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He paused at the landing, his grip on my hand tightening just a fraction as he looked down at me. His blue eyes held a dark, quiet intensity that cut through his usual captain’s mask.

“I decided to escort you myself,” he added softly. “Give Soren a break.”

I kept my mouth shut as we finished the stairs. I wondered if he was escorting me because he wanted to, or if it was just another guard duty assigned to keep the half-breed from straying. But his hand was warm and steady against mine, and I didn’t pull away.

I knew there was more he was keeping from me…But I couldn’t let go of how he made me feel. It was like every fiber of my being called to him, like I was drawn to him…

We cleared the grand archway and stepped out onto the palace lawns.

The freezing solstice air vanished instantly. The artificial summer created by the high lords’ ward washed over us, melting the chill off the silver chains at my waist.

Across the wide, mist-shrouded lawn sat my father’s platform—a low wooden dais draped in silver silk, flanked by empty chairs for the provincial lords. In front of it stretched a sea of white.

Thousands of Fae from every province and rank gathered on the grass. They moved together to the heavy thrum of drums, packed tight in the warm air, waiting for the midnight bells that would signal the start of the lawless hours.

As Caspian guided me along the edge of the crowd, the thin silk of my dress caught the humidity, sticking to my legs.

I spotted familiar faces through the sea of white. Dax was out on the lawn, spinning a laughing fae female by the waist. Near the tree line, where steam rose thick from the lake, Rhea was dancing between a male officer and a female guard, her hands resting on both their chests, completely embracing the night.

Before we reached the dais, a flash of gold cut us off.

Aerynn stepped out of the crowd, his white silk tunic spotless, his blue eyes narrowing with disapproval as he took in my almost translucent dress. He stopped right in front of us, raised his hand, and drew an imaginary line straight down the grass.

A sharp snap of static crackled in the air—the unmistakable ozone hum of Aerynn’s stormcall flaring up. But it felt too close, practically vibrating off the skin of the hand I still had locked with Caspian, as if the captain was radiating the exact same restless electricity. I brushed it off as the ambient magic of the court, but a strange, low-frequency thrum lingered against my palm.

“I’ll be on this side, and you stay on that side,” my brother declared, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. He flicked a glance toward the crowd, where three Fae women were already reaching for his sleeves. “Great. Glad we agree.”

Before I could answer, he was pulled back into the crowd, his golden hair disappearing into the mist—and the electricity left with him, the sharp static vanishing as quickly as it had arrived, leaving only the grounded warmth of Caspian’s hand.

Caspian let out a low huff, shaking his head, “That is your brother.”

“That is your best friend,” I laughed.

We walked up the low wooden steps toward the dais.

My chest went cold as we approached the platform. King Fjörn sat rigid in his chair, his green eyes blank, tracking the crowd. This was the man who had ordered the slaughter of Ilasari. The King who commanded the mages to strip Caspian’s mother of her magic before casting her alive to the sea.

And Caspian was stepping up those same stairs to bow.

He stopped at the base of the platform and let go of my hand. The loss of his warmth left my skin feeling cold. He straightened his shoulders, the white silk catching the moonlight, his features turning to stone. He bowed his head—a clean, flawless display of military protocol—and paid his respects to the man who had destroyed his home.

TWENTY-ONE

Caspian straightened his massive spine, rising from the formal tilt with a glacial stillness that completely masked the horrific history staining the floor.

From the heavy folds of the silver silk curtains behind the King’s seat, a shadow detached itself. Lord Dellyn stepped to the edge of the platform, his emerald velvet cloak a mocking slash of color against the uniform sea of festive white. His dead, empty smile was fully intact as his gaze dropped down to the High Captain.

“A remarkable display of loyalty, Captain,” Dellyn said, his smooth voice cutting through the humid air like a rusted blade. “The court must commend the heir of Ilasari for paying his formal respects to the throne… particularly on the very eve of his family’s tragic betrayal. Such commendable fortitude.”

Contain it. The darkness stirred just under the surface of my skin, begging to come out and play.

I watched the subtle movement of Caspian’s face from a hair’s breadth away. A sharp, violent twitch jumped in his jaw, a corded muscle leaping in his neck as he locked the frayed fury deep within his chest. The ink-black tattoos on his collarbones seemed to rise against his skin, the tension between him and the high lord turning the air instantly suffocating. Yet, when he spoke, his gravelly voice was an impenetrable wall of absolute courtly decorum.

“House Ilasari serves the crown, Lord Dellyn,” Caspian murmured, his tone flat and devoid of the raw storm brewing behind his eyes. “The past is dead stone; the defense of the realm remains the only currency that matters.”

Dellyn’s gaze slid away from him, anchoring its venomous weight onto my green eyes. His stare lingered on the thin white silk molding to my front, tracking the silver chains framing my waist before locking back onto my face.

“And a beautiful evening for the Drakhar bloodline to grace the grass,” he murmured, his voice dripping with an oily amusement. “I do hope you manage to run into my own heir tonight, Princess. He is somewhere among the crowds, taking in the festival before the first day of spring demands his presence on the sand.”