Frustrated and flustered beyond rational thought, Wren stomped through the halls without much direction. She was trying to find the way back to the rooms she’d been occupying previously, but she was pretty sure she’d taken a wrong turn a while back, messing up her orientation. She knew that the king’s study was in the west wing and that she needed to enter the east wing, though Wren didn’t exactly know where she was at the moment. “They should put maps up around here,” she muttered to herself as she turned a corner.

  Massive double doors stood open at the end of the corridor, and she recognized the entry to the palace library. With an irritated sigh, Wren marched straight in, hoping the calm atmosphere may help alleviate her mind. Pacing up and down the aisles upon aisles of shelved books, she couldn’t help but flash back to her interaction with the king. And Alaric… She wouldn’t lie—she was concerned for him. It was hard to pinpoint a reason for her feelings, although she figured it had less to do with him and more to do with herself.

  When Cormac had left her to burn on a pyre and his love for her had turned to a cold flame before her very eyes, Wren had scrambled to pull herself back together for her own survival. His absence was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to cope with, but over the course of two months barely living within Marawood, she’d done it. And when he’d shown up that day and she saw those blue eyes and that dark hair, she’d known she wasn’t as over him as she had made herself believe. He’d gone and betrayed her again, and still her heart had yearned for him.

  And now… It was odd. There was no tug on her heartstrings when he was brought to the forefront of her mind, only a chasm he used to fill.

  Afraid to be loved, are you? The king’s words reverberated in her bones. Or afraid to love?

  Her feet took her deeper and deeper into the archives.

  The truth? Wren was afraid. Love had only ever thrown her to the wolves. What would make it any different a second time?

  He would, a tiny, whisper of a voice resounded at the back of her head.

  She shook her head, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood. No.

  A loud thud interrupted her thoughts, causing her to jump. It sounded like it had come from a couple shelves back the way she’d come.

  Deciding to investigate, Wren backtracked, peering down the aisles until she found a thick book laying in the middle of one. She carefully approached it, looking around for someone who may have dropped it, but she was the only one this far into the library. Bending to pick it up, she placed it on the small table before the row of shelves, discovering that it had opened to a page that depicted the Bernthal family genealogy, dating all the way back to King Darien Bernthal himself. Her fingers dragged over the page, pausing at the bottom where she found Rollon’s name beneath the current king’s and Alaric’s squeezed next to his half-brother’s, written by an elegantly scrawling hand, like he was inked in later. Wren found it only slightly strange, assuming that perhaps these pages were printed before he came along. She lingered on those six letters a minute longer before closing the book and moving to return it on the shelf. But as she did, a sheaf of official-looking papers tumbled from between the pages. She glanced about again, perplexed.

  Setting the book aside, Wren picked up the papers and flipped through them. It was a certified document of adoption, signed and sealed by the King of Lithera and the late queen. And the name declared on the papers—

  It was Alaric’s.

  Time seemed to slow down as this information hit her straight through the heart. The document slipped from her fingers, floating gently to the ground like it was the most innocent piece of paper in the world when it was the exact opposite.

  Alaric wasn’t a Bernthal by blood. His father was not his father and the mother he’d cared so dearly for… They had been lying to him for his entire life because there was no possible way he knew anything about this. And that meant—

  That meant Alaric was not a legitimate heir to the throne.

  But maybe—maybe it was like what happened with Rollon. Maybe the king was even less faithful than the public had been led to believe.

  Even as she thought it, she knew deep down that it wasn’t true. Biologically, Alaric didn’t belong to neither the king nor the queen.

  Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She had to tell him. How could she tell him? When he found out, this would break him. But he had to know. And it had to be from her.

  Wren swiped at her nose, brushing away the dampness from her cheeks. She picked up the certificate and tucked it back between the pages of the book, hugging it to her chest as she made her way out of the library.

  Later. I’ll tell him later.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  A week passed quickly as Alaric sunk back into the routines of his everyday life. For some reason he’d thought that everything would be different when he returned with Kerensa, after seeing a part of his kingdom with his own eyes, but that wasn’t the case. Life at Farrador Castle felt more or less the same as it had for the past nine years.

  He stood behind the settee in his room, twirling his sword around his fingers as he looked over a report from Captain Larcyn in the other hand when a knock at his door interrupted his movements. Alaric sheathed Wynter and made the few steps to open the door.

  Standing motionless on his threshold was Kerensa, lower lip caught between her teeth and arms folded over her abdomen.

  The two of them had only spoken briefly in the time since they’d arrived back at the palace, both swept right up into their respective responsibilities. He knew that she’d resumed use of her old rooms instead of moving to the princess’s quarters—and though neither of them had admitted it out loud yet, it was true. As his wife, Kerensa was a Princess of Lithera now. The next queen, in fact.

  “Hi,” he blurted, cringing internally at his lack of intelligent vocabulary in her presence.

  She gifted him a small smile. “Hi.”

  Alaric gestured for her to walk past him so he could close the door behind her. He turned around as it clicked in place. Today, she was adorned in a sleek black dress with a wide, floor-length skirt and lace bodice that fit her perfectly. Her hair brushed the tops of her shoulders, though one strand refused to stay tucked behind her ear like the rest of it.

  Much unlike the other ladies at court, he’d noticed a while ago that she never put her hair up though it was Lithian custom for a married woman to do so, never applied a blemish of cosmetics, and never wore jewelry of any kind except for the pendant that now circled his neck. He thought maybe that last one was because the jewels here were much different from those displayed in the Empire of Cebrev. “I have something for you,” he confessed, walking steadily towards his bedside table without taking his eyes off her.

  “Oh?” Kerensa arched a brow.

  “I had it made in the city,”—Alaric pulled open the drawer and reached for the long, red velvet box inside—“and I wanted to give it to you after our wedding ceremony but…well, you know.”

  She chuckled lightly, though it died altogether when he stopped in front of her once more. His heart pounded in his chest as he extended the box towards her. Kerensa took it tentatively, staring curiously into his eyes as she flipped the lid open. Inside lay a thin gold chain with a simple sun charm hanging in the middle. One hand covered her mouth as she glanced down at it.

  “Do you like it?” he inquired softly.

  She nodded enthusiastically and he could have sworn tears glistened in her eyes, but he didn’t think she was lying. Sucking in a breath, she pushed the box back to him. “I—I can’t accept this, Alaric.”

  His face fell, eyebrows drawing together. “Why not?”

  She pursed her lips, shoving it more insistently into his chest. “Because.”

  “Sunrise to sunset. That was my promise to you,” he said, jaw set determinedly. “At least let me help you put it on. Please.”

  She looked at him wordlessly for a moment before reluctantly pivoting and lifting her hair to grant him access to her neck. He noticed that his hands shook a little as he removed the chain from the box. Taking a small step closer, he looped the necklace around her neck, clasping it at the back. His hands fell away, and she tilted her head over her shoulder before spinning around to face him again. The small golden sun reflected off her collarbone brilliantly. Their gazes clashed and it was like two worlds colliding infinitely. “From the moment I laid eyes on you in Evaleer,” he breathed, “you burned brighter than the goddess of the sun. You are my sun.”

  There was a pause on her part before she muttered, “You can’t say things like that.” She ducked her head and twisted away from him.

  “What is happening to you? To us?” His hand darted out to catch hers, chest heaving. “I thought we were going to give this a chance. So how come you’re still trying to push me away?”

  “Because I have to!” she admitted more forcefully than before. “I’ve lost way too much to trust that anything will stick anymore.”

  “So then did you lie to me when you told me you trusted me?” Alaric wasn’t sure how to feel at all.

  “Gods no! I trust you; I do, I just don’t trust the future—”

  “If our future is so uncertain that you can’t trust it, then why are you here?”

  Her sharp intake of breath sliced through everything buzzing in his head. “I’m here because of you! I came back for you! So I could ask you the same question: Why am I her—”

  “Because I love you!” He wasn’t expecting the words until they’d already been spoken into the universe.

  Alaric had never heard silence quite so loud.

  What he wasn’t prepared for was the sob that escaped Kerensa, shattering the tension. Her head shook vigorously back and forth, lips parting to gasp, “You can’t, Alaric. You can’t.”

  There was a note of finality in her words that frightened him deeply. “What do you mean?” he whispered, worry creasing his forehead. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and hold her until her tears ran dry.

  “I’ve told you before that there’s so much you don’t know about me. And there are things you won’t want to know about me.” Her voice wavered as she swiped at her eyes with the palm of her hand.

  “And I’ve told you that I want to know everything about you.” He didn’t know where this conversation was going and there was a part of him screaming to stop, stop, stop.

  She shook her head again once, and the look of utter despair on her face was slowly killing him. “Everything you know about me is a lie.”

  Every fiber of his being was rooted in place. He waited for her to continue, even though he knew that whatever was about to come…

  It had the potential to destroy him.

  “I wasn’t born in Cebrev. I was born in Lithera. I am not the daughter of a Cebrevenese general, I am the daughter of a Lithian seamstress and a Cebrevenese hunter. I didn’t grow up as a noble, I grew up in a small village called Forx.” He could hardly bring himself to watch her tear-stained face as the final blow hit him. “My name isn’t Kerensa Na’labesc, Alaric.”

  No. No, no, no, no—

  “My name is Wren Farley.”

  He knew the moment his features hardened because she was there, pleading for him to listen. Listen as she begged him to understand that she hadn’t had a choice, that the king had warned her if she exposed her identity to anyone, there would be a much worse fate awaiting her.

  So she’d chosen to lie to him. To let him fall in love with a lie, had chosen for him to live the rest of his life completely infatuated with a gods damned façade. He’d married her, had thought of her as his queen, the future mother of his heirs.

  “Was any of it real?” Alaric barely registered the fact that he’d uttered the words at all. He motioned wildly between them. “Was any of this real?”

  Kerensa—no, Wren—placed a hand on his cheek. He met her gaze just long enough to take in her damp cheeks and hopeful copper eyes before he pulled away, out of her reach.

  He saw the hope in her expression die right in front of him. “Of course it was real. I couldn’t fake that,” she murmured solemnly.

  Then how come you suddenly feel more like a stranger than you ever did to begin with? “And my father forced you to do this? To deceive everyone here?” Alaric knew his father was a manipulative man, but he never thought he would go this far. “Does anyone know who you really are?”

  She hesitated and he wasn’t sure why. “Just the king and Captain Larcyn. Maybe a couple guards. I don’t really know.”

  Larcyn. A hazy memory came back to him now, one he recalled from when he’d woken up after the disastrous wedding. It’s Wre—er, Kerensa, Your Highness. He had to wonder if the captain’s slip was on purpose, though either way Alaric had stupidly given it no second thought.

  And the witch. Phoebe. Don’t you think he should know who you really are? The Ravyns knew. They’d always known who they’d held in their midst.

  Wren Farley. The Bloodbird.

  Gods.

  “I think you should go,” he stated, focusing on a spot on the wall just beyond her shoulder.

  “I—” He saw her lip wobble in his periphery. But there was nothing left to say. “Goodbye, Alaric,” she choked out. The swish of her skirt haunted him as he stood in place, only listening as she opened his door and closed it again.

  When he turned around, she was gone.

  Angry tears blurred his vision. Was nothing in his life permanent?

  He clenched tightly to the velvet box he still held in one hand before twisting and hurling it at the wall with an agonized cry.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  Wren ran through the palace, tears and dress flying behind her. I think you should go.

  She would go. She should’ve gone a long time ago, and then none of this would be happening.

  She could have saved them both the heartbreak that she always knew was inevitable.

  Her footsteps pounded in time with her heartbeat. Honestly, she was surprised it was even still beating.

  Wren decided that she would go back to the rooms she’d been using for nearly the past six months, take whatever she could, get on a horse, and find somewhere far, far away from everything she’d ever known.

  Somewhere where there would be no one to hurt, nor anyone to be hurt by. She couldn’t handle another moment of this pain that was tearing her up on the inside.

  There was no one posted outside her door when she pushed through it, which would only make this much easier. Wren scrambled around, grabbing gold from the sitting room before heading towards the bedroom. She still had the dagger from her encounter with the street thug Ratchet hidden between the bedframe and the wall, and she moved for it when the book she’d taken from the library days ago caught her eye from its place atop her vanity.

  She’d gone to see him because she’d finally gathered the courage to tell him the truth about his lineage. Instead, a different truth had spilled from her lips, and if she didn’t leave now, words wouldn’t be the only thing spilt.

  Wren walked over to the tome, hugging it to her chest. Should I bring it with me? Leave it for him to find? She was so distracted trying to figure out what to do with the incriminating book that she didn’t hear anyone in the room with her until a hand clamped over her mouth from behind.

  A scream erupted from within her, though it was muted by the hand covering her lips. And without any guards outside her door… There was no one to hear her, anyway.

  She struggled against the strong hold they had on her, the book falling from her arms and thudding to the floor. Wren was yanked back, but she kicked out, fingers slipping over the vanity chair. Before her attacker could comprehend her move, she picked up the seat and swung it around with lightning speed. She heard an oof as her weapon made contact, launching herself in the opposite direction. Free from their grasp, she lunged for the knife behind the bed.

  She made it three steps before fingers circled her wrist, pulling her back. Her other arm flailed desperately for anything to hold onto, dropping on the sheets. Fisting the material, she tried to shake herself free again, but her attacker tugged at her wrist once more, dragging both her and the sheets away from the bed. A second later and Wren was hoisted into the air by her waist, kicking and screaming without end. She pounded her fists against the hard muscle of the arms trapping her to no avail as she was carried into the sitting room.

  Without any other choice, Wren called for her magic, directing all of it to her palms as she held them against her attacker’s arms, and a shocked cry sounded just above her ear. She was dropped to the ground like a stone. Crawling away in her black gown was not easy, and she hadn’t made it very far when a solid weight came over her.

  “Witch,” a deep voice snarled in her ear. She tried to resist as whoever it was made to flip her over, but they were too strong, and she had nothing to anchor herself. In the next moment, Wren was staring up into the half-covered face of a man with crudely dark eyes and a short scar across the tail of his right eyebrow. He held something in his hand now as he brought it up to her mouth again.

  She gasped as a cloth invaded her intake of breath. Clawing at his hand, she summoned her magic forth but this time, she felt no spark. It was then that her eyelids began to droop, and everything went fuzzy before she descended into oblivion.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Alaric didn’t speak to anyone for two days. He was struggling to reconcile every interaction he’d had with Wren Farley over the past six months before he knew she was Wren Farley.

  In all honesty, all he wanted to do was run to her and ask every question that was swarming his mind. Is your sister real? What did your parents do to you? Who brought you here? Was it the man you were with in the city that first time? Is your blood actually gold? Does it really cure the plague?

  Do you love me, too? Because no matter how much he resented her choices, he couldn’t deny that his feelings for her hadn’t changed. He didn’t think any force in the entire world could ever change the way he felt about her.