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Her barked laugh was not the reaction Rymedur had expected, but it was a welcome one. He wondered what other sounds he could elicit from those enchanting, full lips.

She playfully rolled her eyes at him. ‘Or perhaps I will make you moan mine, husband-to-be.’

Shock had Rymedur throwing his head back, and a belly laugh echoed around the obscenely luxurious room. ‘Ha! My beloved wife-to-be. My spies warned me you were feisty. You have quite the tongue on you, my little demon,’ he purred.

The pet name had her biting her bottom lip. A blush rushed all the way up to the tips of her pointed elven ears, and Rymedur did not miss how she shivered. Hopefully it was a good feeling, not a bad one.

Gulping a swallow, she inhaled a deep, steadying breath. ‘Shall I continue?’

‘By all means, love.’

With a huff of breath, she began her own introductions, and Rymedur clung to every word that spilt from her lightly painted lips. ‘I am Areanel, the youngest child and only daughter of the Great King. Well known as the daughter of light, servant to the City of Andrea and soon-to-be Gene—’

‘Stop.’ Rymedur interrupted her, brows pinched. Why was she introducing herself as Areanel? ‘If I am to love you, I need to know you.’ His head bent to look into her eyes, and he hoped his imploring gaze encouraged her. Showed her that he was listening.

The princess began again, tone hesitant. ‘I am Areanel, young—’

‘No.’ Frustrated, Rymedur stepped back, returning to his full height until he towered over her. Hands clutched at her shoulder, his palms dug into the dragon brooch that pinned the long chiffon veil in place so hard that the silver item began to imprint its elegant design into his hand. Pulling her body close, his hands travelled away from her shoulders, and the burning reminder she wore the pin to no doubt keep her dead brother close on her wedding day.

Rymedur inhaled sharply, allowing his hands to rest on either side of her face. Far too large, they dwarfed her delicate features. Leaning in closer, until they were almost sharing breath, he attempted to bring back the jovial atmosphere. ‘I want to know your name. Not your title.’ Needing her to hear his sincerity but wanting to keep the mood light, he added, ‘I cannot waltz these halls calling you princess all the time, now can I?’

He hadn’t expected her eyes to go downcast at his insistence, and a sudden jab of hurt hit him square in the chest when she refused to look at him. He felt a sense of loss when those eyes focused on the silver chain around his neck instead of looking him in the eye.

‘I have no name.’ The revelation had his brows pinching. Her words were a whisper; he had to lean further into her to hear her confession. ‘Only a title. Areanel. Princess. That is my name.’

‘No name?’ Rymedur was astounded. ‘Your mother did not name you? The king, did he not—’

At the mention of her mother, her head snapped up to meet his imploring gaze, causing him to jerk forward until their bodies were impossibly close, their lips a hairsbreadth away. If he were to tilt his head an inch, they’d be kissing.

But he didn’t. Instead, he waited and watched in rapt fascination and curiosity as her blue eyes flitted to the door over his shoulders, searching for something. Almost like she expected someone to enter at that very moment. Was she searching for her spymaster again? What was their name? Ryyen? He tucked away that piece of knowledge for future reference.

‘No,’ she continued almost hesitantly. Unsure of herself, her hands wrung together as she spoke lowly, as if she was afraid someone might overhear. ‘My mother did not name me. Nor did my father,’ she seemed to hiss, and Rymedur wondered what they had done for her gaze to turn so hateful.

He found himself wanting to soothe her again. Large hands slid down her arms as he listened intently, slowly making what he hoped were soothing circles against her skin. The tension loosened its grip on her as her shoulders sagged. She seemed to soften beneath his touch, and under her breath Rymedur heard her whisper, ‘What cannot be named, cannot be known. What cannot be known, cannot be free.’

Rymedur blinked rapidly, as though he could cast the thought away. ‘What.’ It was more of a statement than a question. How could the Princess of Andrea, beloved by her father, never be free?

Bile rose at the truth she’d let slip. In her moment of vulnerability, the words had flowed through her—like once she’d started, she couldn’t stop them. It sickened him to hear the pain in her voice.

‘My mother’s way of shackling me to this life.’ She huffed an angry breath that fanned across his face. ‘My mother had once called me Andreas. She said that if I were to be given a name, it would be after what I am—a demon. Andreas, as she was so unfortunate to have been cursed by the Elvadora to have a demon for a child. She said I was a blight to our family. My mother was a Seer; she saw prophecies and read futures. She told me at a young age that I was cursed with immense powers because the gods weaved prophecy into my fate—and I would kill those I loved. It was why she shackled me, because if I was not free, I could not complete the fate she foresaw.’

Empathy threatened to crush Rymedur. He understood how she felt. His own cousins belittled him every chance they got, but he couldn’t understand how a person could subject their own child to such a life. ‘Your father loves you?’ He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, but from what he had heard, Aerileas adored his daughter. What she said suggested otherwise.

‘My father needs me. When I am no longer of use to him, do you think he will keep me or kill me?’

Words had been stolen from Rymedur, plucked from his parted lips and taken away by an invisible force. He did not know what to say. How could he comfort her?

Everything he thought he knew about Areanel, he questioned.

She was an infamous killer, feared by men. But the person who stood before him now was not a warrior filled with bloodlust. No. This was a survivor. An elven princess who would do anything in her power to escape what her mother had prophesied. The determination that burned brilliantly in those electric eyes showed how she refused to become the monster her mother foretold, which begged the question: how could someone so feared be so scared of her own fate? Was this all a clever ruse?

Terror clawed at him, but Rymedur had no doubt that the prophecy terrified her more than anything: a world where she had to live with the knowledge that one day, she would cause the people she loved pain. It would drive anyone to insanity.

‘I know what you think,’ Areanel continued, drawing his attention away from his thoughts. ‘If my father is a monster, and I am his favourite child, what must that say about me?’

His lashes fluttered a few times as he blinked at her, eyes narrowing. But instead of mistrusting her, Rymedur found himself hanging onto her every word. He was starting to believe her. ‘How do you do that? Lie with someone else’s sins.’

Stray raven strands moved back and forth as she shook her head, and a few stuck to her face, hiding those mesmerising eyes. ‘They are not someone else’s sins; they are my own.’