The people milling with her family and Mateo’s faded into the background, leaving her alone with him. Though she couldn’t truly see him, she could clearly picture the soft smile on his face, the crinkles around his cornflower blue eyes, the sunlight glinting off his brilliant white hair.

  She touched the casket, a strand of her hair falling in front of her face. Her mind was flooded with memories of him.

  Mateo as a boy, racing her in a field of grass.

  Mateo defending her when she was scolded for acting unladylike.

  Mateo flicking her nose after she made a joke about how long he’d been gone.

  Mateo kissing her for the first time outside the front door of her parents’ manor in Grivelan.

  Mateo and her, dancing the night away at their wedding.

  Mateo catching the pillow she chucked at him—and the ensuing pillow fight—because it was too early to wake a lady.

  The memories echoed, echoed, echoed, through her head, each one like a stab to her heart.

  “Oh, Mateo,” she whispered through her weeping, “what am I going to do without you?”

  You will persevere, darling.

  “And what if I can’t?” Bri wasn’t bothered that it looked like she was muttering to herself.

  You can. Do you think I would have left you otherwise? Fight for what you want now, Bri. Fight for your House. And fight for yourself.

  Her vision blurred from the tears pooling in her eyes. “I love you. I will love you forever, Mateo.”

  I will love you forever too, Ambria.

  She lifted her hand to her lips and kissed her fingers, pressing them to his casket once more. I will fight, she silently vowed.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  It should have been me.

  Gray woke with a jolt, stirring from his place at his desk. He’d fallen asleep again reading the reports from Alaric and Kerensa’s cases, searching for patterns.

  The sky outside his window was dark, the wind howling and snow blowing. He yawned, rubbing his eyes.

  He still didn’t understand the mystery of how Alaric had disappeared without a trace. The guards posted outside his rooms and below his balcony had reported nothing unusual. Ric had entered his room that night and was gone by morning.

  Gray was going to murder him.

  And if he got himself killed by Ravyn witches… Gray would tear through all three Hells to find him and strangle him.

  He heard the door to his barrack room ease open and turned in his seat to check who it was.

  “Captain Larcyn!” Gray scrambled out of the chair, saluting his captain.

  “At ease, Lieutenant,” Larcyn chuckled, stepping inside the room. “How come you’re still awake?” he questioned in his deep rumble.

  Gray scratched the back of his head, gesturing at the stacks of papers on his desk. “Reviewing the reports, sir.”

  “I see.”

  “Is there something you require, Captain?”

  “Indeed, there is, Lieutenant,” Larcyn expelled. “I need you to lead a unit on a search for His Highness and Lady Kerensa. You may select your team tomorrow and depart at dawn the next day.”

  Gray nodded gravely. “Yes, sir.”

  “Rest up, Lieutenant Zarin. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

  Larcyn departed, and Gray sunk back into his chair.

  He only had one qualm about being discharged on a search: Ambria. She still wasn’t in her head right, and he hated leaving her alone with no one to protect her.

  She won’t be alone. Ambria had her parents and her brothers to help her through her grief. She didn’t need him there.

  Even so, he’d made a promise to Mateo. One he never intended on breaking.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Receiving minimal trouble in the shops of Srido whilst purchasing brand new supplies, Alaric shook the hand of a stable manager after buying one of his fine stallions. He strapped his things to the back of his new horse and hopped onto him.

  He wasn’t sure what had become of the mare he’d left Farrador Castle with, though when he’d asked Barthe about her, he’d informed him that the horse was no where in sight when he’d stumbled upon Alaric. He prayed she’d been able to find a warm place to survive the storm.

  It had been a long day of gathering necessities in the unfamiliar city for his venture into Marawood. Rava’s light was dipping towards the horizon, but Alaric hadn’t a second to lose spending this night in a tavern. From Srido, it would be at least three days of hard travel to make it to the heart of the forest. From there, Alaric would have to rely on his luck to stumble into the witch camp.

  And when he did find the camp, he had to concoct a plan to rescue Kerensa. I’m coming, Kerensa. Hold on for me.

  What he would give to hear her voice or see her smile.

  She’d been gone for twenty-three days without a trace. Every moment she was in danger was another punch to his gut.

  Alaric spurred his horse forward, riding through the city barrier and vanishing beneath the canopy of thick branches that belonged to Marawood without a second thought. Birds twittered in the dwindling sunlight, a chill wind rustling the leaves up above. He breathed in the woodsy scent of the forest and the layered crispness of the snow crunching below foot. The deeper the stallion trotted, the colder it became.

  It had been forever since Alaric had been outside of Lithera’s capital. The privileges of his title had been drastically reined in by his father after his mother’s death and Rollon’s disappearance. By the age of eighteen, a Crown Prince’s duties were to interact with Lithians and travel across Lithera to learn the trade of his people. He would also traverse the Dridian Sea to strengthen relationships with their allies in the Empire of Cebrev. Alaric had only ever voyaged to the colorful continent of Cebrev a few times, thrice in his youth and once when he turned nineteen. With a heavy guard, of course.

  He’d grown up sheltered from a cruel world by the late Queen Janella, and now he was barred from every beautiful thing life had to offer outside glittering palaces and majestic thrones and humorous banquets.

  Alaric had never even known what it was to be in love yet. Of all the ladies who threw themselves at his feet, none of them had ever truly wanted him—it was always his title and good looks that drew the attention of eligible noble women. No matter their tricks, he’d not once had a woman in his bed.

  Except Kerensa.

  She’d slept in his bed many nights ago, albeit because of a dire situation. He’d never told her, but Alaric had been more restless than usual that night, unable to stay still as his thoughts were consumed utterly by her. He would never forget how helpless she had looked pushed against that wall, or how frightened she’d appeared trembling on the stones. It was the first time she’d been readily vulnerable with him, curled against his chest.

  Clearing his mind, Alaric brought himself back to the present. His stallion wended his way down the narrow road, tossing back his head and snorting at the sounds in the darkening woods around them. The faraway cries of wolves sounded as Endall awoke. Soon it would be pitch black with no way to track their movements.

  While Alaric debated whether to stop tonight and resume traveling in the morning, the stuttering sounds of trees and howling dogs sounded closer than before. Then without warning, the noise of the forest fell silent all around him.

  Stopping his horse, Alaric unsheathed Wynter, the blade whinnying as it was drawn. Moonlight glinted off his sword as he surveyed his unmoving surroundings.

  Six pairs of glowing yellow-green eyes stared back at him. Wolves. For a moment, none of them moved, and Alaric’s gaze froze on one of the wolves, not daring to look away. It barked suddenly and they all came charging out from the cover of the trees.

  Alaric snapped the reins, keeping a tight grip on his sword in his right hand. The pack of wolves fell behind to regroup as Alaric and his horse galloped ahead. His only options were to outrun them or prove he wasn’t worth their trouble. He gritted his teeth, heart pounding in his chest.

  The wolves caught up to the stallion fairly quickly, yipping and howling their triumph.

  A little early for that, isn’t it?

  Alaric swung his sword at the nearest wolf, missing its back by an inch. The dog barked up at him, tongue lolling and eyes blinking curiously.

  Alaric looked around bewildered. None of the dogs attacked or snarled or bit, they just ran alongside him and barked their joy. They’d split up so that three flanked each side of his horse, panting whilst they sprinted to keep up. Alaric slowed the stallion to a canter, and the pack matched pace. How awfully peculiar. He kept Wynter in hand, just in case the wolves were goading him or attempting to herd him where more would await.

  Though for now, he would tolerate their company.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Wren was lying on the ground buried in blankets and staring at the ceiling when flaming-haired Dahlia strolled inside her tent.

  “You seriously can’t find anything better to do than waste away on the cold, hard ground?” The witch stood over Wren and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Wren stared up at her. “What do you suggest I do in a practically empty tent, surrounded by a magical force field in the middle of winter?” she scowled.

  Dahlia rolled her eyes. “You have magic. Learn to use it.”

  Wren sat up, saying quietly, “I don’t know the first thing about magic.”

  “Liar.” The witch strolled across the tent and plopped herself on the edge of Wren’s bed. “You know more than you think, Aevym Saquis,” she drawled with a wink.

  “If you’re going to keep calling me that, would you at least tell me what it means?” Wren demanded, perching on the opposite side of the bed.

  Dahlia considered her a moment. “It is Erese for bird of the blood.”

  Silence settled over them for a minute while Wren absorbed this. Finally, she grumbled, “I suppose I like that better than Bloodbird.”

  The Ravyn snorted. “Lithians are so uncreative. Their language is too literal.”

  “But you speak Common,” Wren stated, puzzled.

  “A necessary evil,” Dahlia intoned, “considering my profession.”

  “Your profession being a spy.”

  “Correct.”

  “How many names do you have, Dahlia?”

  The witch wrinkled her nose. “I’ve decided I no longer want you to call me that. It makes me feel old,” she winced.

  Wren raised an eyebrow. “Are you not immortal?”

  “Yes, but all the older witches are cranky and disgruntled. I’d rather not be categorized with them.”

  “So how old are you then?”

  “So many questions, Aevym,” the Ravyn sighed with a grin. “I’m one hundred and twenty-one years old.”

  Wren was speechless, her mouth agape. That was young for a witch? And she still looks absolutely gorgeous.

  The witch grimaced. “I’m really not that old!” she exclaimed.

  Finding her voice, Wren shot back, “For a witch, sure. For a human? A hundred and twenty-one years is barely fathomable.”

  “I can imagine,” she chuckled. “You wanted to know my name before. Phoebe Ravyn, valuable spy and exceptionally talented shapeshifter, at your service.” The witch bowed her head, smirking.

  “Phoebe is your real name?” Wren prodded.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you couldn’t tell me your real name.”

  “Cannot, will not…” Phoebe shrugged. “Same difference, really.”

  “And…you’re a shapeshifter?” Wren tilted her head inquisitively.

  That same grin graced her lips. “The only one in centuries.”

  “Can you show me?” Wren asked. “What sort of things can you shift into?”

  “Anything that breathes, darling.” Phoebe sighed, shaking her head. “We have become incredibly side-tracked,” she divulged, chewing on the inside of her lip. “I actually came with news.”

  Wren stilled. “What kind of news?” she ventured tentatively.

  Phoebe stared at her for a long minute, the tension in the room rapidly thickening.

  “The Corruna Tsurich is missing, I’m afraid. Notices have traveled all over the continent, and several parties have been dispatched to find him.” The witch hesitated before adding, “Ours included.”

  Alaric is missing.

  The phrase repeated in her head over and over, like a mantra that had no end.

  Alaric is missing.

  Alaric is missing.

  Alaric is missing.

  She wasn’t stupid enough to hope he was coming for her.

  Distantly, she watched Phoebe rise and head towards the tent flap.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  The Ravyn froze in her tracks and peered over her shoulder at Wren. She met Phoebe’s gaze dead on. “You are clearly aware I no longer have the necklace. But that wasn’t your only reason for kidnapping me, was it?” Wren cocked her head in question. She waited as Phoebe stared at her, looking as if she were warring with herself.

  The witch opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, another witch threw open the tent flap.

  “Phoebe,” the strange Ravyn grunted, “Lithians lurking around the north-western border. Your coven is being dispatched to dispose of them.”

  Wren watched their exchange in defined horror. Phoebe nodded in response and exited Wren’s tent with the other witch without a second glance back at Wren. Scrambling off the bed, Wren followed them outside, wrapping her blankets tighter around her as the chill breeze assaulted her. She observed as the two Ravyns dissolved easily through the gold shield.

  This is what witches do. They kill, and kill, and kill, without mercy or regret.

  But are we really any better?

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  Mornings were the hardest.

  Rolling out of bed, Ambria wrapped herself in a bathrobe and moved to the kitchen where baskets of muffins and loaves and flowers from noble families covered every surface in condolence. Her stomach suddenly turning, she drifted back to the bedroom to shower.

  She wasn’t used to doing these things alone, in an empty house. It’s true, sometimes Mateo had been forced to depart for the palace early, but he always managed to wait until she woke up to greet her and kiss her good-bye, at the very least.

  The steaming water pelted Bri’s back, her sodden hair weighing heavy on her scalp. The cleanliness of the water mixed with the salt of her fresh tears as she went through the motions, lathering lemon soap on her body and in her hair.

  Shutting off the water grudgingly, she emerged into the freezing air of the bathroom, wrapped her hair up, and toweled her skin dry. Slipping on a modest cerulean dress, Bri dabbed on some blush and painted her lips, adding a swipe of kohl along her eyes. She took the time to air out her hair, then twisted the pieces into a half-up style.

  She glanced at the ceiling to prevent more tears from falling.

  She had to be strong today. Everyone would be looking to scrutinize her soon enough. She needed to look poised, feminine, and proud.

  At the front door, she shrugged on a shawl and covered her ears with fur muffs. Bri slid her hands into short white gloves and on her feet, she wore fashionable boots.

  Ambria gripped the door handle and pulled it open. It was cruelly beautiful outside for the dead of winter. Snow dusted the roads and the clear sky smiled down upon Evaleer. The sun’s watery light filtered over the city and Farrador Castle, creating a sparkling effect.

  Bri took in a deep breath before letting it out and setting off down the path to the castle.

  I can do this. I can do this. She wrung her hands, inhaling deeply.

  I’m right here with you, my darling.

  The sound of Mateo’s voice in her head eased her nerves palpably.

  Ambria nodded to the guards at attention around the palace gates as they let her pass through the gilded bars, like every morning.

  It’s just a normal day, Bri. You can do this, she repeated to herself.

  She sped down corridors, shedding her layers as she went. Ducking into a powder room, Bri dumped her shawl, muffs, and gloves on the settee in the back before going to the mirrors to freshen up. Once she deemed herself ready, Ambria put her hand on the doorknob. She took one more deep breath, then raised her chin and sauntered down the hall until she was face-to-face with the door to the council chamber. On the other side, she could hear men grumbling and bickering.

  Her heart raced, but she ignored it. The guard positioned outside the door eyed her suspiciously. Without another thought, she threw him a wink and barged into the room, interrupting the Privy Council.

  The guard grabbed for her, bewildered and disbelieving. Ambria side-stepped his reach, momentum lurching him forward.

  “How dare you lay hands on a lady,” she berated the furiously red guard.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Lord Callaway, rising from his seat.

  Ambria glanced around the room. She’d picked today because she’d known the King of Lithera would not be in attendance. Four lords looked back at her, with varying degrees of outrage written on their faces. Lord Callaway appeared infuriated; Lord Rosenar wore a speculative expression. Her father stared with fury in his eyes. And Lord Norwood… Mateo’s father looked at her with a sparkle in his eye, a ghost of a smile on his face.

  She hadn’t seen him smile yet since his son had died. That barest hint of emotion on her father-in-law’s face gave her the courage and hope she needed in that moment.

  Bri addressed the room. “Lord Callaway, Lord Rosenar, Lord Norwood, and…Lord Ellymae.” She avoided her father’s searing gaze. “I would be delighted if you would allow me to propose a solution to High House Ellymae’s matter of legitimacy.”