“You came to me,” she seethed with only a slight wobble to her words, “asking for my help at the crack of dawn, and then insult me in my own home.” Her hand flew in the direction of the front door. “Get out,” she said. “Get out of my house.”

  Her brother stood frozen a moment before he marched away without uttering another sound.

  Ambria tracked his movement, wincing as the door slammed behind him. She was vaguely aware of Mateo coming up beside her and murmuring reassurances, but all she could do was stare after Kai with tears dropping from her eyelids, one phrase repeating over and over again in her head.

  You’re just a woman.

  Just a woman.

  Just.

  A.

  Woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He ran his fingers through her long hair as they laid next to each other in the grass, staring up at the wide-open sky.

  “Have you ever thought about cutting this?” Cormac asked, pinching a strand between two fingers.

  Wren grimaced. “Not really. Why?”

  There was a long pause before he answered, “Because I don’t think you should.” She turned her head to look at him, only to find that he was already staring at her. “Ever.” She watched his lips form the word.

  “Ok,” she said softly. Neither of them spoke for a little while, eyes wandering across the other’s face.

  Wren sat up, pulling away as she tugged on a few blades of grass and began braiding them together. “Your dad left this morning, right?”

  Cormac rose to sit beside her. “Yeah. He said he’d only be gone for a couple days this time.” He glanced in her direction, adding on, “I’m going with him next time.”

  “Really?” She wanted to be excited for him, that he was finally going to get to do what he’d always wanted to be a part of, though she couldn’t help but be slightly fearful. Accidents happened during a hunt. “You better start target practice, then,” Wren chuckled.

  He rolled his eyes, a slight smile curving his lips. “You’re mean, you know that?”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Only to you.” That’s when she glimpsed the dust billowing on the road in the distance, just over Cor’s shoulder. She tapped him, pointing towards it. “What is that?”

  He shifted, following her trajectory, squinting in the sunlight. Without warning, he pushed her down to lay on her stomach, doing the same himself. “Do you see the purple they’re wearing?”

  Wren stared harder, focusing on the bodies riding atop the horses kicking up gravel. She caught a flash of the purple and silver they wore, and as they came closer, the weapons strapped to their sides.

  “Lithera’s Guard,” Cormac clarified, shooting her a perplexed look. “What are they doing all the way out here?”

  She bit her lip, shaking her head uncertainly. Her eyes traced the path they rode, heading straight towards… She gasped, gripping his arm. “They’re riding for Forx, Cor.”

  His gaze shadowed hers, coming to the same conclusion.

  Wren tugged on his arm. “Come on. We have to warn everyone.”

  He hesitated before saying, “I think we should wait here a little longer.”

  She blinked. “…What?”

  “Just—” His jaw clenched. “We’re safer out here right now. We don’t know what they’re going to do—”

  “That’s exactly my point!” she exclaimed. “That’s our home they’re marching for. And I don’t know about you,”—her eyes narrowed at him—“but I would rather stand with my family than hide like a coward.” She rolled away from him, pushing to her feet.

  “Wren.” His voice was stern as her name left his lips.

  She ignored him, stomping away.

  “Wren!” Two arms around her waist, forcing her to stop.

  “Let go.”

  “No.”

  “Cormac, please.”

  “I don’t want to lose you.” His breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck.

  She sighed. “Then come with me.”

  He spun her around in his arms. “This is serious. You know your parents would never let you see me again if I put you in danger.” His eyes searched her face.

  “I guess there’s only one way to avoid that,” she admitted, gaze downcast. “You’ll have to catch me first, though.” Wren slyly slipped out of his embrace and sprinted for the village. She heard his grunt of surprise behind her before he ran after her.

  Just like she knew he would.

  By the time they made it to the center of their tiny village, a crowd had already gathered in front of the mounted guards, whispers circulating as they waited for the intruders to speak.

  The man riding a dark chestnut stallion in the middle of their formation broke the silence. “We are here to conscript soldiers for the Guard.” Forx erupted in dismay, but the guard continued his speech. “Every able-bodied man between the ages of sixteen and thirty-five is required to serve His Majesty for a minimum of one year.”

  Wren’s gaze snapped to Cormac. He returned her alarmed expression.

  He was sixteen.

  “Failure to abide is punishable by imprisonment.”

  Not him, she thought. I should have listened.

  Her hand slid into his, and she gently, discreetly led him away before anyone noticed they were there. The two of them fled to the river, moving upstream until they were hidden from view.

  Wren turned to look up at him, tears staining her cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you, either.” Cormac’s hand raised to wipe away her distress, but she leaned away. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “You were right, we should have just stayed where it was safe and then none of this would be happening and you wouldn’t have to leave—” She choked on a sob. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Hands holding her face, blue eyes swimming in her vision. “Who ever said I even thought of leaving you at all?” And before she could react, he pressed his mouth to hers for the very first time.

  And that was the moment that changed everything between them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Why in the name of the gods do you find it necessary to examine His Majesty’s guests, Lord Callaway?”

  Alaric ran his hands through his hair, tired of hearing the lords’ squabble over security for the wedding that was suddenly just over a week away. His knee bounced beneath the round table, anxious to get out of this Privy Council meeting.

  The past three weeks had flown by in a blink, Alaric having been swept up in his accumulating princely duties. He hadn’t seen much of Kerensa either, finding that whenever he went looking for her, she was busy doing something with Ambria or was simply impossible to track down. There were a couple times he had wondered if she’d managed to escape to the city using the tunnels, though if that were the case, he couldn’t exactly be mad at her since he did the same thing as often as he could manage.

  “The Crown Prince is joining in matrimony, meaning hundreds of witnesses will attend the event. I just think that his safety and that of his betrothed is of the utmost importance,” Lord Eason Callaway argued.

  Just one more thing that Alaric disliked about these conferences he was required to attend: the fact that the lords often spoke of him as if he were not sitting directly to the right of the king.

  His father announced his decision, “Guests will be asked to present invitations before entering the castle close. Matter settled.”

  Alaric had no clue when these invitations had been sent out or what they even looked like. But, of course, his father had thought of everything, not even bothering to consult him or his soon-to-be wife.

  He couldn’t even begin to guess what his father had planned for the ceremony. Yes, it’s a political arrangement, but isn’t this still my wedding?

  “Are there any other concerns to be brought up involving the wedding?” the king implored.

  Lord Ellymae notified, “I regret to inform you, Your Majesty, that floral arrangements from Grivelan will now not arrive until much too late.”

  The King of Lithera tapped his chin. “I see.”

  These are our most pressing issues. Flowers.

  “Perhaps there is a florist in the city who would be able to provide a solution,” Lord Rosenar interjected.

  The king narrowed his eyes at his late wife’s brother but nodded all the same. “Very well. I leave that to you, Lord Ellymae.”

  After that ridiculous exchange, Alaric tuned out the rest of the debates between the king and the lords of the other four High Houses.

  In nine days, he would become a married man. He wasn’t even entirely sure how to feel about his nuptials yet—two months ago he was appalled and angry just at the idea. But now… He was intimidated, certainly. A little terrified. But a part of him was hopeful, too. Hopeful that he and Kerensa could actually be happy one day. At least happier than his parents had ever been, trapped in the same roles as the king and queen.

  King. And Kerensa, his queen.

  Something about that didn’t feel right to him.

  We need time. He couldn’t do this yet—once Kerensa became his wife, she would share his burdens.

  But he could hardly even bear the thought of weighing her down with his leaden past. He couldn’t allow her to be shackled to him because neither of them was given a choice.

  “I can’t go through with it,” he cut through the din.

  Everything in the room went deathly silent.

  “What did you say, son?” his father clipped out.

  Alaric rose and said directly to the King of Lithera, “I said I won’t go through with the wedding.” And before the Privy Council and his father erupted on him, he stalked out of the council room, hands fisted tightly at his sides.

  Walking briskly down the corridors, he felt the sudden need to punch something. He didn’t let himself hesitate as he wound back his fist and slammed it into the wall.

  To his astonishment, ice spider-webbed from the impact, cracking the marble. His knuckles came away unscathed, protected by the magic. Magic.

  Kerensa had been right. That day in Evaleer, it was him who had frozen Ratchet into an icy statue. And during their dance, the ice particles must have been from him.

  But then the fire…? He recalled what she’d muttered after noticing the tendrils following her movement.

  Why does it have to be fire?

  Did Kerensa possess similar magical abilities to him? If that were true, why the two of them?

  What was so special about either of them?

  Alaric crumpled to his knees, exhaustion overwhelming him. He buried his face in his hands, trying to stay under control. Where had the magic come from? And why now?

  He stayed on the floor for a while, thoughts assaulting him with unanswered questions. Finally, he gathered the comprehension and energy to flee the ice coated wall before someone found him at the scene. He unsteadily rose to his feet, hands caught in his hair before he wandered off in search of the one person who might have some kind of understanding as to what was happening to him.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  No matter what Wren tried to distract herself with, her mind always seemed to wander back to the white gown in her closet that had appeared this morning out of thin air. She had actually yelped when she’d encountered it earlier in the midst of dressing. The gown the King of Lithera had demanded she wear down the aisle was enormous. White layer over white layer of fabric, creating a giant circle of skirt. The strapless gown was covered in the same sheer lace as the matching veil that was twice the size of Wren herself.

  She hated the monstrosity of blinding white—though she predicted that was the point, which only made her detest it even more if that was at all possible.

  Nine days and she would be married to a prince, her life belonging forevermore to the King of Lithera.

  She was in dire need of a very compelling distraction.

  Since Dahlia was out taking care of other chores today, Wren strolled into the bedroom and approached the mattress, where the witch book had been hiding for the past several weeks. Carefully, she extracted the dark blue volume and walked back into the sitting room, plopping down onto the couch and putting the book down on the table in front of her. Like the first time, she opened it to a random page.

  The ink spelled out a sprawling, sparkling city painted on the pages in intricate detail. Buildings shimmering in golden sunlight, an elegant fortress overlooking the city iridescent. It was like nothing Wren had ever seen before—more beautiful than anything in Lithera. The title at the top of the page read Ravynia, telling her that this was the ancient witch city that had fallen to Lithera five hundred years ago. Lithians speculated what Ravynia had become, abandoned up in the Northern Expanse by both humans and witches after the Seventh Battle. However, the loss of the Ravyns’ home hadn’t swayed their thirst for revenge.

  Wren flipped through a few more pages before another picture captured her attention. It was stamped in dark colours, foreboding and menacing, and she only recognized the snarl of branches and thorns because there had been a patch growing near her home back in Forx. She had stumbled across it with her papa one day after a bout of hunting. That night, she’d watched from her bedroom window as he had burned the bush until nothing was left but ashes intermixed in the dirt.

  The flower itself was deceptive in its beauty. Resplendent in shades of mauve and purple, every bud was equipped with four velvet-like petals, each containing enough poison to kill twenty individual men. Even the scent of the bloom could be toxic if you weren’t careful.

  And that was why it was bestowed the name riabane—the goddess of death’s loyal handmaiden.

  Wren was startled out of her head by Alaric appearing in her peripheral vision. He looked uncharacteristically ruffled, with messy hair and brows pushed together. His sea green eyes zoned in on the book she held, concluding that any attempt to conceal it would be futile.

  “What’s that you’re reading?” Alaric’s gaze flitted back to her.

  “Nothing of consequence,” Wren replied as smoothly as she could, shutting the pages.

  “Right.” He took another glance at the cover and moved to sit beside her. “That symbol,” he pointed out. “It’s the same one you wear around your neck.”

  Wren drew back, shocked that he’d noticed at all. “Y-yes.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it means?” Alaric supplicated, pressing closer.

  She found herself suddenly very aware of him, every breath and involuntary movement heightened to her senses. Her mind flashed back to that moment as they’d danced on the tower roof when she had felt something between them snap so perfectly into place—like it had just taken them this long to begin opening up to each other. And there was still so much she would have to tell him one day because she wouldn’t fool herself into thinking that Kerensa Na’labesc was a permanent mask that she could live her entire life behind, no matter what the king desired. But when she’d kissed him and he had kissed her, all of that had fallen away, stripping her down to just a girl with a boy who had done something beautiful especially for her.

  And though she didn’t believe that anything was that simple anymore, for a moment it had been with Alaric. For a moment, her scarred, broken heart was whole again.

  Don’t get carried away.

  His aroma of jasmine and steel wasn’t helping in the slightest. Sitting this close to one another, it filled her nostrils, causing her head to spin.

  Alaric was still staring at her intently, and Wren fractured from her swirling thoughts, realizing that he was waiting for an answer. “I don’t really know what it means,” she said, treading lightly.

  He raised his perfect eyebrows, shooting her a disbelieving look.

  Oh, what the hells. He can already condemn me to the pyre whenever he wants. “Fine,” she huffed. “It’s related to the Ravyn witches somehow. This book calls it the Ravyn Shield.”

  His response was to flash an insufferable grin, clearly proud that he got the truth out of her.

  “I’m telling you this in confidence, Prince,” Wren asserted sternly.

  Ric said, “I’d expect nothing less, Thief.” He studied her for a minute. “So where did you acquire the necklace, then? I assume you’re not in league with witches.”

  “I found it in a shop when we went to Evaleer,” she explained, “and no, I didn’t steal it, you buzzard.”

  His hands rose up in defense. “I never suggested the idea!”

  Rolling her eyes, Wren flipped through the book until she landed on the page that mentioned the Ravyn Shield. “They don’t happen to teach Lithian princes Erese, do they?” she checked, pushing the book in front of him.

  Ric traced his finger over the lines of text. “No,” he admitted. “But my mother did teach me a little.” A few long moments passed in heavy silence as he pored over the words. Eventually, he pointed at the paper. “This says that the symbol is Visi lo hifuar, known as god-forged in Common, along with a sword,” he indicated, eyes lifting from the page to look at her. “The only god-forged sword I know of is Amaryllis, forged by Brane, the god of battle, for King Darien Bernthal. But that blade has long since been lost to history.”

  Wren frowned, glancing at the book again. “It couldn’t mean a different sword?”

  “It’s possible though unlikely. There are very few god-forged items, most of which were lost long ago or never believed to have existed at all. I’ve never heard of a symbol being forged by gods, however.” Alaric considered the rest of the text a minute before turning the page.

  A beautiful depiction of a woman with cropped auburn hair, sharp cheekbones, and a slender frame glared coldly up at them. Wren leaned forward for closer inspection and distinguished that the woman wore an exact replica of Wren’s necklace around her neck, pointing it out to Ric.