I gripped the edge of the counter, staring at my reflection.
The man in the glass seemed older than I remembered. Dark hair still clung to middle age, but my eyes had dulled, my brow lined deep. Not regal. Not wise. Just spent.
When we were discovered, Nienna looked up at me, panic bright in her gaze. She trusted me, expected me to have an answer. She believed I’d protect her.
But I couldn’t even protect myself from my son. I couldn’t save her.
Hatred ignited in my veins. I roared and hurled the basin. It struck the floor and shattered—like the fragile peace I carved for Radaan. Gone in one reckless moment of passion.
Each breath scraped my throat as pink water crept across the wooden planks.
Thoughts swarmed, unrelenting and vicious: her brother snatching her away; her dress—torn by my hands as if I were some unchained beast; the shame as she was forced to strip tangled trousers from her feet after she tripped.
Guilt boiled, blistering my chest, searing my soul.
I ruined her.
Furious tears scorched my eyes. Tallon was right. I hadn’t just ravaged Radaan—I wrecked her. What prince would marry a princess so disgraced? Who would see past the ruin to the woman spun from sunshine and dragonfire?
I whirled, driving my fist through the mirror. Silvered glass cracked in spiderweb rings, warping my reflection. Blood seeped from my knuckles.
I had destroyed everything.
The scent of roasted meat turned my stomach. Empty chairs hemmed me in, carving the hole in my heart wider. Stares pressed down, thick and heavy, adding to my mantle’s weight.
Fallione was absent. Only Darius took up a seat at my table. Threshers loomed in the shadows while those present carried out hushed conversations through muted, forced smiles. No doubt every topic focused on a princess and their king. Forbidden lovers—a scandal dressed in silk and secrets.
Traces of their hushed questions flitted through the dining hall. How long had the affair gone on? Did Tallon know? Could the Chosen of Elohios truly be so deceitful?
I shoved my chair back. The court rose. Not for respect—never for the man beneath the mantle—but out of hollow tradition. The honor I earned through battles, through blood, now ash in their mouths.
Greaves shadowed me as I swept past the high table. Silence trailed me like a ghost of my own making. Every stare clung to me. My chin lifted, though shame burned hot along my throat. Guilt and loathing coursed through me, a toxic poison.
Beyond the hall, I tugged at my tunic’s laces. I needed kahve. And air.
My chest locked. Nienna’s face blinked into memory—perched against the balustrade, arms folded, wind tugging her hair.
I clawed the thought away and stormed the corridors. Servants scattered. Staff turned to shadows, vanishing from sight.
The kitchen, once alive with clangs and chatter, sat still. No spice in the air. No cider. Only kahve’s bitter, earthy musk drifted through the space. It beckoned me.
Igor knew I needed something stronger tonight. Of course he did. Rumors spread like mold in the palace—quiet and all-consuming. A disease.
The short man bowed low as I reached the doorway, then met my stare with a flick of sorrow in his gaze. His mouth dipped.
Disappointment.
Wordless, he ladled dark liquid into a gilded cup, then passed it to me with a crumbling attempt at a smile.
“Thank you.” My voice didn’t shake, though something inside me did. I turned away.
Steam rose in curls. The black surface rippled, reflecting my fractured thoughts. Greaves reached for the drink, and I handed it off, a wince catching as my bandages bit into my raw skin.
He sipped, grimaced, then returned it. He never developed a taste for the stuff. Hated it nearly as much as Nienna.
When she tried it, her face conveyed everything. She never admitted her repulsion—the furrow between her brows and tight, forced grin had given her away. She drank it only because I did.
A sharp breath filled my chest as I climbed the iron staircase. She once asked about it—the intricate design etched into each step. Her curiosity was a muse for my soul. I told her stories I’d never breathed a word of before. Tales of my mother, my past, parts of myself I held close. She listened.
