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“Unless you want to die today…”

Ryn’s eyes widened.

“… Get. Your hands. Off. My maiden.” Xerxes’s low growl hit Ryn’s spine and Prince Mansour’s finger hesitated over her lips. His gold-black gaze dragged up to where Xerxes’s voice came from, right behind Ryn’s chair.

Two men in scarlet kilts rushed by, and Ryn spun in her seat to find spears raised toward Xerxes’s throat. His deep blue eyes fired curses across the table, his chain torn apart and hanging from his wrists. She stood, shoving the spears back from Xerxes’s neck with her bare hands. “King Xerxes cannot be killed,” she said to Prince Mansour over her shoulder. “I made an agreement with King Alecsander.”

“I think the agreement only stands if you win the Tribute,” Prince Mansour objected. He kicked his chair back as he stood. He frowned and wandered around the table, brushing past the guards, approaching Xerxes’s back. His silver dagger flashed in the evening glow as he brought it around to Xerxes’s throat, digging the tip in where Xerxes’s marking used to be. The Prince licked his red lips. “I think being territorial with one of our palace guests is punishable by death, don’t you, Father?”

A bitter chill swept over the room.

Ryn drew her sword in a ring of metal. “Remove your weapon from my King.”

A shadow came over her as someone stepped to her side. Prince Mansour’s smirk fell, his grip on Xerxes loosening. He wasn’t fast enough though; Alecsander’s ring-adorned hand slapped the dagger away. A sound that wasn’t even a real voice said, “Don’t touch my Museum pieces.”

Ryn’s gaze crawled over to the being beside her. A large hood covered half his face, but she could spot dark grey skin on his chin and cheek. That wasn’t what startled her though. It was the voices—the calls of shadows braided in that had sent an icy breeze blowing over the table, ruffling hair and making candles flicker.

Ryn held her breath. Alecsander had spoken… like a god.

When she glanced at Xerxes, he looked back with eyes that said, “I told you, you shouldn’t have come here.”

“King,” Ryn rasped. It took those before her a moment to realize she was speaking to Alecsander. “If you’d like to teach your son a lesson—for killing the wrong Gold Maiden, and for laying hands on one of your precious living Museum pieces—send him into the annual Tribute with me. I’ll happily teach him.” It was a dare she could lose her tongue for. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. The blade didn’t sing, didn’t glow, but even a cold, lifeless blade could take a life. The Prince would know that well.

Murmurs rippled down the table. The white-haired woman sprang to her feet, her bread knife clattering over her plate.

Alecsander’s golden eyes sank to black as he stared at his son, whose face turned wild. Prince Mansour seethed as he clutched his hand where a pinking mark formed in the place he’d been struck.

“I’ll go in his place, of course. I was planning to offer myself to the Tribute anyway.” Ryn’s chest deflated at the sound of the white-haired woman’s silky voice. “But you will wish I wasn’t there, Commander Adassah.” Her last words cut up the tension. Ryn glanced at Alecsander to see what he would decide.

Alecsander’s hood turned, his dark eyes sailing over the table and landing on the white-haired woman. After several seconds where no one moved or spoke, he said, “You will go in his place.”

The woman’s throat shifted beneath her glowing runes when she swallowed. She bowed low, her white hair brushing the grapes on her plate. “Yes, Your Majesty. It would be my delight.”

Prince Mansour mimicked her, stepping backward and bowing his head as Alecsander went to his seat with slow, careful footsteps. Mansour stole a hateful, sideways look at Xerxes.

If Xerxes knew he was being sized up, he didn’t show it. His broad shoulders shifted as he was secured with fresh chains. He walked backwards, following the guards ushering him to his platform.

“Teach the Per-Siana King a lesson, too,” the woman’s smooth voice added. “Museum pieces are supposed to be as silent and still as artwork.” Her nails dug into the stem of grapes, juice bursting out and running down her three fingers. “I wonder how he would do in the Tribute.”

Ryn’s stomach dropped. “King…” she whispered but closed her mouth. If she begged now, she’d be at B’rei Mira’s mercy forever.

But Alecsander lifted his metal cup and took a long drink. When he set it down, a cold word snapped over the table. “No.” Three seconds of icy, dead silence passed. Then he said, “No one touches my Museum but me.”

Ryn wondered if everyone at the table could hear the other voice that broke through when Alecsander spoke, as if there was a god inside of him fighting to get out.

She sank back into her chair, facing away from the table to watch the guards bring a large red strip of cloth and fasten it around Xerxes’s mouth so he could no longer speak.

The night breeze tore at Ryn’s cape dress as she escaped to the balcony in her room. Blueish fog coated the skyline, lights glittering across a sea of uneven structures in every direction. Her palms fell against the rail, fingers squeezing ivy stems and bringing green juice under her fingernails. She inhaled as her stomach roiled, leaning to peek over the balcony to see what was below in case she had to wretch.

“El, have I made a mistake?” she asked the gales. She slid to her knees when there was no response. Though, of course there would be no response. “I just need a little more time on my own. I need to do one thing. Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Shallow whispers rolled in off the wind, seeping from the palace at her back. She shivered in the crisp air, releasing the rail to drag her fingers up and down her arms. El would forgive her if she repented later, wouldn’t he?

“Forgiveness is free. But you must still live with the consequences of your choices.”

Her hands fell back against the rail, shivers subsiding. “El… you didn’t leave me? Even though I ran away? Even though I shut my ears?”

“I’ll never leave your side. But my presence is based on a choice too.”