Her beauty struck him square in the chest once more. Gods save me.

  Alaric leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees, and put forth, “Since neither of us are having a particularly outstanding day,”—he cut his gaze to Kerensa and extended his hand—“let’s go.”

  She narrowed her eyes, staring at his outstretched hand. “Go where?” she asked tentatively, sitting up on the cushions.

  He grinned. “I want to show you something.”

  She threw him another skeptical glance before sliding her hand into his. “This better be good, Prince,” she proclaimed, rising from her seat.

  He rose as well and tugged her in the direction of his closet. “Only the best, Thief.”

  She smirked and followed after him.

  He walked through the door to his closet, but Kerensa paused on the threshold, her mouth open in disbelief. “I didn’t think it was possible for there to be a closet bigger than my own,” she burst out and gestured to his vast space full of clothes. “It seems I was wrong.”

  Alaric laughed. “Just you wait.”

  She cocked her head at him curiously.

  “Over here.” He dragged her to the loosened panel in one wall of his closet, grabbing it with both hands and removing it with a sharp pull. He leaned the large board against the wall beside the entrance. It was big enough for a someone of Alaric’s height to stroll through comfortably. Bowing at the waist, he gestured with a flourish to the entrance and said with a grin, “Ladies first.”

  “In three hells,” Kerensa guffawed.

  He raised an eyebrow, straightening himself. “All right, then.” He sauntered through into the tunnels but turned back to make sure she followed.

  Kerensa was staring after him, arms folded across her chest, one hip jutting out judgmentally. “Just where are we going, Alaric?” she quizzed with a pointed look at the secret corridors.

  He shrugged in answer. “Somewhere we most certainly shouldn’t go. But then, what are secret underground tunnels for?” He winked at her.

  Kerensa bit her lip, speculating.

  “Come on.” He held out his hand for her to take. Alaric searched her eyes. “Trust me.”

  And within a beat, her hand landed in his, fingers intertwining.

  He led her silently down the steps, turning left a short way down the corridor, where they came before a wooden door. Alaric let go of Kerensa’s hand to pull the door open, revealing the canvas of a tapestry hanging over the doorway. Carefully, he lifted the tapestry and gestured for Kerensa to proceed inside before him. She came up beside him, peeking into the dark room in front of them.

  “You look lovely today.” His mouth blurted it out before he had a chance to reconsider. Alaric felt his face turn scarlet.

  Kerensa looked brightly up at him, her smile dazzling. “And you look quite handsome yourself,” she remarked, and swept forward through the doorway.

  Alaric glanced down at his feet, shaking his head and smiling to himself, strolling in after her.

  He could barely make out Kerensa’s silhouette in the center of the darkened space as he watched her spin in the dark, trying to discern her surroundings. She turned to him and probed again, “Alaric, where are we?”

  He grinned, even though he knew she couldn’t see. Walking over to the wall, he tapped a switch and the lights flickered into life.

  They were standing in a room not all that different from Alaric’s own. The enormous bed was against the far wall, an added vanity set next to it. Doors leading to the closet and bathroom opposed each other on either wall. Furniture littered the rest of the space, a desk pushed off to one side, chairs and a settee placed on the left side of the room. There were large glass doors leading to a balcony on the south side of Farrador Castle, towards the city of Evaleer.

  “While I appreciate being able to see five feet in front of me,” Kerensa glared at him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, “this doesn’t answer my question, Prince.”

  Alaric chuckled and gestured around them. “These are the princess’s quarters.”

  Kerensa gaped at him.

  “They are currently unoccupied,” he explained further, “and haven’t been since my mother moved to the queen’s suites.” He monitored her movements as she examined the room again, a different look in her eyes. “They’ll be yours, Kerensa, if you so choose. Once we marry,” he said quietly.

  She froze as the words tumbled into the space between them. Her back was to Alaric, so he couldn’t see her reaction. The room stood still for a moment, the two of them trapped by reality. But the uncomfortable stillness shattered when Kerensa diverted to the balcony, disappearing to the other side of the glass doors. Alaric debated whether or not he should tread after her, ending up doing just that.

  Alaric paused momentarily in the doorway, observing Kerensa from afar. Her hair blew around her in the wind, hands braced against the railing on either side of her.

  “Why were you looking for me that night?” he asked out of the blue, angling his head in her direction as he came up beside her at the balcony rail.

  Kerensa glanced at him, then looked away. His hand shot out to grab her chin, turning her fiery gaze back towards him. Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing pink. Losing his nerve just as quickly as it came, Alaric dropped his hand, embarrassed, and averted his eyes.

  But Kerensa caught his chin in her hand, redirecting his gaze to her.

  “I—I was worried. About you,” she confessed hesitantly. “Lieutenant Zarin came to my door, asking if I’d seen you. He told me he couldn’t find you, and I just—” Kerensa drew in a shaky breath, and when she looked back up at him, her expression was hardened by determination. “You seem to spend a lot of time alone. And those street men called you Ace, so I figure you spend a lot of time out there.” She gestured to the city below before her focus landed on her hands. “I’m sorry,” she added softly.

  “Why are you apologizing for caring?” Alaric murmured. “Knowing where I am all the time isn’t your responsibility. That falls on my Guard.”

  “Not until I’m your wife, right?” Kerensa scoffed, pulling away from him and shaking her head. She walked back inside, leaving him alone on the edge of the balcony.

  He stood unmoving for several minutes, her words churning in his mind. His brows drew together in puzzlement. What did I say?

  He pushed away from the balcony and stalked after her. She was sitting in one of the luxury chairs, staring intently into her lap. He kept his distance, standing a few feet away from her. Neither said anything, the silence thick with tension.

  “It’s the truth, Alaric. A world conquered by men.” Kerensa’s heavy words reverberated in the once-peaceful room. Then she rose and left, past the tapestry and through the tunnels from which they came.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  Why are you apologizing for caring?

  Wren trudged through the palace halls on her way back to her rooms that evening, contemplating all the things she and Alaric had said earlier.

  Even though she’d made up the lie on the spot, she found that she’d truly meant every word that came after.

  So why did she care? She desperately wished she could believe he was a pompous ass of a prince and limit their interactions as much as would be acceptable.

  But the truth was that she’d be lying to herself if she believed that. Alaric wasn’t a pompous ass, he was considerate and attentive and a good man, from what she could tell in the few weeks she’d known him. That being said, there were still things she couldn’t even begin to guess about him, secrets buried deeper than she dared to dig.

  She knew she shouldn’t have said what she had back there, but she wasn’t going to stop being honest just because he was nice. And she refused to be some kind of mute trophy wife with no voice or opinions of her own. They could kill her before that happened, for all she cared.

  Wren arrived at her door to find Hendry on guard by himself that evening. She acknowledged him with a nod of her head—which he returned—and entered her rooms. Dahlia wasn’t there, and Wren realized she hadn’t seen her very often lately. She made a mental note to check on her tomorrow.

  Wren glided to her bedroom, anxious to remove her cyan dress. Turning on the lights, she moved towards her closet but froze as something blue caught her eye.

  It sat on her bedside table innocently, as though it belonged there. Wren advanced, peering at the conspicuous book. Sure enough, the bronze symbol remained stamped on the front. The Ravyn Shield, the book had informed. The same symbol around Wren’s neck.

  Wren distinctly remembered returning the volume to its place on the shelf in the library. However, she couldn’t deny that it was here now.

  She snatched the book and frantically shoved it under her mattress. Had Dahlia put it there? She didn’t think the older woman would have. So then who did?

  Wren perched on the edge of her bed, pushing that concern to the back of her mind.

  Regardless, there was still one thing nagging at the boundary of her consciousness.

  Trust me.

  He’d said it so casually, the significance of that moment buried far beneath the surface. But she hadn’t hesitated. Wren didn’t know how or when it had happened, but she knew she did trust Alaric. The truth was that he had never given her a single reason not to trust him yet. And that…

  That was perhaps what scared her the most.

  Her hands came up to grip either side of her head, trying to rein in her rampant thoughts and this mind.

  This mind that refused to stop torturing her with things she could never have.

  Never, ever again.

  Wren stood from the bed, unclasping her dress as she moved towards the closet again. She adorned a simple nightgown, wrapping her body in a soft blue robe. Drifting over to the vanity, she brushed out her dark brown locks and studied her reflection in the mirror for far too long. Dark skin, high cheekbones, gentle jawline. Her slender nose sloped between her eyebrows, lashes thick and dark. She’d often resented the freckles she’d inherited from her ma that splattered across her skin. Her gentle hands, long neck, and wide eyes came from her, too. Her eye colour, however, was unique only to her.

  Wren might have resembled her Cebrevenese pa in looks, but she had her Lithian ma’s spirit.

  She recalled her childhood as a rather happy one. Her parents were never cruel, and they loved each other very much. She remembered when her papa would bring her mama bouquets of flowers he picked while out hunting for game. Her pa had made a life as a hunter and butcher, selling the meat to the other villagers. He’d taught Wren a little about the hunt, and she used to enjoy going with him into the forest and tracking animals. She’d had a knack for tracking, too—the skill had helped her survive on her own in Marawood.

  Her mama, on the other hand, was a modest seamstress. People often came to her in need of mending or for an affordable article of clothing. Some days, Wren’s ma had gone door to door in Forx and offered her services to those who needed it. Wren wasn’t as adept at sewing as her, but she managed basic patching and some stitching with her ma’s guidance. Sometimes, Wren would simply sit and watch as her ma’s deft hands worked on a dress or one of her papa’s shirts. It had fascinated her, how her mama could fix a gaping hole with a little string and a needle.

  Tears welled up in Wren’s eyes without warning, and she blinked them back furiously. She didn’t want to cry for the life she’d lost, for the family from which she’d been forced to flee.

  For the sister she’d left to die.

  Wren could not stop the tears now as she clutched her fingers to her lips. Taking a shaky breath, she stood from the vanity and drifted outside onto her balcony. She looked up at the stars, to the moon—to Endall, lord of the night.

  “I’m sorry,” she told the blinking sky, “for leaving you, Gemma. I shouldn’t have left without saying good-bye. Without trying harder to save you.” Her voice broke on the last words. Tears fell fast and hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered.

  Wren looked into the face of the moon and wished her curse away, not for the first time. But she knew not a single god would answer her call.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gray Zarin strolled across the grounds of Farrador Castle, on his way to retire to his room for the evening. His purple-and-silver uniform was wrinkled and dirty from vigorously training young new cadets all day. He lived in the barracks on the castle grounds with the rest of the guards, having left his parents home at nineteen to train with the royal guard, starting as a cadet himself.

  Though he’d risen to the honourable position of Lieutenant of the Crown Prince’s personal Guard in less than two years—an accomplishment he prided himself on.

  Diverting to his room upon entering the barracks, Gray closed his door behind him and locked it for the night. Most cadets and guards shared rooms, but as Lieutenant, Gray had a small space to himself.

  Stripping out of his uniform and throwing on pants and a shirt to sleep in, he glanced at the stack of papers on his desk, noticing the letter propped there. Gray marched to the desk and swiped up the envelope. It was addressed to a Lord Gray Zarin.

  Unbelievable. Gray rolled his eyes and tore the damn thing open.

  Son,

  Your mother and I hope you are well and thriving. Eloisa sends her regards as well.

  I write to you to inform you that your sister will be arriving at court by the end of the month.

  We will see you at the Crown Prince’s wedding in two months.

  Sincerely,

  Lord Zarin

  Gray tossed the parchment onto his desk and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. He dragged a hand down his face and through his black hair, processing the information the letter relayed.

  His parents were coming here. At least they had the decency to warn him two months in advance.

  Gray hadn’t so much as seen his father nor his mother since the awful day three years ago when he’d walked out on them and away from the future they’d had planned for him.

  He’d been born into House Zarin, one of the four lower Houses. His upbringing had been strict, as it was assumed for a child of nobility—taught about the importance of things like decorum and etiquette and propriety.

  One of the few times Gray had gotten away with acting like a child had been on their trips into the capital, when he and his family stayed in the castle close, and Gray spent every waking moment with Prince Alaric. Even though his friendship with the younger prince was frowned upon by almost everyone, it hadn’t stopped Gray and Ric from doing everything together when they could.

  Gray had always felt out of place growing up in such an environment—he wasn’t afraid to admit to it now. And the day he’d picked up a training sword with Ric for the first time, a sense of duty he’d never once experienced flowing through him… That was the day that his whole life changed.

  At seventeen, Gray knew he wanted to join Lithera’s Guard. He’d kept his dream a secret, even from Alaric, up until he turned nineteen and decided to chase it, regardless of what anyone thought.

  As he’d expected, his father had been severely disappointed in him, his mother heartbroken that he could abandon them without a thought. His little sister, Eloisa, and Ric had been the only ones to support his decision in the beginning.

  Eloisa had been just thirteen when he’d left. But Gray and his sister remained close, writing to each other constantly, and she came to visit when she could.

  Two months.

  Dread bloomed in his stomach.

  There had always been one person in his life who was there for him no matter what, and before he knew exactly what he was doing, he was out of the barracks and breathing in the crisp night air. His troubled mind ran a mile a minute as he strolled through Farrador Castle to the east wing and climbed the many winding steps to his best friend’s door. He nodded to his two guards on duty before knocking on the wooden door.

  Alaric answered, still dressed in all his princely finery. His hair was perhaps a bit more mussed than it had been earlier that day, like he’d ran his hands through it too many times. When their eyes connected, Ric stepped to the side and gestured for Gray to come in.

  “Is everything alright?” Ric asked, closing the door behind him.

  Of course he can tell. Gray cracked a knuckle. “My father sent a missive. They’re coming for the wedding.”

  Ric sighed, running a hand down his face. He chuckled, “No good is going to come of this cursed wedding, is there?”

  “Not by the looks of things.” Gray flopped onto Ric’s plush divan, releasing a long, heavy breath.

  Ric took a seat beside him. “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “You seem to be getting on well with Lady Kerensa.”

  “Only when she lets me,” Alaric said, shaking his head.

  Gray glanced at his friend. “It will take time, Ric. She might not like you for a long while, but I’m sure she’ll come around eventually.”

  “Oh, lovely—I’m going to be married to a woman who will hate me for years before she gradually starts to warm up to me. I feel so reassured,” Ric mocked, a smile breaking his face.

  Gray laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.” His grin fell as he returned, “The same is true for you, Gray. Your parents will come around, and you won’t have to hide from them anymore.”

  He cringed. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, in all honesty.”

  Ric nudged his shoulder. “If you have time tomorrow afternoon, I can fit in a little bit of sparring.”

  “Count me in,” Gray replied.

  His dread curled up and closed its eyes for now.

  Chapter Sixteen