

She shook herself. She had no right to think of the prince, let alone be in the same room as him. “I’m just a forest girl.” And one normally only in the company of a mule. She knew she came off rough sometimes, issuing orders when it wasn’t her place, but she’d had so little experience with people in recent years.

Digging her hands into the dough, she folded it and kneaded it, taking out her frustration. Why did she have to help the prince? She should spend her final month of freedom alone as she preferred. She should be racing Lea through the trees and feel the sun on her face, not staying trapped inside her cottage until the curse finally took her.

She worried what would happen to Lea when she was gone. Maybe the prince could take her back to the palace where she’d have every luxury.

Aurora set the dough aside to rise and wiped her hands on her apron. She stepped up to the window, allowing her magic to pull back the vines covering it. The storm continued to rage outside. Wind thrashed the rain against the window and the water leaked through. She let the vines settle back into place to keep the weather from entering their dry space.

“Aurora.” She twisted her hand through her tangled hair. “Enjoy even the rainy days now. Soon, they will no longer exist to you.”

“Why wouldn’t they exist?”

Phillips voice made her jump. For a moment, she’d forgotten he was there. Ignoring his question, she turned. “You’re awake. Would you like some tea?”

He studied her but didn’t ask the question again. Instead, he settled on one that was almost as complicated. “How do you acquire items such as tea and wheat when you live so far from town? Do you travel often?”

She wrung her hands together. How did she tell him that she relied on the dark sorceress’ good will since her grandmother died? Belaens were supposed to hate La Dame—to fear her. Aurora had never known why La Dame took care of her, provided for her, but she never questioned it when she had so few other options.

Aurora moved past the bed and poured two cups of tea from the steaming kettle. Handing one to Phillip, she moved to sit across the room.

He shook his head. “Am I not to know anything about the girl who saved my life?”

She sipped her tea. “There is nothing a prince needs to know about me.”

He set his tea aside and struggled until he sat on the edge of the bed. “Why not?”

It was a challenge, but she knew her place. She shrugged. “Because soon I won’t matter.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. It means I am nothing. Please, your Highness, do not ask me more than I am willing to tell. You don’t deserve to carry the burdens of my truths. Your shoulders are already heavy enough from your own burdens.”

He let out a frustrated huff. “You are Belaen. When I am king, you will be my subject. I would like to know what troubles you.”

“I may live on this side of the wall, Highness, but make no mistake. I do not belong to you.” She stood, moving toward the door. “I am hers.”

Speaking to the vines with her magic, she forced them to let her through into the storm. Her cottage was too small for two people, especially when one of them demanded answers. As soon as he recovered, the prince would return to the palace and forget about the girl he’d met in the woods.

Rain pelted her as she made her way to the cave she knew Lea would have taken shelter in, plastering her hair to the side of her face. The mule was her only friend, and she needed to make sure she was okay. Lightning lit the dim gray sky as she found the mouth of the cave.

Lea lifted her head when Aurora entered.

For the first time all day, Aurora smiled. “Hi, buddy.” Her entire body relaxed as understanding eyes bore into hers.

“The prince sure takes up a lot of room, doesn’t he?” A chill raced up her spine, and her limbs shook. She sat and curled against Lea, trying to protect herself against the cold. Her sopping clothes only added to the ice snaking over her skin.

She leaned back against the wall. “I’m going to have to leave you soon, Lea.” She hadn’t yet had the conversation with her friend, but it was time. The mule wouldn’t understand, but it felt necessary anyway. “I promise you I’m not abandoning you. You’re in my every thought, and I don’t want you to be alone in this world with no one to take care of you.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

Aurora spent years preparing for her slumber, rarely letting herself feel the impending fate. Maybe it was La Dame’s visit the night before, maybe it was something else, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the world she was leaving behind. Would someone find her cottage? Would everything she owned belong to someone new? Maybe La Dame’s next victim? She wasn’t the first, and she wouldn’t be the last.

She hugged her knees to her chest to calm her shivering as a sob wracked her body. “I’m so sorry, my friend. I don’t want to go, but La Dame has always owned my future.” She’d never stood a chance in life.

Her words drifted away, drowned out by pounding rain, but her tears remained.

Lea whinnied, and Aurora lifted her eyes to the mouth of the cave where a soaking wet Phillip stood, sword in hand. Her eyes widened when she saw the sword.

He glanced at it. “Oh, sorry. I used it to hack my way out of your trap of a cottage.” He set the sword leaning against the wall of the cave and approached her. “Are you okay?”

Phillips shirt clung to the ridges of his stomach. A small patch of red seeped through. He must have overdone it looking for her in this storm.

She wiped her face and stood. “You shouldn’t be out here.” She had to shout to be heard over the rain.

“I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Why?”

The question seemed to confuse him, but he answered anyway. “You saved me. I’m not going to let something happen to you.” He cocked his head. “I don’t let women just wander into storms on their own.”

“Just great, Aurora” she mumbled to herself. “You had to go and save a noble fool, not some man who’d just leave the first chance he got.”

A grin appeared on his face, and she didn’t know if she should feel irritated he found her amusing.

She stood, her eyes flicking to where his wound was obviously bleeding again. “Bloody fool.” Grabbing his arm, she dragged him back into the rain. “Come.”

She didn’t bother with the vines this time when she shut her door. He’d leave if he wanted to leave. It wasn’t her business.

She shoved him toward the bed. “Remove your clothes.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

She put her hands on her hips. “I need to see your wound. Besides, I don’t want you soaking my bed just because you’re an idiot.”

Laughter sparked in his hazel eyes. Did anyone ever tell this man what they truly thought of him? She guessed not.

Phillip pulled the sopping tunic over his head and dropped his trousers until he only stood in his underclothes. “Would you like me to keep going?” One side of his mouth tilted up.

Heat rose in Aurora’s cheeks, and she pivoted away to grab the bandages. “Sit on the bed. You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

“As you command.”

The pile of bandages were just strips of cloth Aurora had cut when Phillip was sleeping. She may have regretted bringing him into her home, but now that he was here, she would make sure he didn’t die. It was past that point now. If he managed to rest, he’d be out of there in no time and she’d be left to fall into her cursed slumber alone, just as she’d always expected.

But, if there was one thing she already knew about the prince, it was that sitting still was not easy for him. He wanted to be up and off protecting his kingdom. It killed him to sit in some strange woman’s home while his people searched for him. At least, she assumed that was the thought entering his mind.

He could have left. When he hacked his way through the vines keeping him in, it was his chance to escape her and her crazy idea to abduct the prince. He hadn’t though. Instead, he’d come to find her.

She turned, surprised to find him watching her, curiosity sparking in his gaze. She brushed a hand over her face, thinking something odd had caught his attention. Wet tendrils of hair stuck to her cheeks, and she could only imagine how she appeared.

She leaned forward to examine his wound. Blood no longer flowed from the gash, but instead only seeped out at the corners around the crusted skin and the beginnings of a scab. That was a good sign.

“This would heal a lot quicker if you didn’t do idiotic things like walk out into a storm.” She didn’t meet his eyes as she dabbed at the wound. “Does that hurt?”

“Would you think less of me if I said yes?” He grimaced.

“No. I’d think less of you if you lied to me rather than admitting there was something human about you.”

He sucked in a breath as she continued to probe the wound. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to stitch this.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want to stick a needle in me.”

She finally snapped her eyes to his. “Only a little.”

He closed his eyes against the pain. “To answer your question about the storm—”

“I didn’t ask a question.”

He continued without missing a beat. “I wouldn’t have gone out into it if you’d stayed safe inside.”

She turned, pulling a strip of fabric free. “Sit up.”

He did as she asked.

“I’ve lived here on my own for a long time.” She scooted closer to wrap the bandage around his torso. “I don’t need a man showing up with some misguided idea of protecting me. You don’t even know me.” She jumped when a crack of thunder shook the cottage.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

His words surprised her, and she waited for him to say something else. She twisted her arms around him to grab the end of the bandage and only then realized how close her face was to his bare chest. Her eyes drifted to his as she tilted her head back. Gone was the curiosity and the laughter. Instead, the intensity took the breath from her lungs.

He brushed wet bangs out of her face as she sat frozen, unable to move away, unwilling to close the final distance between them.

“When I found you in that cave,” he whispered. “You were crying. Why?”

His words were what she needed to break her trance. A sigh pushed past her lips, and she sat back to finish tying the bandage and examine her work. Satisfied, she rocked back onto her heels and stood.

“Tea?”

“Do you always use tea as a way to avoid uncomfortable questions?” He leaned back against the pillows.

“Do you always ask uncomfortable questions?”

He chuckled, and the sound shot straight through her, sending goose bumps racing down her arms. “I’m trying to understand you. To understand why a young woman would choose to live in isolation rather than among her own people. Why she’d easily associate with La Dame, but only show scorn for Bela’s prince.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, a chill piercing through her still-wet clothing. “I haven’t only shown you scorn.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I need to change into something dry. Turn away.” She paused. “Please.”

He rolled over in the bed as she struggled out of her tunic and pants, replacing them with a simple green dress. “I’m finished.” She pulled her wet hair into a high tail to keep it from soaking her shoulders.

He studied her for a moment. “Why is it so wrong of me to want to know one of my subjects?”

“I’m not one of your subjects.” She plunked herself down in a chair facing the fire.

“My father is dying.” A sad tone entered his voice. “I will be your king soon.”

She shook her head, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Aurora—”

“I belong to her!” She hadn’t meant for the words to slip out, but she couldn’t call them back. She buried her face in her arm. “I’m sorry, Phillip. I may live on Belaen soil, but you can never be my king.”

6

Phillip

Bela wasn’t like the rest of the Six Kingdoms. There was no inner turmoil, no plotting or deceiving. The people had always been loyal to the Basiles, their ruling family. Some claimed it left them vulnerable to the day when someone betrayed them because it meant the king trusted his people. Phillip and his family were as loyal to the Belaens as they were to the crown.

And it worked. They banded together to fight invading forces, protecting the special kingdom they’d built.

Phillip didn’t have to draft men into his army because they came willingly.

But now, this strange girl’s words echoed in the hollow spaces of his mind, trying to take root but finding no place to settle. He didn’t need to ask who this “her” was Aurora claimed loyalty to. He’d seen the dark sorceress with his own eyes.

It made so much sense now. Why a young girl would live out her days in the forest alone. Why the Draconian queen had any kind of interest in someone of no import.

His gaze hardened as Aurora stared into the flames. “Is that why you’ve trapped me here?” La Dame had never made a move against Bela—or at least against the ruling family. For years, people disappeared from their families, and it was well known they were on the other side of that ominous wall. Why did she want him now? “Is that why you saved my life?”

Aurora’s head snapped up, and her tear-stained cheeks shimmered in the orange glow as she turned to him. “No. I saved you because you needed my help.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No one helps someone just because they need it. Belaens are beholden to me, but you claim you’re not. Why did you bring me here?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry for the kind of world you live in, Prince, but not everything is so damn complicated.” She held out one palm face up. “Man in the woods with guts falling out of his stomach.” She turned over her other palm. “Girl in the trees with the ability to save him.” She clapped them together, making him jump. “Decency.” Leveling him with a stare, she continued. “I said I belonged to La Dame not that I am loyal to her or worship her. Trust me or not, I don’t care, but listen to me Phillip Basile. I didn’t save you so you could leave here and collapse on the journey back to the palace.”

She turned away from him. “You don’t have to speak to me, but you have to stay. At least for a little while longer.”

His voice was quiet when he spoke next. “And if she comes again? If she demands you turn me over to her?”

Aurora’s eyes blazed with a type of fire he’d never seen before. “La Dame owns my future, but the present… that is still mine. At least for now. You’re safe here. I can promise you that.”

* * *

Aurora didn’t speak to him again that night, so he lay listening to the rain patter against the roof, muffled by the vines covering the thin wood. Memories of battle flashed through his mind with an almost comforting rhythm. Fighting was something he knew how to do. No one in Bela could lead an army better than he could. It was why his father put such faith in him.

That was what he was meant to do. He’d been injured before, but never felt so weak, so like a burden, before now. Aurora lay curled on the floor, not issuing a single complaint. Phillip wished he’d had the strength to rise and make her take the bed, but he found his eyelids drooping instead.

* * *

Fire. It burned through Phillip, charring his skin. Sweat dotted his forehead. Was the cabin burning to the ground? Alarm shot through him, but he couldn’t lift his head. Why was it so heavy?

“Phillip.” The voice sounded far away. He tried to latch onto it, to let it pull him out of the fog, but like an unraveling thread, it drifted just out of reach.

“Phillip.” There it was again. The sound settled around him until all he heard was his name again and again.

Something pressed down on his shoulder, jostling him out of his own thoughts. “You need to wake up.” He recognized the person speaking to him as he pried open a heavy lid.

“Aurora,” he whispered, unable to infuse more strength into the word.

Kind eyes stared down into his, so unlike the hard gaze she’d given him the day before. Her lips moved, but the words didn’t reach his ears. She shook his shoulder again.

As his glazed eyes stared at her, he realized he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Wild straw-spun hair, skin tanned by the sun, wide eyes. He wanted to touch her, to run a finger down her delicate cheek and over her full lips.

“Beautiful.” He closed his eyes. “So beautiful.”

Aurora sighed and shook him again. “Just the fever talking.”

He didn’t know whether she meant those words for him or herself. He could never tell.

“Phillip, you need to drink some tea.”

What was happening? He tried to sit up, but his limbs wouldn’t move. “Aurora.” The weakness in his voice didn’t escape him, but he was too tired to care.

When he opened his eyes again, worry creased her brow. “I think your wound is infected.”

Infected. He’d seen many men lose their lives not to the battles, but to infection as their wounds were treated. Was this the end? Would his family, his men, ever know what became of him?

They’d assume he died in battle. Who would lead the army now? Gaule now held a piece of Bela, pushing the borders farther in. That couldn’t be allowed.

Aurora slid a hand under Phillip’s neck and tilted his head up while she held a cup to his lips. The bitter liquid hit his throat, and he sputtered. “What…”

“Just drink it. It will help you heal.” After he’d choked down a few more sips, she set the cup aside. “Now, I need to open up your wound.”

His eyes widened, but she put a finger to his lips.

“It needs to be drained of infection.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue as she went to the washbasin and scrubbed her hands. He couldn’t watch her prepare, so his eyes drifted to the window that was no longer covered by vines.

The storm must have passed in the night because sunlight streamed in through the open windows. He focused on the fresh air as Aurora returned to his side and gripped his jaw, prying it open. She stuffed a wad of cloth in his mouth.

“Bite down. This is going to hurt.”

She had no words of comfort for him, only cold honesty. She pushed up his shirt until it was bunched under his armpits, removed the bandages, and set a cool cloth against his heated skin. Scrubbing circles around the wound he’d thought was healing, she hummed to herself. A quiet song at first as if it was meant for no one but her.

Her lilting voice rose to a crescendo as she set aside the cloth and pulled a knife free.

With steely eyes, she dug the tip into his skin.

Phillip bit down so hard his teeth crashed into each other through the cloth. His howl of pain reverberated around the room, but she gave no indication she’d heard it.

Her melody didn’t falter, and she didn’t spare him one glance as she tore through his flesh.

Blackness encroached on his vision, and he welcomed it with open arms. One final thought flitted through his mind before he fell over the edge of consciousness.

This girl was insane.

7

Aurora

Aurora spent the next few days by Phillip’s side, worried if she left, all her efforts would have been in vain. She didn’t want him to die. Despite what she’d said about not being his subject, she wished she was. She wanted more than anything to be like any other Belaen, protected by the crown. But they’d never been able to protect her or many of their people, and soon she’d pay the price.

Each time Phillip mumbled in his sleep, she shot up from her place on the floor beside the bed, but he didn’t wake. The only time he opened his eyes was when she forced tea or broth into him.

She hadn’t meant the tea would truly help him heal, but it was a trick she’d learned from her grandmother. She’d placed bitter herbs in it to sell the effect, but in truth, it was normal tea. The healing part was in the hope it provided. When she was young, her grandmother would give her the tea, telling her it would make her well, giving her a belief that something could help.

She didn’t know why she’d tried to do the same with the crown prince of Bela. Now, as she watched him, it seemed a silly act from a silly girl.

She leaned up on her knees, examining his flushed cheeks and sweat-soaked hair. Each morning, she lingered longer than necessary in her pallet on the floor, not wanting to rise, worried she’d find him dead. And each morning, relief flooded her.

After forcing some broth into him, she couldn’t stand to be in that room any longer. Waiting threatened to clog the breath in her throat. Waiting for what? For the prince to die? For Aurora herself to fall into the deep slumber awaiting her?

Sixteen days. That was how much time she had left of this existence. It wasn’t enough time.

She yanked open the front door, walking into the bright sun that broke through the trees. It warmed her face, and she tilted her head back. She would miss the sun.

Lea stood at her food bucket, and Aurora laughed. “Waiting for me, are you?”

She took the bucket to the side of the cottage where she kept the grain for Lea and filled it. When she rounded the house again, she froze.

La Dame stood next to Lea, rubbing her between the eyes as if they were old friends. “I quite like this mule. I think I’ll take her when you can no longer care for her.”

Aurora clenched her jaw. “She’s already spoken for, I’m afraid.”

“Dear.” La Dame cocked her head. “I don’t believe you’re afraid of anything. Sad, maybe. But fear? There isn’t an ounce of that in you. It’s why you and I get along so well.”

Aurora set the bucket of grain down. “Fear only exists when you have something that can be taken away from you. There is nothing I will leave behind.”

La Dame’s smile stretched across her face. “And the prince?”

She swallowed. “What about the prince?”

“Is he afraid?”

“Why would he be afraid?”

“Because he’s dying.”

Aurora stumbled when she stepped back, but La Dame grabbed her arm to keep her upright. Aurora ripped her arm away. “He’s not going to die.”

La Dame tapped a finger against her chin. “No, he won’t. I’m here to save him.”

Shaking her head, Aurora positioned herself between La Dame and the front door. “No. You won’t use your healing magic on him.”

She stared at the dark queen, recalling everything she knew about her. It was true. La Dame had the power to heal – just like all Draconians. It was how she’d saved Aurora’s mother. But what was her true motivation? Why would she offer to save the prince of Bela?

Long before Aurora lived, La Dame took control of Dracon from her own father, killing him for the magic he possessed.

“Aurora, dear, do you want him to die? That is so unlike you, but I can’t say I don’t like this side of you.”

Aurora narrowed her eyes. Since the first day she met La Dame when she was a child, she refused to be intimidated. She wouldn’t fear the sorceress as the rest of the Six Kingdoms did. She wouldn’t give the dark queen what she wanted.

All laughter drained from La Dame’s face. “Let me pass, Aurora.”

“No.”

“If I don’t go in there, the boy dies.”

“I know what the price is for your help and I won’t let him pay it.”

La Dame brought her hand up and with a flick of one finger, she threw Aurora to the side as if she were no more than a doll.

Aurora grunted as she hit the ground and rolled back to her feet. By the time the ringing in her ears ceased, La Dame was already inside. She ran in after her to find Phillip more alert than he’d been in days.

His wide eyes stared at La Dame in apprehension. He feared her because he did have something to lose. If she ended him, he’d leave behind a life worth living.

His chest rose and fell frantically as his breath came out in gasps.

“You’re dying, young prince.” La Dame bent over him. “I can help you.”

“No!” Aurora’s cry had Phillip snapping his eyes to hers. “You can’t.”

La Dame didn’t turn. “Ignore her, young man. Tell me, do you wish to live?”

All he could manage was a nod.

“In Bela, you know little of the magic I possess. You’ve heard stories, I’m sure. I can heal you. Would you like that?”

He nodded.

Aurora rushed forward, shoving La Dame out of the way. “You don’t want to do this.”

His eyes scanned her face, the only part of him he could move. “Don’t want.” He sucked in a breath. “Die.”

She reached forward to place a palm against his cheek. “You might still get better. I won’t stop trying to help you, but Phillip, nothing La Dame does comes without a cost. She’s going to heal you now, but demand something unimaginable later.” A tear slid down her cheek. “You have to believe me. You have to trust me. You don’t want to live with the consequences of her aid.”

Through all of this, La Dame hung back. She took pleasure in people succumbing to her curses—like Aurora’s father. He’d allowed his wife to be healed, not knowing it would curse Aurora to a shortened life.

She wouldn’t let Phillip go through that. The guilt had destroyed her father until she no longer recognized him. It eventually killed him.

Aurora’s tears fell freely, and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against Phillips chest. “Please. Don’t do it to yourself.”

A hand brushed her hair, and she lifted her eyes to peer into Phillips. His lips formed words she couldn’t hear, but knew all the same. Trust. You.

“I need an answer, Phillip.” La Dame set a hand on Aurora’s shoulder and pulled her away. “Do you want to live?”

“Yes.” He forced out the word. “But not with your magic.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well, then I guess Aurora may gain some fear inside of her yet.” She turned to Aurora. “Sixteen days, my dear. Enjoy them.”

Then she was gone.

Phillip seemed to sink further into the bed, but his eyes didn’t leave Aurora’s face. Many questions lay in their depths, but he didn’t ask them. Instead, his eyes slid closed and silence was once again Aurora’s greatest friend.

Her hands shook as she pushed herself up from the ground. She let her mind rest as she walked the length of the cottage to stoke the fire and clean up what she could. Wrapping her fingers around the handle of a broom, she swept, enjoying the mindless motion.

La Dame left a chill behind her that had nothing to do with the late autumn freezes. Aurora stopped moving and leaned against the broom for support, her chin resting against her chest. She breathed in deeply, trying to will away La Dame’s words ringing in her mind.

Aurora may gain some fear inside of her yet.

Her eyes settled on Phillip of their own volition. He’d risked his life in turning down La Dame. There was no guarantee he’d recover. She’d drained as much of the infection as she could, but the fever persisted, and she didn’t know what else to do.

Yet, he’d said no. It would have been so easy for him to accept La Dame’s healing magic. She wouldn’t have only made the infection disappear, but also the wound itself. He’d have been able to return to the palace, to his family, his friends.

He’d have been able to escape the crazy girl living alone among the trees. Sometimes, she wished she could escape herself as well.

“He trusted you,” she said, needing to hear the words out loud. “Why?”

Phillip probably thought something was loose in her brain when she spoke to herself, but she wouldn’t burden him with the truth. She’d lived in silence for so long, speaking to no one other than her mule, that she said thoughts out loud just to fill the empty spaces.

With a sigh, she put the broom away and prepared her own simple supper—dried rabbit she’d caught weeks ago and the remaining berries from the trees near the wall. Soon, she’d have to venture out to her traps to check for more food.

Before Phillip arrived, she’d had a routine. Every day, she woke with the sun and walked to each of her traps, some more than a mile away. She used Lea to haul back anything she caught before hanging the animal carcasses behind her cabin to drain them of blood.

Some afternoons were spent butchering those she’d caught days before or collecting the various fruits and herbs that grew in the woods.

When time allowed, she walked through the trees, sometimes climbing them to get a better look at the forest she called home. She rarely saw or spoke to other people. Until Phillip.

She finished eating and sat beside his bed with a bowl of broth she’d boiled from animal fat and vegetables. When she tried to wake him, he only mumbled something unintelligible like he’d been doing since the fever set in.

She set the bowl aside and checked his wound. It was healing again, but his body still had to fight off the infection.

Lowering his shirt, she rested her elbows on the bed and leaned forward. This time, when she spoke to the darkness, the words weren’t meant for her alone. “You have to fight this, Phillip. If you die, my last act was in vain. I don’t know why you said no to La Dame, or why you trust me, but I believe in you. Even if I can never be your subject, I know you’ll make a great king. I wish I was going to be around to see it.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

Phillip’s hand brushed her cheek, but she wasn’t sure he’d heard any of her words. His eyes remained shut as she took his hand in hers.

She stayed by his bed into the night, falling asleep with her forehead leaning on the mattress.

* * *

The sun nearly blinded Aurora when she opened her eyes the next morning. Pain inched up her neck from sleeping at such an odd angle. It took her a moment to realize she was still sitting beside the bed, Phillip’s long fingers entwined with hers.

She lifted her head to find him staring at her, the flush gone from his cheeks.

“Morning.” His voice still sounded rough, but the word was said with little effort.

She slipped her hand from his, embarrassed he’d found her holding it. Words escaped her, and a small smile tilted his lips, transforming his sickly face into that of the handsome prince she’d met.

Pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, she released a breath when it was cool against her skin. “The fever.”

“Gone.” His eyes crinkled, the first sign of true life she’d seen from him in a week.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she could no longer control her emotions as she leaned down, pressing her lips to his. The act was so fast, she hadn’t known what she was doing.

He froze beneath her, and she tried to pull back, mortified.

Before she got too far, he reached up, pulling her back to him, taking control. Aurora had never kissed anyone before, but all insecurities floated away as Phillip released a growl deep in his throat. His lips moved expertly against hers. It wasn’t until his tongue slipped past her lips that the nerves got the best of her. She clamped down, accidentally biting his tongue in the process.

He yelped in surprise, and she jumped back, her chest heaving. “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” he agreed. “You shouldn’t have.”

Embarrassment washed through her until he smirked. “The tongue biting part. The kiss was unexpected, but I can’t say I regret it.”

It was the most he’d been able to say in a week, and she should have been glad to see light enter his eyes, but instead, she wished she could take it all back. She’d been so relieved to see the first sign of a recovery, her body had taken over.

But Phillip Basile was a prince. A prince who deserved happiness. And her? She was just a girl running out of time.

As if sensing her discomfort, Phillip’s grin dropped. “Aurora, look at me.”

She shook her head.

“Please.”

“I need to check your wound.” She didn’t meet his eyes as she lifted his shirt like she’d done so many times before. She knew his chest better than she’d known any man’s. The scar was warm against her fingers. “I had to put in a few stitches this time, but you weren’t conscious, so I figured you wouldn’t mind.” She lowered his shirt. “The fever has broken. That’s a good sign. You’re over the worst of it. Now you just need to regain your strength and then you can leave and return to your life.”

She rocked back on her heels to stand and wiped her hands on her skirt.

“Aurora,” Phillip said again, this time more forcefully.

She turned away from him and stepped into the kitchen. When she returned to his side, she handed him a cup of water and a plate of bread. “You need to eat to regain your strength. If we are to have meat, I must go check the traps.”

Without another word, she pulled on her boots and cloak. As she stepped out the door, Phillip’s words followed her. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

She shut the door, putting the barrier between them. Leaning against the outer wall of the cottage, she ran a hand through her hair, knowing it needed a wash but only able to focus on what happened moments before. She touched her lips, still feeling the whisper of his kiss.

She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to care. Not now. Not when her life was so close to its end.

She closed her eyes, wanting to feel him against her again.

“You’re an idiot, Aurora,” she whispered. “He’s the prince of Bela, and not even he can save you from your fate.”

With a resigned shake of her head, she walked away, not allowing herself to look back.

8

Phillip

Phillip couldn’t help the smile crossing his face as he tucked one arm behind his head. He was alive. Each time he’d started to fall asleep over the last few days, he’d worried he wouldn’t wake, but she pulled him back time and time again.

He was a Basile. He had an entire Kingdom who’d do anything for him. They fought wars for him, sacrificed themselves. Yet, no one had ever just been there. Not even Chandler or Alfred during their childhood. They’d always lived their lives at such a fast pace. Wars. Festivals. Never a spare moment. His parents were busy with the running of the kingdom and over the last few years, his father slipping further and further away from them into illness.

He’d watched his mother rule the kingdom when his father could not, but he didn’t remember her ever just sitting by the king’s side. He couldn’t picture her holding his hand. Theirs had been a marriage of convenience, one that strengthened the ties within Bela. Belaens never married those without magic for fear of diluting the power for future generations. Yet, they’d grown to love each other.

Before Phillip left for battle, the queen had spent a great deal of time searching for her only son’s future wife. She’d paraded him around at balls and dinners. He wouldn’t lie. Phillip enjoyed every moment of the attention. The beautiful women who threw themselves at him. The rich foods and lavish gifts.

But now, as he lay in a stranger’s home, the stillness surrounding him, he saw all of it for what it was. Fake.

He struggled to sit up, needing to feel the sun on his face, the wind against his skin. He’d been stuck inside for too long.

He wasn’t surprised to find the door unimpeded by weeds and vines. Aurora no longer held him prisoner with her magic. Now, his body kept him there with its weakness. He smiled as soon as he felt the chill of the outdoors.

He could have searched for a spare cloak in the trunk Aurora was always digging in, but he wanted to feel everything. After days of nothing but a burning fever and icy chills, he needed to sense what was real.

He walked around the side of the cottage, noting the two small animals lying dead against the wall, and a thick crop of trees standing across the clearing. His gait faltered as he pushed his body as far as it could go. Pain seared into his stomach at the movement, but he didn’t turn back. He wasn’t ready to return to the bed he’d been confined to for so long.

Unbuckling his trousers, he sighed as he emptied himself. When he was finished, he ambled back the way he’d come, wanting to lay down before his legs gave out beneath him.

A soft humming reached his ears, and he smiled at the sound, recognizing it immediately. He didn’t know if Aurora even knew she made the sound, but it had been the only thing to keep the pain from overwhelming him as she cut into him.

Her hard eyes flashed through his mind. Did anything scare her? He was used to brandishing knives in battle, letting them bite into flesh, but she couldn’t have been.

Aurora carried a small wooden bucket in each hand. Her hair was wet and twisted up away from her face.

Her face showed no emotion.

Forgetting his current state, Phillip stepped forward. “Let me help you.”

She smirked, still not taking her eyes from him. “He thinks he can help, even in his state. Men.” She rolled her eyes to the heavens, and he grinned, wondering if she knew he could hear every word.

He walked forward, a rock on the ground throwing him off balance. Before he fell, Aurora dropped the buckets and jumped forward, looping an arm around his waist. “I’ve got you.”

She shook her head, turning him toward the cottage. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

He let more of his weight rest on her than he liked but he couldn’t hold himself up. “You’re probably right.”

She tilted her head back, giving him a look he couldn’t quite understand.

“What?” he asked.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged I know what I’m doing.”

He grunted. “Is not. It can’t be.”

“Yes. You usually argue with me until you give in, but not because you agree, only because you lack the energy.” She shrugged and helped him limp forward. “You’re a very difficult person to get along with, Prince.”

He grimaced. There was no laughter in her tone, no teasing, only a calm acceptance. Yet, one word stuck out to him. “Can you do something for me?”

She pushed open the door and helped him through. “Depends on what it is.”

He lowered himself onto the bed, his muscles relaxing as if they’d just run through the woods rather than a simple walk across the yard. He leaned back with a sigh. “Please stop calling me prince.”

She’d been about to turn away, but she froze. “Why?”

“Do you have to question everything?”

She nodded. “Yes. I do.”

“I don’t have an answer for you other than I don’t like hearing that word come out of your mouth.”

She frowned. “Look, Pr-Phillip, about this morning. I’m sorry. I kind of attacked you. I was just so glad you were still alive that I stopped thinking altogether. I shouldn’t have done it, but I’d have felt so guilty if you died. I don’t want anyone else to die in my care.”

He wanted to ask her who else she’d taken care of and lost. What was the weight she carried around? But, she’d already turned to busy herself in the kitchen, so he only uttered one thing. “I kissed you back.”

Her shoulders tensed, but she otherwise acted as if she’d heard nothing at all.

Phillip didn’t know how he could be drawn to a girl who showed him so little of herself. A girl hiding from the world among her trees. He thought of the women at court, the ones who’d never apologize for kissing him. Who’d never given a thought to whether or not he wanted their advances in hopes he’d pick them. All they wanted was to be seen, to take their place in history.

It seemed Aurora’s only wish was to disappear.

* * *

The bed shook, waking Phillip from a dream of battle. Aurora kicked it again. “Phillip, wake up. Your fever broke two days ago, it’s time you bathe.” She wrinkled her nose. “You reek and the smell has permeated my home.”

A low chuckle rose from him. “I reek, huh?”

“You smell like a dead animal.”

He grinned, struggling to sit and noting how she didn’t help him. His eyes found the basin she’d filled and the cloth and soap she set beside it. “Are you going to give me some privacy at least?”

Color tinged her cheeks. “Of course.” She paused on her way out the door. “Just… don’t make a mess.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a satisfied nod, she left him to his bath. He pushed to his feet and slipped out of his trousers and underclothes. The chill hit his skin, and he realized he’d freeze if he tried to wash himself all at once. Lowering himself clumsily to the floor beside the washbasin, he rubbed soap into the cloth and cleaned himself as best he could.

He lifted his butt to slide his underclothes back on, no longer wanting to sit bare-assed on the cold floor.

He gripped the edge of his shirt and tried to lift it. Searing pain stabbed through his stomach, stemming from his still healing wound. A cry died on his lips as he tried again.

Each time he moved his arms, his skin pulled tight across the wound, sending him tumbling into agony. With ragged breaths, he cursed.

A knock sounded on the door, and it opened before he said anything. Aurora poked her head in, eyes going wide when she saw him sitting without his trousers.

“Oh…” She bit her lip. “Um, I thought you’d be done by now. I’ll give you more time.”

She was about to close the door when he yelled, “Wait!”

She stopped, her eyes returning to him in question.

He sucked in a shaky breath. “I need help.” Just uttering those words was a struggle.

Her mouth rounded as she understood what he was saying.

“Please.” He implored with his eyes. Awkward wouldn’t begin to describe it, but it was better than smelling like a dead animal as she’d claimed he did.

At the palace, his mother’s maids helped her bathe, but he’d always demanded he do it himself. He’d never been gravely injured or sick and in need of help.

Now, as he sat in his most vulnerable state, he needed someone.

He saw the moment she came to the same conclusion. She stepped inside and shut the door to keep out the worst of the cold. Removing her cloak, she draped it over a chair and toed off her boots.

“What can I do?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He pushed away the embarrassment as he gestured to his shirt. “I can’t get it off.”

She nodded, going into the mode he’d seen once before when she’d cut into his wound to drain the infection. It was as if she forced herself into a back part of her brain and a cold shell of her took over.

He didn’t want her to be that person. When she reached for his shirt, he grabbed her hand. “Thank you.”

She nodded, the warmth he’d glimpsed on occasion returning to her eyes. This was the girl who’d held his hand as fever ravaged his body, who’d cried for him, a stranger, and he was a prince she claimed no allegiance to.

She slipped her hand from his and lifted his shirt, her fingers skimming his torso. A shiver raced through him that had nothing to do with the cold. She pulled the shirt over his head and then lowered herself beside him, taking the soapy cloth from his hand to dip it in the water.

She was so close, yet also still so far away.

9

Aurora

For once, Aurora managed to keep her thoughts inside her head instead of blurting them out like the simple fool she was. At least she managed to keep her hands from shaking as she ran the soapy cloth along Phillip’s strong back. His muscles pulled tight with tension, and she let her other hand wander over them, chasing the dripping water away.

When her fingers dug into his shoulder, he groaned, not seeming to notice the noise coming from his own mouth.

At the sound, Aurora pulled her hand away and turned to get more soap on the cloth.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “Please. That… when you…” His eyes slid open and settled on hers. “I’ve been stuck in that bed for so long, sometimes it doesn’t seem like my body will ever recover.”

Aurora didn’t know from personal experience what he meant. She’d escaped a prolonged illness or injury in her life, but she’d taken care of both her father and grandmother in their final days when they felt as if their bodies failed their minds.

And soon, she’d know what it was to be confined to a bed too. When she woke, would her neck hurt from so many years in the same position? La Dame promised she would wake, but not for one hundred years, not until everyone she may have loved was long gone.

She’d never questioned the knowledge that La Dame would live that far into the future, but what kind of world would it be?

And why did La Dame want Aurora? Part of Aurora always wondered if it was only because she never backed away from one of her curses. She didn’t like to lose and saw Aurora as nothing more than a prize, a girl to call her own.

She shook her head, returning her focus to Phillip. A scar ran from just underneath his shoulder blade to the center of his back. She dabbed it, tracing the faint line with the cloth. “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?” He sat impossibly still as she continued to wash his back.

“Fight. You stand on those battlefields ready to lay down your life. Why?”

He pushed out a breath. When he finally answered her, his voice was low as if any loud noise would disturb the peace between them. “I’m the prince of Bela. I don’t have a choice.”

She scooted around to face him and rubbed the cloth down one arm. “There is always a choice.”

“Gaule cannot be allowed to gain further access into Bela.”

“And what of the Belaen incursions into Gaule? Both kingdoms are at fault, it seems.”

His brow creased. “We must show them what they risk in crossing our borders.”

She sighed. “And I’m guessing they feel the same way.” She wiped at his cheek. “Two kingdoms who wage a war that has lasted for generations and all they win are more deaths, more ravaged lands. There will be no peace as long as each kingdom tries to cross the other.”

He lifted one arm, grimacing at the pain shooting through him. Gripping Aurora’s wrist, he stopped her movements. “We aren’t at fault, Aurora. They’re savages.”

She smiled sadly. “In battle, I imagine they are. But Gaule is not uncivilized. They have towns, a government. Those men and women you claim are nothing more than savages have families who would mourn their deaths just as deeply as your family would mourn yours.” She freed her wrist.

“I need to wash your hair. Can you lean back?”

“I can try.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye, and she suspected it was because of her defense of Gaule. Was he angry with her? Should she care? Some things needed to be said no matter the audience’s opinions or emotions. Bela and Gaule had been fighting needlessly for a long time, and the people were hurting. Much of the news La Dame brought her was false, but she’d known the truth in those words about Gaule.

Phillip rested back on his elbows, a flash of pain crossing his face before he suppressed it. She’d learned early on that the prince refused to show weakness. Being taken care of didn’t sit well with him. It forced a vulnerability on him she was sure he’d never felt before.

She cupped her hands and scooped water to pour over Phillip’s hair, letting it trickle back into the basin. She smiled down at him, knowing he couldn’t see her as she ran her hands through the dark strands, unable to help herself. He moaned low in his throat, so she did it again.

“Damn, that feels good.” One side of his mouth curved up.

Aurora should have stopped, she should have just rinsed it quickly, but her hands massaged his scalp. His body relaxed like he was clay in her palm.

“Aurora,” he whispered.

She didn’t respond as she scrubbed in the soap.

“Are you still in pain?” she asked, using her hands once again to pour water over his head.

“What?” The lines of stress disappeared from his face as his eyes remained closed.

“The pain. Is it still there?”

“Oh.” When he opened his eyes, a guilty expression settled over his features. He hadn’t been listening to her. “I’m sorry… but your hands…” He shook his head. “The pain, yeah. I still feel it when I move.”

“Sit up.” She moved to his front again to examine the wound. Red tinged the seam of his scar, but otherwise it looked well on the mend. She probed the skin around the wound with her fingers, leaning close to get a better look.

When she felt a hand on the back of her neck, she lifted her eyes to find Phillip watching her. Her mind couldn’t quite grasp the fact that the prince of Bela was sitting in her cottage half naked and looking as if he might eat her alive.

His hand slid down her back and it was only then she realized how close they were. His other hand ran the length of her jaw before pulling on her bottom lip.

“Aurora.” The way he whispered her name sent heat jolting through her. She loved it because of what it did to her. For that same reason, she hated it.

Less than two weeks. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her curse barreled toward her like a horse galloping at full speed. There was no stopping it. Yet, she couldn’t help making it even worse. She wasn’t supposed to have anything to leave behind.

She nodded once, and Phillip’s grip on her tightened before he pulled her onto his lap. He claimed her lips as if they’d always been his, as if he’d been waiting for them his entire life. This time, Aurora wanted this, she was ready for it.

Water ran down Phillip’s chest, soaking into Aurora’s dress, but she hardly noticed as her hands ran up his heated skin and into his damp hair.

Phillip pulled her tighter against him as his tongue pushed past her lips, tasting her, devouring her. Her chest heaved against his, desperate for a breath.

She pulled away for a second to suck in air, and Phillip’s eyes darkened. “I’ve never known anyone like you.” He rested his forehead against hers.

A nervous chuckle escaped her lips. “A crazy forest girl?”

“When I woke after my fever broke and you kissed me…” He grinned. “I thought surely I’d died and gone to the after. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time you argued with me.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re a prince, Phillip. Shouldn’t you want people to always agree with whatever you say?”

He ran his thumb along her lips. “Most women I’ve known enjoy my company because of the crown that will one day sit on my head. But you… I think you like me less because of it.”

She pulled away from him, and he didn’t stop her. He’d known the pleasures of many women. It was only another reminder that their worlds didn’t match. Even if she was not cursed, she could never truly have him. She pushed to her feet, staring down at the wet front of her dress.

“I’m going to need to change.”

“Aurora.”

She turned away from him. “You sure do enjoy saying my name, don’t you?”

She heard him struggling to his feet behind her but didn’t turn to help.

“Talk to me,” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, your Highness. Once again, this is my fault. It never should have happened. Your wound is healing well. You should be fine to travel in another few days. Excuse me, I have work to do.” She rushed out the front door before he could stop her.

Aurora found Lea grazing behind the cottage in a part of the forest where wild grasses grew. Frost covered the ground, and it was only then she realized she’d forgotten her cloak. The chill of the air permeated her wet dress, just another reminder of her idiocy from moments before.

Phillip Basile was going to have a grand life. A life of adventure… a life of love.

And that life wouldn’t include her. It couldn’t.

A scream exploded from her chest, and she couldn’t stop it. Birds flew from the trees in surprise, and Lea jerked her head up. Aurora yelled again, releasing her fury. Her magic tingled in her fingers, and she let it flow free. Red and orange flowers sprouted from the ground, looking almost like fire. She would have sworn the earth itself rumbled.

She continued releasing her power, felling trees and twisting vines up others, until she had nothing left inside her except a broken heart.

Phillip hadn’t broken it. The pieces were shattered by life itself. By circumstance.

She fell to the ground, all energy leaving her, and the last remaining parts of her escaping in tears. Her entire body shook, and she wished in that moment the curse could take her. Not two weeks from then. Now. She didn’t want to wait for it any longer.

She didn’t want the anticipation to crush her. She refused to break before the curse, refused to let La Dame have that satisfaction, but she could feel the parts of her scattering on the wind.

Strong arms slid beneath her, lifting her into the air with a grunt of pain. All thought disappearing from her mind, she rested her head against the soft fabric of her rescuer’s shirt.

Phillip carried her inside and kicked the door shut before setting her down. He dipped his head to gaze into her eyes, but she couldn’t focus on him.

“You’re freezing.” He stroked his hands up and down her arms.

Aurora briefly registered the fact that he’d gotten dressed. The dirty washbasin sat in the center of the room. Phillip studied her for a moment longer before lifting her arms. She didn’t protest as he lifted the dress from her frame. She didn’t stop him when she saw the pain his movements caused.

All she could do was stand frozen as Phillip dug through her chest, pulling out various articles of clothing. He returned with a soft sleeping gown. He did his best to keep his eyes from drifting to her bare skin as he slipped it over her head.

“Aurora,” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “What happened?”

He didn’t want to know what had drained her energy. As a magic wielder himself, he knew the dangers of using too much, of letting it control you. He wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Please.” His voice broke. “There’s something you aren’t telling me. I…” He pressed the side of his face against hers, his breath warming her skin. “You’re scaring me.”

Fear. The very thing she’d told La Dame she had none of. She hadn’t feared leaving because there was nothing to leave behind. Everyone she’d ever loved was dead, waiting in the next life. She had few possessions, no friends.

Finally, she lifted her gaze to his. It took every bit of strength she possessed to get the words out. “You’ve made me afraid.”

A stricken look crossed his face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. She hadn’t known she had any tears left when they cascaded down her cheeks unchecked.

“I wasn’t supposed to be afraid.”

10

Phillip

The name Phillip Basile struck fear in the hearts of many people. He was Bela’s general, their greatest warrior, and the prince who kept the savages at bay.

But now, that word sliced through his heart. Fear. How could Aurora be afraid of him? Her shoulders shook, and he couldn’t take it any longer so he pulled her against his chest. After a moment of hesitation, her arms wound around his waist.

“I don’t want to frighten you,” he whispered into her hair. “Never.”

She sniffed and tightened her hold on him, carefully avoiding his wound. Her words were muffled against his chest. “You…” She sucked in a shaky breath. “It’s not you. Well, it is, but not the way you think.”

“What’s going on, Aurora?” There was a piece of this puzzle he didn’t have.

She shook her head, still pressing her face to his chest.

“I’m not going to force you to talk about it, but I want you to know you can trust me.”

“Trust the prince?”

“No.” He pulled back to stare into her eyes. “Not the prince. You can trust me. Just me.” He pulled her toward the bed. “Come. You should rest.”

She didn’t protest as he helped her into the bed he’d spent so long in. She turned on her side, her glistening eyes boring into him.

“I’ll make some tea.” She’d brought him a comforting cup of tea so many times during his recovery, it was his first thought now. After his recovery, it felt good to take care of someone else. She’d been so strong for him, and he could do the same for her.

When he brought the tea to her, she closed her eyes. Her tense body told him she wasn’t sleeping though.

“Do you want your tea?”

She made a sound in the back of her throat. “No. I want…” Her eyelids slid open, and she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “Would you stay with me? Just for a while.”

He nodded, setting the tea on the table nearby, before returning to her side. He sank down onto his knees next to her and brushed the hair away from her face.

Just as she’d done when he was sick, he wanted to watch her in case she needed him. He’d never experienced such a draw to anyone in his life. Something about her seemed sad, and he wished he could take away every bit of pain she’d experienced in her life. She didn’t deserve to be an anonymous resident among the trees, no one ever knowing she was even there to begin with.

A tear leaked from her closed eye, and he didn’t think as he pulled himself onto the bed and curled his warm body around her chilled limbs. She rolled over, so they were chest to chest and buried her face in his shirt.

As her body shook, he rubbed circles along her back, saying nothing. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on her head. For the first time, the thought of leaving her to return to the palace seemed an impossible choice. The worries about his family searching for him or his friends assuming he’d died retreated to the back of his mind when the only thing he wanted was to make the crying girl smile again.

He tightened his hold on her, hoping one day she’d trust him enough to tell him about the weight crushing down on her shoulders.

* * *

Phillip woke alone with the silver light of the moon casting shadows across the cottage. He missed Aurora’s warmth immediately and sat up in alarm, worried where she’d gone. He didn’t have to worry long because his eyes found her sitting on the ground facing the hearth where a roaring fire blazed.

The only sound was the crackling of the flames, and he slid from the bed and approached her. Her shoulders hunched forward as she hugged her knees to her chest. She didn’t look at him as he sat beside her.

Part of him wanted to pull her back into his arms where she’d felt so right, but the other part sensed it wasn’t the time for that.

She stared into the flames, and when she finally spoke, there was no emotion behind her voice, only coldness.

“I’m cursed.” Her entire body seemed to shudder at the word.

He said nothing as he waited for her to continue, to explain what she meant.

“When I told you I belong to La Dame, I wasn’t claiming any sort of loyalty to her or disloyalty to Bela. If I could, I’d run a sword straight through her heart.”

He blanched at the coldness with which she spoke of killing the Draconian queen.

She continued. “But we both know that wouldn’t kill her. Her magic allows her to heal.” She shook her head. “When I was born, my mother grew very ill. My father, in the king’s employ at the time, called on some of the most powerful sorcerers in Bela. They tried to save her. Yet, she only faded faster. Then a woman appeared. My father claimed he didn’t know who she was at the time. He was too desperate to question anything. He loved my mother very much.” She sucked in a breath.

Phillip didn’t take his eyes from her.

Aurora closed her eyes. “I’ve heard this story so many times I remember every word. My grandmother wanted me to know why my life was not my own and why it never would be. She didn’t want me to hate my father, but wanted to make sure I would never repeat his mistakes. To know La Dame is more dangerous than she appears.”

“Why would you hate your father?” Phillip sat enthralled in the story but also anticipating the part that had turned Aurora into the sad girl before him.

“La Dame told him she could save my mother. At that point, my father would have done anything. When La Dame said it would come at a cost, he agreed to accept any price. He thought whatever happened would fall on him. But, that’s the thing. La Dame is crueler than any of us ever imagined. She doesn’t accept payment from those willing to pay. She chooses what she takes. And what she wanted was me.”

“You?”

She nodded. “La Dame doesn’t die. She doesn’t age. She will wait for what she wants for a very long time. And she also enjoys pain. It’s entertainment to her. That’s why she gave my father the first eighteen years of my life, so he’d know me enough to mourn me for the rest of his life.”

Phillip’s hands shook as he draped them over his knees. Each word she spoke struck him straight through the heart. “Eighteen years? What happens then?”

The flames danced off her irises, and she rested her chin on her arm. “I go to sleep.” She sucked in a breath. “For one hundred years, I will sleep. La Dame’s plan was to make it impossible for my family to see me again, for the world to turn over. When I wake, I’m supposed to have only her.” She wiped furiously at a tear on her cheek. “Want to know some irony? The illness La Dame cured my mother of came again a year later. This time, she refused any healing. My grandmother said she died of a broken heart over her good health costing her daughter.”

“How old are you?” Phillip’s question sent a chill through his bones. He’d heard of La Dame’s curses, but never imagined they were real. He never thought the foreign queen actively preyed on his subjects.

Aurora finally turned to look at him, a cold acceptance in the dark depths of her eyes. “Seventeen years, eleven months, and twenty days.”

Phillip shook his head, something cracking inside his chest. His breath caught in his throat, and he would have sworn his heart stopped beating.

“Ten days,” he whispered. It made so much sense now. Why she convinced him to refuse La Dame’s healing when he was sick. She saved him the agony her father must have felt every day until the day he no longer felt anything at all.

Phillip reached forward, needing to touch her, to feel that she was there with him. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as her story sank in, shredding his heart to pieces. His fingertips grazed her cheek. “I only just found you.”

Her lip quivered. “I wasn’t supposed to have anything to leave behind. When my grandmother died, I had no more ties holding me to this earth.” She closed her eyes, leaning her face into his palm. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I know you’re scared, but Aurora, everyone should have something to leave behind.” He rose onto his knees and inched closer. “Everyone should have something to lose.”

Her wide eyes found his, and she shook her head. “I just wanted to go to sleep and have the world forget I was ever here.”

“Who could forget you?” He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.

She tasted of salt from her tears and longing. How long had she sat in these woods waiting for the day her life would pause? He inhaled her sadness, trying to lift it from her. Instead, it only amplified, turning into desperation as their lips remained pressed together.

“You will be remembered,” he whispered against her lips. “Forever.”

She whimpered and pulled him tighter against her, leaning back so he lay on top of her. He kissed a trail over her damp cheeks, replacing her tears with what he felt for her. Was it love? They hadn’t known each other long, but he’d never felt like his soul was being ripped right from his body. He knew then, when he lost her to La Dame’s curse, she’d take a piece of him with her.

Aurora ran her hands up under his tunic, touching every bit of skin she could find. “Phillip, I need you to make me forget, just for tonight.”

He pressed a kiss to her neck. “This isn’t about forgetting, my love. It’s about remembering.”

11

Aurora

Aurora let all thought of the curse drift away as she explored Phillip’s smooth skin. His muscles strained underneath her touch.

In that moment, he was no longer the prince of Bela, and she wasn’t the nobody girl with an expiration date to the life she knew. They were just two people, drawn together by something neither of them could explain.

She turned him over, pressing her body down on him and trailing kisses along his chest while curling her fingers in the soft hairs. When she reached the scar, the wound that brought them together, she pressed her lips to it, thinking of how close that one place came to taking Phillip from this world altogether.

When she’d first brought him to her home, she hadn’t wanted him to die out of some weird sense of guilt since he was in her care. Now, she needed to know he would be okay when she was gone, that he’d live to become a great king and an even better man.

History may never know her name, but it would tell of Phillip Basile. When a tear dripped onto his stomach, Phillip pulled her back up, wrapping his arms around her waist, he held her against him as if afraid to let go.

He finally released her, and she sat up, pulling her sleeping gown over her head. Phillip’s blazing eyes widened. “Aurora,” he whispered. “You don’t have to…”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s okay.” She smiled down at him. “I want this.”

He only hesitated for a moment before standing and scooping her into his arms, his heated expression masking the pain she knew the act must have caused him. His lips claimed hers once again as he stumbled to the bed, dropping her onto it in his haste to remove the rest of his clothing.

She laughed when he hovered over her, crawling onto the bed like the wild animal he appeared to be. He lowered himself to hold her in a crushing hug that lasted longer than it should have. She spared a glance at his wound, thankful it hadn’t opened again. When she felt hot tears on her shoulder, she pushed him back, wiping her thumbs under his eyes. She’d never seen a grown man cry. Even her father’s eyes remained dry each time he talked to her of the curse.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Don’t cry.” She’d had years to come to terms with the curse and realized he would only have days, but it twisted something inside her to see his eyes looking so lost.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

“What?”

“To the palace. To my father. Maybe there’s something he can do.”

She sighed. “Phillip, not even the Basile power can break one of La Dame’s curses.”

“We have to try.” His voice broke on the words.

She cupped his cheek, drawing his lips back down to hers. This kiss was slower than the others, deeper as they each poured everything they felt into it. She pulled back and pressed her lips to his forehead. “Okay. We can try.”

That night, Phillip showed her everything inside of him. He opened himself completely, and she’d never been more sure about anything in her life.

Aurora was in love with the prince.

Their bodies fit together as if they were made for each other, two pieces of the same puzzle. When she was gone, would Phillip still fit into that puzzle?

The Basile power couldn’t help her, but she’d let Phillip have this last bit of hope.

As the dawn came, they lay together with only a blanket for warmth, but Aurora wasn’t cold. She rested her head on his chest. “Do you think I’ll dream in my long slumber?” She tilted her head back to peer up at him.

He didn’t answer her as his eyes locked on hers.

She reached up to run her hand through the coarse hairs along his jaw. “I hope so.”

She’d wanted to get a smile out of the smiling prince, but his face remained somber. She didn’t want to remember the sadness he’d had for her at the end, but the fight she’d seen in him before he knew the truth. The man who admitted to needing help bathing, yet argued with her at every chance. The one who braved a wicked storm to find where the girl he barely knew had gone.

He slid out from under her and sat on the edge of the bed. “I no longer care if I’m well enough to travel. I’d like to make for the palace today.”

She scooted to sit beside him. “Okay.”

He looked to her in question.

“He thought I was going to argue with him.” She laughed, the words only meant for herself.

The smile she’d wanted appeared on his face. “Talking to yourself again?”

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s time we return you to your home, your people.”

“You’re my people.”

“For now, but they will be there long after I’m gone, and they’ve missed their prince for too long.”

His shoulders drooped at her reminder, but she didn’t regret the words. She didn’t have time to live in a false reality.

If she was going to get through these last few days without breaking down, she had to do so with open eyes. No pretending.

“Hey.” She pressed her lips against his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

He twisted to look at her and it was only then she saw the state of his wound. The area around the scar had reddened. They should have been more careful. “Yesterday you couldn’t even bathe yourself.” She brushed her fingers against the scar. “How much pain were you in when you lifted me up? When we—”

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It was worth it.”

She sighed. “Fine. We can leave today, but we travel slowly, easily. If you tire or if the pain becomes too much, we rest. Promise?”

“Yes.” He pressed his face against hers. “I promise.”

She touched his lips lightly before pulling herself from the bed. Embarrassment shot through her as the blanket fell away. She’d forgotten she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.

Phillip watched her as she hurried to the trunk to dig for traveling clothes for both of them.

It didn’t take long to dress and ready supplies. When they stepped outside, Lea greeted them. The sun rose fully by the time they put a saddle on the mule—much to the beast’s dismay.

“You need to ride.” Aurora gestured to the animal as she tied their bags of supplies to her saddle.

“We can both ride her.” He held out a hand.

Lea snorted.

Aurora rubbed her between the ears. “Please, my friend. One last trip for you and me.”

Lea seemed to sense the seriousness of the moment because she stopped protesting, standing still for Phillip and Aurora to climb onto her back.

Aurora took a final look at the cottage she’d called home since she was a little girl. It was where her father said goodbye to her. Her grandmother breathed her last within those walls.

Until a few short weeks ago, Aurora had been alone with only her mule and herself for company. The cottage held every thought she’d had, every feeling. Yet, as her eyes scanned the stone walls, she felt nothing for them.

Possessions never meant anything to her. You can’t take the things you own into a century long slumber. You also can’t take the people you love. She leaned forward, squeezing Phillip from behind. Love. She rested her head against his solid back, knowing that was what had her heart thumping heavily in her chest.

She hadn’t planned it. She’d fought it from the moment she laid eyes on him. Something pulled them together, forcing her to bring an injured man she’d never seen before into her home.

Above the trees, the walls of Dracon rose in the distance. Once she fell into her sleep, La Dame would come for her. She’d take her beyond those high walls.

But until then, Aurora would bask in her final days of freedom, of light. Because for her, the future only held darkness. It always had.

12

Phillip

“Tell me about your family.” Aurora’s voice drifted through the darkness, curling around them and creating a sense of calm inside Phillip.

It was a three-day ride to the palace, and they would arrive tomorrow. The trip had been uneventful, save for Aurora’s frequent demands to stop and let him rest. He hated to admit it, but he was relieved each time. His full strength had yet to return and spending each day in a saddle did nothing to help.

Phillip bent down to throw another pile of sticks onto their fledgling fire. They’d set up camp as soon as they found tree cover after riding through the open plains and rolling hills Bela was known for. He’d always loved his Kingdom. The beauty lay in both the people and the land. He found it hard to believe there was anything else quite like it in the Six Kingdoms.

His protection magic hung over them like an invisible cloak.

“What do you want to know?” He settled beside her, and she set the blanket across his lap.

She blew on her chilly hands and held them toward the flames. “Tell me something no one else knows.”

He thought for a moment. “You want me to reveal all the kingdom’s secrets?” He quirked an eyebrow and laughed.

She bumped his shoulder with her own and leaned close to whisper. “I promise not to tell anyone. Tell you what, I’ll keep my lips sealed for the next hundred years.”

His smile dropped. It wasn’t the first time Aurora tried to make light of her impending fate. He knew she didn’t believe his father’s magic could help her, but Phillip refused to give in to the curse.

Aurora was scared, but she tried not to let him see it. Sadness tinged her eyes, but she did not speak it.

He wanted to know all of her, and yet she continued to keep the deepest parts of herself from him. So, he decided she would know him at the very least. She’d know his heart, his soul. Maybe it would push her to fight harder to stay.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him.

“My father never wanted me to go to war.” He smiled at the memory. “The first time I told him I needed to lead the men, he refused. I was too young, he said. I didn’t understand the horrors of battle. So, I went anyway. I stole from the palace to join the troops as they marched out to meet the hordes of Gaule. I wasn’t an officer and had no men of my own except my two best friends who’d come with me. But during the battle, two of the generals were slain and Bela was losing. I found a horse and stopped the retreat to lead a charge. At first, it was just Alfred and Chandler behind me. Three men against an army. Then the others joined us.”

He laughed. “My father tried to be mad at me when we returned and the story was told. In the end, he just ruffled my hair and told me he’d never wanted me to see the images he was sure would never leave my mind.”

“Did they?” she asked. “Leave your mind, that is.”

His grip on her tightened. “No.”

“What about these friends of yours?”

“Alfred and Chandler.” A smile lit his face. “They’ve been with me since we were boys.”

“You love them.”

He nodded.

She seemed to relax at that. “Good. I want you to have people in your life who make you smile, Phillip. Because you should always smile.” She turned to face him and lifted a hand to touch his cheek. “I don’t want you to be sad. You’re going to have a grand life. We haven’t known each other long. It won’t be hard to forget about me, to move on and become who you’re meant to be.”

He clasped her wrist and held her hand against his cheek. “Stop.”

She shook her head. “These are the kind of conversations that can’t be avoided.”

“I don’t care what happens in the future.” The words burst from him with every bit of energy he possessed. He dropped her hand like it burned and jumped to his feet to pace in front of the fire. “Aurora, I lo—”

“Don’t.” Now it was her turn to be angry. “Don’t you say it, Phillip Basile. I will go into my slumber never forgiving you.”

“Why? What’s so wrong with having feelings? With being a real person?”

“You don’t get it, do you? I agreed to come to the palace for you, not for me. There is no changing my fate. I have lived for years content that sleeping for one hundred years wouldn’t take anything from me. I’d wake up and go on to live my life. That fate… I could live with. Don’t you dare fall in love with me.” She turned, putting her hands on her head in exasperation. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have kissed you that first time.”

“No.” He advanced on her until she backed up against a tree. “You don’t get to regret that.” He towered over her, bending down to look into her face.

“I—”

“It’s my turn to speak. I have lived my life for battles. Maybe that’s what drew me to you. You fight me on everything. I’m a prince. My life has never been my own. People tell me where to go, who to spend time with. These past weeks I’ve been my own man, and I’ll be damned if someone tells me what I can do with my heart—even if that someone is you.”

His eyes searched hers, unsure of what he saw.

She sucked in a breath, but he wasn’t finished.

He put a hand against the wide tree trunk on each side of her. “The first time you kissed me, I only knew I wanted to taste you once more. The second time, I never wanted to stop. You think I’m delusional in my hopes of breaking your curse, maybe I am. But, Aurora, I love you. And in a few days if your eyes can no longer see me, I will love you still.”

He wiped a tear from his face with a curse and took a step back. “Dammit! You’re an infuriating woman.”

“Phillip.” Aurora sniffed. “I think I love you too.” Even though it would only cause her pain in the end.

“You think?”

“I don’t want to.”

He reached out and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin against her soft hair. “I know.”

He made it a point that night to remember everything about her. The slight bowing of her legs, the faint scar behind her right knee. Each dip and curve of her body cemented in his mind. Every perfect imperfection.

He’d always had everything he ever wanted in life. It was a life of luxury, but he’d never known the most important part was missing.

Someone to share it with.

And with each passing day, the impossibility of keeping Aurora with him became clearer.

* * *

There was no place like the palace of Bela. Sitting atop the white cliffs, it loomed over the churning sea. The marble walls sparkled like a diamond in the sun.

As soon as Phillip led Aurora through the bustling town, the tension he’d felt since their conversation the night before began to ease. He was home.

No one recognized him in common clothes and with an unshaven face, which let him move unimpeded. As the general for a kingdom at constant war, he spent too little time in the capitol. They saw him during the army’s parades or tournaments, but he may as well have been a foreigner.

They revered him, sure, but as one revered an idol, someone unattainable. It wasn’t the same love they had for his parents. While his father grew sick, his mother ran the kingdom with grace and kindness. The people adored her.

Aurora had been quiet since the castle came into view in the distance.

“Are you okay?” He pressed a hand against her lower back to keep her moving forward. With his other hand, he pulled Lea’s reigns.

She chewed on a lip, a motion he’d grown familiar with. Not much got to Aurora, but when she was nervous, that lip… He wanted to pull it out of her mouth and into his own, but the vulnerability in her eyes stopped him. He turned into an alleyway that led to the busy docks. The smell of salt and fish swirled around them, an odor that was so familiar it had Phillip grinning.

His smile dropped when he noticed Aurora’s shaking frame. “Hey.” He put his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up so she’d look at him. He searched her face to discern what had her so nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“Do…” She sighed. “Do I bow when I meet the queen?”

His smile returned. “You’re nervous about meeting my mother?”

“She isn’t just your mother. She’s the queen of Bela.” She gestured down to her simple, travel-stained dress. “And I’m me.”

“There is nothing wrong with being you, Aurora. My mother will see that. I promise. Honestly, she’ll just be happy I’ve returned.”

She seemed to steel herself, straightening her spine. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Stop repeating me and take me to the palace.” She covered her face with a hand. “Words I never thought would come out of my mouth.”

His smile stretched wider than he’d thought possible, and he kissed the side of her head before leading her back out onto the road.

The path from the town to the palace took them up a hill to where a bridge allowed them to cross a small river. Guards streamed to and from the castle gates, but Phillip kept his head down. He didn’t want to be recognized before setting foot inside. He wanted to see his mother’s face for himself.

The gates of the castle stood open as they always did while the sun was out. Guard towers rose on either side, pointing toward the sky. The stone beneath their feet turned to marble as they neared the courtyard.

All Belaen citizens were welcome at the castle. The guards didn’t stop any from coming in. The royal family’s residence was heavily guarded in the back, but the rest belonged to the people. Phillip walked the familiar direction of the stables where a face he knew well greeted him.

Garek was a young orphan who worked and lived in the stables. When Phillip was at the palace, he let the kid trail around after him.

Garek shot straight up from where he’d been sitting. “Prince Phillip?”

Aurora tensed beside him and Phillip slid his hand into hers as he turned from weary traveler to prince. “Garek.”

The kid gave him a gap-toothed grin. “We thought you was dead.”

Phillip patted his chest as if checking for injuries. “Nope. Not dead last time I checked. But I am dead tired.” He gestured to Lea.

Garek’s smile dropped, and he scrambled to take Lea’s reigns. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“Garek,” another voice bellowed. “I need my horse saddled. I’m riding out with the scouts.”

Phillip didn’t turn. “Don’t talk to the boy like that.”

Silence hung in the air for a long moment before a hand gripped Phillip’s shoulder, ripping him from Aurora. “Phil?”

Phillip stared at Chandler, a grin spreading from one side of his face to the other. “Hello, Brother.”

Chandler yanked him into a crushing hug, caring little for their audience. “You’re alive.” He pulled back, putting a hand on the side of Phillip’s head to get a good look at him. “How the hell are you alive?”

“Disappointed?”

Chandler scrubbed a hand over his face. “Incredibly disappointed.” He released a breath, disbelief coating his features. “How?”

Phillip reached behind him, and Aurora slid her hand into his, joining the two men. “She saved me.”

Chandler’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Good. That’s good. I imagine there’s a story here.” He clapped Phillip on the shoulder. “You’re really here?”

Phillip laughed. “I’m really here.”

“Well, come on then. There are a hell of a lot more important people than me who will want to know.”

“What about the scouts?” Garek called after him.

“Scouts can wait, boy. The prince has returned.”

They followed Chandler inside. “The entire palace will hear now that Garek knows.”

Phillip shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant as anticipation built in his gut. Inside the palace, servants and guards who’d worked closely with him recognized him despite his attire. They watched him pass with wide eyes and hushed whispers. Phillip tried to acknowledge them. He tried to smile and wave, but his body wouldn’t cooperate when all he wanted to do was find his parents.

Chandler led them toward the royal residence.

“My mother isn’t in the throne room?” Phillip glanced to Aurora to make sure she was okay. She stared straight ahead.

Chandler shook his head and motioned for the guards to open a door for them. “She does most of the kingdom’s business by your father’s bed.”

“It’s that bad?”

Chandler paused at the door to the queen and king’s private room. “It’s good you’ve come when you did.”

A guard knocked on the door. Phillip expected to see a servant poke her head out, but instead, the queen herself appeared. She looked to the guard in annoyance without seeing the rest of them. “The king is not to be disturbed.”

“Mother.” Phillip stepped forward.

His mother’s eyes latched onto his, recognition lighting in them. “Phil… what… no… you’re…”

“Here, Mother. I’m here.”

She fell into his arms, a sob escaping her throat. The Balaen queen was raised to believe any show of emotion was a weakness. When he was a child, she taught Phillip the same. As he aged, though, he could see his father’s influence take root, and his mother began to use her emotions to strengthen herself. Now, she didn’t shy away from crying or screaming if she needed to. She believed a queen needed to be just like any other person.

He held her tightly for another moment before pulling back, remembering who stood beside him. “Mother, this is Aurora. She’s the reason I’m alive.” He gave Aurora a warm smile. “She saved me.”

His mother wiped her face and turned with all the grace of a queen. “Dear.” She reached out and grasped Aurora’s hands in her own. “The kingdom owes you a debt.”

Aurora shook her head. “I didn’t do it for some reward.”

The queen smiled. “You have my thanks.” She lifted a hand to cup Phillip’s cheek. “Thank you for bringing my boy back to me.”

13

Aurora

For the first time, guilt curled in Aurora’s stomach. She’d trapped Phillip in her cottage, keeping him away from the people who loved him. She’d said it was because he couldn’t travel until he regained his strength, and there was some truth to that, but she still felt as if she’d hidden him away and caused the kingdom to mourn.

His mother glanced at him every chance she got, a genuine smile on her face, as she led them through the royal apartments. As magnificent as the rest of the palace was, it didn’t compare to the luxury afforded to the king and queen. Lavish carpets of velvet spanned each room. Silk curtains hung in windows that overlooked the sea. Aurora ran her hand along a carved mahogany table, finer than any furniture she’d ever seen.

She tried to hide her surprise when the queen led them into her own bedchamber.

“Father.” Phillip rushed to the bed and fell to his knees beside it. The king lay wrapped in furs. His chalky white skin spoke of severe illness. Gray hair stuck up in every direction, covering various bald spots.

It took a moment for him to wake and focus his eyes. When he did, a light entered them. He tried to lift his hand, but it dropped back to the bed. Phillip reached for it, clutching it as if he was afraid to let go.

“Phil.” The voice was so soft, Aurora barely heard it.

“I’m here, Father.” Phillip bowed his head.

“You’ve returned, my boy.” He smiled, the action seeming to take every bit of strength he possessed. “Good. That’s good. Now I can rest in peace.”

“No, Father. Not yet. I’m not ready.”

The king closed his eyes. “Death does not ask us if we are ready, son. Only if we are finished. I think I have done all I can.”

Phillip’s desperate eyes met Aurora’s, and he gestured her forward. “This is Aurora. Father, you once told me if I found someone to love, to hold on with both hands. I’m trying. I’m trying so damned hard.”

The king’s eyes slid open once more. “Ah. My boy is in love.” He turned his gaze on Aurora. “Something isn’t right. I can sense it.”

“The Basile power,” Phillip explained to Aurora. “It is the counterbalance to La Dame’s.”

The king’s eyes hardened. “That’s what it is. You carry a piece of La Dame’s magic.”

“A…” Aurora cleared her throat. “A curse, your Majesty.”

Phillip leaned closer to his father. “She only has a few days before she falls into a long sleep. You have to help her, Father. Please.”

The queen gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. She put her free hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “He doesn’t have the strength to use his magic, Phillip. He has tried, and it no longer comes to him.”

Aurora had never believed the Basile power could break her curse, but hearing the words still sent a dagger through her heart. That was it. Her final chance. There was no saving her from her fate. She stumbled back from Phillip, bumping into the queen in the process.

Phillip jumped to his feet, but before he could react, his mother gripped his arm. “Your father needs rest, son. And you need to recover from your travels. I’ll have a room set up for Aurora.”

“No.” He fixed his eyes on his mother. “She’ll stay with me.”

Relief bloomed in her. If Aurora only had a short time remaining, she didn’t want to spend any of it away from Phillip.

To the queen’s credit, she accepted the demand without argument. “I’ll have wash water brought to your rooms and food. Go. Rest.” She touched his cheek. “The kingdom is going to need you soon.”

Aurora glanced at the king once more, but he’d already fallen asleep. Phillip wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her out the door. Neither of them spoke until they entered the prince’s apartments.

Where the king and queen’s rooms were lavish, Phillip’s were simple. A beautiful wooden bed sat atop a fur rug. At the far end, a marble hearth sat with no fire inside. Two glass doors opened onto a large balcony.

Phillip brushed past her and threw open the doors, letting in a blast of chilly air, before storming out onto the balcony. He gripped the railing and hung his head.

Aurora approached, wondering if she should give him time to himself. She stopped moving and was about to turn back around when his pained voice reached her.

“There has to be something more we can do.”

Aurora stepped forward, her eyes sweeping across the ocean. Waves crashed against the cliff face. Birds swooped down over the water as if this day was just like any other. And she wanted it to be. She wanted to stop thinking about what was going to happen and just be there with the man she loved more than she ever thought possible.

Only a short month ago, she was alone. She thought she was content, that she could just fade into her curse and wake in the future to live a new life.

Then he came. Phillip changed everything. He ruined her.

His knuckles turned white where he gripped the bronze railing. Aurora laid her hand over his, her voice low. “I came here with you to give you a last shred of hope. Even if your father was strong enough to use his power, we do not know it could break the curse.” She pried his hand off the rail, but he still didn’t look at her. “I need you to do something for me.”

He finally turned his tortured gaze to hers. “Anything.”

“Let me go.”

He started to protest, but she held up a hand.

“Love me while I’m here, while I can love you back, but don’t spend the rest of our time looking for a way to stop the inevitable.” She ran her hand up his arm, stopping at his defined bicep. “I want to stay with you more than anything in the world, but we are fated to be apart. Don’t make me feel sadness in my final days. I want to feel joy.”

“Joy,” he whispered, one side of his mouth ticking up. He nodded and pulled her against his chest, wrapping her in his strong arms. “I can do that.”

She breathed in his familiar scent of pine and relaxed against him, wishing he could hold her for the rest of her life.

She pulled back, tipping her head to look up at him. “How is your wound today? Does it hurt?”

A grin spread from one side of his face to the other. “Are you trying to get my shirt off?”

“No,” she sputtered. “I…” Two days. That was all she had left, she reminded herself. She’d take what she wanted from them. “Yes. Take it off.”

“Your wish is my command.” He released her and shrugged his shirt over his head, revealing the trim chest she’d spent so much time marveling at. He dropped his shirt and pulled her inside where they tumbled onto the bed.

“Wait.” Aurora kissed him with a laugh. “I really do want to check how you’re healing.” She scooted down his body until she was eye level with the bandage on his abdomen. She removed it and poked at the raised scar. “I don’t think you need a bandage anymore.”

“No.” He pulled her back up. “But I need you.”

His kiss consumed her every thought as he invaded her mind and took over her body. She barely remembered what it was like not to feel this way, to not have someone who completed her. Before, she’d only lived for herself.

Phillip’s tongue pushed into her mouth, battling with hers. Sometimes she thought they were made to battle each other, to challenge each other.

By the time a knock sounded on the door, they’d lost themselves in each other. Phillip sat up with a curse and wrapped a blanket around his waist. He opened the door to reveal a bevy of servants.

Aurora burrowed under the bedsheets as two men carried buckets of steaming water into the adjoining wash

room. A woman entered carrying a tray of food followed by a man with a pitcher of drink.

They made quick work of their duties before filing out the way they came. Phillip walked to the tray and poured them each a cup of wine before popping a grape into his mouth.

Aurora crawled from the bed and took the offered wine. “I don’t think I could ever get used to being served like this.”

Phillip didn’t respond and Aurora said nothing else as the reality hung over them. She’d never have to get used to it because she’d be gone. She wondered what would happen to her once she fell asleep. La Dame would most likely come for her, refusing to leave her in the Basile household.

She stepped around Phillip to enter the washroom. “A bath sounds glorious.”

Phillip’s arms wound around her from behind and he kissed her shoulder. “Come on.” He led her to the large copper tub that was now half filled with water.

Aurora stepped in and reached out a hand to Phillip. He took it, joining her. They lowered themselves into the warm water facing each other.

On the opposite side of the tub sat a tray with sponges and soaps. Aurora reached for a sponge and lathered it up. She leaned forward, running it along Phillip’s chest.

“This reminds me of the first time I gave you a bath.” She smiled. “When you pretended to need help.”

Phillip laughed. “I did not pretend. Do you know how hard it was for me not to touch you?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “No, because I got to feel your skin under my fingers all I wanted. In the name of helping a wounded man, of course.”

“Of course.” He laughed.

She could have drowned in that sound, letting it surround her until it was all she heard. She hoped he’d laugh in her dreams.

He leaned forward, catching her lips with his for a quick kiss. “Marry me,” he whispered.

Her eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“I want us to have that.”

She leaned away from him, needing to clear her mind. “You’re the prince of Bela, Phillip.”

“I’m aware.”

“You can’t just marry anyone. You need a wife who will give you heirs.” She hated the desperation in her voice, but thinking of Phillip with anyone else sent a jolt of pain straight through her.

“I don’t want anyone else.” He reached forward and pulled her onto his lap. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub. “I only want you.”

She relaxed against him. “I want you too.”

“Is that a yes?”

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Yes.”

Once she was gone, Phillip could remarry and have many children, but for now, he was hers.

Pounding sounded from the door in the main room, breaking them from their haze. Phillip pulled away with a curse. “Never any privacy in this place.”

Aurora grazed his cheek with her fingers. “Their prince has just returned. They’re excited.”

The pounding on the door echoed through the suite of rooms. Phillip kissed her once more before rising. Water streamed down his magnificent frame as he reached for a bath sheet. “Finish bathing then join me out there for some food.”

She nodded, unable to take her eyes from his body as he wrapped the bath sheet around his waist and stepped from the water. Wet footprints trailed him from the room.

Aurora scrubbed the remaining travel grime from her skin before dipping her head back under the water. She untangled her hair with her fingers and sat up again.

By the time she’d dried herself, she realized she only had her soiled clothing to put back on. Along the back wall sat a wardrobe. There had to be something in there. She padded across the cold marble and opened the doors. Phillip’s clothing hung in an orderly fashion, probably not by him.

Bypassing his uniforms, she found a long tunic and pulled it over her head. The hem stretched down to her knees, almost like a dress. It would have to do for now.

Twisting her hair into a braid, she draped it over one shoulder and stepped from the washroom, freezing as she took in the sight before her.

The man they’d met in the stables stood talking excitedly to Phillip along with a second man. Phillip smiled—so at ease around these men—and she instantly knew they were the friends he’d told her about. They’d known each other since they were children.

She stood unnoticed, watching them, reveling in the sight of Phillip without the worry he held in his eyes each time he looked at her.

“He’s going to be okay,” she whispered to herself.

As if they heard her, all three men turned her way. “Aurora.” Phillip rushed toward her, his eyes taking in her attire. He retrieved a robe and draped it around her. “Come.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward the other men. “This is Alfred.” He gestured to the man she didn’t know. “And you already met Chandler.”

Alfred smiled at her before turning back to Phillip and shaking his head. “I just can’t believe it. We left you injured in the woods and then couldn’t find you after. We assumed you were dead.”

“I would be.” He pulled Aurora in against his side. “But then she came.”

Surprising Aurora, Alfred dropped to a knee in front of her. “We owe you a debt, miss.”

She hugged her arms across her chest. Everyone at the palace continued to say how much they owed her, but she knew they’d never get a chance to repay. What was she supposed to have done? Leave a dying man alone in the woods? Wouldn’t anyone have done the same? She didn’t want them to raise her up on a pedestal she didn’t deserve when the truth was plain. It hit her with the full force of a blast of magic. Phillip Basile would have been better off had he never met her. She should have helped him and then dropped him off in the nearest village before he woke. But she’d been selfish in her curiosity and now, here she stood in the palace. The prince deserved a life with endless possibilities. He didn’t deserve to have everything he wanted taken away with the same curse she’d lived with most of her life.

Alfred was still kneeling when Phillip’s words snapped her from her dark thoughts. “We’re getting married.”

Alfred jumped to his feet. Both he and Chandler wore matching grins. “Married?”

Phillip nodded.

Once they got over their shock, they both rushed forward and enveloped Phillip and Aurora in a crushing hug. Aurora blinked back tears at their joy. They celebrated their friend making a lifelong commitment, not realizing it would barely last a day.

Phillip chuckled, his thoughts obviously not going the same direction as hers. “Tomorrow.” His voice was muffled against Chandler’s shoulder. “We will marry in the morning.”

Both men pulled back and exchanged a glance. “Tomorrow?” Chandler asked.

“Isn’t that awful short notice to arrange a royal wedding?”

Phillip didn’t miss a beat. “It won’t be a royal wedding. Just close friends and my parents.”

It was then Aurora realized what a big mistake this was. There was no way Phillip Basile could get away with marrying a common girl, especially without the rest of the kingdom invited.

“Phillip,” she said, her voice soft. “We should talk about this.”

Alfred and Chandler exchanged a look. “We’ll give you two some privacy. Have one of your men wake us if there is to be a wedding.” Alfred gripped Phillip’s shoulder. “We are glad you’re back.”

They showed themselves out, and Aurora sighed as she retreated farther into the room. Phillip waited a beat before following her. She climbed onto the high bed and sat with her legs dangling over. It wasn’t how a lady of court would rest in a prince’s room, but she’d had no noble training. If she were really going to be Phillip’s wife, she assumed they’d make her sit through proper lessons.

She lay back to stare at the canopy overhead, wishing it was tree cover she saw instead. Already, she missed her forest.

Phillip stood at the table, eating cheese from the tray. Aurora turned her head so she could watch him. He still hadn’t put clothes on and the bath sheet hung low on his hips, making it hard for her to think. She’d never considered herself someone who’d become so mesmerized by a man, but then she’d never seen a man quite like Phillip before.

He chewed slowly and swallowed. Water dripped from his hair to run in a single stream down his cheek.

“Enjoying the show?” he lifted one brow.

Aurora’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “Yes.” The thing with living your last days was there was no reason to lie. By the time she woke from La Dame’s slumber, everyone she’d ever met would be long in the earth.

Phillip wiped his fingers on the bath sheet and sauntered toward her with the slow gait of a predator. He leaned over the bed, tasting her lips in quick, repetitive kisses. She longed to just pull him down to join her, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.

He crawled onto the bed and lay on his side. “You said we had to talk about tomorrow.”

She tried to regain control of her breathing and couldn’t stop the words from slipping out of her mouth. “He isn’t going to like this.”

Usually, when she talked to herself, he smirked or laughed in amusement. This time, a crease formed in his brow.

She stared at the ceiling again. “Now, you’ve gone and done it, Aurora.”

“Hey.” He placed a palm against her cheek and turned so her eyes met his. “Talk to me.”

“Sorry. When I get nervous, I can’t help it.”

“I know. What I don’t know is why you’re nervous.”

A laugh bubbled out of her. “Really? How about the fact that right now I’m in the palace of Bela? I met the king and queen today. Currently, the prince is lying beside me looking like…” she waved a hand at him. “… that. Not to mention that after tomorrow, none of this will matter anymore because I’ll be gone.” Her chest heaved as if she’d just run a length around the palace.

One side of Phillip’s mouth tipped up. “What do I look like?”

When she swatted him, he laughed and caught her hand. “You have to ask? You’re the prince. People probably fall all over you constantly.”

He nodded. “They do. But with you, I’m not the prince, okay. Stop saying that. I just want to be the man from the cottage deep in the woods.”

“But that isn’t reality. You want to be the man in the cottage. I want to be a girl who isn’t cursed. We don’t get to choose our destinies.”

“I love you. I do get to choose that.”

She placed a hand above his heart, feeling his heated skin. “Some would say love isn’t a choice.”

She scooted closer and pressed the side of her face to his chest, needing to hear his heart beat solidly. The steady rhythm calmed her as his words took root in her mind. She thought over her own words. Love wasn’t a choice. If it were, she wouldn’t have chosen it. She’d have given herself over to the curse easily, instead of trying to fight it at every turn.

Phillip’s arms wound around her back as she drifted off, still lying sideways across the bed.

14

Phillip

As soon as Aurora fell asleep the night before, Phillip tucked her in beneath the covers and went to find Alfred and Chandler. He wanted to lie with her the entire night, but there was too much to do.

His friends gathered a few trusted servants and together they worked through the night. Growing up, the palace had been like a family. People worked their entire lives for the royal family, bringing their children and grandchildren to work there as well.

And they all loved their prince.

Phillip went about his tasks, finding more and more to do to keep from remembering what tomorrow held. This was about today.

He should have been tired after not sleeping all night, but he felt more energized than ever.

Taking in the room before him, Phillip smiled. It was perfect. He’d wanted to have the wedding in his mother’s garden to allow Aurora to feel at home, but Chandler convinced him it was too cold. The old chapel would do. It hadn’t been in use since his parents’ wedding, but they’d kept it in working order to honor their own marriage.

White lilies littered the floor, Aurora’s favorite. She’d kept a garden of them at her cottage. Pale pink silk draped across the chairs and silver balls hung from it. Green garland stretched across the ceiling to give the space an outdoorsy feel.

Chandler stepped up beside Phillip, rubbing his eyes. He yawned. “You really love this girl, don’t you?”

Phillip turned to clap his friend on the back. “More than you could ever know.”

“Then why did we rush to do a wedding in a day?”

“It means a lot to have your help with this.”

Chandler crossed his arms. “That’s not an answer.”

Phillip met his friend’s eyes, knowing his mistake immediately. His joy evaporated, leaving behind only an emptiness as though the curse stripped everything from him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

“Shit, Phil.” Chandler gripped his shoulder and steered him from the bustling chapel to the unused chaplain’s office. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Phillip sat on the corner of the desk and clasped his hands together, hoping his friend couldn’t see them shaking. He’d always told Chandler everything. Ever since they were boys, they’d confided in each other. He sucked in a breath and began the story.

He told him of meeting La Dame and learning about Aurora’s curse.

When he was finished, Chandler released a series of curses. “Why hasn’t someone dealt with La Dame by now?”

Phillip shook his head. “We don’t know if even the Basile power is a match for hers. It could mean an end of Bela if either she or the Basile heir is destroyed. It’s a risk we have not been willing to take.” He wiped a hand across his face, thankful his friend acted as if he didn’t notice his tears.

With Aurora, Phillip had to remain strong. He had to joke and make plans and act like everything was normal between them, like he wasn’t terrified of each passing moment.

“I’m sorry, Phil.” Chandler hung his head. “I wish there was a way we could help.”

“I thought if I brought her here, the Basile power could do something. At least, that’s what I told myself. I think I just wanted her here when it happens. When she falls asleep for the last time. I won’t let La Dame have her.”

Chandler pressed his lips together. “One hundred years, Phillip. You’ll be long gone. You can’t keep her in the palace that long. What happens after you’re gone?”

“I don’t have to figure out everything today,” he barked.

Chandler held up his hands in front of his chest, but before he could respond, the queen poked her head into the room.

She smiled when her eyes rested on her son. “Phillip. I was just informed of the wedding my staff spent all night preparing for.”

He hadn’t wanted to wake his parents until it was time for the ceremony. Part of him had been afraid they’d try to stop him. He waited for her chastisement, but it never came. Instead, she gestured him into the hall.

Two maids stood carrying a long white dress with intricate beading and lace spanning the surface.

“Mother.” He glanced from the dress to her in question.

“I only hope it fits her.”

Phillip pulled his mother into a hug. She let out a grunt of surprise. “Thank you.”

“I want you to be happy, son. Even if it’s just for a day.”

They all kept saying that as if the marriage would no longer matter once Aurora was no longer with them. They didn’t understand. She would be his wife until he took his last breath. But he didn’t tell them that, and he didn’t dare voice it to Aurora. She wanted him to move on, but there was no moving on from her. She was a part of him now, deep in his soul. He couldn’t imagine a life with anyone else by his side.

Just the thought of it brought tears to his eyes. He’d never let go of the hope he could one day break her curse.

He took the dress from his mother and left to go wake his sleeping beauty.

Aurora was still fast asleep when he entered the room. Her wild blond hair lay draped over the pillow, and the blanket tangled in her legs. Noble ladies even took classes on how to sleep properly to avoid snoring or improper sprawl.

He’d never been more glad Aurora was no noble. She snored softly and even that was adorable. He didn’t think there was anything she could do that would make him think less of her. He stood there watching her until finally draping the dress over a chair and approaching the bed.

Sitting on the edge, he brushed the hair from her face. “Aurora.” He bent so his lips grazed her cheek as he spoke. “Wake up, love.”

She grumbled something unintelligible, and her leg kicked out instinctively as if trying to knock him from the bed. She rolled away from him.

He grinned as he lowered himself beside her, her back to his front, and wrapped an arm over her waist. Pushing her hair aside, he kissed the back of her neck.

She hummed low in her throat. “Do that again.”

He kissed her just below her ear.

If their fates were different, he’d have enjoyed waking her up every morning for the rest of their lives.

She turned in his arms, still not opening her eyes. “Where did you go last night?”

“That is a secret.” He kissed her nose. “Come on. We have to get you ready.”

Someone knocked on the door. Right on time. Phillip rolled off the bed to go let in the two maids who’d help Aurora prepare.

Aurora sat up in a daze. “What’s going on?”

One of the maids dipped into a curtsy. “We’re here to prepare you for your wedding, miss.”

As if she’d forgotten what the day held, Aurora’s eyes widened. She looked to Phillip, pleading for help, but he only winked and sauntered from the room.

In only a short time, he’d be married to the love of his life. Phillip grinned as he rejoined Alfred and Chandler.

They both gave him sad looks, and he put a hand on each of their backs. “Don’t do that. Please. I need today to be about everything I’ve gained, not everything I’m about to lose.”

To their credit, both men instantly wiped the sadness from their faces.

Phillip laughed. “That’s more like it. Let’s get ready. I’m getting married today.”

15

Aurora

Aurora didn’t ask for the maids’ names. She didn’t want to get to know anyone else she would have to leave behind. They forced her from the bed, and it was only then she realized how tired she truly was.

Her limbs were heavy, making her movements sluggish. No. She shook her head. She wasn’t supposed to feel the curse for one more day yet. Rage ripped through her at the thought. Why her? Why did she have to disappear?

As quickly as the rage came, so did the nausea. She didn’t even make it to the chamber pot before the contents of her stomach erupted onto the floor.

She dropped to her knees as her stomach heaved, trying to empty the last few drops. Tears stung her eyes. What was happening to her?

The maids stood frozen, staring at the vomit now covering the floor as she struggled to her feet.

“Um, I’ll find someone to clean that.” The younger of the two darted into the hall, her red hair flying out behind her.

The second maid was an older woman with a bonnet covering her gray hair. She stepped to the table and poured a cup of water before approaching Aurora. “Here you are, dear.”

Aurora accepted gratefully and drank quickly, trying to erase the taste from her mouth.

The older woman put her hands on her hips. “Are you feeling ill? We can’t have you sick at your wedding. From what I hear, it’s a small affair. I can tell the prince you need to postpone.”

“No.” The word burst out of Aurora. There was no postponing this. She lowered her voice. “I’m not sick.”

“Well, are you pregnant? That would explain the quick wedding.”

Aurora put a hand on her stomach. “I don’t think so, but how would I know?”

“Vomiting, for one.”

Aurora shook her head. It was probably just the nerves.

The maid tsked. “It’s too early for morning sickness, anyway, I’d assume. You haven’t known the prince long. Probably just the nerves.” She didn’t ask more questions as she led Aurora to the washroom. Aurora cleaned herself up while someone arrived to clean her mess in the bedroom.

Before she knew it, the maids set her hair in an intricate weaving atop her head. She peered into the looking glass, not recognizing the woman who stared back at her. What would her father think of her now? Her grandmother would have liked Phillip. She had enjoyed any man who was a bit challenging.

The older maid walked in carrying the most beautiful dress Aurora had ever seen.

“Is that… for me?”

The maid nodded. “From the queen.”

Aurora reached out to feel the silky fabric and scratch of the lace. She closed her eyes, letting the circumstances sink in. The queen had sent her a dress so she could marry the prince. What kind of world had she entered?

Only a month ago, she’d spent her days among the trees, content with her loneliness.

She slid out of the robe she’d been wearing and let the maids slip the dress on over her head, careful not to mess her hair or rouge. The fit wasn’t exactly perfect, but it would work.

Soft fabric hugged her curves tighter than she’d have liked, impeding her walking even more. A silk train streamed out behind her. She ran her hands over the collared bodice and short sleeves that left the rest of her arms bare.

She almost asked about that before the younger maid held up a pair of long ivory gloves. Aurora slipped them on, feeling like she belonged in the palace for the first time.

She could walk among them, endure their stares. She could do anything if it meant meeting Phillip at the end of the aisle.

Someone knocked on the door before letting themselves in. Chandler appeared, a smile softening his handsome features. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, and he wore a pressed soldier’s uniform.

“I’m here to escort you.” He offered her his hand.

She placed her palm against his and rose. “Thank you.”

The palace passed by in a blur as Chandler led Aurora through the corridors. Early morning sunlight cast a glow upon the walls. Eyes followed her as she walked. The people of the palace must have known something was happening that day, but they didn’t stop her.

Chandler glanced sideways repeatedly as if unsure what to say as they walked. Aurora sighed. “He told you.”

Chandler nodded. “I’m sorry. I wish there were better words to offer you.”

They stopped outside a closed door and Aurora turned to him. “Take care of him. After I’m gone. Just… promise me you’ll be there for him.”

Chandler met her gaze unflinchingly. “I will always be there for him.”

She could see the truth in his eyes, and it eased some of the weight on her heart. She released a tired breath, refusing to let her exhaustion ruin this day.

Chandler pulled open the doors, and Aurora gasped.

A chapel spread before her, covered in white lilies and pink silk. A few servants and guards sat near the back. The queen sat in the front row, and the king had even left his bed for this.

At the front a priest stood next to the most beautiful sight Aurora had ever seen. Phillip’s uniform was impressive, but she barely noticed it as she caught his eyes. Emotion swirled in their depths, a mixture of joy and sadness that left her gasping for breath.

How could a single day be both the happiest and hardest day of her life?

Phillip’s lips curved up as a single violin played a sweet melody.

Alfred, standing next to him, elbowed him and spoke softly in his ear. Phillip’s smile widened.

“Are you ready?” Chandler asked.

That simple question could have so many meanings. Was she ready to marry Phillip? More than anything. Was she ready to leave him? Never.

Instead of voicing any of that, she only nodded and let Chandler lead her into the aisle. The queen turned in her seat, tears springing to her eyes as she gazed at Aurora.

“Do not cry, Aurora,” she whispered to herself. “You are a badass forest woman. You don’t cry at weddings.”

“Did you say something?” Chandler asked, humor in his eyes.

“No. You must be hearing things.”

His laughter told her he heard the pep talk she‘d given herself. She’d have died of embarrassment if she wasn’t going to be as good as dead the next day, anyway. She sighed to herself. Apparently, now she was joking about her impending fate. At least she hadn’t voiced that out loud.

She didn’t realize she’d reached Phillip as the internal conversation waged in her head. He cleared his throat and took her hand from Chandler’s.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He only grinned.

She barely heard a word the priest said as she lost herself in Phillip’s gaze. She must have said her part in the ceremony at some point, but she didn’t take it all in until the priest announced her as “Princess Aurora Rose Brynhild Basile.”

Princess.

Her.

Aurora Brynhild.

Phillip pulled her against him and kissed her as if it was the very last time, and he never wanted to let go.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I will always love you.”

A tear slipped from her eye as she grazed his cheek with her fingers. “One hundred years won’t make me stop loving you.”

He kissed her again, but they broke apart when commotion surrounded them.

The queen’s wail reached their ears, and by the time they rushed to her side, the king had collapsed.

“Get a healer,” Phillip yelled.

His mother shook her head. “It’s no use.” Tears streamed down her face. “We knew the danger of him leaving his bed, but he wanted to be here.”

“Mother,” Phillip pleaded. “We have to do something.”

She lifted glassy eyes to him. “I promised I’d let him go when it was time.”

Two guards appeared ready to take the king wherever he needed to go. The queen held up a hand to stop them. “This was his favorite place in the palace.”

Aurora slid her arm through Phillip’s. One moment, they’d been celebrating and the next… She couldn’t take the thought of Phillip losing so much in one day.

The king’s chest rose one final time before going still. His wife sobbed, and his son stumbled away from everyone.

“He’s gone.” Phillip ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the ends. Chandler tried to put a hand on his arm, but he shook him off.

As if struck, Phillip cried out in pain. His legs buckled beneath him, and as his knees hit the stone, he gripped his head.

Aurora wanted to run to him, but the still crying queen held her back. “It’s okay. This has to happen.”

He collapsed onto his side and writhed on the floor for what seemed like hours before going still.

The queen gestured to the guards. “Take the prince back to his room.” She turned to Aurora. “My dear, I wish this day was different. I wish my husband could have lived and that you could remain with us. Go, be with your husband. He’ll be okay in an hour or so. I don’t think I’ll see you again.”

Aurora wished she could have said something clever or at least hugged the queen, but all she managed to do was turn and follow the guards carrying Phillip.

They carried him to his rooms where they laid him on the bed and he curled in on himself. Aurora pulled a chair to the bedside and took his hand in hers.

“Phillip, please be okay.”

She didn’t know how long she sat rubbing circles on the back of his hand before his voice wrapped around her. “Aurora.”

Her head jerked up. “You’re okay?”

He groaned as he stretched to his full length. “I feel… different.” A smile curved his lips, but then dropped as if he remembered the events of the day. “My father is dead.”

She nodded. “You remember?”

“I can feel it.” He pushed himself up. “The Basile power. It’s inside me now and that can only happen if the person who carried it is gone.”

“I’m sorry, Phillip.”

He lowered his gaze. “We’ve known this was coming for months.”

“Knowing something is coming doesn’t make it any easier.” She gave him a pointed look.

“No. I don’t suppose it does.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m going to mourn him for a long time. My father was a great man, the best father I could have had, but I can’t start today. Not when I’m looking at you knowing I am going to lose you too.”

She stood and crawled onto the bed beside him, leaning against his side. “Try it.”

“Try what?”

“You have the Basile power now. I still don’t know if I believe it can break the curse, but we have to try, right?”

“Aurora.” Phillip’s eyes widened. “I don’t think you understand. The Basile power… it’s like a thunderstorm, uncontrollable. At least at first. I can feel it inside me, ripping through my limbs. It’s all I can do to hold it in. Each new heir has to train before they can use it. It’s too dangerous otherwise. I could kill you.”

“I don’t care.”

He froze. “Aurora—”

“No, listen to me.” She forced him to turn his body toward her. “If there is even the smallest chance we can stay together…” She clenched her jaw. “I would rather die trying than give up.”

He ran a finger over her features as if memorizing them for a lifetime of only memories. He closed his eyes, his hand stilling against her cheek.

Finally, he blew out a breath, and his shoulders sagged. Aurora knew she’d won.

She stifled a yawn and forced a smile instead.

Phillip kissed her forehead and pulled himself from the bed. “Lay down.”

Aurora obeyed without hesitation.

Phillip leaned over her, pressing his hands against her skin as he closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. “Looking for the threads of her magic. My father taught me how to do this to better target my own shield power.” After a while, he blew out. “Okay, I’ve got her.”

Aurora’s own magic tingled in her fingertips as if calling out to his.

Phillip’s face strained in concentration as his magic flooded her. Her skin grew scorching hot, burning from the inside out.

She bit back a cry of pain and blinked away tears, not wanting Phillip to stop.

“I’ve found traces of the curse,” he whispered, his energy waning. “Only a few moments longer. I just need to use my power to sever the connection.” He bit his lip.

As if shocked, he yanked his hands away and scrambled from the bed. “I think I did it. I almost lost control and hurt you, but the curse is gone. I felt it break.” His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, disbelief in his eyes.

Aurora lifted her head, still weighed down by exhaustion. She was too tired to share in his elation, but his next words sent a jolt to her system.

“That’s not all.” He jumped back onto the bed, grinning. “Aurora, you’re pregnant. I felt it. My magic called to another Basile heir, feeling its presence in a rush of power through my veins.”

Pregnant?

Before she could process the word, Phillip tackled her in a hug. His tears dampened her shoulder. “I’m not going to lose you.”

She wrapped her arms around him, not quite believing his words. The curse had been a part of her for so long, and she knew it still was. It had to be.

But a baby?

For one final night, she wanted to pretend they were a normal couple who were about to become a family. She wanted that reality more than anything. If she fell into La Dame’s slumber at midnight, what would happen to the child?

She wiped away her tears and hid her despair behind a smile as she pulled back to look at Phillip, wishing she could feel his joy.

16

Phillip

Phillip had prepared much more than a ceremony for his new wife. He’d begged the palace chefs to stay up with him throughout the night. They made a feast. All he wanted as he issued the orders was for Aurora to know how much he loved her, for her to feel safe before closing her eyes.

He hadn’t admitted to himself that he’d needed to feel safe as well. He’d needed his family around him. And now Aurora would be his always, yet his father was gone.

He’d missed the final month of his father’s life, yet he didn’t want to regret any of his time with Aurora. Phillip had always believed in reasons. Everything had one. Every action. Every word. Every event.

Maybe his father dying in that moment had a purpose. He’d been fading away for so long and finally took his last breath when Phillip needed the Basile power most.

Phillip lay in bed beside Aurora who dozed after their big morning. He no longer feared when she fell asleep because he knew she’d wake again to smile at him.

He lifted a hand and curled his fingers. Like everyone in Bela, he’d been born with magic in his blood. His protection wards were his birth power, but the Basile power was his inheritance. He’d seen the magnificent things his father could do with it before he grew too weak. He’d been training and preparing for the magic. Birth power was a part of the wielder, just an extension of themselves. But Basile power—it was a living thing with a mind of its own. The kings of Bela used it to protect the kingdom, but it used them as well. He’d seen his father change when releasing his magic, his face twisted in anger.

Even now, as he lay in bed beside his new wife, ire curled in Phillip’s gut. His father always told him the secret was to be able to decipher which feelings were his own and which belonged to the power.

A knock came from the door and Phillip rose, pulling his tunic off the bedpost. He shrugged it on and opened the door.

Alfred and Chandler grinned at him. A host of servants carrying trays of food waited behind them.

Phillip crossed his arms and raised a brow.

Chandler tried to push past him into the room, but Phillip blocked him.

Alfred laughed. “We expected you two in the hall for lunch. When you didn’t show, we realized we couldn’t let this feast go to waste.”

Phillip peered around him, realizing the trays held the dishes he’d ordered the cooks to prepare for the wedding celebration.

Chandler shrugged. “We tried to convince the queen to join us.”

Phillip shook his head, knowing exactly what his mother’s response would have been. She needed time alone as they prepared the king’s body for the ceremony that would take place in the coming days. It was why he hadn’t yet gone to her. His mother was a loving woman, but there was a part of herself she didn’t share with her son. His father had given Phillip every bit of himself.

A pang of loss ripped through Phillip, but he knew it was nothing compared to the grief his mother experienced. Yet, if her son came to her, she’d only turn him away. And he couldn’t handle that, so he saved them both the pain.

He sucked in a breath, trying to push the overwhelming sadness from his mind. “Fine, you can come in. Just give me a moment first.” He shut the door and walked back toward the bed.

Aurora talked to herself in her sleep just as she did when she was awake. It was one of the many things he loved about her. He smiled and bent down to brush his lips against hers. “Wake up, my sleeping beauty.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and it took a moment before recognition set in. He knew the look she gave him—as if she was surprised every time she woke. He supposed it would take her a while to get used to the notion that a deep slumber was no longer her fate.

“We have guests,” he whispered, kissing her again.

She freed her arms from the blanket to pull his face down to hers again. This kiss wasn’t light like the others. She inhaled him. He growled as she pulled him onto the bed.

Someone pounded on the door. “Phillip, open this door.” Alfred.

“Tell them to go away.” She barely broke away enough to speak.

He grinned against her lips, but before he could respond, someone pounded again.

This time, Chandler’s voice carried through the heavy wood. “Stop whatever you’re doing. The food is getting cold.”

Phillip groaned and rolled off her.

“Food?” she asked.

“Yes. Get dressed. It seems we have company.” He leaned back toward her once more. “It’s a good thing I get to do this for the rest of my life.” He pecked her lips and turned away from her.

She scrambled to pull a dress on over her head and tied the laces.

Phillip opened the door just as she was running her fingers through her hair in an effort to tame it. She didn’t realize how much he liked it wild.

A flurry of activity ensued in which a bevy of servants carried trays to the table in the center of the room. The rich aroma of carved meat filled the air and Phillip watched as Aurora’s eyes widened. A grin formed on her lips, but it dropped just as quickly. Their future together was not something that could be celebrated when the pallor of death hung over them, cloaking them in sadness.

Alfred and Chandler each took their turns hugging her as if they’d known her their entire lives. It warmed Phillip’s heart to see the men he considered brothers accept her so completely. He only wished his father had gotten the chance to know her as well.

When the servants left, and it was just the four of them, Aurora stepped up to the table to study the offerings. She was practically drooling.

He suppressed a laugh. “Go ahead, wife, eat whatever you’d like.”

She turned to him.

“What?” he asked. “Are you really that excited for dinner?”

She shook her head, but didn’t stop staring.

He couldn’t help the smile curving his lips. “Why are you staring?”

“You called me wife.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. That’s what you are in case you forgot. There was a ceremony. I said some things. You said some things.”

She smiled, joy warring with sadness on her face.

“Stop.”

“What?”

“You’re still staring.”

She laughed. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Chandler spoke up.

Heat rose in Phillip’s cheeks, and he tried to hold it back. He didn’t ever blush. He was a prince. Confident. Sure. Yet, the way she looked at him laid him bare. She saw everything, each vulnerable part.

Alfred made a gagging sound. “Just kiss her so we can move on with our lives.”

Phillip raised one eyebrow, a challenge, daring Aurora to make the first move in front of his friends. It was one thing when it was just the two of them locked away in her isolated cottage. But here in the palace, among the people he’d known his entire life, he wanted her to claim him.

She stepped forward, and just when he thought she was going to kiss him, she reached back to the table, grabbed a roll, and stuffed it in her mouth.

Alfred and Chandler laughed. For a moment, it was as if they could all forget the events of the day.

Phillip shook his head and turned to them. “We have an announcement.”

Aurora tried to say something, but her mouth was still full so it came out as a whimper in her throat. He took advantage of her momentary inability to stop him.

“Aurora’s curse is broken.”

The words hung in the air, no one wanting to breathe for fear they might be taken back. After a beat of silence, Alfred and Chandler jumped up, engulfing both Phillip and Aurora in a hug. They asked questions, and Phillip answered as best he could. The Basile power allowed him to find La Dame’s magic inside Aurora and snap the thread. He’d felt it the moment it broke.

They all sat around the table and piled their plates high with food.

As they finished eating, Phillip spoke up again. “La Dame’s magic wasn’t the only thing the Basile power felt in Aurora.” He reached beside him to take Aurora’s hand. “We’re going to have a child.”

His friends wore matching grins as they congratulated him. Contentment sank into Phillip as he looked around the table. It was a contentment he didn’t want on the day his father died, the day he knew his mother would sink into grief.

Soon, he’d become king, much sooner than he’d have liked.

Chandler raised a cup, and they all fell silent. “To the old man.” He meant Phillip’s father. He’d always called him that, even though the man was a king. “He was the best of Bela. May we remember his lessons and strive to do as he did.”

Phillip nodded, tears springing to his eyes. “He loved this kingdom. He loved all of us.”

They knocked their glasses together and took long drinks, letting the somber tone hang over them like a cloak, taking away the joy from only moments before.

Alfred leaned back in his chair. “Now that the Basile power once again rests in someone who can wield it, Gaule will be kept at bay. Will we push into Gaule?”

The word ‘savages’ was on the tip of Phillip’s tongue, but he glanced at Aurora, remembering their discussion in the cottage. They were people just like his own subjects. “No. I think it’s time for a bit of peace, don’t you?”

Aurora graced him with a breathtaking smile.

Alfred cursed.

Phillip fixed his stare on him. “What?”

“Do you know how bored I’ll get in a time of peace? I might have to find a hobby—like knitting.”

A laugh burst free of Chandler. “You couldn’t knit to save your life.”

Phillip rubbed his thumb against the back of Aurora’s hand. “I already miss my father.” He released a shaky breath and looked to Aurora. Her eyes calmed the agony within him. “But I think we’re all going to be okay.”

Her eyes watered, and he reached out to catch a tear, not understanding where they came from. “Don’t cry,” he whispered, leaning toward. “Please, don’t cry.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

He pressed his lips to hers, speaking to her without words, infusing his strength into her until she found her own. Because she would. Aurora Rose Brynhild was going to be his queen, and Bela was a lucky kingdom.

“That’s our cue to leave.” Chandler stood and pulled Alfred with him. “We’ll see you two in the morning.”

Phillip pulled away. “No, you probably won’t. Tomorrow I’ll need to deal with what happened today. My mother won’t be in any shape to make arrangements for my father. She won’t let me be there for her, but I can at least do that.”

Chandler put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “We’re here for whatever you need.”

They left, and Phillip returned his attention to Aurora. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting her pale skin in a silver glow. He reached out, needing to touch her, needing to feel her. This night was supposed to be their last. He closed his eyes, holding her face close to hers.

“Phillip,” she whispered, gripping his chin. “Open your eyes.”

When he met her gaze, he knew she was reading everything inside him. He held nothing back.

She shivered, but not from the cold. “I’m here.” Her words were like the promise he needed to force his limbs to move.

She yelped when he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

“Forever,” he whispered as he bent to taste her lips. “Starts now.”

17

Aurora

Aurora couldn’t sleep. Ironic, considering. She lay on her side, watching Phillip’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. His ruffled hair hung forward into his eyes, and she brushed it away to memorize every inch of him.

She ran a hand down his firm chest, curling her fingers in the soft hairs. She wasn’t trying to wake him. One thing she’d learned about Phillip Basile was he was a heavy sleeper. It would take her hand traveling a lot lower for him to rouse.

Exhaustion weighed down on her, making it hard to breathe. It wasn’t the usual nighttime sleepiness. No, this was La Dame’s magic, the magic Phillip thought he’d freed Aurora from. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him she still felt the ties binding her life.

Slipping from the bed, Aurora walked to the window, lifting her face to the full moon. How close to midnight was it? She rested a hand on her stomach, wishing she could feel the life growing inside her. All she felt was tonight’s dinner rising up in her throat. She swallowed back bile and forced out a breath.

“I don’t know what will happen to you.” This time, she didn’t speak to herself, but the child she’d never know. “I’m so sorry I can’t protect you.”

In that moment, she understood her parents in a way she’d never imagined. La Dame placed the curse on Aurora in exchange for her mother’s life, but they hadn’t known it at the time. For years, until his death, her father only looked at her with guilt in his eyes. He hadn’t been able to protect his daughter. He’d gone to his grave blaming himself.

Aurora didn’t blame her parents. La Dame did this to her. Would the sorceress come for her? Most likely. She wouldn’t let Aurora slumber in peace.

Aurora walked to the balcony doors and opened them. A gust of cold air bit into her skin, but she wanted to feel it, needed to feel it.

She hugged her arms across her chest and stepped out, hoping no one on the palace grounds would look up and see her in only her underclothes. Only the night patrol would be out at this hour.

She walked to the hanging plants in the corner and let her magic flow out. White lilies sprouted forth. It was the wrong time of year for them, but Phillip had hung the plants, anyway. For her.

The growth calmed her as she sank into her power, forgetting the rest of the world existed. She longed for the greenery of her woods. Would they be covered in snow by now? Things had seemed so simple when it was just her and Lea and the trees.

Chandler had told her Lea was enjoying the luxury of the palace stables, and she didn’t doubt that. It would be a good life for the mule.

Strong arms wound around her waist, and she leaned back into Phillip. She wouldn’t tell him she could barely stand on her own at the moment, that leaning on him allowed her to remain upright. She’d spend too much time in the near future lying down.

Phillip kissed her neck. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

She ignored his question to ask one of her own. “What time is it?”

He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Probably close to midnight.”

Midnight. She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. She couldn’t let Phillip see the sadness in her, so she blinked any remaining tears away.

He turned her in his arms and pulled her against his naked chest. “I woke up and found you gone. I didn’t like the feeling.”

Unable to form words without letting a sob escape, she reached up on her toes to press her lips to his.

When she pulled back, he seemed to sense something was wrong. He gripped her chin, tilting her face, so she’d look at him. He waited with a patience she didn’t deserve.

“Phillip.” She froze, sensing the moment her magic disappeared. The lilies she’d created only moments before withered and died. Aurora shook her head. “No. I’m not ready.”

Concern flashed across Phillip’s face. “Not ready for what?”

Tears blurred her vision until she could barely see him standing before her. Her heart slowed in her chest.

She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Phillip, there’s not much time, and I need you to listen to me.” She gripped his waist for support. “You need to let me go.”

His brow furrowed. “Let you… what?”

“I don’t want you spending your entire life trying to figure out a way to get me back. You deserve more than that. You deserve the best kind of life. Full of love and… and family. Promise me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Phillip gripped her tighter. “Aurora, tell me right now what’s going on?”

“The curse.”

He shook his head. “We beat it. You and me. We broke the curse.” He looked to her with such fear it nearly ripped her heart right from her chest.

How was she supposed to wake up in one hundred years to a world where this man didn’t exist? To him, a lifetime will have passed. To her, a single night.

She stumbled sideways, but he caught her.

“Aurora.” If she’d thought the fear was enough to crack her heart, the tears on his face broke it in two.

She collapsed against him, her legs no longer able to hold her up. He lowered her to the ground, and the cold tiles soothed her burning skin. Ice wound through her, snaking up her veins and into her heart, slowing it further.

She never once took her eyes from Phillip’s face. He breathed heavily, his breaths turning to steam in front of his face. He’s too cold, she thought. He should have stayed in bed.

She hadn’t wanted him to see it. She didn’t think she could stand his pleading eyes and choked voice. This slumber was supposed to be her torment, not his. It was why she’d isolated herself for so long. Carrying someone else’s pain was its own kind of torture.

He bent over her. “I love you. I will always love you.”

“You have to let go.” Her voice was so weak she wasn’t sure he heard it.

He bent forward, claiming her lips one last time before pulling her onto his lap and rocking back and forth.

Aurora’s eyes slid closed as she gave into the blessed peace. All fear and pain disappeared as the curse welcomed her into its blessed darkness.

18

Phillip

A loud keening sounded in Phillip’s ears, and it took him a while to realize it was him. The sound ripped from his throat, and he couldn’t pull it back.

Just like he couldn’t bring Aurora back to him. He couldn’t make her lips tip up into one of her heartbreaking smiles. He no longer had the ability to make her groan low in her throat as he kissed her.

Emptiness. That was all he felt as he sat on the cold tile of the balcony with the frigid wind battering against his unfeeling skin.

Phillip cradled Aurora’s lifeless form, tears cascading down his cheeks. He pressed his face into the soft blond hair he’d loved so much and inhaled everything that was Aurora. “I broke the curse.” Her hair muffled his words. “I saved you.”

Only he hadn’t. Whatever he’d felt with the Basile magic obviously wasn’t what he thought. Aurora saved him all those weeks ago. She kept him from the edge of nothingness. He’d thought he could do the same for her.

“I failed you,” he whispered.

Her skin shone almost translucent in the starlight. He smoothed his hands over her arms. Her hair stood on end. Not dead. She wasn’t dead. He bent forward to lay his head against her chest, needing to hear her beating heart.

The door to his room burst open and guards flooded in. Phillip barely took notice of them until Chandler’s “shit” reached his ears.

He lifted his tear-stained face to the two men who knew him better than anyone, wanting them to tell him none of it was real.

“Is she…” Alfred clenched his fists at his side.

“The curse.” Phillip’s entire body shook.

Four arms came around him as Chandler and Alfred knelt on either side. They held him as he held Aurora. Other guards stepped onto the balcony.

Phillip’s muddled mind couldn’t come up with their names.

“Do we need the healer?” one of them asked, his panicked eyes flicking from Aurora to Phillip.

It was only then Phillip realized how bare Aurora’s body was. He lunged away from Chandler and Alfred, covering Aurora with his large frame. “She’s cold,” he yelled. “Someone get me a damn blanket.”

A blanket appeared and Alfred took it from the guard. He put a hand on Phillip’s shoulder to pry him away. Instead, Phillip ripped the blanket from Alfred and draped it over Aurora before standing and lifting her into his arms.

He carried her past the guards and servants lingering in his room and set her gently upon the bed, looking as if she’d only gone to sleep for the night. He crawled in next to her and curled his body around hers.

When darkness came for him, he only wished he could stay in it with her.

* * *

When Phillip woke, he had one blissful moment where the world lay open before him. One moment where he rolled toward Aurora, planning to kiss her awake.

When his warm lips pressed into her still ones, the truth slammed into him, and the world shut down until all he saw was a dark tunnel of a future.

A sob worked its way up his throat, but he had no more tears to cry. The magic underneath his skin tried to turn his grief to anger, but the former was too strong, too fresh.

A cough let him know he wasn’t alone, and he turned his head to find his mother sitting beside the bed.

She had the courtesy not to give him a smile neither of them felt. There was no pity in her eyes, only understanding. In the space of a day, they’d both lost the loves of their lives.

He’d let her grieve on her own the day before as he knew she’d want, but she knew better than to do the same for him. A silent tear tracked down her reddened cheek, and she leaned forward.

“Alfred and Chandler stayed most of the night, but I sent them to get some rest.” She reached forward to brush her thumb over his cheek.

The events of the night before returned to him at that. “There were guards and servants and…” He shook his head. He didn’t understand. How had they known?

She tilted her head. “You were quite loud, Son. A few of the guards heard your cry from the balcony. They worried something had happened to you. Luckily, one had the good sense to wake Alfred and Chandler. When they arrived, they found you outside in the cold with a sleeping Aurora. None of them understood what had happened to her, but your friends assured them she was okay. Still, a guard woke me a few hours ago to tell me what happened.”

Phillip tried to process her words, but they barely registered in the fog of his mind. Only one thought blocked out all others, he bolted upright. The baby.

He turned to Aurora, taking in her pink cheeks. He touched her lips, feeling a puff of air release, before taking hold of a strand of magic and reaching out. He didn’t know how to search for the child specifically, but he let his power buzz over her skin.

His mother watched in confusion.

And there it was. A tiny flicker from the Basile power. His magic curled through her womb, warming at the thought of another Basile heir.

He pulled it back slowly until he was no longer connected to Aurora. He missed the connection immediately.

“She’s pregnant,” he whispered to his mother. The moment seemed to call for hushed words.

She covered her mouth with her hand, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. The queen stood and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She reached out and pulled Phillip to her.

“Son, I could say I’m sorry, but I know how pointless that word is. A mother never wants to see her child’s heart break so completely. If your father were here, he’d have something very wise to say about the time you spent in love with her being worth a lifetime of grief.”

“That sounds like him.” He sniffed and rested his chin on her shoulder. “We have to bury father today.”

She nodded. “And lay Aurora to rest.”

He pulled back to look down at the woman who was supposed to be his forever. “We don’t know if the baby will be born alive, but we do know La Dame wants her.” He turned burning eyes back to his mother. “I won’t let her have Aurora. Not any more than she already does.”

“We’ll figure this out, Phillip.” She patted his cheek and climbed from the bed. “I love you, Son. You’re going to make a wonderful king. You’re going to make both your father and Aurora proud. When she wakes in one hundred years, she will hear great tales of King Phillip Basile.”

He finally offered her a weak smile at that thought.

She left and was true to her word. The next few days were a flurry of activity. His father was buried in the hall of kings with all the ceremony he deserved.

In the days that followed, the kingdom crowned Phillip. He went through the motions, feeling neither aggrieved nor elated at the prospect of taking on such responsibility. It didn’t matter to him. None of it did.

The queen set up a beautiful room for Aurora. Large windows let sunlight filter in, turning the yellow walls golden in their glow. A marble hearth sat a one end and Phillip vowed to never let the fire go out.

Aurora was dressed in a pale pink gown, beautiful in its simplicity. They tucked her into the sheets of silk and the best furs they could find.

She looked like a doll, ready to come back to life at any moment. But Phillip knew he wouldn’t get to live to see her wake.

Her belly grew and in time, hope entered Phillip’s life again. Hope that some part of Aurora could remain with him.

When the baby was born, Aurora groaned and cried out in her sleep, yet did not wake. Phillip held her hand and kissed her lips. He would have given anything to have her squeeze his hand. Just once.

The prince came as the summer doused the palace in heat. A tiny baby who knew nothing of the cruelty in the world. He didn’t yet know he’d grow up without his mother to hold him or tell him she loved him.

It wasn’t fair. No child should have to live without a mother.

The first time the child opened his eyes, Phillip stopped breathing. It was as if Aurora stared back at him with all the understanding in the world. That was the power he got from his mother. Whatever magic he ended up having, this little boy would be the only person who could reach Phillip. It wasn’t until that moment, Phillip realized he’d practically died all those months ago when Aurora left him. He’d gone through the motions of his life.

But just as his mother had, the boy could bring him back to life if Phillip let him. He rested his forehead against the baby’s. “It’s just you and me, Wulfric.”

The queen stepped up beside him. “Wulfric?”

Phillip nodded. The word meant inherited power, and he knew Wulfric would have every bit of Aurora inside of him. He was a part of her.

Phillip walked away from his mother, his son still cradled against his chest. “We don’t have her, buddy, but we will always have each other.” She would have wanted that.

He wiped away a tear and stared into the blue orbs that looked so much like Aurora’s. The baby held his gaze as if reading his mind and agreeing to his words.

He walked back to the others, lifting his voice. “Meet Prince Wulfric Brynhild Basile.” He let his eyes fall on Aurora once more. She lay in a clean gown with fresh sheets, looking just as she had each day of her slumber.

He sent out a thought, imagining she could hear it.

I couldn’t protect you, but I will protect him. I promise.

He probably imagined her smiling in her sleep, but he liked to think it had been real.

Part II

19

La Dame

Fog curled around the spires of the Draconian palace as La Dame dismounted her horse. Her trip into Gaule went well and preparations for their invasion of Bela were under way. The sudden urge to bathe, scalding the stink of Gaule from her skin came over her.

She shook off the thought and walked through the massive double doors that seemed to lead right into the mountain. The entryway was deserted save for a guard awaiting her return.

“Your Majesty.” He quickened his steps to match pace with her. “There is a problem.”

She sighed. There was always a problem when she was home. Rapunzel, eighteen now, caused… issues with her constant need of freedom.

She didn’t understand that her mother was protecting her from the evils of the world. She loved her more than anything else in this life. Her fondness for Rapunzel even eclipsed her old obsession with Aurora Brynhild.

She’d never retrieved Aurora once the curse set in because Rapunzel filled the hole in her heart she’d once thought would never be whole. A need for family. For someone to care about.

Now, La Dame had different plans for Aurora. For eighteen years, she’d searched out every person who’d studied magical ability in Dracon, bringing the brightest minds into her confidence. Once they were no more use to her, she made sure they couldn’t share their knowledge with anyone else.

Because they’d come up with a theory about the Basile magic that kept Bela safe.

A theory La Dame was willing to lose Aurora over.

The guard followed her to Rapunzel’s room before leaving La Dame to deal with her daughter. With a weary sigh, she pushed open the girl’s room.

Rapunzel sat on the corner of her bed, her back hunched as tears rolled down her face. Blood trickled from her lip.

La Dame crossed her arms over her chest. “You tried to protect the boy again.”

Rapunzel met her mother’s gaze without fear. “He doesn’t deserve what your guards do to him.”

“He is not one of us, dear. He deserves what I say he deserves.”

Her shoulders shook, and La Dame crossed the room. She put a hand under Rapunzel’s chin and forced her head back. “You should heal yourself.”

“And let everyone forget that one of your people attacked me?”

“There are rules in this palace, daughter. Between your constant attempts to leave and your stupidity when it comes to the prisoner, I don’t know what to do with you.”

A mother’s greatest burden was punishing her child. As a young girl, La Dame suffered at the hands of both her parents. It was their duty to make her stronger.

One day, Rapunzel would thank her for hardening her.

It hurt La Dame to do it, but she grabbed Rapunzel’s shirt and hauled her to her feet.

“Mother!” Rapunzel cried.

Tears gathered in La Dame’s eyes. She didn’t want to do it, but there was no other way to teach obedience.

Letting her magic trickle out through her fingertips, she used it to bind Rapunzel’s arms to her side and force her from the room. As Rapunzel tried to cry out, La Dame stole her voice.

Straightening her spine, La Dame yanked on her magic like the end of a rope, tugging her daughter along past loitering guards and servants and into the lower levels of the palace. The cavernous stone room stretched between her and her destination like a sea she had to cross.

Emotional exhaustion battled with her magic, wanting to overcome it and make her pity her daughter. Instead, she pictured her father’s face and heard his words.

This will do you good, daughter. You’ll see. One day you’ll see cruelty is the only way.

She’d seen it sooner than he’d imagined.

As La Dame pushed Rapunzel into a bare room with a dirt floor, she shut the door. Peering through the metal bars, she knew one day Rapunzel would see it too.

Her mother loved her. And she’d do anything to make her strong.

20

Ric

Wulfric Brynhild Basile, prince of Bela, was never one to follow the rules. At just over seventeen years old, he craved adventure more than the stuffy life inside the palace he called home.

He’d ridden two days to get to the wall that separated Bela from Dracon. His father, King Phillip, thought he’d left to join the patrol unit stationed on the Gaulean border. It was a prince’s duty to be involved in all things.

But his dreams had led him here. Yes, dreams. While he was surrounded by people with powerful magic who could do incredible things, he had images in his mind. He couldn’t even control them. As a young boy, other kids at the palace teased him mercilessly. His only true friend had been the old mule, Lea, until she died many years ago.

Now, a kid who had no business following him joined him by the wall.

“Ric, wait up.” Travis panted as he caught up. Their horses had grown restless as they neared the wall, so they’d left them behind.

“You shouldn’t be here, Travis.” Ric used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he gazed up at the large stone structure.

“So you’ve said a million times since we left the palace.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest.

When Ric glanced back at him, he almost laughed. At thirteen years old, Travis always tried to act like an adult. “Uncle Chandler is going to kill me.”

Travis twisted his face into a scowl. “My father still thinks I’m a child.”

Ric held in a laugh, knowing the kid wouldn’t appreciate it. He was still a child. He was a product of Uncle Chandler’s stupidity. Chandler slept with another man’s wife. When that man showed up at the palace with a scrawny looking four-year-old and left him, Chandler hadn’t known what to do. Luckily, Uncle Alfred was there to help him raise the child. They acted like good friends, but Ric wasn’t born yesterday.

He’d grown up with almost exclusively men for company—other than his grandmother. His mother lived in the palace too, but that was another story.

“What did you see in your dream?” Travis asked, his posture relaxing as curiosity got the best of his irritation.

Ric pressed his palm to the wall, sliding it over the rough surface. Memories assaulted him, but he couldn’t pick one out from the other. All he knew was they didn’t belong to him. “A house.” The image froze in his mind until it was all he saw.

“A house?” Skepticism rang in Travis’ tone.

Ric only nodded. “But not here. Go get the horses. We’re close.”

He didn’t know why this dream was different. It wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last, but as soon as he woke up, he knew he had to find out what it meant. There was something his magic wanted to tell him.

He may not be able to use his power to protect the kingdom like his father, but he sure as hell could do something useful. He had to. He was so damn tired of being the useless prince, the one with no offensive magic, only dreams he couldn’t control. His father didn’t have any other children, and the people of Bela saw him as a disappointment.

Travis led the horses back to him, and the two boys mounted up. Ric knew the way like he’d been there a thousand times. His magic laid out the path forward.

They rode through dense forest, stopping when they reached the most beautiful sight Ric had ever seen. White lilies stretched as far as he could see, the same flower his father brought his mother whenever he had the chance.

The king never offered up stories of his queen. No one knew why that flower mattered. Ric barely knew anything of his mother. He’d tried asking anyone who was around when his mother arrived at the palace, but he got the distinct impression none of them had known her well. Uncle Alfred and Uncle Chandler only told him she’d had eyes that could see into a man’s soul.

Ric hadn’t ever seen her eyes, but he’d imagined them, longing for her to look at him just once.

They rode through the clearing of flowers slowly, reverently, as if it was a special place. When they crashed through the trees on the other side, Ric pulled up on the reins. There, among the lonely forest, was a house.

House was probably generous. The cottage was small and looked like it had been abandoned for a long time. Vines wound up the stones, wrapping around the structure in an unnatural way. It was as if the forest itself attempted to keep people away from its hidden gem.

“Do you think anyone lives here?” Travis asked. Ric didn’t miss the fear in his tone.

He slid down from his horse and led him forward to tie him to a nearby tree. “No, Travis.” He didn’t know how he knew it with such certainty. “I don’t think anyone has lived here in a long time.”

He rounded the corner of the cottage. A broken feeder sat out front. Whoever lived here had owned a horse. It wasn’t much of a clue, but it was better than nothing.

He touched one of the vines as if it would attack him. “Vines don’t grow like this. Someone used magic to seal up the cottage.”

His own magic curled inside of him, a warmth in his belly. It wanted to show him its dreams, but he pushed it down, needing to stay in the present.

“Who would live this close to the wall?” he whispered to himself, pulling a knife from his belt.

“Um, Ric.” Travis hung back. “If someone is trying to keep people out, don’t you think there’s a reason? Maybe we shouldn’t—” His words cut off as Ric sliced through the vines without another thought.

“I have to see it,” he whispered.

The door wasn’t locked. Why would it be with vines holding it closed? As soon as Ric was through the final vine, he kicked open the door and stepped inside. A musty scent assaulted him.

Inside, it looked like a moment of someone’s life had frozen in time. A bed sat off to the side, its sheets still rumpled from use. The floorboard creaked underneath his feet as he crossed to the stone hearth. Whoever had lived here enjoyed a simple life. What had made them leave? Ric felt a kinship with the unknown occupant. They must have seen the world in a different way than most.

Travis had a different thought. “What a lonely life.”

Ric shook his head and brushed shaggy honey-blond hair away from his eyes. “Just because someone is alone doesn’t make them lonely.” Defensiveness entered his tone as his eyes scanned the small washroom and kitchen. A rusted teapot sat on the counter waiting to be hung over a fire. Beside the hearth was a pile of firewood. “We’ll stay here tonight.”

“Here?” Travis swallowed. “Wouldn’t we be more comfortable making camp in the woods?”

“No.” Ric sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the energy drain from his body. His magic exhausted him whenever it wanted him to sleep so he could see the dreams. It had something to tell him. “Start a fire, Travis. I need to rest my eyes.”

Travis lifted a brow. “It’s mid-day.”

“I’m the prince. Just do as I say, for once.” Realizing how harsh that sounded, he sighed. “Please.”

He didn’t know if Travis started the fire because he joined his magic as soon as he lay down in the stranger’s bed, falling asleep like an anchor pulled him beneath the surface of his uncontrollable dreams.

No images accompanied the dream that came to him. Only words.

In his dream state, he didn’t recognize the voices at first.

“I only just found you.”

A woman spoke. “I wasn’t supposed to have anything to leave behind. When my grandmother died, I had no more ties holding me to this earth.” She paused. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I know you’re scared, but Aurora, everyone should have something to leave behind. Everyone should have something to lose.”

Aurora. It was then he realized what he was hearing. His parents.

His mother spoke again. “I just wanted to go to sleep and have the world forget I was ever here.”

“Who could forget you?” He’d never heard his father sound so sincere. “You will be remembered,” he whispered. “Forever.”

Ric tried to wake, but he was no longer in his own dream. His magic took him into the mind of someone else, someone who remembered every detail of that moment. As he sank into the moment, energy zipping along his skin, the images became clear. He saw his father as he was when he was younger, before the ghosts entered his eyes.

Ric loved his father. They’d always had a close relationship, but he always felt his father held on to him too tightly as if his birth had somehow brought his mother back. Sometimes, he’d catch his father staring at him with glassy eyes.

Phillip Basile was a great man, a great king. Gaule no longer threatened the border as they once had. Prosperity reigned in Bela. But out of the public eye, he was broken. Ric used to think it was his job to hold his father together, but he’d learned that was an impossible task.

He pulled himself from the dream, and his magic snapped back into him. He bolted up in bed.

Night had fallen, and Travis’ soft snores drifted over from his spot in front of the fire. The orange glow cast the cottage in a new light. As Ric let his eyes scan the room, he realized where he was. He’d seen it in his mother’s dream. This was hers. His magic led him here, gave him a piece of her as he’d always wanted.

His lips stretched into a smile as he pulled himself from the bed and went to shake Travis awake.

The boy groaned and rolled over to stare up at Ric.

“We have to go.”

Travis sighed and sat up. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know, but I need to get home. I need to see them.”

“Who?” Travis pulled his long brown hair into a tail and tied it back before rubbing his tired eyes.

“My parents.” He gave no more explanation as he doused the fire and gathered the few belongings he’d brought. His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly. He’d spent enough time sneaking around the palace grounds in the middle of the night that he was used to it.

Travis stumbled, crashing into the small table before righting himself.

He couldn’t explain the sudden urge to get home, but that was the first time he visited one of his mother’s dreams, and he needed to look into her face.

And his father… he finally understood everything he’d lost. In that dream, he’d felt the emotions between them. The love. The fear. The heartbreaking realizations that they couldn’t fight the inevitable.

They mounted up, leaving his mother’s cottage behind, knowing it could tell her story to someone else. By the time the sun rose, they were well on their way to the palace.

21

Phillip

Phillip Basile walked through his mother’s garden with a purpose. She’d planted the back half with white lilies without telling him many years before. Gardening had been her way of coping with the grief of losing her husband.

Phillip chose a different path, a more violent one. He’d left only days after Aurora fell into her slumber, accompanying a unit of his army. Once the Basile power rested with a man who could wield it, they couldn’t let Gaule go unpunished for ravaging the Belaen border when the old king was dying and unable to hold them back.

Aurora would have been ashamed of him and how he treated the Gauleans. There was blood, lots and lots of blood. He hadn’t been able to stop the magic from latching on to his desperation and turning it to anger.

It was only when he returned and looked into the serene face of the woman he loved that he realized what he’d done. She’d once mentioned Gauleans too had families and villages. During that time, Gaule had a lot of warriors to mourn, but at least they would no longer push into Bela.

And his mother gardened.

He almost laughed at the thought of their different approaches to grief. They’d kept it to themselves, rather than sharing it with each other. At least at first. Then he’d found the flowers she planted, and he knew she understood.

Since that time, not a day had gone by when Phillip didn’t bring Aurora a lily. Even when they didn’t grow due to the time of the year, he kept some preserved with his magic. She wouldn’t have cared if they were living or not.

He bent to pick the day’s flower and held it to his nose, inhaling the familiar scent. She’d have liked that one.

His mother watched him from the other side of the garden, and when he approached, she kissed his cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Just softening you up before I deliver some news.” Her expression turned serious.

“What did he do now?” He knew whatever she said had to be about Wulfric. His mother wanted little to do with the running of the kingdom anymore, but she’d thrown herself into the raising of her grandson wholeheartedly.

“I don’t want you getting too angry, Phillip. You know that boy. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Phillip crossed his arms, careful not the crush the flower, and started walking. His mother fell in step beside him.

“Just tell me,” he ordered.

She sighed. “I ran into Alfred this morning. He didn’t want to tell you this and face your anger.”

“I don’t have anger.”

She raised an eyebrow but pushed on. “It seems Travis has left as well. He wouldn’t tell his father where he was going, but he told Alfred. Apparently, the prince had a mission.”

Phillip shook his head. “He was supposed to accompany the unit I sent to the border. He begged and begged for me to send him. He even claimed to want to be a general like I was.”

She smiled. “That boy doesn’t have a single fighting bone in his body. He’d rather go off and create his own adventures.”

Phillip knew that better than anyone. He’d raised the boy, but Ric was every bit his mother’s son. He knew it wasn’t appropriate for a prince to be such a loner and to evade his guards at every chance, but he’d never had the heart to force him to change. Ric knew full well his father would let him get away with anything.

Phillip’s mother patted his arm. “Go easy on the lad.”

“Don’t I always?”

Her brow creased. “No. Sometimes you expect too much of him. He isn’t Aurora, and he won’t bring her back to you. Maybe it’s time you let your son have a bit more independence.”

He sighed. His mother was right. She usually was.

He entered the palace, and she told him she had a tea to get to. He barely noticed her leaving as he walked the familiar hall to the room that held his heart. Nodding to the guards stationed there, he pushed open the door.

Seeing Aurora in that bed would never fail to take his breath away. She looked just as she had the last time she’d stared at him. He’d aged in their time apart, but she hadn’t. Her skin still held the glow of youth. Her blond hair was combed to perfection.

Two maids were assigned to Aurora. They kept the fire in her room going as if it provided some kind of life for her. They also bathed her regularly. One of the maids looked up from where she was smoothing the blanket over Aurora. She dipped into a small curtsy, her gray head bobbing. “Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Cora. May I have some time with my wife?”

“Of course, sire.” She flashed him a sweet smile and hurried from the room.

Phillip walked toward the bed, reaching for the withered flower in the vase on the table next to it. He replaced it with one that was full of life and set the dead one aside before leaning down to brush his lips over Aurora’s forehead.

“Good morning, love.” He sat in the chair that never left her bedside. The maids knew better than to move it. Phillip wasn’t the only one to use it. His mother visited on occasion.

One time, he’d found Ric just sitting there staring at his mother. Phillip knew the boy wanted to feel connected to her more than anything and struggled to find that connection. He rarely visited her anymore because it only frustrated him. He wanted to know her.

Phillip wished he could tell his son everything he knew. He wished he could share every bit of the woman she was. But the words never came and eventually, Ric stopped asking.

It was probably out of some misguided attempt to make it easier on his father. Ric constantly put his own desires aside to protect Phillip. Phillip let out a pathetic laugh at the thought. A teenage boy shouldn’t have to take care of a grown man, but who was he kidding? Ric had been doing it long before he was a teenager.

“I miss you, Aurora.” He sighed and leaned forward to take her warm hand in his. “Wulfric has run off on some adventure again. He evaded his guards and even took Travis with him. But I can’t stop him. I can’t take the curiosity from him. He wants to know the world, and he wants to do it on his own terms. He doesn’t like to have to depend on other people. Sometimes he’s so much like you it hurts.”

“Then don’t stop me.” Ric’s voice came from the doorway.

Phillip turned to face his son, surprise coating his features.

Ric leaned against the doorframe like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Your Majesty.” He dipped his head, but Phillip didn’t miss the teasing tone in his voice.

“Get over here, Son.” He stood. When Ric sauntered toward him, he wrapped him in a firm hug. “How are you here? I only heard you hadn’t gone with the army this morning.”

Ric chuckled. “If you let me breathe, I’ll tell you my master plan.”

Phillip hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding his son. He released his grip on the lanky teen and returned to his seat by the bed.

Ric brushed his hands down his arms as if releasing wrinkles caused by his father. Smart ass. One corner of his mouth tilted up in a wry smile that only lasted a moment before he grew serious and approached his mother. He didn’t touch her. He never did. But his eyes didn’t leave her face. “How’s Mother today?” It was a silly question, and they both knew it. She never changed even though the rest of the world continued to turn around her. He was almost to the age she’d frozen in, and it should have freaked him out. Instead, he felt connected to her, like she wasn’t so different from him.

Phillip pushed a hand through his dark hair as he studied his son. He’d been prepared to yell the next time he saw him, to punish him in some way. But now, as he saw the boy standing next to Aurora, he didn’t have the heart.

He’d always tried to find himself in Wulfric’s features, but he was all Aurora.

“She’d have loved you,” he whispered.

Ric closed his eyes and inhaled a breath. “Well, at least my children may get to meet her before they die. If she’s still here, that is.”

It had always been hard to fathom how even his son would be long gone by the time Aurora woke. He’d waited for the day La Dame came for her, ready to protect her with every bit of magic he possessed, but she never arrived.

He’d seen no signs of the Draconian queen in Bela since Aurora fell into her slumber, but Phillip knew she was watching. It was her source of entertainment to have the palace under a constant cloud of grief. Aurora had told Phillip to move on, to be happy, but he’d never even considered it.

He reached forward to tug Ric’s hand. “Are you okay, Son?”

Ric’s entire posture changed. His shoulders dropped, and he turned away, probably not wanting his father to see whatever emotion clouded his eyes. Phillip squeezed his hand tighter. “What is it? Did something happen while you were away?” He hadn’t bothered to ask where his son had gone. Ric would tell him in time. It was the kind of relationship they had. They trusted each other.

When Ric finally spoke, his voice shook. “I was there.”

“Where?”

“There! The wall. The—”

“Cottage,” Phillip finished for him as realization dawned. “You went to the cottage?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d ask how you found it, but I already know.” He tapped the side of his head. Wulfric had always considered his magic a weakness. He’d wanted a power that let him go to battle and prove himself. But Phillip knew it for what it was. The dreams allowed Ric to see much more than anyone else. He understood things no teenager should. They’d led him on many adventures as he tried to understand the images he saw.

But still, Phillip hadn’t expected this.

Ric stepped up to the table and touched the flower petals. “It was hers. All of it. The cottage. The flowers.”

Phillip’s eyes snapped to his son. “The flowers are still there?”

Ric nodded. “I felt her presence there more than I ever have in this room, but…”

Phillip stood and gripped Ric’s shoulders to stop his constant moving. He dipped his head to meet his gaze. “What else?”

“Father.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “My dreams… they turned into hers.” A tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn’t brush it away. Ric had always been a sensitive boy, not afraid of his own emotions.

Phillip stumbled away from him, crashing into the bed, jostling Aurora. A moan left her lips, and the sound struck him straight through the heart. It wasn’t a new sound. In the beginning, he’d run to her every time she’d so much as twitched, hoping against hope she was awake. Each time brought more disappointment than the one before. Eventually, he realized there was no hope at all.

He gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself, but was unable to look at his son. “Explain. Please.”

Ric huffed out a shaky breath and dropped into the chair his father had vacated. “I was dreaming like normal and suddenly I heard you and Mother.”

“How did you know it was her?”

“I knew, okay.” Blond strands of hair fell into his face as he bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

Phillip nodded. He’d never questioned the things Ric saw in his dreams. He could feel the dreamer alongside him and knew the things they felt. It was a special gift that allowed him to bond with those he visited in their minds.

“She told you she was afraid.”

Phillip closed his eyes. He remembered that day so clearly. He’d never forgotten anything she’d said to him. She was so mad at him for giving her something to lose.

He was so cocky back then. It hadn’t truly hit him what her curse meant until she collapsed into his arms on that cold balcony. Over eighteen years had passed since that night, but the pain was still fresh.

“The dream wasn’t much.” Ric seemed disappointed at his own words. “But it made me want to come home and see her.”

“Your Uncle Chandler is going to scalp Travis for joining you.”

Ric lifted his head, a grin breaking through. “Uncle Alfred will protect him. He knew where we were. He can’t say no to Trav.”

Phillip laughed and ruffled Ric’s hair. “Seems to be a running theme in this palace.”

“Are you saying I have you wrapped around my finger?”

“I’m saying I should confine you to your rooms for at least a week for this stunt.”

“But you won’t.” Ric flashed his teeth and stood.

Phillip shook his head without a word. There was nothing he could say to contradict the truth. He swung an arm around his son’s shoulders and squeezed him to his side. “Just promise me you’ll be safe always. I couldn’t stand losing you too.”

Ric wrapped an arm around Phillip’s back as they stood beside the bed. “You’re always saying we didn’t lose her, Father. She’s right here.”

Sometimes, he needed the reminder. But maybe it was the reason he hadn’t been able to move on. Some part of him still hoped she’d wake up and smile at him. Just once.

Ric shrugged off Phillip’s arm and leaned forward to kiss Aurora’s cheek. “Bye, Mother. I’ll see you in your dreams.”

Was it wrong to be jealous of a teenager? Phillip would trade every bit of Basile power running through his veins for a chance to walk into her dreams. It was selfish since the Basile power kept Bela safe, but sometimes he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Ric squeezed Phillip’s shoulder as he passed by on his way to the door. “I’ll be sure to tell you before I escape my guards next time,” he called back.

Phillip watched him go with a laugh. “I wish you could know our son, Aurora. He’s going to be a great man. Thank you for him, for leaving a part of yourself.”

He leaned down to kiss her lips once more before leaving her behind. He had a kingdom to run, people to protect. She’d told him he’d be a great king, and he was determined to make her proud.

22

Ric

Ric marched through the palace courtyard, aware of his two guards tailing him. They hadn’t been happy when he ditched them to leave the palace. Usually, even as the prince, Ric didn’t need a constant guard presence in his own home. If his father had known about the abuse he took from the other palace children when he was younger, that would have been different. They made a sport of testing their magic on him. He remembered certain instances so clearly. One of the boys lifted him into the air with a flick of his finger and tossed him onto one of the high parapets. An older girl used her magic to move stones to help him down.

But now he was no longer the boy prince, instead taking on a role in the running of the kingdom, and they chose to ignore him instead.

He didn’t mind. It suited him to go through his studies alone. Instead of practicing with kids his age, he learned swordplay from the army units stationed at the palace. They treated him as one of their own despite his lack of offensive magic.

He shook his head in annoyance but ignored his guards. His father sometimes regaled him with stories of being guarded by his two best friends. Ric didn’t have friends. He had… Travis.

Travis ran toward him and skidded to a halt at his side. “What did the king say?”

He’d been home for over a week, but hadn’t yet seen Travis. Ric’s father said Chandler was not as forgiving as the king, and Travis had been restricted to his own home all week.

Ric shrugged. “He was glad to have me home. It helps that I’ve attended all his meetings this week like he’s always trying to get me to do.”

Travis shook his head in disbelief. “I wish my father was like yours.”

Ric laughed at that. “There is no one quite like Phillip Basile.”

“You’ve got that right.”

Travis had always worshipped Ric’s father as some kind of hero. He didn’t see the cracks behind the king’s façade of strength.

“Where are you going?” Travis asked.

“My rooms. I’m bushed.”

“Aww come on. I was thinking we could spar.”

Ric wanted to remind Travis that every time he tried to fight the prince, he ended up flat on his ass. He refused to use his magic against Ric, claiming it wouldn’t be fair. He had the ability to speed up his movements. It was a huge benefit to a scrawny kid like him.

“Another time.” Ric kept walking. He’d felt his magic draining him all morning, the first time since he’d entered his mother’s dreams. He hoped he’d get to see her again when he closed his eyes.

Travis finally got the hint and let Ric enter the palace without further impediment. He lumbered toward his room, shadows playing at the edge of his vision as the dreams crept in. He stumbled, slamming his shoulder into the doorframe and he rushed into his room and dropped his sword to the floor. Sunlight lit the room, but he barely noticed. All he saw was his plush bed. He shut the door in his guards’ faces and walked toward the bed, collapsing face first.

He was out before his head hit the pillow.

It took a moment for the image to become clear, but when it did, he was sucked into it as a scene played out before him. An unknown force dragged a girl across the floor, and all Ric could do was watch.

The voice that spoke to her was deep as a second figure entered the image, standing off to the side. “I’ve told you before not to disobey my commands.”

“Please,” the girl whimpered. She came to a stop and rubbed her bare knees where they’d scraped against the stone floor. They were in some kind of cavern with arched ceilings.

“Do not beg, girl. It is beneath you.”

A whimper escaped the girl’s throat, and she lifted her face. Long golden hair fell down her back. Kind eyes clouded by tears stared at the second woman. “I’m not begging.” There was an unexpected strength in her voice.

The dark-haired woman smiled, but there was no joy behind it. “Then what is it you’re doing?”

The girl stretched out her bloody legs in front of her. “Buying time.” She pressed her palms against her skin and the wounds stitched themselves back together. She wiped the blood with her skirt and lifted her chin. “You can commence punishment now.” Her eyes shown with defiance and courage. Ric had never seen anyone so beautiful as the dirt-covered girl with fire in her eyes.

A scream ripped through the air as she flew backwards and slammed into the wall, the force pinning her in place. At the collision, Ric’s eyes snapped open, as his magic ripped him from the scene. His chest heaved, and sweat coated his brow.

What was that? He wanted to go back. He had to. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to enter her dream again, needing to see her face. Her defiance washed over him. Something horrible was happening, yet she remained whole, unbroken by her circumstances. He could see that even after just a short glimpse into her mind.

He had to know who that girl was because the strength in her eyes wasn’t something he’d ever forget.

His breathing calmed and his exhausted body relaxed back into sleep. This time, his dreams were not of the magical nature. This time, all he saw was her face.

When he woke, it was evening, and all he knew was he had to save her.

23

Phillip

Phillip tipped his mug of ale against his lips and eyed his two best friends. They thought he didn’t know what stood between them, that he hadn’t known for years. They’d never felt the need to explain themselves to anyone else though, and he respected that.

Alfred shot Chandler the kind of look that made Phillip hide his grin behind his cup. He’d had a long day of meetings and that was before he’d had to hold court in the throne room, listening to the problems of his people.

To say he was exhausted would be an understatement. Yet, as usual, he hadn’t wanted to go back to his empty apartment within the royal wing. Wulfric wasn’t at dinner, and Phillip knew he wouldn’t want to spend just another night sitting with his father by the fire. The kid needed room to come into his own without his father suffocating him with his own loneliness.

He’d seen the same loneliness in Ric, but he hoped he’d grow out of it. Kids were cruel and not even being the king’s son protected Ric from their taunts.

Phillip lifted his eyes to find both Alfred and Chandler staring at him, assessing him.

“What?” He took another sip of ale and let his eyes skim the simple furnishings of their home. They lived in a small house in the village just across the river from the palace. A stone fireplace sat cold this time of year. Wooden chairs made a semi-circle around a table. Alfred and Chandler were gone much of the time on missions for the crown. They no longer guarded Phillip. He’d promoted them and given them their own men to command.

When they were gone, Travis stayed at the palace. These men were Phillip and Ric’s family, and they protected them as such.

Chandler chewed his lip as if biting back words sitting on his tongue. Alfred didn’t have the ability to hold back. “We think you need a queen.”

Phillip choked on his ale, letting it dribble down his chin as he coughed and pounded his chest. “Excuse me?” he rasped when he’d finally caught his breath.

Chandler sighed, turning his gaze to Alfred. “I told him you wouldn’t like the idea.”

“What idea is that exactly?” Phillip couldn’t fathom what they meant. He tried to believe they weren’t saying what it sounded like.

Alfred didn’t stop. He set his ale on the table and leaned forward. “Bela needs a queen.”

“Bullshit.” Phillip tried to tamp down on the anger rising to the surface, but his magic always made that difficult, and he found himself clenching his teeth. “Bela is in good hands. It has been for the last eighteen years.”

“We’re not saying it hasn’t.” Chandler scratched his jaw. “But you, Phillip… you can’t keep living like this.”

“And how am I living?”

“Like she’s coming back.” Alfred’s words sent ice down Phillip’s spine. “You’ve spent the last eighteen years of your life trying to find something that doesn’t exist.”

Chandler put a hand on Alfred’s arm to stop him and turned sympathetic eyes on Phillip. “What he meant is you’re living in the past. There is no way to break the curse.”

Alfred shook off his hand. “No, that’s not what I meant, or not completely, anyway. You visit her every day. You sit by her bedside and talk to her as if she can hear you. I’ve even caught Ric doing the same thing. Do you think that’s healthy? For the two of you to hold on so tight to a woman who may as well be dead?”

Chandler had the decency to wince at Alfred’s words.

Phillip stood and kicked back his chair. He drained the rest of his ale and slammed the mug on the table before leaning forward, both palms pressed against the wood. “And you think I’m going to just what? Move on? Forget? She’s my wife.”

Alfred’s eyes blazed as he stood to face Phillip. “She hasn’t been your wife in many years.”

Phillip rounded the table before he knew what he was doing and gripped Alfred’s shirt. Alfred didn’t protest as his king slammed him down against the table.

Phillip’s magic begged for release, to be unleashed on any man who spoke about Aurora in such a way. “She will be my wife until the day that I die.”

Chandler tensed, ready to step in, but Alfred held up a hand, stopping him.

The fire receded from Alfred’s eyes, but the look that replaced it cut deeper. Pity. He looked at Phillip as the rest of the kingdom did. The poor king with all the power in the world. The one who’d been unable to save the woman he loved.

Phillip released Alfred and stepped back, hanging his head. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need a wife.”

Alfred rubbed his chest and righted himself. “Think about Ric.”

Phillip flipped his palm open, sending his magic toward the door. It burst open, revealing the king’s guard standing in the night. He stepped toward them, knowing he had to leave his friends before he said something he couldn’t take back. He stopped at the door, not looking back. “I think about my son every damn day of my life.”

He’d wanted to say something else, but Travis came running up the path to the house. He stopped in front of Phillip. He bent over to catch his breath, but Phillip didn’t mistake it for a bow. He’d always said family didn’t bow, and however he felt at the moment about the two men he’d left inside, it didn’t change who they were.

“Sire.” Travis breathed heavily. “I… the palace… you…”

“Spit it out, boy.”

“They’re looking for you everywhere at the palace.” He tilted his head back to peer up at Phillip. “Something is wrong with the queen. The… uh… sleeping one.”

Travis said something else, but Phillip didn’t hear him as he charged forward, ordering his horse to be brought to him. Once he mounted up, he thundered across the bridge toward the palace with his guards at his back.

He pulled the horse to a stop inside the gates and jumped down, leaving the others to tend to his horse. He didn’t remember running through the palace halls or entering the room, but when he saw Aurora, his heart stopped. Three people crowded around her bed. One of her maids, Phillip’s mother, and the palace healer. What was a healer doing here?

He steadied his breathing and walked forward. His mother was the first to see him. “You’re here. Thank the magic.”

She reached out to grip his arm and pulled him forward.

“What’s going on?” His eyes flicked from the healer to Aurora. He hadn’t had a chance to see her that day. A thick sheen of sweat coated every inch of skin, dampening her hair.

She moaned, and Phillip jumped forward to grip her clammy hand.

The healer continued examining her. “I can’t seem to find the cause of the sickness, your Majesty.”

“Sickness?” He swallowed.

The healer, a short balding man with a round stomach, nodded. “Her skin is hot to the touch, and her heart is beating faster than it should. I have some herbs that may help, but I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do. Her body will need to fight this off.”

Fear surged through him. Aurora was sick, and they didn’t know why.

The door burst open again and Ric appeared, looking as if he hadn’t slept in days. Dark circles hung under his red-rimmed eyes, and his wild blond hair lay skewed across his forehead. He walked forward with a slow gait and stopped beside his father. As he looked at Aurora, Phillip saw his own worry mirrored in his son’s eyes.

“I just heard.” He shook his head. “I was sleeping.”

Phillip studied his son. “You don’t look like you’ve slept at all.”

“It’s the dreams. They’re not exactly restful.”

Hope stirred in Phillip. “Do you think you could enter your mother’s dreams again? Maybe you can find some answers.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Something deflated inside Phillip. “You know I can’t control them. Lately, I’m only dreaming of one girl.”

Phillip clasped his son’s shoulder for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed.

The healer finished his examination and rubbed sweet-smelling herbs on Aurora’s skin.

He left and the maid and Phillip’s mother went with him after promising they’d check in on Aurora soon.

Ric dropped into the chair by the bed and leaned his head back.

“You should go back to bed, Son. You look as if you might drop. I’m not leaving your mother and will let you know any changes.”

Ric fixed his father with a stubborn stare he’d perfected over his teenage years. “I’m not leaving her either.”

Relief flooded through Phillip. He hadn’t admitted to himself just how much he needed his son. Alfred and Chandler were wrong. He wasn’t alone, and he didn’t need to move on. He only needed his family.

Phillip didn’t know if Aurora could sense what was happening to her in her slumber, but he imagined she was afraid. He pulled the covers from her heated skin and lay down beside her, pulling her soft body into his arms.

He fixed his eyes on his son who’d already fallen asleep beside the bed and spoke softly into Aurora’s ear. “We’re here. Don’t be afraid. You’re going to be okay.”

As he fell asleep, he imagined he was back at the cottage with her. She’d wake in the morning to give him a face-splitting grin, sending his heart hammering. Then she’d argue with him about something—usually because she was right. They’d talk and make love. And at the end of the day, he’d know she’d still be with him come tomorrow.

He couldn’t shake Alfred or Chandler’s words. Aurora would never be dead to him. Not when she was right there. Not when some small part of his heart still hoped he’d see her beautiful eyes again. But maybe his friends were right about that too. He’d searched for eighteen years, consulting every book, every powerful magic wielder in Bela. Maybe there was no way to save her.

And if not, all he could do was make sure she had a good life to wake up to. He’d be long gone, but he’d make sure she was taken care of as long as he could.

24

Phillip

Aurora didn’t get better. Each day she drifted further and further from the people who loved her. The skin on her bones turned ashen. Her face lost its roundness. And still, they had no answers.

The healer looked up from where he was bent over the girl who no longer looked like she was in a serene slumber. Instead, pain coated her features.

“There’s a fever going through the village.” He sighed. “Many have died. I don’t know what to do for Aurora. I’m very sorry to say she won’t last much longer.”

Phillip could barely process the words the healer said and didn’t notice when the man left. Dying. Aurora was dying. No. She was supposed to live a full life when she finally woke. She was supposed to get to experience the wonders of the world and maybe meet her grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Phillip sank to his knees beside the bed, his legs unable to support him any longer. He stared into Aurora’s pale face, knowing he’d failed her once more.

A sob lodged in his throat and no tears fell. He’d given everything to her and there was nothing left. No piece of his heart remained to be broken further.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there. Hours? A day? Four strong hands gripped his arms and hauled him to his feet before Alfred and Chandler wrapped their arms around him. They were there, despite the fact that he hadn’t spoken to them since their conversation at their home.

Their embrace was so like the first night he’d lost Aurora, he found himself pushing away from them.

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. “We just heard.”

Chandler tried to reach for Phillip again, but Phillip stepped back. “We’re so sorry, Phil.”

If they’d heard… Wulfric. Phillip stumbled to the door, not wanting his son to hear the prognosis from anyone but him.

He’d been selfish, grieving when he should have been thinking of his son. He was keenly aware of Alfred and Chandler following him. When he got to Ric’s rooms, they stayed in the hall, something he was grateful for.

He didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe to find Ric crying, worried about his mother. Instead, as he pushed through the door, he came to a stop, seeing Ric rushing around the room shoving clothes and other essentials into a sack. He only gave Phillip a quick glance before continuing what he was doing.

Phillip crossed his arms. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Phillip caught the back of Ric’s shirt and pulled him to a stop. “Don’t worry about it? Do you know what is happening in this palace right now? It isn’t the time for one of your adventures.”

Ric pulled his shirt free. “Of course I know. That’s why I’m going.”

“You’re the prince of Bela. I’ve let this go on long enough. You can’t just run off.”

When Ric finally turned his eyes on his father, they swam with unsaid emotions. “Mother is dying. Travis heard it from the healer’s son. Are you going to tell me it isn’t true?”

Phillip blew out a breath, barely able to control the sadness swirling inside him. “She’s very sick.” As he said the words, his shoulders fell. He walked farther into the room and sat on the corner of Ric’s bed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Ric came to a stop in front of Phillip, forcing him to look up. “Why are you sorry? Did you make her sick? This isn’t your fault. Stop blaming yourself and just let me go.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Father—”

“No.” Phillip hardened his tone and his magic buzzed along his skin. He released it to latch the door. “You’re not leaving this room.”

“Please, you don’t understand.”

“I do understand. You want to run away, to be alone to deal with your grief. Your grandmother and I are cut from the same cloth as you, kid. I’ve seen it all before. Hell, I’ve felt it all before. But being alone doesn’t solve anything. We’re going to lose her. No amount of running will change that.”

“But, Father, I can save her.”

Phillip’s eyes snapped to his son’s, and he swore his heart stopped beating entirely. “What are you on about, boy?”

Ric dropped onto the bed beside him and put his head in his hands. “It’s these dreams. Sometimes they’re trying to tell me things, other times they’re useless. I can’t usually tell the difference, but this time…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll never believe me. Everyone in Bela just thinks their prince sees pretty pictures in his head. Sometimes, I think that’s all my magic is too.”

Phillip placed two fingers under Ric’s chin and tilted his head up so their gazes locked. “Tell me and I promise I’ll believe you.”

Ric’s body shook as a sob escaped his throat. Relief washed over his face for an instant before it was gone. “There’s a girl. You wondered why I look like I never sleep, and it’s because I see her every time I close my eyes. The things that are happening to her. I know I need to save her.”

“I don’t understand how you think this can save Aurora.”

Ric breathed in deeply. “I was getting to that. In the very first dream I had of her, she was hurt. I watched her heal herself, Father.”

“There has never been a Belaen with healing magic. It isn’t possible.”

Ric’s eyes darkened. “She isn’t Belaen. She lives in the palace of Dracon.”

A tremor shot through Phillip. Dracon. La Dame’s kingdom. He’d only met La Dame once before, but everyone knew the stories. She was powerful enough to curse Aurora to one hundred years of slumber.

Realization slapped Phillip in the face. “You were going there? To Dracon.” If La Dame got her hands on the prince of Bela, who knew what she’d do to him.

Ric wrung his hands in his lap. “I thought you’d stop me, and I need to do this. I can’t explain it, but it’s like my magic is directing me to go. If she can help Mother, isn’t it worth the risk?”

There was a time he’d have said yes. Aurora was worth any risk. He’d give up his life to save her, but his son?

“I know what you’re thinking.” Ric stood and faced him. “You don’t want to put me in danger, but don’t I have a right to decide for myself? I’m almost eighteen, Father. A man. And my mother is dying. You’d do anything for her. Don’t I get to do the same?”

Phillip wanted to say no. He wanted to keep Ric in that room, bound by magic, while he went in search of this healer himself. But his son was right. He knew his own mind, and he had to do this.

Phillip assessed his son and crossed his arms. “I assume Travis is preparing the horses?”

A guilty look flashed across Ric’s face. “I wouldn’t have let him enter Dracon with me. I swear.”

“Tell him we need three extra horses.”

Ric’s brow shot up in surprise.

“I’m coming with you.” Phillip got to his feet. “We’re going to save your mother.” He gripped his son’s shoulder, and it sagged in relief.

“You really believe me?” His eyes glassed over.

“Of course I do. You’re my son.”

Ric nodded, releasing a shuddering breath before jerking his eyes to Phillip’s. “Three horses?”

Phillip walked to the door. “There are two men probably pressing their ears against this door right now who won’t let us get far without them.” He pulled open the door and both Alfred and Chandler stumbled in.

Phillip only raised a brow. “Gather whatever you need. We’re going to Dracon.” He glanced back at Ric. “My son is going to lead us to the woman who can help Aurora.”

* * *

In Phillip Basile’s thirty-eight years, he’d only ever stood at the base of the Draconian walls once before. It was a two-day ride from the palace, but that wasn’t why he’d stayed away. A large swath of land on the Belaen side sat wild and untouched. His people hadn’t settled there with the foreboding air hanging over the place.

Phillip’s father rarely spoke of Bela’s neighbor except to issue short warnings about La Dame. Bela’s focus for many decades had been on keeping the armies of Gaule from overwhelming Bela.

There was a major difference between Gaule and Dracon, though. Dracon had magic. It was less densely populated than Bela, but beyond that, they knew little of the people who resided there. No one knew how their magic functioned or why they blindly followed the ancient sorceress.

Phillip’s gaze wandered up the stone structure that seemed to reach all the way to the sky. There was only one person who could manage to get people across that threshold without an invitation. There would be no walking through the gates for them. La Dame would welcome them only as prisoners.

Memories assaulted Phillip. La Dame appearing at Aurora’s cottage. Aurora’s pleas with him not to accept her healing. He’d never imagined she wasn’t the only one in her kingdom with the ability to heal.

A chill crept into his bones despite the blazing heat of the afternoon sun. It was one thing to say he believed his son’s magic had shown him the girl, but now he also had to trust that Ric’s power had led them to this very spot.

“I want to be over that wall and hidden within Dracon by the time we lose the light.” Phillip turned to his small band of friends. Two middle-aged guards. Despite the chill still existing between them, it calmed Phillip to know they were there.

The two boys, however… neither of them should be in such danger. He’d been surprised when Chandler allowed Travis to come, but maybe he’d come to the same conclusion as Phillip. They couldn’t control the destinies of their sons.

Chandler slid from his horse to join Phillip and lifted his eyes. The sun prevented them from seeing the top of the wall. “Do you think there are guards up there?”

Phillip rubbed his jaw, considering the question. He thought of La Dame and the power emanating from her. “No. She doesn’t believe anyone will try to cross her.”

“We have to get in there now.” Ric’s hiss wrapped around them.

“Why?” Phillip asked. He sensed his son’s rush wasn’t just about his mother’s illness.

Ric gripped his head, shaking it from side to side as if in pain. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “My magic… it senses something.”

“That’s not much to go on, boy,” Alfred groused.

Ric lowered his hands and curled them into fists as his magic got hold of him. Phillip recognized the signs. He was no longer under his own control.

“Ric.” He held a hand out, approaching cautiously. “Come back to us. Don’t let the magic control you.”

Ric’s eyes snapped to his. “I can’t… it’s the only way.” His eyes rolled back in his head for a brief moment before the irises were visible again. “The magic is the only way to get to her.” He walked to the wall, setting his palms upon it.

Phillip shared a look with Alfred and Chandler and they all watched Ric carefully as he closed his eyes.

“Use the Basile power,” Ric whispered, still not returning to them. “To get us over the wall.”

Phillip shook his head. “La Dame will know something is wrong.”

Ric yanked his hands back from the wall. “She isn’t here. I can feel it. My magic is reaching for her and finding her far across the Gaule border.” His entire body sagged with relief. “La Dame is helping them prepare to attack Bela.”

Alarm shot through Phillip. Gaule was going to attack, and he’d left. He barely had to look at Chandler before his friend pulled himself into the saddle. “I’ll alert the army.” He took off without a single command from his king.

If La Dame aided them, Gaule might actually stand a chance. Phillip shook his head. He had a mission to complete. He trusted his generals. With any luck, he’d be able to join them in a few days’ time.

This was for Aurora.

“Put your hands on the wall,” Ric said, still not sounding like himself.

Phillip didn’t question the order. He just obeyed.

“Use your magic to pull the stones.” Phillip gained the Basile power when his father died. He’d spent years training with it, molding it, testing it. But what Ric told him to do—or more accurately, what Ric’s power told him to do—went against everything he knew of his power. If he pulled the stones, the entire section of wall could rain down upon them.

Ric dropped his voice and Phillip sensed his son coming through. “Father, trust me.” Then Ric was gone, and the deep voice of his magic returned. “Pull the stones at the same time you push them back.”

So, he did. Phillip focused all his concentration on shifting the stones until they moved and a row of them jutted out, winding up to the top of the wall.

Ric didn’t hesitate before starting to climb. He didn’t seem to notice the narrow steps or the height.

Phillip went next, hugging the wall and doing his best not to tumble to the ground. Alfred sent Travis before himself.

All Phillip could hear was the wind rushing in his ears until a scream ripped through the silence. Travis. Phillip whipped his head around in time to see Travis lose his footing and try to grab for the step, his fingers only inches away.

“Travis,” Alfred screamed, reaching for him.

Phillip pulled his magic forth, calling on the winds to help him. Travis’ body lifted in the air before being slammed back into the wall. Phillip didn’t release his magic until he was sure the boy had a stable foothold.

He caught Alfred’s wild eyes. Alfred gave him a nod of thanks, and Phillip continued up the steps. Ric hadn’t slowed when Travis fell, but Phillip had to remember Ric wasn’t the one making the decisions in his mind right now.

They finally made it to the top. Phillip looked at how far they’d come and swallowed. On the other side, the mountains of Dracon stretched before them, snowcapped even in summer. A single road led through the pass without a house in sight. Most of the people of Dracon lived either deep within the mountains or in the central town near the palace. His knowledge of Dracon was basic at best. Phillip learned very little about the kingdom in his studies as a boy and never imagined he’d set foot in the place.

“Come on.” Ric led them down the other side of the wall without incident. As soon as they were down, he waved to his father.

Phillip touched the stones to return them to their usual smooth wall face.

He hiked his bag higher on his shoulder, wishing they could have brought the horses. They’d left them roaming on the other side. Belaen beasts knew the land as well as anyone. There was plenty to eat and streams crisscrossed Bela, winding through the woods. They knew how to survive better than humans did in the woods.

And when their king returned, they wouldn’t be difficult to find. They were trained to wait for their riders and wouldn’t wander too far.

“Come on.” Phillip started down the road, trying not to think of the fact that they now stood within Dracon. “We need to find a place to spend the night.” Gray clouds had started rolling in, and he didn’t want to get caught in a storm.

They ventured into the wilds of Dracon. Evergreen trees spread up over rolling hills, climbing the side of the nearest mountain. Despite the looming landmass hanging over them, it looked little different from Bela.

25

Ric

Golden hair flowed down the woman’s bare back over crisscrossing scars marring her pale skin. Was she a prisoner? She had to be. Ric’s eyes twitched beneath closed lids. They’d been inside Dracon for three days now, and the dreams had grown more intense. He couldn’t explain it. It was as if the closer he got, the more he could feel her rather than only see the images playing in his mind.

His magic wanted to reach out and wrap her in its power. He got the feeling, whoever she was, she wouldn’t only save his mother, she’d save all of them. Him. His father. She’d erase the half-life they’d been living and replace it with something… more. Just more.

He had to find her.

A lock rattled, and the girl’s head snapped up, her eyes wide but not with fear. There was something else in them. Defiance? Strength? She shifted her naked body back into the shadows and curled in on herself, waiting.

The door open and her body relaxed. A man entered slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal. In his hand, he held a bundle of fabric. He extended it to her.

She shook her head, and for the first time, Ric’s dream of her included more than images. For the first time, he heard her voice. “I can’t take that. La Dame is punishing me for my disobedience. She will clothe me when she returns.”

“Rapunzel.” The man sighed.

Rapunzel. Rapunzel. Rapunzel.

Her name bounced around Ric’s skull until he couldn’t hear anything else. He’d wanted to know her name, needed to know it.

They finished their conversation, and Rapunzel finally took the clothes, sliding a woolen dress over her small frame. She jerked her head up, her gaze going past the kind man, and landing on… him?

Ric sat up, panting. For a moment, it had felt like Rapunzel could see him, sense his presence. But that wasn’t possible.

He swiped his hand through his damp hair and shrugged off the blanket his father had put on him when he fell asleep beside the fire the night before. He got to his feet, scanning the sleeping forms of the King of Bela, Alfred, and Travis. Three people who shouldn’t have followed him and his magic into Dracon. If something happened to them…

So far, their mission had gone without any problems. Most of Dracon was little different than Bela with farm fields and hills rolling up toward the base of the mountains. The population was concentrated in the center, near the massive gates and ominous palace. Ric’s magic had led them on an indirect path, taking longer than it should have. They all knew it was to avoid the Draconian patrols, but it was frustrating nonetheless. For the first time, he felt the power he’d been born with had some use, making him more than just a prince who would one day have his father’s power.

But, today would be different. Today, they’d venture down the path to the palace of the dark sorceress. Whether she was present or not, it would hold many dangers.

Ric walked far enough from camp to relieve himself in peace. When he returned, his father was awake and busy stirring up the long-dead fire.

Ric sat down beside him with a heavy sigh.

As he prepared breakfast, his father glanced sideways, giving him a long look. “Did you sleep at all last night, Wulfric?”

Ric shrugged and leaned forward against his knees. “Some.”

“These dreams…” His father shook his head. “When your magic first became apparent, I didn’t understand it. I wanted to, but… dreams like yours aren’t even a part of the Basile powers. All I knew was how relieved I was.”

“Relieved?” Ric had always assumed his father was disappointed in his power. Phillip Basile was a great general before he ever became king. He’d led Bela’s forces and made a name for himself. Wouldn’t he want the same for his son? For the prince to be a man Bela could count on?

His father sighed. “I wasn’t proud of it. I didn’t want you to grow up the way I had. I spent my youth practicing with swords and learning battle tactics. I was fourteen the first time I rode into battle. The things I’ve seen… I never wanted that for you. It never leaves, like a constant shadow hanging over your life.” He paused for a long moment. “And a part of me was relieved I’d never face the same fear as my parents did every time I left home with the army. They never knew if I’d return. I couldn’t…” His words cut off.

“Father—”

“No, I need to say this, because I know what you think of your power. I know the trouble you’ve faced from your peers for having magic with less obvious uses. I didn’t want to lose you, Ric. Not like I lost your mother. Not only because you were all I had left of her, but because you were you. My son. The best of me. And now… this magic I thought was so safe has led us to the most dangerous place in the world. I always wanted to keep you safe, and I still do, but I’m also so damn proud of you. You never question your power. You just do whatever you have to.”

Ric’s eyes shone with unshed tears. His father had never told him he was proud before. Ric knew he was loved, but being loved wasn’t enough. He wanted to be the kind of man his father was. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I love her too, father. I’ve never seen the color of her eyes. I’ve never heard her voice or felt her arms around me. But she’s my mother. I may never get to meet her, but I won’t stop until we’re sure she gets her chance at a life—even if it’s long after we’re gone.”

His father put an arm around his shoulders. “I have to believe she knows you. Somehow, you’re in her heart too.”

He willed his oncoming tears away as Alfred and Travis roused themselves to join them. They ate a breakfast of stale bread and oatmeal. It didn’t matter what Ric put in his mouth, he didn’t taste any of it. Not with the anticipation of the coming day sending adrenaline racing through his veins. It latched onto his magic until his skin buzzed with energy.

They’d already been gone too long. They needed to return to Bela, to his mother. And today, they would find the woman who could help her.

* * *

An angry boom rumbled through the sky as dark clouds kept the sun from lighting the world. As they packed up their camp and made their way into the center of Dracon, heavy rain pelted them, warning them away.

In the early morning storm, shopkeepers struggled to open their stores. People scrambled to get in out of the rain, including the town guards who ducked into taverns for protection.

Only Ric and his companions braved the torrential weather, doing their best to appear as if they belonged.

Ric stayed alert. On either side of him, his father and Alfred walked, their postures tense, ready for an attack that never came. They were worried when Ric’s magic wanted to lead them straight through the center of town, but it had known what it was doing.

Outside the market square, the Draconian roads jutted out like spokes on a wheel, meandering into different parts of the kingdom. Ric stood still for a moment, waiting for his magic to tell him which one led to the palace.

It didn’t take long before the familiar pull had him turning to one of the roads on the right, like a compass needle leading him to their destination. “Ready for this?” he shouted over the thunderous storm. Rapunzel’s kind eyes flashed in his mind and whatever his father said, he didn’t hear. He took the first step, having an odd sense they were running out of time.

He picked up the pace, only slowing when a structure came into view. “The palace,” he breathed. The home of the dark sorceress was carved right into the side of a mountain, its onyx stones standing stark against the snow-tipped backdrop. Two spires stretched up toward the sky, looming over the road below.

Ric’s heart hammered against his ribs as he tried to regain the breath the sight stole from him.

“Shit.” Alfred’s one word wrapped around them, encompassing everything they felt.

Travis whistled, fear sparking in his eyes. Ric hadn’t asked him if he regretted coming, but the boy had barely spoken since almost falling from the wall. Maybe it was the general aura of Dracon keeping him quiet. Ric didn’t know. All he knew was it was unlike his friend.

Ric’s father was a silent presence at his side, because he understood. This place deserved no words.

Ric started forward at the urging of his magic. Common sense told him to wait, to search for guard locations, to scout for the best entry, but his magic knew the way.

His father shot out a hand to hold him back. “What are you doing, son? We need a plan. I can probably get us into one of the upper windows if I do the same trick with the stones as I did on the wall.”

He closed his eyes, picturing Rapunzel’s face. Shaking his head, he pulled his arm out of his father’s grip. “Father, do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then I need to do this alone.”

“Don’t be absurd, Wulfric.” Alfred clenched his jaw. “I didn’t come all this way just to abandon my prince when he needed it the most.”

Ric didn’t know why a strain still existed between his father and Alfred, but the words from the latter had his father staring at his friend in gratitude. Ric didn’t have time to dwell on their problems. He only knew he needed to get into that palace.

“Please.” He set pleading eyes on his father. “I have to do this.”

“The girl,” his father started. “The one who can save your mother… she’s in there? This is about her? What if La Dame finds you?”

Ric shook his head. “La Dame isn’t here. Remember? She’s busy stirring up trouble in Gaule. I don’t know what’s going to happen, Father, but my magic hasn’t led us wrong yet.”

Alfred scrubbed his jaw. “Magic isn’t supposed to lead.” He was right. Belaens spent their lives learning to control their power, to keep it from controlling them. It was a living thing, but it was still owned, chained to the user. Ric’s magic somehow managed to become him rather than only a part of him. Maybe he was weak to let it, but he didn’t think so. It took strength and courage to follow where it led.

His father released a groan. “I can’t believe I’m sending my son into that place alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Father.” Because she would be there.

After a thick beat of silence, his father issued a single nod and gestured for Alfred and Travis to fall back into the trees lining the road, concealing them from any passersby.

Finally, Ric stood alone.

He could do this. No subterfuge. No stealing into the palace. His magic pulled him up the path until he stood within sight of the guards.

They lurched forward at the sight of him. “Who goes there?”

Ric swallowed back the words on the tip of his tongue, giving in to the power of his magic. It swelled up in him, taking control. “I am here to rescue a girl.”

With matching growls, the guards reached for him. It took everything in him not to struggle as they gripped his arms. He clamped his lips shut to keep from crying out as an armor-clad knee connected to his stomach.

He doubled over as a jeweled hilt flashed before his face, smashing into the side of his head and sending him tumbling into the dark abyss.

26

Phillip

It took everything in Phillip not to run after his son when he saw the guards grab him. He wanted to fight off anyone who dreamed of hurting his boy.

But Ric asked for his trust. He saw the way he refused to fight back as if he’d known getting into the palace would require that sacrifice from him.

Phillip paced back and forth among the trees, cursing under his breath. He clenched his fists as his magic tried to rise, latching onto his anger. Pushing it back down, he sat with his back against the wide base of an ancient oak tree.

Were some of these trees as old as La Dame? He didn’t know her true age or how long she’d ruled Dracon, only that she’d stolen the power from her own father and never relinquished it. She was an unbeatable force. All he’d ever been able to do was try his best to protect Bela from her.

But Bela didn’t seem to be in her sights. It never had been. So, why was she currently convincing Gaule to attack? She had to know Gaule stood no chance in a fight against Bela. Not unless La Dame herself joined the fight, and that wasn’t her style.

He tipped his head back against the tree, letting the rain wash down his face. It slowed to no more than a drizzle, but the coolness felt good on his burning skin. His body barely noticed his soaking clothes. When they camped that night, they’d have no dry blankets. Even their food could be ruined, but he didn’t open his sack to check. He couldn’t seem to care about anything other than what was possibly happening to Wulfric.

Alfred’s muddy boots stopped at Phillip’s side. “I can’t believe you’d let your son go in there alone.”

Phillip peered up at his friend, the one who’d barely said two words to him in days. Yet, he was still here. He’d still come to face the dangers at Phillip’s side.

“Ric wanted this.”

Alfred dropped down beside him. “So? He’s just a boy for magic’s sake. I don’t care if he’s a prince or some bastard Gaulean, he shouldn’t have been allowed to venture into that place on his own.”

Phillip couldn’t respond to that because he didn’t disagree. Ric shouldn’t have been allowed to go. Yet, he’d let him, anyway. He’d looked into his son’s face, so sure, so confident, and been unable to deny him. Ric gave him hope they’d cure Aurora of whatever illness threatened her life, so Phillip hadn’t argued.

He sighed. “Alfred, I know you don’t agree with any of my decisions these days, but keep in mind that I am your king.”

“I’ve never forgotten who you are, Phillip. I just always thought you were my friend before my ruler.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “We’ve been through a lot together over the years and yet, one argument changes us.”

Alfred rested his forearms on his bent knees. “Because I’m an idiot. I know you still love her. Sometimes I think it would be easier if she were truly gone. Then you could let go.” He put up a hand to cut off Phillip’s words of protest. “That doesn’t mean I wish it were so.”

“I don’t want to let go.”

“I know. It’s just hard for us to see both you and Ric keeping parts of yourself back from the rest of the kingdom because you think they belong to her.”

“They do. We both belong to her. Every bit of us.”

“But you also belong to us, Phil. To Bela and also to the people who care about you.”

Phillip shifted his eyes away. “I know. Sometimes I wish I was with her in slumber; that I’d wake in the future when she did, and we could live our lives together. But then, I look at my son, and the guilt nearly kills me. I know I can’t keep living for a future I’ll never see. I just don’t know how to move forward.”

“You’ll figure it out when you’re ready.”

His shoulders dropped. “I think I am. Or, I need to be. You’re right, my kingdom deserves all of me. I need to find the man I was.” His voice grew quiet. “Maybe Bela does deserve a queen. Maybe the Basile power deserves more heirs.”

The words physically hurt to say, but it didn’t make them untrue.

Alfred grew quiet, and Phillip’s mind drifted to his son as he tried not to imagine what was being done to him. They’d give it until nightfall, and if Ric didn’t return, he’d storm the palace, using his magic to tear it apart stone by stone.

Alfred’s panicked voice broke through his thoughts. “Where’s Travis?” It was only then Phillip noticed the boy was gone.

He didn’t need to answer Alfred’s question because they both knew Travis too well.

He’d gone after Wulfric.

27

Ric

Pounding pain throbbed through Ric’s skull and his eyelids held a weight that made them nearly impossible to open. He groaned low in his throat and rolled over, expecting to find himself lying on hard stone. Instead, a plush bed surrounded him.

He pried his eyes open to see the lavish surroundings. A red velvet canopy hung over the bed. An orange glow from the flickering flames in the hearth lit the room. Where was he? As he struggled to sit and swing his legs over the edge, his entire body ached.

The events of his welcome into the palace of Dracon came back to him. Heavy booted guards. Pleading with his father to go alone. Why had he done that?

Was he a prisoner?

Bela certainly didn’t keep their prisoners in such luxury.

The door opened, and he fought the urge to hide under the blankets and pretend to still be sleeping. He needed answers.

A young man, probably only a few years older than Ric himself, entered cautiously. A ripped tunic hung off his thin frame. Dark stubble coated his dirty cheeks. He carried a tray in and set it on a table across the room from Ric.

He arranged the teapot and cups on the tray and stepped back before facing Ric, his eyes wary. “I’ve been ordered to prepare you, Basile.” He said the last name like it was a curse. Was the ruling family of Bela as hated in Dracon as they were in Gaule?

“Prepare me for what?” Ric’s legs shook under him as he got to his feet.

“To meet her.”

“Who?” He had to know.

A sly smile spread across the man’s face. “La Dame’s daughter.” He walked toward the door.

“Wait,” Ric called. “Who are you?”

The man stopped, his back to Ric. “My name is Renauld Durand.” He left without another word.

Ric wanted to call him back, to get answers. He’d said he had to prepare him and just left. Renauld Durand? He’d said it so plainly, no trace of duplicity in his voice. But it wasn’t possible. Was it?

Renauld Durand was the prince of Gaule who died in battle. Ric had heard the stories many times. He was the eldest of the Durand princess; the heir to the throne.

That man couldn’t be him. Ric rubbed his face. He’d said Basile with all the contempt a Durand would feel. They were enemies of the most vicious kind.

For the first time since realizing he needed to enter the palace alone, he wished his father was there. He’d know what to do. Would he have to fight his way out?

La Dame wasn’t here… but her daughter? Was she just as cruel, just as powerful?

Ric pushed down the fear trying to rise and instead, closed his eyes and sank into the power of his magic. He didn’t know when he’d lain back down or how he’d fallen asleep, but Rapunzel’s image wouldn’t go away. He had to get away from La Dame’s daughter somehow and find her.

The dream faded and this time, when he woke, the headache was gone. He took stock of every ache, every pain, grateful for them because it was how he knew he still lived. He’d made it into the palace of the dark sorceress alive.

For now.

When he opened his eyes, he sucked in a breath. Maybe he wasn’t awake after all, because standing before him, was the girl he hadn’t been able to get off his mind.

Rapunzel wore an elaborate purple gown that flared out at the hips. Her long golden hair wound around the crown of her head.

As she looked at him, her kind eyes widened, and her small mouth fell open. “You,” she breathed.

Ric shook his head. “I’m still dreaming. I have to be.”

She shook her head and continued to stare.

Uncomfortable under the heat of her gaze, Ric pushed himself from the bed and stood. He lost complete control of his actions, but it wasn’t the magic this time, only his heart. He crossed the space between them in three paces and pulled her into his arms, claiming her lips in a searing kiss.

A squeak escaped from her, but her surprise morphed into contentment as she responded to his touch. She flattened her palms against his chest as if needing to just feel him.

Ric’s magic hummed in approval. His mind worked furiously, trying to convince him he couldn’t just kiss a woman he didn’t know. But he didn’t care. She was the one he saw every time he closed his eyes. He’d watched her be punished by La Dame and been unable to help. He’d seen her scared and imprisoned.

And now, she stood before him, a symbol of everything he needed. Maybe the knowledge was from his magic or maybe something else, but he knew she was going to change the course of his life.

Finally, she pulled away, putting a sliver of distance between them.

Ric’s mind caught up with him. “I’m sorry.” He stepped back and ran a hand over the top of his head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She touched her lips. “No.” Shaking her head, she moved around him to the tray Renauld had brought. “Would you like some tea?”

Not talking about it. Okay. He could do that. He breathed in deeply and turned to see how her hands shook as she held out a cup toward him.

A thought struck him. “We can’t. That was brought for La Dame’s daughter.”

Rapunzel let her eyes fall to the ground, shame coating her features. “I am La Dame’s daughter.”

The knowledge struck Ric like a bludgeon. No. She couldn’t be. How could the kind healer he’d been dreaming of share blood with the dark sorceress? “But… I saw you. She dragged you across a cavern. She threw you naked in a cell.”

Rapunzel’s shoulders dropped. “Mother…” She sighed. “I disobey her sometimes.”

Disobey? Hell, when he disobeyed his father, he was only confined to his luxurious rooms. He fell into a chair, not saying a word and unable to look at her again.

Rapunzel seemed to understand he wasn’t going to take the tea. She set the cup down and lowered herself gracefully into another high-backed chair. She sat regally, as atop a throne.

Because she’s royal, he reminded himself. Just like you.

But she wasn’t just like him. He already knew that.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment before she spoke. “Don’t worry about your friend. We’re keeping him in comfort as well.”

“My friend?” Alarm shot through him.

She nodded. “The young one.”

Travis. His heart dropped. The boy had followed him like he had so many times before. But this wasn’t like before. This time, the danger was too real. Ric leaned forward, his voice lowering to dangerous levels. “If you harm him…”

Defiance entered her gaze. “You’ll what? Call in your father to use his Basile magic against us? You wouldn’t be able to get to him in time. No, Wulfric Basile, you are very much at my mercy.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

Her words were so at odds with what he thought he’d known of her.

She reached for her tea, but he got the impression it was only to have something to do with her hands. After taking a sip, she set it aside again. “I saw you.” Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it.

“What?”

She kept her eyes trained on the table. “Watching me.” Her hands shook in her lap as her voice quaked.

All the irritation he’d felt drained out of him, and he couldn’t help but go to her, kneeling in front of her. He dipped his head to meet her downturned gaze and set his hands on her knees.

She should have pulled away from his familiarity. Most women would have. They didn’t know each other. Not really. But his magic tingled along his skin, alighting at her nearness. He pushed the power away, not wanting it to cloud his true feelings. From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d been drawn to Dracon. Whether his mother had fallen ill or not, he knew he’d have come.

“Rapunzel.” His voice was soft. “Are you a prisoner here?”

She sniffed. “When my mother is here, I have… restrictions. But when she isn’t, I run the house. The people obey me. That is the only reason you’re alive. The guards are trained to deal with intruders efficiently.”

“You saved me?” He didn’t know what to think of this woman. “But you’re the dark sorceress’ daughter.”

She nodded. “I love my mother, but the darkness doesn’t call to me, Wulfric. You do.”

Her words struck him straight in the heart. His eyes darted to her lips, watching her tongue dart out to wet them. He wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn’t. He refused to forget where he was or why he was there. He gave her leg a squeeze and rose to return to his chair. “Can you do me a favor?”

She nodded.

“Call me Ric.”

One corner of her mouth tipped up. “Only if you do something for me, Ric.”

“Anything.” The word slipped out on a breath before he could call it back.

“Tell me why you’re really here.”

28

Ric

Before Ric could give Rapunzel an answer, Renauld appeared, a tray of sweet meats and cheeses in his hands.

Rapunzel’s expression softened when she saw him. “Thank you.”

Renauld only nodded before setting the tray down and leaving the way he’d come.

Ric watched him until he shut the door, blocking himself from view. “Is that really the supposedly dead Gaulean prince?”

Rapunzel sighed. “My mother found him on the battlefield, healed him, and brought him here. Like me, he cannot leave.”

Ric didn’t understand. “Why can’t you leave?”

“Have you ever heard the stories of La Dame’s curses?”

Ric’s blood froze in his veins. La Dame’s curses. Like the one keeping his mother from being a part of his life. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came, so he only nodded.

Rapunzel sighed as if the mention of the curses was only an annoyance. She blew out a breath. “Both Renauld and I have my mother’s magic tying us to this palace. If we were to attempt leaving, we’d end up right back here, but with a considerable amount of pain.” Her eyes shuttered as if she was trying to keep her emotions in check.

Ric didn’t know how a mother could keep her own daughter chained. He’d seen the cruelty of the curses with his own eyes. Hell, he lived that cruelty every time he watched his mother in her slumber. The only thing he’d ever wanted in life was for her to open her eyes.

He swallowed thickly, knowing the next question could change everything. “Is there… a way to break the curse?”

Rapunzel didn’t look at him as she rose from her chair. “You have not answered my initial question about your reason for coming to a place that very well could have been your end, but it does not matter. You will be leaving before nightfall. I don’t need Phillip Basile trying to destroy my home.” She paused, her hand hovering over the door handle. “I’ll see you in your dreams, Prince Wulfric.”

Before he got another word in, she was gone.

* * *

Ric waited for Rapunzel to return. He ate more of the cheese and meat than he probably should have. Not out of any sense of hunger, only nervousness.

The silence hung over the room, only punctuated by the soft crackle of the fire. He padded across the stone floor to stand before the flames, desperately needing warmth to thaw his chilled bones. He didn’t know if the palace was cold, or if the ice he felt was due to the dark aura surrounding the place.

The luxuries didn’t fool him. The Draconian palace was not a place of comfort and peace. When its mistress walked the halls, he wondered at the fear that must choke the air.

Closing his eyes, he once again pictured the desperate girl, staring at her mother with tear-filled eyes as the woman who was supposed to love her turned her magic on her; as she punished her for some perceived slight. What kind of life was that? To live under constant threat?

The Rapunzel he’d seen in his dreams had more fire in her than the one who’d stood in this very room. Where was that girl? He touched his lips, not quite believing they’d ever touched hers. For the first time in his life, he’d felt the emptiness inside him begin to fill.

And now, she wanted to turn him away.

It was probably a good thing. If he didn’t return soon, his father would do something he couldn’t take back. The name Phillip Basile was feared throughout the six kingdoms, his power revered. But where La Dame’s immense power held a darkness, Phillip Basile’s was only light.

The door opened, and he turned from the fire to find Travis in the company of Renauld Durand. Ignoring the Gaulean prince, Ric rushed to Travis and gripped his shoulders. “Idiot.” He checked him over for wounds. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

Renauld bristled at that. “You think Rapunzel would allow a boy to be harmed while her mother was away?”

The prince of Gaule disappeared many years ago. How long had he been in Dracon? How well did he know Rapunzel?

Jealousy clouded Ric’s vision as his magic begged for anger. He advanced on Renauld. “I don’t know what happens in this place.” He stopped moving and grit his teeth. “All I know is an evil lurks within these walls. You are a supposedly dead prince who is now dressed in rags. I saw you… when Rapunzel sat in her cell. You clothed her, yet I don’t know why she was in there. I don’t understand any of this.”

Renauld crossed his arms over his chest. “Rapunzel and I… we look after each other.”

There was that jealousy again. He’d spent so much time dreaming of her, but Rapunzel would never be his. He didn’t know if he could save the girl his magic begged him to save.

Did she want to be free?

Ric put an arm around Travis’ shoulder, in part to comfort him and in part because sleep closed in on Ric, his magic wanting to dream. His knees buckled, but before they hit stone, strong hands gripped him, guiding him to the bed.

He didn’t hear Renauld’s panicked words as he drifted into his dreams.

This time, he didn’t see Rapunzel as she was now. The image morphed into that of a young girl following at the heels of the sorceress, pulled along by her magic.

La Dame reached behind her and gripped her arm, yanking her to the ground.

The girl didn’t cry out. She didn’t weep. Instead, she lifted her eyes to her mother, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry.’

La Dame’s voice boomed out. “You will never run away again, child. My magic will keep you here until the end of your days.”

Still, the young girl didn’t cry. “Yes, Mother.” She lowered her gaze.

Ric wanted to go to her, to hold her and erase the resigned expression on her face. Had that been how his mother felt when she first learned of her fate? He’d never considered what life must have been like for Aurora Rose Brynhild, destined to fall into slumber. He’d only thought about what it did to his father, to him. Phillip Basile lost her. Ric never had her. But their loss was sudden. Aurora’s loss stretched on for her entire life as she prepared herself for the curse.

Ric couldn’t leave Dracon without Rapunzel, and it no longer had anything to do with saving the dream girl. No, he couldn’t let his mother down. She’d lived a sad life because of Rapunzel’s mother.

When he woke from his dream, night had fallen. He bolted up in bed. Too late. His father would come.

Travis sat dozing in a chair by the fire. To Ric’s surprise, Rapunzel had returned. She stared into the flames as if they held every answer she desperately needed.

She must have sensed him awake because she began to speak in a soft voice. “You were supposed to have left by now. Yet, here you are.”

“I was dreaming of you.”

Her shoulder’s tensed. “Your dream is going to bring the Basile power down on my home.”

“Home or prison?”

She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“My mother is sick.” The words hurt to say, but something in him needed to tell her. “You asked me why I’m here. She’s going to die.”

“Aurora Brynhild.” Rapunzel said the name with a reverence that surprised Ric.

“You know of her?”

“She carries one of my mother’s favorite curses.”

“I’ve never heard of any other people who bore my mother’s sleeping curse.”

Rapunzel rubbed the back of her neck. “I didn’t say she’d used it again. Aurora is the only one. One day, many years from now, my mother dreams of having Aurora at her side.”

“My mother would never stand by La Dame.”

Rapunzel finally turned to look at him. “One hundred years of slumber changes a person. Everyone she knew before will be long gone when she wakes. It will be enough to drive a person insane. You think the slumber was the worst part of the curse, but you cannot imagine what the waking will be like for her. Maybe death would be a better alternative.”

Ric averted his eyes unable to look at her. He’d thought he knew her. They’d never spoken in his dreams, yet some part of him felt a connection, one he thought gave an insight into who this girl was.

But he’d just been a stupid boy infatuated with a dream of saving his mother. “My mother deserves better than a death she doesn’t even know has arrived.”

Rapunzel leaned forward, seeking the warmth of the flames. “You don’t even know your mother.”

Ric growled, advancing toward her. Renauld stepped into his path as if afraid Ric would try to hurt Rapunzel. Ric didn’t know what he’d been about to do, but never that. She hadn’t been wrong. He loved his mother with everything he had, but he didn’t know her.

At that thought, he retreated and sank onto the corner of the bed. Travis roused himself and joined him, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry I followed you when you wanted to come alone.”

Ric only nodded. As much as he wished Travis was safe outside the walls, he was glad to have an ally beside him now. His gaze fell on Renauld Durand who hovered protectively over Rapunzel. What had the two of them been through together? He was a prisoner as well, yet he seemed to trust her.

Ric rubbed his eyes. “Please.” His voice broke. “Just… tell me what I need to do to convince you to help me. Anything. I’ll do anything.” He settled his eyes on Rapunzel who’d turned to watch him. “Death may be a mercy, you’re right. But I can’t let her go. It’s going to destroy us. My father… he won’t survive.”

Rapunzel shared a glance with Renauld. “And what makes you think that isn’t what we want? Phillip Basile is the enemy of Dracon and Gaule. We should want him to fall apart.”

Ric released a shaky breath as he met her eyes. “Do you know me, Rapunzel? Because I dreamed of you every night. I saw you at your worst. I saw your strength. They were only dreams, but—”

“They were real,” she finished. “Very real.” Her crystal eyes shone. “Living in this place, I don’t always know what’s good, what’s right. But you, Wulfric Basile, I never questioned.” She met Renauld’s eyes again. “We say it time and again, but we are not our parents.”

Renauld Durand was the eldest son of the cruel king of Gaule. The king who sent his people to the slaughter each time he challenged the magic wielders of Bela, knowing they’d never truly win. He was known to torture his prisoners and enjoy doing it.

And Rapunzel’s mother… well, there was no explanation needed for La Dame. She was just evil.

Renauld sighed. “I can’t believe I’m going to help a Belaen prince.”

Rapunzel smiled at that, but it fell almost as quickly. “We lied to you, Wulfric. There’s a way to break the curse my mother has laid upon us.”

Renauld gripped her shoulder in support, and she put her hand over his.

Ric jumped to his feet. “Then let’s do it quickly before my father comes in search of us.”

She didn’t respond immediately as she weighed her words. Finally, she straightened her spine and locked her gaze on Ric. “The only way to break our curses is…” She stopped, closing her eyes. “We have to die.”

* * *

Die? Ric couldn’t breathe. No, the golden-haired girl he’d dreamed of couldn’t die. He needed her.

Rapunzel swallowed thickly. “Our hearts must stop beating in order to loosen the magic tied to us.”

“But…” Ric shook his head. “If you die—”

“We can come back.” Rapunzel stood and crossed the room, stopping in front of him again.

He wanted to kiss her. More than anything. Even if it was just to stop these insane words from leaving her mouth. No one could come back from the dead.

Travis didn’t seem to have the same trouble speaking as Ric did. “If you could do this, then why didn’t you before? You both could have been free.”

Renauld was the one who answered. “There’s no guarantee it will work. It’s only a theory. If we try this, we may very well never open our eyes again.”

Ric didn’t understand. “And yet you’re willing to try? Just so you can travel to Bela and save my mother?”

Rapunzel reached out with both hands and gripped Ric’s shoulders with strong fingers. “We have requirements.”

“Requirements?”

“She means demands.” Renauld crossed his arms.

Rapunzel ran a hand up the curve of Ric’s neck until it grazed across his cheek. “I knew you’d come, yet didn’t want to hope. When you first arrived early this morning, I wouldn’t have considered breaking our curses. It’s dangerous, but that isn’t the reason. Renauld and I… we have nowhere to go that will be safe from La Dame. But, then you told me about your mother, and I realized a deal could be made.”

“A deal.” Ric’s brow creased.

She ran her thumb over his lip before pulling it back. “I will cure your mother. You will guarantee our safety. Not only mine. You must promise the protection of the Basile magic for a Durand prince.”

Ric took a step away from her, shaking his head to try to clear it. It went against everything he’d ever known to consider a Durand anything but his enemy. “Why can’t he return to his father?”

Renauld’s jaw clenched. “You think the Basile’s are my father’s greatest enemy, but you’re wrong. On the day that I supposedly died, I’d gathered part of the army to abandon the fight. I only wanted to return them to their families. The idea wasn’t mine though. I’d broken ranks at the suggestion of La Dame. My father was the one who shot me full of arrows before La Dame found me. Before you make this promise, you must understand. If my father learns I am alive, he will come for me. He won’t stop until I am truly dead.”

Rapunzel placed her hands on her hips and directed her voice to Ric. “I will come. I will help you. But you must protect Renauld even if it brings the hordes of Gaule down on Bela. Are you prepared for that?”

Ric thought of Chandler and the message he carried with him to Bela. Gaule was already coming for them. But Bela was strong. It could withstand anything. He stuck out a hand toward Renauld. “Okay.”

Renauld hesitated only a moment before clasping his hand and nodding. “Okay.”

Travis bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. “Now what?”

Rapunzel met his gaze. “Now we break the curse.” She walked toward the bed. “Renauld will be first because I will need to bring him back.”

“Can you really bring someone back to life?” Ric asked. Not even the Basile power could do that.

“Well, no.” Rapunzel smoothed the blanket on the bed. “I only need his heart to stop for a moment. He won’t truly die if I act quickly enough. That’s the danger. If I’m too late, I won’t be able to heal him.” She pulled a vile out of the bosom of her dress.

Ric’s eyes widened. “You planned this. When you came back to this room. You didn’t need me to convince you at all.”

She only shrugged. “Renauld, lay on the bed.”

He did as she asked, his pulse visibly pounding in his neck.

Ric wiped sweaty palms on his trousers as nerves set in. What were they doing?

“Oleander oil,” Rapunzel explained to Renauld as she uncapped the vial and held it against his lips. “The effects will be instant. Your heart will slow. There will be pain in your stomach. I’m sorry about that. As soon as my magic feels the last beat in your chest, I will use it to begin repairing the damage. You will be back with us soon.”

He gripped her hand to prevent her from tipping the vial yet. “In case I don’t wake… thank you, Rapunzel. For watching out for me these many years. For being a friend when I had nothing left in this world.”

She smiled softly as the first drops of oil touched his lips. He only took a small amount before a cry escaped his mouth and his hands clutched his stomach.

Rapunzel recapped the vial and returned it to where she’d kept it before taking Renauld’s hand in her own. “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Ric and Travis both held their breath as Renauld’s entire body relaxed. Silence choked the room. Rapunzel leaned forward, her hand pressed to Renauld’s chest above his heart.

She closed his eyes. After a few more beats of quiet, she hummed to herself.

Renauld’s fingers twitched. His eyelids shifted. After what felt like hours, he roused as if he’d only been sleeping. A groan echoed around the room.

“That,” he breathed. “Was not fun.”

A sob shook Rapunzel, and she fell forward, covering her body with his. “I did it. You’re alive.”

It was only then Ric realized Rapunzel had been just as unsure of her plan as the rest of them. He sucked in air, his breath short. Bending at the waist, he put his hands on his knees. He’d been nervous, scared that this Durand prince would die.

Something was seriously wrong with this situation.

Rapunzel climbed onto the bed beside Renauld and leaned back.

Ric jumped forward before she could drink the Oleander oil herself. “Wait. How are you going to heal yourself if you’re not conscious?”

She closed her eyes. “I just have to trust my magic. I don’t know what will happen, but I cannot live with this curse any longer. Freedom is worth any price.” Before anyone could stop her, she drank the rest of the vial.

The door crashed open just as her body relaxed and consciousness left her.

29

Phillip

Phillip crouched along the side of the Draconian palace, the darkness of the night hiding his movements.

He’d seen her arrive. La Dame. Black hair sweeping behind her, she’d ridden up the road, her horse’s hooves thundering by. She had no guards with her, but she had no need of them with the strength of her power at her fingertips.

Phillip’s own magic leaped with the need to explode out of him as soon as he saw her. He’d held it back, choosing instead to run the short distance to the palace. La Dame entered her home moments before Phillip arrived, leaving her horse with the guards.

Alfred followed Phillip, and the king wanted to tell his old friend to go back, that he would be no match for La Dame. Alfred was only putting himself in danger.

But Phillip only had one thing on his mind. Wulfric was in trouble.

He lifted a palm, and the guards at the front doors collapsed, unconscious. He stepped over their sprawled bodies and used his power to rip open the doors.

Somewhere in the labyrinth of halls was his son. He paused, sending his magic out in waves to bring all sounds back toward him. He followed the trail of footsteps echoing against the stone. A roar tore through the air and by the time Phillip caught up, La Dame had thrown herself onto a bed where a lifeless girl lay.

A boy he didn’t recognize scrambled away, his movements sluggish. And there, in the corner was Ric and Travis. They shrank back against the wall. Ric grit his teeth as if trying to move and unable to.

Anger rose in Phillip. La Dame was using magic on his son.

He crashed into the room.

“Father!” Ric yelled, relief evident in his voice.

Alfred went to the boys as Phillip advanced on La Dame. She paid him no attention as she muttered to herself.

“Not my girl. Not Rapunzel.” Tears streaked the dark sorceress’ face. “Wake up, darling.” She cradled the girl’s body against her chest, rocking back and forth.

Phillip hesitated, feeling something other than pure hatred for the sorceress who took the life he’d wanted with Aurora.

It had been many years since he met La Dame, yet she hadn’t changed at all. Hooded eyes lifted as if noticing him for the first time.

“Basile.” The word was more a sigh on her lips than a curse. She let her gaze fall to her daughter once more.

Was the girl dead?

As if answering his question, her eyelids twitched.

Ric continued struggling against the magic keeping him pinned to the wall. Phillip waved a hand, sending his own power to cut the cord of control La Dame had.

Ric and Travis both fell forward. As soon as he righted himself, Ric ran to his father’s side. “We need her, Father. Rapunzel is our only chance of saving mother.”

To his son’s credit, there was only a tinge of fear in his voice.

La Dame’s low voice settled over them. “Leave now Phillip Basile and I will let you leave with your life.”

Rapunzel stirred to life, her eyes blinking rapidly.

“Not without Rapunzel.” Ric stepped forward, but Phillip held him back. His son was brave, but bravery often led to stupidity.

But if that girl could save Aurora, he’d do what he needed to. His magic tingled as he rubbed his fingers together, letting it pool beneath his skin, ready.

La Dame didn’t loosen her grip on the girl. “You almost killed my daughter.”

Ric ground his teeth together. “You mean like you do every time she faces punishment? You’re supposed to love her. You can’t keep her here with magic.”

La Dame growled. “You’re walking on dangerous ground, boy.” She settled her gaze on Phillip. “I suggest you take your son home, Phillip. You know what I’m capable of.”

“Aurora is dying.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to tell her except maybe to see if she’d care. She had plans for Aurora that went beyond one hundred years of slumber.

Sadness flashed across her face, but it was gone so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it. “That’s a shame.” Her shoulders tensed, and she rose from the bed. “Come then. Let’s return to Bela.”

Phillip’s entire body shook at the thought of La Dame setting foot in his palace; the idea that she’d be near Aurora once more. His magic seeped out of his fingers, curling in the air around him, living and breathing and leaving his control altogether. His power slammed into La Dame, sending her tumbling from the bed.

She cursed and rolled to her feet, ready for a fight. Phillip advanced, preparing to strike. Every bit of magic he sent her way met an invisible wall, protecting her from his power.

He knew the trick well. Before he’d gained his ancestral power, shields had been the only thing he could create. And he knew exactly how to break them.

Distraction.

“Ric,” he yelled.

As if reading his mind, Ric ran toward the bed. Alfred tossed a knife into the air, and Ric caught it mid-stride before he jumped onto the bed and holding the blade to the girl’s neck. She barely lifted her head. Practically dying must have weakened her. She didn’t fight off Ric as he dug the blade into her skin, drawing blood.

A whimper left her mouth.

The unknown boy in the room tried to get to her, but Alfred held him back.

La Dame flicked her eyes to her daughter, her concentration snapping. In that moment, Phillip threw everything he had at her. The full force of his power hit her chest like a battering ram, determined to break through her will.

She screamed and fell back, clutching at her chest. Phillip didn’t let up until what felt like a knife twisted in his gut. He looked down but hadn’t been stabbed. La Dame twisted her magic further. Agony radiated through his body.

He clenched his teeth, determined not to let his power falter.

“Stop,” Ric screamed. He held the knife over Rapunzel’s heart, the tip making an indent in her skin. Blood ran down onto her dress. Still, she didn’t move.

She gazed up at Ric, something in her eyes that surprised Phillip. Trust? Acceptance? Was La Dame’s daughter giving Ric permission?

La Dame froze, baring her teeth. She lifted a palm.

Phillip crafted a shield with his power and extended it to envelop his son. La Dame would be able to break through it, but not before Ric did what he had to do.

And the knowledge of that sparked in La Dame’s eyes.

Phillip had to do something and quickly. Back when it was just him and Aurora in the woods, she’d explained La Dame’s curses to him. The sorceress was ancient, and she enjoyed controlling the lives of others, molding them to her will. Deals with her were dangerous because she couldn’t resist dire consequences, ones no one saw coming. You couldn’t predict her actions or the implications of her curses.

“Fine. Save her!” The words were out of him before he could call them back. “Please.”

The only way they were getting out of here was if La Dame herself accompanied them as she wanted to. They were taking her back to Bela.

30

Phillip

Not a moment passed when Phillip didn’t question his actions as king of Bela—when he didn’t want to turn back and force La Dame to stay in her own kingdom of Dracon. She seemed to revel in his indecision, taking joy from his struggle.

It took less time to travel the distance from the walls of Dracon to the palace of Bela because they didn’t have to climb over the wall. Instead, they rode through the massive gates as if they belonged there.

Not only did the dark sorceress ride with them, but the missing prince of Gaule accompanied them as well. Phillip rubbed his eyes as he stared up at the palace, relief flooding through him at the thought of returning home.

He nudged his horse forward into the courtyard where the chaos of battle preparation surprised him. Soldiers ran back and forth, loading wagons and mounting horses. Forgetting about his companions for a moment, Phillip jumped down and sprinted up the steps, bursting through the door, Alfred and Ric hot on his heels.

The three men marched to Phillip’s office, stopping when they found a circle of men bent over a map of the Gaulean border.

Chandler lifted his head. “Thank magic.” He crossed to Phillip, scanning him as if looking for injury. His eyes shifted to Alfred, and he pulled him into a hug. “You’re all okay,” he breathed. Alfred nodded against him before pulling back. “Travis?”

“Here, father.” Travis rushed in, winded from running to catch up to them. His father crushed him against his chest. “Can’t. Breathe,” Travis wheezed.

Phillip eyed the other men at the table, a few generals and others he didn’t know by name. “What’s happening on the border?”

Chandler rubbed the back of his neck, his lips tugging down. “Gaule attacked just as we knew they would. They were prepared for our magic, wearing our army down to the point we had nothing left other than our swords.” He sighed. “They overwhelmed us, breaking through our ranks.” He met Phillip’s gaze.

“What did they take?”

“The fortress near the northern lands.”

Phillip pushed out a breath. That fortress had changed hands many times. The first had been over eighteen years ago when he was only the prince. He would have died from the wounds suffered in that battle if it wasn’t for Aurora. Phillip shook the thoughts from his mind. “What’s your strategy?”

“We wait.”

“Wait?”

Chandler nodded. “We’re sending reinforcements to the garrison near there. They lost a lot of warriors. But we’ve decided to let Gaule settle in and get comfortable. We can recover the fortress and surrounding lands just as we’ve done many times before.”

Phillip knew exactly what he meant. He wanted the king to use the Basile power against Gaule. It was the only way. He nodded and clasped Chandler on the shoulder.

Chandler lowered his voice. “Phil, someone has been filling Gaulean minds with knowledge of how our power works. That’s the only way they beat us. They knew to drain our fighters, force them to use magic quickly.”

“We both know who has been aiding them.”

A low voice came from the doorway. “Are you speaking of me, your Majesty?”

Every person in the room froze as La Dame swept in, her black dress billowing around her legs. She smiled in greeting, meeting each eye turned her way. “Oh,” she pouted. “Don’t tell me I interrupted something important. Do go on. I’ll speak with my new ally when he chooses to visit his dear wife.” She left the way she’d come, with dramatic flair, leaving jaws open in her wake.

Phillip clenched his hands. “There are recent events to explain.”

Chandler’s jaw twitched. “Explain?” Angry chatter erupted from the men behind him, but Phillip only focused on his friend. “Did you bring her here?”

“We didn’t have a choice if we wanted to make it out of Dracon.” Ric was the one who answered, stepping in front of his father as if to shield him. “She’s going to save my mother.”

“Right.” Chandler took a step back. “Who cares if we allow the dark sorceress herself into the palace if it saves the precious Aurora.”

“Chandler.” Alfred reached for him. “It was the right thing to do.”

“You agree with this?” He dropped his voice so others in the room wouldn’t hear. “That woman has the power to destroy Bela. I won’t stop whatever you’re going to do, but you will regret this. I know you, Phil. You aren’t selfish. You wouldn’t make a deal with the devil. Don’t make us wrong about you.”

Phillip nodded once and walked from the room. He’d expected Alfred to stay behind, but the big man matched his stride. “Alfred, I need you to keep me abreast of developments with Gaule. We will wait three days before leaving to take care of the problem.”

Alfred patted his arm. “We trust you, your Majesty.” With that, he turned on his heel and rejoined the strategy meeting. Travis had stayed behind with his father, but Ric stepped in line with Phillip.

His son was the only person who understood his need to believe La Dame would help. He was the only person with as much desperation in his heart.

When they got to Aurora’s room, Phillip’s mother stood outside the door, her arms crossed. “You’re playing with fire, son.” She relaxed her stance. “But if I could have cured your father, I would have done whatever was necessary.” She reached up to touch his face. “The crown takes everything from you, leaving little of yourself behind. Aurora may never wake, but keeping her alive is your purpose. It’s the noblest thing you do. La Dame does nothing out of the goodness of her heart, so all we can do is hope protecting her future life is worth the consequences.”

She squeezed Ric’s shoulder and walked by them, not staying to see what those consequences would be.

Phillip sucked in a breath and entered the room. La Dame sat in the chair usually only occupied by Phillip or Ric. She’d propped her feet on the bed. Rapunzel and Renauld stood along the wall as if scared to get too close.

Phillip couldn’t hold his temper back as he stormed into the room and knocked La Dame’s feet from the bed. “Show some damn respect,” he growled.

One side of La Dame’s red lips tilted up. “Aurora isn’t yours, king. I made her. I shaped her, and her future is mine. When she opens her eyes, you will be long gone from this world. Now, onto the business at hand.”

Phillip moved around to the opposite side of the bed and bent over the face he knew so well. He’d memorized every curve from the point of her chin to the bridge of her nose to the angle of her cheeks. He saw her every time he closed his eyes.

A thick sheen of sweat coated her skin, but her chest continued to rise and fall. He didn’t know how much longer she’d have if she wasn’t healed.

He fought the urge to throw La Dame across the room when she set her long fingers against the hollow of Aurora’s throat. The rattle of Aurora’s breath slowed until he couldn’t hear it any more as her chest cleared.

Color returned to her pale cheeks. Her lips parted to release a puff of air, and something inside Phillip snapped. He crumpled forward, resting his head on her stomach as tears fought to break free.

“She will live.”

La Dame’s words bounced around his mind as his heart squeezed. Aurora would live, but he never would. Because without her, there was nothing living inside of him.

Hot tears wet his face. A hand came down on his back and Phillip straightened, turning to sink into his son’s embrace.

They forgot about their audience as they both broke down, wishing for a life that had never been theirs.

31

Ric

La Dame decided to stay in Bela for a few days… for some reason. Ric didn’t really know or care why. He only wanted her gone. But when she left, would he ever see Rapunzel again?

His mother was alive for now, but many in Bela were dead. The battles with Gaule took a toll on the kingdom. Hopefully, his father would put a stop to them for good.

Exhaustion weighed his every movement as he changed out of his filthy traveling clothes. He pulled a tunic over his head, not bothering with trousers. It reached to his knees, leaving the rest of him bare.

In the privacy of his own rooms, no one would care. His servants had seen him in less.

He lay back on his soft bed, realizing how much he’d missed it. He hadn’t felt his magic since returning home. Would he dream when he closed his eyes?

He tried to close his mind off from the events of the day, but they rolled through his thoughts like moving paintings. The palace healer had been pleased to announce Aurora was no longer in danger of dying, but they’d known that as soon as La Dame laid hands on her.

Ric burrowed into the warmth of his blankets as a knock sounded on his door. Assuming it was a few of the servants coming to prepare his room for the night—stoke up the fire, extinguish candles, clear the tray of tea he’d requested—he yelled for them to enter.

His body had no more energy as he lay there waiting for the bustle to happen around him. But it didn’t come. Instead, a single person entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Ric jerked his head up, his eyes meeting Rapunzel’s. She was dressed for bed in a long woolen sleeping gown. Her hair hung in waves down her back.

It took every bit of strength he had remaining to swing his tired legs over the side of the bed and push the blankets off. At her blush, he realized his pantsless state.

With a shrug, he stood anyway, adjusting his tunic over his rear.

“Can I help you?” He hated the coldness in his voice, but Rapunzel had barely spoken to him on their journey from Dracon. In fact, she’d said few words in the presence of her mother.

She twisted a golden strand of hair around a finger and chewed her lip as Ric walked to the wardrobe and found a pair of trousers. He stepped into them, pulling them up before turning to face her. He raised a brow. “If you’re going to continue this silence, please do it in your own room. I’m exhausted.”

She stepped toward him. “I’m… sorry.”

He studied her, taking some small pleasure in her discomfort. Mixed with the constant thoughts of his mother had been the memory of her lips on his. Nothing had ever felt more right. For a moment, he’d thought his magic led him to her for a reason.

He sighed and scratched the side of his head. “What are you sorry for, Rapunzel?”

She turned away from him and paced the length of the room. “I knew my mother was due to return.” She faced him again and walked back, her hands wringing together.

Ric collapsed onto the corner of his bed. “That’s why you did it.” He shook his head. “You could only break your own curse if someone else was going to be there to heal you.”

She nodded. “My mother was already in the palace at that point. The watch told me the moment she’d return to Dracon.” She pulled her hair over one shoulder, working her hands through it as if it was some nervous tic. “I tried to make you leave before then.”

“The first time I saw you.” He finally understood. “When you were cold and refused to help.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I knew as soon as my mother learned of Aurora’s illness, she’d leave for Bela. Sometimes, I think she loves Aurora more than me.”

“Love,” Ric scoffed. “The woman imprisoned you, punished you. She put my mother to sleep, allowing her to wake only once everyone she’d ever loved was gone.”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s really not. Your mother is an evil bitch who causes pain as some sort of game.”

Tears sprang to Rapunzel’s eyes. “I can’t go back with her.”

“What?” Ric snapped his eyes to hers.

“My life… I need to escape the clutches of my own mother. Please don’t make me explain. You’ve seen what my life is like.” He’d seen it in his dreams.

He stood, closing the distance between them until she was close enough to touch. But he kept his hands to himself. “You want me to protect you? After you failed to tell me your mother was due back soon? You practically handed me over to her. I figured the deal you’d asked for was nothing more than a ruse.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Wulfric.”

Her tears did something to him, and he couldn’t take them any longer. He pulled her into his arms and let her bury her face against his neck. Her lavender scent clung to his nose, and he inhaled deeper. His magic hummed in content at the feel of her.

Had his dreams only been telling him he needed to save her, or was there something more to it?

Her breath blew hot against his skin. “There’s a way to break your mother’s curse.”

Ric pulled back, his eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Tears welled in her eyes once more. “It’s not without cost, Ric. My mother’s curses are dangerous, but none more so than her sleeping curse. There is only one way to wake Aurora. You may gain your mother, but you could lose everything else.”

Ric pulled her against him again, this time out of his own need for comfort. He needed a few minutes of feeling her in his arms before he could face whatever it was she had to say because he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

He dipped his head, brushing his lips against her hair. As if working of their own accord, they trailed down her cheek. Her only reaction was a soft intake of breath, but she didn’t stop him. He kissed the corner of her mouth and she sighed, relaxing against him.

“Am I safe with you, Wulfric?” she breathed.

“Always.”

“I’ve never been safe before.” All hesitation left her, and she turned into his kiss, pressing her lips to his. All tension left her shoulders as she ran her hands up his arms, winding them around his neck.

Ric had to end it, but he savored the taste of her for a moment longer. He had to face the words she’d said. There was a way he could have his mother back, but he knew how dangerous La Dame’s consequences were. He’d heard the story. His mother’s curse was one such consequence, the result of a deal with the sorceress.

He rested his forehead against Rapunzel’s, not sure how he was supposed to ever let her go. She asked him to save her but not in those words exactly. Yet, how was he supposed to prevent La Dame from taking her? His only power was his dreams, not exactly the kind of threat that would scare anyone.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, he had to know the truth. “How?” he asked. “How do we wake my mother?”

Her lips drew down into a frown, and she slipped out of his arms, closing her eyes. When she spoke again, her tone held no emotion, and it was as if she was reciting someone else’s words. “True Love’s kiss.” She snapped her eyes open, pinning him with a pained stare.

Ric’s brow creased. It sounded easy enough. His father was his mother’s true love. But, he’d kissed her many times before. It couldn’t be as simple as that. “Tell me everything.”

32

Phillip

The palace garden was the one place that seemed to see no passage of time. Phillip knew that was strange. Trees grew with each year, towering over them. Flowers bloomed and folded in on themselves with the seasons. Winter came, covering the ground in a dusting of snow, only to melt into the ground at the awakening of spring. The heat of summer brought a lack of rain that shriveled the greenery and made the grass crunch beneath his feet, followed quickly by fall and the leafy coverings that accompanied it.

Time moved on, and yet Phillip remained locked in a state of suspension, never pushing forward, never moving on. The lines in his face deepened. A few of the hairs surrounding his face turned gray.

But in his mind, he was always the boy who fell in love with a beauty fated to leave him. He didn’t regret it, not for one moment. In the month he’d with had her, he’d lived a thousand lives, experiencing all the joy he was due in his one life. How many people got to say they’d loved like that?

He sat on a stone bench watching the lilies awaken to the rising sun. For as long as he could remember, he woke in the early hours of the morning. He enjoyed the silence of a sleeping palace. It gave him space to think before a thousand little things needed doing. As king, everyone wanted something from him. But here, in this place, he was only beholden to his memories.

Footsteps sounded against the stone pathway, and he lifted his eyes to find his mother approaching. She too was one of the things time was taking from him. She’d aged much since his father died, but the kindness in her eyes was something she’d gained with his passing. She saw each day as a gift, seeing firsthand how none of this was promised. He’d sometimes wondered if she pitied him, but then decided he didn’t care. He needed her as she was now, not as the cold queen of his childhood.

She smiled when she reached him. “Phillip.” She said his name with an affection that reminded him he wasn’t alone. He had his mother and his son.

“Good morning.” He offered her a smile he only found himself able to procure in the gardens when his mind was still.

Her eyes drifted to the flowers. “How are Aurora’s beauties doing this morning?”

His smile fell. “I’m not the gardener she was.”

“No.” To his surprise, she laughed. “And neither am I. But Aurora had the magic of growth to help her.”

“And I have the Basile power. It’s multi-faceted, yet even after all these years, I can’t seem to master every part of it. I know I should be able to grow things as she did, but it doesn’t turn out quite so well.” He shrugged.

She shook her head. “Son, your father had that power most of his life and even he did not understand it. Most of the things he found he could do were an accident at first.”

He enjoyed hearing her speak of his father. She didn’t do it often.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “You have many years to learn. Now, that son of yours is inside pacing a hole in the palace floor.”

Phillip folded his lips into a flat line. He’d never known Ric to wake early. Normally, if he wanted his son to attend any of his meetings, he had to send a servant to rouse him. The boy’s dreams made his sleep far from restful.

Phillip stood. If Wulfric was just inside, he was waiting for him. He knew not to disturb his father in the gardens, but if it was important, he did it anyway.

Phillip’s mother patted his arm as he moved past her, picking a flower on the way.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Wulfric froze. “Father.”

“You’re up early.” He walked past him, letting Ric fall into step beside him as he walked toward Aurora’s room. He always visited her after the gardens each morning.

Ric’s eyes fell to the flower and flicked back to his father’s face. A shuddering breath left him.

Phillip stopped walking outside Aurora’s room and turned to his son. “What is it? You seem as if something is bothering you.”

“I need to tell you something, but I don’t want to tell you.” Tears pooled in his eyes and he blinked them away before continuing. “You deserve to know, but I’m scared.”

Phillip hadn’t known his son to fear many things. He guided Ric into Aurora’s room where he placed the flower in the vase beside her bed before turning to the boy. “There is nothing to fear from me, Wulfric. Whatever it is, I promise not to be mad.”

Ric shook his head with a humorless laugh. “You think I’m scared of you? No, I’m scared for you.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He placed a hand on each of Ric’s shoulders and peered into his eyes. “Wulfric Basile, you will never lose me. You’re stuck with me, kid, until I’m old and gray.”

Ric laughed, despite his eyes glassing over again. “You’re already old and gray, Father.”

“You take that back. Your father has many years left in these bones.” He tried to laugh, but the truth was, aging scared him more than most. The older he got, the further he grew from Aurora’s perpetually young state. He wasn’t so old now that it was strange to continue to call her his wife, but one day he would be.

Ric put a hand over one of Phillip’s wrists. “What if I told you there was a way to wake her?” His eyes drifted to his mother and Phillip followed the gaze, his heart jumping into his throat.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” He released Ric and looked to the door as if La Dame would enter at any moment. Had she offered Ric a deal? Phillip wouldn’t take any deal with her because of the risk it posed to his son. He’d seen what Aurora’s father did to her in trying to save her mother.

History would not repeat itself. He loved Aurora with everything he had, but Wulfric was his son, their son. He’d never let him suffer the consequences of Phillip’s selfishness.

Wulfric was speaking but Phillip didn’t hear any of the words until he uttered “True Love’s kiss.”

“True love’s kiss?” Phillip asked, his voice dropping. He’d kissed Aurora many times. Was he not her true love? “What does that mean?”

Wulfric met his father’s eyes once more. “Sacrifice.”

“You’re not making any sense. How can I wake your mother with a kiss? And what sacrifice is required?”

Fear entered Ric’s gaze. “I don’t want to tell you because I know what your decision will be.”

Phillip pulled his son into a hug. Sometimes, Ric’s maturity and independence made Phillip forget just how young he was. His lack of offensive magic made him a sensitive boy. His dreams let him into other people’s lives, letting him experience emotions that were not his own.

Ric gripped Phillip as if afraid he’d disappear. When he spoke, his voice was muffled by Phillip’s shoulder. “The curse has a way out, but like everything La Dame does, it’s cruel. The only way to wake her is to sacrifice yourself. True love’s kiss is a trade. You for her.” He pulled back and walked to the chair beside the bed, dropping into it. He leaned forward, staring at the mother he’d never known. “I want her too, Father. But not at this cost.”

Phillip put a hand on Ric’s shoulder. “Please.” His voice cracked. “Tell me everything.”

Ric buried his face in his hands. “Rapunzel explained it to me. Her mother’s greatest joy is watching families tear themselves apart. She could end the curse herself with a wave of her hand, yet would never do it. Aurora is her prize. She never imagined the sleeping curse would be broken because she didn’t see you coming. But you’ll do it. I know you will. I can’t…” A sob shook his body.

Phillip tightened his grip, his magic trying to latch on to his swirling emotions. He didn’t let it. He needed a clear mind to hear the rest. “Wulfric.”

Ric shook his head. “You have to give her everything. Push all of your magic from your body into hers. Every last bit until there’s nothing left.”

Phillip stumbled back, but Ric wasn’t finished. “Only someone who loved her more than himself would do this. That’s why it’s called ‘True love’s kiss’.”

Phillip knew now why his son hadn’t wanted to tell him. The first lesson of magic every child in Bela learned was to hold back. If you drained yourself of power before it could build back up, you’d die. If he did this…

A slow clap came from the doorway, and a chill raced down Phillip’s spine. He didn’t turn to her, but La Dame’s presence sent waves of darkness through the room.

She shoved Rapunzel through the door before stepping through. “It seems you’ve figured it out. Well done, daughter.”

Ric’s eyes shifted, and he glared at Rapunzel as if she’d betrayed him. “She made you tell me?”

Rapunzel shook her head, tears cascading down her face. “No. I swear it. Everything I told you was of my own will. I didn’t lie to you.”

La Dame sighed. “She’s telling the truth, of course. My daughter’s heart is too soft.” Disapproval flashed across her face. “Phillip Basile, it seems you now know how to break the curse. The day I first met you, I knew it was a possibility. But I also know people. They don’t just sacrifice themselves selflessly. So, your Majesty, what will you do with this knowledge?”

Phillip couldn’t think. He almost tripped over his feet as he crossed to the door, turning his back on his son, on the woman he loved. He fell into the hall, slamming his shoulder against the wall. Pain radiated up his arm, but he barely felt it as his magic took control, angry power swirling inside him. He didn’t acknowledge anyone as he ran to the training yard and out the small gate that led into a field beyond the palace where his generals normally ran strategy training when there wasn’t an enemy trying to carve off slices of their kingdom.

But Phillip couldn’t think of the Gauleans currently residing in a fortress he’d once protected. Not when his heart struggled to beat in his chest. His power exploded from him, sending a nearby tree toppling over, its roots ripping from the ground. A thunderous crash shook him when it slammed into the ground. He turned as the sky darkened, his magic pulling rain from the clouds. It fell around him, but bent out wherever he walked, leaving him dry. He sent the water spinning into a cyclone overhead. Rain crashed against the palace walls, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He turned, his palms facing up. Grasses ripped from the earth until the dirt was bare. It turned to mud, clinging to his boots with every step he took.

This was where he belonged. It felt good to let the magic control every action, every thought, letting his mind sink into a blissful blank state.

As each bit of magic seeped from his pores, the anger went with it, leaving him empty, devoid of emotion. His chest heaved, and he pulled back before the last of the power escaped. If he was going to die, it wasn’t going to be in a senseless act. It would be for her.

The magic protecting him from the rain collapsed, letting the water crash down on him, mixing with the tears on his face.

He’d always known he wouldn’t get to live a life with Aurora, but he imagined them both just living in different times. He pictured her waking to an unfamiliar future where La Dame was her only option. She’d be forced to serve her, having nothing else in her life.

Was this a way to save her from that fate?

His legs collapsed, and he fell to his knees, exhausted from his display of magic.

He never imagined she’d get to know her son. Wulfric was the best part of both of them, and it had killed him to think she’d never see that. She’d never feel his love. Before he’d met her, she’d had nothing, no one who loved her. And it would be like that for her when she woke. No one should have to live like that.

The rain stopped its unnatural fall, leaving with the magic he’d used to pull it forth. A voice that had been screaming through the torrent now grew louder. “King Phillip!”

He lifted his tired eyes to the running form of Renauld Durand, an enemy of Bela by birth. But the Gaulean prince didn’t look like an enemy as he stopped moving and sympathy entered his gaze.

“I saw you run out here.” He bent over, trying to catch his breath. “I’ve never seen that much magic. Even living with La Dame… she’s so controlled. It was… beautiful.”

Beautiful? He’d never thought of his magic as such, but it was now the only thing that could break Aurora’s curse. He nodded. That was exactly what it was. Beautiful.

He tried getting to his feet, and as he struggled, Renauld grabbed his arm. Phillip wanted to tell him he didn’t need help, especially from a Durand, but it would have been a lie. He could barely stand. Renauld pulled Phillip’s arm over his shoulder.

As he helped him back to the palace, he spoke. “My father would love for you to do it.”

That answered that question. Renauld had heard about the true love’s kiss.

“He’d love for the Basile power to be gone.”

Phillip felt like an awful king for not thinking of that sooner. If he did this, the Basile power would be no more. He’d release it out of him, and it would what? Disappear? He wasn’t quite sure what would happen. Would Ric not inherit his ancestral right? No, if Phillip died, he had to believe Ric would get the power. That was how it worked, right?

“Do you hope I do it?” He didn’t know why he needed to hear the boy’s opinion, but he couldn’t help the question.

Renauld was quiet for a long moment as they walked back into the training yard. “I don’t think it’s my place.” He paused. “But I don’t think the threat of Gaule should factor into your decision. You love her, right?”

Phillip nodded his head weakly.

“I’ve never loved anyone. Not my father. Not my siblings. But I’m sure if I had someone I cared for that much, I’d do anything for them. That’s what life should be.”

“Sacrifice?”

“No. Love.”

But how were you supposed to choose one person you loved over another? If he did this, he would leave his son to save Aurora.

Renauld stopped at the entrance to the gardens.

“Why did you bring me here?” Phillip asked.

“I’ve seen you walk this way the past two mornings as if it’s the first place you want to see.”

The kid was wrong. The first place he wanted to see was anywhere Aurora was, but he wouldn’t arrive there without a flower for her. A thought occurred to him. “Why are you helping me?”

Renauld shrugged. “Our families are ancient enemies, but my father… let’s just say anyone who hates him has to be good. He’s no better than La Dame, and you are an enemy of both.”

As the boy walked away, Phillip felt sorry for him. La Dame would eventually leave Bela in peace, but she’d take the prince with her and peace was not something he’d experience at her hand.

33

Ric

Wulfric no longer saw Rapunzel in his dreams, and he wondered if it was because his magic had no need of her anymore. It had led him to her in Dracon not only because she was the one who could heal his mother, but also because she had the secret that would change his life.

He loved his mother more than anything in this life… except for his father. He couldn’t have one without losing the other. Selfishly, he wanted to keep his father, the parent he knew. That meant never meeting his mother, but he couldn’t help the desire in his heart.

Phillip Basile was the king of Bela. If he was gone… Ric wasn’t ready to take the crown. He wasn’t ready for the responsibility of a kingdom or to be the keeper of the Basile power. What would it feel like? The only magic he’d experienced was his dreams, but the things he’d be able to do with his family’s power… he couldn’t imagine it.

And he didn’t want it. As a boy, the thought of one day being the most powerful man in Bela excited him. He hadn’t fully grasped the fact that it would only happen once his father was dead.

He sat outside the palace walls, gazing at the hills across the river rolling down into the village. The people of Bela went on with their lives, having no knowledge of La Dame’s presence or the decision their king faced. Many of them were away with the army, but the fighting was over for now. Gaule once again occupied a piece of Bela despite Bela’s magical advantage. It would be easy enough to recover, but the generals wanted the Gauleans to feel secure before attacking them.

Footsteps sounded on the dry grass. Ric glanced sideways at La Dame’s graceful approach. She was mesmerizing in her dark beauty. A crimson dress hugged her waist before flaring out. The bodice dipped down low, but not low enough to be scandalous. She looked no older than Ric’s father, but he knew appearances were deceiving.

He clenched his jaw and focused his eyes on the village once more.

“Darling.” La Dame’s smooth voice wrapped around him. “What are you doing on your own out here?” She lowered herself to the ground and reached for his hand.

He jerked away from her and jumped to his feet. “Don’t touch me.”

She pouted. “Your mother and I were dear friends, Wulfric Basile. I was hoping we could be as well.”

“You weren’t my mother’s friend,” he spat. “She was your prisoner.”

La Dame raised a brow. “I did not force the curse on her family. That was her father’s doing.”

“A trade. Right. I heard the story. You saved her mother and cursed her. You think that makes any of this okay? What is wrong with you?”

“Now, Ric, you’re soon going to be the king of Bela. As the queen of Dracon, we will need to get along.”

“He won’t do it. My father won’t leave me.”

She sighed, pity coating her features. “Dear boy, I knew from the moment I met your father that he’d be the one to wake Aurora.”

Ric froze. “You never intended for her to wake in one hundred years and join you?”

She laughed as if she thought him adorable. Maybe adorably naïve. “Aurora Rose Brynhild, now Basile, is the most magnificent creature I’ve ever seen. She’s stubborn to the point of stupidity. A thousand years could pass and she’d never willingly stand at my side.” She shook her head. “The power she has over your father is incredible. Yes, he will do as I’ve wanted him to.” She stood to walk back into the warmth of the palace.

“Wait,” Ric called, running after her. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because, boy, this is the beginning of the end.”

She didn’t say another word as she walked away from him, throwing up a wall of magic so he couldn’t follow. The beginning of the end? What did that even mean?

There was only one person to ask. He changed direction and didn’t knock before bursting into Rapunzel’s room. She looked up, startled, her features softening when she saw it was him.

“Rapunzel.” He could barely choke out her name as his emotions rose to the surface. La Dame seemed so sure his father was going to sacrifice himself. He forgot about La Dame’s ominous words about the end and fell into Rapunzel’s embrace.

She held him tightly, letting him bury his face in her neck. “Ric,” she whispered, pulling back. “I’m so sorry, Ric.” Tears danced in her eyes.

“I don’t dream of you anymore,” he breathed. It suddenly seemed so important.

“I don’t feel your dreams anymore.” She brushed a thumb under his eyes.

“I can’t save my father.” His shoulders dropped.

She shook her head. “No, and you can’t change his mind.”

“He loves her. As much as I hate the thought of losing him, he wouldn’t be who he is if he didn’t do this. If he didn’t give her everything he had. If he didn’t do everything in his power to save her.”

She smiled, but there was a sadness behind it.

He leaned his forehead against hers, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I have to save you.” He hadn’t seen it before, the similarities between him and his father. They’d both fallen for women under La Dame’s control. But it was time they broke her hold.

“I barely know you, Rapunzel, but it’s like you’ve been part of me for so long.” She had. Every dream made him want her more. He saw her strength, her goodness.

She cupped his cheek, swiping her thumb in slow circles. “She won’t let me stay.”

“I won’t let you go.” He pressed his lips to hers. If he was going to lose his father, he would need her more than ever. As he kissed her, he lost himself, pushing all the torment from his mind. She calmed his aching heart, holding him together when he felt like the world was breaking him apart.

He hadn’t told her he loved her, but she knew. She knew every part of him.

34

Phillip

“I need you to tell me what to do, Aurora.” Phillip sat on the edge of her bed, brushing the hair away from her calm face. “Is this how I save you?”

When she’d first fallen into her slumber, Phillip blamed himself. He knew it was an irrational feeling, guilt, but that hadn’t lessened the pain inside him. He couldn’t free her from the curse. Not back then. He’d thought he had when he used his power to reach inside her, to snap the ties of the magic. Only, it hadn’t worked.

Was it because he’d held back? The way to wake her was to do as he’d done then, pushing his power into her every cell, but he couldn’t pull it back. Not this time. The magic would leave him, and he’d die. The power would live on, attaching itself to the next Basile meant to inherit it. Wulfric. He was always meant to carry his Basile birthright, but not for many more years.

“He’ll be a good king,” Phillip whispered, imagining Aurora could hear him. “Our son is a good man.” He smiled down at her. “He’s the best thing either of us has ever done or will ever do. Honorable, strong. Sometimes, he refuses to see his own strength. The magic he carries can’t be used in a fight, but he doesn’t realize it’s more important than that. He sees things in his dreams, people, that Bela needs in order to remain safe. He brought us Rapunzel to save you.”

He rubbed the side of his face. “I wish I could talk to you. You’d know what to do about La Dame. The dark sorceress moves through our halls as if Bela is her kingdom. You knew her much better than I do. What does she want from us? Why does she want you to wake when she cursed you in the first place?”

Was it a way to take down the king of Bela? That made no sense when Ric would just take his place. She’d never control Bela as long as the Basile magic existed. And what of her support of Gaule? She had to have known they’d eventually lose to Bela’s magic wielders. They stood no chance.

Even if Phillip died, there were many people with power in Bela. The only reason Gaulean soldiers still occupied the Belaen fortress was because they were allowed to.

Phillip skimmed his hand down Aurora’s arm, dipping below the blankets to grip her hand.

“I’ll be okay, you know.” Ric’s voice came from the doorway.

Phillip turned to face his son. Ric’s eyes held a sad acceptance as if he’d known all along what would happen. He walked farther into the room. “Father, it’s okay.”

Phillip shook his head, a lump lodging in his throat. “I can’t…”

Ric stepped in front of him, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his father’s shoulders. “I love you. I also know you will never forgive yourself if you don’t save her.” He leaned back. “I get it now. She’s everything to you.”

Phillip pressed his fingers to Ric’s cheek. “Not everything, kid.”

A sad smile curved Ric’s lips. “I was angry at the thought that you’d leave me, but that was selfish. I know that. You wouldn’t be a Basile if you weren’t willing to sacrifice everything for the ones you love. Besides, you’re never leaving me. I’ll always carry you with me. I’m not ready to be king, but when are we ever ready for anything? You inherited the throne the very same night you lost both your father and your wife.” He straightened his shoulders. “I want to be like you, Father. I want to make you proud.”

“Wulfric.” Phillip released a shuddering breath. “You’ve made me proud every day of your life.”

Footsteps sounded at the door, and Phillip’s mother entered, tears staining her cheeks. “I was trying to give you two a minute, but I needed to speak with you.”

Phillip stood. “Mother—”

She put up a hand to stop him. “I’m not here to change your mind. No mother wants to bury her son, but I have watched you die a little more each day for the past many years. If this final act is how you live again, even for just a moment, then it is what you must do.” She wiped her face. “But, Son, we are running out of time. If you are to do this, if Ric is to gain the Basile power, it must be soon. That magic is needed to once again push Gaule from our lands. The people cannot wait any longer.”

Phillip wrapped an arm around his son and held the other out for his mother, squeezing them both to him.

It was an odd feeling, knowing his death was imminent. But, maybe it was better. Most people never got to have a final word, they didn’t get to say goodbye.

Phillip led them from the room. “There’s one more place I need to go.”

Both nodded and let him walk off without another word. Phillip trudged through the palace and out into the courtyard. Life went on inside the castle, people blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside their king. They would find out about his death as soon as Ric showed his ownership of the Basile power. But they need never know their king chose to leave them.

The house belonging to his two best friends came into view at the edge of the village. They’d be there preparing to leave to fight Gaule.

Travis stood outside, kicking a ball up and down the street. He saw Phillip, his eyes widening.

“Your Majesty.” He ran up beside him.

“Your father home, Travis?” Phillip stopped at the door.

“Yeah, he’s fixing supper.”

Pushing the door open, Phillip found his two oldest friends standing near the small stone hearth. Both men looked up.

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest as he glanced behind Phillip. “No guards? That’s not safe, Phil.”

Phillip opened his mouth, but no words came out. How did you say goodbye to the people you’d known your entire life? Alfred and Chandler had been with him through everything, but there was no time left for the three of them.

As if sensing his distress, Chandler walked forward, pulling Phillip into a hug and thumping his back. “What is it? Is Aurora okay?”

Phillip couldn’t answer, but Alfred shook his head. “No, you aren’t doing this.”

“Doing what?” Chandler pulled back, confused.

“Waking Aurora. He’s come to say goodbye.”

Chandler’s fingers dug into Phillip’s arm. “Is it true?”

“I…” Phillip sucked in a breath. “Will you come? Will you be there with me?”

Alfred was still shaking his head, but Chandler didn’t argue. “Of course.” He pulled him back into the embrace. Before long, Alfred joined them. None of the men spoke until they heard sniffling coming from Travis. Tears tracked down his face and Chandler went to him.

“It’s okay, Trav. It’s going to be okay.”

Phillip hoped he was right. He hoped Bela would get over this quickly and easily. Ric would help them, and Aurora would be by his side. He smiled at the thought of her getting to know her son. She deserved that much.

Grabbing their cloaks, Alfred, Chandler, and Travis, followed Phillip back to the palace. There was no longer a point to waiting. His mother had been right. Bela needed to move forward, and they wouldn’t until this was done.

His mother and Ric awaited them inside Aurora’s room. To their credit, their eyes were dry. Phillip didn’t know if he’d have been able to take free flowing tears. He scanned the faces surrounding him. Every person he loved was there. He’d have done anything to keep each one of them safe. They had to know that. But Aurora was the one who needed him now.

La Dame rushed into the room, a wicked gleam in her eye. Rapunzel and Renauld followed in behind her, both stoic, both sad.

Phillip didn’t know much about those two, but he hoped they would escape La Dame. Rapunzel might be her daughter, but anyone could tell at first glance that she held none of the hatred in her heart that her mother possessed. And Renauld… he was not like his father in Gaule.

Rapunzel slid her hand into Ric’s, and Phillip smiled at the sight. They’d be okay. He would be the only person in the world who could keep her safe once he had the Basile power.

La Dame clapped her hands together. “We just couldn’t miss this.”

Phillip didn’t trust her. He walked to the bed. “It’s time.”

He’d said his goodbyes and any more would break him apart. He needed to remain whole, to finish this. For Aurora.

She looked so peaceful in her sleep, completely unaware that her curse was almost over. Phillip would give anything for one final moment with her. Would she wake before he was gone?

He ran his fingertips over her closed eyes, knowing he’d probably never see the blue depths, then down over the curve of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. He’d never hear the sweet sound of her voice as she stubbornly argued with him. He pulled at her bottom lip with his thumb.

He hadn’t forgotten a single thing about her, a single moment spent with her. Their time together in her forest cabin seemed like a dream from another life. He’d been injured, sick, and yet happy. He’d fallen in love.

Would she go back there to see the place where they began? Would she only live a half-life as he’d done? “I don’t want that for you,” he whispered, bending toward her. Maybe if she hadn’t been there as a constant reminder of what he’d lost, he’d have been able to move forward, to forget.

At least she’d get that chance. Phillip wouldn’t be in a deep slumber within the palace walls. He’d be gone. Dead.

He sucked in air, breathing in the scent that was so distinctly Aurora. It was a smell of flowers and fresh air. He knew it was silly. She hadn’t left that room in over eighteen years, but she smelled just as she had the first day he met her. Maybe his memory was playing tricks.

“Aurora,” he breathed. “I love you.” All noise from the sniffling crowd behind him faded away until all he sensed was his wife. For a moment, only the two of them existed. He’d tried to give himself to the other people in his life, but there’d been so little left to give. Aurora Rose Brynhild owned him, body and soul. He sat on the bed and slid his hands underneath her neck.

All sadness left him as he gazed at the woman before him. “You’re going to wake Aurora. You’re going to live.”

He pressed his lips to hers, holding nothing back. His magic pulsed underneath his skin, waiting to break free. Slowly, he released his control of the power, letting it out in his kiss. Just as he’d done many years before when trying to break the curse, he pushed the magic into Aurora, letting it invade her every cell.

Her body buzzed beneath his, her hair standing on end.

And he didn’t stop.

True love’s kiss. There wasn’t a name more fitting for his actions. With his kiss, he gave her everything he was, the power that made him who he’d become. And he didn’t pull it back.

Her skin warmed underneath his touch, and he let himself fall into her, not wanting to let go. As each bit of power left him, his muscles relaxed, weakening slowly. Most magic wielders stopped when strength left them and gave their bodies time to recover the magic.

But Phillip couldn’t.

Aurora released a puff of air and a groan soon followed it. Her body shifted, her hands reaching up to hold on to him.

“She’s waking up,” someone whispered. Phillip didn’t know who.

All he knew was he couldn’t stop. A tear leaked from his eye, dripping onto her cheek, as his chest crushed against hers. He no longer had the strength to hold himself up.

He felt it leaving him. Life.

Blackness crept in at the edge of his vision, and he gave into it surrounded by the soft cries of his family, with the feel of his wife returning his kiss for the first time in many years.

35

Aurora

Heat enveloped Aurora, snaking down under her skin, filling every part of her. Power. It seeped into every pore, drilling down into her very bones.

Warm lips pressed against hers, and her mind worked furiously. She could feel it. How could she feel it? For so long, she’d laid still, unable to react to the words she heard or feel his touch. Phillip.

Tears leaked from the corners of her still closed eyes, and she wanted to tell him to stop, to take his magic back, but the only thing she could do was kiss him back as her voice refused to come. Phillip, no. You can’t do this. Their son needed him. Wulfric. Aurora had heard his voice every day of her slumber, but she’d only imagined his face.

Phillip was the king of Bela. He couldn’t give that up to save her. Ric was too young to take over the Basile power, to wear the crown. She wanted different for her son even if it meant never once laying eyes on him.

One hundred years. She could have done it. She would have been happy to wake to learn Phillip and Ric had lived great lives and been happy. She’d have served La Dame and not regretted a moment she spent with the love of her life.

Phillip’s kiss fell away, his lips leaving hers ice cold in remembrance that he was no longer there. No. She tried to force her eyes open, to see him one final time before the light disappeared from his eyes. Why did you do it? She’d never have asked him to. She’d known her fate her entire life. It was her curse to bear.

“Father.” Ric’s tortured voice sliced through Aurora. “Father, wake up.”

“He can’t, Wulfric.” La Dame’s dark tone chilled the room. “He has drained himself of all power.”

“He’s dead?”

“Ric.” Aurora didn’t recognize the soft voice of the newcomer. “He knew what would happen. We all did.”

“I know. I just… my father is dead.”

Aurora’s eyes slid open slowly. Wulfric and a young woman kneeled over where Phillip’s body had slid from the bed to the floor. Aurora swallowed a sob, wishing she could see Phillip’s face. She didn’t take her eyes from the son she’d only seen in her dreams. She’d imagined him visiting her in her mind, but seeing him now was so much different. A mop of blond hair shielded his face from view. Broad shoulders hunched forward, trembling. He looked so much like his father that a sob broke past Aurora’s lips.

Every eye in the room jerked to her.

Ric jumped to his feet, his tall legs making him tower over the bed. He approached her as a man approached a predator, with caution and suspicion. Wiping a hand across his reddened eyes, he shook his head as if not quite believing what he saw.

La Dame clapped her hands together. “Well, isn’t this the reunion! It is wonderful to see you awake, my dear.”

Aurora scanned the room taking in the familiar and unfamiliar faces. Phillip’s mother, Alfred, and Chandler all looked like older versions of the people she’d met. Throughout the years of her slumber, she’d heard them support Phillip. Phillip had talked to her of their friendships and his mother’s gardens.

She’d held on to his voice, letting it get her through the darkness.

And now he was gone. Tears clouded her vision as she glanced at the two strangers in the room. A young man and woman hung back, sadness etched into their faces. She trusted them instantly because of their obvious fondness for Phillip.

The only one who didn’t look ready to fall apart was La Dame. Glee danced across her eyes. She pushed Ric back and stepped to the side of the bed. “The very first time I met Phillip Basile, I knew he’d be the one to break the curse.”

Why would she allow Aurora to wake? Aurora rethought everything she knew about La Dame, every interaction they’d had. What was the thing she wanted even more than Aurora at her side?

The end of the Basile power. The only power that could keep hers in check.

Aurora gathered all her strength to speak. “Wulfric.” Her voice rasped.

Ric stepped to her side, staring down into her eyes. “Mother,” he breathed. “I always wondered what your eyes looked like.”

They would have a chance to process the events at another time. First, she had to keep Bela from falling into La Dame’s hands. “Do you have the powers?” She tried to lift her head. “The…”

“Basile powers.” He looked down at his hands as if they betrayed him with a lack of magic. “No. If father…”

He didn’t need to finish that sentence. His father died, he drained himself of magic. It should have gone to his son.

Fear crept into her heart as La Dame’s smile grew.

Ric flicked his eyes from his mother to La Dame. “What’s going on?”

Aurora seemed to be the only one who noticed the young woman in the room crouching down beside Phillip. Aurora scrunched her brow and drew La Dame’s attention to herself. “You did it.”

“Did what?” Ric’s voice rose an octave.

“The Basile power is gone.”

La Dame laughed. “You were always a smart girl, Aurora. Everything is based on a theory. Facts do not exist in magic. Our theory was that True Love’s kiss would wake you. Another theory states the Basile power can only be passed through death.”

“But…” Ric’s voice trembled. “My father is dead.”

She nodded. “You’re right, boy. But the last thing he did was drain the Basile magic from him. He did not die with the power inside. He released it into the air where it dispersed, never to be fully grasped again.”

Ric fell onto the corner of the bed, his jaw dropping open. “That can’t be…”

La Dame shrugged. “Like I said—theories. You don’t feel any of the power, though, so that may be evidence enough.”

The words shot through Aurora. It was all because of her. Phillip not only gave his life to save her but his kingdom’s safety. He’d sacrificed everything. The Basile power protected Bela from the wrath of the other five kingdoms. It sustained them. Without it…

She tried to sit up, but there was little strength in her bones. She wanted to reach for her son’s hand, to comfort him in a way she didn’t deserve. He’d lost everything he loved because of her.

Muffled voices came from the back of the room, but she didn’t hear what anyone else said as her eyes fixed on the boy she’d always wanted to see. His eyes, a sparkling blue, spoke of intelligence and also kindness. She looked for herself in the curve of his cheeks, the arch of his nose, the dimple in his chin. But he was all Phillip.

Her eyes glassed over once more. Ric couldn’t seem to look at her, but he reached for her hand, folding it in his larger one.

La Dame flashed them one final smile. “I must be off to make preparations. Renauld, Rapunzel, and I will be leaving with the morning light.”

“Where will you go?” Aurora had to know. What came next? Without the Basile power, would Dracon march on Bela?

La Dame paused at the door. “It seems there is a Gaulean force near the border who should know Phillip Basile is no longer a threat.” She left the room, whistling as she went.

Dread sat like a cloak over the remaining people. The young man slipped out after La Dame.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora whispered.

Phillip’s mother looked up from her spot near her son’s lifeless form. “Dear, none of this is your fault.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “He… he shouldn’t have…”

It was only then she noticed there wasn’t a single dry eye in the room. Alfred and Chandler leaned on each other for support with a young boy between them. The queen mother stilled her trembling lips and approached the bed.

“My son loved you with his entire heart. For that, I can never be sorry. He chose this path. You did not ask this of him, and I know you never would.”

Aurora swallowed a sob. “Never.”

Tears flowed more freely down her face. “We will have time to mourn him and welcome you back properly, but right now we must fight for Bela.” She turned to Alfred and Chandler. “We must inform our troops that the Basile power is no longer an option. Gaule must still be dealt with. We have other powerful magic wielders that could be of use.”

Chandler nodded while Alfred gave Aurora a long indecipherable look before they ushered the young boy from the room.

The queen mother rested a hand on Ric’s head. “I’m going to give you some time, but then the kingdom will need you.” She looked to where Phillip still lay. “I’ll have someone collect him to prepare the body, but right now, I must help protect Bela. Later, I can mourn my son.”

She wiped her face and straightened her shoulders. She was still every bit the queen. Sucking in a breath, she stepped into the hall and closed the door.

The young woman Aurora didn’t know remained behind. She seemed to be listening for any other footsteps. When none sounded outside the door, she nodded to Ric.

Ric jumped from the bed and dropped to his knees at his father’s side.

Aurora struggled to push herself up. The blanket dropped from her chest revealing a silk sleeping gown of the best quality. “What are you doing?”

Ric lifted a tear-streaked face to her. “He isn’t dead.”

Three words. That was how her heart started beating again.

He isn’t dead. He isn’t dead. He isn’t dead.

She shook her head. No. It wasn’t possible. “Wulfric.”

“Just trust me.”

And she did. Before that day, she’d never looked into his eyes, but she’d known him. She remembered every word he’d spoken to her, believing she couldn’t hear him. He was her son, a part of her, a part of Phillip.

“I feel his pulse.” Triumph radiated from Ric’s words.

“How?” Aurora breathed.

The woman glanced up, kindness in her gaze. “I have healing magic.”

“You’re Draconian.” Aurora’s eyes widened. Why was this woman helping them?

“I’m La Dame’s daughter, Rapunzel.” A scowl marred her features at the mention of her mother. Before Aurora could react, she continued. “I told Ric of True Love’s kiss. That’s how we got to this point.”

Aurora wanted to hate her. She was the reason they were in this situation. But no… they’d said Phillip wasn’t dead, right?

“Get to the not dead part.”

Rapunzel nodded. “Unconsciousness overtook the king before he could expel the last bits of his power. As soon as he dropped to the ground, I went to him. The magic was seeping out, but I kept his heart beating long enough for his body to draw it back in. Ric didn’t inherit the power, not because it was gone, but because it doesn’t yet belong to him.”

Aurora tried to process the words in her sleep-addled mind. How was it that La Dame’s daughter found a way to wake her and save Phillip in the process?

“When… when will he wake?” It hit her then. Aurora would see Phillip again. She’d get to stare into the depths of his eyes, see his brilliant mind spinning. He’d once again argue with her and make love to her, sometimes one right after the other.

Sobs wracked her chest. She never thought it was possible.

“We need to get him off the floor.” Ric lifted Phillip by the shoulders.

Aurora scooted over to make room for him.

Wulfric lay him on the bed and all Aurora could do was stare. He was older now but still the same. His face relaxed in unconsciousness, he looked so at peace.

Rapunzel spoke, and it took a moment for Aurora to hear the words. “My healing magic uses the body’s own energy. He will wake eventually, but not until he’s ready.”

Ric grimaced. “If he doesn’t wake by the time La Dame leaves, he still won’t be of use against Gaule.” He paused. “Mo… Aurora, we will talk. I promise. But right now, Bela needs their prince. We will tell no one that he lives, not until Gaule is dealt with. Bela cannot rely on the Basile magic right now.” He gave her a lingering look before nodding and walking out the door.

Rapunzel followed him, leaving Aurora alone with the sleeping Phillip. She couldn’t help smiling at the irony of the situation. He’d spent so much time with her while she slept.

She reached out, her fingers tentative as she stroked them through his hair, down his cheek. She’d dreamed of touching Phillip again. Of exploring every part of him she’d missed. She scooted toward him, taking his arm to place it around her.

Laying her head on his chest, she tried to pretend as if the years hadn’t separated them, as if they were where they were always meant to be.

36

Phillip

Phillip had been okay with dying. He’d welcomed it if it meant Aurora got to live her life. He knew Bela would be fine. They’d have a new king who would wield the Basile power. Ric, his son. He may not have thought he was ready, but Phillip hadn’t been either when the crown was placed on his head.

What Phillip hadn’t expected was to ever feel the thump of his pulse pounding in his temples again—the splitting pain of a headache, or a bone-weary exhaustion from using too much magic.

Something heavy pressed down on his chest, and as he forced his eyes open, a head of golden hair came into view, the strands splayed across his shoulder.

His heart-rate kicked up. He was alive. How? True love’s kiss should have killed him. It should have taken all his magic and left him an empty shell.

But he felt it. The Basile power. It pooled beneath his skin, drawing all strength to the surface.

The head on his chest moved and mumbled words reached his ears.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Other than occasional groans, he hadn’t heard that voice in so long, too long. “Aurora,” he breathed.

She stilled for a moment, frozen in time, before tipping her head back to gaze up at him with the eyes he’d never forget. “You’re awake.” She sucked in a breath.

One side of his mouth curved up. “I could say the same thing to you.”

Her mouth opened again, but no words came.

He tightened his hold on her, relishing the way her body felt pressed against his. “Aurora.”

“Phillip.”

His mind turned rapidly as he slid his gaze over every part of her. She was real. She was awake. His Aurora.

“I heard everything,” she whispered, shimmying up so her face rose above his.

“Everything?”

“Every word said in this room for all these years.” She touched his face gingerly. “You’ve loved me every day.”

He nodded, swallowing.

“You almost died for me. Do you know what that makes you?”

“A handsome savior?” His lips quirked up.

She shook her head. A tear fell from her cheek onto his, and she wiped it away. “You’re an idiot, Phillip Basile.”

She kissed him before he could refute her words. Her lips moved over his, fitting like the final piece of an old puzzle, once lost and now complete. The broken parts of him fell back into place as tears fell freely down his face.

He kissed her cheeks, her nose, her hair, and finally her lips again. The years of loneliness, of missing her, drifted away until all he felt was a liberating relief. He’d have gladly given his life for her even if it meant never seeing her again. But this moment… he’d never been more thankful for anything.

True love’s kiss broke the curse, but he hadn’t needed to give his life for hers. Maybe he’d only needed to be willing to.

Sobs shook Aurora as she broke the kiss. Phillip pulled her against him, holding on as if she’d disappear if he left go. She buried her face in his tunic, her tears making the fabric stick to his skin.

“Aurora,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay now.”

She shook her head. “Nothing is okay.”

“What do you mean?”

She lifted her head to meet his stare. “You slept for two days after Rapunzel healed you. They couldn’t wait any longer once La Dame left with her daughter and the Durand boy.”

“What are you talking about? Where did they go?”

“The border fortress. La Dame’s plan was to neutralize the Basile power. If you’d released it all, Ric wouldn’t have inherited it.”

Phillip shook his head. That wasn’t possible, was it? There was so much he didn’t know about his own magic.

Aurora continued. “La Dame thinks you’re dead. She’s aiding the Gauleans in their push farther into Bela. Wulfric left to lead the army into battle against them, but the Gauleans will outnumber him three to one. The generals worry they’ll exhaust Bela’s magic long before the real fighting begins.”

“I have to go to them.” Phillip tried to sit up, but Aurora put a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re too weak.”

He shook his head. “Not for long.” Gathering his magic in his fingertips, he pushed it down his arms, through each limb. Little by little, his strength returned to him until he could finally sit up. Not a healing exactly, just a returning of strength.

“Phillip—” Aurora took hold of his arm.

He wanted to stay in that bed with her. To get to know her again. But his kingdom needed him. “You can’t stop me.”

“I know.” She pushed off the blankets. “But I’m coming with you.”

He wanted to argue. She’d only woken from her slumber two days before and he wanted to keep her safe, but if she was half the girl she used to be, arguing with her would be no use.

He climbed from the bed and pulled her up to stand beside him, suddenly self-conscious about how young she looked. She hadn’t aged a single day.

It wasn’t uncommon for men to marry younger women, but he feared he was too different from the youthful boy she remembered.

She reached up, smoothing the crease in his brow. “Are you worried about Wulfric?”

He nodded.

“He’s a good boy, Phillip, because of you.”

He shook his head and pressed his lips to the side of her head. “No, it’s because of him.” Inhaling her scent, he reached for the vase beside the bed, pulling the dead flower free.

Aurora took it from his hand. “I smelled these in my sleep.”

He kissed her hair again as the door opened and his mother froze. “Phillip.”

He offered her a soft smile. “Hi, Mother.”

She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Ric told me you were alive, and I didn’t quite believe it. Even after I felt your pulse for myself, I wasn’t sure you’d wake.”

Phillip stepped back. “We must join the army, Mother.”

“Yes.” Her eyes flicked between them.

Aurora slid her hand into Phillips. “I… um… need some clothes.”

Her eyes softened. “We kept everything of yours, dear. Come.”

They walked the familiar halls to Phillip’s room where a trunk sat filled with Aurora’s things. He’d been unable to look through it in the years she’d been gone.

His mother stopped at the doorway. “The army has over a day’s lead on you. You must leave right away. I will have someone prepare the horses and gather provisions.”

When she left, silence hung over the room. Aurora drifted around the small space as if remembering her too-short time there. She walked to the balcony doors and threw them open.

Images assaulted Phillip. He’d never forget holding her lifeless body out on that terrace.

He rushed forward and shut the doors.

She looked to him in surprise.

It hadn’t fully come to him yet that Aurora was there in front of him. He expected her to disappear at any moment, for her wide, innocent eyes to close for good this time.

He got his breathing under control and turned his back to pull his tunic over his head. He’d aged eighteen years while she hadn’t aged a day. There were scars and years’ worth of wear on his body.

As he quickly pulled on a new shirt and his leather armor, Aurora put a hand on his arm, forcing him to turn around. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m a man, Aurora. Beautiful isn’t the word.” One corner of his mouth tugged up.

She smiled, cutting through all his fears with the single act. “I choose my own words.” She pushed a hand up under his shirt, feeling the skin beneath.

He no longer had the physique of a twenty-year-old man.

“Every part of you is exactly how I imagined in my dreams.” She tapped a finger over his heart. “Time will try to tear us apart at every turn, but we won’t let it.”

Phillip pulled her into his arms. “Maybe now time can be on our side.”

She pressed her lips to his before spinning away from him to fish out a pair of trousers and tight fitting blouse from her trunk. She pulled the wrinkled fabric over her head before tying her hair back.

“Phillip?” Her smile faltered.

“Yeah?”

“I… if I’d have woken up many years from now when you were old and gray, I’d still love you. I need you to know that.”

He swallowed heavily, his heart jumping into his throat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wake you sooner.”

“You saved me. You don’t get to be sorry.”

Unable to find the words to respond, Phillip wiped a tear from his eye and handed her a sword belt.

Before they’d even gotten a proper reunion, the two of them were riding from the palace surrounded by guards, hoping they weren’t too late for the people of Bela. And their son.

37

Aurora

A lot changed in eighteen years, and at the same time, things remained the same. Aurora’s body remembered what to do as if she’d ridden a horse only yesterday. She didn’t ask about her old mule Lea because she knew it must have been many years since she died.

She didn’t ask about much of anything on the journey. Longing stares filled the awkward silences. Eventually, they’d have to face the fact that she’d returned, that they’d returned to each other. Aurora’s cheeks heated under Phillip’s intense gaze.

The years aged him. Gone was the youthful light of the prince she’d fallen in love with. He was a man who’d been through too much heartache in his life. She saw it in his eyes. He didn’t trust her presence, guarding his heart against the departure he thought inevitable.

Fine lines creased at the edges of his eyes and his hair, once spun with gold, had darkened. All softness was gone from his face, replaced with hard lines and a cut jaw.

But when she met his gaze, the boy she’d known stared back at her. When they stopped to rest, they lay together, afraid to let go.

Three days. It took three days to reach the rolling plateau before them. In the distance, the high walls of the border fortress stood stark against the dazzling blue of the winter sky. A dusting of snow covered the ground, leaving tracks in their wake. Smoke billowed in the sky over a battlefield.

“Look.” One of the guards pointed to a line of fire snaking through the tall grass. Magic. It had to be.

“We’re not too late.” Phillip breathed out a sigh and kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse. They crested a small hill. Down below, the Belaen army held siege to the great fortress. Gauleans lined the walls, sending volleys of arrows into the chaos below.

Soldiers screamed as boiling pitch fell from above.

A group of warriors huddled in the small shelter built over the battering ram as they slammed it into the gates again and again. They wouldn’t get inside. Phillip’s father fortified the walls to be impenetrable. Gaule only captured the fortress by drawing the Belaen garrison manning it out onto the battlefield.

But they wouldn’t fall for their own tricks.

A woman darted across the battlefield, her blond braid sailing out behind her. She bent over injured soldiers, laying hands on them before helping them to their feet, whole.

Rapunzel.

That had to mean Wulfric was near. Aurora couldn’t imagine the son she barely knew in such a fight. Screams reached her ears as another volley of arrows hit their intended targets. She pulled her sword free. She hadn’t woken from a cursed slumber just to watch her son die.

Without a second thought, she squeezed her thighs and gave the horse a swift kick. Phillip’s curses followed her and eventually his horse did as well. “Aurora,” he yelled. “You need to stay back from the battle.”

“Since when have I ever done what you’ve said, Phillip Basile?” She leaned forward, gripping the reins tightly.

“Bloody brilliant,” Phillip yelled. “Eighteen years and she hasn’t changed one damn bit.”

An arrow sailed for Aurora, but altered its course before making impact. She threw a thank you glance toward Phillip. He hadn’t gained the Basile powers until the day she fell into her slumber. But now he was the most powerful man in the world.

The thought had her grinning as she reached the rear of the Belaen forces and slid down. She walked without worry as Phillip’s shield protected her.

“We have to find Wulfric,” she yelled, searching for Rapunzel who she’d seen only moments ago.

Phillip gripped her arm to slow her, but she shook him off as she caught sight of Rapunzel helping a man with an arrow in his leg.

The Durand boy ran up to Rapunzel offering his aid. Where was La Dame? How had those two gotten away from her?

“Rapunzel.” Aurora knelt down at her side to hold the screaming man down.

Rapunzel’s eyes widened. “You’re here.” She lifted her eyes. “And the king.”

Renauld fell back, shaking his head as he stared at Phillip. “The king is dead.”

“No time, kid.” Aurora touched Rapunzel’s arm. “Where is my son?”

Her eyes shuttered. She yanked the arrow free and a moment later, the man was able to stand. Rapunzel brushed off her trousers and stood. “In the fortress.”

“What!” Phillip rushed forward. “What do you mean he’s in the fortress?”

“He went for good faith negotiations.”

Aurora snorted, trying to mask her fear. She skimmed the surrounding battle. Yeah, it looked like negotiations were working.

“You can’t negotiate with La Dame,” Phillip growled.

“Of course not.” Rapunzel moved to the next injured man. “But he can stall the Gauleans from marching out and slaughtering us all. As of right now, he’s told them you are dead, and he is the new king. My mother would have told them the Basile power is no more.”

Phillip tried to say something else, but Aurora stopped him. “He knew you’d come.”

Rapunzel nodded. “He didn’t know how long it would take you to recover, but he had faith in you, your Majesty.”

Rapunzel faced him once again. “Ric was smart. He demanded a trade. Him for me and Renauld—until he returned safely. My mother told me to disrupt the Belaen army in any way I can. And Renauld… she didn’t want him near enough the Gauleans that they could identify him. She assumes we are her greatest allies because we have not tried to escape... yet.”

“And you’re not?” Aurora needed to know if she could trust someone who shared La Dame’s blood. “You’re her daughter.”

Rapunzel stood to her full height and lifted her chin. “I don’t want to live in darkness. Not anymore.” She met Aurora’s gaze unblinkingly. “And I love your son.”

Detecting nothing false in her words, Aurora relaxed. She’d spent so long listening to Ric share all his secrets, his worries, with a comatose mother he assumed didn’t hear a single word. She probably knew him better than anyone in this world, and she’d protect him with everything she had.

Rapunzel seemed to sense Aurora’s acceptance of her words because she stepped closer. “The army’s magic is mostly exhausted.”

“But mine is not.” Phillip took off toward the gate.

38

Phillip

The structure covering the battering ram flared with fire. Soldiers poured out, screaming as the blaze licked up their skin. Phillip pulled water from the earth, drenching them as he ran by. He gathered his magic in his palms, letting it pulse and feed on his anger. La Dame had taken too much from him already. She would not have his son.

The power exploded out of him, slamming into the wooden gates. They splintered and blew apart, showering nearby soldiers in bits of wood. His chest heaved as he stood on the threshold, the dust clearing before him.

Gaulean soldiers gathered in the courtyard, preparing to face an oncoming force. But Phillip didn’t wait to see if his men followed him. He sent a wall of power at the foreign army, sucking the air from their lungs as it flung them back.

He pulled the magic back, not letting it kill them. A woman he loved once told him the Gauleans weren’t savages, that they had families to return to just as any Belaen. They didn’t deserve to be slaughtered in the name of La Dame. She brought them there, convinced them they wanted a piece of Bela—that they could win.

They didn’t know Gaule was always going to lose because their kingdom wasn’t part of the true game.

He blasted his way through paths of soldiers, slamming them into stone walls or into each other. They fell to the ground and did not rise.

A soldier ran at him and instead of using his power, Phillip ducked his blade, twisting the man’s arm until he dropped his weapon. The soldier screamed and Phillip twisted harder. “Where is the prince of Bela?”

“In. The. Hall,” the soldier bit out.

Phillip released him, shoving him forward and slamming his head into a wall. The soldier crumpled to the ground.

Ire rose inside Phillip, keeping his magic boiling on the surface. He gave in to his rage, taking it out on anyone who dared step in his way as he tried to get to his son. His control on the power slipped, but he kept going.

The door to the hall was barred shut. Phillip slammed his foot into it, using his magic as a battering ram to burst through. He stepped over the door fragments and stopped.

Sitting at a table along the far wall was Wulfric. He stood as soon as he saw his father, chains rattling around his ankles. Phillip ran toward him, taking in his son’s wild hair and the dark circles under his eyes. What had they done to him?

“Father.” Relief coated Ric’s features. “I knew you’d come.”

“Your mother is here too.”

Tears welled in Ric’s eyes and he nodded. “Both of you. Here. Together.” His eyes widened. “We have to go before—”

“Before what, Wulfric?” La Dame’s voice reached them from the other end of the hall.

Phillip refused to turn as his magic begged for release. It swirled in him, a living, sentient thing. It wanted to ravage, to destroy this woman who’d hurt so many. But he didn’t know how. He knew, without a doubt, he wasn’t strong enough to overcome her power. The wielder had to have more rage than Phillip possessed, more darkness inside of them to amplify the magic.

He couldn’t risk dying in the attempt. Or worse, becoming something he couldn’t come back from.

But maybe, just maybe he could keep Bela safe from her, anyway.

He turned on his heel.

La Dame’s jaw went slack when she recognized him, but she quickly covered up her surprise as she jerked her eyes to the door. Sounds of fighting drifted in. The Belaen army was inside the fortress.

Aurora came running in, Rapunzel on her heels.

“Well.” La Dame smirked. “Isn’t this quite the reunion?” She flipped her palm facing out, and the chains around Ric’s ankles disappeared. She pushed her hand forward and his body lifted from the chair.

Ric’s scream cut off as the air left his lungs and he slammed into the stone wall.

Rage ripped through Phillip and tried to hold onto the feeling. It screamed for release, and he dropped his control, letting it shoot out of him like a spear aimed directly for La Dame.

She only laughed as she waved it away and sent her own power rolling toward him. He molded his magic into a shield, extending it to cover Aurora as well.

“Did Aurora tell you how it felt to fall into her slumber?” La Dame stepped toward him.

He stepped back, refusing to answer her as their magic battled. He gritted his teeth, trying to infuse more strength into it.

La Dame seemed to be using little effort. “No, she wouldn’t have. Peace. That’s what you ripped her from. Aurora lived in wonderful dreams, never having to experience the strife of life in a kingdom that was constantly at war.” Her eyes flicked to a frozen Aurora. “It was a relief, wasn’t it dear? After the hard life you’d lived, you wanted it all to go away. And meeting your handsome prince only added to your suffering.”

Phillip’s power weakened as he too turned to Aurora. All these years, life without her caused him more pain than anyone should have to experience. She’d been right in front of him, yet so far away.

But to Aurora… that sleep was an escape?

“Phillip,” Aurora cried.

La Dame lifted a chair into the air without touching it and hurled it his way. He ducked, and the wood broke apart when it slammed into the wall.

Whatever the sleep meant to Aurora, she was awake now. And La Dame would not take anything more from him.

“What do you want?” It was the question he’d wanted to ask her for so long. What was the sorceress’ goal? Why did she allow Aurora to wake? She wanted Bela destroyed, but how? Now that she knew he still lived, was her plan ruined? No, she had to have other options.

La Dame’s lip curled. “What do I want? For Bela to burn to the ground.”

“Why?” He glanced from Wulfric to Aurora. They were the royal family of Bela. Destroy them, and it would destroy the kingdom. Then it hit him. The Basile power. Before she could answer him, he spoke again. “You’re afraid of the Basiles.” He advanced toward her, never dropping his magic shield. Light sparked in his eyes. “We’re the only ones who can defeat you.”

He pulsed his power out toward her, weakening her defenses.

“Your power is mine,” she growled. “The Basile power and the dark power of Dracon are two parts of a whole.”

His eyes widened. “You think you can take it back?” Two parts of the same? Dark power curled in his gut, dangerous. He’d always felt the edges of evil in his own magic, but hers? La Dame’s was bathed in tar.

“You feel it,” she said. “The anger. The hatred. The Basiles aren’t the heroes of Bela’s story. How does it feel to be just another villain?” She smirked. “I was looking forward to Aurora’s service when she woke from her slumber. Her entire life, I watched her, knowing she’d one day be mine. But then she fell in love with the prince and I saw an opportunity, biding my time until you decided her life was worth more than your kingdom.”

“Father,” Ric rasped, gasping for breath. “Father, it’s okay to let the magic overpower you. To lose control. I have faith in you.”

His entire life, he’d been taught to gain a tight grip of magic, that it was never allowed to control you. But it had a mind of its own. When Ric allowed his to take charge, it led them to Rapunzel. Maybe it had the same goals as he did. Save Bela. Protect his family.

His pulse hammered in his ears as he lost himself in the current, dipping his head below the surface until he couldn’t see anything anymore.

Darkness clouded his vision, and he’d never felt more powerful. His feet moved of their own accord as he advanced. Magic seeped out of his fingertips as he raised a hand, throwing La Dame into the air.

She screamed as her body twisted. He batted away each wave of power she sent toward him as if he’d always known what to do. The black faded from his vision and he saw the scene before him. La Dame slammed into the ground, her body twisted at odd angles.

He saw her healing herself before his very eyes.

Rapunzel gasped, her eyes widening as she flicked them from her mother to Phillip.

His chest heaved from the exertion, but he wasn’t finished. He walked forward until he stood above her, searing his magic down into her flesh. Burns spread across her skin as she screamed.

“Rapunzel,” she yelled. “Help me.”

Rapunzel dropped down beside her mother. Phillip pulled his power back.

The blond girl peered up at him, indecision warring in her eyes. “If you kill her, your magic leaves with hers.” Apology flashed across her face.

Phillip’s mind cleared as he regained control and heard her words.

Rapunzel wasn’t finished. “Her dark magic balances your light magic. It’s what she has always taught me—probably to show how superior she was. If you’d died, she could have taken your magic into herself, but that much power in one person would tear out everything they were. If you take hers, you will no longer be the beloved king of Bela, but something darker.”

Aurora moved to his side. “And if he doesn’t take the power? If he just lets it disappear with her death?” She turned to Phillip. “Do you really need the power if she’s gone?”

He looked to her. His sleeping beauty stood by him, her eyes open. It was as if he was seeing everything for the first time. What he’d almost given up for her. His kingdom would have crumbled into ash if La Dame had gained the Basile power. But he couldn’t truthfully tell himself he wouldn’t do it again.

He listened to the sounds of the fight dying outside the room. The door crashed open, and Alfred barreled through with Chandler and Renauld at his back, their swords raised. They stilled as they took in the view before them.

Wulfric slumped forward, La Dame’s magic released him from the wall as she weakened and healed herself. Soon, she’d be strong enough to take everything from them again.

Yet, he couldn’t give up his magic. Maybe it was selfishness. Maybe it was a knowledge that Bela would be vulnerable should the Basile power no longer be able to protect them. La Dame wasn’t the only evil in the world.

He scanned the faces of the people he loved before meeting Rapunzel’s eyes again. “She will live. This time.” He turned to his family. “I can’t.”

“Rapunzel,” La Dame rasped.

Phillip froze, turning back on his heel. Rapunzel rested a hand on her mother’s chest. At first, Phillip thought she was helping her heal more quickly, but then he saw it. The remaining color drained from the sorceress’ face.

“Please,” La Dame pleaded.

“What are you doing?” Phillip stepped forward to stop her. La Dame couldn’t die.

Rapunzel didn’t take her eyes from her mother’s face. “I’m preventing her from healing herself.” She clenched her jaw and stared into La Dame’s glassy eyes. “I will let you live, Mother, but it will come at a cost.” She pushed out a breath. “My freedom and Renauld’s. We will no longer be under your control.”

La Dame coughed. “They’ve corrupted you. The Basiles.” She turned her head as much as she could to look at Phillip. “You would steal my daughter?”

For the first time, Phillip saw La Dame for what she truly was. Alone. Her blackened heart didn’t have the capacity for love. If it did, her own daughter wouldn’t threaten her life in order to leave her.

He’d never expected to pity the sorceress.

“I have stolen nothing,” he said.

Her gaze landed on Ric who now stood behind Rapunzel as if providing her strength. She closed her eyes, agony twisting her features. “You will pay for this, Basile. For many generations, you will suffer for taking my daughter from me.” She sighed, the sound rattling in her chest. “I will give you your freedom, Rapunzel. For my life.”

“If you come for her,” Phillip growled. “I will use the full might of the Basile power to protect her. She is no longer your child. She is mine.” Knowing Ric, he assumed she soon would be. “You will leave this place. You will leave us in peace. We do not wish to fight any longer.”

La Dame nodded shortly. “I will not fight you this day, but this is not the end, Phillip Basile. One day, I will destroy you, and your kingdom will fade into nothing. No one will remember you. They will only know an empty land full of ghosts.”

Phillip was too exhausted to deal with her any longer. He fully believed she’d live by her word and leave Bela behind. At least for now. His shoulders slumped, and he could barely hold himself up any longer after using so much power.

Aurora grabbed his wrist and looped one of his arms over her shoulders and Ric did the same with the other. The three of them hobbled from the room as Rapunzel finished healing her mother. The sorceress would be too weak from the healing to cause any more trouble before she left.

Out in the courtyard, Belaens recovered from their fight. Gaulean prisoners sat along the outer rim, guarded by their enemies. Phillip wouldn’t harm them. Not this time. He planned to send them home to their families.

Blood ran between the stones. It would be a long time before the fortress was worthy of use again. They’d build a new gate, a stronger one.

Aurora tightened her arm around Phillip’s waist. He struggled to keep his eyes open.

Outside the fortress, his army began setting up camp, keeping some distance from the bloodstained battlefield. They’d lost too many warriors, too many fathers and sons and brothers; too many mothers, daughters, and sisters. Many would mourn in Bela in the coming weeks.

Alfred and Chandler appeared behind them. “She’s gone,” Alfred said. “Just like that.”

Phillip sighed. “That’s good.”

“We thought you were dead.” Chandler stepped around them to face Phillip. “You died in front of us.”

Alfred scratched the back of his neck. “When I saw you in the hall, I thought it was a ghost. Like maybe I was only seeing what I wanted to see.”

Phillip shook his head. “I… I’m here.” That statement sank into him, causing his knees to buckle. He was there, alive. Aurora was awake. They were together with their son. Every emotion he’d held back because of the imminent danger to Bela hit him in full force. He sucked in a shaking breath. “It’s over.”

Aurora stumbled forward from the weight of him. Alfred and Chandler took him from Aurora and Ric. He almost protested, but they walked swiftly toward the camp. He needed to rest before he completely fell apart.

He relied on his magic to strengthen him, but he’d used so much it was no use. Soldiers cheered as they arrived, but the joy held a note of sadness. They’d all lost friends in another senseless battle with Gaule. Many Belaens lost their lives in this feud between the Basiles and the Durands.

Alfred and Chandler led him into a tent and lowered him to a bedroll. He sighed as his body relaxed.

They looked to each other and then to Aurora. “We’re going to go help claim our dead.”

Phillip nodded. Each slain soldier of Bela was returned to their families. Phillip’s father had always been adamant about not letting go of civility in war, of never seeing his soldiers as unknown faces to throw against foreign walls. They each had worth.

Aurora dropped onto the bedroll facing him, but did not touch him.

“Where’s Ric?” he asked.

“He went to Rapunzel.”

Phillip smiled. “Good. That’s good.” Another moment passed before he let his exhaustion win, slipping into a soundless sleep.

39

Aurora

Aurora didn’t sleep. After having her eyes closed for eighteen years, she didn’t want to let the darkness in again so soon. The sounds of the camp faded away as night took over. Only the soft chatter of night guards reached her ears. Wulfric checked on his father, staying for a few minutes of awkwardness before returning to Rapunzel. The Durand prince stayed with them rather than returning to his own kingdom and his family.

Aurora heard stories of his cruel father and even crueler brothers.

Alfred and Chandler checked in as well, but no one stayed when they realized Phillip had yet to wake. Only Aurora watched him, noting the soft smile on his lips as he slept. What did he dream of?

In her deep slumber, she’d often imagined him with her, dreaming of a future she’d longed for but never thought they’d have.

With the battle looming, neither of them processed what her return meant. Phillip had a life now. Would she even fit into it? He was the king of Bela, and she was still a nobody who’d lived alone in the forest.

“I can hear you thinking all the way over here.” He didn’t open his eyes.

His voice sent warmth rushing through her. It had been a constant presence in her slumber. “Not thinking,” she breathed. “Just watching you.”

“Aurora, you forget that I know you.” He finally looked at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “But you don’t. Not really. We barely knew each other before I fell into the curse, and that was a long time ago.”

He pushed himself up, his muscles straining from the effort. “I know you.”

She lowered her gaze to her hands, tears threatening to fall. “I wasn’t worth you sacrificing yourself.” She’d wanted to say the words since waking up to find him unconscious and almost dead.

He scooted from the bedroll and raised up on his knees in front of her. “Aurora, look at me.”

She shook her head, golden strands falling in front of her face.

He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “I have spent the last eighteen years in a constant state of suspension, never moving forward, always standing still. I mourned you though you were not dead. Everywhere I went, I looked for your face as if you’d be there smiling at me. I questioned my every decision, imagining they were your words arguing with me.”

She started to say something, but he held up a hand, cutting her off.

“Aurora Rose, you’re my sun, my moon, and the stars by which I guide myself. You wonder if you were worth it? I’d do it again, giving you every piece of me until there was nothing left. There is darkness in my magic. I know that now. But you, you are pure light.” He took her hands in his. “I need you, because without you, I am not whole. For eighteen years, there has been a chasm inside me, widening with each moment you didn’t open your eyes.”

Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t wipe them away. There are moments in life when everything falls into place. When it’s time to stop questioning fate and grab hold of it with two hands. The parts of her that broke apart with the deaths of her parents, her grandmother’s demise, and with the impending curse found their way together again, healing as if by magic. Around them, flowers sprouted from the grassy floor, pulled forth by the joy in her power.

And before her, Phillip waited, his shoulders tense.

Aurora leaned forward, pulling him into a soft kiss. She parted her lips, letting his tongue brush against hers.

He growled and hauled her into his lap as he kissed her more forcefully. Aurora pushed her hands through his hair, skimming them down over his neck, his back.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw an injured soldier in the woods.” She pulled back, cupping his cheeks. “Your voice kept me from falling into the dark void of my slumber. It called to me. Every word. I never thought I’d ever get to kiss you again, to see your smile or relax into your arms, but I dreamed of it. I dreamed of you. You’re my dream come true, Phillip. And I’m scared. My entire life, I’ve prepared to lose everything when the curse came for me. Now, it’s gone and here I am, still terrified of losing.”

“You won’t lose me.”

She ran her thumb over his bottom lip. “I know.” She leaned her forehead against his. “You and I… we finally have a chance. No more curses.”

“No more curses.” He kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Just us.”

“Just us.” He kissed the other corner.

“And Bela. We’ll keep our kingdom safe.”

He smiled. “Yes. And Bela. They have a queen now.”

She sucked in a breath. She’d never wanted to be a queen, but she fell in love with a man destined to be a great king. “Queen.”

“I’d say that’s an upgrade from sleeping beauty.”

“Definite upgrade.” When she kissed him this time, she never wanted it to end.

He skimmed his teeth against her bottom lip, consuming her, loving her.

Aurora hadn’t had a family in a long time. Now she had Phillip and Wulfric.

No longer the sleeping beauty of Bela, Aurora Rose Brynhild Basile had everything she’d never known to hope for.

40

Ric

Wulfric should have felt guilty sitting outside his parents’ tent listening to their conversation, but he didn’t. A smile etched across his face. He ignored the guard looking at him strangely and sat back on his heels.

His father had always been his person, his best friend, but even as a boy, Ric knew the pain he lived with. He’d never imagined they could wake his mother.

And it was all because of Rapunzel. A part of him wondered if that was the reason he felt drawn to the woman, but a larger part knew there was so much more to their story.

Rapunzel had invaded his mind, his dreams, long before his heart. She was stronger than anyone he knew besides perhaps his mother.

The two women showed many similarities. Both lived much of their lives under La Dame’s control.

In the coming days. Wulfric looked forward to getting to know his mother, but she had his father tonight. Rapunzel had no one. Even Renauld kept his distance, lost in his own pain.

Ric got to his feet and walked across the quiet camp to where Rapunzel slept under the stars. She’d refused a tent, wanting to watch the world, she’d claimed.

She lay with her head against a log, her eyes fixed on the dazzling sky above. He lowered himself beside her.

“We saw the same constellations in Dracon,” she said, her voice soft. “Isn’t that strange? All those years in that place looking up at the same sky as you, and yet never knowing the taste of freedom.”

Wulfric remained quiet as he let her speak.

Her chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm as she sighed. “Do you want to know something wrong? What am I saying? Of course, you don’t want to hear this. But I need to say it, anyway.” She breathed in deeply as if looking for strength. “There’s this guilt inside of me. It isn’t right, but I can’t get rid of it. I threatened my own mother’s life today, and then I abandoned her.”

“Rapunzel—”

“No, please. I just need to speak. You and your father would do anything to protect your mother. I saw that as soon as I told you how to break the curse. I wish I had that. I wish I loved the woman who raised me.” Her eyes glassed over.

Wulfric reached out and intertwined his fingers with his. “So, you feel guilty because you don’t feel guilty?”

A smile curved her lips. “Yes.”

He slid down, lying beside her with their sides touching. Never once did he let go of her hand. “I won’t pretend I know what it’s like not to have family. I’ve always had my father.”

“And even your mother. She may have been under the curse your entire life, but you could still love her. You knew she was a good person, someone to respect and revere.”

He’d never considered himself lucky for his circumstances. To him, he’d always been missing something essential in his life.

He squeezed her hand.

“Have you had any dreams recently?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. When his magic wanted him to find her, it sent the dreams frequently. Since then, it reverted back to the way it was before, just an occasional annoyance, no real power. “No.” He sighed.

She rolled onto her side to face him. “I believe in you, Wulfric. You may feel as if your power has no use, but we never know what magic wants from us. It is not ours to own. Sometimes, it is the soul, not the magic, that makes the man.”

He dropped his hand onto the curve of her waist, running it along her side. Wide, gray eyes watched him.

“You’re not alone, Rapunzel.” He lifted his hand to push her hair back, his eyes darting to her lips. “You deserve more than a cruel mother.” He skimmed his fingers along the curve of her jaw. “Let us be your family. My parents. My grandmother. Alfred. Chandler. Travis… Me. Our family is sometimes broken. We aren’t perfect. But we love each other. Let us love you too.”

“What are you saying?” she breathed.

He leaned forward so his lips hovered over hers. “Marry me.” Before she could respond, he claimed her lips, vowing to never let them go. She moaned into the kiss, allowing him to take control, to love her the way she deserved.

He’d known she was special since the first time he’d seen her in his dreams. But it was more than that.

His mother’s words to his father only moments ago wound through his mind.

I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw an injured soldier in the woods. Your voice kept me from falling into the dark void of my slumber. It called to me. Every word. I never thought I’d ever get to kiss you again, to see your smile or relax into your arms, but I dreamed of it. I dreamed of you. You’re my dream come true, Phillip.

He’d loved Rapunzel since the first time he saw her. Ric never imagined finding the girl in his dreams or having her love him the same way. His parents loved with an intensity he envied. He watched his father for years, never pitying him for what he’d lost, but only amazed that someone could feel so deeply.

But now he understood.

He felt it too.

He pulled away. “I don’t know what the future has in store for us. It’ll probably be hard, but I want you by my side.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek. “My mother isn’t going to stop, Wulfric. I don’t know what she’ll do, which curse she’ll use, but I want this. I want you. I want to be a part of your family, to be loved the way you all love each other.” She smiled despite the tears rolling down her face.

Wulfric kissed her again, not gentle this time. He wanted her to know he was hers forever. That she’d never be alone again.

“Is that a yes?” The day had been filled with horrors and death and so much fear, but this, right here, made it all fade into the past.

Rapunzel nodded, and the future grew brighter. Wulfric Brynhild Basile’s dreams led him to this point. He’d hated his magic since he was a kid bullied by the other palace children for his lack of abilities. But now he understood. It had a power none of them could see. He’d seen what his future could hold, and he held onto it with both hands, knowing if he let go, it would be the greatest mistake of his life.

He loved Rapunzel as his father loved his mother. Completely. Wholly. Irreparably. And there was no going back.

41

La Dame

Unadulterated rage. Complete and utter vengeance.

La Dame knew no other feeling since the Basiles of Bela stole her daughter. They twisted her mind, ripping her from the very woman who raised her.

It wasn’t Rapunzel’s fault. Phillip Basile and that son of his were tricksters, bewitching their followers with the false light of their magic. What would the citizens of Bela do if they knew their king’s power originated in darkness? If they saw the anger burning in his eyes?

She’d seen who he truly was. Aurora was meant to be at her side. La Dame gave that up in hopes Phillip would drain the last of his power, killing himself and leaving Bela vulnerable. His power would then latch onto hers, intertwining its unbreakable embrace.

Only, true love’s kiss didn’t kill him. He was too strong. She should have seen it coming. He’d let the power control him, gaining ground on hers.

He’d beaten her.

Taken her only child.

She paced the length of the cavernous room beneath her palace. She kept her most prized possessions locked in the space. The door to the cell she’d occasionally kept Rapunzel in stood open, abandoned. Renauld’s was just as empty.

What did a Basile king want with a supposedly dead Durand prince?

She shook her head, ridding it of the questions. She had to do something, to take her revenge. Her steps echoed across the stone floor, the sound reverberating along the arched ceilings. Cases of stolen and precious items sat along the far wall. Jewels. Ancient weapons. Relics. One day, she’d have the crown of Bela in this vault. She’d tumble that kingdom from the very cliffs it sat on.

“A curse,” she whispered, eyeing Renauld’s empty cell.

The Durand prince came from a cruel family. His father and brothers hated nothing more than the Basiles. A smile slid across her thin lips. She pushed her hair over one shoulder and pulled every last bit of her magic to the surface of her skin.

Using magic against others sated her need for anger. But crafting curses was an art that filled her with joy. None other than her knew the true consequences until long after.

She lifted the bottom of her crimson dress and kneeled on the stone, letting her entire body relax into the rhythm of her power. She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth as she molded the magic.

When she spoke, it was only to herself. “The first son or daughter of Basile will be connected to the first of the Durands in each generation. Their lives will intertwine; their very souls will not be whole without the other. Enemies serving enemies. Basile serving Durand. The cursed will be limited and forced into their role. Let it be said that the Basiles destroyed their own kingdom for selfishness.” They could have avoided such a curse. Aurora didn’t have to wake. Rapunzel wasn’t theirs to keep.

As her magic swirled, obeying her commands, La Dame opened her eyes, wondering if she’d just changed the world forever.

Gaule and Bela would now be connected for as long as Bela lived, for as long as Basile descendants were born.

She stood, straightening her dress. Now, all she had to do was wait for their destruction.

For La Dame never aged. She couldn’t die. She would have the pleasure of watching everything she’d done play out.

And it would be glorious.

42

Aurora

Aurora stood atop the palace walls watching life happen below her. Wulfric and Rapunzel married two months before. They stood amidst the flowers in the queen mother’s gardens and pledged to love each other forever.

Each moment Aurora spent with her son was another that reminded her of what she’d never thought she’d have. He was an easy man to love, open, honest, and good. Just like his father.

Arms wound around her waist from behind, and Phillip rested his chin on her shoulder. Being the wife of Phillip Basile was like a new adventure every day. He reveled in showing her how much he loved her, and she tried to do the same for him. But she knew nothing could match the power of what she truly felt.

“Renauld is leaving soon,” he whispered. “We’re wanted in the courtyard.”

Word reached them of the death of the Gaulean king days ago. Aurora was proud of Renauld as he planned to return home and claim the crown for himself. She didn’t know how his brothers would react. Most likely, he’d end up living as an outlaw within Gaule, but he’d rightfully claimed he couldn’t just abandon his kingdom.

Aurora sighed and followed Phillip down the steps. In the courtyard, Renauld faced off against Rapunzel. Each held a wooden practice sword aloft.

“One last spar.” Rapunzel grinned.

She’d only returned to the palace with Ric the day before after some time away, but they’d spoken of their sparring matches within the palace of Dracon.

They shared the kind of history no one should have to experience. It bonded them.

Renauld gave her a short bow before circling her. He lunged forward, and she twisted out of the way, ducking his sword in the process. A laugh burst out of her.

Aurora liked her son’s new wife. Without the threat of La Dame hanging over her, she radiated joy. In her slumber, when Aurora heard the words spoken in her room, she couldn’t remember hearing any laughter. She got the distinct impression it had been missing from the palace for a long time.

Phillip’s mother sidled up to her. “Aurora.” She smiled, kind eyes sparkling.

“Come to say goodbye to Renauld?”

The queen mother nodded. “He is our hope for peace with Gaule.” Her brow creased. “At least for a while. We’ve had peace before, but it never seems to last beyond a single king. The Basiles and Durands are fated to be at odds, I’m afraid.”

Aurora took in her words, hoping there was no truth in them.

Rapunzel ran forward, bringing her practice sword down across Renauld’s back. A scream pierced the air, but it didn’t come from Renauld.

Wulfric’s knees buckled. He rubbed the area of his back where Renauld was struck. Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “Ric, what’s wrong?”

“I…” He pushed out a breath. “Nothing.”

“Rapunzel.” Renauld met her eyes in silent communication. “Hit me again.”

Rapunzel didn’t hesitate. She slammed her closed fist into his stomach.

Wulfric bent over, holding an arm across his front. “Ugh, that hurt.”

“Again, Rapunzel.” Renauld braced himself.

She slapped him across the face with the back of her hand.

Wulfric rubbed his face.

Rapunzel ran to him, shaking her head violently. “No. No. No.”

“What?” he wheezed.

Renauld joined them. “A curse. It has to be.”

“But what does it mean?” She asked. “I’ve never seen a curse where a person feels another’s pain.”

Renauld only lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

Phillip gripped Renauld’s arm. “More reason for you to leave. We need to get you far away from Wulfric if he is indeed tied to you. Distance may be the answer.”

Renauld nodded shortly as a stable boy led his horse forward. His few belongings hung in the saddlebags. He gave Rapunzel and Ric one final look before climbing on. “Thank you, all of you, for what you’ve done. I will not forget the generosity of the Basiles.” He kicked his heels into the horse and thundered through the gates followed by the guards Phillip had provided him.

Wulfric dropped to his knees, a cry dead on his lips as he clutched his chest. “Father, it hurts.”

Aurora watched helplessly as Rapunzel tried to heal Ric, only able to easy some of his suffering. She’d use her power and within half an hour, he’d be screaming in agony again. Eventually, he fell unconscious, not making another sound.

And Aurora couldn’t do a damned thing about it. She couldn’t help her son. Not even Phillip with all of his power found a way to help.

All they could do was watch him writhe in pain.

* * *

Rapunzel came to Aurora after two weeks of Ric groaning and screaming in his sleep. “He’s not getting better.” She plunked down into the chair beside Aurora. “We’ve received word of Renauld’s arrival in Gaule. He has taken the throne. One of his brothers challenged him to a fight, but Renauld won despite reports of his illness.” She bit her lip. “He writes of pain not unlike Ric’s.”

Aurora nodded, but Rapunzel’s next words chilled her to the bone.

“We have to go to him.”

“To the king of Gaule?” Aurora shook her head. “No.” She’d worried it would come to this. They all saw what was happening to Ric.

Rapunzel reached forward, taking Aurora’s hand in hers. “You saw as much as I did. The sparring with Renauld. What happened as he left. It’s one of my mother’s curses. It has to be. Ric and Renauld are connected.”

Aurora didn’t want to believe the words. Her father had been selfish in dealing with La Dame to save her mother. It stole much of Aurora’s life. Phillip had some of that selfishness, willing to risk anything to wake her. He hadn’t made a deal with the sorceress, but he’d angered her.

And then Rapunzel decided to stay, her own daughter.

It was enough to drive anyone mad.

“She’s taking my son,” Aurora whispered. Just like Aurora took her daughter.

Phillip walked toward them, pain etched into the lines of his face. He looked from Rapunzel to Aurora. “Wulfric told me your decision.” He dropped into a chair at the table and put his head in his hands. “My son is going to serve my enemy.”

Rapunzel’s eyes softened. “Renauld won’t make him serve him.”

“They’re connected,” Aurora started. “When Renauld felt pain, Ric felt it too. Do you think…”

“Their lives are connected as well,” Phillip finished. “La Dame is nothing if not cruel.”

Rapunzel stood. “Ric cannot live like this much longer. We leave tomorrow.”

As she walked away, Aurora moved to sit in Phillip’s lap and clung to him. She never thought by gaining her life she’d lose her son.

As the sun rose the next morning, a wagon left the palace surrounded by trusted guards. Chandler and Alfred would only go so far as the border. Travis ran after them, screaming Ric’s name. The boy didn’t yet understand. Then again, neither did Aurora or Phillip.

This time, she didn’t cry. She held her head high as the people of Bela watched their prince leave, his life no longer his own.

It was then she realized, La Dame won. She would always win.

For Aurora and Phillip there would be no happy ending.

Epilogue

Two-hundred years later

Persinette Basile had never been in charge of her own life. That was what her father was telling her.

“Do you understand, Etta?”

How could she understand? She was a kid and only days ago her mother was murdered by the very people hunting them now. Magic. The life force inside her was newly illegal in Gaule. For most of her life, the descendants of Bela lived in peace in Gaule. Their kingdom was long destroyed, but the magic lived on.

Then the purge came. The king of Gaule outlawed magic and hunted down all those carrying its power. Her father, Viktor Basile, had once been his greatest friend, crafting wards around Gaule to keep those with magic in or out. Really, he just wanted to keep one magic-wielder out. La Dame. The villain from stories Etta was never supposed to hear.

She snapped her attention back to her father. “What?”

He sighed, stilling his hands on the log he’d been cutting. He worked tirelessly building a home for them, but it would never be home without her mother.

Her father fixed her with a stern stare. “Child, the curse will fall to you on your eighteenth birthday.” He shook his head. “Not even I can save you from it. Your life will be connected to that of the young Durand prince.”

“Alex?” She didn’t see what was so wrong about that. He’d been her friend since she was small.

“He’s no longer your friend,” her father growled. “The Durands are enemies of the Basiles. I lost sight of that and now look at us? Forced to hide in the woods near the palace. Even being this far causes me unimaginable pain.” His lips drew down.

She’d seen the fog of pain in her father’s eyes but didn’t understand what it meant. “Can we leave? Find a far corner of the kingdom.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t hear a word I said. I cannot go far from the king. As the first of a Basile generation, I am tied to my counterpart in the Durand family. One day, you will need to find a way to stay close to Alexandre.”

“That’s easy.” She shrugged. “He likes me.”

Her father slammed his fist down on the log. “Hear me, daughter.” His voice held a dangerous tone. “When you one day return to the palace, Alexandre Durand will not be your friend. Remember that always. You will be drawn to him, but that is only La Dame’s magic. Now go to the river and fetch us some water. You’ve learned enough family history for one day.”

Family history, Etta scoffed as she swiped the wooden pail from the ground and walked in the direction of the river they’d found the day before. They weren’t the only magic wielders who’d escaped the purge among the trees. Her father had warding magic. He’d crafted wards to hide them from the rest of Gaule.

Etta knew little of her family. As far as she knew, it was now only her and her father left of the Basile line. They were descended from the royal line of the ancient kingdom of Bela. Bela was now only a vacant land.

She laughed at the image of her as a princess. Etta preferred running through dank tunnels under the palace, scraped knees and all, to sitting down to tea with the queen as her mother once made her do. She’d rather be covered in dirt than tiaras. It didn’t help that the princess of Gaule was such a brat.

No, Etta was meant to be nothing more than a common girl.

She reached the river only to find she wasn’t alone. A beautiful speckled horse dipped its head to drink.

“Hello.” She set the bucket down, scanning the surroundings for any sight of saddle or rider. There was none. A smile split her lips. “Are you out here alone?”

The horse lifted its head as if it understood her words. Brown eyes bore into hers, seeing right into her soul. It took a step toward her.

“Are you a boy or a girl?” she asked. “Silly question. I’m going to call you a boy because I don’t get along with girls so well.” She flashed him another smile and bent to fill her bucket.

Before she knew what was happening, a nose nudged her forward. She lost balance, her arms flapping wildly as she soared toward the water and hit it with a splash.

She sputtered, getting her feet under her in the shallow water. Standing, the water dripped from her clothes. She crossed her arms. “That wasn’t nice at all. What if I drowned, you big oaf? I can’t die. Apparently I have to fulfill some stupid ancient curse.”

Tears came unbidden to her eyes as she climbed the bank and sat with her back hunched. Sobs burst out of her, and she couldn’t stop them. Etta wasn’t a crier. She may be a kid, but she was tough.

Yet, as her father’s revelations rolled through her mind, she couldn’t help but feel her emotions slip beyond her control.

Alex apparently wasn’t her friend, yet she’d spent most of her life at his side. How was she supposed to return to the palace where her mother was killed?

Every emotion she’d suppressed since finding her mother rose to the surface. It wasn’t until she felt the same nose that had pushed her into the water nudging the side of her head that she let herself breathe.

She reached out without hesitation, just needing a friend as she curled her fingers into the horse’s matted mane. No one had been taking care of him. That much was evident. Maybe they needed each other.

She met his understanding gaze. Had he lost as much as her? He rubbed his long nose along her cheek, and she finally calmed. “You need a friend too, huh?” She shook her head. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I’m cursed, see, not in control of my own destiny.”

She wiped her face and stood, turning to face him. “I’m going to call you Vérité. Truth. Because, friend, that’s what today has become about. Truths my family hid from me, truths about the world.” She leaned in. “But can I tell you my own truth?”

Vérité snorted.

Etta grinned at her new friend. “I don’t react well when someone gives me an ultimatum. That’s what a curse is, after all. La Dame may be powerful, but she doesn’t know me. I’m going to break her curse. Her magic can’t hold me. She won’t break me.”

She filled the bucket and straightened up to walk back to her soon-to-be home. “Because I am Persinette Basile. Descendent of a great line of kings and queens. Daughter of the cursed. Friend to horses everywhere.” She grinned at that part. “I am a Basile and the Basiles always have greater battles to wage.”

* * *

Yay! You’ve made it this far! Now you can flip to the bonus chapter that shows how Edmund ended up in Madra and just what he thought of Estevan.

Edmund

The true story of Edmund

Bonus Novella!!!

This novella was written for you, the reader, because you begged and pleaded for more Edmund. I’m so happy you fell in love with him, and I hope you enjoy getting into his head.

This novella takes place after the events of Golden Crown and before the events of Glass Kingdom. You’ll get to see Edmund falling for another person he has no business loving, another friendship with a future queen, and some Madran intrigue.

Edmund just can’t help himself.

I’ll also note, unlike the other books in this series, Edmund’s story is not based on a fairytale. It’s all him.

Thanks for reading!

1

Edmund Kent, confidant of the glorious Belaen royal couple, decided his two best friends were idiots.

Okay, idiots was a strong word. Alexandre Durand and Persinette Basile were beloved. By everyone everywhere. It was sickening, really.

And they wanted to host Edmund’s wedding at their tiny ramshackle palace. Well, ramshackle was yet another too-strong word. Etta would never astound anyone with the size of her seat of power, but she loved the little four bedroom home they’d built.

Edmund crossed his arms over his chest. “Only royals get married in a palace, Etta.”

She stared him down with equally stubborn eyes. “You’re marrying my cousin, asshole.” She said the last term with the utmost affection, of course. “He’s basically royal.”

Edmund held back the words he wanted to say. He didn’t tell her of Matteo’s words early that morning. Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?

No, Edmund wasn’t sure at all. He loved Matteo. They’d been together since La Dame died years ago. Yet, something had always been missing. Edmund spent most of his teenage years in love with Alex. He laughed about that now, but his feelings had been real. With Matteo… sometimes he wondered if they were only together because it was better than being alone.

“Just leave it, Etta. Please. I don’t want to talk about the damn wedding every time I see you.” He turned on his heel, giving his back to the queen as he stomped across the yard in front of her home.

Her horse, Vérité blocked his way to the bridge.

“Out of my way, you blasted beast.”

Vérité snorted and stepped forward, snapping his teeth. Edmund jumped back with a squeal—a manly one, of course.

Etta’s muffled laughter rang out behind him. Instead of trying to get around Vérité, Edmund turned and walked toward the white-faced cliffs. He lifted a hand, drawing on his magic to call a breeze. It blew the sweaty blond hair from his neck. The summer sun beat down on his bare arms. The past month had been so hot, he’d cut the sleeves from one of his favorite tunics. His tanned skin stretched tight over well-used muscles.

Edmund never stayed idle for long. Since the Draconian war, he’d bounced around Bela, doing anything necessary to keep moving. Providing protection for prince Tyson on his trips into Gaule? Check. Unloading ships at the docks? Regularly.

Sitting in on royal council meetings? Only when Etta showed up to drag him by the ear to her throne room. Truth. She’d done that once. Other times, she resorted to bribery or downright threats to get him involved.

Edmund lowered himself to sit with his legs dangling over the side of the cliffs. Raging waters crashed below. He once thought the torrid waves were fitting for a land engulfed in turmoil. Now, as peace settled over Bela, the swirling waters only reminded him of the troubles within himself.

He was unsettled and without purpose.

Edmund Kent wasn’t meant to sit at home without a mission. And now, he didn’t want to be home at all. Are we doing the right thing?

No, they weren’t. But neither he nor Matteo knew how to get out of their future without hurting each other. And hurting Matteo was the last thing Edmund wanted to do. He’d rather enter into a marriage neither of them really wanted than break that man’s heart. Matteo was too good for him, too pure.

He didn’t look at the world with jaded eyes. Edmund sometimes wondered how Matteo remained so optimistic. He’d spent most of his life as a prisoner of La Dame’s. Matteo’s father was never one to protect his son.

Maybe that was what drew Edmund to him? They both had bastard fathers.

“I’m not sitting at the edge of the cliff.” Alex’s voice reached Edmund.

Edmund smiled but didn’t turn. “Afraid you’ll fall over the edge, my king? Don’t worry, little old Edmund will catch you.”

He could almost hear Alex’s grin. “Stop with the king business.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll tell Etta you’re the one who had someone use their magic to put Vérité to sleep for an entire week last month.”

Edmund finally turned. “You wouldn’t dare.” He got to his feet. “Besides, you were right there with me.”

“Yes, but my dear wife loves me. You… she tolerates.”

Edmund barked out a laugh. “You do know she loves me just as much as you, right? If I didn’t want a man to keep me warm at night…” He let his words drift off, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

Alex looped an arm around Edmund’s neck.

“Careful.” Edmund laughed. “No rough housing near the cliff or I might accidentally—” he coughed— “on purpose throw you over.”

Alex pushed away from Edmund. “Okay, but you have to tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing is bothering me.” Edmund sighed.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bullshit. I know you, Edmund. I’ve known you for a really long time. You can’t tell me you’re okay.”

Edmund plopped himself on the ground again and rested his arms on his knees. Alex joined him.

Edmund turned his face toward his best friend, the king of Bela, prince of Gaule, and current pain in his ass who wouldn’t let him wallow in the unfairness of life by himself. “I don’t think I can marry Matteo.”

There. He’d said it. As the words left his lips, something loosened in his chest. But then another dark thought struck him. Matteo represented everything Bela stood for. He led the royal council, always standing at Etta’s side. Edmund couldn’t go anywhere without running into people who loved Matteo and wanted to talk about him.

Once upon a time, he’d loved that about Bela because he thought he’d loved Matteo.

“I think I need to leave Bela.” Edmund rested his chin on his arm. “At least for a while.”

Alex’s face pinched as if he were in pain. Maybe he was. He’d only been separated from Edmund twice since they met when they were teens. Once when La Dame abducted him, and again when Edmund chose to remain with Etta rather than return to fight in Gaule with Alex—back before Alex and Etta got over the shit between them.

A beat of silence passed between them before Alex finally spoke. “Etta has been looking for someone to send to Madra.”

“Madra, huh?” A thrill raced through Edmund. He’d never taken ship or visited such an exotic place as Madra. The kingdom across the sea aided Bela in their war with Dracon, sending warriors to fight the dark sorceress. The treaty between the two kingdoms stood strong, but it did not include trade and Etta had made no secret of her desire for a trade treaty with Madra.

“Madra,” Edmund repeated. With the force of a hurricane, Edmund realized he wanted this. He needed a mission to give him purpose. Maybe bringing Madra closer to Bela was what he was meant to do?

He couldn’t help thinking the foreign kingdom held everything he sought. He knew without a doubt, if he left, he’d return a different man. The only question was, would Matteo understand?

2

Madra was unlike anything Edmund expected. That was for sure. The day he stepped off the boat earlier this week, he didn’t know quite what he’d be walking into.

Etta tasked him with being the temporary Belaen ambassador, and he had one job. Secure a trade agreement that would get the still-building Bela through the next winter.

It wasn’t supposed to be easy despite Madra being Bela’s greatest ally, but he never would have imagined the king refusing to see him outright, stating the negotiation of mere trade treaties was a duty he left to his son and heir. An heir that never seemed to be around when Edmund made the journey from the Ambassador’s Sector to the palace.

He had yet to meet the prince, but he’d heard the rumors about him throughout the city. Estevan Rhodipus was a prick who cared little for anything other than carrying out his father’s harsh tax decrees.

In Bela, the people had a fierce loyalty to their queen. She fought for them and never took advantage of them. In return, they worked hard for her and came to her aid when she needed it.

Many of the Madrans also served their king in the military, but they were forced into it, leaving their families destitute when they did not return from one of the many fronts.

Edmund slid into a booth at the Cooked Goose after another long day of waiting outside the king’s throne room only to be told he couldn’t be seen. What king treated foreign ambassadors in such a way?

A pretty barmaid with gold-spun hair sauntered over and offered him a wide grin. “What can I be gettin’ you, sir?”  

“Your finest wine.” He inclined his head. “Please.”

She sent him a wink, probably recognizing the wealth in his clothes, and walked away.

One of the first things Edmund learned of Madra was that they made wine that could make a god thirst for more.

The second thing? They didn’t like outsiders.

Someone slid into the booth across from him, and Edmund looked up into the tanned face of an unfamiliar woman.

“You’re not from around here.” Her voice held a rough quality.

“That going to be a problem?” He’d already had an issue with a few men in the streets.

“Depends.” She leaned back and crossed her arms.

“On?”

“You here to cause trouble? I don’t like no rabble rousers in my pub.”

“You’re the owner?”

She nodded, her eyes narrowing. “You ain’t got that slimy look of a Gaulean.”

“Slimy?” He wished he could tell Alex of this woman’s description of his people.

“You know… like you can’t trust ‘em. If you were from Cana or Andes, you’d already have slit my throat for asking questions and ran out the back.” She put her hands on the table. “I ain’t never met a man from Bela before.”

The people of Bela had no kingdom of their own until recently, so they’d been mixing with Gauleans and Madrans for years. This woman wouldn’t know if she’d met one or not.

Edmund shrugged. He was too tired and had too much on his mind to argue.

“Are you giving this man trouble, Catsja?” An older woman stopped at the end of the table, her gray hair pulled back into a bun. The hollowness of her cheeks spoke of years of hardship.  

“Here we go.” The woman—Catsja—smiled indulgently at the older lady. “Agathe is under the impression we need to welcome all peoples to Madra.”

Agathe put a hand on Catsja’s shoulder. “Your husband is looking for you.”

Catsja stood. “That man… can’t do nothing for himself.” Her cool eyes settled on Edmund and she reached out to touch his cheek. “I dunno, maybe I’d like your kind of trouble, Belaen.” She winked. “You could show me some of that Belaen magic sometime.”

As she walked away, Edmund got the impression she didn’t mean his power to control the winds.

The older woman sat across from him as the barmaid appeared with his cup of wine. She set it down and smiled before walking away. Edmund wrapped his hands around the cup and studied the gray-haired woman over the rim.

“Be careful here, young man.”

“Why? What has made Madra so distrustful?”

She glanced around and leaned in. “It is a place of spies. The king has them everywhere. The people don’t trust each other, let alone outsiders. I’ve seen you walking past my bakery. You’re the Belaen ambassador.”

He nodded. “I arrived last week.”

“If you ever need anything, just follow the delicious smell of pastries.” She smiled and slid from the booth. As she walked by, she patted his shoulder in farewell.

Edmund would never get over how odd the people here were. Unlike Belaens, who’d had to spend their lives hiding and never putting themselves out there, Madrans were outspoken and harsh. Despite being illegal, street fights were the norm.

Mercenaries—the same ones who’d fought for La Dame—roamed the city freely, coming and going from their base near the docks.

When he’d left Bela, Edmund not only wanted some space from Matteo. He’d needed adventure. Peace wasn’t for him. But only a week in and he was ready to leave, to go back across the sea where people accepted and respected him.

And he couldn’t.

With a sigh, he finished off his wine and left some coins on the table. Outside, the night was warm. Edmund stopped near the door and ran a hand through his hair. He had no desire to go back to an empty house.

In Bela, someone was always around. Etta. Alex. Matteo. Tyson.

Now, there was only silence every evening.

So much for this grand adventure.

What he needed was water. Only by smelling the briny air could he feel like he was home.

He turned into an alleyway that led to a larger road and wound through the empty streets to reach the docks.

Boats bobbed against the splitting wooden piers. The sailors must be in for the night and no ship meandered the dark waters of the river.

It wasn’t the ocean, but it was close enough. This part of the river was so wide they could barely see the narrow bank on the other side. Downstream, it opened up into the sea, allowing ships to travel to foreign kingdoms.

Lowering himself to the ground, Edmund ignored the few people milling around as he let his legs drop over the edge of the docks. If he were in Bela, he’d sit along the cliffs looking out at the sea.

This would have to do.

He closed his eyes, imagining he was home with his friends, his makeshift family. What would that look like? Would he have married Matteo?

When he slid his eyes open, he realized he wasn’t alone. Near the closest boat slip, another man mirrored his pose, his pensive face lifted to the night sky. There was a beauty in the way he stared at the stars, as if they would give him any answer he was searching for.

Silver moonlight glinted off his dark hair, casting him in an ethereal glow. Edmund sensed the man needed a private moment, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off him or how his drooping posture reflected the way Edmund felt.

The man lowered his eyes and turned to catch Edmund watching him. Yet, Edmund didn’t look away. He couldn’t.

“The docks are peaceful at night.” The depth of the man’s voice surprised Edmund.

He had to remind himself to breathe as he took in the smooth, olive skin and intense emerald eyes. He wiped a hand down plain brown linen trousers and tried again. “I meant the docks are peaceful when I don’t have company.”

Edmund couldn’t help but smile as the stranger grew visibly agitated by his silence.

“Do you speak?”

Edmund only shrugged.

“Talk to me.”

“I thought you wanted your peace.” Edmund made it a mission in life to fluster the easily-flustered, to annoy the irritable. Just ask Alex. He’d gained most of his practice with him.

“A Belaen,” unknown grumpy man snorted. “Of course you’re Belaen. I should have known by the stupid grin on your face. Didn’t you all just fight a war? We’ve heard stories about your celebrations since and all the damn niceness over there.”

“Wouldn’t want to be nice.” Edmund suppressed a grin. “That’s a horrendous way to act.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than to watch deserted boats bob in the harbor?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Edmund scooted closer to him.

“Stop. I didn’t say you could come near me.”

He bit back a laugh as he moved again. “What’s your name?”

The man stared at him like he’d just sprouted a second head. Edmund put a hand on his own chest. “Me, Edmund. You…?”

“I’m not a horse.”

“You talk to horses this way? I’ve only ever known one person to speak to her horse as if it were a person. If he was, he’d have been the most vile person. He’s a biter, that asshole. She named him Vérité. You know what that means? Truth. And the truth of the matter is that damned beast is a jerk.”

“That was a really long-winded way to tell me you’re scared of horses.”

“Scared?” Edmund scoffed. “More like terrified. But only one horse. Just that royal jerk.”

The stoic man’s stony face finally cracked, revealing a hint of a smile. His eyes slid the length of Edmund and warmth heated Edmund’s cheeks at the intensity of the gaze. A cool breeze fluttered in across the water, dousing him in reality.

He slid back, so they were seated a few feet apart. Only a week ago, he’d been engaged to Matteo. Now he wasn’t. He refused to let himself fall apart under the gaze of every attractive—insanely attractive—man.

“I’m sorry.” Edmund sighed. “It’s been too long since I’ve laughed with—or at anyone. I shouldn’t goad a perfect stranger into irritability. I’ve learned my personality doesn’t mesh well with the more serious people of Madra.”

“You’re new to our shores?”

Edmund nodded. “Just last week.” For some reason, he didn’t want to reveal his position at court. It’d been so long since he just got to be Edmund, not the friend of the king or confidant of the queen. People reacted differently once they knew a person brushed power daily.

“My name is Stev.”

“Stev.” He tried it out. It fit him. Manly, yet different. There was something entirely unique about him. He held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet someone in Madra who isn’t serving me wine.”

Stev hesitated before taking it. “You’ve been drinking a lot of wine?”

Edmund almost missed the words when all he could focus on was the strength of Stev’s hand. Had it really been that long since he’d felt anything for Matteo that a mere stranger intrigued him?

Stev met his gaze, not letting go.

As if snapping back to reality, Edmund yanked his hand back. “I’m sorry.” The words started pouring out of him. “A week ago I thought I was starting on this grand adventure. I ended my engagement to a man who deserved better than me and jumped onto a ship headed for Madra. My head is a bit messy at the moment. Add onto all of that, I’m in a kingdom that doesn’t want me here, where the people are downright cruel, and the king can’t be bothered to fulfill his duties. Really, how do you all put up with a ruler like that? This city is falling apart at the seams. I’ve been here a week, and even I can see that. Yet, the royal family lives a grand life.” Edmund sucked in a breath and kept going, unable to stop the words rolling down his tongue.

“And what is with such a sweet girl having to wear a mask all the time? Helena is the princess, but her face should be known by every citizen of Madra. It is her they need to rally behind, not some cruel king or pompous prince who is never even around to meet with foreign ambassadors.”

His chest heaved, and he realized Stev had gone still beside him. “Belaen.” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re the new ambassador who has been trying to see me.”

Alarm bells rang in his head as he recalled the words he’d just said. “Stev. Prince Estevan.” Edmund scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t know it was you. Those things I said about your kingdom and your family, it’s just words from someone who doesn’t understand Madra. Please forget them.”

Estevan brushed off his pants and stood. He was both taller and broader than Edmund and drew himself up to his full height.

Edmund waited for the prince to say something, anything. Only a small space separated them, and Stev didn’t widen it. He peered down at Edmund, his gaze revealing nothing of how he felt.

Angry? Intrigued? Edmund wanted to shake him, to force him to tell him what he thought.

Instead, Estevan closed the distance between them until they stood chest to chest.

For a moment, Edmund thought he was going to kiss him.

For a moment, he wanted him to.

Estevan’s jaw tightened. “You haven’t been seen by the king, or by me, because we decide when it is time. Get ready to call this kingdom you hate so much home, Ambassador, because I will make sure we take our time with your treaty.” One side of his mouth curved up.

Edmund could barely breathe. The dark growl of Estevan’s voice vibrated through him. He didn’t care what words the prince spoke, he needed to hear more.

“Bela is of little importance to Madra. You say this kingdom is cruel, I call yours naïve for thinking peace doesn’t have a cost. You’ll soon learn just how important Madra finds our alliance.” He shoved Edmund back and turned. “I’ll see you the next time you’re waiting for the king to refuse a meeting.”

He strode toward the street where Edmund saw a carriage waiting.

Edmund released a breath, his missing confidence returning as he thought of a million things he should have said.

His body needed more. More proximity. More of his skin brushing the prince’s.

But his head… that told him to be careful. That the man he’d met was dangerous. Edmund could find himself in a lot of trouble.

As he’d done for most of his life, Edmund pushed away any desire, filling the hole it left with nothing but indignation and hatred.

Because he suspected the only thing easier than falling for the prince would be hating him.

3

Three months later

At first, he thought he imagined it. A flicker of change. One moment, Edmund watched an older white-haired woman run across the bustling street faster than her aged limbs should be able to take her. The next, she was a middle-aged brunette ducking into a run-down shop with a healer’s mark on the sign.

Edmund’s lips curved into a grin. Magic. He’d seen no sign of the power in the magic-less Madra since his arrival three months before, despite searching for it desperately. Ever since stepping off the Belaen ship, he’d been alone in a sea of strangers. Most people in Madra only knew of magic from the stories of the great Draconian war brought back by the soldiers who’d fought in it.

Edmund was careful not to use his magic where others could see, confining the power to the too-large house he occupied in the ambassador’s section of the city.

This, here, though was no Ambassador’s Sector. Gone were the large trees draping their limbs over wide, quiet brick roads. Edmund stared down at the dirt street that kicked dust up onto his boots. The central city of Madra differed from Bela in so many ways. For starters, it had great size advantages and was home to thousands.

Edmund scanned the road, watching for anyone who might be following the magic woman, before gripping the sword hilt sticking from the belt on his waist and sprinting across the street.

He pushed open the worn wooden door to the healer’s shop and found an empty room inside. Where were all the tonics and apothacary supplies?

“Marie,” the high-pitched voice of a child called out. “I need your help!”

A man’s scream jolted Edmund forward. He ran toward the open door at the other end of the room and froze in the doorway. A brawny man lay on a pallet, blistering burns stretching up his neck. He screamed again.

The young boy leaning over him put his hands on the man’s chest and closed his eyes. A woman—the middle-aged beauty he’d seen outside—kneeled at his side. Edmund assumed that was Marie.

Draconian healing power wasn’t anything new to Edmund. He’d spent many months training with Etta and requiring Maiya’s healing in the aftermath. But that was before the war, before Maiya betrayed them and the Draconians fought for their queen.

The last thing Edmund expected to find in Madra was a Draconian boy.

The burns receded, and the man’s body relaxed as he drifted into sleep.

Marie lifted her eyes to Edmund as she wiped a hand down her sweaty face. “Ambassador.” She said it as if she’d been expecting him.

Edmund should have been surprised she knew who he was, but something about the woman made sense. Her gaze held a power in itself.

“You have magic,” was all he managed to say. He shifted his eyes to the boy who sat back on his haunches and stared at him with wide eyes. “And you’re a Draconian.”

Marie stepped in front of the kid. “We’ve heard the stories of you here in Madra, Edmund of Bela. And of Persinette Basile. You’ve brought Bela back to life. An amazing feat. But if you try to hurt Corban for his heritage, I won’t hesitate to act against you.”

Edmund’s lips tilted until a grin split his face. He liked this woman. There was a fierceness in her that reminded him of Etta. His smile slipped as thoughts of home invaded his mind.

“I won’t harm the boy.” He walked farther into the room, passing Marie and her skeptical gaze so he could get a better look at the man lying unconscious on the thin pallet. His grizzled face was relaxed into sleep, the burns once marring his features now replaced by weathered skin.

Marie sighed. “This poor man. He lost his family in a fire last night. Good people. He tried to save his children and almost died in the act.” She shook her head. “He lost everything and now has no home, nowhere to go.”

Edmund felt for the man. He knew what it was to be without a place in the world. As a boy, Edmund fought for his father’s acceptance, receiving only coldness in return. He’d had no other family, no one to care about him. Not until he’d met the prince of Gaule and pledged his loyalty to him. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d risked his life for Alex, but that was what they did. Alex would give his life for Edmund in return. They were closer than brothers, their relationship deeper than a friendship. And Etta was a part of that, as was Alex’s brother, Tyson and Etta’s cousin, Matteo.

Edmund pushed the thought from his mind as soon as it turned to the man he’d left behind. He faced Marie. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your power?” He saw something in the street but didn’t understand her changing appearance.

She bent down to pull a blanket over Bemus. “I change perceptions of how others see me. My physical appearance remains the same, but you interpret that appearance in a way that allows me to disguise myself.”

Edmund’s eyes widened. “Well, my power seems a bit lame compared to that.”

That drew a smile from her. “Our magic is tied to our souls, Edmund. We have exactly the kind of power we will need in this life, nothing more or less. You may not yet understand the purpose of yours, just as I don’t know why I’ve been given this ability. But one day, when you need it most, you’ll know.”

Long after Edmund left Marie’s shop, her words rolled through his mind.

4

Even after the man was healed and back to work, Edmund found himself thinking of the poor man who’d lost everything to flames and ruin. There was so little he could accomplish in Madra when the king wouldn’t even hold an audience with the Belaen ambassador. But there was one way he could make a difference.

That was how he found himself back at Marie’s shop in a dodgy part of the city. Behind the row of buildings, a line of trees separated the river from view. That river wound toward the sea, a sea that spanned the distance to Bela, to Edmund’s home. He’d give anything to return there, to feel like something other than an outsider. He’d never expected to be so out of place in the foreign kingdom, or to face obstacles at every point.

Bemus might be the only person who could understand that. Edmund walked through the shop, pushing open the door to the back room without knocking. Bemus sat on the edge of the pallet, his back hunched and his face buried in his hands.

Edmund cleared his throat, and the big man lifted his red eyes to see the intruder.

Leaning against the doorframe, Edmund crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. “Glad to see you’re still here.”

Bemus’ eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Edmund. I was here when Corban healed you.”

Bemus got to his feet, stretching to an intimidating height. “If you tell anyone of their magic, I’ll—”

With a sigh, Edmund lifted a finger and a rush of wind blasted Bemus in the face, forcing him back onto the bed. Edmund pulled his magic back. “Stop saying stupid things if you want to hear my offer.”

Bemus pushed himself from the bed once more with a growl. “Offer? What can you possibly want from me? I have nothing.” He ran a frustrated hand through what remained of his hair. “I have nothing!” His voice heated with anger.

Edmund refused to pity the man. He’d faced enough of that in his life. “We always have something.” He straightened, running a hand down his embroidered jacket to smooth the wrinkles. As an ambassador, he had to look the part. “Ambassador Edmund Kent.” He held out his hand.

Bemus hesitated before taking it. “Bemus Orne.”

Edmund released him and crossed his arms once more. “I have a big empty house, Bemus. You have need of a house and seem rather okay with magic-folk.”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with magic? It healed me.”

The man really didn’t know how things worked in this world, that magic folk faced persecution even in a kingdom like Madra that had no laws against the power.

“Bemus, the king keeps sending me servants. Apparently I am not keeping up the appearance of a typical diplomat. I send them away and more show up at my door.”

Bemus cracked the first smile Edmund had seen from him. “That sounds horrible, my lord. Servants just wanting to serve you while being paid with the crown’s gold. I’m sorry you’re being treated so poorly.”

Edmund ran a hand through his hair. “Fair enough. I look like an ungrateful ass. But I don’t like people in my business. I can get my own damn tea and answer my own door. My legs aren’t broken.”

“I still haven’t heard an offer.”

“You need somewhere to live that isn’t a dingy room in the back of a shop. Come stay with me. Fill my halls with your brooding, and I’ll match it with mine.”

“No.” Bemus sat back on the pallet.

Edmund opened his mouth to speak, but Bemus shook his head.

“I don’t know you, Edmund of Bela. I don’t need charity. My family is gone. Why do I deserve to go live in a big house with all the comforts I could never give them?” He closed his eyes and Edmund would have sworn he saw a tear escape. “You can go.”

Shoulders deflated, Edmund did just that. He wouldn’t push. Marie stood in the front room. She didn’t say anything, but she gave him a sympathetic smile as he stepped onto the street.

With one final glance behind him, Edmund took off toward the palace. He had a horse and could have used him to get around Madra, but horses were a sign of wealth, and he wasn’t comfortable with his status.

Plus, walking allowed him to clear his mind. It took the better part of an hour to reach the palace. White-robed priests streamed in and out the front gates. The guards recognized Edmund immediately and let him pass into the stone courtyard.

The Madran palace sat at the top of many steps, gleaming in all its columned splendor. It reminded Edmund of Gaule, not in design but extravagance.

Priests eyed him as he passed. They all knew the Belaen ambassador from the stories of his exploits circulating the taverns. He’d arrived as something of a sideshow. They knew of his magic, but he never let them see it.

“He won’t see you today.” A voice came from the shadows at the top of the stairs.

Edmund smiled, recognizing the lilting tone of the princess. He rounded a pillar to find Helena leaning against the backside of it, hidden from view.

A silver threaded mask covered most of her face as was the custom in Madra. As an ambassador and part of the royal council, Edmund was one of the few allowed to see her beautiful face. With a glance at the palace doors, he decided the king could wait. Dropping down beside Helena, Edmund leaned back against the pillar. When he’d met her three months before, he’d quickly learned she always sought the hidden corners of the castle.

He nudged her shoulder. “What’s your father up to that he’s too busy to meet with a foreign ambassador?”

She shrugged.

“Lenny.” He pinned her with a look, using the nickname her brothers invented. “What’s going on?”

With a sigh, she turned to him. “He’s working on a marriage alliance for Stev.”

Edmund swallowed back the irritation those words caused. It made sense. The eldest royal child of Madra had a duty to marry a foreign princess. That was their tradition, and Estevan Rhodipus would never go against his father. It was one of the first lessons of Edmund’s job. Even as the people in the city starved due to high taxes, Stev wasn’t the one to help them.

Edmund couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with the entitled prince. He compared him to Alex when Alex was prince of Gaule, but Estevan could never hope to be the kind of man Alex was.

“You going to tell me who they’re targeting, Len?” Edmund sent her a smile he knew would get him what he wanted. The princess made no secret of her crush on him. Edmund hated using that, but if he was going to get any information out of Madra, he needed her.

She tugged at the bottom of her mask, scratching the skin underneath. Not for the first time, Edmund hated the people who forced her into it. He had little respect for the Madra king or his eldest son, but Helena was different.

“I think he’s been speaking to Gaule.”

Edmund’s brow creased. Gaule? He’d expected to hear Estevan would wed someone from Cana or Andes. Who did Gaule have to offer… the thought stuttered in his mind. No. Her mother wouldn’t do that to her.

Camille.

The newly widowed Camille.

Edmund sucked in a breath, and Helena cocked her head. “Spill it, Edmund. What do you know of Gaule?”

Releasing a laugh, Edmund wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Just that your brother is in for a treat.” Maybe Estevan deserved a wife like Camille. She’d match his surly attitude and give him a challenge.

“How come I sense something behind your words? What aren’t you telling me?”

Edmund only grinned.

Helena poked his side. “Stev isn’t a bad man, Edmund. I know what you think of him. He’s just… the crown prince.”

“Len, I’ve known crown princes before. Being next in line for the throne doesn’t give you an excuse to have a giant stick up your—” His words cut off as a shadow loomed over them.

Estevan Rhodipus was an unfairly handsome man with a tall, muscular frame and a chin that could cut glass. His dark hair was tied back in a neat tail, revealing high cheekbones and intense amber eyes.

Edmund couldn’t stand him… yes, he’d go with that. He wanted to say the prince’s presence was dull, infuriating. But the truth was, Edmund could get lost in his swirling gaze. And he hated it. He hated the prince for the simple fact that he didn’t hate him.

“Where exactly do I have that stick, ambassador?” Estevan’s jaw clenched.

He had a way of making Edmund feel like a child rather than a grown man, talented swordsman, and ambassador from Bela. But then, Madra thought of Bela as nothing more than a child in the Six Kingdoms. Sure, they’d defeated La Dame, but the kingdom still had few resources.

Estevan’s gaze burned into Edmund.

Finally, Helena sighed. “Leave him alone, Stev. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Estevan cocked his head. “You’re wrong, sister. I don’t think Edmund Kent says a word he doesn’t mean.”

A chill raced down Edmund’s spine. He stood to face the prince, one side of his mouth curving up as he remembered this man would have to deal with Camille for the rest of his life. “Have fun with your marriage treaty, your Highness. I hope it’s everything you’re expecting.”

Helena snorted, but Edmund was done with this conversation. He walked away from both of them, entering the palace with the sea of priests. No one spoke to him as he made his way to the throne room. At the door, the guard stopped him. “The king has a full schedule today, ambassador.”

Edmund frowned. “That is what I’ve been told every day for the last few months.”

A voice sounded behind them as a young man walked out of the throne room. “Bela isn’t a priority, Edmund. You should know that by now.”

Edmund glared at Ian Tenyson, palace golden boy. His mother was the tip of the merchant spiral, leading the merchant council and sending her son to advise the king. Knowing it was futile to try any harder, Edmund turned on his heel to walk away. Ian followed him. “No one wants you here, magic man. You’d do better to go back to that nothing kingdom you came from.”

Edmund counted to ten in his head, refusing to give Ian the pleasure of a response.

Ian didn’t stop. “The king won’t see you, will he? What does Bela have to offer him other than a way to drain our coffers? Haven’t we helped you enough? Our men died for your war with La Dame. Without Madra, Bela wouldn’t exist.”

“Ian!” Estevan appeared at the end of the hall. He walked toward them with all the confidence he was known for. The prince was never one who’d ever questioned who he was. He just knew. He stopped when he reached them.

Even the great Ian Tenyson cowered when faced with the Madran prince’s wrath.

“Edmund is an ambassador to Madra, and you will show him the respect that position deserves.” He practically growled the words. “We do not treat our allies with such disdain.”

Ian glared with open hostility. He’d never made his hatred of the prince a secret. Edmund didn’t understand the king’s favor of the Tenysons. Something struck Edmund as wrong when it came to Ian.

Ian whirled around and marched away without another word.

Estevan blew out a breath. “I am sorry for how you’ve been treated in Madra, ambassador.” The words were stilted as if he wasn’t used to apologizing for anything.

Edmund appreciated the attempt, but he just wanted to get away from the palace. He shrugged. “Bela will always be a subject of scorn. We have a power none of you can even imagine. Fear produces hate.”

“You think we fear you?”

Edmund turned away from him. “I don’t think. I know. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.” He looked back over his shoulder. “If we wanted to, Bela could destroy you. Just ask La Dame.”

With that, he left the prince staring after him and walked from the palace without even stopping to say goodbye to Helena.

On his way home, he walked along the docks, staring out at the sea and wishing he could go back in time, wishing he could tell Alex that leaving Bela was the last thing he wanted. Madra held only scorn and frustration for him, but he couldn’t go home now. Not when Etta wanted this treaty. He refused to let her down.

Opening the gate at the back of his house, he entered the small courtyard, stopping at the stall his unnamed horse occupied. He had no connection to the beast, not yet. But few people truly knew their horses in the way Etta knew Vérité.

He climbed the two steps to his backdoor and pushed his way inside, freezing as he realized someone had been in his home.

He shut the door silently and crept along the hall to the hidden hole beneath a panel in the floor where he kept his weapons. He dug his fingers underneath a loose board in the floor to pry it open, wincing as it creaked. Setting the board aside, he pulled out two knives, stood, and pressed himself against the wall as he inched into the sitting room.

His breath rushed out when he saw the man sitting on his couch.

Bemus.

They barely knew each other, but Edmund sensed something good in him.

“You’re here.” Edmund dropped the knives onto the table beside his favorite chair before sinking into it, letting his entire body relax.

Bemus nodded. “I’m here.”

Edmund closed his eyes. It had been a long day. He sighed. “That’s good. Take one of the spare rooms upstairs. I don’t care which. This house has too many damn rooms.”

“You just need a wife to fill them.”

A harsh laugh burst out of Edmund, and he opened his eyes to fix Bemus with an amused look. “There’ll be no woman of the house. Perhaps a man… some day.” He didn’t know what made him say it. Being open about that kind of thing was still relatively new to him. Growing up in Gaule, being gay was a death sentence.

Bemus hardly reacted. “Well, just so you know… I don’t snuggle.”

Edmund shook his head with a wry smile. “Good to know, man.” He laughed. “Guess I’ll just have to get my snuggling elsewhere.”

Matteo’s favorite thing had been lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, drawing pictures on Edmund’s bare skin with his fingertips. Their relationship was easy, fun… until it wasn’t.

Yet, Edmund missed him.

Or maybe he just missed caring about someone, kissing someone. He pushed himself up from the chair. The sun had only just started to set, but Edmund’s day took everything out of him. “I’m going to bed.” His stomach growled in protest, and he realized he didn’t know when he’d eaten last. But it didn’t matter. He wanted the blissful peace only sleep could give him.

5

Edmund stepped into the bakery he’d frequented since his arrival in Madra, smiling at Agathe who stood behind the counter.

“Edmund.” She reached into the front case and pulled out the bread loafs she knew he loved, setting them on a wooden plate with a spoonful of fresh butter. “How are you, dear?”

He reached over the counter to envelop the older woman in a hug. “I’m okay. Seeing you makes any morning a good one.”

She swatted him away. “Flatterer.”

He grinned and took his plate, but didn’t turn away from her. “Agathe, what do you know about Ian Tenyson?” Since his run in with Ian a few days before, Edmund had thought about him a lot. Something didn’t sit right about the shifting eyes and constant scowl Ian wore.

A dark look crossed Agathe’s face. “That boy… he’s trouble, Edmund. Just trouble. Always has been. I’ve known the three Tenyson boys since they were kids running around the city on errands for their father. He was a good man. Ian and Reed, though…”

Edmund thought for a moment. “Did you say three? I thought there were only two Tenyson boys.”

The bell over the bakery door chimed, and Edmund turned to find a boy in the doorway. No, boy wasn’t the right term. Young man. He was obviously younger than Edmund by a few years, but as their gazes connected, his eyes spoke of experience, wariness.

“Ah.” Agathe smiled. “Dell. I was expecting you earlier.” She moved out from behind the counter to wrap her arms around him.

He tensed for a moment before returning the hug. As he pulled back, his expression went from hard to easygoing in a matter of seconds. Edmund recognized the deception in Dell, because it was one he’d mastered himself. He put others at ease, never showing his true feelings lest they burden a sweet woman like Agathe.

“I had to be at the docks earlier to unload a ship with a tight turnaround.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

Agathe raised a brow. “They’re going to work you to the bone, boy. Come. You need some tea and a bite to eat. You’re turning into nothing more than skin and bones.”

Dell gave her a tired laugh. “I’m okay. Really. I just missed seeing you this morning and wanted to drop in before I head to the stables.”

She patted his cheek. “You’ll take some food with you. I won’t accept no as an answer.”

Edmund grinned at their exchange. “Better listen to her, boy. Agathe isn’t one to trifle with.”

Dell’s smile dropped for a fraction of a second before he secured it in place again. “I’ve known her since I came to the city as a child. I don’t need some…” His eyes scanned Edmund from head to toe, taking in his ornate clothing. “…lord telling me my business.”

“Dell,” Agathe snapped. “That disdain is not like you.”

Edmund held up a hand. “It’s okay, Agathe. This boy doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know I could snap him in half with a flick of my magic.” He couldn’t really, but Dell didn’t know that.

Dell swallowed heavily, but to his credit, he didn’t back down. The boy was a fighter. Edmund liked him already.

Agathe sighed as if she spoke to children. “Edmund, that isn’t helpful. Dell, this anger of yours sounds more like your brothers than you.”

Dell straightened at that, his scowl dropping. “I’m sorry, Agathe. I just… I need to go.” He left the parcel of food Agathe wrapped for him on the counter as he hightailed it from the shop.

Agathe sighed. “What was the purpose of that, Edmund?”

Agathe had only known Edmund for three months, but she saw straight through him in a way few people did. He brushed his hair back out of his face. “That boy needs to learn some respect.”

“He is eighteen years old, Edmund. And you have no idea what he’s been through in those eighteen years. Dell is a good kid. If you didn’t spend all your time wishing you could leave and forget Madra even existed, you’d see it.” She pointed to the door. “That boy could use someone like you. Maybe once you get your head out of your own ass, you’ll do him some good.”

Edmund rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes from Agathe. Until now, she’d just been the sweet old lady who made his favorite breads. But when it came to Dell, there was fire in her eyes.

“I’m needed at the palace,” Edmund finally said, moving toward the door.

Agathe threw her hands in the air. “I very much doubt that. The king still ignoring his newest ambassador?”

Edmund stopped with his hand on the door handle. “He can’t push me aside forever.” Besides, today the king wasn’t the person he planned to see.

The walk to the palace gave him time to think about why he was here. Bela needed someone to represent their interests. The past winter was hard for a recently renewed kingdom with few resources. They didn’t want to be in that position ever again, and Madra was the key.

The Madran palace never slowed, and soon Edmund found himself among the priests, servants, and merchants rushing through the corridors. After spending so much time trying to see the king, he’d learned how to navigate the winding halls. On the lower level, two ballrooms, many offices, and public rooms branched off the main walkway. The second level held the throne room as well as the royal living quarters.

Edmund took the stairs two at a time. As he reached the top landing, he collided with a kid, sending him sprawling to the ground. “Prince Kassander.” He could’ve kicked himself for being in such a rush he didn’t see the prince. Bending down, he extended a hand.

Kassander took it and pulled himself to his feet. “In a rush to see my sister?” Kassander smirked. “I don’t think you’d be in a hurry to get to my father.”

Edmund laughed at the boy’s bluntness. Many in the palace saw the amount of time Edmund spent with Helena and wondered if there was more to their relationship than friendship. It wouldn’t have mattered if there was. As the second eldest legitimate child of the king, tradition said she had to marry someone of Madran blood.

So, even if Edmund felt anything for her, it would have been doomed. But he still enjoyed being around the sad girl. She didn’t have friends of her own. He’d seen that right away. Her father and brother kept her in the palace as the priesthood demanded until her face was revealed on her eighteenth name day less than a year away.

Edmund ruffled Kassander’s curly hair. “Where is she?”

Kassander grinned as if he’d been right all along. Edmund only sighed. It didn’t matter to him what the people of Madra thought of the Belaen ambassador. He wasn’t one of them, they’d made that clear.

“The gardens. She’s been there all morning.”

Edmund flashed him a smile. “Thanks, your Highness.” He turned on his heel and thundered back down the stairs, much to the dismay of the priests ascending the steps who already thought Edmund was too young and excitable for his position.

At the back of the grand ballroom, a door led into the walled gardens. Edmund spent a lot of his free time among the flowering trees with Helena by his side. He rounded the corner, stopping short as he caught sight of the princess.

A beautiful cream gown with blue threading fit her frame as if it was a part of her. Her matching blue mask rested on her face. Edmund loved women, just not in the way they sometimes hoped with any romantic inclinations. He enjoyed their company and their friendship, nothing more. It wasn’t Helena’s beauty that had him frozen in place. She stood with her feet shoulder width apart facing a magnolia tree. She lifted one hand, weighing a knife on her fingers.

He barely saw her draw her arm back before the knife sailed end over end until the point stuck into the trunk of the tree.

Was this the princess he’d gotten to know over the last few months? The one who looked at him with a young girl’s stars in her eyes?

He brought his hands together in a slow clap, unable to take his eyes from her.

She whirled toward him, her eyes flashing. “Are you mocking me, Edmund?”

“What? No.” He stepped forward. “That was amazing.”

Red crept up her neck, disappearing under her mask. “Oh.”

“Where did you learn that?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, retreating into herself. “I… it’s not important.”

“Do your brothers know?”

She shook her head and drew her dark wavy hair over one shoulder. “Well… Quinn sort of does. And Kass, but Kass knows everything. I swear that boy is the best spy this kingdom has, and he rarely even leaves the palace.” She laughed at that, affection for her youngest brother clear in her tone. “But Cole and Estevan… they wouldn’t exactly want their sister learning to fight.” Her voice dropped, and he wasn’t sure she meant for him to hear her next words. “They’d be afraid I wouldn’t be reliant on them if I learned anything for myself.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Edmund hardly knew the twin bastard princes, Quinn and Cole. They rarely walked the palace halls, joining the army in various foreign kingdoms instead. But Estevan… surely he’d want Helena to do whatever would make her happy.

At least, that was what Edmund wanted to believe. He wanted the very best for the princess. In three months, he’d come to care about her more than any other person in Madra. He’d only felt such a connection to a woman once before—Etta.

Helena only shook her head, her eyes darting to where two guards lingered nearby. “Was there a reason for your visit today, Edmund?”

“Can’t a guy just want to see your beautiful face?” He knew as soon as he said the words, they were the wrong ones.

The remaining hint of a smile dropped from her lips, and she reached up to touch the edges of her mask. “I’m not really in the mood for visitors today.” Something in her tone wasn’t right.

Edmund stepped close, his voice dropping. “What’s wrong, Len? Did something happen?”

She blew out a breath. “Just… I had an argument with Stev.”

Edmund’s original purpose of seeking out Helena was to convince her to intercede on Edmund’s behalf with her father and brother, but that plan faded as his anger rose. How could anyone put this kind of pain in Helena’s eyes?

He’d seen it before. Len wasn’t a fighter, but her brother was. He could be cruel, and Edmund hated him for it.

“Tell me what happened.”

Helena sighed and walked toward a stone bench that sat beneath an overhang of yellow flowers. Morning sun filtered through the garden, casting shadows on the ground. Helena sat gracefully, crossing her legs at the ankles, her back ramrod straight. She was every bit the princess. Beautiful. Strong. Determined. Yet, her family saw none of it. Her brothers loved her, that much was clear, but they treated her like she were made of glass—an ornamental princess.

Edmund could see it. One day, this girl was going to prove to them just how special she was and they were going to regret how they treated her.

Helena folded her hands in her lap. “I tried to get out into the city.” She said the words normally, as if she didn’t challenge everything Edmund knew of her in one single statement. He knew she was tough, but she was more than that. Helena Rhodipus was a rebel. And Edmund loved her for it.

A grin spread slowly across his face, and he dropped down onto the bench beside her. “Yes, that’ll do it. I’ll bet Estevan was mad.”

“Mad doesn’t begin to cover it. He told me I was going to bring Madra down. As if a princess no one cares about could destroy this kingdom.”

Edmund bumped her shoulder. “I think you have more power than you know.” He considered her for a moment, wondering if he should tell the sheltered girl just what the Madran people outside the palace gates thought of her family. “Len… your family… well, people don’t actually like them much.”

She lifted one perfect eyebrow. “Explain.”

“It’s just tough out there, and they blame your father. They blame Estevan.” He kept it vague, not letting her know just how hard life in Madra was for many people. He’d seen it soon after moving to the city. The king didn’t take care of his people. He asked for far more than he gave. Edmund held Helena’s gaze. “But you… you’re the mysterious princess none of them know anything about.”

“Mysterious, huh?” One corner of her mouth tilted up.

He nodded. “They know little about you, and they love you for that. You’re untainted by your father’s failings. To them, you represent hope.”

“The people love me?” Her smile dropped, and Edmund wanted more than anything to bring it back. He got the sense few people in Helena’s life told her the truth. Sure, they loved her. He didn’t know any mother who loved her children as much as Chloe Rhodipus. Even Helena’s brothers showered her with love.

But they didn’t believe in her. Not like Edmund did. So, he told her as much. “Len, the people don’t know you, but I do. You’re going to make an amazing leader when you become head of the merchant council. Your kindness is something Madra sorely needs to balance Estevan’s ruthlessness when he becomes king.”

“He’s not that bad,” she whispered, not taking her eyes from Edmund’s.

Edmund tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “But he isn’t you.”

He should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve known he’d gotten too close. But Edmund never claimed to be the most perceptive man. He was used to his relationship with Etta where he could say anything he needed to tell her how he felt.

But Helena was young. Young and lonely.

When she pressed her lips to Edmund’s, he froze, images of Matteo flitting through his mind. He’d kissed no one since leaving his fiancé behind in Bela.

“Len,” he whispered, breaking away from her. “I’m sorry if I gave—”

“What is happening here?” Estevan’s voice boomed through the garden.

Edmund groaned. The prince always showed up at the worst times. He jumped from the bench. “Nothing is happening.”

Estevan crossed the garden quickly before towering over Edmund. “I’m sick and tired of your arrogance, Belaen,” he growled. “You come to our kingdom and think just because of the magic you possess we owe you something. Well, not my sister. Helena is too good for the likes of you.”

Edmund shoved Estevan back, knowing what it could cost him to confront the prince, yet caring little for the consequences. “She isn’t only your sister. Helena is a princess who means something to this kingdom you claim to love. She’s more capable than you think, and she can make her own damn decisions.” He didn’t have romantic feelings for Helena, but Estevan’s attempt to control her pissed him off.

Estevan pushed Edmund back, but his eyes went to his sister. “I came here to apologize for my overreaction earlier. What are you doing with him, Lenny? Edmund Kent is nothing but a Belaen scoundrel.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Edmund’s fist flew through the air, connecting with Estevan’s chin. Estevan’s head snapped back, and he stumbled away from Edmund, shocked. Had no one ever hit him before?

Edmund watched the prince breathe heavily, a glare cutting through the garden. “What? Never been in a fight before? Has the Madran prince been so pampered in his safe life he doesn’t even know how to react?” He stepped closer. “You think you know me because of the stories you’ve heard, but that is only the beginning. You know I was at the Draconian battle, but did you know I rode through the black gates at Persinette Basile’s side? Or that I was once a prisoner living in the Gaulean dungeon until I made my escape? I have saved the lives of two Gaulean princes. I fought a tournament where only one warrior was supposed to survive, and here I am. So no, Estevan Rhodipus, I’m not good enough for Helena. She’s pure light, and I’m tainted with blood and war. My kingdom could bring yours to its knees if we so choose. I’d stay out of my way if I were you.”

Edmund glanced back toward the bench, finding it empty. He didn’t know when Helena left, but he was suddenly glad she hadn’t been there to hear just how broken he was. Turning back to face Estevan once more, he was shocked to find him standing so close.

As soon as Edmund lifted his eyes, he wished he hadn’t as he found himself trapped in Estevan’s intensity, unable to break away.

And then, for the second time that day, a Madran royal kissed him. Only this time, Edmund kissed back.

Estevan’s rough lips moved with all the force Edmund had imagined in him. A growl escaped Estevan’s throat, and he rocked his hips forward, reaching for Edmund to pull him flush against him.

For a moment, Matteo’s face flashed through Edmund’s mind, but he pushed it away, losing himself in a prince whose darkness matched his own. It was then Edmund realized Estevan hadn’t needed to go to war to feel the world breaking.

With a grunt, Estevan pushed him away. The force of it sent Edmund stumbling back. He looked up just in time to see Estevan’s retreating back.

Edmund collapsed onto the bench, running a finger along his still-tingling lower lip and tasting blood from where Estevan bit him. He pushed a shaky hand through his hair and bent forward.

None of it made any sense. The way Estevan kissed him as if he’d needed him to breathe. The way he pushed him away.

“I’m so screwed,” Edmund whispered to himself, putting his head in his hands. So very screwed. What was wrong with him? Why did he always have to fall for a prince?

6

Edmund didn’t return to the palace for ten days. Ten days of avoiding the one place he was supposed to be for his job. Instead, he spent his time writing letters to Etta and Alex of everything he’d seen in Madra… well, not everything. He stayed clear of the topic of the royal children—one who obviously had some misguided feelings toward him and another he couldn’t get out of his mind. He could just picture Alex’s face if he told him of his kisses with two royals. The laughter wouldn’t stop. Alexandre Durand was an asshole like that. He’d pat Edmund on the back and ask how he managed to entice both a prince and a princess to like him, let alone more than like.

The truth was, Edmund didn’t know. He was pretty positive Estevan Rhodipus hated his guts, despite the kiss. And Helena… she was just lonely. She was the one Edmund knew he was letting down by avoiding the palace and the conversation he had to have with her. Hurting that sweet girl was the last thing he wanted to do. He just hoped she’d still let him be part of her life because he cared about her in a way he cared for few people.

Etta… he sighed. She’d at least give him the concern Alex wouldn’t. It wasn’t because she was more emotional than her husband, but only because she had the ability to look further down the road, to see what would come of this, the consequences.

The Belaen ambassador couldn’t be kissing Madran royals.

A knock sounded on the door to his study, and he looked up from the letter he’d barely started to find Bemus in the doorway. They’d grown used to each other since he moved in. Edmund hadn’t wanted a servant, but Bemus took up the role, stating he needed to earn his keep. The quiet man walked forward, setting a folded parchment on Edmund’s desk. “This came with a royal messenger.”

Edmund didn’t reach for it. “Did you read my message, Bemus?”

Bemus only shrugged as if to say ‘of course’. Edmund didn’t really try to keep his affairs private as an ambassador should, but Bemus let his curiosity rule his mind and had a tendency to step over lines.

Yet, Edmund never chastised him for it. It was silly, but having Bemus around made him feel less adrift in the sea of Madran politics.

“Well.” Edmund started writing again. “Are you going to tell me what it says?”

“You’ve been summoned to the palace.”

Edmund froze, letting his eyes drift to the parchment before reaching for it, needing to see the words for himself. He’d been in Madra for three months now, three months of failing to get an audience with the king, failing to further Bela’s interests.

Sure enough, the king’s steward summoned him not only to the palace, but to the throne room for a meeting with the king himself and the prince.

“They want you to come now.”

Edmund set the message down and stood. He glanced around the room once before rushing out and thundering up the stairs to his bedchamber. Changing from his rumpled clothes to a pressed deep green tunic, leather vest, and lightweight linen breeches, he ran a comb through his hair.

Once he felt himself presentable, he walked out to the stables where Bemus had saddled his horse. With a quick ‘thank you’, Edmund pulled himself into the saddle and nudged the horse through the gate.

The city looked different from atop a horse, more distant. Only the wealthy in Madra owned horses or cows. Most kept goats or chickens instead. So, sitting in a saddle separated him from the people in a way he didn’t like.

He passed Agathe’s bakery, turning the corner as the palace came into view.

A struggle down one of the alleyways caught his eye, and he pulled up on the reins, watching as Ian Tenyson sprinted from the alley followed by his brother Reed. They didn’t see him as they ran down the street.

A groan came from the darkened alley. Edmund slid from his horse, leading it forward as a shock of blond hair came into view.

“Dell?” He dropped the reins, rushing forward.

Dell sat slumped against the brick wall of a building, blood streaming from a cut along his hairline. Bruises mottled his young face, and his lip was split.

“Dell, can you hear me?” Edmund crouched down in front of him, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure the Tenyson boys weren’t coming back. He’d known they were trouble.

In the distance, the palace called to him, but Edmund pushed it from his mind. He couldn’t leave Dell in such a state. He barely knew the kid, but Agathe cared for him, and that was enough for Edmund.

He put his fingers under Dell’s chin to tilt his face up. Dell’s eyes slid open slowly, no recognition showing.

Edmund tilted Dell’s head, trying to get a look at each injury. “Do you think you can stand?”

Dell’s lips curved into a cocky grin. “This isn’t my first fight, Ambassador.”

Edmund had been wrong. Dell did know who he was. “I saw your attackers, Dell. Not a scratch on them. I woulnd’t call that a fight, would you?”

Dell’s breath wheezed out. “Just… my brothers. Friendly fun.”

“Friendly.” Edmund grunted. He didn’t miss the mention of his brothers. It made so much sense now—everything Agathe said about the Tenysons. Dell was the third Tenyson boy. Why didn’t he spend time around the palace like the rest of his family?

And why was he now bleeding in an alley? Something about the other two Tenyson brothers struck Edmund as inherently evil.

“Come on.” He flung Dell’s arm over his shoulders. “Let’s get you up.” He pulled the boy to his feet, looping an arm around his waist to keep him from falling.

Dell stumbled, slamming Edmund into the wall. Edmund cursed as pain shot through his shoulder.

“I’m okay.” Dell tried to stand on his own, swaying so much he reached out to Edmund for support. “I just need to get home.”

“No, you need a healer.”

Dell shook his head before grimacing with a wince of pain. “Can’t afford a healer.”

What about his wealthy family? If he was a Tenyson, he had a fortune at hand. But this wasn’t the time to ask Dell questions. “Don’t worry about that. Come on.”

Dell tried to push away from him. “I don’t need charity.”

“For magic’s sake, Dell. It’s not charity. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

Dell’s body went limp in Edmund’s arms a moment later, and it took all of Edmund’s strength to keep him from dissolving into a pile on the cold stone ground. Dragging him toward the horse, Edmund strained to lift Dell up and drape him across the saddle.

He knew he’d get curious looks having an unconscious and bleeding boy on his horse, but this was Madra. The people didn’t like inserting themselves into the business of others like they did in Bela. Here, most stuck to themselves, making sure their families were fed and safe. There were few other things they worried about, because they knew they couldn’t change their kingdom, not while the Rhodipus family held the crown.

Dell didn’t wake on the way to Marie’s shop. His eyes remained closed as Edmund secured his horse at the hitching post outside the shop. As he slid Dell down from the saddle, Marie stood in the front room, broom in hand, waiting for Edmund.

She took one look at Dell and pointed toward the back room. “I’ll go get Corban.” She disappeared out the front door as Edmund lowered Dell gently onto the same pallet he’d first seen the burned Bemus sprawled on.

“Dell.” Edmund slapped the side of his face. “Dell, can you open your eyes for me?”

Dell only groaned.

It seemed as if an eternity passed before Marie returned with Corban in tow. The boy wasted no time kneeling beside Dell. Dirt stretched up the kid’s bare legs, soaking into the edges of his shortened trousers.

As Corban worked, Edmund looked to Marie in question.

She settled a loving gaze on the boy. Edmund knew Corban wasn’t her son, but Marie looked to him as if he was. “We had a few wagons of produce appear today. Corban was out helping distribute it. He’s a good boy.”

Corban closed his eyes, humming in the back of his throat as he pressed his hands to Dell’s chest. The bruises began receding as his skin stitched back together. Healing magic was nothing new to Edmund, but he still breathed a sigh of relief when Corban finally sat back on his heels. “He’ll probably sleep for a while, but he will be okay.”

Edmund walked forward and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Corban.”

Corban only shrugged. “I have to go back outside to help.”

Marie nodded to him, and he scampered out the front door.

Edmund spared one more glance for the sleeping Dell before following Marie into the front room where two chairs sat near a long counter. She gestured for him to sit.

Edmund relaxed into the chair. “You said you received food today. Who sent it?” Edmund had seen what life was like in this part of the city. Hungry children begged on street corners. The elderly relied on neighbors’ charity. He’d never witnessed a more desperate place in the Six Kingdoms, and he couldn’t shake the feeling he was helpless to change any of it.

Marie sat across from him, her keen eyes traveling over his tired face. “The prince tries to do what he can.”

“The prince?” Edmund choked on the word.

Marie didn’t seem to notice. “Prince Estevan thinks we don’t know the food comes from him. His father would put a stop to it if he found out. You haven’t been in Madra long, Edmund. The king thinks being a strong ruler means having a fierce army and a hard disposition when it comes to the people. But his son… Estevan Rhodipus has spent his life caring for the people as best he can from the shadows. But we know where the extra food comes from.”

Edmund leaned back in the chair, unable to comprehend what she’d said. He had an image of Estevan in his head. A hard prince who cared little for anything other than the throne. That view of him was the one thing keeping Edmund from replaying their kiss every waking moment. If he hated the prince, he didn’t have to feel anything else for him.

Edmund’s gaze drifted to the window where he could see the sun sinking on the horizon. How long ago was he supposed to be at the palace? He’d missed his chance to speak with the king on Bela’s behalf. Etta wouldn’t blame him, of course. She never did. If she’d seen Dell’s plight, she’d have stopped to help him too.

No, that wasn’t what worried him.

Now, the fear curling in his gut had nothing to do with failing Bela. It had nothing to do with the Madran king, only his son. Estevan’s burning amber eyes stuck in Edmund’s mind. He was trying to feed his people. Did Helena know?

“Edmund.” Marie reached forward to put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

He breathed deeply. “Yes. I’m fine.” Standing up, he smoothed out the fancy silk threaded tunic he’d donned for his meeting at the palace. A smear of Dell’s blood marred the expensive fabric.

Maybe his meeting had been doomed from the start. Madra didn’t want to tie themselves too closely to Bela when there were other alliances to be made, alliances with kingdoms that didn’t have magic. It was one of the many lessons Edmund learned in his first months in Madra. But he kept trying. He wasn’t one to give up.

“I’m going to check on Dell.” He walked into the room and sat on the edge of the pallet, looking into the face of the young man who’d been beaten bloody by his own brothers. “What’s your story, Dell?” Edmund knew what it was to be an unwanted son, cast aside by the people who were supposed to love you. His father practically disowned him for his magic. Something inside him wanted to make this better for Dell, wanted to be what Alex had been for him. A friend who gave him something more in life than the half-existence he’d had before.

But he had to proceed carefully. Edmund saw the distrust in Dell’s eyes the morning they met in the bakery. He tried to hide it with false bravado, but the desperate recognized desperation in others.

Brushing the hair back from Dell’s face, Edmund leaned in. “We won’t let this happen again. One day, Dell Tenyson, I’ll help you make your brothers pay for their cruelty.”

* * *

Edmund returned to Marie’s the next morning only to find Dell gone. He silently cursed himself for leaving in the first place. He couldn’t explain his need to help the young man. The connection he felt to him was unexplainable, as if the two of them were in some dysfunctional family club no one else could understand. It was the way Edmund felt about Tyson. Alex’s brother had to run from his own home because of the magic he carried inside him. He’d escaped Gaule with Edmund while Etta was captured.

It bonded them as brothers. Tyson quickly became one of the most important people in Edmund’s life. Did Dell have anyone like that? Did he have people who wanted to shield him from the world’s pain?

Through his problems with his father, Edmund had Alex. He held no love for his blood relations, but he had a family all the same, one he’d chosen.

Maybe he was going soft, wanting to save a boy who probably wouldn’t accept his help. With a sigh, Edmund left Marie and Corban. He passed a line of empty wagons out on the street, wagons that had overflowed with food the day before.

Had he been wrong about the prince?

Slipping into the Cooked Goose Tavern, Edmund scanned the faces of the Madrans hunched over their tankards of ale at this early hour. It was lunchtime and almost every table was surrounded by gruff looking men and women, taking a break from their days of hard labor. The scent of mutton stew hung heavy in the air, causing his stomach to rumble.

Edmund made his way to an empty booth in the back of the room. Catsja showed up a moment later, sliding a bowl in front of him. She placed her hands on her hips. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a hello, Ambassador?”

He lifted his eyes to the beautiful tavern owner, knowing her delicate features fooled many into underestimating her. Thick, inky hair hung over one shoulder. Icy blue eyes surveyed the room, seeing everything happening in her establishment.

Edmund offered her a tired smile. “Hello, Catsja.”

“That’s more like it. When you come into my tavern, I expect you to be pleasant.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, Edmund.” She smiled, flashing white teeth as she pointed to the food she’d brought. “Eat. You look like the world is weighing you down, but that’s nothing a good stew can’t fix.” Food was her answer to everything. It was one of the many things he’d learned about her.

Another was that her husband wasn’t to be trifled with. Orlo sat across the room, his eyes burning into Edmund. Edmund didn’t blame him. Catsja was an incredible woman with a mind and a will of her own. Any man in Madra would be lucky to call her his wife.

A curse flew from Catsja’s mouth. “I can’t get one damn day without the mercenaries scaring away my customers.”

A small woman with tattoos stretching up her neck and dark piercing eyes stood in the doorway of the tavern, eying each customer with disdain. Two broad-shouldered men entered behind her, identical tattoos covering their skin.

“They come often?” Edmund asked.

Catsja’s jaw worked from side to side as she tried to contain her frustration. “Every. Damn. Day. Seems the Cooked Goose is their preferred place for their noon meal.”

Edmund couldn’t take his eyes from the mercenary woman who’d now turned her gaze on him, a small smile curving her lips.

“I best be getting their ale.” Catsja walked away with a shake of her head.

As soon as she was gone, the dark warriors—who were part of the army La Dame hired –marched across the room. Servers jumped out of their way, not wanting to impede their movement. The woman rested her hand on the hilt of her sword sticking from her belt. She wore a low-cut red dress that left little to the imagination, and when she stopped at the edge of Edmund’s table, she smoothed a hand over her pointed chin.

“Ambassador Kent.” She nodded respectfully, much to his surprise. “May we sit?”

Edmund studied her, unable to ignore the warning bells firing in his head. Had he faced this woman on the Draconian battlefield? Had she fought for the dark sorceress? Did he have the option to refuse her?

No, he realized. He couldn’t afford to piss her off, not when everything else was crumbling around him. He waved his hand to the empty bench across the table.

The woman sat, tucking the edges of her dress around her legs. She shot a pointed look at the two men with her and they found their own table, leaving Edmund alone with the woman. Authority rolled off her in waves. To the mercenaries, she was important. Edmund was sure of it.

But what did she want with him?

She studied him for a moment. “I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” What could the mercenaries possibly want with him?

She nodded. “For the Belaen ambassador.”

“Belaens don’t make deals with Madran mercenaries.” Edmund slid to the end of the booth, intending to leave.

“Don’t move, Ambassador.” Her harsh tone froze him in place.

Catsja appeared, sliding a mug in front of the woman before sending a panicked look to Edmund and backing away.

“I am Damara.” She sipped her ale. “You don’t want to cross me.”

He met her gaze. “I don’t scare so easily, mercenary. What do you want from me?”

“You have access to our lovely prince.”

Edmund sucked in a breath. How much did she know?

“As the ambassador, you can get in and out of the palace fairly easily. We want you to bring him to us.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because, Ambassador, Madra doesn’t need Bela. Not once they make their alliance with Gaule official.”

Edmund tried to hide the alarm in his eyes. This was a dangerous woman. If she was bold enough to tell him the mercenaries had a plan for the prince, she’d have a contingency if he refused her. A contingency that would probably leave Edmund unable to repeat her words.

“What do you want with the prince?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, Ambassador. Absolutely nothing.”

He looked for the lie in her eyes, finding none. If the mercenaries didn’t truly want the prince, someone who was paying them did. “What makes you think you can trust me?”

“Trust is an interesting word, Edmund. You are not of Madran blood. Surely you can see the royal family destroying this kingdom.”

“But that’s not why you want to hurt them.”

She tapped a finger against her chin. “No. But it might be why you do.” She leaned forward, draining her tankard before setting it on the table. “Know your allies. Their motivations will tell you if they will succeed or if they will die.”

“And those are the only two options? Succeed or die?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she stood. “My ale is on you, Ambassador. Two weeks. If the prince is not in my hands within two weeks, you don’t want to see what happens next.” The two men she’d come with stepped up to flank her. As one, they turned and left the tavern. It was like all the tension in the room went with them.

Two weeks. He couldn’t turn Estevan over, but he was one man in a foreign kingdom. He’d seen before what the mercenaries were capable of. They’d almost taken control of the fight against the magic-wielding Bela.

Edmund rested his elbows on the table and leaned his face into his hands. A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to find Catsja with an uncharacteristic softness in her gaze. “Are you okay?”

“No.” He slid some coins from the pouch at his waist and set them on the table before standing. “I’m really not.” With that, he left his stew untouched and walked into the bright noon sun as he tried pushing all thoughts of Damara from his mind. He’d find a way to deal with her. He always outsmarted anyone who came up against him.

But his duties at the palace—for Bela—those he couldn’t avoid any longer. There’d be time to think of Damara and her mysterious ultimatum later.

Lifting his eyes to the shimmering palace in the distance, he headed in that direction. Unlike the day before, he hadn’t bothered wearing his best clothes to go meet with the king. Those clothes had Dell’s blood on them.

A crowd lingered outside the gates. People dressed in nothing more than rags sold everything from not-so-fresh produce to wood-carved kitchen utensils and homemade jewelry. A woman sat on the ground with jeweled necklaces and bracelets stretched out on a piece of thin fabric in front of her. Edmund waited for her to notice him before peering closer, taking in her hazy gaze.

She was blind.

“Madam.” He bent down so she could hear him over the din and looked more closely at the jewelry. It was beautiful, almost enough to make him forget there was ugly in the world such as the mercenaries. “Did you make these?”

A kind smile slid across her lips. “Yes, my lord.”

He wanted to ask how she knew he was a lord when she couldn’t see the quality of his clothing, but it seemed rude.

She answered his unspoken question. “You don’t sound like us, my lord.”

Us. Who was us? Anyone could pick Edmund out of a crowd and say he wasn’t Madra. At the very least, his blond hair and accented voice gave him away. But he got the distinct impression this woman didn’t mean he wasn’t Madra. She didn’t say it with scorn, just a matter-of-factness he appreciated.

He was so tired of the games of court.

A glittering silver bracelet caught his eyes. Round pink gems reflected the ever-present Madran sunlight. He’d thought he missed the rains of Bela, but as he stared into the gem, it’s beauty eclipsed all of that.

“I’d like the rose-colored bracelet,” he found himself saying as he fished a few silver coins out of the pouch at his waist. It was too much for the item, but he dropped four coins into the woman’s hand and closed her fingers over them. Picking up his new possession, he eyed her one final time. “Thank you, my lady.”

She giggled at that, shaking her head with a disbelieving ‘my lady’.

Edmund pocketed the bracelet and walked through the gates, nodding to the guards on either side. Would word of his meeting with a mercenary reach the palace guards? Maybe they’d come for him, saving him the impossible choice.

There were so many things he needed to accomplish within those walls, but the first thing he had to do was salvage a friendship, one he wasn’t sure he deserved as he considered what Damara asked of him.

Once inside near the entrance, Edmund glanced around at the servants and guards coming and going. He almost missed Kassander sitting cross legged in a darkened corner. A book of pictures sat open in his lap, and his eyes scanned the page, not lifting up as Edmund approached him.

“I’m not going to tell you where she is again.” He closed the book with a sigh. The first thing Edmund ever learned about Kassander was the deception in his age. At nine years old, he should have been running through the palace, acting as a child should, playing games without a care in the world.

But there was a seriousness to the young prince, a wiseness beyond his years.

Edmund lowered himself to sit on the floor beside Kassander. Servants eyed him curiously. The king wouldn’t appreciate one of the ambassadors sitting like a child in the halls, but at that moment, Edmund couldn’t have cared less what the king thought. He took the book from Kassander’s hands, flipping it open, surprised at the words written across the page.

The Dragon Lady.

That was another name for La Dame of Dracon. Someone wrote a book about the battle he remembered so clearly. He thumbed through the pages, watching Etta’s character come to life in images.

“Did you really do all this?” Kassander asked, his wide eyes curious.

Edmund chuckled, the sound betraying his roiling emotions. “Well, it didn’t happen exactly like this.” He didn’t like to talk about the Draconian war. No one who saw it did. He thought of the people back home and the scars that would never heal.

Kassander took the book back and turned to Edmund, folding his hands in his lap. His intelligent eyes added years to his age. “You’re a smart man, Edmund.”

Edmund did his best not to laugh, but his lips curved up of their own will. “Some people would call that debatable, kid.” Like the mercenaries who thought they could manipulate him.

Kassander’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you’re mean. Or at least, you don’t try to be mean. It just kind of happens.”

Edmund’s smile dropped, and the bracelet in his pocket suddenly felt like a weight around his neck. Kassander was right. Wasn’t he? Had Edmund led the princess to believe his feelings were more than friendly? Well, that wouldn’t be wrong, exactly. He cared about her more than he cared for anyone else in this magic-forsaken kingdom.

But she didn’t know how complicated his feelings were.

“No,” he finally said. “I don’t want to be mean.” Running a hand through his hair, he leaned his head back against the wall. “You were in the garden, weren’t you, Kass?”

The youngest Rhodipus child often went overlooked, uncared for by anyone except his mother. When he managed to escape Queen Chloe’s watchful eye, he spent his time observing the people who came and went in the palace.

Kassander nodded.

And there it was. This kid knew everything Edmund wished he could take back. Helena kissing him. Estevan kissing him. Apparently, the whole damn family wanted to kiss him. He’d come to Madra to escape complicated feelings and look where it got him.

No royal should be anywhere near him, especially with the new danger he presented to them.

Kassander bent forward, resting his chin on his knees as he drew them to his chest. “Can’t you just go home to Bela, Edmund? Just leave us alone?” They were questions, holding no harsh tones.

Yet, the words caused the same pain as if they’d been hurled in anger. Edmund’s mere presence hurt the royal family of Madra. He rubbed his face. How did any of this happen?

He thought of Dell being beaten by his brothers, the gaggles of beggars lining the streets. This kingdom wasn’t what he’d expected. It wasn’t the rolling hills of Bela, populated by a people who banded together to fight through the hard stages of life. Nor was it Gaule where some of the lords at least tried to take care of their people.

Before Edmund could answer Kass, a shadow appeared hovering over them. “There you are, Kass. I’ve been looking—” Helena’s voice broke off as she noticed Edmund sitting beside her brother on the black marble floor. She opened her mouth to say something more, but no words came out.

Edmund picked himself up off the floor, facing Helena for the first time since she kissed him the week before. He had no words to take the uncertainty from her eyes.

“You missed your meeting with my father yesterday,” was all she said. “He was irate. Some things were broken.” She shrugged as if the king yelling and throwing things was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it was.

Edmund reached for her, needing some kind of comfort after the morning he’d had, but she stepped back.

“I didn’t come here to get back in your father’s good graces.” Edmund rubbed the back of his neck. “I want in yours.”

She lifted one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and it rose above her mask. “Fine.” She looked to her brother. “Mother wanted me to find you. She’s going into the city.”

Kassander jumped to his feet. “Can I go with her?”

“Yes,” Helena said on a sigh.

Edmund wanted to reach out, to pull her into a hug and give her the comfort she never let herself need. Not being allowed to leave the palace tore at her. He could see it in her posture. But the princess wasn’t one to voice her emotions.

That was what made their reconciliation so much harder. They needed to talk about what made her kiss him. It was the only way to move forward.

What would she do if he told her about Damara’s demands? Probably try to fix everything, save everyone. But she couldn’t, and Edmund wouldn’t burden her with his problems.

Kassander ran off, and Helena led Edmund through the maze of bright halls and up the wide staircase. Light flooded in from large-paned windows with golden sills. He’d only ever been in the royal residence with Helena once before. It was the first time he’d been allowed to see her without her mask, the first time she’d trusted him.

As she shut the door behind them and untied her mask, he watched her reveal her beauty without a second thought. As soon as the mask no longer confined her, her shoulders relaxed, and she sank onto a couch in the main room, gesturing for Edmund to do the same.

He perched on the arm, not really sure where to start.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time.

Edmund chuckled as Helena cracked a smile. “Ladies first.”

“Look, Edmund… you know what my life is like here. I don’t exactly have people in my life who aren’t related to me except the servants surrounding us. I know what my future holds. My father will want me to marry Ian Tenyson.”

Edmund’s blood ran cold as Ian’s face from the night before flashed through his mind. “I thought the second born chose their own Madran partner.”

She leveled him with a ‘don’t be stupid’ gaze. “My father always gets his way.”

Now Edmund felt even worse for possibly giving her the impression he had romantic feelings for her. “Helena, you know nothing can ever happen with us.”

She nodded. “I’ve had these feelings for you since the very first time we met, but when I kissed you, Edmund, it didn’t feel like I think it’s supposed to. I don’t know. There’s nothing there except…”

“Friendship?”

She smiled. “Yes. I was lonely. I am lonely. It’s not easy to admit. I think I took your kindness as something more than it was. I’m not really equipped to deal with people. I’ve never had any friends. I’m not allowed. My brothers… they love me, I know they do. But Estevan has a lot on his plate. Kass is young. I’m closest to the twins, but they’re never here. I guess I just wanted a friend.”

Edmund scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You have one. We’re friends, Len. I care about you a lot.”

She offered him a shy smile as a tear escaped her eye. “I’m not sure you understand how nice that is to hear.”

He’d known the princess of Madra suffered under the traditions of her kingdom, but he hadn’t realized until right then just how bad it had gotten. He squeezed her tighter against his side, conscious of the fact if anyone saw them, they could get into trouble. With the maids nearby changing linens in the bedrooms, they weren’t exactly alone, but he doubted the queen would approve.

“I’m sorry I left when you and Stev were fighting.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I was embarrassed, and I didn’t like the things you were saying about yourself. You’re not broken, Edmund. Just because you fought in a hard, bloody war doesn’t mean you can’t be who you were before.”

He rested his chin on her head. He wouldn’t tell her it was a good thing she hadn’t stayed to see her brother kiss the same man she’d kissed only a moment before. These royals were going to be the end of him. Possibly in a literal sense.

Pulling back, he dug his hand into his pocket to retrieve the jewelry he’d bought. Helena’s eyes widened as he slipped it into her hand.

“You bought me a present?” Awe coated her voice.

Edmund smiled, a sudden shyness overcoming him. “I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to make sure we were still friends.”

She stared at it for a moment longer. “You don’t have to bring me things for that, Edmund.” She looked up at him and smiled. “But thank you.”

He pulled her into another hug.

“I wish you and Stev didn’t hate each other so much,” she whispered, tilting her head back to look up at him. “He isn’t a bad man, Edmund. Not like…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but they both knew what she’d meant to say. Not like her father. She claimed Estevan was different, but Edmund still didn’t know what to think of the prince. If he wasn’t a bad man, how could Edmund hand him over to Damara? How did he even get him out of the palace?

“Stev will make a good king.” She said the words almost as a promise.

Edmund sighed. “I know you love your brother, but he’s kind of an ass.”

That pulled a laugh out of her. “One of these days, I’m going to force you two to make nice.”

Edmund shook his head. “That won’t happen.”

A knowing light entered her eyes. “We’ll see.”

She sounded so much like her conniving little brother with those two words that Edmund almost laughed. Almost. Maybe he would have if he didn’t have a sense of dread curling in his stomach.

He’d fixed things with Helena, and if it were up to him, that would be all that mattered. But he was the Belaen ambassador, not some average friend of the royal family, and he had a job to do. With a sigh, he released Helena. “I need to try to speak with your father.”

She grimaced. “Edmund… you know I’d help you if I could, right? But my father barely spares me a glance let alone listens to a word I have to say.”

A mistake, Edmund thought. Helena had a shrewd mind. Maybe if the king paid more attention to his only daughter, he’d see a way to connect with his people. The mysterious masked princess was a revered figure in a way her older brothers weren’t. Yet, Madran tradition kept her from public eye, held her back and prevented her from making a difference. That same Madran tradition made her the figurehead of hope in the kingdom.

It was said the masked princess was untainted by the evils in the world, her heart protected against all that was bad.

Edmund got to his feet and rubbed his hands down his legs to smooth out the wrinkles in his trousers. Helena stood, her lips pursed in thought. “Edmund, don’t like run a sword through me or anything for suggesting this…”

He laughed at that. “Okay, I promise not to run the sword I don’t currently have through the one person I trust in this kingdom. Say what you will.”

She reached up to pull his hair back away from his face. “Maybe my father and brother would respect you more if you looked the part of a lord rather than some escaped prisoner who doesn’t own a comb.”

He shook his head, thinking of the great pains he’d gone to with his appearance only the day before. No one would have questioned his position had he shown up at the palace then. “You’re right.”

She smirked. “Aren’t I always? Hold on.” She disappeared into her bedchambers, returning a few moments later with a comb and ribbon.

“Lenny, I’m not wearing a pink ribbon in my hair.”

“Well, I don’t have any leather strips like Estevan uses. Would you like me to ask him if you can borrow one?” She crossed her arms as if she knew what his answer would be.

Edmund weighed the two embarrassing scenarios. In one, he’d be at the mercy of Estevan’s charity, forced to ask him for help making a good impression. In the other… maybe no one would notice the ribbon holding his hair back.

He could refuse either situation and show up in the throne room looking like the escaped prisoner Helena claimed he resembled. That was a bit harsh, if anyone asked him. Sure, he’d gotten little sleep the night before. And he’d been in such a rush to fix things with Helena, he hadn’t considered just how he’d appear to the king.

“Fine.” He pushed out a breath. “Ribbon me.”

She grinned as she circled him, dragging the comb through his long blond hair. It took her only a moment to tie his hair back. She stepped away to study her work and issued him a curt nod.

He slid an arm around her shoulders. “It’s a good thing I like you, Princess.”

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I just want to help you, Edmund.”

There was an honesty in her words few people possessed. Helena did want to help him. That was the thing. Whatever she did, no matter the words leaving her mouth, it was never for herself. He gave her one final squeeze.

“Can I give you a last piece of advice?” she asked, ducking away from his arm and whirling around to face him.

“You’re going to give it to me no matter what I say.” He stuck his tongue out in a very un-lord-like way, not caring how childish he seemed.

She mimicked his gesture. “Estevan will help you if you ask. My father listens to him.”

“You believe the good in everyone, don’t you?” He ruffled her hair, and she pushed him away.

“And you don’t believe it in anyone.”

He didn’t tell her how close to the truth she came. After being imprisoned by the kingdom he grew up in and then going on to fight in the Draconian war, Edmund had issues trusting people. It was one of the reasons it would never have worked with Matteo and also how he knew Damara’s demand wasn’t as simple as handing over Estevan. Would she let Edmund go after that?

Other than with Etta, Alex, and Tyson, he held himself back from those around him, giving them only what they wanted to see. And now Helena, too Somehow, she’d become just as important to him. She saw him.

“When you see as much evil as I have, kid, you learn the darkness is stronger than the light.”

“I don’t believe that.” She crossed her arms.

How could she still think there was good in the world? She more than anyone had reason to hate the lot life had given her. “One day, Lenny, you will. You’ll see what I mean. The bad always comes for the good, wanting to snuff it out like a candle in the wind.”

Without another word, he strode toward the door. Helena didn’t follow. She couldn’t leave the royal residence without her mask. Edmund hated the words he’d said to her, as if they somehow chipped away the innocence he found so endearing.

If there was light in this world, that girl was it.

7

The darkness he’d told Len about… that was Estevan. Sort of. Edmund couldn’t really tell what exactly Estevan was. Hard edges and a stubborn tongue? Or the man who fed his people in secret? Could he be both?

Etta had been. She came to the palace of Gaule angry at the world and wanting to take revenge on everyone who’d harmed her family. But she’d grown to care about her people as she’d taken on the role of heir to the throne of Bela.

Edmund saw the change in her right before his eyes. He knew it could happen. But Etta was special. And once again, he didn’t know what Estevan was.

But he needed him. Helena was right. If Edmund wanted the king to listen, he needed to win over the prince. There was no way he could bend to Damara’s will. He’d have to find another way to deal with her.

Passing the guards at the door, he entered the throne room. At the far end, the king sat on his throne listening to his advisors. Edmund circled the group, almost running into Ian Tenyson.

“Watch where you’re going, Belaen,” Ian growled.

Edmund looked at him with no emotion in his eyes. Etta would have called it his dangerous eyes. She’d seen it as they fought in the tournament of Gaule, as he’d tried to kill her, willing to do anything necessary to protect Alex.

Now, well, now he had a new opponent. He stood frozen to the spot, memorizing each slimy feature of the man before him, not saying a word.

Ian stepped back, his eyes unsure. “What’s your problem, magic man?”

One corner of Edmund’s mouth curved up into a half-grin. “One day, you’ll get what you deserve, Ian Tenyson.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No.” Edmund’s grin widened. “No threats here. But I’ve seen a lot of people fall. And I have a feeling your descent will be something to watch.”

They were still locked in a stare when Estevan appeared behind Edmund. “Do we have a problem?”

Edmund laughed, enjoying the sight of blood draining from Ian’s cheeks. “No, your Highness. No problem. Ian and I were just reconciling our differences.” He gripped Ian’s shoulder.

Ian flinched at Edmund’s touch, but Edmund only tightened his grip.

Estevan’s keen eyes flicked between them. “Edmund, the king will see you now.”

Edmund dropped his hand from Ian, turning to Estevan in surprise.

The prince only motioned for Edmund to walk across the red velvet carpet to where the gold rimmed throne sat. The king, surrounded by his priests, lifted his eyes to Edmund and beckoned him forward.

Not many people made Edmund uncomfortable. He’d been through too much to let his fears have a second thought, but that man and his dark eyes sent a shiver down Edmund’s spine. Bela needed Madra. With tensions still high in their Gaulean relations and the trade agreements with Dracon and Cana still in their infancy, Bela needed Madra to continue to send them aid.

There was also the fact that the Madran army was Bela’s only ally in monitoring the Draconian border.

Estevan stayed at Edmund’s side as he walked toward the one place he’d been trying to reach since arriving on the Madran shores: in front of the king. This was why Etta sent him, why he’d had to stay in a place he would never call home.

Estevan dropped his voice. “Look him in the eye when you speak to him. He will respect your strength. My father didn’t want to meet with you after you failed to come yesterday, but I’ve convinced him our alliance with Bela is not something to play with.”

Why was the prince helping him? It made it that much harder to dislike him. Flashes of their argument in the garden entered Edmund’s mind. He’d said so many harsh things, revealed so much about himself. And how had the prince responded?

He’d kissed him.

Edmund looked at Estevan out of the corner of his eye, not realizing they’d stopped in front of the throne.

Estevan issued a small bow. “Father. May I present Edmund Kent, the Belaen ambassador.”

Edmund bowed, dropping lower than Estevan as was customary, suddenly glad Helena had cleaned up his appearance.

The king said nothing as Edmund straightened. His advisors and priests watched in silence as two kingdoms faced off against each other.

Estevan, standing impossibly still, was a calm presence beside Edmund, and he was grateful for the prince in a way he’d never expected.

Edmund met the king’s eyes, forcing himself not to glance away from the intensity.

The king rubbed his chin, resting his elbows on the arms of his throne. “You have been in Madra for many months. Is that correct, lord Kent?”

Edmund swallowed. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“And how do you find our kingdom?”

Edmund considered the question. Did he tell the king he hated the constant crowds of Madra, or the hunger facing the people he saw on the streets? It lacked the peace of Bela. “It’s… different from what I’m used to, sire.”

The king’s laugh boomed out. “You hate it. Is that what you’re saying?”

His laugh said he found this highly amusing, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that held no humor. Edmund shook his head. “No. I am not used to life in the city, but I find it surprising and exciting in a way the hills of Bela could never be. Here, one is always surrounded by people. It is different, sire, but no less of a life.”

Edmund held his breath, hoping the king couldn’t detect the lies in his words, not wanting him to know he’d be on the next ship home to Bela if he could.

“Well said.” The king’s booming words relaxed the tension in the room. “My son tells me Bela is an important ally. Why is that, ambassador? It seems to me you need Madra more than we need you.”

“Your Majesty, Bela is a fragile kingdom now, but with each passing month, we grow stronger. Queen Persinette—”

“I heard she lost her magic,” he cut in.

“Some of it, sire, not all. She is still quite powerful and has retained the power she was born with. The people who follow her have immense power as well. You ask why you need Bela, but you fail to see what Bela has already done for you. Without Queen Persinette, La Dame would own your shores.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Edmund cut him off—eliciting gasps from those watching the exchange.

“Don’t deny what everyone knows to be true, your Majesty. Madra aided us in our fight with Dracon, but it was magic that won. And now, Bela sits on the Draconian border, acting as a guardian of magic to make sure nothing like that ever happens again. So, yes, Bela needs Madra’s grain and meats and pelts to keep warm in the winter. But the Six Kingdoms needs Bela’s power.”

“And how do we know this power will not be used against us? For a long time, Gaule wanted to eradicate magic. Madra never went to those lengths, but I can’t believe they were necessarily wrong.”

“It is a risk, your Majesty. When any kind of power exists—whether it be magical in nature or not—someone will always abuse it. I can promise as long as Queen Persinette rules Bela, you need not fear us. She is the most honorable person I’ve ever known. It is her belief that magic must never be used against those who have none.”

The king considered him for a long moment, his shrewd eyes never leaving Edmund’s. “Okay, Ambassador. Madra will sign a trade agreement. You will negotiate the terms with the prince.” He turned his gaze on his son. “Bring Helena into this as well. She is the future head of the merchant council and must learn how things are done.”

Estevan issued a brief nod and turned to walk away. He reached back once he realized Edmund hadn’t followed and gripped his arm, pulling him past the curious eyes of the king’s ass-kissers.

Outside the throne room, silence descended, and Edmund leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Something about that king didn’t sit well with him.

Estevan waited patiently, his hands clasped behind his back.

Once Edmund got control of his breathing, he pushed away from the wall and turned on the prince. “Look, your Highness. I know you don’t like me. You don’t trust me.” The kiss flashed through his mind. “But we must work together for the good of my kingdom. I’m willing to put my asshole tendencies away if you are.”

Confusion creased his brow. “I don’t have asshole tendencies.”

Edmund couldn’t contain his laughter. “Okay, your Highness. Just… okay.”

They didn’t say anything else as they started walking back toward the royal residence where they’d surely find Helena.

As they reached the door, Estevan paused. “Your loyalty to your queen… I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” He rubbed the back of his head. “In Madra, people fear the royal family, but love… Queen Persinette is lucky to have your love as well as your obedience.”

“You think I’m obedient to Etta?” Edmund grinned.

“Etta?”

“She has never been Persinette to me. I would say she’s like a sister, but you’re even formal with Helena so I don’t know if that’s the best way to explain my relationship with Etta. I don’t do anything for Etta because I’m obedient. If you asked her, she’d tell you I was her biggest frustration. But she loves me still.”

“Then why are you here in Madra if not because she asked it of you?”

Edmund sighed. Did the prince remember their conversation months before about Matteo? That was the only real conversation he’d had with Estevan until now. “Let’s just say it was more about running from something than toward anything.” He sighed. “And if you’re going to ask me such personal questions, I’m going to call you Stev.”

“No. You’re not. My name is Estevan. Your Highness to you.”

Edmund shook off thoughts of Matteo and grinned, enjoying the prince’s discomfort. “If I’m not obedient to my own queen, what makes you think I’ll listen to you… Stev. That’s how you introduced yourself the first time we met.”

“Only when I didn’t want you to know who I was.”

Edmund only smiled and pushed open the door to the royal residence before Stev could protest again.

Helena sat on the couch with her feet curled up beneath her. An open book sat in her lap. She looked up as they entered, a smile gracing her face.

Edmund dropped onto the couch beside her. “Stev here is supposed to negotiate a trade agreement with your help.”

“My help?” Her eyes widened as they found her brother. “Father wants my help?”

Estevan shrugged and walked past them. “I’ll be right back.”

Helena put her book aside and leaned close to Edmund. “How annoyed is he that you’re calling him Stev?”

Edmund chuckled. “I’ve always been an annoyance to people. Just ask my father.” He wanted to call back the words as soon as he said them, hating the pity in her eyes.

“I know how that feels.”

Maybe he’d mistaken pit for solidarity. His thoughts drifted to Dell. Edmund wouldn’t be in Madra forever, and he hated the thought of leaving Helena. He wished he could introduce the two lonely people, but Dell didn’t strike him as someone who’d come to the palace.

Stev returned a moment later with parchment and quill. He sat in a high-back chair pulling a table near so he could take down their notes before drafting the agreement.

All business, Edmund crossed his legs. “Let’s begin.”

Barely an hour into their meeting a guard rushed in, relief visibly relaxing him when he set eyes on Estevan. He yelled into the hall “I have the crown prince and princess.” Turning to them, his eyes scanned the room. “The prince Kassander has been taken.”

Estevan jumped to his feet. “Taken?”

The guard nodded. “In the city. A team of men came upon the queen’s carriage, killing three of her guards and taking the prince.”

“And my mother?”

“With the healer. She fought them, but there were too many.”

Helena stood. “My mother would never let them take Kass.” Tears built in her eyes.

Edmund wrapped an arm around Helena’s shoulders, knowing instantly who had the prince. They’d wanted Estevan, but maybe the younger boy would be enough. “Her guards tried to keep them both safe, Helena.” And against the mercenaries they were no match. Damara told him he had two weeks. It hadn’t even been a single day.

“I just saw him,” she whispered. “I didn’t hug him goodbye. I should know by now that we always need to say our goodbyes in this blasted kingdom. We never know when we won’t get to say hello again.” She collapsed back onto the couch.

Edmund lowered himself to his knees in front of her. “He’s not dead, Len.” At least he hoped he wasn’t.

“You don’t know that.”

“No.” Estevan rested a hand on the top of her head. “But we’re going to operate under the assumption he’s not.” He turned to the guard. “Bring me my sword.”

“Your Highness,” the guard stammered. “The king has ordered the palace to go under lock down. No one is to enter or leave.”

Estevan scowled up at the guard. “And just where is your king while his youngest son rests in the hands of his captors?”

“The throne room, awaiting word that it is safe to leave.”

“Safe.” He looked to the guard like he couldn’t believe that one word. “When it’s safe for him? Kassander is out there right now.” He marched to the door and threw it open. “Someone get me a sword!”

Three guards formed up outside the door, creating a barrier for their prince. “King’s orders, sire.”

“Screw the king’s orders. I am your prince.”

“We’re sorry, your Highness.” They each wore matching expressions of pity.

Helena disappeared into another room, returning after a few tense moments, sword in hand. She held it out for Estevan to take. “Find Kassander. Please. Then return to me.”

Edmund watched the scene unfold like a great epic battle of wills. Estevan stood with three guards blocking his path and one guard standing behind him. His eyes blazed with fury, a passion Edmund had never seen in the prince.

This was the man Helena had claimed her brother to be, the one who’d save Madra from the mistakes of their father. As the king hid for his own safety, the prince took matters into his own hands.

Edmund’s loyalty was born in that moment. Not a similar loyalty to Bela. That was intense and born of a love for people who understood him. This time, his loyalty came from watching a prince become a leader right before his eyes.

He didn’t want to follow a king who sat back and watched a battle happen. Estevan was ready to jump into the fray. For his brother. For his family. Edmund thought he’d had nothing in common with the Madran prince, but this, a need to fight for the ones they loved was in both of them.

Making a decision he knew could ruin his chances of a good relationship with the king, Edmund got to his feet and walked to Estevan’s side.

Estevan looked sideways at him. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to find Kassander.” He turned to the guard who’d brought them the news. “How much do you know?”

“Uh, everything, my lord. I was there.”

“Good, you’re coming with us.” He faced the guards blocking their way once more. “Sorry about this.” A burst of air shot through the hall, throwing the guards against the walls.

Estevan and the guard accompanying them stood in shock, but they didn’t have any time to waste.

Edmund stepped over the guards in the hall. “Well, come on.”

That snapped the other two out of their dazes. Helena called something after them, but Edmund couldn’t hear it over the pounding in his ears. He’d just used his magic inside the palace of Madra against the king’s men. Whether he saved the prince or not, there were bound to be repercussions.

Kassander’s knowing eyes flashed through his mind. He’d have loved to see that, but he wasn’t there because some bastards kidnapped him.

The question was why Damara wanted a prince.

What purpose did it serve to take the young boy who wasn’t even first or second in line for the throne?

Edmund glanced at Stev out of the corner of his eye. Had they known it would get the prince out of the palace? Was he doing as she’d asked? Bringing Stev right to her door?

Damara had to be behind this.

Edmund needed to find her.

8

The empty halls held an eerie stillness as Edmund followed Estevan on a route he’d never taken toward the courtyard. Most in the palace would be locked in various rooms as protocol dictated when the royal family faced a direct threat.

“What’s your name, soldier?” Edmund asked the guard with them.

“Riley, my lord.”

“Cut the formalities.” Estevan grunted. “You’re here with us to save my brother.”

Riley only nodded.

Out in the courtyard, guards lined the inside of the gate. They snapped to attention when they caught sight of their prince thundering down the steps.

“Open the gate,” Estevan yelled.

“Your Highness,” one of them began. “That’s against protocol.”

Edmund lifted a hand, calling on the winds. Air swept around them, not strong enough to do any damage, but enough to bring attention to his magic.

The guard’s eyes widened.

“Like I said.” Estevan stepped forward. “Open the gates.”

The guard flicked his wild eyes from Stev to Edmund and back again before lifting his voice in a command. “Open the gates!”

“Oh.” Edmund stopped the guard from returning to his men. “I’m going to need your sword.”

“My sword, sir?”

Patience all but gone, Edmund reached forward, gripping the hilt of the guard’s sword and sliding it free of its sheath. “Thank you.” He started off through the opening gates, knowing Riley and Estevan would follow him.

As soon as they were out on the street away from the palace guards, Estevan turned to Riley. “Where were they attacked?”

Riley thought for a moment. “In the market district. There was something about the men, something dark. They were large and skilled with the blade. One of them had a visible tattoo snaking up his neck.”

Estevan cursed and Edmund couldn’t say he disagreed with the sentiment. “Mercenaries.” He was right. This couldn’t be anyone but Damara.

In the Draconian war, the Madran mercenaries fought for the dark sorceress, La Dame. They held no loyalty to her. Their swords belonged to those who had gold.

Estevan rubbed his eyes. “If the mercenaries took Kass, someone paid them to do it.”

Edmund had the same thought. Did the Rhodipus’ have more dangerous enemies than they believed? He’d wondered the same thing after Damara came to him. Who was pulling her strings?

Riley shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t know how they knew we were in the city. The queen’s protocol had us using a nondescript carriage and various routes, never the same way twice. We took every precaution.”

“Did you tell anyone of the queen’s venture beforehand?” Edmund asked.

“What are you getting at, Edmund?” Estevan shot him a harsh look.

Riley answered after a moment of thought. “Yes. The council knows of the queen’s every movement.”

Edmund turned on his heel and walked up the street with one destination in mind. Estevan caught up with him, matching his stride. “You have a plan.”

“I do. There’s a place, a tavern actually, frequented by mercenaries.”

“Don’t we want to keep to the shadows?” Riley asked.

Edmund shook his head. “No. We want the whole damn city to know the prince is here without his guards.” He clapped Stev on the back. “You, my broody prince, are bait.”

The Cooked Goose teemed with mid-afternoon drinkers of all levels of society. It was one of the few places in Madra frequented by all classes. Edmund sent Stev and Riley in without him. Whether they respected him or not, Edmund was a feared man in Madra. He didn’t want Kassander’s captors to know he was with the prince.

He didn’t want them to hesitate if they tried to take him.

Instead, Edmund turned into an alley at the side of the tavern and slipped in through the kitchen door. The smell of fresh bread struck him and he inhaled the heavenly aroma.

Before Bemus moved in, mealtimes were a lonely affair, and Edmund frequently found himself at the tavern in search of companionship, just someone to eat with who didn’t look at him like a big scary magic man from Bela.

He’d found that in the tavern’s owner.

“Edmund Kent.” Catsja scowled, hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing in my kitchen?”

He pressed a finger to his lips, and her scowl disappeared.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Does this have anything to do with why the crown prince is sitting in a tavern for probably the first time in his life?” She gestured to the door separating the kitchen from the patrons enjoying their ale and food.

“Prince Kassander has been abducted.”

She gasped, her hand going to her chest. “That poor boy.”

“We’re going to find him, Catsja.”

“Well, you I believe. Most people think you’re invincible around these parts. But Prince Estevan? How is he supposed to find his brother sitting in my tavern? That young man is about as soft as they come.”

“Catsja, with all due respect, shut up.”

Her jaw fell open, but after a moment her lips tipped up into a smile. “This is why I like you, Edmund. No bullshit. You’re here for a reason. What can I do to help?”

“Has Damara or any of her people been here today?”

Her brow creased. “Well, no. Now that I think about it, it’s odd. Her mercenaries lunch here almost every day. It could be coincidence, but they haven’t been in today.”

It was the only lead they had. “Do you know where they’re based?”

She nodded. “Damara is well-known in these parts. She operates out of a warehouse by the docks.”

“The docks?” Would they put Kassander on a ship? If they did, this was over. But where would they take him?

He pulled Catsja into a hug. “Thank you.”

“Just be careful, Edmund. I don’t like that woman.”

“You can count on it. Can you get a message to the prince?”

She nodded.

“Tell him we got what we came for. I’ll meet him outside.” He slipped out the door once again. Overhead, clouds moved in, blocking out the sun with their gray gloom.

As Edmund rounded the building, a raindrop hit his cheek.

Shouting erupted inside the tavern, and Edmund cursed as he recognized Estevan’s growl. The door burst open, and four men tumbled through. Two gripped Estevan, delivering blow after blow. Riley, the fourth, lunged at the closest one, knocking him away from Estevan.

Edmund rolled his eyes heavenward and tossed his sword from one hand to the other as he approached the scrum.

Fat raindrops fell around them, cleansing the blood from their faces. “Take your hands off the prince.”

The men froze, lifting their eyes to take in Edmund as the rain pinged off his sword. Estevan managed to shove them off and jump to his feet, pulling his own sword free.

The men looked to each other for only a moment before sprinting down the street.

Catsja shook her head from the doorway before closing the door, leaving Edmund facing Estevan and Riley in the rain. “Well, that’s one way to alert the city to your presence.” He laughed.

Estevan wiped blood from his lip. “Those assholes…”

“Are you okay, your Highness?” Riley asked.

Estevan only shot him a ‘shut up’ look.

“I’d ask for the story to that fight, but we don’t have time. I think Kassander was taken by a group of mercenaries who operate out of one of the warehouses near the docks.”

Estevan snapped his eyes up. A bruise stretched up his cheek, but Edmund could see the rage in his eyes. It no longer matter what happened to the crown prince, not when his brother was in danger.

It’d been so long since Edmund felt any kind of purpose. In the years since the Draconian war, he’d drifted along without anything holding him to the ground.

Maybe Madra was that purpose he needed. He saw the desperation and hunger in the people’s eyes, and it now matched Estevan’s. Edmund came to Madra seeking an escape from his life in Bela, seeking to matter once again. Now was his opportunity. Madra could be better. He only had to make Estevan believe that.

And the first step was saving Kassander, even if it meant handing over Estevan.

“They’ll know you’re coming, Stev. News of your presence in the city is most likely already spreading.”

Estevan pushed a hand through his sopping hair and lifted his face to the rain. “Good.” His jaw hardened. “Let them know.”

Edmund turned to the guard. “Riley, do you know your way to the Ambassador’s Sector?”

Riley nodded.

“Good. I need you to go to my home. A man named Bemus will be there. Tell him we may have an injury at the docks. He’ll know what to do.”

Riley nodded and ran in the opposite direction. Bemus would know to find Corban, to bring him just in case. Edmund eyed Estevan. Would the prince forgive him for the actions he was about to take?

Gripping his sword tightly, he gestured to the other side of the street. “Let’s go.”

Shopkeepers closed their doors against the pounding rain and brought in signs. Carts rumbled along the road as citizens hurried to get home, oblivious of the prince in their midst.

But the mercenaries wouldn’t be so oblivious. They’d have heard. They were waiting.

* * *

The rain drummed a steady rhythm on the stone road as the prince and the Belaen ambassador raced across the city. The Madran capital sat along a river that fed into the sea separating it from Bela and Gaule. It protected them against attack by ship because all seafarers were forced into the river.

But the most potent of attacks didn’t come from faraway enemies. They came from within. Edmund bent over, trying to catch his breath. They’d run through alleyways and streets, racing across areas of town the prince shouldn’t have set foot in without guards.

Yet, he’d never once looked back. Edmund admired that. Stev had to save his brother. While his father sat back in his throne room separated from the people he ruled, Estevan was out among them.

Marie’s words about the prince came back to him. Stev tried his hardest to keep the people fed despite his father’s cruel ways.

It was hard to hate someone who put everything he was into the role he wanted to play. But, Stev was still an ass.

Or, at least Edmund needed to think that. If he didn’t, he’d want something more than the prince could give him.

Estevan peered around the side of the building, wiping the rain from his eyes. His dark hair stuck to his face just as his thin tunic clung to each muscle—and there were a lot of those.

Edmund tore his eyes away from the prince and straightened. He held his sword in front of him, watching the drops of water strike the shining steel and roll off. When was the last time he’d gotten to use his sword? Probably in Bela when he’d sparred with Etta for the final time before leaving her behind.

For the first time in months, he felt like himself. Flipping the sword into his other hand, he turned to Estevan. “How much do you know about mercenaries?”

Estevan’s brow furrowed. “They fight for who pays them.”

Edmund grinned. “Yes, but it’s more complicated than that. They operate under a strict code of honor, never breaking faith with their customers… except…”

“Except what?”

“When it comes to a duel.”

Estevan’s eyes widened. “They wouldn’t duel within city limits. Duels are illegal, just like street fights of any kind.”

Edmund slid a finger down the center of his blade. “One thing to keep in mind, Prince, is your father has very little control in the streets of Madra. It’s a war out here, and the rules of war are different from that of a pampered king in a palace.” He lowered his sword. “Come. They will know I am not alone so they have to see you.”

“This was your plan all along?”

Edmund paused. He’d done exactly as Damara had asked, luring the prince into the city. Only, he hadn’t done it for her, and he wouldn’t be walking away from this without Stev. “I have fought a lot of mercenaries. In the years since, I have studied the Draconian war. Every event, every action… I wanted to understand it. That final battle changed this world, and I needed to know everything. Trust me when I say this is how we get Kassander back.”

“Then I’ll do it. He’s my brother. I’ve been trained by the best sword master in Madra. I can win any duel.”

A grin tilted one side of Edmund’s mouth as he glanced at Estevan. “You may have been trained by the best, but I am the best.” Except for possibly Etta, but he wouldn’t admit that. Estevan didn’t understand. He’d never seen Edmund fight. No one in Madra had.

But by abducting Kassander, the mercenaries woke the sleeping warrior inside Edmund. He had a purpose now. Protect the kid. Make sure Estevan survived. Keep his promise to Helena. The three Rhodipus royals had him questioning everything he’d thought of their kingdom.

He pushed wet blond hair out of his face as he approached the warehouse rumored to be the mercenary base. He’d searched the surrounding area as they’d passed other buildings, finding only one with three guards standing outside.

Estevan caught up to him. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he yelled over the rain.

“I always know what I’m doing.” Edmund shrugged, because it was the truth. None of his actions were ever without purpose.

The guards straightened as the two men approached. Steel flashed in the stormy gray light as they pulled their swords. A crack of thunder ripped through the sky.

Edmund held up a hand, raising his voice. “Now, boys, there’s no need for that.” A confident grin hid the nerves tumbling inside him. He never let others see how anything affected him. It was part of his charm. Everyone knew Edmund Kent to be the most confident man in any room.

And then there was Estevan. His dark scowl was enough to set the guards on edge.

Edmund elbowed him. “Less broody prince and more puppy dog prince,” he hissed.

“I am not a puppy dog,” Estevan growled back. He did, however, try to erase his frown. Try being the operative word.

Edmund approached the guards, stopping just outside the reach of their swords. “Look.” He held his own sword out for someone to take. “We don’t come to bring you harm.”

One of the mercenaries laughed, shielding his eyes from the rain, and stood taller, flexing his muscles. “You couldn’t harm us, Belaen.”

“Ah, so you recognize me. Good. That’ll save us a lot of time.” Edmund’s magic buzzed along his skin, wanting a role in this play. But if they were going to get Kassander back, his magic would have to go unseen.

The laughing mercenary ripped the sword from his hand.

Edmund gestured for Estevan to hand his over. The prince grunted as he dropped it on the ground.

One of the guards walked forward, his grin widening. “Seems we have us another prince.”

Another? Edmund met Estevan’s sharp gaze. That was the confirmation they needed. The mercenaries had Kassander.

“Where is my brother?” Estevan growled.

“Alive.”

Well, that was something at least.

“But out of your reach.”

Damn. Edmund studied the mercenaries for a moment longer. “I brought you the crown prince just as Damara demanded. He is my prisoner, but the mercenaries can have him for a price.”

Estevan cut his eyes to Edmund, anger in their depths. Edmund stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. He breathed out slowly, waiting for their answer, and knowing there was no coming back from abducting the heir to the Madran throne.

Yet, that was what he’d done. Estevan just hadn’t known until that moment he’d walked into a trap.

9

Inside the warehouse, the space looked much like an overly large tavern. At the back, a bar sat stacked high with copper mugs. Tables spread throughout the space, occupied by tattooed men and women in ragged clothing.

Pathways wound through the rows of tables, leading toward closed doors at the back.

All eyes in the room settled on Edmund and those with him. He tried not to shrink under their harsh glares. Beside him, Estevan’s silence wrought havoc within Edmund. What was he doing? Giving the crown prince over to the mercenaries against his will? Would this be the final nail in Bela’s relations with Madra?

The worst part was he knew he’d let Etta down. He’d been letting her down for months.

Yet, this had to be done.

“You’re a traitorous bastard,” Estevan growled.

“Not the first time I’ve been called a traitor, Stev. Probably won’t be the last. Unfortunate circumstance of our world.”

“I don’t know what kind of world you think you live in, but this isn’t how we live in Madra.”

“No, in Madra the crown just lets their people starve.” He held Estevan’s stare. “I’m doing this for Madra, Stev.”

Estevan lunged forward, trying to wrap his hands around Edmund’s throat. Two guards held the prince back as he screamed obscenities.

“Where is my brother?” he yelled. “Did you take him too?”

“What is all this commotion?” Damara appeared from one of the doorways across the room. She crossed her arms over her tiny frame. Dark hair settled around her narrow shoulders. Everything about her looked fragile, but the darkness of her gaze held strength. Her lips turned down. “Edmund, you decided to accept my offer?”

“Damara.” Edmund narrowed his eyes. “What happened to two weeks? It’s been less than a day.”

She tsked. “Yes, it does seem I was mistaken. But when some of my men appeared at my door with the young prince, I couldn’t very well turn them away in hopes that you’d accept my offer.”

“Offer? You mean demand.”

“Semantics, Ambassador. Let’s not quibble. I don’t want the little prince. But his abduction forced your hand. For that, I am glad. Belaens and mercenaries should be on the same side in Madra—a kingdom that doesn’t want either of us.”

Edmund wanted to tell her a Belaen would never trust a mercenary, but he swallowed back the words. “I’d like you to meet Prince Estevan.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked from Edmund to Estevan. “Yes, I recognize him. Okay, Edmund. You have fulfilled my request. A mercenary understands the worth of such a thing. Name your price.”

“My men are going to kill you, Belaen!” Estevan struggled against the hands restraining him.

Damara sighed. “Someone shut him up.”

Before Edmund could stop them, one of the guards slammed the hilt of his sword into the side of Estevan’s head. Stev’s chin sank to his chest as his legs collapsed beneath him. The guards dragged him toward the back wall, propping him against it, tying his wrists together, and leaving him in full view of their people.

Damara eyed Edmund. “I’m surprised by you. Abducting a prince is thankless work. Not for the light of heart. And in only a few hours’ time, too.”

Edmund cringed at the term. People considered him to be happy, content, and yes—light of heart. But in truth he’d always carried the darkness that came with growing up in a kingdom that wanted to kill him for who he was.

He was just good at hiding his pain behind false smiles and charm.

Damara continued to watch him. “Why are you doing this, Edmund? I thought you were too noble for the likes of us.”

“For the same reasons as you, I’d guess.”

She laughed at that. “Gold? We were paid to take Prince Kassander and make it look like a Gaulean plot. Someone inside the palace very much wants to destabilize the crown by ruining the new alliance with Gaule.”

That was new information to Edmund. “Why are you telling me this?” One of the tenets of mercenary life was secrecy. Potential clients wouldn’t hire them if they thought they’d be exposed.

“Because, Edmund, when you brought Estevan here, you became one of us.”

A mercenary. Edmund wanted nothing less. This wasn’t how he wanted to be known—as the ambassador who betrayed those who put their trust in him. His eyes drifted to Estevan. “And Kassander? Your client has paid for them both?”

Damara’s smile held untold danger. “No. He’s an unnecessary accessory.” She leaned in closer. “Would you like the young prince? Is that why you’re here? I’ll sell him to you. I can see how much you want him. I might be willing to trade if we can use your services in the future.”

Edmund’s plan wouldn’t work if he bought Kassander, and he wouldn’t tie himself to the mercenary woman. No, he needed to create more of a commotion. “No. I want to fight for him.”

“A duel?” A hint of glee entered her gaze.

Edmund clenched his jaw and issued one short nod.

She clapped her hands together. “Wonderful, Edmund.” Her pitying gaze told him she thought he had no chance. She gestured to a young man behind her. “This is my son, Ezio. You will fight him.”

Ezio grinned boyishly. “They call me the best swordsman in the Six Kingdoms.”

Edmund lifted a brow. “That’s because you’ve never fought me.”

Ezio looked to be nothing more than sixteen with his lanky frame and childlike glee in his eyes. He’d have been too young to fight for La Dame. That was the only way to explain the excitement he had for battle.

Edmund, on the other hand, had killed more men than he could count. The only sword fight he’d ever lost was to Etta. He’d have Kass home before long. But then what about Estevan? That was where his plan wasn’t so clear.

“Give Edmund his sword,” Damara commanded.

The guard who’d taken it from him held it out. As soon as Edmund’s fingers closed around the hilt, he felt it—the connection he’d always had with his blade.

Mercenaries pushed tables out of the way, creating a makeshift arena in the center of the warehouse. Edmund flicked his eyes toward Estevan. The prince leaned his head back against the wall, and his eyes burned into Edmund, searing hatred and anger into his skin. His guard shifted in front of him, scowling back over his shoulder.

Well, it wasn’t the first time someone hated Edmund. He was actually pretty used to it.

Ezio removed his shirt and tied his hair back into a tail. Edmund circled him, waiting for the attack.

The kid twirled his sword between his hands, showing off for his cheering comrades. Edmund almost laughed at him. Theatrics meant nothing compared to patience. Edmund lifted his sword as they continued to circle each other.

The air inside the warehouse was stifling, making it hard to breathe. Edmund released a stream of magic, pulling in a damp breeze from outside.

Ezio grinned. “That was so cool.”

“Are you going to fight me, boy, or continue to prance around like a peacock?”

His smile dropped immediately, and he lunged forward, crashing his sword down on Edmund’s with a surprising strength. Edmund twisted out of the way of the next attack. The young man leaped forward once more.

Memories flashed in Edmund’s mind from the first time he’d fought Etta in the tournament of Gaule. That battle was supposed to be to the death with the winner becoming the prince’s protector. But he hadn’t counted on her skill.

It was the last time he’d underestimated anyone.

Ezio danced around Edmund, displaying a young man’s bravado. Edmund didn’t need to show off. There wasn’t a single person in attendance who didn’t know who he was. That was what it meant to be a legend.

“You done with the show, boy?” Edmund grinned. “Though, I must say it’s entertaining. All the preening and fluffing.”

Ezio advanced, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Edmund met the blade with his own, forcing Ezio back. “Are you trying to prove yourself, kid?” He kicked his foot out, sending Ezio tumbling backward until his ass slammed into the ground. “Fighting me isn’t the way to do it.”

The boy jumped to his feet, showing a determination Edmund admired. It was clear why Damara chose her son to face Edmund. His skill must have been unmatched within the mercenary ranks.

But Edmund wasn’t a mercenary.

All cheeriness dropped from the kid. “You want the young prince so badly? Come on, Ambassador. Take him from us.”

The front door opened and two mercenaries walked in with a struggling Kassander between them. Estevan tried to stand, but someone’s foot kept him down.

Edmund turned back to Ezio, wondering how people could be so cruel as to kidnap children for gold. He’d never understood the mercenary way of life.

Regret flashed in Ezio’s eyes as they settled on Kassander. He stepped closer to Edmund. “Please, win this fight.”

That had Edmund jumping back. He met Ezio’s imploring eyes and knew right then this young man wasn’t cut out for the life he’d been born into.

He ran forward with a growl, raising his sword over his head. Ezio blocked the blow, twisting out of the way before slamming his foot into the back of Edmund’s knee. Edmund’s legs wobbled, but he managed to stay upright.

Ezio attacked, leaning forward as their blades locked together. “Now. Beat me now. Whatever it takes.”

Edmund knocked their swords away, ramming his shoulder into Ezio and forcing him to drop his blade.

With one final shove, he sent the boy to the ground, the point of Edmund’s sword aimed at his throat.

“Stop!” Damara yelled.

Edmund lifted his eyes to her. “I have bested him. Now, release Prince Kassander.”

Damara nodded to her men. They dropped Kassander to the ground.

“Good.” Edmund bent and lifted Ezio by the shirt. The boy only protested weakly. Turning him so his back hit Edmund’s front, Edmund held his sword at his throat. “Now.” He lifted his voice. “Estevan, stand up. Kassander, go to your brother and untie him.”

The guard continued to hold him down. Edmund tightened his grip. “Let his Highness up.”

Damara nodded to her men, and they backed away from Estevan. Kassander ran to his brother, his entire body shaking.

“Good.” He pulled in his magic, releasing it slowly. A wind tunneled through the room, knocking mugs from the tables and spilling their contents onto the floor.

Damara’s steely eyes watched him.

“No hard feelings, Damara.” Edmund sent her a smile. “This is business. Bela needs the crown prince alive.”

The mercenary leader would never trust another word Edmund said, but she wouldn’t come after him. That wasn’t their way. They only fought when someone paid, not to settle a vendetta. Their clients would be told the princes were out of their reach, but then those clients would try again.

They’d keep coming, using new methods each time to destabilize the crown.

“I should know never to trust a Belaen.” Damara made no move to help her son.

Edmund chuckled. “You should know a Belaen will always do what’s right.” He jerked his head toward the door as it crashed open revealing Riley with the largest warrior Edmund had ever seen. The unknown man held a battle ax in each hand. Behind them, mercenary guards lay unconscious in the street.

Turning back to Damara, he pressed his sword closer to Ezio’s throat. “It’s okay, boy.” He dropped his voice so only Ezio could hear. “You’ll get out of this.” Addressing Damara, his voice hardened. “Instruct your men to allow the princes to leave with my companions. Both princes.”

“What am I to do about my clients?” she asked. “They won’t stop coming.”

Edmund walked toward Estevan, shoving Ezio in front of him. He didn’t release the boy as he bent over the prince and cut the coin pouch from his waist with his sword. He straightened and tossed the cloth pouch onto a table. It burst open, spilling gold coins across the surface.

Pressing his sword hard enough against Ezio’s skin to draw blood, Edmund was in full command of anything that happened next. “You will not come after the princes again. Your clients may find other methods, but you are finished.” Riley and his companion stepped up to either side of Edmund.

A flicker caught Edmund’s eye, and he suppressed a grin as he recognized Marie’s magic. They needed to get out of there before the massive warrior turned into a diminutive person.

Damara walked forward, examining the gold on the table. “You may leave, Edmund Kent.” She nodded to her men at the door.

Watching her for any sign of deception, Edmund inched back toward the door. Riley ushered Estevan and Kassander after them. It wasn’t until they stepped into the rain-soaked night, Edmund could finally breathe again.

He was so focused on what almost happened that he didn’t hear the door open once more or the approaching footsteps.

In fact, he didn’t know a mercenary had followed them until he heard the words “A parting gift from Damara,” and felt the burning glide of a blade plunging into his stomach.

10

“Edmund, stay with me.”

“Edmund.”

Edmund.

Edmund.

Stev’s voice floated in and out of Edmund’s mind, surrounding him, filling his every thought. Searing pain radiated out from his stomach.

“Wh…” The words wouldn’t come as fog overcame his mind. What had he wanted to say? What happened? He knew the answer to that. He’d humiliated Damara, and she’d sent him away with something to remember her by.

But he’d saved the princes. His eyes drifted shut and images of Bela flickered in his mind. The peace of the rolling hills and green valleys were all he’d longed for since setting foot in Madra. Back home, Etta and Alex may never learn what happened to him. They’d search, tearing the Six Kingdoms apart because that’s what family did.

They didn’t give up.

Warmth spread through him, and a smile curved his lips. He could almost feel the Belaen sun on his skin, hear the crash of waves on the white cliffs.

Darkness spread over his peace like an overturned bottle of ink expanding across thick parchment, and Edmund let himself fall into the void.

* * *

“He’s going to be fine.” A woman’s voice reached Edmund’s ears before any other. Marie. She was there. He jerked his head up, regretting it the moment a throbbing headache overcame him.

He groaned. Where was he? A soft feather pillow rested beneath his head. Linen blankets covered his bare chest and legs. He lifted the blanket. Yep, naked. Wonderful. Keeping the blankets over his lap, he sat up, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. His bedroom in the ambassador’s sector. How did he get here?

His answer walked in a moment later, scowling when he saw Edmund sitting up.

“You shouldn’t be awake yet,” Bemus grumbled.

Marie hustled in behind him with Corban on her heels. “Edmund, we’re so glad to see those beautiful eyes.” She offered him a kind smile. “It’s a good thing you had Bemus bring us to the docks when he did.”

Too many words. Edmund grabbed his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember exactly what happened. Damara. She’d come to him, forcing him to betray Madra.

“You were stabbed.” A new voice entered the room as the young prince walked toward the bed.

“Kassander.” Relief spread through Edmund, and he sank back on the bed. It was real. Kassander was safe.

The prince grinned. “That fight was so cool. I don’t think there’s a man in Madra who can battle like you.”

Edmund didn’t tell him Ezio wasn’t truly trying. To be honest, the teen was good. Probably not as good as Edmund, but he could get there. “What… what happened?”

Kassander jumped onto the end of the bed and curled his legs under him. “After that mercenary stabbed you, Corban healed you. He says the healing is hard on the body though so it’ll be bad for you for a while. Then we all came back here to wait for you to wake up.”

“All of you?” Surely Estevan would have gone right back to the palace to report Kassander’s safety, but then again there was no way he’d have left his brother to do so.

As if sensing his real question, Kassander leaned in. “We sent Riley to my sister. We won’t return until morning and don’t want the guard showing up here so Helena and Mother are the only ones who’ve been told. Stev is downstairs.”

Marie put her hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “Corban and I will leave and let you rest now.”

Edmund put his hand over hers while turning his eyes to Corban. “Thank you both.”

She only nodded while she patted his shoulder and led Corban from the room.

“Bemus,” Edmund started, wishing he could just sink back into sleep. “Have the princes been given adequate rooms?”

“Yes, Edmund. Do I look like a fool? I may be simple, but I know how to treat a prince.” Bemus yawned. “I’m off to find my own bed.” He stopped in the doorway without turning. “Next time you go off on some mission that could get you killed, at least let me know who to send your body to.” And then he was gone.

Kassander’s wide eyes met Edmund’s.

Edmund laughed tiredly. “It’s okay, your Highness. He’s just mad I didn’t bring him along with me.”

“They had me on a ship set to leave for Gaule, Edmund.” The boy rarely missed hidden meanings. “That’s important, isn’t it? This wasn’t just someone wanting to ransom a prince of Madra. There’s something deeper going on.”

“You, kid, see too much.”

“It’s better than not seeing anything until it’s too late.” He slid from the bed. “Marie says I’m to make sure you rest. Close your eyes.”

Edmund smiled at the prince’s command but didn’t obey because Estevan stepped into the room, ruffling his brother’s hair on his way past. Kassander only hesitated a moment before descending the stairs.

Suddenly, Edmund remembered his lack of clothes and felt more exposed than he ever had. “Who undressed me?”

Estevan didn’t even crack a smile. “Bemus had those honors. Your clothes were covered in blood and soaked from the rain.”

“Oh.”

A few moments of silence passed between them. Estevan dropped into the chair next to the bed. “I… need to thank you. I won’t say I agree with the way you did it, but if it wasn’t for you, Madra might be mourning both princes right now.”

Edmund shrugged. “Just another day in the life of Edmund Kent.”

“Why do you always turn everything into a joke? It makes it very hard to take you seriously.”

Edmund shrank away from Estevan’s intense stare. “Stev… Damara, she came to me to force me into abducting you. I was supposed to have two weeks, but then her people took Kass.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I needed to be honest. She won’t stop coming after me now.”

His eyes hardened. “We will run the mercenaries from the city. They won’t be able to get to you, Edmund.” Stev sighed. “I heard what you and Kass were saying. I wish his world wasn’t colored by events like this.”

“Me too.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “He’s never going to forget seeing the darker side of Madra. When I was a prisoner in Gaule, it changed my entire world view and took me a long time to recover.” Edmund paused, not knowing why these words came so easily to him now. That dark time wasn’t something he talked about… ever. Not even with Etta.

Yet, he couldn’t stop. “Alexandre Durand was the Gaulean king at the time, but he was more than that. He was my best friend, and I…” He closed his eyes, letting a tear slip from his eye.

“You loved him.” Estevan’s words were no more than a whisper, but they rang in Edmund’s ears long after he spoke them.

Edmund opened his eyes. “I thought I did. For so long, he was all I had. And then Etta came to the palace, and she became just as important to me—with one difference. Alex imprisoned me while Etta helped me escape. After that, I learned a few things about myself. I’d always love Alex, but I wasn’t in love with him. And that no matter what we do, how many times we win, evil will always come for us. I entered that prison as a naïve man and left it as someone who struggled to see the good in anything or anyone.”

“Would you believe me if I said I knew exactly how you feel?” Estevan reached out, gently taking Edmund’s hand in his.

“I’ve never really told anyone about this. They expect me to be a version of myself I’m not sure I am anymore.” He slipped his hand from Estevan’s. “But I’m also not the version you see before you.”

Estevan’s brow creased. “Edmund?”

“No, your Highness.” Using his title seemed to jolt Estevan, and he scooted the chair back. Edmund sighed, his voice dropping into a whisper. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Estevan got to his feet and paced the length of the room, turning his back on Edmund. His muscles bunched under his shirt as his back tensed. “I don’t…” His voice shook, and he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself.

Guilt crept into Edmund. He’d never meant to hurt the prince or confuse him in any way. If Edmund were honest with himself, all he wanted was to see one of Stev’s rare smiles directed his way. He shook off that thought. They weren’t those people. They couldn’t just act on any impulse they wanted.

Estevan Rhodipus might not know what he wanted, but he had to know what he couldn’t have.

Pushing himself from the bed, Edmund suppressed a groan as his limbs protested. He set his feet on the cool wooden floor and found a folded pair of trousers on the end of the bed. He suspected Bemus left them for him.

After pulling them on, Edmund stood, wobbling slightly on tired legs. Estevan didn’t move as he approached like a small animal testing the temperament of a predator who’d eat him alive.

Because if there was one thing Edmund was sure of, it was that the prince of Madra could destroy him in a way no other had. And yet, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was physically impossible for Edmund to still his legs, harder yet to prevent his arm from lifting or his hand from settling on Estevan’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you didn’t die today, Stev.” The words seemed stupid as soon as they were out, but Estevan turned, the depth of his gaze swallowing Edmund whole.

“Why do you insist on calling me Stev? I can’t take it.”

“I’m sorry, your—”

Estevan put a hand over Edmund’s mouth and shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Edmund. Not ever.”

Before Edmund could even suck in a breath, Estevan replaced his hand with his lips, devouring Edmund with one simple act.

Only, it wasn’t so simple. Nothing about Estevan ever was, and yet, Edmund no longer had any fight in him. He was tired of trying to hate a man whose touch infused life into him, sending energy through Edmund’s corpse of a heart.

With a growl, Estevan spun them, pushing Edmund up against the wall and taking further control of every kiss, every touch. Edmund’s magic hummed within him, returning the strength taken by the healing.

A new future opened before Edmund. When he’d been with Matteo, there was comfort, companionship, but he’d wondered if something inside him was broken. If the part of him that should yearn for more was lost among the corpses of the men he’d been forced to kill.

But no. It had been waiting for someone to give it life. Estevan ran his hands across Edmund’s corded back, sending shivers down Edmund’s spine.

“Stev,” he whispered, his feet landing back in reality. He tried to stay upright, but his weak body refused to listen to his mind.

“Shit.” Estevan caught him as he sagged. “Edmund, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Edmund whispered as Stev laid him back in bed. “No sorries. Remember?”

“Priest, Edmund.” Stev pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t think I could forget a single moment of this night if I tried.”

“Stay,” he whispered, his tired mind allowing thoughts through he’d never have considered before. For a moment, he could forget the man at his bedside was the prince of Madra.

Stev lowered himself onto the bed, pressing the length of his body against Edmund. “I’ll stay, Edmund.” He kissed his shoulder. “I’ll stay.”

If only words had the power to change their realities, maybe that would have been a possibility.

11

Stev wasn’t there when Edmund woke in the morning, and he wondered if the night before had all been a dream. Rubbing a hand across his eyes, he looked up to find Bemus in the doorway. The big man leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised.

“What’s your problem?” Edmund groaned as his head pounded.

A smirk tilted Bemus’ lips. “I went to change the bedding in the guest rooms this morning once the princes left and only one had been slept in.”

Edmund only heard part of what he said. He sat up quickly, regretting it instantly as his headache intensified. “They’re gone?”

Bemus nodded. “It was time for them to return to the palace, seeing as they’re the kingdom’s princes and all.”

“I don’t need that reminder, thanks.”

“Really? Seems to me you’ve forgotten just who Estevan Rhodipus is.”

Edmund slipped his legs over the side of the bed and rested his arms on his thighs. “Trust me, that is one thing I can’t forget.”

Events from the day before came back to him, and he didn’t know what any of it meant, not yet. “I have work to do. Help me up.”

“Not before Marie comes to check on you. That woman will skin me alive if I let you tax yourself. Though, the prince didn’t seem to worry about taxing you last night.”

As much as Edmund wanted to live in the memory of Stev’s arms around him, of his lips and his dark gaze, there were more pressing matters. “Bemus, there are people who want to hurt the royal family.”

“People always want to hurt them.”

Edmund sighed. “This time, the danger is going to come from inside the palace.” That was all he knew. Not when. Not how. He’d thwarted their chance of ruining the Gaulean alliance. What would they do next? Was Kassander still in danger? Estevan?

Bemus stepped farther into the room. “Edmund… why do you care?”

“What?”

“You want to go off on some hunt for people wanting to take over the throne. Why not let them? Whoever it is can’t be worse than the current king.”

He was wrong. There was always something worse. Edmund considered his question. Why did he care? Was it only because he couldn’t get the prince’s kiss out of his mind? No. All their faces flashed across his vision. Stev. Kassander. Helena. Even Queen Chloe. He wanted to protect them, to give them a chance to be better leaders than their father.

“Bemus, I am a protector. It’s who I’ve always been. I spent my teen years ready to fight for Alexandre Durand. Then it was Etta. But I don’t think they’re the only reason I’m doing this.” He lifted glassy eyes to his friend. “I need it. I need something. For so long, I’ve been adrift, looking for a mission to hook my anchor to. If the royal family falls, Madra could be thrown into chaos, doing irreparable damage to the Six Kingdoms. You say it could be better, but usurpers are never the answer.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “And Estevan… I don’t think he’s his father.” Edmund so desperately needed something to believe in while living in that magic-forsaken kingdom. Maybe this was it. His reason for coming. “I need to fight for him.”

Bemus met his gaze seriously before his shrug snapped the tension. “I fight for the man who feeds me.”

Edmund smiled at that. “Then I’ll continue to make sure you eat well.”

The front door closing echoed through the house moments before Marie appeared. She hummed as she checked Edmund over.

“You should stay in bed today.”

Edmund sighed. “I have to go to the palace.”

Marie scowled. “The palace will still be there tomorrow. I’m going to fix you some tea, and if you leave this bed, I will drag you back by the ear.”

Bemus chuckled, shooting him a wink before following Marie down the stairs.

Edmund settled back on the bed, his mind running through all the possibilities. He rarely forgot a face and thought of everyone he’d seen or interacted with at court in his time there. A few options stood out, and he vowed to investigate. He couldn’t return to the mercenaries with questions. Not after betraying them.

He expected Estevan to take a unit of the guard to their headquarters as soon as he could, but Edmund knew Damara wouldn’t have stayed. She probably boarded one of her ships and sailed to another part of Madra or maybe even Dracon.

No, Edmund would have to find other ways of learning the truth. But he couldn’t do it alone. He’d need people working for him. He had enough gold of his own to set up a network within Madra. The hard part was doing it without the king learning of his activities.

“It’s not just for Stev,” he said more for his benefit than anyone else’s. If he was going to go to such lengths, he had to be sure it wasn’t because of the intense prince.

* * *

Four days.

Edmund hadn’t seen Estevan in four days. He wasn’t avoiding the palace exactly, but he’d been busy. Two women and one man sat in his living room, waiting for their orders. Edmund had no illusions. These people weren’t loyal to anything but his gold—yet. If there was one thing Edmund could do, it was infuse a sense of belief into people.

He gave them their assignments. Anyone connected to the crown was to be watched. They left just as quietly as they’d come. He’d make spies of them yet.

Bemus watched from the kitchen table, carving pieces of an apple with his dagger. “So, we’re doing this.”

We. It reminded Edmund of his time with Alex or Etta, a time when he’d never been alone. He nodded. “We are.”

Bemus grunted as he speared a slice and bit off the end. “You’re probably going to get us killed, and not by some faction wanting to destroy the royal family. The king won’t take kindly to a foreign ambassador creating a network of spies in his kingdom.”

Every word he said was one Edmund had thought of a thousand times over the last few days. He could end up with a noose around his neck on foreign soil without the people he loved. And still, his gut told him he had to do this.

He approached Bemus, taking an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. Throwing it into the air, he caught it behind his back with a grin. “Does death scare you, Bemus?”

“No.” The big man told the truth. After losing his entire family to a fire, he’d almost died himself. It created a fearlessness in him Edmund respected.

Edmund sank his teeth into the apple, letting the sweet juice dribble over his chin. He set his free hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Well, it scares the shit out of me. But not nearly as much as living without a reason. I’ve faced death many times, Bemus. But there has always been something keeping me here. Don’t you want a reason to live?”

“And fighting for the Rhodipus royal line is reason enough?”

“It’s a start, Bemus. It’s a start.” He whistled as he slid his keys into his pocket and walked toward the back door, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

After saddling the horse, he took off through the streets with one mission in mind. He’d set his new spies to watching many of the royal advisors, but the Tenysons were different, more dangerous somehow.

They were his.

12

The Tenyson compound sat outside the merchant sector. Old man Tenyson, Dell’s grandfather—dead for decades now—had wanted his line to stand out in a part of the city they could control. He’d cultivated the crown’s loyalty to their family, but it wasn’t he who took his family to the tip of the spiral, the very top of Madran society. No, that respect belonged to Blake Tenyson—who’d died many years before out at sea off the tip of Cana.

He’d fathered three sons, but most of Madra only knew of two of them. Until a few weeks before, Edmund hadn’t heard a single word of the third Tenyson boy, Dell.

Iron gates blocked the great house from view. Spikes lined the top of the gates. Edmund pulled his horse to a stop as they opened. Two guards appeared.

“Ambassador, what brings you to the Tenyson estate?” the closest one asked.

Edmund slid from his horse. “I’ve come to call on Lady Tenyson.”

“Is she expecting you?”

“No, but she won’t turn me away.” He hoped there was truth in his words. In reality, he didn’t know how she’d react to his bold approach.

The guards spoke to each other in low tones before returning their gazes to Edmund. “Follow us.” As soon as they were through the gates, a third guard took the horse’s reins from Edmund.

Edmund strolled through the grounds as if he was meant to be there, ignoring the nerves in his stomach. This family was dangerous with the amount of power they held in Madra. But he’d faced worse than Lady Tenyson. All he really knew about her was she had a shrewd mind for business, even more adept than her late husband.

Movement near the barns caught his eye. Through the open doors, Edmund saw Dell cleaning stalls. Dell lifted his head, meeting Edmund’s gaze. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t cease his task.

The guards led Edmund into a wide entryway. White marble floors stretched out before them with velvet rugs marking the way. As they walked past the hallway door, a maid exited carrying a tray. She dipped her head. “I’m sorry, sirs. I was in a hurry to get my lady her tea.” Fear shone on her face. What would happen if the tea was late?

Edmund bowed to her. “Let me help you, my lady.”

“Oh, no. I’m not a lady.”

“Could have fooled me.” Edmund winked. “Well, miss, I’d still like to help you. In return, you can take me to your mistress, and we can let these fine guards return to their important duties.” If there was one thing Edmund knew how to do well, it was kiss ass.

“Thank you, sir.” The guards backed away. “When you are ready to leave, we will retrieve your horse for you.”

Edmund gave them a nod of dismissal as he took the maid’s tray. She offered him a shy smile and led him through the immaculate house to a small sitting room at the back. Large glass doors spanned the back wall, looking out on the property. Edmund’s eyes caught sight of Dell for only a moment before he turned his smile on Lady Tenyson. She narrowed her eyes at his unexpected presence.

Setting the tray on the table near the settee she rested on, he faced her. “My lady. It is a pleasure to see you.”

Lady Tenyson scowled at her maid. “If you can’t even carry a simple tray, you’re useless. An ambassador should never do a maid’s job. You can go.”

The maid scurried away as the woman turned harsh eyes on Edmund. “Ambassador. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Edmund poured two mugs from the painted china tea pot and handed one to her before taking a seat in a wingback chair without invitation. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Yes. Why are you here?”

“I am the Belaen ambassador. It behooves me to know all the power players in Madra before we sign our trading treaty.”

She pursed her lips. “I have nothing to do with the treaty. The Tenyson trading company will follow any law Madra enacts and uphold any treaty the king sees fit.” Her lips twisted in distaste.

“Okay.” He sipped from his mug with nonchalance. “Then what do you know of Prince Kassander’s kidnapping?”

To her credit, she hid any surprise she felt at his words, leaning forward calmly to set her tea on the table. “What are you insinuating, Ambassador?”

“Nothing, my lady. I can assure you this is only routine questioning. The prince was rescued in case you’d just forgotten to ask.”

“Thank the priests for that.”

Edmund’s lips tilted into a smile. “Magic had more to do with it than your priesthood.”

“It was an expression, Ambassador.”

“Oh, I know. He was taken by mercenaries working for someone close to the crown.”

“Pity.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you truly here?”

“I’m turning over every rock to see what slithers out.”

“And you think the Tenysons slither?”

Edmund raised a brow. “Not all snakes have scales.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“You’re probably right.” Edmund stood, smoothing the wrinkles from his pants. “Good day, my lady. I’ll show myself out.” As he walked away, he heard her yell for her maid.

Edmund hadn’t gotten what he’d come for. Lady Tenyson was too calm, too collected to give anything away. But now she knew he was looking into them. If he could put pressure on her sons, mistakes would be made. He’d find out just how loyal the Tenysons were.

And Dell? He stopped outside the door. How much did the hidden son know? Glancing over his shoulder to watch for guards, he approached the barn. Inside, Dell sat straddling the door to one of the stalls.

“Now, horse-Ian,” he chided. “It isn’t nice to bite. Unless it’s one of my brothers. Chomp away at them.”

Edmund cleared his throat.

Dell let out a yelp of surprise and fell from the half-door, landing in a pile of dirty straw. “Priest, Edmund. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Edmund chuckled at the way Dell looked covered in horse shit with dirt streaking down his youthful face and into his blond hair. “Who were you talking to?”

“Horse-Ian.” He jumped to his feet. “Did you have a nice chat with my stepmother?”

Step. That answered one question. Dell was a bastard, and the venom in his voice showed his lack of love for the parent he still had. Blake Tenyson had secrets, it seemed.

Edmund ignored his question. He wasn’t ready to suspect Dell of anything despite being a Tenyson. “Why are you cleaning the barn?” The rest of the statement didn’t need to be said. People with a last name like Tenyson didn’t shovel out horse stalls.

Dell shrugged but didn’t answer. It wasn’t until then Edmund noticed the ragged state of his clothes. He scanned the surrounding barn, noting the bunk in the far corner. Did Dell sleep out here?

“I’m due at the palace.” Edmund rubbed his chin. “But when you’re finished for the day, get cleaned up and come to my place. You’re looking too skinny, Dell. Bemus will feed us both.” He didn’t give Dell a chance to turn him down as he pivoted on his heel and marched from the barn.

He wasn’t sure if Dell knew much about his own family’s dealings, but that wasn’t what the invitation was about. He sensed the same lost feeling in the boy as he’d once had. A need to belong. A need for someone who believed in him.

* * *

The guard had doubled at the palace gates in recent days due to the prince’s kidnapping. Edmund wasn’t familiar with the man who questioned him, but he obviously knew the Belaen ambassador.

“The king asked for you to be brought to him directly when you finally turned up.”

For months, all Edmund wanted was an audience with the king. Now, he wasn’t so sure what this second meeting meant. Had he learned of Edmund’s spies? Could he have possibly heard how he’d questioned Lady Tenyson in such a short time?

Or did he know about his dalliance with the prince?

Edmund wasn’t sure which of those would be worse. Four guards closed up around him, preventing any sort of escape. He had no choice but to walk up the enormous set of steps, past the white columns into the ornate palace.

Servants jumped out of their way as they walked down the long hall and up the wide staircase, stopping outside the carved wooden double doors that stood wide open.

Inside the room, the king sat atop his red velvet throne, hands resting against the sculpted golden arms. He lifted his hard eyes to the commotion at the door.

Edmund forced himself to stand straighter, taking in every bit of the aging man. Gray streaked his once-black hair. Lines framed his shrewd eyes and pursed lips. Even with his diminutive frame, the man was intimidating. Edmund had to remind himself this was not a man to respect. He needed him, sure, for Bela, but this king hurt his kingdom with his wars and unfair policies.

To Edmund’s surprise, the king rose from his throne. “Ambassador Kent.” He inclined his head, eliciting shocked whispers from onlookers. “You have my gratitude. I have been waiting to offer my thanks. My son, Kassander, is alive because of you. Estevan told me of the lengths you went to.”

Someone shifted beside the throne, and Edmund noticed Estevan standing there with an unfeeling expression on his face.

Edmund cleared his throat. “Thank you, your Majesty. I couldn’t have done anything less. I may not be Madran, but I am of the Six Kingdoms, and we need to stand together as you did when you sent aid in the Draconian war.”

The king smiled. “Yes. Bela did owe us, didn’t they?” He laughed. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know units of the army have been sent into every corner of the city, forcing mercenaries from our streets. They will no longer be welcome here.”

Edmund wanted to feel for them being kicked out of their homes, but then he remembered their treatment of Kass and especially Estevan. A wave of protectiveness rushed through him. He inclined his head toward the king, using all his energy to keep from clenching his fists at his sides.

Over the past few days, he’d been so busy cultivating his assets, he hadn’t stopped to think about what almost happened. His eyes drifted to Estevan. Had he almost lost him?

That was stupid. To lose someone, one had to have them in the first place.

Estevan’s burning gaze didn’t waver, and it wasn’t until the king spoke again Edmund realized they’d been locked in an obvious stare. He tore his eyes away, instead focusing on the man who would order Edmund’s death if he found out what he was up to.

Even though everything was designed to protect the royal family.

Not for the first time, Edmund wondered why he cared? But the thought didn’t last.

“I believe you and the prince have some unfinished business.” The king took his seat once more.

Edmund sucked in a breath. Those words could be the end of him.

The king, probably sensing his confusion, clarified. “The treaty. Bela will not wait forever. You have won my good will, Ambassador. You may want to finish the treaty while it lasts.”

Estevan bowed to his father before turning to Edmund, his expression giving none of his feelings away. “Come.”

Edmund didn’t hesitate in following the prince. His body yearned to be near him, and he hated the feeling, certain the prince wouldn’t let himself give in to his desires again. He couldn’t. The Gaulean treaty was finished. Estevan would wed Camille. Edmund would have laughed at the idea of the serious prince tying himself to the harsh princess, wondering who’d win in their inevitable battle of wills, but he couldn’t muster up an ounce of hilarity when all he wanted was to reach out and touch Estevan. Just once more.

The scene was utterly familiar. Last time they’d tried to negotiate the treaty, it had been done in the royal family’s wing—just like now. They walked in, finding Helena and Kassander in the sitting room. Kassander jumped up and ran toward them.

“Edmund.” He grinned. “You’re okay. I wanted to come see you, but they wouldn’t let me.”

Edmund ruffled his dark hair. “Yes, your Highness. Right as rain. Marie and Corban fixed me up.”

“You were hurt because of me.”

Edmund bent to look the boy in the eyes. “No, Prince. I was hurt because of the mercenaries who took you. It was not your fault. You believe me, right?”

Kassander nodded.

When Edmund straightened, he caught Estevan’s eye, seeing something other than coldness in the depths for the first time that day.

Helena crossed the room to wrap Edmund in a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

“I’m always okay, Princess.” He pulled back and shot her a wink. “I’ve faced worse.”

“But not for us. Thank you. If something happened to my brothers…” Her eyes glassed over.

Edmund knew the feeling well. He’d had the same thoughts about Alex, Etta, or Tyson being hurt. Pulling her back into a hug, he squeezed tightly. “I won’t let anything happen to your brothers.” It was a promise he hoped he could keep. He wasn’t in Madra to fight for the royal family, but rather to sign a trade deal for Bela. But he’d never been one to let people he cared about down.

And he did care. About Helena. Kassander. Stev.

Estevan cleared his throat. “I need to speak with Edmund in private. Come.” Helena and Kass didn’t argue. They understood Estevan’s business for the crown took precedence over most things in their lives. Edmund followed him into a room at the end of the hall. A long desk took up the center space with parchment scattered across the surface. The mess was so unlike the Stev he knew, it made Edmund wonder what it would be like to see the prim and proper prince come unraveled.

Bookshelves lined the back wall, stuffed from end to end with leather-bound tomes. Without a window, Edmund couldn’t help feeling the office felt rather tomb-like. A servant knocked on the door, but Estevan waved him away and shut it, locking the two men in silence.

Edmund couldn’t help his curiosity as he drifted toward the desk, his eyes scanning documents.

“There’s nothing interesting here.” Estevan unbuttoned the clasp on his jacket with a sigh of relief and slid it down his arms, leaving the prince in a simple linen tunic. He hung the jacket over the back of a chair. “This is my office, and my father only allows me control over unimportant matters.”

Like the Belaen treaty. Edmund didn’t say the words out loud. He didn’t need to. They both knew Bela wasn’t a priority for the king.

When Estevan spoke again, he kept his back to Edmund, his voice a low rumble. “Tell me, Edmund, how did you do it so quickly?”

“If you have something to ask me, you’ll have to speak more plainly.”

Estevan turned on his heel and crossed the space between them until he towered over Edmund, his eyes blazing. “I know everything that happens in my kingdom. Everything. My father would be aghast if he knew the extent of my reach.” He leaned closer, his lips pulling back into a snarl. “Do you know what he’d do if he found out a foreign ambassador was spying on Madra?”

Edmund couldn’t take the many shades of Stev’s personality anymore. One moment he wanted to rip his clothes off and the next he wanted to slam his fist into the man’s face. And right now? He wasn’t sure which held more appeal. He pushed Estevan away with so much force it sent the prince stumbling back.

“Spying on Madra? I’m the one spying on Madra? What, do you think I do it to report your weaknesses back to Bela? Let me tell you something about Bela—we couldn’t care less about what Madra does as long as the ships keep coming. In the histories of my kingdom, yours doesn’t matter. Before you start accusing people of crimes, maybe learn something, anything about them.”

“I know plenty about you, Edmund Kent,” Estevan growled. “You’re an infuriating man with a penchant for sword fighting and a magical ability you don’t like to use with any kind of frequency.” He stalked forward until he stood only a breath away. “Your loyalty to the queen and king of Bela is the kind most monarchs only dream of, yet you left them behind to strike out on your own in a kingdom you knew wouldn’t want you.”

His eyes shifted between Edmund’s. “You burn so brightly, I worry I’ll get scorched every time I touch you. And yes, you are spying on my kingdom—you can’t—”

Edmund’s kiss cut him off, sucking all the air from both their lungs. Estevan responded without hesitation, wrapping a hand around the back of Edmund’s head to keep him in place.

“I want you,” Estevan said against Edmund’s lips. “So much I can’t breathe.”

Edmund couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He couldn’t make himself hate the prince. The title wasn’t strong enough to break the pull between them. Edmund’s chest pressed closer to Stev’s. “You can have me,” he found himself saying. It wasn’t the smartest move he’d ever made, and he knew there could be no happy ending for them. But for now, Estevan Rhodipus was the air Edmund needed to live.

He pressed their foreheads together. “You were right. I’m spying on your kingdom.”

Estevan closed his eyes. “Edmund—”

“It’s for you. I’m the ambassador of Bela, and yet all my time is spent trying to figure out how to protect you, Helena, and Kass. I don’t know when you all became more important than my duty.”

“You believe the mercenaries that someone close to the king is working against us?”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Edmund rested his palm against Estevan’s cheek, forcing him to lift his gaze.

“Priest, Edmund. I trust you. I don’t know why. But everything inside me is screaming to put my faith in you. My family is at stake, and yet I know we need you on our side.”

When Edmund kissed him again, the fire before was gone, replaced with something deeper. Their lips moved with a slow rhythm, memorizing every moment, not sure when the next would come.

“I can’t stay away from you, Edmund.” Estevan sighed.

“Then don’t.”

“I’m the prince. If anyone finds out about us…”

Growing up in Gaule where loving another man could have gotten him killed, Edmund should have been used to living in the shadows. But it never got easier.

“I must be the most daft man alive.” Edmund shook his head with a smile. “Sneaking around with the prince. But, Stev, I think I want to be daft.”

When Estevan smiled, it was like the sun catching in the colors of a rare fire opal. It wasn’t every day one saw the beauty of it, but when it happened, it wasn’t soon forgotten. The grin stretching across the prince’s face spoke of none of the responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. For a moment, he wasn’t the heir to a throne surrounded in turmoil. He was only a boy Edmund wanted to make smile for as long as he could.

A knock on the door made them break apart, shattering their moment with the reminder of what they had to hide. Helena opened the door and smiled at both of them. “Are you two ready to work on this treaty? We have some negotiating to do.”

Edmund was the first to move, taking Helena’s hand in his. “Let’s finish this so I can tell my queen I’m not completely useless.”

“You’re not useless, Edmund.” Helena squeezed his hand.

He glanced back at Estevan. Maybe not. But he still had a job to do. He’d do his duty for Bela before turning his full attention to protecting the man he knew could never fully be his.

13

A treaty was nothing more than a piece of paper. Edmund wasn’t new to any of this. He’d spent so many years in the courts of the Six Kingdoms. He knew how it worked. Glancing down at the parchment in his hands, he scanned the words that represented nothing more than promises that could be easily broken.

Yet, neither kingdom had any choice but to have faith in the process. That was the largest part of ruling. Faith. A queen or king had to believe in loyalty, in honor. They weren’t tangible objects or something that could be forced into someone.

But this was done. Edmund rolled the parchment and tied a string around it before handing it to the messenger waiting for him. In a few days’ time, the treaty would be in Etta’s hands. What then? Once she signed it, would Madra suddenly become the ally they hoped for? Would they keep their troops at the Draconian border? The treaty promised safe passage through Bela for any Madran acting on behalf of the crown.

The Madran ships would enjoy docking privileges to unload their wares. Both Bela and Madra would boom from the alliance.

And yet… Edmund didn’t trust so easily. The messenger climbed onto his horse and rode away to prepare for his sea voyage.

Edmund released a sigh. He’d done what he came to do. In his hands, he held a letter the messenger gave him when he first arrived. Etta’s familiar scrawl spelled out his name on the folded flap.

“Edmund.” Dell appeared around the gate, carrying a bag of pastries from Agathe’s shop. He held them up with a grin. “Morning.”

Stuffing the letter in his pocket, Edmund shook his head. “What are you doing here?” He couldn’t help his smile. He enjoyed the young man’s company. It reminded him of spending time with Tyson. Over the weeks of treaty negotiations, eating the occasional dinners with Dell brought some levity into his life.

“Shirking my duties, of course.” Dell walked into Edmund’s house without invitation. “Do you have tea?” He walked toward the kitchen where Bemus removed a kettle from the hook over the stove. Taking the kettle, Dell began pouring it into three cups.

“Help yourself,” Bemus grumbled.

Edmund laughed at the two of them. Bemus saw the kitchen as his territory, but Dell had no boundaries. It was one of the things he liked about him.

Dell tossed the bag of pastries to Bemus. “Get some plates.”

Bemus scowled, but gathered plates and brought them to the table.

“So.” Dell stuffed a cream filled pastry in his mouth. “What was on that paper you hid so quickly when I appeared?”

Bemus didn’t even try to hide the interest on his face.

Edmund narrowed his eyes. “Maybe it’s time you get to work, Dell.”

Dell drained the rest of his tea and grabbed another pastry, tossing it into the air before catching it. “You’re probably right. I just have to stop in when I can to make sure you haven’t died from all your seriousness.”

Seriousness? Every single person in Bela would laugh at that accusation. “Alright.” Edmund waved toward the door. “Get out of here.”

Dell sauntered out the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. It was all an act, one Edmund knew well. He’d been treated poorly by the only family he had as well—his father. That kind of thing always stayed with you.

Bemus rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “The messenger brought you something from Bela, didn’t he?”

Edmund nodded. Bemus had been extremely interested in all things Bela for months. When Edmund returned home, he hoped to bring his Madran friend with him.

He slid the folded parchment from his pocket and pressed it flat on the table, smoothing out the wrinkles before beginning to read.

This message is for Edmund Kent. If you’re not him and you’re reading this, I will hang you over a cliff until your insides fall from your mouth.

A laugh burst out of Edmund. Yep, sounded like his queen.

If you are Edmund. You’ve been gone too long, you ass. We miss you. Alex and Ty are pretty insufferable with their constant bickering over who you probably miss more. We all know the answer is obviously Vérité. That horse hasn’t had a decent snack since you were around for him to bite.

Edmund hadn’t noticed Bemus moving to stand over him, reading the letter, until he let out a snort. His friend’s nosiness should have bothered Edmund, but all he felt in that moment was a gut-wrenching yearning for his best friends.

I sent this messenger because we received word the treaty was finished, and I trust so very few people to bring it to me to sign. That’s how I know your job in Madra has come to an end. You’ve accomplished everything I asked of you. This position was never supposed to be permanent. Edmund, it’s time you come home to us.

Tears built in his eyes as he thought of that possibility.

I will assign a permanent ambassador, but it cannot be you. I have need of you in Bela. We aren’t supposed to be apart, you and I. Please, come home.

I love you.

Etta

P.s. Alex says to tell you he loves you too.

P.P.S Ty says he loves you more.

Edmund wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Home. He could go home. He hadn’t considered what the signing of the treaty meant.

Bemus stepped back. “Who are these odd people?”

Edmund smiled at that. “The queen and king of Bela. Oh, and the prince of Gaule.”

“They care about you.”

He nodded. “And I care about them.”

“Bela is very different from Madra.”

“Yes. It is.” But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He pictured Estevan. Over the past weeks, they’d worked on the treaty non-stop, finding small spaces of time to sneak away from prying eyes. Edmund couldn’t remember the last time he looked forward to just being in the same room as someone as much as he did Stev.

Could he leave him?

What of the spies now working throughout the city on behalf of Edmund and Stev? The threat hadn’t gone away, and they were no closer to learning who was behind it.

If Edmund returned to Bela, he could forget about all the strife in Madra, but he’d never forget the people he let down. What if something happened to Helena or Kass? Something he could have prevented?

He stared back at the letter.

“If you go back to Bela,” Bemus began, “I’ll stand beside you on that ship. But if you decide to stay and finish what we started, I’m with you in that as well.”

If you are Edmund. You’ve been gone too long, you ass. We miss you. “I miss you too,” he whispered.

Bemus walked away for a moment before returning with a parchment, quill, and ink pot. He set them in front of Edmund. “It’s time to choose.”

Edmund dipped the quill in ink before penning a letter he knew Etta wouldn’t like.

I’m sorry, my queen. My job here isn’t finished. There are people who need me. You know more than anything I can’t abandon them to their fates. You’ll understand more in time. For now, I need you to trust me as you have since the day you decided not to kill me in the tournament.

Love,

Edmund.

P.S. Tell Alex and Ty to stop being ridiculous. Neither of them hold a candle to their sister.

Edmund smiled at his last line. It was a joke. He’d never gotten along with Camille. What would Alex say now if he knew Edmund had fallen for the man she was due to marry?

Fallen.

That’s why he was staying. It made so much sense now. He liked to claim duty and honor kept him here, but he loved the prince of Madra.

Folding the parchment, he handed it to Bemus. “I need you to go to the docks and find the messenger’s ship. It won’t be leaving until the evening tide.” He walked toward the door and slipped his boots on.

“Okay, but where are you going?”

“The palace.”

“I thought you’d take a breather from the viper’s nest now that the treaty is done.”

Edmund met his knowing gaze. “This has nothing to do with the treaty.”

Bemus paused with his hand on the door. “Be careful, Edmund. Don’t forget who he is and what will happen if you are discovered.”

Edmund nodded and Bemus left.

It didn’t take long for Edmund to get to the palace. At the gates, he gave his horse over to a guard without waiting for a stable lad. Thundering up the steps, he pushed past servants and priests.

Inside, chaos reigned. The palace was hosting a dinner to celebrate the new deal signed with Gaule. In a few months, the princess would arrive on their shores.

Edmund barely noticed the commotion as he made his way up toward the main residence. The king was out of the palace for the morning so Estevan wouldn’t be in the throne room.

Nodding to the guards lining the hall, Edmund knocked twice and waited. Helena opened the door, her mask firmly in place. She smiled when she saw him before grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.

Yanking the mask from her face, she sighed. “It’s getting really old having to hide here in the palace.”

Edmund tried to hide his nervousness by clasping his hands behind his back. “Your name day is only a few months away.”

She flopped onto the couch, her deep blue dress bunching around her legs. “I don’t know if I can wait that long. I want to see things, Edmund. Things other than the walls of this priest-forsaken palace. I want to know my people.”

“You will.” There wasn’t much he could say to comfort her, not when he’d never experience her kind of captivity. As a princess of Madra, she couldn’t leave the palace and must wear her mask outside the royal wing.

She shrugged, despondent. He knew the look in her eyes. He’d seen it in Etta many times before. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m never stupid, Edmund.” She straightened and smoothed a hand over her dark braid. “Every move I make is a well thought out, calculated plan.”

Those words scared him coming from her, but he didn’t get a chance to respond as the queen entered the room. “Ambassador,” she smiled. “What a pleasant surprise.”

What she really meant was that he had no place in the royal residence since the treaty was done. But Queen Chloe meant no harm.

He bowed. “Your Majesty. The pleasure is mine, I assure you.”

To his surprise, she smiled. “A charmer. No wonder my children seem so taken with a foreign ambassador.”

“Mother,” Helena groaned.

The queen’s smile widened. “Even my sons. Tell me your secrets, Mr. Kent. How on earth do you manage to get my eldest to smile? Estevan isn’t the kind of prince that makes friends. Not like his brothers.” He knew she didn’t mean Kassander, but the two bastard princes Edmund had only heard stories about. Cole and Quinn were away with the army, but their presence was always felt. Their family cared a great deal for them, despite their less than royal upbringing.

One corner of Edmund’s mouth curved up. He liked the thought that Estevan didn’t show his kindness to others. Over the weeks, he’d slowly shown more of himself to Edmund, and the respect between the two men only grew.

There was one thing Edmund knew for certain. “Estevan will make a great king one day.” He wanted to kick himself for saying the words out loud. People in the palace didn’t take kindly to reminders their king wouldn’t last forever.

But the queen only nodded. “He will. I am glad I am not the only one who sees it. Have you come here today to speak with him?”

Edmund nodded.

“He’s in his office.” She turned to Helena. “How does my beautiful daughter feel about a walk in the gardens?” Some secret conversation passed between them, and Helena’s eyes lit up.

“Can we practice?”

Her mother nodded. Practice what, Edmund wasn’t sure, but he didn’t stay to find out. A servant showed him to the office and knocked on the partially open door.

Estevan didn’t glance up as he called for them to enter.

“I’m okay from here.” Edmund turned to the young man at his side. “You can return to your duties.”

He nodded and scurried off as Edmund pushed the door open, stepping inside. He closed it behind him, and still, Estevan focused on the parchment in front of him. He dipped his quill before continuing to write.

Edmund walked around behind him, bending over, but not to get a look at whatever Stev worked on. He’d long since realized prying into the prince’s business wasn’t a good idea. Instead, he kissed a trail from Stev’s ear down his neck.

“Edmund,” Stev whispered. “What are you doing here?” He tilted his head back to give Edmund better access.

“I wanted to see you.”

Stev made a sound low in his throat—half protest and half whimper. “You can’t just come to the royal residence now that the treaty is through.”

“Your mother didn’t seem to mind.”

Stev’s head jerked up. “You ran into my mother?” He scooted his chair around to face Edmund. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you know how she feels about anything. Chloe Rhodipus is more dangerous than my father.”

Edmund leaned down, meeting Stev’s worried gaze. He inched closer until almost no space existed between their lips. “Would she have a problem with me doing this?” The moment he kissed Stev, he knew the thought he’d had earlier hadn’t been a fleeting notion. He loved the prince.

Stev had no more protest in him as he pulled Edmund down onto his lap, his breath coming rapidly. He buried his face in Edmund’s neck.

Edmund brushed the hair back from Stev’s forehead. “My queen has asked me to return home.”

Stev’s eyes snapped to Edmund. “You’re leaving?”

For a moment, Edmund wanted to say yes. He could never have Estevan the way he wanted him. There was a princess preparing to wed the Madran prince. One way or another, this would end, shattering Edmund in the process.

Yet, he couldn’t walk away. Not when danger still lurked in the shadows. Losing Stev to his duty would cause immense pain, but if something worse happened to Stev… Edmund would never recover from that.

He pressed his lips to the top of Stev’s head. “No,” he whispered. “As much as I should, I can’t leave you.”

Estevan gripped him tighter as if afraid everything they had would slip away. Edmund knew the feeling.

“You would disobey your queen for me?” Stev rested his chin on Edmund’s shoulder.

How could he explain Etta? She wasn’t a queen like any Stev had ever seen. She didn’t give Edmund orders. They were partners, both coming to decisions on what was best for them. It had worked that way since long before she wore the crown. But a Madran would never understand the ways of Bela.

“My queen will understand.” Somehow. Edmund pictured Etta cursing and stomping through the forest, pulling vines from the earth with her magic. She wouldn’t be happy he didn’t want to return to her.

“Why?”

“Because she trusts me.”

“No…” He sucked in a breath. “You’ve told me much about your life in Bela, your friends who are as family. Yet, you choose to stay in a kingdom far from them, stealing rare moments with a prince, moments that will have to end one day.”

Edmund slid off Stev’s lap and paced the length of the room. He put his hands on his head and turned on his heel to face the man he knew would break his heart. “Why can’t you see it?”

“I don’t—”

“I’m in love with you, Stev.” He turned toward the door, wanting an escape, but a hand stopped him. How had Stev reached him so quickly? He pulled him back into his chest, wrapping strong arms around Edmund’s waist.

“Priest, Edmund. I love you so much it’s killing me.”

Edmund turned in his arms, a tear tracking down his face. “This isn’t going to end well for either of us.”

“Maybe it’s time to stop thinking about the end. We’ll deal with that when it comes.”

Edmund leaned into him, searching his eyes for any trace of doubt. It was in that moment, Edmund knew he’d made the right decision. No matter what happened to them, or how many pieces it left them in, loving Estevan Rhodipus was worth every bit of pain he caused.

They both knew the cost would be high, that they’d grieve long after they were nothing but memories in each other’s minds. But that was the thing about grieving. It meant you’d had something to lose.

And the worst thing in life was never having someone to remember them when they were gone.

This time, when Edmund kissed Estevan, it held a promise. The kind of promise that lasted a lifetime. Hello. Goodbye. But mostly, I’m going to miss you when I no longer feel your lips on mine.

And that was the most important one.

Epilogue

One Year Later

After the events of Glass Princess

Stev stood at the railing of the Madran ship bearing their prince away from the only shores he’d ever known. Edmund watched him, not approaching. He’d left everything behind when he went to Madra, but he’d known he would come home eventually.

Estevan didn’t have that eventuality. Bela would have to become his home now. Edmund had known many princes in his life. His best friend, Alex, was a prince who became a king, only to lose his throne. Now he sat on a different throne. His younger brother, Tyson was a prince of two kingdoms, but would never rule either.

And Stev… he was a prince who’d given up his power. In the weeks since he spoke those words of transfer to Helena, Edmund wondered why. After everything they went through, why did Estevan leave his people in another’s hands? Why had he forsaken the duty he was born with?

There was no going back now. They’d stayed to see Helena crowned queen of Madra. And what a queen she would be. Edmund loved her like she was his own sister. He’d seen her come into greatness right before his eyes.

But that didn’t stop his heart from breaking for the man who should have worn the crown.

“I know you’re there.” Stev’s voice snapped Edmund out of his own thoughts.

Edmund’s eyes swept the approaching land, relief flooding through him at the thought of being in Bela once more. He stepped forward, careful not to touch Stev. Despite bringing him home to Bela, their relationship hadn’t been a physical one in months. Edmund assumed Stev wasn’t in the right frame of mind since the abuse he suffered at the hands of his brother, Cole.

Lifting his eyes to the white cliffs that marked his kingdom with their magnificence, Edmund smiled. “Bela will heal you, Stev. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen in Madra.”

“I’m fine, Edmund. My flesh has healed.”

“I wasn’t speaking of flesh.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Estevan turned his gaze on Edmund. “I’m never going to forget.”

“I know. Sometimes at night, I wake up and think I’m still back in the dungeons of Gaule. That was years ago. The chains that hold us never quite disappear.”

Stev studied him for a moment before turning away. “You don’t touch me.”

“What?”

“Before all of this, I’d never met a man who had as much trouble keeping his hands to himself as you.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.” Estevan shielded his eyes against the sun, still not looking at Edmund. Water crashed against the side of the ship.

Edmund gripped the rail to steady himself. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

“Of what?”

“Stev, I thought you were dead.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “I was so angry it almost broke me. Helena and I… we mourned you.”

Estevan inched his hand along the rail to cover Edmund’s.

“The next time I touch you, I’m not going to let go.”

Stev tugged on Edmund’s hands. “The next time you touch me, I’ll stay.”

Was it that simple? For so long, Edmund had prepared himself for their ultimate goodbye. Loving the prince was never supposed to have a happy ending. His tears fell freely now. Could he really have everything he’d dreamed of? This man… he was more than Edmund deserved.

Yet, he was right there in front of him.

Edmund lifted his free hand, tentatively running his fingers along Stev’s shoulder, up his neck, following the curve of his jaw.

Stev leaned his cheek into Edmund’s palm. Their eyes met, and the ship faded away. Yelling sailors, scampering feet, an approaching dock… none of it existed when they stood there together.

“You’re still here,” Edmund whispered.

Estevan nodded. They’d known for weeks he was alive, but it wasn’t until that moment it finally struck them both that they could have this. “I’m still here.”

Edmund pulled Stev against him, fitting their mouths together in an all-consuming kiss. He remembered another kiss from so long ago, when he’d decided Stev was worth all the heartache they’d experience together. Only this time, this kiss held a different promise. Hello. You’re mine. And I’m never letting go.

Their bodies swayed with the movement of the ship as it hit the dock, but they didn’t break apart. The kiss turned salty with tears.

It wasn’t until hoots and hollers from shore reached their ears Edmund pulled back. Waiting on the dock was the king and queen of Bela, Alex and Etta.

It wasn’t the first time Edmund had returned home after a long time away, but this was different. This time, he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. Giving Stev’s hand a squeeze, he leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I’m sorry for them.”

Stev raised a brow but didn’t ask questions. He’d met Etta, Alex, and Ty briefly after the battle in the Madran palace, but he’d been in no shape for visitors.

Edmund didn’t wait for the sailors to lower the gangway. Instead, he leaped over the side of the ship, landing on the wooden deck with a thud. Etta reached him first, punching him in the stomach before pulling him in for a hug. “You’re home,” she said, her words muffled by his shirt.

“Home.” He grinned as Alex reached them, hugging Edmund just as tightly as his wife had.

Estevan walked down the gangway and rounded the dock toward them, approaching cautiously.

“Your Majesties, can I formally introduce Prince Estevan Rhodipus?” Edmund pulled Stev to his side.

“Edmund,” Etta chided. “Since when do we do anything formally.” She stepped forward, wrapping a surprised Stev in a hug. “You’re welcome here.” She pulled back.

Alex stuck out his hand. “Glad you’re not dead.”

Stev took it. “Me too.”

“Edmund was a bit pathetic, and Etta probably would have thrown him from the cliffs at some point.”

Edmund pulled Stev away from Alex. “Can you at least wait until he’s set foot farther into Bela than the docks before spinning fake tales.”

“Fake.” Etta coughed.

“Ignore them.” Edmund wrapped his arm around Stev’s waist, reveling in the knowledge he could touch him any time he wanted. “I usually do.” He shared affectionate grins with his best friends before leading Estevan from the docks.

Behind him, his friends chattered on about what had been happening in Bela. Villagers smiled in recognition as they passed, no one shooting questioning looks. It would take some getting used to after so long in Madra, but there was one thing Edmund knew for certain. He loved Estevan Rhodipus and could finally show him how much. Stopping in the middle of the street, Edmund pressed a kiss to Stev’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Stev asked.

“I don’t need a reason. Not anymore.”

Stev didn’t respond, but the smile curving his lips told Edmund he understood—probably more than anyone.

They didn’t have to hide anymore, and there was more power in that knowledge than in any throne.

Thank you for reading!!

Free Book!

Don’t forget to get your copy of Memory of War by signing up here to keep in touch.

Reviews are always loved and appreciated. Authors can’t author unless readers read - (we’re just going to pretend author is a verb.) - so thank you for reading!

About Michelle

M. Lynn is a USA Today bestselling author of love. Yes, love. Whether it be YA romance (Under Michelle MacQueen) or fantasy romance, she loves to make readers swoon. 

The great loves of her life to this point are two tiny blond creatures who call her “aunt” and proclaim her books to be “boring books” for their lack of pictures. Yet, somehow, she still manages to love them more than chocolate. 

When she’s not sharing her inexhaustible wisdom with her niece and nephew, Michelle is usually lounging in her ridiculously large bean bag chair creating worlds and characters that remind her to smile every day - even when a feisty five-year-old is telling her just how much she doesn’t know. 

See more from M. Lynn and sign up to receive updates and deals!

www.michellelynnauthor.com

Also by M. Lynn

Legacy of Light

A War For Magic

A War For Truth

A War For Love

Fantasy and Fairytales (Written as M. Lynn)

Golden Curse

Golden Chains

Golden Crown

Glass Kingdom

Glass Princess

Noble Thief

Cursed Beauty

Acknowledgments

“I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks.”

-William Shakespeare

This is my favorite part of a book - when I get to see just who all is responsible for taking me on a journey. When you’re a writer, you get to be the one to showcase how many special people had a hand in crafting the story. There’s no better page in the book.

I write because God has given me the opportunity to pursue my dreams. Without the challenges he’s given me, this book wouldn’t exist.

So many people supported me throughout this series. My parents, sisters, brother in-laws, niece and nephew.

Friends who provide me with constant inspiration.

A cover designer in Covers by Combs who is a brilliant artist, and an editor in Melissa Craven who is a sculptor of words.

I’ve been lucky enough throughout the past year to experience the true generosity and kindness of the reader community as they have rooted for these characters. I couldn’t ask for better people to surround myself with. So, thank you. I wrote these one for you.