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Malakai didn’t even turn around. With a careless flick of his charcoal sleeve, a shimmering purple ward slammed across the doorway. The spell locked into the stone frame with a loud crack, sealing the room and throwing Soren backward into the corridor.

Through a blur of tears, I watched Soren scramble back up, his palms slamming against the invisible barrier, his mouth moving in silent shouts that couldn’t penetrate the ward.

Malakai pushed harder, a wave of power scraping raw against my mind. Deep within the midnight marks lacing my right arm, the ink stirred—not just as a passive pattern, but as a living, breathing weight.

I reached inward, desperate to pull the golden, blazing warmth to the surface, trying to force the light out. But the moment the gold flickered to life, the darkness struck. The midnight ink coiled around it like a stranglehold, dragging the brilliant heat back down into the abyss. If you want the light, you take the shadow with it. The darkness trapped the heat in a suffocating cage, a terrifying, ravenous thing waiting to break its leash.

Panic seized my throat. Terrified of what the dark would consume if I let it free, my mind slammed an iron wall down. I violently choked off the light along with the shadow, forcing the burning, tangled pulse back into my chest and pretending nothing at all had answered his pressure.

When Malakai finally let up, my limbs were shaking so hard I could barely push myself off the floor.

Afternoons brought a different kind of misery.

As the light faded, the training shifted to the outdoor course—a sequence of wet ropes, jagged climbing walls, and narrow timber beams suspended over the freezing mountain lake thousands of feet below the cliffs.

Manem stood on the high rocks above us, a permanent, rumbling grin on his dark face as he watched me struggle. My muscles were completely drained, my senses fighting to measure the distance between the slick platforms.

Every time my foot slipped on the wet moss, I plunged straight down into the freezing water.

The lake didn’t yield easily; the impact hit like solid stone, the shock sealing my lungs as I fought my way back to the surface. And every time I broke the water gasping for air, the High Commander’s laugh echoed off the cliffs.

“You could save us all some time and just jump in each time, Princess!” Manem shouted down, completely devoid of royal respect. “Get back up the wall and take the run again!”

I hauled myself out of the water, teeth clicking together so hard my jaw ached, my soaked clothes clinging to me like lead. I was too exhausted to even summon a spark of lesser magic to dry my skin—though it wouldn’t have mattered. What was the point of drying off when I kept slipping and plunging right back into the freezing brine anyway?

Wringing the numbness from my fingers, I faced the slick granite wall and started the climb.

By evening, I retreated to the grand library.

While the rest of the keep hid inside from the howling winter winds, I sat alone in the quiet of the inner stacks. The air smelled of dust, old leather, and the small flask of whiskey I kept hidden to numb the ache in my ribs. Soren sat three paces behind me, his back pressed against the heavy door, his invisible ward humming quietly at his spine to keep the room secure while he kept watch.

I pulled every ancient text I could find, turning the fragile, yellowed pages until the tallow candles burned down to wax pools. I read the histories of the First Age, the laws of the Dagda-Fae, and the records of seven centuries of death duels.

I searched every line of text, hunting for any weapon, any loophole, or any forgotten technique that might give me a chance against the hidden heir of More Alora. My mind ran through scenarios in the dark, trying to ignore the reality that spring was coming fast—and I was still relying entirely on steel and muscle.

The yellowed script was beginning to blur on the page when the heavy library doors clicked open.

I didn’t reach for my blade this time. The cold draft was cut by the rich, sweet scent of spiced blackberry wine.

Dax.

He walked in first, a heavy clay jug slung over his broad shoulder, a crooked grin on his face. Rhea followed right behind him, her dark leathers unbuttoned at the throat, her long dark braid resting over her shoulder.

“You look like you’re studying for your own burial, Taur,” Dax said, setting the clay jug down on the scarred wood table.

“Just conducting groundbreaking research,” I replied, closing the heavy book with a soft thud as a small cloud of dust rose into the air. “Which is considerably more useful than whatever you two were doing.”

“We brought wine,” Rhea said, sliding onto the bench opposite me. She pulled three silver goblets from her cloak, setting them on the table. “The whole keep is restless tonight. The winter solstice is less than twenty-four hours away, and if I have to listen to one more lord argue about your duel, I’m going to throw someone off the battlements. Drink.”

She poured the dark, heavy wine. Dax caught Soren’s eye near the door.

“Come on, Soren,” Dax called out, gesturing to the empty spot on the bench. “The King turned in, Caspian is checking the lower gates, and those books aren’t going anywhere. Sit down and have some.”

Soren hesitated, his brown eyes scanning the quiet aisles, his formal guard posture keeping his shoulders back. But Rhea caught his sleeve, giving him a genuine smile. With a quiet sigh, Soren finally gave in. He set his rigid posture aside, slid onto the bench beside Dax, and took a silver goblet.

After a few deep draughts, the heavy wine began to take the edge off my fatigue. The conversation drifted away from the upcoming duel, turning instead toward LunaStiya. The air outside was already heavy with it—that restless energy of the triple moons that made Fae blood run hot.

“The palace gardens are going to be absolute chaos tomorrow night,” Dax chuckled, the alcohol loosening his posture.