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Halfway through the page, I hear the sound of footsteps, steady and drawing closer. I quickly put the journal back where I found it. He doesn’t need to know that I know what he’s been working on. I loosen the grip on my daggers, letting the hilts rest against my palms. When he walks through that door, I’ll be ready to greet him. I swing my legs onto the desk, crossing them.

The tall doors swing open, spilling three silhouettes into the room. Moonlight from the hallway behind them casts their faces in shadow. They move through the dark room with purpose, boots echoing off the stone. One peels away toward the hearth, striking flint. Another closes the door. It thuds shut, and he clicks the lock into place. Good. We’re alone.

“It’s freezing in here,” the youngest mutters. His voice sounds so innocent. The fire roars to life, painting the room in gold and lighting my figure, seated on the king’s chair.

I uncross my legs with unhurried grace, boots landing on the marble with a quiet thud. All three of them swivel their heads. Leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees, I let the fire’s glow slice across my fog-gray eyes. My gaze locks on the demon himself. The king.

“Your Majesty,” I murmur smoothly. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Chapter eleven

Braveheart

The young Prince Kaelen bolts for the door the moment he sees me. My dagger slips from my fingers and sings through the air, pinning his shirt to the armoire next to the doors. The blade quivers an inch from his ribs. His little gasp fills the silence, hands frozen mid-motion, too afraid to breathe. I hate scaring children, but this is necessary.

“Oh no, sweet boy.” My voice drips with amusement as I tilt my head. “We wouldn’t want any unwanted ears listening in on this very private conversation.” My gaze slowly slides to the king. Though I would never hurt a boy as young as the little prince, I relish in intimidating the king as best I can.

The boy tugs weakly at the dagger, wood groaning under the strain. He’s trapped like an insect under glass. His wide eyes flick to his father, pleading. The king doesn’t so much as twitch to help his son.

He hasn’t moved from where he stood when he first stepped into the room. His dark eyes, nearly black, watch me with the calculating nature of a man who’s seen far greater monsters than me. The fire catches in his silver hair and full beard, making him look as though he’s made of steel rather than flesh.

He’s bigger than I expected, taller. Not the doddering relic I’d imagined lurking behind silk curtains, twiddling his jeweled rings and hiding behind an army of thousands. Even in nothing but a robe and loose trousers, he carries the weight of power like a second skin. He doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t glance at his son strung up on the armoire. He just stares at me.

“Neressa,” he says at last, his voice low, carrying the quiet crackle of the fire. “How… unexpected to find you in my study. This has been a long time coming.”

I rise from the chair, my cloak whispering across the floor as I stand. The silence stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable. My smile curves, slow and sharp.

“Unexpected?” I echo softly. I gesture lazily toward the chairs in front of his desk, the ones meant for advisors and petitioners. Not kings. The invitation is an insult dressed as courtesy.

“You sent for me,” I continue, mocking boredom. “A message I wasn’t particularly fond of receiving.” My unblinking eyes meet his gaze. “So let’s not pretend this is a surprise.”

At his father’s subtle gesture, Kaelen’s hands still over the blade that has him trapped. The king lowers himself into his chair with deliberate calm, his eyes never leaving mine, a predator settling into the hunt.

The third figure in the room is different. Magnetic. Warm, like crackling embers.

A shift in the air, a subtle pressure behind my ribs, like the world has tilted off its axis and hasn’t bothered to correct itself. My attention drags toward him whether I want it to or not.

Roman. The Cinder Prince. The one who believes the old world must burn before a better one can rise from the cinders. He’s dangerous ambition wearing a royal name.

Lingering by the door, half-swallowed by shadows, he leans casually against the carved wood like he’s unbothered by this turn of events. But I know he’s choosing distance on purpose. Smart.

I can’t see his face, which unsettles me more than it should. My instincts coil tight, sharp and sudden, like a part of me recognizes but my mind is slow to catch up. I want to step closer. Maybe I want to step back. Every part of me goes unnervingly still, bracing for something inevitable.

“All of you, sit,” I order. My voice cuts sharp through the chamber, leaving no room for disobedience. And yet it is his movement, not the king’s or the little prince’s, that catches me off guard. He pushes off the doorframe with fluid ease, stepping into the firelight like he’s chosen the perfect moment to reveal himself.

Gods, he is handsome. His lean, tall frame carries the kind of strength you only earn from survival. I wonder what the king truly does behind the castle gates, in these hollow hallways. His light brown hair falls in loose, messy curls that frames his face, brushing just beneath his ears. The fire dances across them, gilding him.

His eyes hold me still. Amber—rare, already striking, but as the flames catch, I see it: threads of red burning like live embers in his gaze. They glow unlike any human eyes I’ve ever seen. When those eyes find mine, steady and unflinching, they ignite a challenge. The undeniable clash of fire meeting shadow.

Roman makes his way to the seat in front of me, the little prince still pinned to the armoire. I reclaim my place in the king’s chair, settling in as though I own it. My gaze flicks from Roman back to the king, and I shake off whatever strange pull I felt at his one glance.

“Let’s talk, queen to king.”

The king laughs, an ugly, bitter sound full of arrogance. Beneath it, I swear I can hear the screams of sirens and mermaids, witches and pirates alike. “And what,” he sneers, “are you the queen of, Neressa?” How he says my name makes bile climb up my throat.

I tilt my head, eyes narrowing and smile curling with venom. “Oh, you don’t know?” Another dagger slips from my hand, burying itself into the wood of his table with a thunk. I twirl the hilt with idle ease.

“Enlighten me,” he spits.