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Myrrh. Blood oranges. Sharp blades and even sharper commands.

Arkyn shoves Devlin away. “There’s no coming back from this, Devlin.”

“I haven’t done anything⁠—”

The sword catcher takes one look at my face, at the handprint I can feel buzzing within my skin, and says, “I’ll give you a one-minute lead before I wake Riven because I’m certain he’ll want to be the one who tears your head from your shoulders for touching his⁠—”

“You’ve got it all wrong!” The lump in Lord Devlin’s throat bobs as he slowly backs away. “This is a simple misunderstanding.”

Arkyn’s eyes are vengeance-lit. “The only misunderstanding here is that you are unable to recognize my kindness, Covenant-Tongue. You’ve already wasted fifteen seconds.” Shadows coil, shaping themselves into a hand that roughly shoves him. “Run.”

Lord Devlin turns and high-tails it out of the hallway.

“Gwyn,” Arkyn says, carefully turning my face toward the light. “Wait here. I’m going to wake Riven.”

Like I have a choice. I’m frozen, pinned to the spot, weighed down by painful memories: Knees digging into stone and iron biting my wrists. The coven matron’s cold, disappointed eyes as her favorites punished me.

Speak out again, Gwynnevere Halethorne, and you will be forever silenced.

He leaves Riven’s bedroom door ajar when he slips inside. I hear it the moment Ark wakes him, the shocked inhalation, the roughened, “Where is she?”

Fabric rustles as he yanks on his pants. Bare feet slap against stone.

And then he’s here. Kneeling before me.

Making promises of vengeance.

“He smells like her,” I whisper.

His brow furrows. “Like who?”

Fear has my throat tight.

When it’s clear I’m not going to answer him, he says, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

I can’t have another death on my hands.

“Don’t,” I say, grabbing his arm to stop him. “What if there’s a way to get proof he betrayed the Crown and remove him from your council without killing him?”

“I’ll kill him anyway.”

“Riven.”

“Gwyn.”

I sigh. “Please, don’t.”

Arkyn leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “What do you mean there may be proof he betrayed the Crown?”

“Lord Devlin alluded to something about Eliana.”

Riven’s gaze darkens. “What did he say?”

“He said royals are meant to be bent by their people and council,” I recall. “I accused him of manipulating Eliana, and that’s when he⁠—”

“When he hit you,” Riven finishes, jaw clenching. “I’m going to fucking destroy him.”

“Yes.” I reach for his hand and press his palm against the welt on my face. “We are. And your mother is going to help.”