Cast into the dark, he walked forward carefully, tracing a hand over the wall to stay oriented. Soon enough, the soft glow of a lantern appeared ahead, and Ace breathed a sigh of relief. He’d discovered the secret catacombs that spider webbed beneath Farrador Castle when he was fourteen and had been using them ever since as a way to escape the suffocating hold his father kept on him.

  He took the path straight for a while before turning left and up many flights of stairs, following the way that led right into his rooms.

  Or rather, right into his closet. Convenient for him, considering it gave him time to change out of the less regal clothes he wore into the city.

  He always praised himself on his impeccable style, and perhaps it was a little vain, but appearances mattered to him.

  Though he’d never officially appeared anywhere in Lithera since he was ten.

  Pulling his loose linen shirt over his head and throwing on a new one, he shrugged into a burgundy jacket, adjusting the cuffs before swapping his brown pants for freshly pressed black slacks. He switched his sword belt, opting for something more elaborate to display his sword, Wynter. He smoothed down his dark blond hair until not a single piece was out of place and shoved his feet into a pair of black boots before heading into the main room, pushing a button through his jacket as he went.

  He quickly took in the state of his room. With a four-poster bed centred at the back on a raised platform, a massive desk he avoided using situated on the left side, and a fireplace and seating area arranged on the right, there was still plenty of space to spare. A door on the left side of his bed led to his luxurious bathroom, opposite to his closet. Glass doors opened to a small balcony connected to the sitting room.

  Like always, books covered every available surface, tossed on the couch, sprawled on the bed, strewn across the desk, and placed on the mantle. He had a bookshelf—but it, too, was overflowing with books.

  Literature had made up most of his adolescence.

  Breezing past the papers piled high on his desk, he strode out the door and down the hall, his guards falling in place behind him—clueless to the fact that they’d been guarding an empty room for the past couple hours.

  “Where is my father?” he questioned without turning towards them.

  “His Majesty is attending to private business in the main hall, Your Highness,” the guard on his right informed him.

  “Private business” was no doubt code for “something you’re not allowed to know”.

  “Very well,” he sighed. “Is Lieutenant Zarin—”

  “Alaric!”

  He turned on his heel, smiling slightly at the sight of the very person he was about to ask after striding towards him. “Never mind, gentlemen. You’re dismissed.”

  They both bowed at the waist respectfully, right hand fisted over their hearts before walking past him and around the corner.

  Gray—his best friend and Lieutenant of the Crown Prince’s Guard—replaced the guards, swiftly bowing in the same manner.

  “Apparently I need a wife,” Alaric divulged amusingly.

  Gray pursed his lips, not sharing his lightheartedness on the subject. And perhaps for good reason, for what he said next killed all the humour in the statement.

  “I regret to say that it would seem the king agrees.”

  Chapter Three

  The chilling silence that filled the throne room as Wren was forced to her knees before the dais only escalated the dread bubbling low in her stomach.

  She’d woken from Cormac’s drug this morning, trapped in a wooden transport like a feral animal. It hadn’t been long before the cart halted its steady travel and Cormac appeared, only for her to find that they were about to enter the city of Evaleer.

  Five days. Five days to get from Marawood to the capital. It had been at least that long she’d been knocked out, possibly longer. Cormac had taken the liberty of removing any and all weapons on her person—not that there had been many, though the loss of her dagger settled a weight in her chest.

  She suspected that for some reason Cor hadn’t wanted anyone to think she was a prisoner, leaving her hands unbound as they passed the city perimeter. It’d worked, for no one’s gazes had lingered upon them for too long in the city proper.

  Cormac had walked beside and slightly behind her, ensuring Wren had no hope to evade him. When they’d made it to the gates of Farrador Castle, the guards there had bound her wrists together in iron cuffs and led the way down spotless marble halls, chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings.

  And now she was here, on her knees before the King of Lithera, perched regally on his grand throne.

  The silence stretched on, the king’s dark hazel eyes raking over her in a way that had her blood boiling. When he finally spoke, his words echoed in the practically empty chamber. “The girl who can allegedly change the fate of this world, on her knees before her king. What a tale.”

  Wren ground her teeth, keeping her head down and copper eyes trained on the floor. A reflection of her features looked back at her.

  “I’ll be honest, I thought you would be…more Lithian, I suppose,” he went on crudely. “Though there is something to be said of rumours carrying an ounce of merit.”

  As much as she hated to admit it, she was used to the snubs at her Cebrevenese heritage. Both her and her little sister had inherited the brown skin and black hair of their pa, but the shape of their eyes belonged to their ma.

  Regardless that Lithera and Cebrev had been allied for nearly fifty years, Lithians were still harsh and even hostile towards those of a different ethnicity. It made no difference that Wren had been raised with Lithian customs, believing in the gods and goddesses instead of the Cebrevenese Djsesi.

  Not that the gods had ever answered her prayers.

  The king went on, “Now tell me, Bloodbird, do you bleed red, blue…” He paused, and Wren could just imagine the smug expression on his face as he said, “…or gold?”

  She raised her head, eyes blazing defiantly. “Why don’t you come and find out?”

  He cocked his head, the crown atop it staying perfectly still in his ashen blond hair. “Boy,” he turned to Cormac and gestured to her. “If you please.”

  “If her blood is gold,” Cormac spoke up now, “I’ll be paid in full?”

  The King of Lithera nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting.

  “And if it isn’t?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before coming to me.”

  Cormac swallowed next to her, unsheathing a plain knife and pushing up the thin material of Wren’s shirt. When his finger accidentally brushed her bare arm, he pulled his hand back quickly, inhaling sharply like her skin had burned him. She clenched her fists, hoping it blistered. He led with the knife next, and she was helpless to stop the cold bite of the metal pushed into her forearm. Swirling, golden blood beaded to the surface of the wound, running in rivulets down to her fingertips.

  The king’s eyes glowed with not just wonder, but power. “Isn’t this a wonderful turn of events? You are free to go, boy,” he said without taking his gaze off Wren.

  To her surprise, Cormac hesitated, his breath hitching.

  “I said leave us.” The command boomed around the room, leaving no option for defiance.

  Wren did not spare Cor a second glance, the doors shutting behind him with a note of finality.

  Meaning Wren was now alone to face the King of Lithera. She lifted her chin even from her position on the floor.

  “Don’t you wonder what I am to do with you, Bloodbird?” the king asked. He leaned forward on his throne, as though what he was about to say was meant to stay between the two of them. “I have debated it. What would be the best solution for you and for me.”

  He waited for her to meet his eyes, his next words hitting her square in the chest. “Let me be clear now: you belong to me, Wren Farley. I would marry you myself to solidify that knowledge, but I believe it would be in poor taste. My people wish to see my son wed, not me. And you, my dear, might just be his perfect match.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Wren spat, outraged at just the proposition. “Your court will never be fooled. I am no lady, much less fit to be a princess. I’m simply a thief, and the infamous Bloodbird.”

  “Ah, but wasn’t I clear enough?” pronounced the king. “You are no longer Wren Farley, the Bloodbird. You are now Lady Kerensa Na’labesc, the daughter of a high-ranking Cebrevenese general sent across the Dridian Sea by your father to marry the next king.”

  She scoffed. “Not one person here will ever believe that the Cebrevenese woman at court will be queen one day. The secret will get out that I’m not who you say I am.”

  The king simply waved off her proclamations and said, “Men are easily distracted by a pretty face. And no one would dare question the Crown Prince’s bride, don’t you think?” Amusement danced in the king’s hazel eyes.

  She fell silent, nostrils flaring in rage and chained fists balling up at her sides.

  He appraised her once more, gesturing to her restraints. “We’ll have to do something about those now, won’t we?” A snap of his fingers and a guard stepped in from his place outside the door, bowing low. “Help her up and escort her to her rooms.”

  The guard replied with, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and proceeded forward to unlock Wren’s chains.

  “Oh, one more thing, Lady Kerensa,” the king went on, his expression cold and serious. “Do not step out of line. Your position at court is precarious at best. One wrong move, an accidental stumble or misguided word and you will suffer for it. I’ll be watching every moment.”

  Wren stiffened ever so slightly. She said nothing and turned to exit the main hall, a guard in front and behind her.

  What in three hells has happened?

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  “Father.”

  Alaric stood just inside the door of the king’s study, the room just as grand and spacious as anywhere else in the palace.

  The King of Lithera did not look up from reading the papers on his long desk.

  “You wished to see me,” Alaric tried again.

  “So I did,” the king muttered in response.

  Alaric chose to stay quiet, clenching and unclenching his hand by his side.

  His father sighed audibly after a long stretch of silence, at last looking up from his work. “You are engaged, and it is not up for dispute.”

  Though he’d been expecting it, the statement still knocked Alaric back a step. He wanted to ask who, but his mouth blurted out, “Why? Why now?”

  The king pushed back his chair and stood. “One day, Alaric, you will learn that what you want cannot always be gained without sacrifice.” Not at all an answer.

  “What are you gaining from my marriage to some frivolous and expensive young lady who has never worked a day in her—”

  “I said this was not up for dispute,” his father shouted, slamming a fist on the desk.

  Alaric shut his mouth, grinding his teeth as he swallowed heavily.

  “Her name is Kerensa Na’labesc and she has come from Cebrev to marry you. You will be wed in three months. Maybe she can teach you something of respect and responsibility.” The king paused. “I want you to keep an eye on her and ensure she’s adjusting accordingly. If she steps out of line or if something is amiss…you will come to me directly.”

  “I will not spy on my future wife’s every move for you, Father.” There were some lines Alaric refused to cross.

  “Nevertheless,” the King of Lithera replied, easing into his chair again and leaning back, “you will do what is expected of you. Or there will be consequences for the both of you.”

  Alaric huffed a frustrated breath, bowing curtly before stalking out the door and away, putting distance between them as fast as he could.

  He would be lying if he said his relationship with his father hadn’t always been like this. It had been easier before, though, when he had a mother and an older brother to fall back on.

  Now, he’d been alone for so many years that opening up for anyone hardly seemed like an option.

  He supposed he wasn’t entirely alone. He had friends at court, albeit not many. Though neither could keep him company all day—Ambria had a household and social standing to manage, and Gray had other duties to carry out as Lieutenant of the Crown Prince’s Guard.

  So, for the most part, he had nothing and no one.

  Maybe having someone, even a wife, won’t be so bad. But even thinking it had a fist squeezing his heart.

  Alaric had no idea how she’d arrived so quietly—he couldn’t say, however, that he was surprised his father had wanted to keep the engagement from him as long as possible, leaving little time for Alaric to do anything to get out of it.

  He wondered briefly what she might be doing at that moment. He didn’t know where she was staying, assuming she’d taken up residence in Farrador Castle somewhere.

  Alaric didn’t have to wonder for long.

  Rounding a corner at a brisk pace, he collided with a woman just like earlier when he’d been in the city.

  Her momentum caused her to fall backwards, his arms darting out to catch her—one along her back and the other around her waist. Her hands went to his chest, gripping the lapels of his burgundy jacket to keep herself upright. Mere inches separated their faces, her breath tickling his lips.

  Their eyes locked and Alaric inhaled a sharp breath. Brown skin. Freckles. Copper eyes. “You.” It was the only word he could articulate in that moment.

  Her eyes widened further, recognition alighting in them. “You,” she breathed.

  They stay suspended like that for what felt like an eternity.

  Somehow, he managed to laugh softly. “It would seem we’ve made a habit of running into each other, milady,” he murmured, a grin taking over his face.

  She frowned. “But—if you’re him,” she articulated, “and you’re him, how were you—did you—?”

  Alaric put a finger to her lips, setting her on her feet with his other arm. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Careful. We have company.” His gaze flickered past her head to the guards trailing her.

  Now upright, she pushed away from him. “Stop that,” she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

  He quickly scanned the plum-coloured dress that hugged her slight frame, flaring at the bottom to billow around her legs, straight black hair falling in one long sheet almost to her waist.

  By some strange allure in the air, Alaric couldn’t stop smiling. “Allow me.” He bowed at the waist with a flourish of his hand. “Crown Prince Alaric Bernthal. It is quite a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady…” Tilting his head with a raised brow, he trailed off, presenting her an opportunity to introduce herself.

  She said nothing, glowering at him with a rigid spine.

  Alaric chuckled. “Kerensa, is it?”

  He didn’t miss the catch of her breath when he spoke her name.

  Still, though, she did not speak.

  Alaric straightened, taking a minute to appraise her. He hadn’t been expecting such frigidity. She’s not just a girl from court. She’d been sent away from her home, her family, to live here and marry him. And though he might be a prince, to her, he was a stranger.

  He offered her his arm before he could think better of it. “May I?”

  Even with her considerable height disadvantage, Kerensa looked down her nose and bored into him with her burning red and brown eyes. “You may not,” she seethed before breezing past him.

  Her refusal had Alaric frozen in shock for a moment. Spinning on his heel, he rushed to catch up with her brisk pace. Once beside her, he opened his mouth to say the gods knew what, but she cut him off before he could make more of a fool of himself.

  “If there’s nothing you need from me, Prince,” Kerensa asserted, gaze straight ahead, “then go.”

  He hesitated before starting. “If I could just explain—”

  “I won’t tell anyone.” Her eyes flitted to his for a moment, there and gone.

  Inexplicably, Alaric believed her.

  He stopped in his tracks, letting her continue without him. He watched her until she disappeared and stayed there alone for a long time after.

  Chapter Four

  Alaric threw his door open, leaving his jacket abandoned on the back of the settee.

  Gray happened to be posted outside his door for the night, raising his eyebrows at the commotion.

  Alaric huffed a breath. “She has my sword.”

  His raven-haired friend burst into laughter. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m afraid I am.” He flexed his fingers, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair. “I don’t understand how she did it, but she did. And now I have to go get it back,” Alaric groaned.

  “Well one thing is for sure,” Gray noted.

  “And what would that be?”

  “I do not envy you.”

  “I don’t even envy me,” Alaric grumbled. “I’ve spoken to her once and already I think she might be the death of me.”

  Gray shook his head. “Only proving my point.”

  Alaric waved him off, sighing, “Where is she staying?”

  “East wing, a level down. Leander and Hendry should be there.”

  “Excellent.” Sarcasm coated the word as it left his mouth.

  Gray called “Good luck!” after him as he started towards Kerensa’s rooms.

  He doubted luck would do anything when it came to her.

  Maybe it was unfair of him to judge her so harshly, but what was he to do when it was the only side to her she’d shown him? For all he knew, she was painting him in the same light.