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Chapter 1

RIVEN

Dusk paints the sky over Aeviternal the color of fresh bruises, a perfect match to the ones marring my knuckles.

Fucking bruises.

I, Riven Thaelon, should not have bruises.

My nostrils flare as I flex my hand and glare daggers at the smattering of color I see there.

“Loverboy is laying it on Avaline pretty thick,” Arkyn states, drawing my gaze away from the purples and blues. He tilts his head toward the bar, his jaw-length black hair swaying with the movement. “Look at him. Frothing at the mouth over everything she says.”

I briefly watch the emerald-haired female and her lover as they become more and more enraptured in a heated conversation.

Grabbing my tankard, I swallow a large gulp of room-temperature ale. I’ve been in this shitty tavern, drinking their shitty ale, and suffering through their shitty music for far too long, desperate to speak to Avaline Skov, the Heart of the Forest, one-on-one.

The plan to draw her partner away is unraveling before my eyes.

We have to get her alone—and fast.

Annoyance burns within me.

“If they weren’t so busy flirting with one another, they would’ve realized it’s been over an hour since her brother left to take a piss,” I say, thinking of the unconscious satyr we dumped in the alley around back. “You think he’ll wake up soon? Because if he stumbles back in, this whole plan is fucked.”

“Debatable. You hit him pretty hard.” Ark switches out the bloodied napkin he’d crammed up his swollen nose with a clean one. “I could’ve handled him, you know. I didn’t need your help.”

“Because you were handling him so well before he broke your nose?”

“It’s not broken.” He prods his face and winces. “Well, not anymore at least.”

“Small mercies.”

He huffs. “What’s the point of you even having a bodyguard if you’re not going to let me do the guarding, Riv?”

“You’re not my bodyguard.”

“The fuck I’m not.” His ears turn red at the arched tips. “I believe my official title, your royal jackass, is His Majesty’s Sword Catcher⁠—”

“Okay, fine,” I cut in smoothly. “Yes, you are my bodyguard. On paper.”

“You ungrateful twat.” He lifts the hem of his shirt, revealing a sliver of toned stomach marred by violence. Little scratches and bruises usually vanish in moments, but blades and magic cut deep—too deep to heal clean. He points to a gnarly scar slicing diagonally across his ribs. “This was meant for you.” He twists around and pats his lower back. “And this one.”

“I’m pretty sure the one on your back was from when one of the lords you were hired to kill caught you fucking his wife.”

He swivels toward me and purses his lips. “You might be right about that, actually.”

I laugh as a warlock twirls by our table, dancing to a siren’s alluring song and the grating tune a werewolf drives from his fiddle.

“Sorry for the wait,” says a feminine voice, cutting through music and chatter.

I don’t have to look to know that it belongs to the barmaid who took our order when we first arrived. I instinctively turn toward the window to avoid being identified. She’s a vampire, and the last thing I need is for my brother, the vampire supreme, to find out I’m skulking through his city. Avaline’s practically family to him—she’s courting one of his best friends—and if Quill learns I’m here, he’ll want to know why, insist on getting involved, and ruin any chance I have of keeping this visit with Avaline secret.

“Kitchen’s a bit backed up,” she continues, “but I was able to swipe you something to hold you over until your food’s ready.”

From my periphery, I watch her slide a basket of fried root vegetables onto the table.

“You beautiful legend,” Ark says, and I swear he deepens his voice just for her. I resist the urge to kick him underneath the table. “How did you know I was famished?”