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He felt sick, in need of sleep and an entire pitcher of water, his throat dry as dust, his eyes burning. But it was grief that choked him, drowning his anger and leaving him hollow.
There would be no more nights meeting her at the dam. No more conversation with what seemed the only person in this cursed city he could actually talk to. And never again would he have the chance to touch her perfect skin, to kiss those lips, to bury himself between her thighs, the wild pleasure of the prior night unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
What did you expect?he asked himself.Your name is poison, and everything you touch turns to rot.
Ahead, the gates to the palace loomed, and though all was quiet, there was a tension in the air that didn’t exist during the midnight truce. The people who were already out and going about their business had a caution to them, knowing full well that with the sun in the sky, either side might be priming for an attack.
Stopping in front of the gate, Keris pulled back his hood, the eyes of the guards on duty widening in recognition and shock. “Your Highness,” one of them said as they opened the gate. “We’ve been searching for you all morning. Prince Otis is scouring the riverfront.”
Shit.“Too much wine,” he answered. “I fell asleep on my way back.”
One of his father’s generals approached, his thick arms crossed over his monstrous chest. The huge man cleared his throat, and Keris girded himself for whatever chiding would come from wandering the city without an escort, but instead the man said, “We received word that the Ithicanian king has been captured and is being brought to Vencia.”
Captured.Keris cared little for Aren Kertell himself, what he’d learned about the man from Raina not endearing the Ithicanian king to him in any way, but his stomach clenched at what it meant for Ithicana. Whether he was worthy or not, Aren’s people followed him, and without his leadership, their resistance to the Maridrinian invaders might crumple. Which was logically what he should want, except the thought of his father triumphing—of him becoming the Master of the Bridge, in truth—made Keris want to vomit. “I see.”
“With the capture, your father foresees an end to the conflict in Ithicana, which means we’ll have the resources to escalate our own situation. To take back the southern half of Nerastis from the Valcottans. It is your father’s will that you commit yourself to achieving this particular end.”
Commit himself to war.
Keris’s head began to throb, and he rubbed at one temple. “Let’s wait until our hold on Ithicana is certain before biting off more than we can chew with the Valcottans. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
A loud commotion from outside caught his attention, shouts and cries of triumph splitting the air. Keris turned to see Otis striding in his direction, a wide grin on his brother’s face. Which was rather unexpected, given that Otis had been out hunting for him. “Of all the days for you to be up at this hour, Keris, this was the one to do it. We’ve caught ourselvesquitethe prize.”
His gaze skipped past his brother to the pair of his soldiers dragging a figure between them dressed in Valcottan garments. The individual had a sack over her head, but that didn’t stop him from recognizing the slender brown arms that were bound at the wrist. Arms that had been wrapped around him not an hour ago.
Keris’s stomach dropped, his skin turning to ice as she was forced to her knees in front of him, her wrists bleeding from the tight ropes and arms marked with livid red blotches that would turn to wicked bruises, the wound on her arm no longer bandaged but torn open and bleeding.
“Caught her in an alley on her way to the Anriot,” Otis said. “She put up quite the fight, but we were able to subdue her.”
“Who is she?” The words slipped out, a question Keris had asked himself a thousand times but now one he wished he’d never have an answer to.
“The most powerful woman in Nerastis.” Otis jerked the sack off to reveal the face Keris saw in his dreams. The face of the woman he’d fallen for in a way he hadn’t believed possible.
Otis caught Valcotta by the hair, jerking her head back. “Allow me to introduce General Zarrah Anaphora.”
32
ZARRAH
She stared up at him, though it was hard to see with one of her eyes swollen shut and her brain fuzzy from the blows she’d taken. But she heard the Maridrinian clear enough as he said, “Who harmed her?”
The princeling who’d captured her frowned. “What difference does it make? She fought back. This is Zarrah Anaphora, Keris. She’s the Empress of Valcotta’s niece. The heir apparent. Do you know what a blow to the Valcottans her capture will be?”
“Not as big a blow as us catapulting her back across the Anriot, piece by piece,” one of the soldiers said, and the rest of them laughed, their eyes full of murder. Zarrah struggled not to flinch, because she knew they’d do it. Hadseenthem do it.
“No,” the Maridrinian—Crown Prince Keris, she reminded herself—said after a long pause, his brow furrowing, “that won’t be what we are doing.”
“Now isn’t the time to get squeamish, Keris,” Otis hissed. “This bitch killed Rask.”
Keris gave a weary sigh. “It’s not the manner in which you wish to execute her that concerns me, Otis, but rather that you intend to kill her at all.”
Otis. O.It had been his letters that she’d stolen and that Keris had chased her across the city to get back. Which meant it was Prince Otis, one of the most brutal murderers of her people since Silas himself had commanded the garrison, whom the Maridrinian held in such high regard.
“As you said,” Keris continued, “this woman is a prize second only to the Empress herself. And yet you’d spend all her worth on a few minutes of satisfaction?” He tsked. “A short-sighted decision, and I think not one Father would thank me for allowing you to make.”
What did he intend? What did he plan to do with her?
The men surrounding them clearly were wondering the same thing, all of them staring at their prince. “What do you want to do with her, then?” Otis demanded.
