The witch loudly cleared her throat. “I do hope you find it satisfying,” she stated, “as you will be here a while, Aevym Saquis.”

  “What is your name?” Wren demanded, turning to face the Ravyn.

  She laughed, the sound enchanting. “Who wants to know? Wren Farley, the little bird? Or Kerensa Na'labesc, the king’s canary?” She tilted her head, considering. “You are married to the Corruna Tsurich now, are you not?”

  “I…” Wren didn’t know what those words meant exactly, but she figured her guess would be fairly close. “Yes.” She refused to break the witch’s stare. “What is your name?” she tried again.

  A feline smile curved the Ravyn’s lips. “I have many names, darling. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Fine,” Wren growled. “Tell me your real name.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot share such things with you yet,” the witch hummed. She sauntered back to the tent flaps, but before she left, she threw over her shoulder with a wink, “For now, though, you can call me Dahlia.”

  Chapter Thirty

  She burst out of the tent after the witch. “What?” Wren exclaimed. The other two Ravyns shot her withering glares as she exited. Wren cringed away from them.

  The red-haired witch spun on her heel. “Was something unclear, Aevym?”

  “Dahlia is the name of the maid who attended me at the palace.” Wren added skeptically, “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “At the very least she seems to be the slightest bit bright,” the witch with yellow hair—Nissa—commented.

  The emerald-eyed Ravyn rolled her eyes and scoffed.

  “It’s not,” the witch who claimed to be Dahlia said to Wren, a grin splitting her face. “I am the maid who fetched your boots and brought you breakfast each morning. I helped mend the wound I inflicted on you.”

  “But…but that’s impossible,” Wren interjected. “You look nothing like her.”

  “Magic,” she began, her hair flashing blonde for the briefest moment, “is a strange thing.”

  Wren couldn’t wrap her head around it. The entire time she’d spent at Farrador Castle she’d been in the presence of a Ravyn witch. A spy. “Were you spying on me?” she questioned.

  “Keeping tabs,” Dahlia amended. “My assignment was somewhere else in the castle, but when you arrived things changed.”

  “That’s well enough, Dahlia,” the remaining nameless Ravyn scolded. “Help us put up the shield.”

  Dahlia raised her fist in mock salute. “Yes, Shaila.” She emphasized the witch’s name just as she’d done for her.

  The witches spread out, encircling the tent. Together, they raised their hands to the darkening sky in a slow motion, a swirling gold film rising from the ground as a result. It climbed higher until it curved over to form a dome, finally sealing at the top in a wide circle around the tent.

  “What is that?” Wren implored.

  “A precaution,” Shaila divulged, “to keep you in and everyone else out. Only Ravyns can pass through.” The three witches stalked to the edge of the gold shield. Shaila turned back to Wren. “A witch will be back soon with your dinner. For now, enjoy the privacy.” She wrinkled her hooked nose. “And please do us all a favour and change out of that wretched thing.”

  Wren looked down at herself to view her ruined wedding dress. A pang of homesickness coursed through her. What for? When she glanced up again, the Ravyns had already dissolved through the shield.

  She immediately spun and vomited what was left of her courage.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  Gray sat on his bed with his head resting in his hands. “What were you thinking?” he growled.

  Eloisa, who stood in front of him with her arms folded across her chest, replied, “I saw a situation where I could provide help, so I did. Is that so wrong?”

  “Yes!” Gray planted his feet as he rose to tower over his sister. “Witches are not to be taken lightly. They are dangerous creatures who are experts in deceit and trickery. Not to mention they manipulate the world around them to their advantage. Why would you try to take one on? You’ve never even held a weapon in your life.”

  “How would you know, big brother?” she chided. “How often were you actually paying attention to your useless little sister while you learned how to be important?”

  “I was plenty attentive!” he argued back.

  “You know, I never hated you until you were gone.” She was crying now, tears spilling all of a sudden down her rosy cheeks. “Until you left, and Mother and Father coddled me, ensuring I didn’t stray down your path. I was forced into the mould of their perfect daughter. It was a fight to even convince them to let me visit you at all. But you never knew any of that. You never came home, not even for holidays or my birthday.” Eloisa’s shoulders slumped. “I’d never felt so alone, Gray.”

  Her confession was like a punch to his heart. “Oh, Ellie,” he sighed, taking her hand. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  She shrugged, swiping at her damp cheeks. “I didn’t want to waste our time together over my pettiness or distract you from your duty.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can tell me anything, anytime.”

  She nodded, and he ran his hands through his hair repeatedly. He hated seeing Eloisa cry but was clueless as to what he should do when she did. Figuring he should try doing something, he pulled her into an awkward hug. She giggled; the sound muffled against his broad chest. “You act strange when girls cry,” Eloisa noted.

  He gave her a squeeze. “This isn’t working?” He raised an eyebrow at her evidently improved cheeriness.

  “Only because it’s funny,” she clarified.

  “Right.” Resting his chin on top of her head, he proclaimed, “I’m still upset that you put yourself in serious danger. What will Mother and Father say?”

  “They won’t find out.”

  “Not unless I tell them.”

  Eloisa gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Maybe I will,” he taunted.

  “You realize you’d actually have to speak to them face to face to accomplish that.”

  Gray contemplated. “Maybe I won’t.”

  They both burst into a fit of laughter, clutching their sides. Gray calmed down enough to ask, “How do you even know how to use a sword, anyway?”

  “Oh.” Eloisa suddenly looked sheepish, her face turning bright pink as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I might have…persuaded some of the Citadel’s guards to teach me a thing or two.” She gaped at the disapproving look Gray threw at her. “What? It’s essentially your fault. I wanted to be just like you.”

  He shook his head disbelievingly. “Gods, our parents will blame this all on me one day. They’ll definitely hate me for the rest of their miserable lives.”

  “I think that just gives you a free pass to hate them equally as much. I, on the other hand—”

  Suddenly a hollow knock sounded at Gray’s door, interrupting what Eloisa had been saying.

  Quickly, he regained his composure and went to answer the door. Standing there was Alaric, looking quite worse for wear. Gray knew how much his best friend cared about his appearance, clothes always freshly pressed, and hair delicately combed into place. Ric trusted no one to style or dress him—every detail was elaborately planned by him, all the way down to his shoes. It was a shock to see him in a rumpled white shirt and wrinkled blue trousers, his dark blond hair pushed in every which way. Gray hadn’t even known the infirmary had let him leave yet. Last he'd checked, Alaric had hardly been allowed to sit up in his cot.

  The two of them just stared at each other until Eloisa ducked under Gray’s arm, glancing between them. “I think I should go…” She trailed off, muttering a goodbye to Gray and managing a curtsy to Alaric. She slid past the prince and sauntered down the barrack hallway.

  Gray shook himself out of his stupor to call after his sister, “No more fighting witches!”

  He watched her turn and salute him. “Yes, Lieutenant!” Then she scurried off, leaving Gray facing his prince.

  “Gray,” Alaric pronounced gently, “I need your help.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Alaric paced the length of Gray’s barrack room. “It’s been over a week without any sign of her. Where would they take her?”

  “We don’t know, Ric. Their trail cut off somewhere around Srido. Patrols have been sent to all the established witch camps. Every one of them is empty,” Gray informed him from his place beside the desk. “You have to trust that Larcyn is doing everything he can.”

  I know that, but it’s not enough. “Every minute that she is gone is another minute that she is in danger. Any minute I—we could lose her.” Alaric paused his pacing to glance out of Gray’s small window to the training ring below. Members of Lithera’s Guard drilled there under a cloudy grey sky. The weather was beginning to become chillier as winter neared, courtesans adopting warmer styles and guards donning heavier gear for outdoor patrols. “Do you know if her parents have been alerted of the situation?”

  “I would assume not,” Gray sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

  “How predictable. So Cebrev will not be aiding in her rescue and my father refuses to send out anymore parties.”

  “Numbers in the Guard are limited enough, and a full unit willing to hunt witches is hard to come by during these times,” Gray explained, bringing Alaric’s attention back to the matter at hand.

  “An order is an order, Gray. Soldiers fulfill their assignments without protest, unwillingly or not.” Alaric knew that he was being unfair and even selfish, but he didn’t give a damn.

  “Ric—”

  He slammed his fist down on the wooden desk, denting the surface. He felt the tug of the stitches in his side from the aggressive motion. “She is my wife, Lieutenant, which makes her the princess and your future queen,” he growled. Alaric felt the frost that crackled underneath his hand. Hurriedly, he snatched it away from the table before Gray noticed. “By association, you are in charge of her safety, of which she has none at the moment. If you continue to refuse to take action in her retrieval, I won’t hesitate to take over your responsibility and find her myself.”

  Gray snarled back, “If you so much as think of going after Kerensa, gods help me Alaric, I will lock you in that tower of yours until you forget that ludicrous idea.”

  They stood with fists clenched, chests rising and falling heavily for a long minute, until finally Alaric collapsed into the desk chair, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled through his fingers. “I just…” He sighed deeply, dragging his hands down his face and dropping them in his lap. “I just feel so lost without her.” He closed his sea green eyes.

  After a beat, Alaric felt his friend’s hand land on his shoulder. He popped his eyes open to see Gray looking down at him sympathetically. “We’ll get her back, Ric,” he promised.

  “I know,” Alaric yielded, bobbing his head. He glanced back out the window where tender flakes of pure white snow had begun to fall. “I know.”

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  She’d been in the dark for a very long time. She wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been, but she couldn’t care less. She sat in her kitchen at the table with her back straight and hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes were trained on the front door, waiting for it to open.

  In all the time she’d been sitting here, it didn’t budge. She vaguely knew that it never would. He would never walk through their front door again. She would never see his smile or hear his laugh or wake up in their bed next to him. Mateo was gone, and his absence left an unfillable hole in Ambria’s heart.

  People came and went, checking on her. Her parents, her brothers, even Alaric once. He was so sad. He’d held her hand as tears rolled down their faces in tandem, offering his silent support.

  Ambria hadn’t moved from this chair since her family had brought her home. She barely ate, barely slept. She wasn’t even sure why she bothered to breathe the air that he did not.

  Please, my darling. His voice rang in her ears. Every so often she heard him in her head, pleading. For what, Ambria didn’t know. Please hear me. She relished the lovely sound as it haunted her.

  Light flooded the dank house as the door creaked open. The world outside was blurry and white.

  Winter. His favourite.

  A dark shape crowded the entry. It stepped inside, tracking in the snow. Ambria disregarded it, continuing her wallowing. The blob drew nearer, and Ambria made out the raven black hair and intense green of his eyes.

  “Gray,” she murmured. She adjusted herself in her chair, shocked to see him here.

  “Ric told me you weren’t well.” He shrugged out of his coat, revealing a plain black tunic. Bri rarely ever saw him in anything other than his purple uniform. He draped the coat over a chair and pulled it out to take a seat.

  Ambria gave a little sigh. “Can you blame me?”

  Gray shook his head. He glanced around the space. “Have you eaten anything?” he questioned, giving a pointed look to the tidy kitchen.

  Bri shook her head. He raised a brow and stood up from his chair, walking over to her icebox. Grasping the handle, Gray pulled it open and stuck his head inside to examine its contents.

  “What are you doing?” she exasperated.

  “Cooking,” was his simple answer as he moved on to the pantry.

  “You don’t know how to cook.”

  He shot her a grin, holding a can of pea soup. “How hard can it be?” Ambria observed as he fished about for a pot, placing it on the stovetop and turning on the heat. He opened the can with some difficulty and dumped the sludge into the pot. He grabbed a spoon and began to stir, turning to face Bri. “See?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why are you here?” she asked him.

  His expression grew serious. “I was worried about you.” Gray looked back at his pot of soup before adding, “And I’m worried about Alaric. You both lost something that day.”

  Ambria looked down at her hands. “No news on Kerensa?”

  “She’s still missing with no hint as to her whereabouts,” Gray indulged, spooning the soup into a bowl. “It’s driving Ric mad.” He placed the bowl on the table in front of Bri.

  She stirred the soup around, a vague memory alighting. “He told me he was going to look for her. That’s not true, is it?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he said, shaking his head. “I placed him under heavy watch. Hopefully, that will stop him from getting any ideas.” He picked up his coat, slipping into it.

  “He’s in love with her,” Ambria disclosed softly.

  “I know.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  Gray walked to the door. “He’ll figure it out some day.” He gave her a small smile.

  She tilted her head in a nod. “Thank you, Gray,” she said gracefully. “For everything.”

  He nodded in return. “Of course.” Then he left, the door shutting closed behind him, blocking out the light.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  Alaric sulked in his tower room as night fell, an open book resting upside down on his chest. Gray had stuck him in here with guards on the other side of the door keeping him in. He’d even locked the balcony doors and done away with the key.

  Alaric was left with nothing else to do other than to wonder where Kerensa was right now. Was she asleep comfortably, unharmed? Were the witches torturing her? He had no reason to believe that to be true. Kerensa was no hoarder of information. Anything they asked her she wouldn’t be able to give a clear, direct answer. Perhaps the Ravyns would realize this and find her otherwise useless. Punching a knife through her heart would surely be less trouble than returning her to him. No. He couldn’t allow himself to think like that. He had to believe that they were keeping her alive.

  Alive long enough for him to rescue her.

  He had packed a bag and hidden it in the secret tunnels that led from his closet. He was prepared for a long trip, food stores and warm supplies for two. He’d simply been biding his time to snatch a horse from the stables and ride away into the night.

  Alaric decided that tonight, he would leave.

  He waited as the sky darkened and the stars twinkled into existence. The same stars Alaric and Kerensa had danced under. That she had kissed him under.

  Quiet as a mouse, he sidled up to the closet panel and gripped it with both hands. He gave it a firm tug and it came right off the wall. Stepping inside and replacing the board behind him, he took a few strides forward, his eyes landing on his pack. He shrugged it over one shoulder and started the trudge to the outside exit he’d once brought an unconscious Kerensa through. As he descended, the light from the lanterns shuttered for a minute. Alaric froze, waiting for some danger to show itself. Wynter hung loyally at his side, ready to sing.

  He had no idea if something inhabited these tunnels and had no intention of finding out. He began to move again, his speed increased. Finally he saw the familiar stone opening at the end of the corridor. Alaric yanked it open with both hands, frigid air assaulting him from outside.

  He had dressed like a Lithian citizen, thick, drab clothes appropriate for the low temperatures of winter. The only ornate items on his person were his sword and the Ravyn Shield tucked against his chest. He had multiple other weapons strapped to his body, all of which were hidden under heavy layers of cloth.

  Alaric trekked to the castle stables, where he saddled up a roan mare as quickly and stealthily as possible. His efforts came crashing to the ground when a young stable hand came in, muck bucket in hand.