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Trapped in the sound of Atreus’ name on her tongue when she needed help. In her glare while I demanded answers from the so-called prince of the North. Answers for how the enemy got an arrow that close to her in the first place.

Trapped in that dismissal.

I should’ve gone to her. Should’ve been there before that fucker. Should’ve just... said it. Claimed her. To hell with her plans.

Hindsight really is a bitch.

She’d been furious, and I hadn’t meant to make her—or her authority—look weak in front of everyone. But goddamn, I should’ve said something. Made it crystal clear who Freya Porter would be spending her life with, and it sure as fuck wasn’t Atreus Hawthorne.

My shadows had me on my feet before the front door opened. I was already waiting when the falconry she’d taken poured inside, my gaze tearing through the ranks of Wings for her. Red hair. Fair, freckled skin. Those fierce jade eyes that wouldn’t let me sleep at night.

She was last.

Bringing up the rear.

She made sure every one of her people was accounted for and safely behind the wards before she retreated inside. That was the thing about Freya. I’d thought she was chaotic, but really, she just caused chaos in my life. She was annoyingly controlled. Every move considered. Always—always—her people first. She wouldn’t worry about herself until the last soul was healed and accounted for.

Might’ve been admirable if our circumstances weren’t such a goddamn disaster.

My mind spun through everything she’d insist we handle before talking, but relief hit with all the subtlety of magma—searing through everything in its path.

I should hate her. Couldn’t. But... should. There was no universe where I should’ve felt this relieved to see my mother’s executioner standing in one piece, and yet...

She was splattered in blood, her dress more second skin than fabric, those eyes hard with resolve. Beautiful. Savagely, brutally beautiful.

You cannot fetishize the idea and condemn the reality, Cyrus.

Carr was right.

I’d let my grief, my failures, and the betrayal of her secrecy drive a wedge between me and the one soul I was supposed to have for eternity. Her rock-hard gaze flicked to mine, irritation flashing before she turned to Carrson.

Neither of them spoke as they marched past me toward the war room.

I was not invited.

Couldn’t blame her. These days I’d spent most of my time holed up in my room, the library, or my mother’s throne room.

Cali was the one who finally stepped up beside me. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Really convincing.”

“You?”

“Fine.”

“Family trait.”

“Guess so.”

“Jo?”

She forced a smile and nodded tentatively. “She’s okay. The healer said Freya...” Her words trailed off, and I couldn’t tell whether anger clogged her throat or she was worried about upsetting me.

“Freya saved her.” Cali only nodded and let out a breath. “She won’t hold you to it.”

Just me, apparently.