“No, no, I know what a witch is. It’s just—” She tilted her head at him. “You didn’t know you have magic?”

  He blinked a couple times, unsure whether he’d heard her correctly. “Me? Magic?” Alaric pointed at himself as he said the words, shaking his head. “That’s impossible.”

  Kerensa gave him a stern look. “There’s no other explanation. I watched it happen.” She took his hands, turning his palms up to the sky. “Straight from here,”—her fingers touched his calloused skin—“to there.” Her index finger travelled the path of ice all the way to Ratchet’s sculpture.

  Alaric knew he was looking at her like she was out of her mind. Because she was. “You’re wrong. You have to be.” He ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing at his face. I’m no witch. Shaking his head again as though he could dislodge the very possibility that he—the Crown Prince of Lithera—could have any drop of magic inside of him, he looked around, a hand going to his sword. “We really should leave, Kerensa, before someone finds us here.” This time, when he took her hand to lead her away, she did not fight him.

  Chapter Eleven

  A knock resounded on the door to Wren’s rooms.

  She and Alaric had walked back to the palace as Rava fell beneath the horizon, having spent the last few hours touring the shops and some of Alaric’s favourite places. After the effects of the alley fight dissipated, they’d eased into back-and-forth banter, laughing and teasing each other constantly. When they had finally made it back to her rooms, the sky was painted a deep purple, stars twinkling among the blank spaces. The prince had bid her goodnight with a charming smile and a kiss on her hand.

  It had been a while since then, but sleep evaded her tonight.

  Wren opened her door to find Lieutenant Zarin of the Crown Prince’s Guard standing outside, tension visible in his shoulders. She’d met him briefly at the ball, and his name surfaced in her mind as Gray. He had raven black hair, cropped in the traditional soldier style, intense bottle green eyes, olive skin, and a rather sharp jawline. There was no doubt that he was handsome.

  “Have you seen Prince Alaric?” he interrogated.

  Wren eyed him skeptically. “Not for…a while,” she told him, unsure if he knew where the two of them had been all day. “Why?”

  Zarin pondered this for a moment. “Where was he last when you were with him?” he asked.

  She chewed her bottom lip, unease and uncertainty rising up her throat. “I… One of the courtyards maybe?”

  The young lieutenant sighed, running a hand down his weathered face. “Well, I can’t find him anywhere. None of my guards can.” He heaved another breath, in frustration now, it seemed.

  On the one hand, she didn’t want to expose the prince and his secret—she had assured him she wouldn’t tell anyone, and if there was any chance, he would take her away from here again, she had to hold on to that. However, this was the head of Alaric’s guard. Didn’t the lieutenant have a right to know where the prince had been, if only to keep him safe?

  Wren set her jaw. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  “It’s not the first time he’s disappeared in the castle, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” Zarin provided, bottle green eyes sympathetic. “When he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found.” The corners of his mouth tugged up a little. “Years of chasing him around this castle as boys taught me that.”

  Wren briefly imagined two little boys, one dark-haired and the other light, causing trouble in the castle together. Then she scolded herself for being so distracted tonight.

  “Well if there’s nothing to be done… Good night, Lieutenant.”

  Zarin seemed to study her for a moment, a small grin displayed on his face. Finally, he inclined his head in farewell. “Good night, Lady.”

  Wren shut her door and leaned against it, blowing out a breath. This court will be the sure death of me, she thought, tucking a stray strand of dark hair back in place. The threat the king had vowed to her that fateful day suddenly resurfaced. One wrong move, an accidental stumble or misguided word and you will suffer for it.

  How had she ended up in this situation? Imprisoned by the King of Lithera, engaged to the Crown Prince, forced into being someone she was not. Everything, her freedom, her identity, her life, it had all been stolen from her by events she could not control.

  Wren felt her heart begin to hammer as a suffocating weight materialized on her chest. She cast about frantically for something to distract her from her conscious mind. There was one spark that caught ablaze with prospect: escape.

  Something made her more confident about the possibility tonight.

  Determined, she grabbed everything she might have need for, including a cloak, which she draped over her pants and a form-fitting blouse, as well as the knife she’d kept from her and Alaric’s encounter with Ratchet earlier that day, concealing the unadorned dagger in her boot. As far as she was aware, she had no access to coin. I was just fine without it last time.

  Though Marawood and the security it offered was a lot farther away now.

  Hoping to avoid her guards and keep them unaware of what she was about to attempt, Wren crossed to the balcony connected to her bedroom. She peered over the edge, positive that getting down would be easier in something other than a dress this time. Climbing over the railing, she braced for the impact and leapt before she could second guess. Her feet hit the ground and she rolled, absorbing her momentum then recovering to her feet. Wren brushed herself off and made her way through the courtyard, sly footing it past any guards she ran into—a skill she’d mastered from thieving most of her life. She wasn’t entirely sure which direction she was supposed to be going to get to the castle walls.

  If only I knew how to get into those tunnels. She didn’t have the time to waste to wander around until she found the knight statue again. And Wren was sure she’d just get lost trying to find her way around the tunnels anyways.

  She was cautiously traversing down an empty corridor when she heard voices up ahead. Pressing herself flat against the wall, Wren inched her way along until she came to a crossroads of hallways—one leading to the left, and the other continuing straight. Two voices—one male and one female—floated to her from the left branch. Even though she knew she probably shouldn’t, Wren still snuck closer to listen.

  “Where have you been?” the woman whisper-shouted to her companion. Wren immediately recognized it as Ambria. What is she doing here at this time of night?

  The man spoke, “I expected a warmer welcome, in all honesty.” She wasn’t familiar with his voice, unable to place it among the people she’d already met at court.

  “Perhaps you aren’t deserving of one. Ma and Father have been worried sick about you. Do you feel no remorse?” Ambria questioned the stranger.

  “Whatever should I feel remorseful for, sister?”

  Sister? Ambria had mentioned only fleetingly that she had siblings. Now that Wren thought about it, she didn’t really know anything about Ambria, actually. So why did she trust her so much already? Had she learned nothing from past mistakes?

  It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m getting out.

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe about leaving with no word for months,” Ambria seethed.

  Her brother didn’t respond.

  She prattled on, “What about our poor parents? Maro and Nico? The twins are under more pressure now than ever, thanks to you. Father is overwrought with matters of the patriarchy of our House. Do you even know where you stand in all this yet, Kai?”

  A pause. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s one good thing at least. The House lineage will finally be taken care of, and Ma and Father can take it easier. When are you back at court?”

  Kai—as Ambria had named her brother—sighed. “Officially? Tomorrow. But Ambria—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Kai. Where are you staying?”

  “I found a place in the city.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Wren heard one pair of footsteps storm off in the opposite direction. She risked a peek around the corner and saw Ambria’s brother staring after his sister’s retreating form. Eventually, he turned and stalked off down the corridor in front of Wren.

  If he’s going to the city, I can follow him to the wall. Wren trailed Kai through the palace, following every twist and turn and doing her best to map it out in her head. They reached Farrador Castle’s outer walls fairly easily, and Kai continued through the main gates. However, Wren veered to the right and travelled along the wall for a different way over. Preferably one left unguarded.

  Happening upon a tree grown close to the wall, she smiled. Perfect.

  After checking for any curious eyes around her, Wren deftly scaled the tree, just like her papa had taught her when she was five. She balanced her weight on a branch several feet above the hard dirt and walked, one foot in front of the other, until she reached the wall. She vaulted over the side, landing in a crouch, scanning for guards posted on the wall.

  There. In the dark, she could just make out the outline of a figure headed in her direction. Wren rushed to the opposite edge of the wall, peering over the side. It was a steep drop to the ground. She bit her lip, considering her options.

  It narrowed down to two:

  Confront the approaching guard and surrender, perhaps spinning a very convincing lie for what reason she was on the castle wall in the middle of the night.

  Or jump and pray to the gods she survived the fall.

  Ultimately, Wren chose to jump.

  She swung her body over the side, so she was sitting on the ledge. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to drop down.

  “Hey!” shouted a voice behind her. Wren looked over her shoulder to see the guard racing towards her.

  Now or never, Wren.

  And she leaped.

  Wren suppressed her scream of terror to avoid alerting others. She plummeted, poised for landing. Hitting the stones with both feet and tumbling into a roll, a sharp pain shot up her right ankle and Wren bit her tongue to contain her cry. She scooted her back flush against the wall, hoping the dark helped conceal her while she tested her ankle, flexing it in circles. The lingering ache was bearable, and she determined she could still support most of her weight on it.

  Since the night of her sixteenth birthday, Wren had started noticing changes other than her gold blood that she couldn’t explain—one of them being rapid self-healing abilities.

  But it was becoming evident that that wasn’t her sole new ability.

  Wren pushed off the wall, chose a direction, and started down the road, endeavouring to hide her light limp as much as possible. Flipping up the hood of her cloak, she passed shops closed for the night, some with lights still illuminating the windows, and many taverns and pubs, the laughter and chatter loud enough to hear outside.

  Ahead of her, three men exited a tavern, stumbling somewhat drunk out the door, light pouring onto the cobblestones. Wren pulled her hood farther in front of her face.

  The men turned down the road in her direction and she could hear their chuckles as they drew closer.

  As she passed them, the man closest to her reached out to touch her arm, but Wren jumped back, startled, and hurried forward without looking at him.

  The necklace she’d received earlier that day warmed against her chest.

  Once there was a good distance between her and the men, Wren let out a long breath. She’d come here looking for one thing—and that was Alaric Bernthal.

  She trudged on unbending, glancing about for any landmarks she recognized. To her right, an open road that led to what she thought might be Darien Square. Her left was storefronts, closed for the night, and a wide back street, shadowed by the dark.

  Grimacing, Wren had just turned to go right when someone grabbed her around the waist and dragged her down the dim side road. She opened her mouth to yell, but a strong hand clamped down on her face before any sound got out. “Now, now, beautiful, let’s not cause trouble.” The man’s lips were at her ear, his voice husky and uncomfortably rough.

  Her necklace was burning now, although not enough to mar her.

  Wren began to hit at his hands and arms, but he was too strong and heavily built for it to actually be effective. He pinned her arms to her sides, and she tried to twist and buck away, to grab the knife still in her boot, to do anything to break free. They were down the alley now, where no one would be able to see or hear anything that he did to her. The man pushed her up against a hard wall. A distressed whimper pushed past her lips.

  He pressed into her, crushing her between the wall and his body. She recoiled when she felt his mouth on the skin at her neck. He pushed her hair back with one hand, keeping the other firmly clamped around her mouth, as he trailed his lips down to the skin near her breast, where he bit down abruptly.

  Wren jerked, succeeding in pulling her hands free and started to pound at his chest. He was built like a rock, solid and unmoving. Sobs shook her shoulders, her chest constricting.

  Refusing to give up so easily, Wren clamped her teeth down on the flesh of the hand that covered her mouth. The man cursed profusely, snatching his hand back from her.

  Without a moment to hesitate, she inhaled desperately and screamed as loud as she could. Perhaps it was no use, that no one would be wandering by this part of town at this time of night, but she had to try. She was too small to fend her attacker off alone.

  He cut off her shriek by slamming his mouth against hers. His lips were rough, his hands groping, but Wren went slack, wondering if her evident lack of cooperation would finally discourage his intentions.

  But his hands travelled down to grip the bottom of her blouse, preparing to pull it up. Cold air kissed her bare abdomen.

  Wren caught a glint of silver as something smashed into the side of the man’s head. He was launched sideways, out of her sight.

  She crumpled to the ground, trembling.

  A voice rose up from not too far away—one she knew unmistakeably. “If you ever touch her again, I will kill you,” he promised her attacker.

  His name was a breath on her lips. “Alaric.”

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  He turned his murderous gaze away from the man who had dared to touch her, looking instead to Kerensa, who sunk to the ground and shuddered uncontrollably.

  Sheathing his sword, he crouched down until they were knee to knee. Alaric tentatively reached forward to brush her hair out of her face. When her reaction was to lurch forward and throw her arms around him, he sighed a short breath of relief against the side of her head, taking a minute to breathe in her scent of honey and leather. He didn’t say anything, nor did she, as he swept her up into his arms, cradling her slight body against his chest. He forced himself not to think about that man fondling her, assaulting her. Doing much worse things to her. If he didn’t, he would double back and kill him. But he had to prevent himself from doing just that.

  For her, he told himself.

  Alaric meandered towards Farrador Castle in silence, his emotions and thoughts running rampant. His jaw clenched and unclenched involuntarily.

  “Alaric?” The small inquiry reverberated through him.

  He pushed out a breath. “What?” he grunted.

  A pause.

  “You’re angry.” It wasn’t a question.

  It took Alaric a moment to realize that she was right. Anger coursed through his veins—anger towards the unidentified man, himself, and even towards her.

  “Why are you angry?” she asked him, tilting her head up. Her copper eyes shone bright in the dark around them.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Why am I angry?” His voice trembled from the effort to keep it even. “I want to know why you thought it would be a good idea to go out alone at a time like this.” Alaric thought his teeth might crack from clenching them so hard. “What were you thinking, Kerensa?” Her name came out harsher than he’d intended.

  She seemed stunned for a moment, parting her lips, but all that came out was, “I…”

  He shook his head. “You can’t even defend your actions.”

  That apparently snapped something inside her. “I was looking for you, you bastard!” she sneered at him.

  Three hells. “You shouldn’t worry about me.” His voice was cold now. “You should’ve been more concerned for yourself. Surely there are men like that in Cebrev?”

  Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “No,” she said and looked away from him. “It was…different where I grew up. All the women in my town were protected, one way or another,” she continued softly. “Through marriage or betrothal or…simply a promise.”

  She refused to look at him now. Her words churned in his brain in the silence that followed, his heart sinking low in his chest.

  Alaric whispered, “Were you promised to someone, Kerensa?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, equally as quiet.

  “Please tell me.”

  He witnessed her hesitate. Bite her lip. Close her eyes. Then—

  “I was, once.”

  There. Something in his stomach expanded, nauseating him, his rage forgotten. The need to look away from her overwhelmed him, so he focused on the spires of Farrador Castle in the distance. “You love him.” He didn’t bother phrasing it as a question.

  “Alaric, look at me.”

  As much as it killed him, he did as she requested. Her lower lashes were glistening, and it took all of his will not to close his eyes to block out the image.

  “Hey.” Kerensa placed a hand on his cheek. “Hey. Before, with him… It didn’t work. He—” She stopped, took a breath, restarted, “He wasn’t there when I needed him most. I did love him, but Cormac… He didn’t know how to love me.”

  They lapsed into silence once more. It lingered until they came upon the palace walls.

  Angling his head down slightly, Alaric studied Kerensa in his arms, her head cradled against his chest. “He’s a fool, you know. For ever letting you go.”

  Her eyelids fluttered drowsily, and she smiled up at him, radiant as ever. “I know.”