All of a sudden, the room exploded into applause, which Wren took as a sign that the King of Lithera had finished his droning. Among the smatter of clapping, however, she glimpsed nobles with their hands hiding their lips, whispering to one another. She could only imagine what they were already saying about her.

  It reminded her of another night not that long ago, the jeering and leering of another people.

  The smell of smoke filled her nostrils.

  Her chest contracted, as if a weight had been placed there, incapacitating her ability to breathe. Her heart sped up, and nausea roiled in her belly.

  Wren crushed Alaric’s hand with her own, squeezing it as though he was her only lifeline. She was vaguely aware of him trying to speak to her, but she had lost focus, lost her control. There was only the panic and the memories and her racing heart.

  Her breaths came too fast, too sharp, and then—

  Stopped.

  Wren opened her eyes, not remembering having closed them. She blinked in a darkened room, recollecting her memories.

  Had she fainted? Was it all just a terrible dream?

  She lifted her head an inch and Prince Alaric was instantly above her.

  Definitely not a dream, then.

  “What happened?” she mumbled, sitting up, her face tingling.

  Alaric opened his mouth to explain. “You were having another attack. I led you here and you collapsed. You were unconscious for one minute.” He said those last words like he’d been counting every second she was out.

  Wren contemplated this in her head. She asked quietly, “What did everyone see?”

  “Only me leading you to a branching room.” He reached out to touch her hand. Wren snatched it back, sliding away from him on the divan she sat on.

  “Don’t—don’t touch me.”

  His hand fell.

  Wren braced her arms on either side of her, pushing herself to her feet with a profound inhale. She stumbled, and Alaric lunged to steady her.

  She wrenched herself out of his grip. “I said don’t touch me!” she snapped at him.

  “Just let me help you,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “You just fainted, for the sake of the gods! It’s not going to kill you to simply accept assistance every once in a while.”

  “First of all, Prince,” Wren said, her voice even, lifting a finger, “don’t pretend to know me.” Apprehension hung thick in the air between them. “And second of all,” she continued, “I am not just some damsel in distress you can save. You have no idea what hell I’ve seen in this world.”

  They stared at each other, prince and thief, and the space between them seemed to expand tenfold.

  “How long?” Alaric blurted without warning.

  Her expression twisted with perplexity. “What?”

  “How long have you been having attacks like that, Kerensa?”

  She was taken aback by his question, so much so that it took her a minute to come up with an answer. “They started just under two months ago,” Wren confessed softly, too weary to consider lying. “It wasn’t as bad then.”

  She observed him as he shut his eyes tightly and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it a little.

  “Why?” she couldn’t help but press. “How can you know anything about what’s wrong with me?”

  His eyes popped open at that, sea green swirling with emotion. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “Sure seems like it,” Wren muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. She’d forgotten she was still wearing this dumb dress.

  “My mother,” Alaric stated aloud, “used to have attacks just like yours.” He had pivoted away from her, his shoulders curving inwards like he was trying to protect himself from an invisible threat.

  His mother… The late queen.

  Wren opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Please don’t say anything. I just…want you to know that I…” His words fell away when he turned back to look at her. She was learning that he wasn’t the best at hiding his emotions and could see his worry in the furrow of his brow and bob of his throat. “You must be exhausted.”

  At his mention of it, Wren realized how incredibly tired she actually was. Her very being felt weighed down by her fatigue. She heaved a sigh. “I… I’ll go back to my rooms for the rest of the night, I think. I’m sure you can come up with some excuse to satisfy your father.” She waved a hand at Alaric, then placed one against her forehead.

  “Of course. Let me arrange an escort and then—”

  “No—”

  “At least let me get Gray to—”

  Wren let out a moan at how easily he managed to rile her. “I don’t need your stupid escort, Alaric. I can do just fine on my own,” she scolded.

  He paused. Considered her carefully. Then murmured a goodnight and walked away.

  Chapter Eight

  Wren scrunched up her nose in puzzlement. “So, it’s always the oldest son who takes over the House? What if there are no sons?”

  At the ball four nights ago, Ambria had offered to tutor her in the principles of court, and Wren had quickly taken her up on it. They now sat facing each other in Wren’s front room, a book open in each of their laps.

  As confusing as all this was, Wren didn’t think she needed to give the king another reason to subjugate her. Besides, Ambria was proving to be an excellent teacher already.

  “Then it would pass on to the patriarch’s closest male relative or the man who marries his eldest daughter,” she replied coolly. “Honestly, your continent has a much more practical solution. For some reason, Lithian men believe that women have brains the size of a singular marble.” Her words dripped with disdain.

  “They’ll pay for that mistake one day,” Wren said with a shake of her head.

  A smile crept up Ambria’s face. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Good.” Glancing back down at her book, Wren skimmed over another sentence. “But one man can’t be the patriarch of two Houses, right?”

  Ambria straightened in her chair. “Yes. For example, Mateo is the heir to High House Norwood, and when he assumes the title of Lord Norwood, I will give up my last name and assume the matriarchal title of Lady Norwood. If I were my parents’ only child, my husband could not assume the patriarchal titles of both High House Norwood and High House Ellymae.”

  Wren sighed and sunk low in her own seat. “I think this is reducing my brain to the size of a marble.”

  “We’ve cracked their strategy!” Ambria snapped her book shut dramatically, eyes alighting on Wren. “It’s all this,”—she pointed at the book, waving it in the air—“that they shove down our throats until our heads are too full of proprietorial nonsense to think about much else.”

  Wren actually laughed out loud; the sound estranged to her own ears. She hadn’t had many reasons to laugh like that in the past two months.

  Ambria fell back, giggling herself. She tossed the book onto the settee beside her. “That’s certainly enough of that.”

  Wren’s book quickly joined the other. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Abruptly, Ambria shot to her feet. “I guess that just means we’ll have to move on to the other part of this,” she insinuated, tugging Wren up and towards her bedroom.

  “What other part?” Wren suddenly wasn’t so sure she wanted to know.

  Ambria waggled her eyebrows. “The one where we put you in something to make that betrothed of yours swelter.”

  I definitely didn’t want to know. “I don’t know… Are you sure this is a good idea?” Wren professed as she was led against her will to the closet.

  “Positive. Come on, it will be fun!” Ambria plucked two gowns from the extensive selection and presented them to her. “You would look stunning in this green,” she gasped excitedly, thrusting forward a strapless emerald dress.

  For the next hour, Wren reluctantly indulged Ambria, allowing herself to be coerced into the dress and sat at the vanity for her long hair to be expertly twisted into a half-up style. Next, powder was applied to Wren’s face, her eyes painted with kohl and her lips with a red tint. When she was finished, Ambria examined her work carefully. Her face broke into a grin, hands going to Wren’s shoulders as they both looked at her in the mirror. “You look absolutely perfect.”

  Wren met Ambria’s gaze through the glass. A mischievous smirk wended its way across her painted lips. “Your turn.”

  Ambria raised an elegant brow. “Me?”

  “You.” Wren stood and pushed Ambria back into the closet.

  Soon enough, dresses of all shapes, sizes, colours, and textures were strewn all over—not just in the closet, but the bedroom, too. Wren and Ambria were fighting a bout of laughter when Dahlia appeared in the doorway, a stricken expression on her face.

  “Milady,” she cut in with a curtsy, “you received a note.”

  Wren could have sworn she glimpsed a flicker of amusement in her maid’s eyes, but it was gone so fast she might have imagined it.

  She exchanged a curious glance with Ambria. “A note? From who?”

  “It doesn’t say, milady.” Dahlia proffered the slip of paper and Wren tentatively took it.

  She could do nothing but stare at it for a long while, terrified of what it might contain. Does someone know?

  No one can know. The thought repeated like a mantra in her head, over and over and over as she broke the hasty seal and unfolded the small square.

  “What does it say?” Ambria asked softly.

  Wren’s eyes skimmed over the few words written in an effortlessly classy hand:

  Tomorrow morning. Statue of the silver knight in the east wing. Wear something conspicuous.

  Burn this.

  She crushed the note in her palm. “Nothing important.”

  An uneasy heat flashed through her, settling in her stomach like a pitted fire. She had no idea what the cryptic sender wanted from her or what they knew about her, but she knew she had to go tomorrow to find out.

  Wren was only half aware of Ambria bidding her farewell and leaving the room, Dahlia doing the same a moment after. Once she was alone, she looked down at the paper in her fist again to find that it was no longer paper.

  Ash sifted through her fingers as she unfurled her hand, drifting leisurely to the floor. Her gaze stayed fixed on her palm though, heart pounding in her ears.

  What is happening to me?

  Chapter Nine

  When Wren finally managed to find the silver knight statue, she was about ready to ditch whoever wanted to meet her and climb back into bed.

  She’d snuck out into the hall before Dahlia came to get her ready, having dug out her laced leather pants from the place she’d stowed them when she first came, unwilling to give them up. Pairing them with a white blouse and knee-high boots, she figured a woman wearing pants wasn’t exactly conspicuous as the letter had suggested, but at least she was comfortable.

  No one dwelled nearby waiting for her, though she hadn’t been expecting them to reveal their identity so plainly considering the unsigned note.

  Wren swivelled her head to watch both ends of the empty hall, anticipating who would approach her. Movement resounded out of the corner of her eye, and every nerve in her body tensed.

  A purely white cat emerged on her left from around the bend, pinning its eerie silver eyes on her as it sat deliberately. Wren felt trapped by its hard stare, incapable of looking away for fear of what the cat would do if she turned her back on it.

  “Kerensa?”

  The harsh whisper snapped her out of the cat’s spell. She spun around, unsure where the sound had come from.

  “Behind you.” This time there was a smile underlying the words.

  Wren faced the towering statue, wondering if she was going crazy or if it really was talking to her.

  “Behind the statue.”

  She sidestepped the knight, peering around it curiously. This is ridiculous. And she’d only ever encountered one person who made her feel like there was something she was missing.

  “Good morning, Lady.” Sure enough, Alaric loomed in the frame of a gap in the wall hidden by the statue, accompanied by that annoying grin of his.

  It was a shock to see the Crown Prince in something other than finery. This morning he was resplendent in brown trousers, a button-down white shirt, and light cloak. He wore plain black laced-up boots on his feet, appearing more like a civilian than a prince.

  Much like the first time she’d encountered him.

  Wren crossed her arms over her chest, restraining herself from slapping him. “Who sends a lady an unsigned letter with directions to burn it just to meet her in the morning?” she fumed at him.

  He shrugged. Shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t come otherwise.” Alaric paused, then cocked his head and gave her a skeptical look. “Who did you think sent the letter?”

  “I have no idea!” she borderline shouted.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, holding up his hands to calm her, then gestured behind him. “Get in here before you wake up the whole gods-damned castle or else we’ll have no chance of stealing away.”

  Stealing away? She looked at him incredulously. “Where are we going?”

  Alaric rolled his eyes. “Come on.” He took her hand and dragged her into the dark.

  What in three hells…? “Alaric, I’m not messing around,” she chided in the blackness. She heard the scrape of stone on stone as they were sealed in.

  “Neither am I,” came his smug response.

  “Where. Are. We.”

  “What happens if I don’t tell you?”

  “If I were you, Prince, I wouldn’t wait around to find out.”

  She imagined he raised an infuriating brow. “Does mystery not intrigue you, Thief?” Wren felt his hands land on her shoulders, guiding her forward into the warm glow of a sconce on the wall. Peering ahead, she noticed several more dots of light leading the way.

  Before she could ask again, Alaric answered, “There are tunnels like these connecting all over the castle. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only one who knows about them or cares to use them.”

  Wren tilted her head to look at him, realization dawning. “This is how you were in the city that day?”

  He nodded.

  “These tunnels…they lead outside?” She glanced back down the corridor longingly. Could this be my escape?

  “Straight to the castle walls.”

  Pivoting back to face him fully, her eyes widened. “Are we…?” Her heart raced so fast she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Alaric smiled, and it shifted something in her chest. “I figured you may have had need of a break from all this after the last several days. No one should miss us for a while,” he assured.

  In that moment, he really did seem too good to be true. Wren bit her lip, uncertain all of a sudden. “Why would you show me this?”

  His eyes studied her a moment before remarking, “The life we lead is harsh, Kerensa. We all have some way of coping—escapism just happens to be mine.”

  And what exactly are you escaping from? she wondered to herself.

  Alaric led the way, keeping a grip on her hand so she didn’t get lost as they took right turns and left, the path sloping up and down and between patches of light and dark. When they finally emerged into the daylight, Wren didn’t recognize her surroundings.

  She copied the way Alaric slinked along the exterior of the palace walls, waiting for an opportunity to dash into an alleyway. The exit must have put them out somewhere in the northeastern area of Evaleer, the quaint row houses a telltale sign that not many people would be around to notice them this early.

  “Come on.” Alaric tugged her down a side road, and she couldn’t help but grin as they hopped between patches of sun, a gentle breeze tangling its fingers in her hair.

  Clearly, he knew his way around the city well, because before long they turned onto a main road where shops lined the buildings and merchants dotted the street. She breathed in the woodsy fresh air, enjoying the first carefree moment she’d had in weeks.

  When Wren looked back at Alaric, he was smiling faintly at her. “Just ahead is Darien Square, the centre of Evaleer,” he pointed out. “That’s often where everyone goes to sell wares or have a nice meal.”

  She watched the people walking past them, heading for the main square themselves. He walked up next to her, and Wren tilted back her head to see his face. “Would you be okay on your own for a little while if I had something to take care of? I won’t be long, I promise,” he said gently.

  She blinked. “Yes, of course.” It can’t really be this easy, can it?

  His sea green eyes lightened. “I’ll meet you back in the square shortly, then.” Wren’s eyes trailed his retreating form, and he pivoted to call back to her, “Don’t you dare run away on me!”

  She nodded with a tight-lipped smile as he continued away from her, satisfied he would see her again.

  When he disappeared into the distance, Wren walked fast in the other direction, slipping past the early rising townsfolk and vendor carts. She kept her head down, hair falling in front of her face to try and stay unnoticed. It was harder since there weren’t many bodies to blend in with and she also wasn’t entirely sure where she was aiming to go.

  Out. That was the only thought in her mind that mattered.

  Wren risked a peek at where her feet were currently taking her and gathered that she was standing in about the centre of Darien Square. Multiple roads converged here, which meant any could be the way out of the city. She wracked her brain, trying to recall which end of Evaleer she’d entered in the first place.

  But instead her eyes connected with someone she hadn’t been prepared to see.

  She quickly turned away, hoping he hadn’t recognized her. Though, if it really was Cormac’s sky-blue eyes on the other side of the square, there was little doubt he wouldn’t.

  Wren needed a place to hide, and fast. Taking off down one of the streets, she didn’t dare look behind her to see if he was following. Without another moment to consider, she ducked inside a shop at random. A bell rang overhead as she pushed through the door, announcing her arrival. She cringed at the sound.