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Every court whisper I’d caught during my rotations painted something vastly different. The High Captain was supposed to be a ghost across three provinces—a man who ripped through courtships and left a string of heartbreak behind him, never bothering to look twice at anyone.

So why did his eyes burn like he wanted to tear me apart? And why had Soren sounded less like he was teasing and more like he was watching a catastrophe happen in slow motion?

I walked through the heavy iron doors into the dark stairwell, the thought sinking its teeth into me as the marks on my body flared with a hot, angry pulse.

EIGHTEEN

The salt-crusted chill of the mountain draft seeped through the balcony glass, but I was too exhausted to get up and pull the doors shut.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, my muscles throbbing with the cumulative punishment of the day. My ribs were a map of purple bruises from Caspian’s morning drills.

Not the same kind of bruises I had hoped I’d have from him.

Midday had been no better—Malakai’s session had left my head pounding, my core remaining stubborn and cold despite the purple extraction that had nearly driven Soren to clear his blade. And Manem’s obstacle course... I could still feel the freezing lake water burning in my sinuses from my final plunge before dusk.

I’d skipped the library tonight. The ancient histories and the search for a weapon could wait another day.

Tomorrow was LunaStiya, the winter solstice, and the longest night of the year was already stirring an uneasy, restless energy across the keep. I just wanted to stay behind closed doors before the court turned itself over to the traditional chaos.

Still, I hadn’t spent the entire day failing.

A small smirk touched the corner of my mouth as I looked across the room at the shimmering blue threads of the ward Soren had set over the balcony threshold. During a quiet hour between training, while he was checking the guard logs, I had studied the structure of the ward. By sliding a tiny needle-point of my own focus between the weaves, I’d found a way to open a thin gap in the barrier—just wide enough for a body to slip through without alerting Soren or triggering the alarm in his head.

I stood up, my bare feet quiet on the stone as I walked toward the glass, watching the thick sea fog warp the silver light of the three moons.

Thud.

A heavy shape dropped from the stone spires above, landing with quiet precision right on the balustrade of my balcony.

My heart kicked against my ribs, a sharp jolt of adrenaline cutting through my fatigue. My hand slipped beneath my tunic, fingers closing over the cold handle of my belt dagger, but I kept my mouth shut and didn’t make a sound.

The silhouette straightened against the moonlight. A long arm reached up, pulling back the dark fabric of a hood to reveal sharp, familiar features.

Mal.

His hazel eyes locked onto mine through the glass. He didn’t offer a polite greeting, nor did he speak. He just stood there on the ledge, a quiet, calculating smile mocking the castle’s security.

A sharp spark stirred in my chest, cutting through the heavy exhaustion in my limbs. I stayed where I was for a long moment, letting my breathing steady as I looked at the heavy cloak draped over the timber chair by the bed. Every rational thought told me that stepping out onto that balcony was reckless. With a death waiting for me on the first day of spring, was anything in the dark worth risking my grip on my own safety?

I glanced toward the locked oak door where Soren kept watch, knowing the security on the other side. But the restless edge in my blood won out. Slowly, deliberately, I picked up the dark fabric and wrapped the heavy cloak over my shoulders.

I walked to the threshold, drew a steady breath, and traced the invisible blue weave with my thumbnail. I pressed my intent into the gap, opening a clean, silent tear in the ward. I slipped through the opening, the cold air biting my cheeks as I stepped out onto the damp stone terrace.

Mal stepped down from the railing, his tall frame blocking the wind and casting a long shadow over me.

Without a word, he held out his hand, palm open in the silver light.

I looked at his hand, then up into his dark gaze.

Don’t do it, don’t let the curiosity win…

I reached out anyway. His grip was steady and hot against my freezing fingers, his hand closing around mine with an absolute, unshakeable certainty.

He pulled me to the lip of the granite ledge, and together, we dropped over the edge into the dark below.

We hit the damp ground with a dull crunch. My knees flexed automatically, absorbing the three-story drop the way Manem had drilled into me. Mal let go of my hand the moment my feet settled, though my skin stayed warm where his palm had been.

He turned to face me, his frame blending easily into the dark shadows of the pine trees. Silver moonlight filtered through the thick branches above, catching the gold in his eyes.