I read it twice.
Then I set it on the table, very carefully, and press both palms flat against the wood.
"My lord?" Rurik asks quietly.
"They want her back in three days," I say. "With documentation proving her 'untainted bloodline.'" I taste copper. The curse stirs, sensing my rage. "They're going to chain her. Study her. Figure out what makes her magic work."
"And then?"
"And then they'll either weaponize her or kill her. Depending on which they think is more useful."
Rurik's jaw tightens. "What are your orders?"
The old Vorak—the one who still believed he could play by the crown's rules and protect his people at the same time—wouldhave paced. Would have looked for loopholes in the wording. Would have tried to negotiate.
That Vorak died three days ago in a blood-soaked courtyard when a slave girl touched my chest and calmed the beast with nothing but will and light.
I look up at my captain. "Reinforce all gates. Double the watch. Move the civilians from the outer villages into the mountain tunnels—evacuate anyone who won't come inside the walls."
"My lord, if we fortify like that, the crown will see it as provocation—"
"They've already decided we're traitors, Rurik. We might as well give them a reason." I straighten. "Send riders to the other cursed lords. The vampire. The shadow mage. Anyone else who took a treaty bride and might be having second thoughts about giving her back."
His eyes widen slightly. "You think—"
"I think we're not the only ones who got attached." I fold the message and tuck it into my belt. "And I think the crown just made a mistake assuming we'd all roll over like good dogs."
Rurik salutes—fist to chest, the old way—and strides out, already barking orders.
I stand alone in the war room for a long moment, staring at the map on the wall.
Blackwood Fortress. The mountain passes. The villages that trust me to keep them safe.
All of it about to burn because I fell in love with a woman I was supposed to give back.
The curse whispers:Let them come. We'll drown them in blood.
For once, I don't argue.
I findAnnora in the infirmary.
Of course I do. She's been here almost constantly since the attack—stitching wounds, mixing salves, sitting beside the injured and talking to them in that low, steady voice that makes people believe they'll survive.
She looks up when I enter, and I watch the shift in her expression.
Concern first. Then something sharper when she reads my face.
"What happened?"
I don't answer immediately. Can't. Because she's standing there with her sleeves rolled up and a smudge of something—blood or ash, I can't tell—on her cheek, her hair falling loose from its braid, looking more like a general organizing troops than a slave girl who's supposed to be cowering in a tower.
My people trust her.
More than that—theyrespecther.
And I'm about to tell her the crown wants to drag her back in chains.
"Vorak." She sets down the bandages she's holding and crosses to me. Her hand finds my arm, warm even through the leather. "Tell me."
