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I tugged on the end of my braid. “I don’t know how to be near you anymore.”

Roark spoke swiftly against my palm. Then find a way. I do not know how much longer I can keep my darker soul at bay should anyone else disrespect you. Stay close.

He took a long stride, abruptly ending any protest or comment from me.

But I took note of the way he kept flexing and extending his fingers, the way his neck was corded in tension, the way every step forward was forced.

He was trying to keep the second, crueler part of his soul intact.

More than the royal title he’d hidden, he’d concealed the truth that he was the tormenter of the kingdoms from the folk of Stonegate. Skul Drek was a piece of his soul determined to slaughter any who used magical craft for their own greed and desires.

The scar where his darkened soul had torn from his body at Stonegate, giving up his first lie, was still weeping streams of blood. Dirt and mud coated his palms and cheeks, and there was darkness in his eyes.

I wasn’t certain he even noticed the gore on his skin. He seemed wholly transfixed by those striding alongside us, closing us in. A true hunter. A true protector.

The lies began with our interactions at Skalfirth, when he played the role of thief near my cart, and they continued within the walls of Stonegate. Deception unraveled every thread of my life. From forcing me into the service of the Jorvan royal house, to the brutality of my magical craft, and now to the imprisonment of Kael.

Still, the desperation of his plea to remain close, to help him soothe the villainous pieces of his soul, dug into my bones.

I reached out and curled my hand around his last two fingers and pulsed my grip three times. A mirror to his gesture of claiming something—three taps.

This was a signal that I was here. With him. For now.

Roark’s lips parted in a quick release of air; his shoulders slumped. Like he could, at last, breathe. Gods, I despised him. Perhaps it was more that I wanted to despise him. Perhaps I despised him because I couldn’t.

My brow furrowed against the hot sting of tears. “I will remain close, but it does not mean I trust you. I merely distrust you the least.”

Roark dipped his chin in a silent acknowledgment. I released his fingers and fell a pace behind.

Draven Dark Watch warriors surrounded us. Most were muttering to one another between sharp, angry glares aimed at me.

All my life, Draven folk were considered the wild clans, feral and bloodthirsty. The Dark Watch dressed in thicker furs than Jorvans to protect against the bite of the north winds, and the kohl and dyes painted on their faces added a touch of ferocity absent in the Stav Guard of Stonegate.

A scuffle of boots, as though someone stumbled, drew my attention. Emi tugged the hem of her tunic free from a briar shrub. One of the Dark Watchers laughed at her misstep.

She flashed her teeth with a hiss in return and lifted her chin. The long waves of her pale golden hair were tinted with dirt and darkened from damp mist and sweat. The icy blue of her eyes locked me in a hard stare, and only then did I see the slightest tremble of her lip.

Roark’s cousin was treated like an outsider as much as me, and I did not understand it.

Emi fell into step at my side. “Saw the watcher pestering you. They’ll try to do worse if they can get you away from Roark.”

“So I’m told,” I said, low enough only she would hear. “But he seems to believe showing he cares at all is more dangerous than not.”

“They killed Prince Nivek, a damn heir, over Roark’s connection to you already,” Emi said. “The raids nearly tore Dravenmoor apart; some tried to usurp Elisabet over the perception of betrayal from her house. You think our folk will risk such division again? They’d sooner just kill you to avoid it. If he is not yet revealing the depth of his feelings, it is only for your benefit. Do not waste his effort by being reckless and stubborn. Shout and rage later, but not here in the open with more blades aimed at your throat than there will be if ever Roark can get you safely holed away from the Dark Watch.”

My skin lifted in disquiet the longer she spoke.

I took in the nearby watchers. Draven folk had strange eyes, bright like gemstones, and they all seemed to carve through the darkness. All seemed to be waiting, watching, for the best moment to strike.

I stood no real chance against the warriors, and if Roark spoke true, should he fight for me, which he would, there would be no second chance. They’d kill him, the way they killed his elder brother.

I looked at the ground. “I won’t be reckless.”

“Good. He remains the one who will stop at nothing to keep you alive.”

“Not you any longer?”

“As your friend, I would die to protect you, but I very much doubt I will be around much longer to do so if I am returned to my father. Remember? Our last meet resulted in me trying to kill him.”