But how could he have her now? If she stayed, his father would continue to use and discard her at will. That girl is merely a tool to us, he’d said to Alaric. No. She’s only a tool to you.

  His head fell into his hands. Of course it was real. Wren couldn’t stay. He had to get her away from his father—otherwise she wouldn’t survive.

  Making up his mind, he stood up and unlocked his door. “Have Lieutenant Zarin meet me in Lady…Kerensa’s rooms,” he requested of the two guards standing out there as he started down the hall. He took the familiar path through the east wing and down to her rooms, heart beating faster with every step. When he stopped in front of her door, he remarked that there were no guards there—actually, he noticed that no one and nothing lingered in this hall.

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose with apprehension.

  The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t understand how he’d been so stupid, not even questioning Kerensa’s identity. There had been evident holes in his father’s plan, cracks that Alaric had happily leaped over. He’d rarely seen Wren without at least one guard around—at first, he’d assumed it was for her protection, but now he realized that it had more to do with keeping her in line.

  And when she cursed, it was always to the gods and the three hells. Never the Djsesi or the skies above, as they did in Cebrev. He’d only took notice of it recently, though would have never asked out of respect for her religious beliefs.

  He raised his fist to knock, though some strange feeling made him freeze before he hit the wood. His gaze fell to the doorknob, and he placed a hand on it. He paused with bated breath for a minute before twisting the knob, hearing the click as the door opened with ease. “Wren?” He stood in the doorway, taking in the room.

  Everything appeared as it should until his eyes snagged on the corner of the rug that was flipped up next to the settee. And then beyond that, the wide-open door to the bedroom.

  Alaric moved, fear wrapping its cold hands around his throat. It didn’t take him long to reach the bedroom, and when he did, he had to grip the doorframe to keep from falling to his knees.

  The entire room was in disarray. Sheets pulled off the bed and dragged towards the door, the vanity chair tossed on its side at the foot of the bed, bottles and containers of the gods knew what littering the ground and fallen over on the vanity table. A glint of gold lying near the sheets caught his eye, and he crouched, picking it up with two fingers. The chain was broken, pulled apart, but it was the same sun necklace he’d given Wren the last time he’d seen her.

  “What happened?”

  Alaric’s head snapped up to find Gray standing in the entrance he’d just vacated. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he murmured distractedly.

  Gray stepped further into the room, casting his analyzing gaze over the scene. “There are signs of a struggle.” He pointed to the chair on the ground. “The leg is bent, not broken, which means it had to make impact with something sturdy but not hard. A body, for example.” He spun around, closing the door slightly to glimpse the wall behind it. “A dent in line with the door handle means it was forcefully swung open.” Gray faced Alaric again, tilting his head and asking, “When did you last see her?”

  “Two days ago,” he answered with a wince. Alaric pocketed the broken necklace, throwing a glance around the room once more. This time, he fixed on a book beneath the vanity. Taking hold of it, he dragged it out and placed it on the table. A Kingdom Reborn, the cover read. But Alaric was looking curiously at the piece of paper that was poking out from between the pages. Pinching it between his thumb and index finger, he slowly pulled it out to find what appeared to be a certificate of assumption approved by his mother and father. Then his attention landed on the scrawl of a name stated in the center of the document.

  His heart dropped through the floor, down, down, down until there was no where left to go. His fingers curled around the paper, crumpling it. He didn’t care. He didn’t damn care—

  It was all a lie. His life. He was no prince, his parents were in fact not his parents, and—

  Three hells and gods spare me. Wren had known, because why else would this book be here? Had she been hiding it from him? For how long?

  “Alaric?” He remembered Gray then, felt him hovering near his shoulder.

  He couldn’t speak, could hardly even think.

  The sound of Gray’s swallow was the only thing to break the tension, signaling that he’d read the document Ric held. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not—” Ric rubbed the back of his neck, turning desperate eyes to his best friend. “I mean, this can’t be real, can it?”

  The pitying look on Gray’s face was answer enough.

  “But then—you know what this means, right?” he said, and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. “I can’t be—I’m not—” He gripped the edge of the vanity, staring hard at his reflection in the large mirror. “I’m not the heir to the throne.” He’d spent his whole life resenting the role of Crown Prince, even when it didn’t yet belong to him. Rationally, the fact that he couldn’t be the heir should make him happy, but in reality, all it left was a sense of emptiness low in his gut.

  But this revelation wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. “You think she was attacked?”

  There was a long pause before Gray responded. “There is a high probability, yes.”

  “And no one came to her aid?” His eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Did you not have guards on duty here?”

  “I scheduled them,” Gray informed. “Some of the posts must have gotten mixed up.”

  “There isn’t any blood, either.” Ric spun around in a slow circle. “She must have been taken alive.”

  “I’ll alert the captain immediately—”

  His gaze cut to Gray. “No. Don’t do that. We don’t know who took her or where they took her. She could be anywhere on this gods damned continent.” Shoving his hand in his pocket, he fiddled with the sun necklace. “I want to go out to look for her. I think I’ll be able to find her.”

  Gray shot him an indignant look. “How? Like you said, Kerensa could be—”

  “Wren,” he interrupted quietly.

  “What?”

  “It’s Wren. Wren Farley is her true name.” Ric’s eyelids fell closed. “We didn’t part on particularly good terms.”

  His friend’s bottle green eyes widened considerably. “All this time?”

  Ric tilted his head up and down. “I just want to find her and get her out of here.”

  Mouth tightening, Gray fisted his right hand over his heart and bowed shortly. “So, we shall.”

  “Please don’t do all that anymore,” Ric solicited, waving a hand. “It isn’t necessary, as we’ve just discovered. And it’ll just be Ric for now.”

  Gray nodded and Ric no longer knew what to think about anything at all.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Wren groaned as she regained consciousness gradually, blinking rapidly while her head spun in circles. She felt disoriented and strange, surrounded in rock and strapped to a chair. Wren lolled her head forward and caught sight of the gold blood trickling from the slits in both her wrists and into silver buckets plopped on the ground.

  She was weak and woozy—from the blood loss, she assumed. How long had she been here, bleeding out in a dank cave all alone?

  She didn’t remember much, just the rush of adrenaline and a black cloaked figure. She’d thought she was dead; thought her attacker would have killed her. But no, she was very much alive. How much longer that would be true, she wasn’t sure.

  Wren attempted to summon her fire, but it was no use. The metal bands around her ankles and arms must have been fabricated from iron, a rare natural magic blocker.

  Footsteps sounded from not that far away, drawing closer with every shallow breath. A large shape appeared in the room with her, though she could not see it clearly. Its build was that of a man, broad and wide, not to mention blown up with pride and self-purpose. He advanced, repositioning her wrists and checking her bonds.

  “What are you doing with me?” she rasped, her tongue leaden and voice coarse from disuse.

  “Nothing that you don’t deserve,” he replied gruffly.

  “You can’t truly believe that.”

  He laughed, the sound grating. “I can’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth, witch.”

  Wren struggled against her restraints with any lingering ounce of strength she possessed. “I am no witch,” she snapped at him.

  “The proof would suggest otherwise,” he sneered back.

  She curled her lip, snarling.

  “You really are an animal, then.”

  Wren lunged, prepared to show him just how animalistic she could be. Her teeth connected with his ear. She bit down and tore away from it.

  The man screamed, stumbling backwards and clutching at the side of his head.

  Wren spit out his blood onto the damp rocks. “Never come near me again,” she warned.

  He gritted his teeth and scurried off, leaving Wren be.

  Wren examined the room around her again. Rough hewn rock walls, torches hammered into its face. Somewhere in the distance water dripped melodically. She must have been in some sort of cave system, from the looks of things.

  These people were taking her blood. Why? Were they under orders from the King of Lithera? In league with the Ravyn witches? Wren didn’t think so, since that one man had seemed solidly against the very thought of witches.

  Perhaps they were from a different continent. Teljerra, perhaps? It couldn’t be Cebrev, for they would have no reason to capture the Bloodbird.

  Then why am I here and why is my blood wanted now?

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  Without bothering to knock, Ambria barged into the Crown Prince’s room with steely eyes and an iron resolve. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

  Ric met her stare with a look that said she’d caught him. “Close the door, would you?”

  She huffed a breath but did as he asked, marching right up in front of him.

  It was times like these when Bri resented his towering height.

  Nevertheless, she studied him, noting his riding attire and the sword on his hip that never left his side.

  He cleared his throat. “I think…we should probably sit down,” he suggested, gesturing towards his settee.

  Her eyes narrowed on him as she followed him to sit. “What’s going on, Ric?”

  He released a long sigh, running a hand through his hair—a habit he didn’t indulge often, she knew. “There are some things you should know about Kerensa. I know you two are close, and it seems only right to tell you, even if it might not be my place.” Sea green eyes drilled into hers, and her blood pounded louder in her veins. “Her real name is Wren Farley.”

  Ambria clapped a hand over her mouth, this revelation a shock she hadn’t been expecting. “No.”

  But Alaric nodded, rebuking her reaction. “My fath—the king has been forcing her to masquerade as Kerensa Na’labesc for reasons unbeknownst to me. I think he wanted her to marry me so that he could essentially own her and then he’d be able to do with her as he saw fit,” he spat, the words tasting sour in his mouth.

  “How long have you known?” she had to ask.

  “A few days.” His eyes were downcast, an evident despair thrown over him. “But there’s more.”

  Ambria bit the inside of her cheek.

  “Gray and I found evidence in her rooms that she was attacked. We don’t know how long ago, though she was taken alive.” He glanced up at her. “That’s where I’m going. To find her. I did it once, so I can do it again.”

  “Ric…” Bri trailed off, unsure where she wanted to take the conversation.

  Alaric’s hands gripped the strands of his hair. “I love her, Ambria. I love her, and—”

  “It’s killing you.” She focused on a spot on the floor as emotion flooded through her—the same emotions she was sure he was feeling, if not slightly different. Because hers were for grief and his were for hope. “And if you’re able to find her? What then?”

  He dragged a hand down his face, pausing over his lips, a horribly hollow expression in his eyes. “The king brought her here,” he stated fluidly. “It seems only right that I get her out.”

  Ambria’s brows bunched together in concern as she observed him. “I understand, I really do. But that doesn’t mean that you should feel responsible for your father’s actions.”

  He winced and opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by Gray walking in, too. “If you want to come with me, we have to leave now, before the king gets wind of any of this.”

  Alaric acknowledged him with a nod, pushing to stand. Ambria rose with him. “Where will you look first?”

  “We’ll head north, towards the Ohrivon and Kingrave.” He said it with the kind of conviction that made her believe that he had a sense deep inside of where…Wren might be.

  She pursed her lips, mushing them together. “When you find her, bring her to the city. I imagine she’ll need a healer of some sort and surely you won’t want to bring her back here. There’s a secluded apothecary on the south side of Evaleer you can take her too. I’ll meet you there.”

  Ric smiled softly, turning grateful eyes to her. “Could you put together enough supplies to get us to Vand as well?”

  She returned his grin and acquiesced with a bob of her head, happy for the task to busy herself with. Then she herded them both out the door before she started crying. “Go on, now. I’ll see you soon.”

  Gray and Alaric shared a glance, and the next thing she knew she was being crushed between them. She threw her arms around their necks and whispered, “I love you guys.” And although she had three brothers already, it felt a lot more like she actually had five.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  She had no perception of time in the cave—all she knew was that time was passing her by and that if something didn’t change, she would die here. And it wouldn’t take as long as she thought.

  But what could she do? Wren was emasculated and drained—quite literally—and she had no clue where exactly she was. It was possible she was inside a mountain, if the cave system was expansive enough that she did not hear any others. The moisture on the walls and in the air was another indication. Though which mountain could she be in? She’d been taken from the palace, and Evaleer was quite close to the center of the continent, so she could be in any direction. That being said, Wren didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious, and the only mountain range remotely close to the capital was Kingrave.

  Her whole body ached; her slit wrists painful but not unbearable. The shackles were really her only obstacle.

  Wren studied them; the bands of solid iron clamped around her limbs. They must’ve cost a fortune to make, which had her wondering if they had been made specifically for her. But by who? The king? He’d already had her firmly in his grasp, so why have her kidnapped from the very rooms he’d given her?

  None of it was adding up.

  And no one even knew she was here, that she was in trouble. Would Ric even bother to question where she was, if she’d simply decided to leave? Or even notice that she was truly gone? All Wren had was a picture of him in her mind, sitting in his room with his head in his hands, hollowed out with despair.

  He had lost everything, who he believed to be his mother, his brother, a real family, and now her? He thought he loved her, though she doubted that was true anymore after what she’d admitted to him. And all of it was her own damned fault.

  Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, dropping into her lap. She would never see Ambria again, nor Zarin or anyone else she had come to know.

  But most importantly, she would never get to tell Alaric how much she loved him.

  Faced with a horrible fate, she wasn’t afraid to confess it to herself anymore, and she’d known this fact deep down for a long time.

  She’d noticed too that the sun necklace he’d given her right before everything had blown up in her face was missing from where he had clasped it around her neck. Wren assumed it’d been lost in the frenzy of the attack in her room.

  Shuttering sobs racked her slight form now, at the thought of him grieving her, mourning the life they would not have a chance to live. The life that she wouldn’t live. The life she could have had with him.

  The life she now wanted more than anything.

  A low sizzle commenced somewhere in the room, the smell of smoke rising to the rocky roof. Wren blinked away her tears, realizing that she was doing that. She looked down to find the iron restraints glowing molten red. She gasped. How? The metal gradually melted to the ground, leaving her skin unscathed and free.

  She had just melted through iron, the material that was most resilient to magic.

  Wren barely let herself linger on it. She was free of the bonds. She had the chance to make it out of here.

  She pushed out of her chair, swaying unsteadily on her feet. She was still wearing the black dress, though now it was torn and dirty, reminding her of another gown of the opposite colour that ended in a similar condition. But the dress most definitely wasn’t enough to protect her against the brutal temperatures to make it to the nearest town once she escaped. She would have no choice except to swipe a cloak on her way if she was going to survive.

  Wren lurched forward, aiming for the entrance in the wall. She fell against the sturdy rock on the other side of the gap and began to feel her way along the tunnel. Her hand ventured past the wall, signifying a turn in the path. Wren didn’t know how to navigate these catacombs or how close to the heart of the mountain she was. After a short pause, she decided to follow the turn.

  Wren continued to feel along the wall, her hand guiding her direction. She took three more turns before she heard heavy footfalls behind her. She started moving faster, becoming more panicked as the sounds grew closer. Just as she thought they would catch up, her hand caught on a niche in the stone wall. Swiftly, Wren ducked inside, squeezing herself in the tight gap. A silhouette appeared, cloak swishing along the ground.