Copyright ©2022 by Jinapher J. Hoffman

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eBook ISBN: 9798858749950

Hardcover ISBN: 9798885083218

CONTENTS

1. Wrathos Books

2. The Shard & The Serpent

3. Map

4. Dedication

5. 1. Chapter One

6. 2. Chapter Two

7. 3. Chapter Three

8. 4. Chapter Four

9. 5. Chapter Five

10. 6. Chapter Six

11. 7. Chapter Seven

12. 8. Chapter Eight

13. 9. Chapter Nine

14. 10. Chapter Ten

15. 11. Chapter Eleven

16. 12. Chapter Twelve

17. 13. Chapter Thirteen

18. 14. Chapter Fourteen

19. 15. Chapter Fifteen

20. 16. Chapter Sixteen

21. Heir of Fate

22. About The Author

Dark Fantasy Books in a Multiverse of Feminine Rage By Jinapher J. Hoffman

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For Mist and Tar (Alchemight Duology 1)

Veil of Fate (Fates of Mirror Trilogy 1)

Heir of Fate (Fates of Mirror Trilogy 2)

Wars of Fate (Fates of Mirror Trilogy 3)

For Blood and Flame (Alchemight Duology 2)

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DEDICATION

To those who dare to be free, to make a mark on this world and the next.

CHAPTER ONE

In the Underground, one can sell anything. Name it, and there’s a price. Body, soul, skill — they’re all fair game. For me, it’s all three with a suffocating touch of wit.

Tonight, it’s no different as I slink through a crowded room of Royalists. I know my gown has the desired effect when a man chokes on his drink, his eyes wide right before his wife elbows him hard in the ribs. I do not grin or smile or smirk or, quite frankly, pay anyone any damn attention. The only person that matters will be behind the curtains.

At the back of the crowd, they drape the wall in a thick velvet black. To anyone else at this party, those curtains are for decoration. For the Underground, they’re the entrance to debauchery.

My nails dig into the sparkling fabric of my gown, bunching its length higher and higher, the side-slit parting wide. My employer was specific. I needed a grand entrance to be admitted to a table. This ought to do it, I muse and lift my chin. Every eye in the room is on me as I reach the curtains, and part of me wants to say, Wanna see a magic trick? I roll my shoulders back, press my lips together, and stroll forward.

To the Royalists, I vanished.

To the Underground, I’m everything they’ve wished for. A stunning body, an untouched soul, innocent skill. I’d fetch a nice price if any of it were true, and tonight, I must pretend I am. Get the highest bid I can and tell my employer a name, successfully rooting out their main competition. It’s a simple, straightforward mission that should go off without a hitch. With the way I look, I imagine I could be in and out of the Underground in fifteen minutes.

But the truth is, my curves are an asset, yes, but my soul is as riddled with rot as they come, and my skill — well, the tremor in my ring finger isn’t from nerves. It’s from my lack of a kill, my addiction to blood lust, my desire to tear the world apart. More than that, I have a mouth that never knows when to stay shut — or maybe it does, and I simply refuse to do so.

This job should be easy.

That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for me to fuck it up.

I slip through the magic of the curtains, its shield prickling against my arms and feeling my intention. As I do every night, I open my mind to the two words that have made me both full and empty my entire life: Lies and Vengeance. The magic latches to them, and before I can take another breath, glossed black tile flourishes beneath my stilettos.

Red felt tables are spaced evenly across an open, dark room. A stage rests in the far left corner, a band leading a chaotic beat. Women and men dressed in lace, sequins, or nothing roam the room with trays of drinks or offer-out pipes.

I inhale, and my heart steadies with the familiar scent of ego, lust, stale breath, and riches. I turn my head from one side to the other and pretend to survey the hottest club of the Underground, knowing the diamonds in my ears catch the light and draw attention.

I wait, but I don’t wait long.

Underground Bosses lean in to speak with their cronies, and I count at least five out of the eight Bosses here. I hold my breath as that knowledge sinks in. I expected one, maybe two. In fact, I banked on the fact that Bosses are notoriously suspicious and wouldn’t be caught dead in a crowded place like this unless they absolutely had to do business. With five of them here, I’m more likely to be recognized, especially since two of them I’ve done business with before.

A chair scoots back to my left, its metal legs screeching against the tile.

I drag my gaze toward the sound, feigning a nervous disposition. Maybe I can still get a high bid before I’m recognized. I give the man approaching me a soft smile while I try to place him. Fuck, there are six Bosses here?

He wears a red mask tied around his eyes — an accessory common with the Bosses and their need to conceal their true identities. His suit matches in a deep burgundy, his jacket open to his exposed torso. Tattoos litter his bronze chest down to the waistband of his slacks, and even then, they trail beneath.

My breath hitches as I take in every detail. Tattoos are sacred among the Bosses. There’s an entire authentication process involved to ensure every tattoo comes from a valid sale among the Underground. Never, in all my time among the Bosses, have I met one with this many. Even my current employer only boasts an arm sleeve from his elbow to his wrist. Who are you? I want to ask, demand of this mysterious Boss, but I know the answer.

This is him. This is the Boss being whispered about throughout the Underground. The Boss who has disrupted the market, taken control of most of the major clubs, and who has single-handedly destroyed my employer’s clientele by taking them as his own. This is the high bidder I’m meant to get a name from, and as my gaze meets two silver irises, my entire being vibrates with certainty.

“The Prince,” he introduces as his Boss name, his voice low as he stops before me and offers his hand.

I incline my head in greeting but remain quiet. The longer I keep my mouth shut, the more likely this will be a success. I accept his hand, and he leads me back to his table. I deposit myself into the seat next to him and shift my weight to brush my bicep against his. I keep my shoulders back, my cleavage on full display as I look over The Prince’s acquaintances.

Unlike the other Bosses with their large cliques, only two others sit at The Prince’s table. A woman with long, jet-black hair, her eyes a gentle blue behind a lace mask, wears a high-neck gown in a shimmering plum. Despite my hours of glam, I bite my lip in envy. The woman has an effortless beauty to her, something that’s always been so unattainable to me. She sits close to The Prince, and I wonder if they may be together.

“The Princess,” the woman announces herself.

I nod to her, but my gaze flicks between her and The Prince. Even with their masks, there are similarities in their bone structure, and they share the same color hair. Siblings, I realize, and it strikes me that The Princess may also be a Boss, considering she, too, wears a mask. It’s completely unheard of for Bosses to work together, and I mentally cheer myself on. This tidbit of information is enough to bargain for a higher payout from my employer.

“Talis,” the third of The Prince’s entourage offers. He wears no mask, and I swallow as I recognize his half-burned face.

“You’re the Storyteller that conspired against the King,” I breathe, unable to stop myself. Fortunately, my widened eyes help play off my innocent persona.

Talis scowls and waves a hand dismissively, showing off black and white checkered nails and several bejeweled rings. Both are displays of wealth I never thought a reject of the late King’s court would possess.

I reel my shock in and look at The Prince. A bit of thrill jitters within me when I find him looking right back.

His silver gaze drinks me in — head-to-toe. “You’re trying too hard.”

I straighten but force myself not to bark out, Fucking excuse me? My fingers knot into my dress. “Sorry?” I ask, trying to maintain decorum and poise, but The Prince’s eyes trail to the movement of my fingers. I force myself to relax my fists, my knuckles white from the way they curled inward out of reflex. I half expect to be found out right then and there, but instead, The Prince smirks. Smirks.

“Did you know the late King’s son wishes to marry?” The Prince asks. He looks me up and down for what must be the millionth time, before he adds, “I think he’d like you.”

I chill. What’s a higher bid than marriage to an Estal? I wet my lips and hold his gaze. Maybe a demure fawn of a woman would back down from the challenge in his tone. Maybe I should do exactly that. But job be damned, if there is a Fate on the line. “How do I reach him?” I demand.

The Prince’s dark brows fly up above his mask. “Eager, are you?”

“I asked you a question.” My words have a bite, but I don’t care. One of my two words of intention is lies. There’s no better solution than the truth, and that can only be found from a Fate like Cristen Estal.

The Prince settles back into his chair. “It’s invitation only.”

“What is?”

“He’s holding a sort-of…contest.” The Prince shares a glance with his sister, but she only gives him a bored shrug. He blows out a breath and gestures to me. “You’d have to go up against some of the fiercest female Royalists in the kingdom. Fight them for your place at Prince Cristen’s side.”

“Easy,” I say with so much certainty that I inwardly curse myself. You’re not fucking violent tonight. Get a hold of yourself.

The Prince, however, gives me a broad smile. “You’d be surprised. Most of the women who’ve received invitations have been trained since birth to later go into battle. They’re warriors every second of their day, and their wealthy lineage led to years of access to the finest teachers. Prince Cristen doesn’t just want a bride. He wants a partner and protector.”

“Have you met him?” I ask, mostly because I can’t believe he has.

As a Fate, Cristen Estal has the rarest magical ability in the entirety of Mirror. He’s kept to the shadows all his life, forced to be hidden away from society lest someone kidnap him or murder him. People have done far more for far less, and Cristen can see Fate, itself. It’s never been clear whether he can see the future, the past, or something in between. There’s only lore that’s spread through Estal Kingdom and the other territories of Mirror.

The Prince traces a tattooed finger over the felt tabletop. “You will tell the Boss you came here for that I don’t exist,” he says, ignoring my question.

I narrow my eyes, about ready to tell him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but then he lifts his gaze lazily from his finger to my eyes, and I falter under the magnitude of his gaze. The more I look into the silver of his eyes, the more colors I find swirling within, as if the gray is merely a haze hiding his true irises. It could be an illusion. They could all be an illusion, I remind myself. It wouldn’t be out of a Boss’s reach to pay an entire thread for illusion magic.

The Prince considers me for another moment before he shares another look with his sister and nods. “You’re invited,” he says, and with those words, the room tilts.

I clutch the table and suck in a breath to steady myself, the swirl of my vision brief but enough to knock my confidence down. Magic latches around my ring finger, and I hiss as a long, purple thread seeps from that finger’s tip. It writhes and shimmers in the air as it pulls toward The Prince.

He reaches out and grabs it before he opens a pouch at his waist and shoves it inside.

“I didn’t say I accept your invitation,” I growl, “and you never said anything about me needing to pay my way in.”

The Prince cinches the pouch closed, then hands it to his sister. “Do you really think I’d do business with someone who isn’t going to pay for my time?”

“Don’t be a fool, Zora, because we know you aren’t one,” Talis says with an annoyed grimace.

The Prince and The Princess whip their heads toward Talis as my spine goes ramrod straight. “How do you know my name?” I ask, all pretenses leaving me.

“Talis,” The Princess sneers.

Talis huffs and rolls his eyes, trying to play cool even as he shoots an apologetic look to his Bosses. “It must have been a lucky guess.” Then he adds, “I’ve heard about you enough to know who you are.”

I bite my tongue. That could be true, but I can’t write off the Bosses reactions. I shove up from the table and turn my back on them, striding to the black curtains in immediate retreat. It’s that or fight them, and while I know I’m lethal, I don’t like my 3-to-1 odds.

“Wait!” The Prince calls after me.

I almost laugh at that, then take one last step into the curtain. The ground whooshes out from under my feet, and I bristle as I land in a deserted ballroom. The Royalist’s party is over, and my stilettos echo throughout the massive, empty room as I hurry to the exit.

“Zora.”

I quicken my pace at the sound of The Prince’s voice. “Keep following me and I’ll be forced to kill you,” I shoot back toward him.

His shoes click rapidly as he jogs to catch up.

My heart races, and I grit my teeth. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I spin around and reach under the slit in the thigh of my dress to my holster. I rip out a knife and hurtle it toward him.

The Prince curses and ducks at the last second.

I don’t hesitate and pull free a second knife. I draw my arm back and aim for his chest as he stands back up.

“Stop that,” he grunts and strides toward me.

I laugh, this time fully and aloud. No more hiding. I slam my arm forward and watch with a wicked grin for the knife to land my victim, but this time The Prince is ready.

He spins away and drops to the ground where the first knife landed. He yanks it into his grasp, then flings it toward me without an ounce of hesitation.

Shit. I launch myself backward, but the knife snags on the fabric of my gown at my waist and pins me to the wall at my back. I furiously grab the hilt to tear it free, only to shriek in surprise as the second dagger pins the other side of my gown. Before I can help myself, magic locks from each hilt and meets at the center of my torso, forcing me in place with an invisible chain.

I glare at The Prince. “Let me go.”

He smooths his hair back and closes the distance between us, his silver eyes glinting with amusement. “Calm down. I only came after you to give you your thread back.” He lifts his pouch for reference. He must’ve taken it back from his sister.

My brow furrows. “Why?”

“I’d taken it as payment for your involvement in the tournament to win Prince Cristen’s hand in marriage. Clearly, you’ve declined.” He shakes the pouch. “Do you want it back, or not?”

I snatch the pouch from him and grip it to my chest, my nostrils flaring with rage but my mind warring with reason. I have been stuck on the streets forced to kill my way high enough up the Underground hierarchy to keep myself away from prostitution or worse. I have searched all my life for the reasons why my life has been this way — who I am, why my family was murdered when I was only two, where my brother was lost to. Everything about my past is riddled with foggy lies, and I have this pulsing need within me to bring vengeance upon whoever created my life to be like this.

I have tried every magic, every potion, visited every lead and followed every clue. I have found nothing in the form of answers.

But I haven’t had access to a Fate, to a man with the ability to tell me the truth, and this opportunity The Prince dangles before me will be my only chance. I can feel it. If I don’t compete for Cristen Estal’s hand in marriage, I’ll never get close enough to him to force an introduction and gain access to his power.

I grind my teeth as I force myself to pry my grip off of the pouch. I push it into The Prince’s tattooed chest, prepared to pull away and disappear through the exit. That would be answer enough.

But The Prince’s hand falls atop mine, keeping my fingers splayed against his chest and the pouch. His grip is firm and warm, as he runs his thumb over the back of my hand.

I hesitate and lock eyes with him, unsure what more he could want from me and also a little terrified of what it may be. He is a Boss, and I’ve done nothing but disrespect him.

He holds my gaze for several long seconds, his lips twitching as if he has a million things to say, but he remains silent.

I chew on my lip, and it draws his eyes to my mouth, catching him off guard enough for me to pull my hand free. “Let me go,” I command a second time, proud of the strength in my voice despite the pounding of my heart.

The Prince lingers close to me for a few more moments before he gently brushes his fingers over my torso.

The magic holding me against the wall unravels, and I tug the daggers free from my gown. I strap them back to my thigh, then straighten, prepared to give The Prince my best snarl and walk away.

But the room empties with a flash of burgundy disappearing against a black curtain.

CHAPTER TWO

There’s no place more dangerous than the streets of Gronem.

But there’s also no better place to play.

I sneak into a darkened street corner and quickly slide out of my dress and diamonds, finding my bag stowed behind a dumpster where I left it earlier. I replace my glam with my favorite black canvas trousers, long-sleeved charcoal blouse, and a fitted but well-worn black leather corset. Next, I thrust my feet into my boots, lacing them to my mid-calf before tousling my hair out of its slicked-back look. The white of its strands hit just below my ears, lightweight and out of the way, which is how I like it. Finally, I use my fingers to smear out the eyeliner around my eyes.

I toss my gown, heels, and jewelry into my bag, throw its one strap over and across my body, then step out of the shadows with a smile — my first genuine one of the night. At the sight of me, the regulars of Gronem nod or look away. One of them calls out to me, and I recognize her short brown curls in an instant.

“Gretta, how’s business?” I ask and pull to a stop before her flower cart — a front for the bags of drugs hidden behind a trap door at its base.

Gretta gives me her best smile, her teeth white and glittering. She once told me it was the only illusion she pays for. People find beautiful smiles more trustworthy, she told me over a drink, the grin on her face at the time full of total mischief.

She leans toward me. “I’ve got a new bag for you,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “No, I’ve got a job to finish tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

Gretta pouts but wiggles her brows. “Who’d you kill or fuck?”

I snort and roll my eyes.

“Oh, did you do both? Naughty Zora.” She smirks and flicks my bag. “At least let me see the outfit.”

I sigh and open my bag, flashing the sparkling gown and diamonds at her.

Gretta gasps and practically snatches my earrings out.

I snap the bag shut and level a stern look at her. “I’ll pay you when I want product, not before.”

Gretta taps her fingers on her flower cart with a wistful look. “I would look absolutely eatable in a gown like that.” She bats her eyelashes at me. “Are you sure you can’t share?”

“It cost me a full thread,” I protest. After giving a second to The Prince, I really can’t afford to buy another dress when the time comes.

“Zora, just let me give it a night out on the town.” Gretta flicks an annoyed wave toward the busy street. “Gronem needs some beauty tonight.”

I chew on my lip but concede. “Fine, but this is on loan, Gretta. Do you understand? No drink stains or tears.”

Her face twists as if I hit her. “How am I to be ravished then?”

“Slowly, with the dress discarded into a neat fold off to the side,” I say, but my lips quirk. I know I’ll never see this dress again, but giving it to Gretta is well worth the stories I know she’ll tell me about the night tomorrow.

“You’re no fun, Zora. Anyone ever tell you that?” Gretta asks, but she’s smiling too, her fingers scrunching open and close toward me in a ‘gimme’ motion.

I pull off my bag and deposit it in her hands. “I want every detail.”

“Kiss and always tell Zora. That’s my motto,” Gretta agrees as she hugs the bag to her chest. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“Don’t call me that. You’ll ruin my reputation,” I mumble.

“Oh sorry,” Gretta says with sarcasm. Then, with a purr, she amends, “Beautiful badass.”

I give her shoulder a light punch and turn away. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I call back to her as I leave.

“Okay, I’ll slit a few throats just for you!” Gretta sings over the crowd.

I laugh but hurry my pace, realizing the moon is past its highest peak in the sky. Fuck, I’m late. I move into a jog and weave between drunken hoards of people, slowing when I reach my employer’s townhome. It’s one of the few refurbished builds in the city, and along its perimeter — if one were to look hard enough — burly men are stationed here and there to guard the place.

I run a hand over my hair and straighten my corset before I knock on the door twice, wait a moment, then knock a third and final time.

A hole slides open at the top of the door, and two eyes peer out to take me in. They grunt their approval, and the door whips open to reveal a tall, muscled man in all black.

“Zora,” he grunts.

“Felix,” I say, keeping my voice level and emotionless. Any smiles or laughter I shared with Gretta are pushed deep down as Felix leads me up a set of carpeted stairs and into a main living area.

In a tall-backed chair by the fireplace sits my employer: The Beast. He’s a lean man with sharp features and dark eyes behind a navy mask. He stands at my arrival and faces me, pressing down his well-tailored suit as he does so. Gold rings glint along his fingers, and each of his nails is accented in a similar golden hue. Earrings drip from his ears like a waterfall, sparkling in gold and silver, some with little diamonds on their length. They peak out beneath a mane of slicked-back golden hair. He’s the picture of wealth, but it isn’t the jewels or his mask that signifies being the top Boss — or used to be before The Prince — it’s his exposed left arm, his suit sleeve cut off on the one side. From his elbow to his wrist is almost inked in solid black, tattoos overlapping each other as proofs of sale.

The Beast offers me a charming smile. “Zora, is it done?”

“His name is The Prince,” I present upfront. “But there’s more.”

His eyes glitter with that prospect. “More?”

“I’d like a full thread, instead of the half we discussed,” I explain.

The Beast’s smile tightens, but he nods.

“There were two Bosses, and they were working together, which may explain why they’ve been able to pick off your clientele so quickly. The second calls herself The Princess.”

The Beast’s jaw clenches, and his smile vanishes. His entire demeanor turns cold as frost, and he turns away from me to move toward his fireplace. He clutches the mantel before he slams a fist down atop it.

I flinch but force myself to remain calm.

The Beast adjusts his tie, loosening it a bit around his neck, then looks back to me. “I apologize, Zora. That is…well, I had suspicions but I hoped they were only that. Two Bosses working together is unheard of, as you well know, and it won’t be something I can defeat as simply as I thought.”

I nod in agreement. “Shall I pick up a new job from you then?”

“Yes.” The Beast steps to me and extends his palm. He uses his other hand to twist out two full threads. “But first, your payment.”

“We agreed upon one,” I say, unable to hide the surprise riddling its way over my features.

“But your dress cost a full thread, did it not?” he asks.

My brows lift further. But, of course, he’s had me followed. I nod.

“Then this is only fair,” he says and extends his hand to offer the threads to me.

I find my small pouch tied several times around the top loop of my trousers and open it before I accept his payment and stuff the threads inside. I cinch it closed and set my shoulders. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He walks to his chair and settles into it, running his fingers over his chin in contemplation. “I pay my employees well, Zora. Is that not why you came to me to begin with?”

“It was,” I lie. Really, he was one of my leads on my brother. I heard whispers that The Beast is one of the only Bosses that moves people and offers protection to the wanted. After inspection of his dens, however, I found the truth to be more unsettling. He sells people, not protects them.

The Beast surveys me for a moment. “Your specialties include seduction.”

It’s not really a question, but I nod anyway.

“Then our access point will be whichever one of the Bosses you can get into bed. Prince or Princess, I do not care.” He trains his eyes on the fire. “I want to know what they’re offering my clients.”

“Done,” I say confidently. Seduction isn’t my strongest skill, but a tighter corset and red lipstick can get me far enough. “Do you have any leads on where they’ll be next?”

“No, you’ll need to find them yourself.”

“Not a problem.”

The Beast flicks his dark gaze to mine and offers me a smile. “For this, I won’t pay in threads, however.”

I frown. “Then I cannot accept the assignment.”

He chuckles. “Don’t be so hasty, Zora. I have information you want that is far more valuable than your ability to pay your rent.”

I straighten. “What information?”

“A name that can lead you to the murderers of your parents.”

My heart rate picks up. “How do you know —”

“Being top Boss gets you things the other Bosses are denied. One of those things is access to the Gallery of Threads’ exclusive archive.” The Beast crosses his legs. “Did you know you don’t exist in the Gallery, not even in the archive?”

“Yes,” I breathe. It was the first place I checked when I began looking for more information about my past. It seemed everyone in the entirety of Estal Kingdom had a crystal box filled with threads except me.

“It’s impossible for you not to have a past, Zora,” The Beast explains. “Someone has your box and is collecting your threads to deposit within. That someone has a name, and I know who it is.”

“And you’ll tell me as soon as I get the information you want?” I confirm.

“Yes.” The Beast reaches to a side table and rings a small bell.

Felix appears in the archway a moment later.

“I’ll report back in 24 hours, whether I have the information or not,” I say and stride over to Felix, my heart pumping with newfound adrenaline.

“Good, but Zora,” The Beast calls after me.

I turn back.

He levels his gaze with mine. “Do be careful. I cannot risk these new players knowing they’re being looked into. You need to blend with them, earn their trust.”

“It won’t be an issue.” I clasp my hands behind my back, hiding the tremor in my ring finger.

“Do not kill them,” The Beast continues, his voice sharp. “I need them alive for now.”

My excitement putters out a bit, but I still manage to give him a lethal look of approval.

“I mean it, Zora. I know your reputation. If you harm them without my consent, I will have you tortured and sold. Your life will be over. Do you understand?” The Beast asks.

My shoulders tense. “I will not fail you.”

The Beast nods, finally satisfied, and dismisses me with a wave of his hand, turning back to the fireplace.

I follow Felix out of the townhouse, letting myself relax only once I’m five blocks down the road and thoroughly squished between two large groups of party-goers. I blow out a long, steadying breath, then shove forward in the direction of my apartment.

The house is an old, patched-over structure with broken glass and a cracked door, but it’s home nonetheless. I go inside, the other three rooms in the home shut off, doors firmly closed. Music blares from beneath one, but I ignore its familiar thump and climb upstairs to my room, hopping over three broken stairs along the way. I shoulder my door open.

My room is clean, but not because I want it to be. It’s barren, except for a small wad of clothes in the corner and a few blankets laid on the floor. While my jobs often pay well, I mostly use the money to pay for the roof over my head and the disguises I need. Otherwise, I don’t own much.

I cross the room to my blankets and pull them apart to grab a few weapons tucked in between, sheathed in leather. I strap a sword over my back and clasp a holster around my thigh with daggers.

Maybe I should hide my weapons, hide me, but The Prince clearly knows who I am. No, this is a job for regularly furious Zora, I think, and grin. It’s not often I get to be myself, and I form a plan that will have to work.

I’ll offer my services to The Prince and The Princess, then go for a drink to buy their trust. As soon as they’re buttered up enough, I’ll make a move to take one or both to bed. I’ll catch them off-guard, pin them down, and get the information I need without needing to remove as much as my corset from my body. I grit my teeth, knowing it will work. It has to. The Beast has one of the answers I’ve searched for my entire life, and I aim to have it in my clutches before the sun rises on Gronem.

I ditch my room and leave the house behind, beginning my hunt. As I comb the streets, I spot Gretta in my gown, two women hanging off her arms and drinking her in with lustful gazes.

She sees me and squeals, leaving behind her lovers to latch onto me. “Zora! Are you going to join me?”

I almost say no, but knowing Gretta, she will be hopping between clubs and bars all night. With her in that gown, I’ll be invisible at her side, able to search every location for the Bosses without being seen in return. “Sure,” I agree and lock arms with her.

Only one of her lovers returns to her, the woman an entire head taller than Gretta and dressed in a sleek satin suit of silver. It sparkles under the moonlight and matches Gretta’s attire seamlessly. “Zora, it’s a pleasure,” the woman says, her voice soft as silk. “Gretta loves you.”

“And we know Gretta loving people is a rarity,” I say with a smirk.

The woman smiles, showing off little diamonds glued atop several of her teeth. With that kind of wealth, she must be a Royalist, and my respect for her goes down about a million pegs. “Farrah,” she introduces herself.

I nod but my attention already moved on. I scan the streets for any masked people, following Gretta and Farrah up to a bouncer for a nearby bar. We go inside, and I’m blasted with strobe lights and music. I tap my pant leg to the beat as my eyes fly to the VIP zone in the balcony above. Every curtain around the tables is drawn. There won’t be a way to know if The Prince and Princess are here without sneakily peeking behind each.

“Come dance!” Gretta begs and tugs on my hand.

I shake my head.

She purses her lips. “At least have a drink with me. I hardly see you anymore.”

I blow out a breath. “Okay, but only one.”

She bounces up on her toes and claps her hands before she charges to the bar and orders a round.

Farrah leans into me as we walk to the bar. “Is she ever monogamous?”

I lift a brow in question, but Farrah doesn’t see it, her gaze locked on Gretta. “I don’t know if a Royalist is her type,” I say, having to shout over the music.

Farrah’s gaze drops to me. “My loyalty doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. I’ve never understood that stereotype.”

“You would if you were me.” I shrug, not really caring if I hurt her feelings. “After my parents were murdered and my brother was lost, a pair of Royalists took me under their wing for a year. Then, they sold me off to whoever could pay.” I swallow but keep my chin high. “The first time, I wasn’t strong enough to fight. The fifth time, I slit their throats and the throat of the man trying to abuse me.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Farrah says, and I’m surprised to find a genuine look of distress distorting her features. “Not all of us are like that, though.”

“You’d be the first,” I tell her. “The poor are sold. Even the Bosses of the Underground are Royalists in masks. It’s just the way life is. Be tough or be up for grabs.”

“It shouldn’t be that way,” a deep voice remarks, so close to the back of my head, I feel his breath against my ear.

I spin around, and my lips part at the sight of The Prince. “You.”

He reaches out and runs a finger over the sleeve of my bicep. “You.”

I jerk away in distaste and school my expression. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” He tilts his head.

I glance back over to Farrah, but she abandoned me for Gretta. “Yeah. Do you want a drink?” I ask and trail my eyes over his face.

His brow scrunches for a moment, then he extends an arm. “Lead the way.”

I nod and move to the bar. I accept the drink Gretta ordered for me, happy she got me a straight liquor and not something frilly as she did for herself and Farrah. I take a long sip from it, savoring its sting as it slides over my tongue and down my throat, all the while keeping my eyes locked with The Prince’s. I’m struck again by their strangeness, like threads of color wish to burst free and be front and center, but a cloud of gray stands in the way.

He orders a drink and props his elbow against the bar, turning his body toward me. The corner of his mouth lifts with a smile.

“What?” I ask, self-consciousness leaking through me.

He accepts a drink from the bartender and takes a gulp, wetting his lips as he gives me a once-over. “Hmm.”

I curse the small flutter in my stomach. He’s a mark. Pull yourself together. I raise my glass and give him a fake smile of endearment. “Why don’t we go upstairs? I’m sure you have a space.”

The Prince frowns and lifts his glass to mine. “A toast first. Perhaps to honesty?”

I narrow my eyes but clink my glass against his. “To honesty,” I lie with ease.

His frown holds firm, but he leads the way to the staircase.

I glance back to shoot Gretta a quick apology only to find her tangled up with Farrah on the dance floor. I shake my head with a smile and turn back to follow The Prince.

He studies me, his frown lifting at the sight of my genuine smile. “This way,” he says and climbs up the steps.

I trail after him, using the height of the stairs to my advantage and scouting out the three exits in the bar. If I need to escape, this looks to be the only staircase, but the drop from the balcony isn’t too far. I’d probably get an ankle sprain, but that would heal over with a relatively cheap potion.

The Prince stops at one of the curtained-off VIP tables and pulls it open.

I stride in, purposefully brushing up against his chest as I do. I aim for a reaction from him, and he does seem to straighten at the contact, but…Is my heart pounding right now? I press two fingers to the pulse on the inside of my wrist and confirm as much. I run my hand through my hair and compose my nerves at the sight of The Princess and Talis sitting at the table. I’d hoped to get The Prince alone.

“Zora,” The Princess says, her eyes widening behind her mask in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“She said she was looking for us,” The Prince answers, sliding into the booth next to his sister. “Seems we need to be more sneaky, considering she found us only two hours after our last conversation.”

“Or maybe it’s Fate,” Talis amends, and his smile shines in the dim lighting. He holds up a deck of cards. “We were just about to play a game, Zora. I think you’d do well.”

I slide into the booth next to The Prince and let my leg rest against the side of his. “What kind of game is it?” I ask, ignoring The Prince’s questioning gaze.

Talis’s smile widens. “We do whatever the cards tell us to.”

The Princess plucks a card from Talis’s hands and lifts it to show me. “Black cards are a drink. Blue cards are a kiss. Red cards are a truth, and white cards” — she wiggles the white card she holds — “are a dare.” She slaps the card onto the tabletop, thrill lighting her eyes. “So what will you dare me to do…” Her eyes flick around the table until they land on her brother. “Prince?”

I settle against the back of the booth and take a solid swig of my drink.

The Prince gives his sister a devilish grin. “I dare you to steal a thread from someone in the crowd.”

The Princess rolls her eyes and shoos Talis away. She scoots from her place in the center of the booth. She draws back the curtains so we can watch and strolls leisurely to the balcony. “Your dares are always so dull,” she drawls and flicks her wrist.

My mouth drops open as a thread whips out from somewhere in the crowd below and sinks into The Princess’s palm in an instant. Never in my life have I seen anyone extract a thread so easily or with so much power. It’s unheard of.

Talis sees me gaping at The Princess and barks out a laugh.

“She enjoys putting on a show,” The Prince grumbles and drapes his arm over the back of the booth behind me. He settles into his corner with a smirk and nods to his sister. “You call my dare boring? Well, here’s the rest of it: I want you to read the thread.”

The Princess tenses. “You can’t just add to your dare.”

“That’s illegal,” I blurt out, then blush as the three of them lift their brows at me. “I just mean it’s forbidden by the Heir. To read a thread would put a beacon on you.”

The Princess laughs at that, but The Prince gives her a pointed look and she shuts her mouth.

Talis leans forward on the table. “I got the sense you didn’t care about forbidden things, Zora.”

I scowl. “Normally, I wouldn’t. But I’m here to do business, and I can’t do that if your Bosses go to prison before the night is out.”

“And what business is that?” The Prince asks, picking up a piece of my hair at the back of my head and toying with it.

I swat his hand away and give him a stern look. “You clearly know who I am, so you know what I do. I need an income, and I’m looking for a new Boss — or Bosses — to provide me with employment.”

The Prince considers it. “We can discuss it later.” He turns his attention from me to his sister. “But first, I want to see her read that thread.”

The Princess pinches the thread between her fingers and it wiggles vigorously. “Fine,” she says and closes her eyes. The moment she does, the thread sinks into her skin, pulling up into her fingers. She grunts as it must tunnel through her body to her mind.

I tried reading a thread once before, and it was so painful, I never tried again. Now, I simply keep them in my pouch or allow others to extract them from me, but I never take another’s beneath my skin. Never.

The Princess shakes, and I grip the edge of the table, ready to launch myself toward her and catch her when she passes out. Instead, she relaxes, her eyes flash open, and her lips pull apart as ripples of light flutter under the skin of her face — flashes of another’s memories from the thread. “A boy turning sixteen,” she whispers, “and his mother kisses his forehead gently. He’s being sent off to another kingdom to live with his father, and he’s crying, sobbing.” Her bottom lip trembles as she must feel the boy’s sadness.

Then, as quickly as the memory came, the light beneath her skin vanishes and she blinks a few times. She shivers and stomps back to our table. “Gah, I hate sad threads.”

“Then next time pull a happy one,” Talis suggests.

She glares at him. “I would have if someone had given me the full dare.” She turns to her brother. “You’ll pay for that.”

The Prince adjusts his mask with an amused expression. He reaches over to the stack of cards and takes the one off the top. “Let’s move on.” He reveals his card, and his nostrils flare with annoyance. “Dammit,” he mutters.

“Oooh!” The Princess immediately brightens at his blue card.

A kiss, I remember. A blue card is a kiss.

CHAPTER THREE

Talis bolts up from his chair and grabs the Princess’s wrist. “Huddle,” he demands and pulls her off to the side.

They whisper between each other, and I slowly pull myself from the booth. They hadn’t asked me to join them, but if they’re planning something for The Prince, I should get a say. I’m in the game too, right? But before I can get out of my seat, they both turn back to us excitedly.

“Kiss Zora,” The Princess squeaks, and Talis elbows her in the ribs.

“I said no,” Talis shoots at her as The Prince goes rigid beside me.

“After the stunt he just pulled on me?” The Princess growls toward Talis, then she turns back to her brother with a taunting gaze. “Kiss Zora or lose the game.”

I twist toward The Prince, expecting to find him already leaning in. It’s just a kiss, and it seems stupid to lose the game over something so meaningless.

But The Prince’s grip on the back of the booth turns his knuckles white, and he presses himself further into the corner of the booth, putting as much distance between us as he can.

“It’s just a kiss,” I say aloud, even as my traitorous stomach does that strange fluttering again.

The Prince swallows thickly, his throat bobbing.

“Kiss her,” his sister demands.

I frown at him, and he shudders. Shudders. Like I’m some kind of disgusting vermin. I sit back and stare at the table, trying not to feel anything at all about that, but fuck. How am I supposed to complete my mission if he’s repulsed by me? I open my mouth to say something, anything to salvage the situation, but I’m shocked into silence as The Prince shoves out of the booth. He practically topples me over trying to get out, even though he could’ve just gotten out the other way. “What the hell?” I growl as I catch myself against the booth’s vinyl seat.

He says nothing as he plants his boots on the ground and angrily strides away, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Oh, what a big baby,” The Princess pouts. She drops down into the booth and cups her face with her hand. “He’s never any fun.”

I barely hear her, my eyes trained on The Prince’s burgundy suit as he jogs down the staircase. I bite my lip, then push out of the booth and hurry after him, something in me demanding I do so. I need to understand what just happened, and I refuse to return to The Beast empty-handed. I could go after The Princess, but women have never been my strong suit.

I go downstairs and follow The Prince through the crowded bar, pushing through dancing people.

He leaves through an exit, and I jam my foot between the door and the frame before it can close, shouldering it open and picking up my pace.

“Hey!” I shout after him.

The Prince freezes but doesn’t turn around. “Go back inside, Zora,” he bites out, his voice filled with tension.

“What was that about?” I close the distance between us and grab his shoulder.

He yanks himself back and spins around. “Stop.”

“Am I that bad looking?” I ask. “Do I repulse you that much?”

His face twists in confusion. “What?”

“One little kiss, and you’re running away from me. How else should I take that?”

He blows out a breath. “Zora,” he says as if he’s warning me to shut up.

But dammit, no. There’s too much on the line. “What happened to ‘to honesty’?” I spit.

The Prince rubs the back of his neck.

I brace myself and lift my chin.

“Zora, no.” He lets out a ragged breath.

“No, what?” I snap.

He looks away. “My sister had no right —”

I scoff. “Fine, whatever. I don’t care. Just tell me you’ll give me a job.”

“You should focus on the tournament.”

Right. I almost forgot about the contest to win the hand of the Heir with everything else I’m juggling. “When is it?”

“Soon.”

I clench my fists. “I need something now.”

He inches closer. “Why? Why are you suddenly so interested in gaining a job from me? You practically ran away after our last discussion.”

“I don’t run away,” I bite out, looking up at him and squaring my shoulders.

“Answer the question, Zora.” His fingers lightly brush my fists on accident, and we both tense further.

“Maybe I want to eat, to have a roof over my head.” I stand strong and decide to lean into his touch. I open my fists and brush my fingers back against his.

“It’s more than that. Another Boss sent you after me,” he says, the accusation certain but the tension in his face softening as he lightly trails his fingers against my palms, carefully caressing my hands.

A shiver curls down my spine as I curl my fingers into the spaces between his. I push my chest up against him, his heat radiating through my blouse from his bare torso. “Give me what I want, and no one gets hurt,” I say in a low voice, feeling our hearts slam toward each other.

The Prince clasps my hands tighter. “And what is it you want, Zora?” His gaze turns earnest, almost pleading. “Remember — honesty.”

So many answers want to slip free, and strangely, they’re all the truth. I force them back and snarl in frustration. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m feeling things for The Prince I haven’t felt in years, maybe never. Normally, this would be the part where I bat my lashes and take him to bed, but my body betrays me. My murderous ring finger stops its incessant twitch as a feeling of pure, wonderful calm trickles through me, followed by an excessive heat of desire. I’ve never wanted to both curl into someone as well as rip their clothes off in one simultaneous instance as I do right now.

“Hmm,” he hums as he studies my snarl.

“The fuck does that mean,” I ask and rip my hands from his. Whatever I’m feeling, it can’t get in the way of my job for The Beast. Understanding my past, finding my brother is more important than some fleeting feelings.

He shakes his hair out with similar frustration and puts purposeful distance between us. “Nothing.”

“You did it earlier, too.”

“Maybe I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine,” he suggests.

“Okay,” I immediately agree. Simple enough, especially if I get the answers I want. “But I get to go first.”

He frowns but gives me a tight nod.

“What product do you offer your clientele?”

The Prince folds his arms and begins to pace. “Memories.”

“Memories?”

“You’d be surprised how valuable they can be, especially those from our childhood that we barely remember.” He laces his fingers behind his head and tilts his eyes to the sky, a grimace wriggling over his face. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if it means you’ll speak plainly to me, I will.”

I hesitate, and his gaze snaps to me.

“Give me your word. No more lies,” he demands.

“Fine,” I concede. “You have my word.” Not that it means much these days.

He stops pacing and steps back toward me. “You saw my sister read that thread. We do so for our clients — whatever thread they want read. It doesn’t have to be one of their own. It could be one they extracted from someone else.”

Curiosity takes control of me. “How have the Royalists not come after you?”

“We have connections.” He grins and gives me a pointed look. “But that’s another answer, isn’t it? So, now you owe me two as well.”

I huff but wave him on. “Shoot your shot.”

He considers me for a moment, and his face darkens with a fury I don’t understand. “Earlier, when you were speaking with that woman in the bar, you told her about the Royalists who adopted you.”

I stiffen but nod.

“Was it true what you said? Did they sell your body?”

My nostrils flare. “Not for long. They learned quickly I can’t be some prim and proper puppet.”

His fingers twitch at his side as if he wants to reach for me. He notices me watching them, and he curls them into fists, locking his arms at his sides. “Were they your first kill?” he asks his second question.

“No,” I answer honestly, shocked I’m doing so at all. But some part of me needs to say this, to get it out of the dark crevice I’ve been holding it in. “My first kill was the first man they sold me to. I went back to him disguised as a whore, and I took his life. Then, I sought out every last one of them, and I made sure the only image of my naked body seared into their mind was one where I was holding a knife to their neck. Then I went back to the Royalist bastards who sold me, and I tore their business apart. I taunted them, tortured them with their loss of wealth, and when all their hope was lost, I snuck into their home, and I gutted them like the feral animal they made me.”

Silence rocks between us at my admission, and I breathe in heavily, my body shaking and shaking and — are those dark spots in my vision? Am I going to pass out? I sway unsteadily, but strong arms wrap around me, and before I can protest, I’m pulled against The Prince’s chest, his chin resting atop my head as he holds me.

“Whether you win that tournament or not,” he whispers into my hair, “you will be the strongest woman in that arena.”

My vision clears as I involuntarily nuzzle into his bare chest. His scent calms me, something like chamomile, honey, and pine. My arms loop around him as the constant anger always in the background of my mind falls completely and beautifully silent. I don’t understand it, but maybe I don’t need to. “It’s my turn,” I mutter.

He trails his fingers over the back of my head and down to my neck. He plays with the opening to my blouse before he dips his fingers below the collar and touches my spine.

I shudder, goosebumps rising along my arms. I try to shake myself out of this trance or whatever this is, but my feet don’t move. Instead, tears prick at the corners of my eyes. This touch, this simple embrace — does he know how much it means to me? To be touched without lust or desire? To be held as if I’m a fucking woman and not some thing to be manipulated and bought? No. No, how could he know that? And yet…It’s like he does, because he doesn’t let go, and some part of me wonders if he needs this as much as I do. If he has scars across his soul that are in desperate need of healing.

I clutch the back of his suit jacket tighter. “Who are you?” I whisper.

His fingers still along my spine, and he gently tugs his hand out from under my collar to pull himself back and look at me.

My heart falters as he does, knowing I just cost myself time in his arms. He can’t tell me who he really is. He won’t.

Except for the soft, vulnerable look he gives me says otherwise. As if he wants nothing more than to tell me about the man behind the crimson mask. He opens his mouth. “I’m —”

“There you are,” Talis shouts.

We rip apart from each other instantly, and my arms suddenly feel heavier not being wrapped around The Prince. I frown to myself and stare at my boots. What is happening to me?

Talis strides toward us, The Princess on his heels. He looks between The Prince and I with concern, then grabs The Prince’s bicep and pulls him further away from me. They fall into angry whispers, and The Princess looks me over with apprehension.

I give her a similar look of distaste.

“We have things to attend to,” The Princess snaps toward me. “It’s time for you to fuck-off.”

I straighten at her tone. She’d been so peppy earlier that, until now, I didn’t think ‘fuck’ was in her vocabulary. “Or what?” I taunt like a stupid five-year-old, but after whatever it was I just shared with The Prince, I can’t bear the thought of leaving him. Shit shit shit — that is not an emotion I should have, my brain screams at me, but my heart gives an excited thump. Maybe I just need to get laid. It has been months since my last time. I force myself to take a step backward, then another and another, until I can’t see The Princess’s glare, only her shadowed form.

“You can’t!” Talis suddenly shouts.

“I said: stop,” The Prince barks.

I don’t stay or try to understand their argument. I twist around and take off into a sprint. I hope to breathe easier if I put more distance between myself and them, but my shoulders only fall under more and more weight as I go. Any amount of peace I felt in The Prince’s arms vanishes as I round the corner before slamming open the front door of my house and careening up into my room. I collapse to my knees on my palette of blankets, gripping my thighs as I rake in one sob-like breath after another.

At least I have the information The Beast needs, I remind myself, but for some reason, that doesn’t even remotely cheer me up. I ran away, I realize. He’s right. I ran away from him after the Underground, and I ran away now. I chew on my lip and rake my hands through my hair. He makes me weak, and I can’t be weak.

I’ve waited so long to have answers, and I’m so, so close to having them. If The Prince sabotages that, I’ll never forgive myself for letting him in. I need to stay away from him. I’ll get my payment from The Beast, then I’ll enter the tournament and move on. I reach behind my back and hastily unfasten my corset before I toss it atop the small pile of my other belongings. I curl into my blankets. There’s no reason for me to see The Prince again, I tell myself, and I repeat the phrase in my mind until my tense muscles turn to liquid and my breaths soften toward sleep. No reason except for one, the little voice in the back of my mind rears its ugly head, he could read your memories from the night your parents were murdered.

I bolt upright, sweat lining my forehead. “Fuck.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I splash water over my face, stifling the heat beneath my skin before it comes back in full force. I glare at myself in the house’s community mirror. Cracks and decade-old writing blur my face, but my eye bags are clear as day.

I didn’t sleep. Not that I’m surprised. When my mind latches to a plan, it’s hard for me to get any rest until it’s executed. The thing is, I have too many plans at the moment, and I’m not sure which one I should chase first: marriage to the Heir of Fate, securing a firm lead on my parents’ murderers from The Beast, or having The Prince dig through my memories. None of them sound fun, and a headache blooms to life every time I think too hard about any of my options. More than that, I’m starving and out of money after paying my rent this morning with the two threads from The Beast.

Gretta, I remind myself. I’ll get what remains of my dress and jewels from Gretta and pawn them for some food. I give myself an affirmative nod in the mirror and head outside.

With the sun up, the streets of Gronem are trashed and quiet. Everyone is still in bed at this hour, which makes getting to Gretta more difficult. Morning is when the Royalists flock forward to reclaim the city, and already several groups have staked their claim — enough to make me keep to the shadows.

“I got it this morning,” a shorter, petite woman with a long blonde braid says. She flashes what looks to be an invitation, and her posse gasps in excitement.

“He’s probably gorgeous,” one of them gossips.

“Who knows?” She shrugs and purses her lips. “And honestly who cares? I’m fighting to claim a throne, not a place in his bed.”

I slow my hurried pace as I realize she may be discussing the upcoming tournament to win the Heir of Fate’s hand.

“But I guess if he’s handsome, it won’t hurt anything,” she amends, and three of the girls around her giggle with anticipation.

“I bet he already knows the winner,” one suggests.

Another nods eagerly. “Yeah, he knows it’s you, Sera. That’s why he sent you such a personal letter.”

The woman with the invitation — Sera — sighs and clutches said letter to her chest. “His words are so eloquent.”

I itch at my throat, uncomfortable with the gossip. How did she go from wanting a throne and nothing to do with the Heir to practically drooling over the mere idea of him? I shake my head in disappointment, but I tell myself it’s likely a good thing I’m dealing with hypocrites in that arena. Sera may have skill — her firm muscle says as much — but mentally, she wouldn’t win a fight. Not against me.

Because I don’t want a throne or riches or a hot new husband. No. I want vengeance. I crave the heads of my parents’ murderers, and my ring finger picks up its incessant twitch.

“Can we help you?” Sera sneers toward me.

I stiffen, realizing I’d been staring. I match her sneer easily. “You’re competing in the tournament?”

Sera flips her braid over her shoulder. “What would someone like you know about that?”

“I’m competing,” I admit and stand taller. My nails bite into my palms. I could wring her little neck and have her unconscious in less than a minute for her insult, but I force myself to save my blood lust for the arena. I don’t want to give away my strengths.

Sera’s nose scrunches in disgust. “Ugh, I guess they’ll let anybody in, girls. Maybe it’s not worth my time.”

Her friends snicker, and I crack my neck. “By all means, drop out,” I agree.

Sera squints at me with a look I believe is meant to be menacing, but really it just looks like she’s a blind old bat. “Why would Cristen Estal be at all interested in a street rat?”

I bristle but give her a nonchalant shrug, then turn away to effectively end the conversation. Clearly, she doesn’t have anything useful to offer me.

“So rude,” she tells her friends as I go. “I can’t believe I have to share the same air as trash like that.”

I grit my teeth and focus on getting to Gretta’s. Save your anger for the tournament, I promise myself, you’ll get your chance then. At least, I assume I’ll have to fight the other contestants. I frown, realizing just how little I know about the tournament and what will be required. Am I allowed weapons? Will I need to be quick or smart or both? I shove my hair behind my ears and wander around a corner, but I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Talis.

He leans against a building, one leg propped up, while he smokes out of a pipe. His eyes are hooded as he blows out small rings of smoke. He still wears his attire from last night, and the half of his face that isn’t burnt looks as tired as I feel.

“Talis,” I say, breaking the silence in the air.

He jumps at my voice and drops his pipe with a curse, his eyes flashing open in surprise. “Zora.” He scoops his pipe up and puts it out before he slides it into a satchel across his torso. “Before I met you yesterday, I’d never once run into you in Gronem. Now, it seems Fate wants us to be friends.” He offers me a small smile.

I glance around, expecting The Prince and The Princess to appear, my body slowly tightening in defense.

Talis chuckles. “We aren’t attached at the hip, but I can tell him you’re looking for him.”

I raise a brow and fold my arms. “What makes you think I want to see The Prince?”

Talis shrugs but smirks. “Just intuition.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I have other shit to deal with.” I huff and stride away, but Talis catches my elbow and forces me to stop. I spin to him with a snarl. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Talis raises his hands, his eyes wide. “I just wanted to ask if you needed something.”

“Do I need something?” I scoff and shake my head. “I need to track down my friend and get a dress back that is likely ruined, so I can trade it for a centimeter of a thread and buy myself a piece of bread. Then I need to visit my employer and trade him information about your Prince and Princess for the name of my parents’ murderers. I need to fucking get my head straight, and if you’ll notice, none of those things include you.” I take a step toward him, and despite his considerable height, I know my stern expression makes me taller, louder, even as I lower my voice into a deadly growl. “So don’t talk to me like we’re friends. Don’t touch me like you have my permission when you never will. Don’t even fucking look at me, Talis. I don’t care what information you and your Bosses think you have about me, but Gronem and the Underground know not to fuck with me. It’s time you learn that lesson.”

Talis doesn’t back down. Instead, he stands firm, the half of his face ruptured in burn marks seeming to create darker and darker caverns. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

I turn away instantly, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” I lie and stroll away. I don’t care if he presented me with a damn feast. There’s no world where I would sit down and be buddy-buddy with him. He’s a crony for not one but two Bosses. Anything I say to him will never be confidential.

It’s one of the reasons I love Gretta so much. She’s never had any alliance except with herself, and I will always respect that, as I’m pretty much the same way.

“Two days!” Talis calls after me.

My steps falter, but I keep my gaze forward. Two days until what? I breathe out in frustration and turn the corner to Gretta’s apartment.

Just like me, she shares a house with others in Gronem, but hers is the picture of decadent – gold casting, gorgeously designed silver door handles, windows with flowing lace curtains peeking through them. She once asked me to move in with her after she saw where I lived, but I don’t belong in a fancy place like this. Maybe I don’t have a bed or even a mattress, but I have what I’ve earned, and I can pack up at a moment’s notice.

I ring the doorbell and wait a few minutes before Gretta pokes her head out a window from the second story.

Her brown curls are disheveled, her eyeliner smudged, but she wears a massive, glittering smile that speaks of exciting secrets. “I had a feeling that might be you,” she shouts down to me. “Get up here, you beautiful badass.”

I laugh and push inside, taking the stairs two at a time in giddiness. There’s always been something about speaking with Gretta that turns me into a twelve-year-old girl again – or, well, maybe a normal twelve-year-old girl, considering I was paving my way up the ranks of the Underground back then.

Her door is open when I reach it. “Gretta?”

Gretta collides with me in an instant, hugging me close, and I sag into her, the tension in my body melting.

I made it clear to Gretta from the get-go that I have a reputation to uphold, so she’s never granted me hugs in public. In private, however, she’s always given the best ones.

We hold onto each other for a few minutes, and not for the first time, I wonder if this would be what having a sibling would be like. Someone I can count on. Someone who accepts all my flaws and still embraces me. A flame of rage flares through me with the knowledge that someone stole that away from me. They took my family, tore my brother out of my arms. I hug Gretta tighter.

“Where’d you get off to last night?” she asks, stepping back as my squeeze becomes too much.

“I had a job,” I say, unable to give her much more.

Thankfully, that’s another thing Gretta has always understood. Sometimes, I give her juicy bits to satisfy her inner gossip, but mostly they’re details I know will bolster my reputation if she passes them along.

Gretta sighs and flops onto her massive bed. “Lie with me, Zora. I need someone to digest my sorrows.”

I settle onto the edge of the bed, then carefully lie next to her. “Did something happen?” I curve my body to face her, and she does the same.

Her eyes sparkle with sadness. “I lost your dress.”

“What?” I blurt and shoot up in immediate fury. “How?”

Gretta’s eyes water. “I’m so sorry. I took it off when things between Farrah and I got heated, but when I went to put it on again, someone had stolen it. I ended up wandering around in my slip most of the night.”

“Where was it stolen?” I demand. I need that dress. My stomach rumbles in agreement.

“We went up to the VIP booths,” she explains. She sits up and takes my hands. “I’m sorry, Zora. I know that was more than a dress for you.”

My cheeks redden in embarrassment, and I drag myself off the bed away from her. I’ve never been ashamed of my poverty, but I’ve never handled pity well.

“I’d like to give you something of mine,” Gretta says and hops down from her bed. She crosses to her closet and fishes around for a minute before she tugs free a stunning blood-red gown. “It’s the least I can do.”

“That dress looks worth ten times what mine had been,” I refuse.

Gretta shrugs. “I’ve never even worn it. I don’t have the curves for it, so I might as well give it to someone who deserves to wear it.”

“I can’t accept that gown, and I wouldn’t even be wearing it. I needed to sell my dress this morning,” I say, trying not to dive into the details of why.

Gretta’s brow furrows. “Well, I’m not going to give it to you if you aren’t at least going to enjoy it first.”

It is pretty, my desire betrays me. I may not need anything more than I have, but dammit, I have a weak spot for the color red. The dress matches the color that bleeds from my enemies’ necks, and what’s more invigorating than that? Plus, it’s likely I’ll need a dress for my next job.

My fingers twitch with indecision, but something about my expression must give me away because Gretta’s face lights up.

“It will look so much better on you than it ever did on me,” she says, folding it neatly and passing it to me.

I take it, the silk-like fabric slipping like water across my palms. “Thank you,” I manage.

Gretta nods and reaches under her bed, plucking free my canvas bag. “At least they didn’t steal this.”

I nod and stuff the gown inside before I toss the strap over my shoulder.

There’s a knock on the door and Gretta skips across the room. She pulls her door open, and I freeze.

In the hallway, The Prince stands scowling, my stolen gown held up in his hand.

Gretta gasps and snatches it from him. “You thief!”

“I’m not a thief,” he growls, his gray eyes flashing with a whirlpool of different colors. He looks between Gretta and me, before his gaze tunnels in on me.

Heat builds in my abdomen, and I take back my gown from Gretta. “How did you get my dress?”

“We need to talk,” he says, blatantly ignoring my question.

I return his scowl. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Yes, you do.” He tries to step inside the room, but Gretta blocks him.

“I don’t know who you think you are, creepy mask dude, but if Zora doesn’t want to talk, then she doesn’t want to talk,” Gretta snaps, my respect for her soaring through the roof.

His nostrils flare, but his gaze remains on me.

“How did you even find me?” I question. Sure, I’d seen Talis, but I’d purposefully raced my way to Gretta’s after. Just to be sure he couldn’t trail me. I survey his face, but with the mask, it’s hard to know exactly what he’s feeling. However, his dark hair is thoroughly ruffled, and while he’s changed out of the burgundy suit from last night, he’s swapped it with a pair of black pants and a black vest that are well-wrinkled. His chest remains bare, displaying his plethora of Boss tattoos, and my eyes snag for a moment on his muscular torso before I force myself to never fucking look at it again.

After a long, heated silence, his scowl softens. “Please,” he grunts out.

I lick my lips, then roll back my shoulders. “You have five minutes,” I say.

He glances down at Gretta, who still blocks his way forward.

Gretta crosses her arms in defiance, squinting her eyes in a dare. “Go ahead, dark and mysterious. I’m not leaving.”

He lifts a brow. “Well, at least I’ve been upgraded from ‘creepy mask dude’.” Then, he gives me a pointed look. “I need to speak with you in private, Zora.”

I almost tell him he can go to hell, but my eyes find the tattoos across his chest. While he hasn’t threatened me or tried to hurt anyone that I’ve seen, he’s still a Boss, and with that many sales, he must be dangerous. The last thing I want is to put Gretta in his way.

Gretta glances at me and gives me a look that very much says, fuck him, but I give her a small shake of my head and she exhales. “Okay, fine,” she says and scoots around him. “But if you hurt her, I will kill you.” She steps into the hall and shuts the door.

The Prince looks me over, and his anger from before peeks back through. “You left without saying goodbye last night.”

I snort. “And?”

“Why?” he asks and moves toward me, but I trail backward.

“You’re not my keeper.” My toes curl in my boots.

The Prince’s scowl deepens. “I guess not.”

Silence falls between us, and I chew on my lip.

“For a man who very much seemed like he had a lot to say to me, you’re using up your five minutes just to stare,” I point out, aggravation sprouting to life through my chest.

The Prince grinds his teeth.

“Well?” I ask.

He looks away, his jaw tightening as he thinks something over. “I just wanted to give you your dress back.”

“And why did you have it to begin with?”

He looks back at me, and I decide I hate those gray eyes. They don’t fit him, and they unsettle me, like he’s hiding behind them. And maybe he is. He inches another step closer. “Talis took it. He dragged me out of bed after he saw you this morning and forced me to bring it to you.”

My brow furrows. “The fuck?”

His lip quirks at that. “You’ve got a mouth on you, you know?”

“Yeah, and it’s about to curse a whole lot more if you don’t start making some damn sense,” I grind out.

“He said he was wrong last night,” The Prince says as if it isn’t a vague-ass explanation.

I press my lips together in annoyance.

The Prince sucks in a breath, then rubs the back of his neck. “He said I should’ve kissed you during the game.”

What the actual fuck? Laughter bubbles up my throat. “You’re kidding me, right?”

He grimaces. “Afraid not.”

“And why does Talis get to decide who you can or can’t kiss?” I demand.

He sighs and leans his hand against the bedpost beside my head. “There’s so much I can’t say, Zora. Can it just be enough for today that I need to kiss you?”

“No, absolutely not.” I reach a hand up to yank his mask off, because frankly, I’m tired of games.

He catches my wrist, his lips curling back in a venomous expression. “Don’t.”

“I’ll do as I damn please.” I wrench my wrist free. “Why should I respect you, if you won’t respect me?”

“I do respect you.”

I laugh. “Funny.”

“I do,” he insists.

“You don’t even know me.” I move around him to leave.

The Prince stretches out an arm and catches me by the front of my waist.

Every muscle in my body clenches.

“Zora,” he breathes, his lips close to my ear.

A shiver whips down my spine. I try to say something, anything – maybe even the same damn speech I gave Talis – but my mouth dries out, and the heat in my abdomen rises as he pulls me toward him. Fuck. The tension in my body builds to a breaking point. If it tips over the edge, I’m screwed. I’ll kiss him. No, more than that. Much, much more.

“I’ll tell you everything soon,” he promises, his stern expression shifts into something wistful. His chest presses against mine, and his other arm snakes around me. He holds me firmly in his grasp, his fingers digging into the back of my corset.

I curse myself as I meet his gaze. I still hate his eyes, and I know they must be an illusion. What if everything about him is fake? My focus drifts to his mask, and my fingers reach up again.

The Prince catches them against his cheek and holds them there, his eyelashes fluttering closed for a moment before he stares at me with so much lust, I know my conviction doesn’t stand a chance.

“I won’t kiss a man in a mask. I know your eyes are an illusion, so at least let me see your face,” I say, and I’m surprised by how soft my voice is.

Surprise slides over his features. “You can see through my illusion?”

“Just your eyes.”

“That’s all I’ve hidden,” he admits, and somehow, that makes it worse.

Because that means every well-toned muscle, every inch of his beautifully bronzed and tattooed chest, every brilliantly white and charming smile he’s offered me – they’re all him. It was easier to deny my attraction when I felt he was someone else.

My fingers crawl up to the edge of his mask, his hand still wrapped around them, but his grip loosens. “It has to go,” I command.

He tugs me closer, my boots knocking against his. He inhales deeply, then nods.

I gently peel his mask up, and as I do, magic sparkles. My heart hammers as I realize his illusion was attached to the mask, and I steady myself as I pull it completely free. My eyes widen. My lips part in awe.

His eyes are not gray, not even close. They’re every color. An infinite galaxy staring into my soul. Colors swirl and sparkle in his irises, his dark pupils ringed with a sliver of starlight.

I run my thumb under his left eye, and I can’t help but be mesmerized. His eyes are more than eyes. They swim with possibilities, desires, wishes. If I were to stare long enough, I would drown in them, floating from one reality to the next.

His mouth twists and his eyes squeeze shut.

“No,” I whisper.

His lids flash open at my protest, and I once again fall endlessly.

“Is it magic?” I wonder.

He gently takes his mask out of my hand.

I frown as he does. “What are you doing?”

“It’s too dangerous for me to leave my mask off. I’m sorry.” He places it across his forehead, about to pull it down into place, but I shake my head.

“I thought you wanted a kiss,” I say, despite the war erupting in my heart.

The Prince grins at that, then dips down to my ear. “Oh Zora, I want so much more than that.”

“Is that so?” I breathe as he pulls back and snares me with his infinite gaze.

He manages a tense nod.

“And if I were to give you more?” I ask before I can stop myself. Although, I’m not sure I want to stop. In fact, the fluttering feeling in my stomach is totally down with more than a kiss.

His lips lightly part in shock, but he reels his expression in. “I won’t ask you for more.”

I move my fingers down his cheek, and he leans into my palm with a tired look. “Why not?”

“Zora,” he says, each syllable of my name like a prayer on his lips.

And fuck, I like that. I drag my hand down to his chest, swishing my index finger around some of his tattoos. One of them right above his heart stands out to me more than the others, and my fingers trace its strange shape over and over.

His breath hitches, and his hand folds over mine, clutching me against his heart.

“You’re almost out of time,” I tell him, finding a piece of my defiance remaining.

He lifts a hand and cups my face, drawing me onto my toes as he leans down. He hesitates, his throat bobbing. “I don’t know,” he suddenly admits.

“You don’t know what?” I ask, my lips nearly brushing his.

His forehead knocks against mine, and his expression turns pained. “I don’t know if I can survive you, Zora Vyner.”

I lean back, a smirk gracing my lips. I take his chin in my hand. “Don’t worry,” I tell him, and my smirk grows into a smile, “no one survives me. That’s how I like it.”

“Hmm.” He grins, and while that sound of his annoyed me before, now it makes my fingers wrap in his hair.

“Fucking kiss me,” I growl, desperation crawling through me.

He laughs, and the galaxy of his eyes sparkles. “Whatever the lady wants, she gets,” he muses, dipping lower.

“Damn straight,” I whisper, my eyes closing. I rake my hand down through his dark hair.

He groans, and his lips smash against mine.

My heart thunders in my ears, and heat devours me from the inside out as my hands travel down to his shoulders. I find his biceps, then his waist, and – Gods, save me – as I feel the sharp v of his torso.

His hands wander, too, scorching lines of heat down my neck and through my blouse. He rips my bag up and off of me, throwing it to the side.

I wish I were in anything but long sleeves and a corset, and suddenly, I’m moaning in his mouth, hoping to convey exactly that.

The Prince pushes into me, his hands following my curves as I stumble into the bed. I fall on my ass, but it only prompts him to scoop my legs up.

I wrap them around him, our chests heaving as we breathe each other in. I tug his vest off of him, and he helps me, slipping it off his shoulders and tossing it to the ground. My stomach flips as hunger makes caverns of his features, and I reach for his pants, undoing them quickly.

He meets my lips again, forcing me to halt in undressing him as his tongue sweeps inside me, tasting every inch of my mouth.

The desire in me ignites into an unbearable roar, and I shove him back to stand up, needing to take control, to get exactly what I want. I don’t break eye contact as I tug on the laces of my corset.

The Prince wraps his index fingers in the loops of my pants, tugging them down, despite their button still being in place. He growls and tugs harder, forcing the button to pop off and thunk to the floor.

I undo my last lace and reach to –

“Zora, is everything alright?” Gretta’s voice comes through the door.

We both freeze, the fire between us stifling in an instant. Genuine shock rolls through me as reality sinks in. Was I just about to fuck a Boss? My mind goes haywire at that idea, and my cheeks heat. Mortified, I hold my pants up, but I quickly have to move to my corset. I’d loosened it enough that I was only a few seconds away from losing it altogether. Shit shit SHIT – how could I let this happen?

The Prince shares my bewilderment, his eyes wide as he buttons his pants and yanks his vest off the floor. He swallows hard as he looks around for his mask, finding it and quickly fastening it around his eyes. The illusion magic sparks across his face before his eyes settle back into a hazy gray.

“Zora?” Gretta asks again, this time a bit more frantically.

“We’re fine,” The Prince and I blurt in unison.

We stand there awkwardly, both of us relatively put back together, our chests still heaving.

He clears his throat.

I clear mine.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Fuck,” I agree.

“That was…” he tries.

“Stupid,” I finish.

A flash of hurt crosses his face, but he rolls his shoulders back and nods. “I’m gonna go.”

I hug myself.

He scans me. “See you around.”

Without another look or word, he wrenches open the door and shoves past a confused Gretta, racing downstairs.

I jolt when I hear the front door slam shut, and Gretta narrows her eyes at me.

“Are you blushing?” she asks.

I scoff and wave her off, grabbing my bag and throwing it back on. “I gotta get to my appointment.”

Gretta blocks the doorway. “Who is he?”

“No one.” I try to angle myself past her.

“Zora, I tell you everything,” she whines.

“Yeah, and I tell you the bare minimum. That’s why we work, Gretta.” I finally dance around her, but her doe-eyed look of hurt makes me stop in my effort to get away. I blow out a breath. “He’s a Boss I’m digging up information on for a client.”

Gretta’s eyes light up. “That sounds exciting.” Then she frowns. “Did I ruin it?”

I shake my head. “No, of course not. It’s actually a good thing you stopped us.”

“Stopped you? From what?” She wiggles her brows.

My cheeks heat, and I curse.

“Aha!” She points excitedly at my face. “See, you are blushing.”

“I’m leaving,” I announce with determination and sweep down the stairs. “And I don’t blush,” I grumble as I pull open the front door.

“What’s his name?” she shouts after me, chasing me down the stairs.

I wave goodbye and jog outside, immersing myself in the crowd before she can catch me. I heave a breath and mouth a silent prayer of thanks before my mind sizzles with dread. I kissed a Boss. I chew on my lip. Not for a job. Not for blood. I wipe sweat off the back of my neck and grimace. I purposefully kissed a Boss, and… I shake my head in denial, my face scrunching in discontent. And I want to do it again.

CHAPTER FIVE

I waver outside The Beast’s living area, Felix at my back. I sold my dress — keeping only the one Gretta gifted — and ate a piece of bread on the way here, but my stomach now squeezes so uneasily I might hack it up.

My mind replays my shared moment with The Prince, and I bite down on my tongue. Hard. No more of that, I demand of myself.

The Beast finally acknowledges my presence, his eyes lifting from a notebook in his lap, his navy mask fastened tightly. “And less than 24 hours later, here she is.” His face lifts with a smile. “I assume you have what I want.”

I nod and step further into the room. “They read threads.”

The Beast folds his hands over his chest. “Explain.”

“They offer to pick out people’s pasts.” I roll my tongue between my teeth, then I scratch the back of my head. “They help people.”

The Beast’s expression darkens. “Is that all?”

No. I fidget. How many threads could I receive by describing what The Prince looked like beneath his mask? My heart beats faster, a little voice in the back of my head begging me not to do so. I scowl. “That’s what they do.”

The Beast leans back in his chair. “Very well.” He stares into his fireplace. “I was hoping they’d have a product I could easily lift, tipping the scales in my favor. This, however, was not expected. I need them gone.”

“Gone?” I blurt, and I twist my fingers together. Get a hold of yourself.

“Yes, I realize I told you to leave them unharmed, but I’ve changed my mind.” The Beast pivots his gaze to me. “I want them dead by tomorrow night.”

I nod. I almost open my big mouth to say I can get it done sooner, but I hesitate. Can I kill The Prince? I shift my weight in discomfort.

Chains clink in the hallway, and I turn my attention to them. My breath sticks to my throat as a line of young girls walk in, shackles snaking between their ankles and keeping them from running. They’re inhumanly skinny, their ribs poking through garments so thin, their nipples can be seen.

Bile builds in my throat. “So it’s true,” I mutter, “you sell people.”

I don’t mean for anyone to hear me, but I jump as The Beast’s breath tickles my shoulder. “I don’t know about number five. What do you think?” He asks.

My eyes fly to the numbers pinned to each girl’s chest, and I shudder. Once upon a time, I defeated this very fate. I was destined to be a ‘number five’, and here I am doing nothing to help these poor girls.

My teeth gnash together, and my fingers trail to the knife strapped at my waist.

“I’m not an enemy you want to have, Zora,” The Beast growls as he catches my movement.

“What will you do with them?” I ask, my voice distant as two versions of myself go to war within me — the one that wants to set these girls free like I once did for myself, and the one that needs to keep my good standing with The Beast so I can find my brother.

“I will escort them to the Underground tomorrow evening.” The Beast walks over to the girls and surveys each of them.

I look away, unable to hide my disgust. “Do this while I’m not here,” I grit out.

The Beast glares at me. “That sounds a lot like a demand.”

“It is,” I say and lift my chin. Fuck him and his business.

The Beast takes a large step toward me, peering down at me from behind his mask.

I cringe at the desire I find in his eyes and immediately take a step back, but he snatches my wrist. A feral growl scratches up my throat. “Get your hand off of me.”

He tightens his grip. “How many threads, I wonder,” he begins and lifts his free hand to touch a strand of my hair. He delicately wraps it around his finger and yanks down on it.

I gasp in pain, and I snarl as his lust deepens. “How many threads for what?” I reach for my blade, this time with no hesitance, but Felix crowds the space beside me, flashing a sword. Fuckshitdammittohell —

“How many threads would it take for you to bend over for a Royalist, Zora,” he mutters.

“You pig, get off of me,” I hiss and firmly move away. I pull my knife, and Felix draws his sword.

The Beast holds up a hand, signaling for Felix to wait. “I’m a businessman, Zora. If I see a high-priced whore, I make her mine to sell. You would fetch a grand price, and I’d even let you keep a percentage.”

“I am not, nor will I ever be, for sale,” I say, my words growing with heat.

The Beast drinks my body in. “Shame.”

My stomach clenches with rage. “Are you going to give me the name of my parents’ murderer?”

“Oh, he didn’t murder them. He just might be able to point you in the right direction.” The Beast slips past me to his chair, opening a flask on his side table and taking a swig. “He’s the only person left alive after the last regime, besides the heir, anyway — and I don’t see Cristen Estal as being in your reach.”

Unless I win his hand in marriage, I think, suddenly ecstatic I kept that little tidbit away from The Beast. “Who is he?” I ask, my anger stifling as excitement builds in my chest. This is it. An answer. Finally.

“He goes by Talis,” The Beast says, his expression bored as he drops down into his chair.

My excitement flutters to a standstill. “Talis? Are you sure?”

“I’m always sure.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“You’re dismissed.” The Beast pulls his notebook back into his lap, his attention leaving me.

I turn to leave, my heart in my throat as I force myself to shove past the girls in chains. Maybe there’s something I can do. I suck in a breath. But one problem at a time. I careen down the stairs and move into the flow of the street outside.

The sun sets, and the streets come to life with vendors. I spot Gretta with her flower cart, but I go in the other direction. I know she’ll ask me more questions about The Prince, and at the moment, I can’t stomach them.

My gaze rakes over the crowded streets as I search for Talis. How did I miss that coincidence? I scratch my forehead. I knew Talis was part of the royal court, and yet I managed not to connect any dots. Is that how he knew me the first night? My stomach squeezes at that idea. He knew my name, and now I know it’s because he helped ruin my life.

I continue to comb the streets to no avail, and I settle on a random porch step. In Gronem, there are several blocks of different streets, but The Market area is the most populated portion. If I had to guess, Talis will show up at some point. I just have to wait.

What am I even going to do? A voice nags me, and my fingers latch around my blade. Kill him. I need to kill him. I lean my elbows on my knees. Torture him for the answers I want, then kill him.

Two hours pass, the sun long gone, before I decide to try something else. Talis is a crony for The Prince and The Princess, and although I’d rather slit my throat than see The Prince again today, this can’t wait.

I drop my hand to my bag and pull out the dress Gretta gifted me. I run my thumb over the soft fabric, and I grimace as my strategic side climbs forward, beating out my lizard brain.

I’m a professional, and I still have a job to complete. I can’t kill Talis, and then expect to be able to get close to The Prince and The Princess. Take them out, then deal with Talis. I move into an alley and change into the dress, leaving my bag and clothes behind an old crate. I change my shoes last, grateful Gretta didn’t completely trash my stilettos. I don’t bother with jewelry, seeing as one of my earrings is missing and my necklace has a broken chain. I bite my lip in amusement before I head inside a local bathhouse to plaster my hair into a tidy line behind my ears with water. I wash off some of my eyeliner, cleaning my face up enough to look somewhat innocent but also fully myself. I’m an assassin tonight.

I head back out to the street, zigzagging my way through partiers as I head for one of the more well-known entrances to the Underground — Mirror Cafe. It’s a massive chain that runs throughout all of the kingdoms of Mirror, dominating the caffeine market but not because it tastes good. For most, it’s all about the experience.

I step through the ordinary-looking shop front and enter a hallway littered with mirrors. Somewhere in this maze of reflection is a counter with a barista.

Somewhere deeper, there’s a black curtain calling my name.

I follow my instinct, the curtain to the Underground yearning to connect with my desires. The magic of its entrance draws me closer, and before long, I stand at the end of a narrow hallway, my red dress scattered around me in the broken pieces of mirrors, making a strange mosaic. A black curtain drapes across the furthest wall, and I close my eyes as I step closer.

Vengeance and Lies, my mind shouts toward the magic in desperation. I wait for the familiar whoosh of my body being sucked into the Underground, but the magic doesn’t take hold.

I snap my eyes open with a frown, feeling the curtains’ magic digging through me and latching to something in my chest. A curled-up feeling beaten down to almost nothing. Then the magic moves to a place in the core of me, a place filled with want. The magic pools over that feeling and tugs at it. “Lust,” I breathe, the word yanked out of my throat.

Immediately, the magic whisks me away, and I steady myself as I’m berated by club music. I run a hand over my throat, disbelief leaving me unsure as to whether I should continue my job tonight. Clearly, I want The Prince. I want him enough that he’s somehow become my ticket into the one place I’ve always been free to visit. I can’t kill him, I think, and dread circles my throat like a leash.

I let the crowd of the dance floor push me about, and I shuffle through, gently swaying my hips so I don’t get trampled.

I have until tomorrow night to kill them and satisfy The Beast, and while I want to get what I need from Talis soon, it’s just going to have to wait.

I need to get this feeling out of my system tonight, I decide and saunter to the bar, ordering two shots. I down them and scan the dance floor. Most people are paired off, but a group of friends near the club’s center has an outlier. He’s tall, handsome — good enough.

I order and drink one more shot before I wiggle my way forward. I catch the guy’s elbow, and he looks down at me in surprise. “Dance with me,” I command, but the edge leaves my voice as the liquor takes effect.

He drags his gaze over me, then he hooks an arm around my waist with a smile.

We move together, my heart thumping in time with the beat. I toss my head back, my arms up and feel the bass shoot across my skin. He turns me, and I feel his arousal against my waist, my heart moving into a hammering rhythm.

I grab his hand and tug him out of the main crowd to a dark nook. Two other couples have staked their claim, their clothes discarded, but I choose not to care as I run my hands down his chest.

He brushes down the straps of my gown, and I shiver as I grab his neck and pull him to my lips.

I groan as his tongue meets mine, and my body tenses as images flash through me of The Prince, of the way his mouth felt infinitely better than this.

The guy accidentally bites my lip, and I step back. I glare at him as blood squeezes out.

He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he just grabs me again, and his grubby hands comb up my sides and grope my breasts with such little respect, I feel sick.

Fucking hell. I push him off me and hurry away, lifting my straps as I go and ducking my head to escape through the crowd. I jump when his firm hand lands on my shoulder.

“Hey,” he shouts over the music. “Come back.”

I spin around, my face scrunched in disgust. “I’m done. Move on.”

He keeps hold of my shoulder and tugs me toward him. “Don’t be like that. Things were just about to get interesting.”

“You’re right.” I reach down and hike up my dress to reveal the holster on my thigh, all my beautiful, glorious knives glistening beneath the strobe lights. “If you don’t get your hand off of me, things are about to get interesting.”

His eyes go wide at the sight of my blades, and he licks his lips. “Oh, um —”

“Bye.” I stomp away, damn near snapping my stilettos. I’ve never been this sexually frustrated in my life. Usually, a quickie in a dark corner is enough to hold me over, but now my stupid brain thinks I need a particular person to satisfy me.

I leave the club through the closest exit and enter a labyrinth of tunnels. There are no maps of the Underground and magic seeps from the dirt walls. The whole point is to get lost, to wander exactly where you need to be. Usually, I go the opposite direction the walls tug me. I just don’t like the idea of ever giving Fate an easy time. Tonight, however, I’m hoping the walls will lead me to relief.

Give me someone hotter than The Prince, I beg them as I slide my fingers over the walls.

But it’s not just that he’s hot, is it, Zora? You feel something with him, that stupid voice that must come from my heart says.

“Oh fuck you,” I grumble, then fall silent at the sound of scrambling ahead.

I creep around the next corner and press into a shadow, my eyes widening and my head cursing every fucking star.

Because there stands The Prince. He wears nothing but slacks, dress shoes, and his mask, his dark hair tousled and blood dripping off his cheek.

My heart catches at the sight of his injury, and my eyes trail his toned torso, where bruises have begun to form along his ribs.

His sister, The Princess, looks in equally bad shape, a deep wound on her bicep and her light blue dress spotted with blood. Between them is Talis, and I suck in a breath.

His face is unrecognizable, a mess of blood and swelling. He slumps between The Prince and Princess, moaning incoherently as he tries to stay conscious.

“Just keep those eyes open,” The Princess coos, running her fingers down the back of Talis’s neck.

“I have a suite not far from here,” The Prince explains and nods down the tunnel to a motel built into one of the walls, magical doors lining its length that only open for their owners. “C’mon, Tails,” he grunts, heaving his friend’s weight.

Tails? An incredibly ridiculous snort tries to escape me, but I push it back, the seriousness of this echoing through me. If Talis dies, I have no lead on my parents’ deaths or where my brother may be.

I reveal myself in an instant, crossing quickly to Talis.

“Zora?” The Prince balks as he sees me, and I swear a blush spots along his neck. He swallows and glances behind me. “Have you been following us?”

I kneel to Talis and survey his wounds. “He needs a healing potion. Do you have one?” I look up, finding The Prince bending closer beside me, his face tilted to mine, the false gray of his eyes coming alive. My breath sticks in my chest, and I can’t move. I can’t look away. And I hate that he has this power over me, but I can’t help myself as my full attention drifts to the cut on his cheek.

I reach up and touch the bottom of it lightly, swiping away blood to get a better look at it.

He leans into my touch, his breaths shallow, as if he feels it too. This strange magnetic connection between us.

The Princess clears her throat and taps her foot impatiently. “Can you two eye fuck some other time? Talis is dying.”

We both wrench away from each other, and embarrassment rolls through me as I turn back to Talis. I check his pulse, and it’s faint. Too faint.

“He needs a healing potion now,” I insist, looking between them.

“I’ll go,” The Prince says. “Here.” He jogs over to one of the magical motel doors and places his palm against it. The door sweeps open and he shoves a chair against it to keep it from closing. “Get him to the bed. I’ll be back.” He turns away without another word and sprints down the tunnel.

The Princess and I exhale harshly as we carry Talis to the bed, dropping him in a heap of broken bones on the comforter. She rushes to a large bathroom to the left of the bed and wets a washcloth before she races back and cleans his wounds.

I fumble around drawers in search of needle and thread, needing to close the large gash on The Princess’s bicep, as she blinks repeatedly and fights off the pain.

“What are you doing?” She hisses. “Quit snooping.”

I scoff. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Well stop.”

I turn to face her, my fists balling. “You’re losing too much blood.” I glance around and spot a dress shirt draped over the back of a chair. I snatch it and cross over to her, pulling it around her arm before she can protest.

She purses her lips, but puts her focus on Talis’s wounds, sneering when I cinch the shirt tight around her arm. “Thanks,” she grumbles.

I back up and suck in a breath. “What happened to him?”

She shakes her head. “We don’t know. He didn’t know.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

The Princess scowls. “He doesn’t remember. They must’ve hit him hard on the head at some point. They got us pretty good too. Six different men. Maybe cronies for another Boss, but we’re not positive.”

I frown and cross my arms. It can’t be a coincidence that my one lead on where my brother might be has now been beaten to a pulp. Did The Beast do this?

Shoes hit pavement out in the tunnel, and a moment later, The Prince appears, a bottle tucked in his palm. His chest heaves as a sheen of sweat glimmers across it.

I force myself to stare at the floor. Anywhere else. Everywhere else.

“I got it,” he says, slamming his door shut and striding to the bed. He helps lift Talis, then props his friend’s mouth open and forces the potion down. “Drink, Tails,” The Prince whispers.

Talis manages a swallow, then another, and after three swigs, he takes the bottle from The Prince’s grasp and downs its contents. His eyes are swollen shut, but he manages a grim smile. “Death almost got its wish to claim me. Unlucky for it, I have two people foolish enough to be my family.”

The Prince and Princess both laugh at that, although it’s half-hearted. They exchange a look, their eyes darting to me, then The Princess leans down to Talis’s ear and whispers something.

He straightens. “Zora, you helped save me? After that colorful little speech of yours?”

The Prince cocks a brow out of curiosity, and I’m surprised that Talis didn’t blab to either of them about how rude I’d been.

I clear my throat. “I need you alive.”

A buzz of tension fills the air at my words, both Bosses looking immediately defensive.

“For what?” The Prince snaps, a snarl darkening his features. He lies an arm around Talis’s shoulders, so protective of the man that I realize I made a mistake. Talis is more than a crony to these Bosses. He may be exactly what he admitted to them: family.

I rake my memory, trying to recall if the famous court-rejected Storyteller had siblings.

“Start talking.” The Princess steps toward me, a threat to her voice.

My muscles clench, and I lift my chin. “I’ve been made aware that Talis has information I need. I’d like to question him.” Then kill him if he was involved, I mentally add.

“He’s in no state for questions,” she answers. “In fact, you should go.”

I cross my arms. “Yeah, that’s not happening. He’s my only lead, and seeing as someone clearly wants him dead, I’m not letting him leave my sight.”

“You’re leaving,” she says, her words so final they ring throughout the room.

I roll my shoulders back. “You’ll have to make me.”

The Princess barks out a laugh. She closes the distance between us, her height forcing me to look up at her. Her eyes trail down my dress, and she plucks its fabric between her fingers with a snarl. “Fine,” she agrees, and she wraps her free hand around my throat.

I choke in surprise, my attention having been on my dress — just how she wanted. I grapple at her hold, then try to reach under my skirt for a blade, but she squeezes too tight.

“That’s enough,” The Prince growls in warning. He shoots to my side and locks his gaze with his sister. “Take your fucking hand off her.”

The Princess grits her teeth and moves her other hand up, gripping me so hard, I start to see dots.

I blink and blink, gasp for air, claw at her hands.

She grins devilishly at me, but the moment her smile appears it’s quickly wiped away as her brother slams down on her elbows, requiring her to release me as she hisses in fury.

I collapse to my knees, sucking in large gulps of air.

The Prince grabs hold of his sister’s hair and yanks her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You will never touch her in that way ever again. I do not care that you’re my blood. I will rip your heart from your chest before I will allow you to hurt her. Do you understand?”

His sister’s lips part in shock before her eyes flash behind her mask with hurt. “You would put Talis’s life on the line?”

The Prince lets go of her hair and takes a step back. He presses his lips together, his eyes pleading as he looks at his sister.

They silently communicate before he turns to me.

I remain on the floor, still too lightheaded to get on my feet and angry at myself for letting The Princess get such an advantage.

“Promise us you won’t hurt Talis, and you can stay here tonight, ask your questions in the morning after he’s rested,” The Prince demands.

I force myself to my feet with a cringe. “I won’t hurt him tonight,” I promise — and why would I? I can’t get answers from a dead man. I focus my anger on The Princess, and when our gazes meet, there’s only hatred between us.

“Then I’m staying too,” she says. “There’s no way I’m leaving you two here with Talis alone.”

“I would never hurt him,” The Prince snarls.

“And you once said you’d never hurt me,” she snarls back. Then she rubs the spot on her head where he grasped her hair. “Yet here we are.”

The Prince looks down, the muscles along his jaw flaring with hurt and irritation.

I look between them, and I know there’s so much going unsaid. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, and I move to one of two chairs by a stunning black marble piano. I sit and ignore the Bosses, taking in the room for everything that it is.

Talis lays upon a massive bed doused in crushed black velvet. The walls are a white glossed brick, and the floors match in a pearl tile. A beautiful chandelier dangles from the center of the room, its crystals sparkling as they glint off the orange-hued lights set within them. The room feels well-lived in but also oozes wealth.

My eyes find the wardrobe left open on the far wall, and I spot several crisply pressed suits. I’m surprised to find quite a few dress shirts, and I wonder if I’m staring at the closet of the man behind the mask, as opposed to the Boss. My eyes drift to his bare chest, and as I tilt my head up, I find him staring at me intently.

My fingers dig into the arms of the chair as my pulse ricochets.

The cut on his cheek spills more blood than before, and I inhale sharply as the need to help him stomps out all my other feelings.

“Do you have a sewing kit?” I ask him, my voice quiet and — fuck, are those nerves? I bite my lip.

His eyes fall to my mouth, and he inhales sharply before he nods to the bathroom. “In there. The medicine cabinet.”

I shove the heat building inside me into a place so dark and cold, I hope it can’t survive. Then I pull myself out of the chair and cross to the bathroom, my stilettos clicking as I go. My eyes widen as I take the bathroom in with its gleaming marble sinks, double waterfall shower, and large Jacuzzi tub. Plush black towels hang off hooks here and there, and I have the sudden urge to grab them all, throw them into a pile, and curl up in them.

A rough hand grazes my shoulder, right along my dress’s strap, and I shiver as The Prince draws up behind me. He leans into me as he reaches past my shoulder to a small cabinet and pops it open.

I can’t help but lean back into him, but I immediately regret it as I feel how every inch of my soft curves fit so perfectly with the hardness of his body. I take a stern step forward, leaving his warmth as he pulls a clear box from the cabinet and sets it next to the sink.

I snatch it and flip its lid open, finding the needle and thread. I wet my lips and glance up at him, then force myself to look only at his wound. “Sit on the edge of the bathtub,” I say, turning away from him and threading the needle.

He silently moves and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.

I watch him for a second, the quiet heave of his shoulders. A flutter sprouts through my stomach as I settle next to him. I wait a moment, expecting him to lift his face toward me so I can stitch his wound.

Instead, he keeps his gaze focused firmly on the floor.

I tighten my grip on the needle. “Are you…” I cringe and clear my throat. “Are you okay?”

His jaw ticks. “No, Zora. Definitely not.”

“Er, well, I need to stitch you up.”

He twirls his thumbs.

I frown. “You’re going to need to look at me if you don’t want me to botch stitching that gash together.”

He blows out a long, uneven breath.

“What’s wrong with you?” I snap, growing impatient.

He holds out his hand. “Just give me the needle. I’ll do it myself.”

“Don’t be stupid. It will be a cleaner stitch if I do it for you.”

“I can’t look at you again.”

My heart sinks. “Why not?”

He rubs his forehead. “Because if I look at you again Zora, I’m afraid I’ll never stop. I’m terrified that if I see your eyes, I’ll fall forever, and if I see your mouth, I’ll kiss you until I can’t feel anything but you. I’ll drown in you if I look at you, and I can’t do that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please just give me the needle, leave this room, and get some rest.”

I stare at him, everything in me soaring to an impossible height. He wants me, I realize. He may want me more than I’ve wanted him.

I swallow, and despite every red flag waving vigorously through my mind, I make a decision. I reach a hand out and press it gently to his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath my palm. Thrill ignites through my chest as I squeeze his thigh gently. “I’m scared, too.”

CHAPTER SIX

The Prince lifts his head, and I reach up to pull his mask away. Magic crackles as I do, and I’m torn apart by the beauty of his true eyes. I toss his mask to the side, pleased with myself as I turn back to claim what is mine, what I want. Not some stupid random guy from the club. No, I want The Prince, even if I have to kill him tomorrow.

But when I turn back, he’s across the room. His face scrunches with pain. His eyes swirl with a raging storm of color. He presses himself into the bathroom counter and forces himself to look away from me.

Well, that won’t do. I stand and stride to him, grasping his waist and tugging him against me. When he won’t look at me, I reach up and grab his chin. I force his face around, and pleasure rolls through me as his infinite gaze slices straight into my heart.

“Zora,” he begs. His hands tighten on the countertop behind him. “We can’t.”

“That’s only more of a reason to.” I remove a hand from his waist and slide it up his torso. Heat prickles through me as I feel along every toned ridge of his abdomen.

“I will not anger Fate,” he growls.

I narrow my eyes and snarl. “I don’t know what you mean by that but — fuck Fate. It doesn’t own me or what I want, and tonight, I want you.”

Blood curls down his neck, the wound at his cheek spilling. He groans as I move my hand down below his waistband, my fingers grazing the top of his underwear. “Fuck Fate,” he says, breathless, and I smile, thinking he’s agreeing with me.

But then he forces himself away from me, my arms falling slack at my sides.

Frustration wiggles to life across my shoulders, sprouts through my chest. I glare at him as he snatches his mask from where I left it and puts it on.

“Take that back off,” I demand, one hundred percent over this cat-and-mouse game. “You’re going to get your ass over here and have the best Gods-damned sex of your life, or I will cut your balls off.”

The Prince grabs the needle and thread next, a sputtering breath leaving his lips. He glances at me, a hint of a smile breaking free, but he replaces it with indifference and steps up to the mirror.

I fold my arms and scowl as he washes his wound then stitches it over. “Do you think I won’t do it?”

He smirks. “Oh no, Zora. I know you will. That’s why I’m going to stitch up this wound, then I’m going to get the hell out of here.”

I scowl, and heat flares up my neck. “I guess I’ll cut them off right now then.”

“Yes, but then you might ruin my stitch work, and I imagine you don’t want a big, fat ugly scar on my face.” He grins at himself in the mirror. “You might not find me as attractive anymore.”

“I love scars, actually. So, really, you’re just persuading me further,” I point out, taking a purposeful step toward him. I tug the skirt of my dress up.

His eyes fly to the movement, and he stops what he’s doing mid-stitch. His eyes darken with lust. “Zora.”

“You know, it’s really not fair that I don’t know your name.” I continue to pull my dress up my leg.

He shifts his weight and begins stitching again, trying to ignore me.

Finally, I reveal my holster around my thigh, and when his gaze flicks over again, he sucks in a deep inhale.

“Fuck me,” he grumbles, his eyes raking up and down my bare leg. He grits his teeth in determination and finishes his stitch, tying it off and cutting the thread free.

I tug out my long knife, its blade curved, then drop my dress and close the distance between us as his scissors snip. I give him a wicked smile as I reach out with my blade, going straight for his balls.

The Prince’s eyes widen. His lips part in shock before he lunges backward in fright.

I bend over as laughter rumbles out of me. I clutch my knife to my chest with a wheeze. “Oh fuck, your face,” I snort. “You should have seen your face!”

His jaw slackens as his cheeks redden. Then, a full smile breaks across his face, brightening in ways that steals my laughter from me. I straighten, and he shakes his head, his gaze softening. “Gods, that laugh.”

I lift a brow. “What?”

The Prince smiles wider. “If I heard it every day, it still wouldn’t be enough.”

My eyes fall on his smile, and if I weren’t so afraid of the truth turning my heart inside out, I’d tell him the same about his smile. My grip on my blade goes limp, and it clatters to the ground. We both jump back, startled by the clang of its steel against the marble.

His eyes lock with mine as he kneels to the ground and gently takes the blade's hilt. He offers it up to me with a smirk. “Seems you dropped this.”

“Seems I did.” I reach for it but hesitate. The gleam in his eyes — even if they’re hidden behind magic — makes my heart pound to a frantic, wonderful rhythm. Blood rushes to my face as I stare at him, kneeling before me, a knife extended as if he’s proposing. And I’d have it no other way, I realize. Never in my life have I considered marriage or, honestly, any type of future. With my blood lust and affinity to work for Bosses, I assume I’ll be dead within the next five to ten years. But this…I like this. The way he’s looking at me like I’m the answer to all his questions.

I scoop the blade from his palm, my fingers lingering there for a moment, only one thing in the way of my vulnerability. “Can I know?” I breathe out, not caring if I sound as crazed as I feel.

He gives me a questioning look as he stands and towers over me, his face tilted down as his eyes trace my face. “Can you know what?”

“Your name.” I glance away, my nerves heightened by his proximity. We fall into silence, and something about the moment is torn apart by the fact that he won’t tell me. I bite down on my tongue, pain wiggling through my heart. You’ve known him for barely a few days. Get a hold of yourself, Zora Vyner, I think, and force myself to level a glare at him.

But he looks as wounded and as desperate as I feel. He runs the back of his hand over my cheek, his nails lightly scratching down my skin and sending a shiver rolling through me. “One of these days, you’ll know my name. I promise.” He catches my chin as I pull away, his eyes searching mine, earnest and hopeful. “And when I make a promise, Zora, I will never take it back.”

Mischief lights his face, and he leans closer, lowering his lips to my ear. “Besides, I think I like the idea of you learning my name the same night I take you to my bed.”

My insides unravel, and it takes everything in me not to rip his head down to my lips.

“You’ll be screaming it all night, all day — even in your dreams, princess,” he teases, pulling back with a satisfied smile.

I level him with a calculated look. “I’m nobody’s princess.”

He pretends to think on it, then his lips quirk into a grin. “You’re right, my queen.”

I smile brightly, unable to help myself. “I can work with that. It needs a ‘badass’ though.”

“Most certainly.” He takes in a breath, looking every bit as hungry for me as I am for him, but he steps away to the shower and turns it on. He gestures to it. “For you, my incredibly badass queen.”

I raise my chin and saunter toward the shower, pulling down my straps as I do. I smirk as he follows my movements. “Unzip me?”

He stiffens a little but manages a nod, the playfulness between us vanishing as he moves closer and tugs my zipper down.

I shudder as he trails his index finger down my spine as he goes, stopping only once the zipper hitches at my waist.

He steps away, prepares to leave, but I slowly wiggle myself free of the dress, hearing his boots still on the marble. “You’re killing me,” he growls.

I kick the dress to the side, bare except for my holster and knives as the gown’s thin fabric called for no lines. I’ve always been proud of my body. Tonight, however, being looked over by his gaze has my stomach in knots, and some of my confidence withers. I glance over my shoulder only once before I undo my holster. I set it on the counter near me, and step into the shower.

The Prince shakes his head at me in defiance, his face the picture of a man awestruck.

I smile to myself as I slide under the water, my confidence returning with that one look. It’s another three minutes before I hear the door click shut, and I realize some part of me — a part deeper than my lust — has never felt more satisfied.

I take my time, rinsing off my body with the different soaps lining a ridge in the shower’s wall. I find many scented with honey, chamomile, and pine, and it surprises me how easily I’d picked out those fragrances the first night I met The Prince. It’s calming to wrap myself within them now, and I wonder why that is. So quickly, I find myself trusting him, but there’s another piece of me, a much bigger piece, that will never trust him. Not fully. I don’t think there’s ever been a day of my life where I fully trusted someone, and I don’t expect that to ever change.

After spending enough time that I hope everyone else is asleep, I turn off the shower and dry off. I pad over to the sink and mirror, and I wash my face before I find a small pile of folded clothes slipped right inside the door. They’re obviously The Prince’s — both the sweater and the sweatpants swallowing me. I roll the pants a few times, then I let the sweater devour my curves, not caring because it’s too damn comfortable to give it up. I pick up my dress and fold it on the counter before I leave the bathroom behind.

Talis remains unconscious on the bed, The Princess curled up next to him in a deep sleep. A cot has been rolled out beside the bed, covered in a decadent purple silk duvet and pillows.

The Prince rests in a chair next to it, his head propped in his hand, his eyes shut and his breaths slow.

I sneak to the cot and tuck myself into it, swishing my feet beneath the covers and relishing the feel of their smooth fabric over my skin. I glance up at The Prince, my eyes memorizing the peace on his face as he sleeps. I trace his body, surprised to find him in a plain shirt and sweatpants not dissimilar from the ones he lent me. He’s kept his mask on, but with his tattoos covered, he’s nothing more than a man, and something about that vulnerability, the fact that he’s allowing me to see it, makes me reach a hand out and tug gently on his pant leg.

He stirs awake with an inhale, his body tensing for a fight. Then he looks down, and when he sees me, his expression softens. He opens his mouth to say something, but I press a finger to my lips and gesture to the bed.

He nods and wipes the sleep from his eyes. The motion wrinkles his mask enough that his true eyes spark here and there, sending heat up my neck.

I pull aside my blanket and give the place beside me a gentle pat, offering a smile that I hope says, if you dare.

The Prince lifts a brow, reiterating his previous point of you’re killing me before he grins and lowers himself down onto the cot. He settles beside me, careful not to touch me — to my blatant disappointment — then turns on his side to face me.

We stare at each other for a long moment, our breaths syncing. Then I snake a hand around his waist and pull him closer, skimming my fingers below his waistband.

He sucks in a long, heavy breath. Then he gives in and wraps his arms around me, nuzzling his face against the top of my head.

I sigh, happily enveloping myself in his smell. I press my cheek to his chest and close my eyes, feeling so calm and serene, I know I’ll never sleep well again unless I’m in his arms. I wrap a leg over his waist, enjoying the hitch in his breath and the way he hardens against me. I smile in victory and play with his waistband some more, my fingers trailing from his back to his abs.

He holds me tighter as I go, and I can’t tell if it’s an attempt to stop me or an attempt to restrain himself. I get the feeling it may be both, but I definitely don’t care.

My fingers move over the outside of his pants, running along the hard length of his arousal, my heart stuttering.

The Prince wraps a hand in my hair and clutches the back of my head, drawing my face back.

I still at the pain across his features. Uncertainty fills me. I’ve never had a man be so adamant about not fucking me, and I’ve especially never had one look at me with such a fierce mix of turmoil and lust.

I gently remove my hand from him, my stomach twisting with rejection. I lug my leg back, too, but he catches it, his brows twitching with conflict.

He runs his palm over my thigh, my ass, then slides it under my shirt and grabs my waist.

I allow myself a breathy moan, and the sound tips him over the edge.

But not in the way I hoped.

Instead, he rips himself away from me, pushing up onto his knees and giving me a shake of his head before he clenches his jaw and stands.

I scowl at his back as he strides to the door and leaves, a bit of horror filtering through me. Does he not reciprocate my feelings? I think of his arousal, the way his breaths quickened with my touch. No, he does. He’s just refusing to engage. My hands ball into the duvet, and I glare at the ceiling.

“Zora.”

I sit up at the sound of The Prince’s angry whisper.

He stands at the door, holding it open for me, his expression grim.

I hurry to him, and he grabs my hand, tugging me out into the hall. “What’s going on?” I ask as he pulls me down the tunnel, my feet bare. I cringe as dirt squishes between my toes.

He grips my hand tighter, his gaze dead set ahead. “We’re relieving some tension.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

My heart pounds as The Prince tugs me to a dark corner near the end of the tunnel. I run my eyes over his body, thinking of all the ways I’ll achieve what I want, but then he stops.

Before us is a thin door with a small window. It blends with the tunnel wall, meant to be seen by those with an invite and no one else.

“What is this place?” I lift up on my toes to peer through the window, but it’s so dark on the other side, I can only make out shadows.

Every night,” The Prince says, his voice low and filled with tension, “there is an auction held behind this door. Tonight, services are sold. Tomorrow, products.”

A chill wraps around me, knowing both of those things to mean something foul in the Underground. “You’re a fool if you think I’ll step foot in there and not kill anyone.”

He looks down at me, his lips curling up at that. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

My brows shoot up. “Are you hiring me for a job?”

“More like I want an accomplice.” His gaze darkens as he focuses on the door. “Tonight, my services are being offered. I plan to indulge one of my regulars, but I thought you could take care of him before the full brunt of it.”

I stand taller, glaring through the window. “Who is he?”

“A man with an affinity for children,” The Prince growls, his nostrils flaring with heated disgust. “My sister and I took him as a client when we were desperate, and he’s only ever had us dig up his old memories of his younger brother. It wasn’t until our third visit with him that I realized he was getting off on it, watching memories of a boy getting pushed around by a younger version of himself.”

The Prince folds his arms over his chest, uncomfortable. “Tonight, he’s requested to access recent memories of different boys he’s met in the last few months. I have a feeling those threads will be less than savory.”

My face scrunches. “Lead the way. Let’s end him.”

He glances down at me. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, we need to keep a low profile. I can’t be known as the Boss that kills his clientele.”

I look him over in his T-shirt and sweatpants, then I pluck at my sweater, wiggle my toes in the dirt. “I don’t think we’re exactly low profile.”

He nods. “Yeah, but it’s pretty dark in there. No one will notice if we hurry to mine and my sister’s tent. However, I do need to remove this.” He picks up his shirt, and in one breathtaking movement, he takes it off. He grins as I stare at his muscular torso. “Must you look at me like that?”

“Like what?” I snap my gaze up to his.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Do you want to ravage me, Zora?”

I scoff and wave him off. “I’m just excited for bloodshed.”

“She says after ogling my abs,” he mutters, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

Heat crawls across my cheeks. “Shut up.”

He presses his lips together, forcing away a smile, and gestures to the door. “After you.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “You’re very hot then cold, you know that?” I tug the door open.

He holds it for me and lifts a brow. “I’m very hot, huh?”

I roll my eyes and shove past him inside.

At nine, my adoptive parents sold me for the first time. I don’t remember much besides the darkness of a blindfold, the darkness of the room when the blindfold was forcibly removed, and the darkness of the eyes of the man pinning me down. It was the kind of darkness that lingers, no matter how hard I try to banish it.

After years in the Underground, there isn’t much that rattles me.

But this place – this dark, quiet place.

I hate it.

My nails dig into the side of my pants as I adjust my sight to the hall before me.

It’s long and wide, black tents crammed next to each other on either side, with a stage set up at the end. My ears pick up the hum of music from one tent, a moan from another, an argument further down – but every noise comes muted, little whispers trapped behind tent flaps.

I jump as a hand touches my shoulder and twist around toward The Prince.

He removes his hand quickly, his brow furrowed as he studies me. “Are you okay?”

I analyze the concern in his eyes, hunting for pity. I don’t do pity. Ever. After a second, I recognize he’s genuine and give him a single, clipped nod. “Which one’s yours?”

He runs his gaze over me another time, the muscles along his neck flexing, before he leads me down the hall to one of the few tents with its flaps pulled back.

Inside, there are two purple, cushioned chairs opposite a plush black couch. A lantern on a pole is set up in the far corner, and The Prince lights it as I track dirt over an expensive rug. He eyes my bare feet.

“Sorry, I guess I could have at least given you time for shoes,” he admits, his voice rough.

I shrug and plop down on the black sofa. I sink into it and hum in contentment, forcing myself to think about it and its comfiness over every dark thought blazing to life in my mind.

“You can’t sit there,” he says.

I shoot him a glare.

The Prince gestures to one of the purple chairs as he sits in the other. “These are for us. That couch is for our clients.”

I think of the old perv about to meet us and shoot myself off the couch and across to the chair.

The Prince rubs his jaw and hides what I’m sure is a smile.

“I don’t have my weapons,” I realize, straightening and scanning the tent for anything usable.

He nods, then reaches down and lifts his right pant leg. Against his ankle is a sheathed blade. He tugs it free and passes it to me. “Use mine.”

My body brightens and accepts the long knife with eagerness. It gleams beneath the lamplight, and a smile fills my face.

“Stunning,” The Prince mutters.

I glance at him, then hide the blade beneath my thigh. “I might keep this.”

He returns my smile. “Then it's yours.”

I twirl my thumbs in my lap, a blush reddening my cheeks. Dammit.

“May I ask you something?”

I look up, finding him gazing at me intently. “Guess it depends on the question.”

“When we first walked in –”

I hold up a hand. “No.”

He snaps his mouth shut. His nose scrunches in mild frustration. Then he nods. “Okay.”

I cross my arms and lean back in the chair. “You can know more about who I am when I know – at the very fucking least – your name.”

The Prince scoops a hand over his hair. “Fair enough.”

“It’s extremely fair,” I say bitterly, then glare at the couch. “When’s your disgusting client getting here?”

The Prince waves a hand in dismissal. “We don’t set times, just dates. It helps keep us hidden.”

“That’s very inefficient.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is.”

I fall silent as shoes scuff outside our tent.

The flap pulls back and reveals a large man in a stained button-down and dark slacks. His hair is greasy, his eyes soulless as he walks inside. He drops onto the couch with a grunt, his attention flicking between The Prince and me.

“You are not The Princess.” The man’s face darkens, anger thundering to life.

“No, but she’s a trained associate of mine.” The Prince crosses his legs and straightens in his chair, his voice dark and authoritative.

“I pay for two Bosses.” The man grips the edge of the couch, prepares to leave.

“Tonight, you get what you want and you pay half the price. A steal, some might say,” The Prince says.

I can’t take my eyes off him, his persona so cold and indifferent that I realize I’ve never met The Prince. Not really. He’s been his true self with me from the beginning, even if he never shared his real name. I chew on the inside of my cheek. He’s always wanted me to see the real him. But then why won’t he tell me who he is?

The client narrows his beady eyes on me, so I give him my best snarl. He frowns but settles back onto the couch. “Very well. You know what I want. So get on with it.”

The Prince bristles beside me. “Watch your tone, Ferris.”

Ferris. My frown deepens. Why do you sound familiar?

“Apologies.” Ferris folds his hands in his lap.

The Prince leans forward onto his knees. “Look at me, and do not look away.”

Ferris nods and mirrors The Prince’s stance.

For a moment, I think they may be having a Gods-damned staring contest, but then The Prince unrolls his left hand out of a fist and twists his fingers around in a crescent shape.

Ferris’ eyes fall shut. His breaths slow.

Curious, I lean forward.

The Prince glances at me. “I’m going in.”

“Can he hear us?” I wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I’ve put him in a trance. Right now, his mind is sorting through every thread of his Fate, seeking the ones he desires to read the most. It will be my job to collect each one and then play them for him.”

“You can do that?” I ask. I’ve heard of people reading threads. It’s rare, but it happens. This is more than that, though. I clutch the knife against my thigh.

The Prince manages a solemn nod, but a sweat breaks across his forehead. He grits his teeth, his eyes slicing with fury behind his mask. “He’s found the threads.”

I balk. “You’re in his head still.”

The Prince closes his eyes. “Zora, you don’t have much time.”

I tense, realizing he’s talking about the kill. I stand and wield the knife forward, crossing over to Ferris in one long stride. I lick my lips, my instincts driving the blade to his neck. Delight ripples over me as I press it against the pulse ticking along his neck.

“Zora, quit playing with your kill.”

I glance back at The Prince with a scowl, but my stomach knots at the pain breaking him apart.

His face dribbles sweat, his mouth twisted in a grimace and his eyes squeezed shut. His body shakes more violently with each passing second, his breaths shallow.

I turn back to Ferris, and disgust squirms through my heart as the man wets his lips like a hungry pig. Whatever he’s seeing, he likes, while it destroys The Prince. My nostrils flare, my gaze tightening on his neck. Then I slice. No hesitation. No remorse.

“Wait there’s something –” The Prince chokes.

My eyes widen as I spin around and find him clutching his neck. “What’s happening?”

Ferris’ blood splatters across my back as I rush to The Prince’s aid.

The Prince doubles over and releases a low moan of grief. He pants and sucks in several large inhales before he rights himself and wipes the sweat from his forehead. “He’s…He’s dead,” he breathes.

I frown. “No shit.” Then, I look at Ferris’s collapsed body, his neck gaping open and blood pooling onto the sofa, sinking into the fabric. My ring finger ticks with thrill. I press my lips together and focus on The Prince. “Could you feel that?”

The Prince rubs his neck gently. “It’s fine. I knew it was coming.”

Something about the way he says that unsettles me. Like there’s been a million times when he didn’t see it coming. Like every reading leaves him in pain.

He notices my apprehension and trails a finger over my cheek, wiping away blood. “I’m okay.”

“Can you feel threads?” I ask.

The Prince swallows. “Not exactly.”

My brow furrows. What does that mean? Everything he gives me is so vague, I’m beginning to wonder if I should trust him at all.

“Zora, I saw something. He pulled a past thread along with his most recent ones.” The Prince’s eyes trace me with worry. “You were in it. At least, I think it was you. You were younger. Much, much younger. Maybe only three or four. And it was a flash of a second. Your mother screamed your name as Ferris ripped a boy from your grasp. You were unconscious.”

My heartbeat slows. “I was two.” I look back at Ferris, an itch sprouting in my skull. He looked familiar, and that’s why. He’d been there the night my parents were murdered. I may have been young, but one look at his face has the memory hooking into me. My chin trembles, anger surging through me. “He took him. He took my brother.”

The Prince runs his palm over my arm.

I yank myself away, unable to stomach any kind of touch. Not with that memory stuck in my head. “Did you see anything else? Anything that would lead me back to my brother?”

The Prince pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. Fuck. I’m sorry. I think maybe Ferris was going to bring those threads forward. He wanted to look at them, but –”

“But I slit his throat.” I grasp my head, knotting my fingers in my hair. I give him a desperate look. “Can you read the threads of the dead? I mean his body is still fucking warm.”

The Prince’s face darkens. “I can, but—”

“Then do it.” I close the distance between us and grab his hands. I clutch them to my chest, panic rushing through me. “Please.”

He breathes out slowly then nods. “Okay.” He tugs free of me and prowls toward Ferris, his movements slow. His throat bobs as he kneels beside the large man and reluctantly places a hand on his knee.

“Can I help at all?” I ask, kneeling beside him.

But he’s already gone. Eyes closed, forehead scrunched in concentration. His breaths return to a shallow, stuttering state.

“Hey,” I touch his leg gently, but he doesn’t respond. Why can’t he hear me? He could before.

The Prince groans, and the hand against Ferris’s knee trembles. Shining color peeks beneath his palm, tugging up from Ferris’s knee and into The Prince.

My eyes widen as I realize they’re threads. So. Many. Threads. I remember the pain his sister went through just to extract one in the club that first night. Fucking hell.

The Prince gnashes his teeth, his torso breaking out in a sweaty sheen. He leans into me, and I wrap my arms around him.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” I mutter into his hair.

His arm falls from Ferris’s knee, and I suck in a breath of horror as the threads shoot forward and into The Prince’s chest. He cries out in pain as they tunnel under his skin, his tattoos sizzling out of focus.

My stomach drops as I catch a glimpse of a chest ravaged by scars. A chest unmarked by ink but torn by a blade. He lied to me. I pull him closer with a scowl. His tattoos are as much of an illusion as his eyes.

He trembles as the last of Ferris’s threads slam into him.

I press my fingers to the side of his neck, and my heart thumps wildly as his slows. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl and slap his cheek a few times.

Blood trickles out of his nose, and the illusion across his chest settles back into solid ink. His eyelids flutter open.

“You bastard,” I hiss.

He grimaces.

I calm as his pulse returns to normal, then I give his cheek another firm slap.

He scowls at me and lifts himself from my grasp, but he doesn’t stand, still shaken.

“You almost died, and don’t even get me started on the illusion on your chest.” I cross my arms and glare at him.

“Zora.”

“Why would you put yourself through that? If I knew it was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have asked you to do it.”

“Zora.”

“And what is up with those scars, alright? I’m asking and you better answer. I can’t believe you lied to me —”

“Gods fuck, Zora,” he snaps. “It was my choice. I knew the gravity of what would happen.” He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, his jaw ticking. “As for the illusion, I just…” he chews on his lip, his anger fading into shame. “It’s a long story.”

I stare at his tattoos. “Are any of them real?”

He nods. “A few, yeah.”

“From being a Boss.”

He presses his lips together and looks down.

My mind swirls with too many questions. If he’s not a Boss… “Who are you?”

He draws in a breath to steady himself, then he stands and gestures to Ferris. “We need to get rid of this body.”

I get to my feet. “Do not ignore me.”

“I have to when you ask me questions I can’t answer,” he snarls. His eyes flash with color. “Ask me a better question.”

My shoulders tense. “There is no better question. You’re a stranger, but we have a connection. It’s not right that you’re hiding so much when you know basically everything about me.”

The Prince bends and forces Ferris’s body over his shoulder. He stands with a whoosh of breath, his biceps bulging from the man’s weight. “Don’t you want to know what I saw?” He shoves past me and out of the tent.

I stay on his heels. “Yes. I do.” But dammit I also need him to quit being so evasive.

“Ferris took your brother and…” The Prince moves to a large chamber at the front of the hall.

My gut twists as I see other bodies piled inside. “And?”

He drops Ferris in, then strides away to leave. “And the last time Ferris saw your brother, he was alive.”

I stop in my tracks. “How old was he?”

The Prince keeps walking, and I’m forced to catch up. He tugs open the door and charges down the tunnel.

“Hey, can you slow the fuck down? This is important to me,” I hiss, grabbing his forearm and tugging him to a halt.

He swivels around, his eyes full of so much darkness that I take a large step back. His fists ball, and for a moment, I don’t see The Prince. I see the rage of Ferris when the man first came into the tent.

The Prince closes his eyes. He lies a hand over his heart, his lips moving as he whispers each count of his pulse. The anger melts from him, and the next moment his eyes open, they’re normal. He steps to me and takes one of my hands, his expression so vastly different, I can’t help but gawk. “He was young. Maybe only 10.”

I nod and look away. “He’s three years older than me. He was 5 when he was taken.”

The Prince tucks my hair behind my ear.

“Are you telling me that disgusting pig had my brother for five years?” I ask. Bile rises in my throat as The Prince’s expression darkens. He doesn’t need to say it. I already know. It’s written in the pain The Prince wears.

At the same time, it won’t be real until I know everything, and I can’t help my brother if pieces of his story keep getting lost in translation or lost altogether. “I want to know,” I whisper.

The Prince tugs on my chin making me look at him. He levels his gaze with mine, his expression firm. “No, Zora. You don’t.”

My hands shake, and my ring finger ticks. I glance around the tunnel, finding it suddenly too narrow. “Talis,” I breathe. “He knows something. I need to speak with him.”

“If Talis can help, he will.” The Prince drops his hand from my face and nods to the room. “But for tonight, we need to rest. It’s been a long day.”

We trail to the room, both of us solemn.

Why does finally getting answers feel like nothing more than failure? I swallow as I crawl onto my made-up cot, brushing my dirty feet off on the rug. Maybe because every answer seems to only lead to more questions.

The Prince moves to sit in the chair beside me, but I grab onto his ankle. He stops and looks down at me, that dark anger brimming at the edge of his features.

“Lie with me,” I whisper. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

His nostrils flare, but he drops down to the cot. “I don’t either,” he whispers back after a moment.

Surprise rolls through me as he removes his mask and sets it beside us. He closes his eyes before he does so, though, and lays flat on his back, arms folded over his stomach.

I curl into him. “How?”

His jaw clenches.

“How could you survive taking on that many threads? It was like you took all of his soul into yourself.” I lay my hand over his chest, relishing the feel of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

The Prince inhales, then he turns his head to me and opens his eyes.

My lips part, and I reach a hand up to his face.

Every color that graced his irises before is gone. They’re wholly black, void of light.

His hands grip the comforter as he stares at me, his face grim. “Because I’m built for it, Zora.” Then he adds in a small whisper, “I can’t tell you who I am or even what I am, because I can’t tell anyone.”

I try to digest that. “Will they go back to normal?”

He nods. “Likely by morning.” He sighs and rubs his face. “Sleep helps.”

I trail my fingers down his jawline. “I’m still mad at you.”

“As you should be,” he agrees.

“Well, if we’re on the same page…” my eyes hone in on his mouth.

He directs his attention to me, and somehow, his black gaze darkens. “No.”

I frown. “Let me guess, you can’t tell me why.”

He mirrors my frown. “You said it yourself. I…took a piece of that foul man into me. Until he fades, I will not touch you. I don’t know what would happen, what his whims would have me do to you.” He drops his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “I want you, Zora, but I want you as myself, not as a mirrored image of a man made up of others’ jagged, cruel shards.”

“Just a kiss.” I brush my lips against his.

He smiles against me. “I like that you want me.”

“You must feel awfully fucking special,” I tease.

He wraps a hand behind my neck. “I do.” He licks his lips and presses them against mine.

My heart hammers as the kiss deepens, as it consumes everything I am. I didn’t know him three days ago. That thought — that one stupid bitch of a thought — has me pull away from that kiss. “I hate having a conscience.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest, but he manages to keep it quiet as it passes his lips.

I run a thumb under his eye. “You know, they look a little lighter now.”

He relaxes onto our shared pillow. “That’s because you’re my cure.”

I smirk. “Oh?”

He gives me a serious look.

I laugh and shake my head. “Has anyone told you you’re a bit over dramatic?”

“My sister and Tails. Every damn day.”

My gaze flicks to the bed, snores emanating from it. “Tails?”

He runs his fingers through my hair — and I swear to Gods, I’m swooning at that sensation, swooning. “When I was a kid, I couldn’t quite say his name. Always called him Tails. It just kinda stuck.”

“So you’ve known him your whole life?”

“He’s like an older brother.” The Prince holds me tighter, and it occurs to me that if that’s true, then the shape Talis is in must be terrifying for The Prince.

And then I went and put him through some kind of black-eyed magical Fate bullshit. Good job, Zora. I grimace.

“What do you want from him?” The Prince whispers.

“He was part of the royal court when my parents were killed. I was told by another Boss that Talis has information that would lead me to their murderers.”

I wait for his answer, but The Prince falls dangerously silent. I pull back and look at him.

His black eyes have started to shimmer with hints of color again, but they also look vacant, like he’s left his body altogether.

“Are you okay?” I sit up.

“What’s going on?” The Princess asks, her voice groggy as she pulls herself down from the bed. Her eyes go wide at the sight of her brother without his mask. They widen further at his void-like state. She gives me her full attention. “What do you know?”

I shake my head. “Not enough. Is he okay?”

His sister drops beside him and counts his pulse. She nods. “You, asshole,” she grumbles to him. “I’m the one who protects you. Not the other way around.” She rests a hand over his chest and closes her eyes.

I gape as she draws threads from his chest. Not as many as The Prince took from Ferris, but at least half the amount. Her shoulders shake as they enter, and her eyes darken into a royal blue as The Prince’s lighten further.

“You can do it too?” I stare between them.

The Princess inhales deeply. “I help him with his burden.”

“And what is his burden exactly?”

She ignores me and re-checks her brother’s pulse as he closes his eyes and mumbles something incoherent. “He needs to sleep.”

I nod. “Okay. Fine. But I want some answers in the morning.”

“You won’t get any,” she says simply, standing and scooting back onto the bed next to Talis. “It’s not time.”

I scowl. “Time for what?”

“Goodnight,” she growls and turns her back on me, curling back up against Talis.

I frown and brush The Prince’s hair from his forehead. His head lolls to the side, and he leans onto my shoulder, his breaths skittering across my collarbone.

I need answers, my skull pounds, but I also don’t mind not having any. Not when I have this.

And that thought. That thought may be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. As if everything I am, everything that has made me, no longer matters, and all that does is this. His breath. Mine. Us.

What is happening? I wonder as exhaustion grips me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When I open my eyes, I’m alone.

I sit up in the cot, heart in my throat.

The Prince is gone.

The Princess is gone.

Most importantly, Talis is gone.

I swallow and jolt onto my feet. I race to the door to yank it open, but it’s locked. “What the fuck?” I growl, rattling the door knob.

“I’m sorry,” The Prince’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

My heart drops. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t let you hurt Talis.”

“Open the damn door!”

“I’m sorry,” he says again before footsteps retreat.

I slam my fists against the door with a shout of frustration. I tear into the bathroom and rip off my borrowed sweats, sliding back into Gretta’s gown. I thrust on my stilettos, strap on my knives’ holster. Then I move back to the door and ram my shoulder into it.

I curse as pain blossoms across my bicep. I kick at the doorknob repeatedly. On my sixth kick, the knob breaks off, and I slam the door open with a grunt.

I careen into the dark tunnel, search left and right. My ring finger ticks faster, and the concept of time slows. I trusted him. I trusted the first person since I was two years old. And he left me. He took what was mine, and he left me.

My nails curl into my palms, my breaths heavy as I try to formulate a plan. I need to take control of this situation. I need to find The Prince and make him pay for taking this truth away from me. Between the information from Ferris and whatever I could get out of Talis, I know I’d have something solid on my brother’s location.

But as time unravels from a concept to the particles of existence, and my very being vibrates with a torn uncertainty, I can’t move my feet. I can barely feel my heartbeat. It turns cold — my face, my pulse, my soul.

I turn back into the thing I was before I met The Prince, and I greet her with open arms. She never trusted, and she never botched a job. I miss her.

I trudge down the tunnel to the nearest exit, allowing the magic of the Underground to sway me from one direction to the next. When I reach a pair of black curtains, I hesitate. Because of hope. Hope. I bite my lip and glance over my shoulder, every bit of that hope crushed when I find the tunnel behind me empty. He’s not coming after you. Why would he? He left you.

I suck in a breath and step toward the curtains. Their magic latches to my pain, and I’m dumped onto a busy street. I turn my head as a woman squeaks, and my brows shoot up at the sight of Gretta. The curtains’ magic thought I wanted to be here with my friend, and maybe some part of me does, but I also just want to be alone. I need to reformulate a plan.

“Zora, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Gretta stands at her flower cart, her hair ruffled by the day’s harsh breeze. Her eyes run down my body. “You look…”

“I know. I ruined your dress.” And I had. Its bottom is shorn and stained from the dirt of the tunnels. There are drink stains I don’t remember procuring, but I must’ve in the club while dancing.

“I was going to say sad,” Gretta remarks. Her brow furrows, and she takes a timid step toward me. It’s clear she wants to wrap me in a hug, but she knows my rule. I can only be my hardest of edges in public. She lowers her voice. “Did something happen?”

What didn’t happen? I shrug and steer myself away from her. “I have to go.”

“Go?” Gretta chases after me through the crowd.

“You shouldn’t leave your product unattended,” I tell her, my voice hoarse.

“Zora, wait.” She jogs in front of me and blocks my way forward. “I’m your friend. You can talk to me.”

I press my lips together and avoid eye contact as I weigh my options. I could stand here in a dirty gown and sob to my friend about the guy I felt something for but who broke my trust. I could. But I’m not that kind of girl, and I’ve never been that kind of friend with Gretta.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she counts on me to be the grit under her boots, the strength when all else fails. If I fall apart, she’ll follow shortly after.

“I just had a long night. I promise I’m okay,” I tell her.

Her concerned look doesn’t disappear. In fact, it gets worse. “I don’t believe you.”

“Not my problem.” I shoulder past her and proceed in the general direction of my apartment.

“It’s about that guy, isn’t it?”

I stop cold in my tracks. My back muscles clench. I turn toward her slowly. “What if it is?”

Her expression turns fierce. “Where is he? I’ll talk to him.”

I snort as that absurd image comes to life in my mind. “No.”

Gretta strides to me and tugs me out of the crowd’s warpath. She gives me a serious look, and it catches me off guard. Gretta is hardly serious. Ever. “Zora, when’s the last time you let someone protect you?”

“I will protect myself.”

“That’s not okay. You need people in your corner.” She bites her lip, then lightly touches my arm. “I want to be one of those people. You’ve been kind to me, taken care of me, indulged my whims. You’ve been a true friend, a sister, and I want to return that favor to you.”

“I didn’t do those things to have them repaid,” I complain, and I know I’m being bratty, but I just want this interaction to be over with.

Gretta drops her hand from my arm. “My place is closer. You can change there, and then we will go find him.”

I look down at my boots. “I don’t want your pity.”

“Zora Vyner, don’t make me hit you.”

My head snaps up in shock. “What’s gotten into you?”

Gretta’s cheeks flame with anger. “Farrah dumped me. So maybe I have some rage I’d like to get rid of.”

“It’s her loss,” I say honestly. “You’re amazing.”

Gretta sighs. “I know. It makes no sense.”

I smile, finding the hurting pieces of myself feeling calmer. “I left my clothes and bag in an alley.”

“Forget them. I have everything you need at mine.”

We walk together quietly, her fingers brushing against mine every now and then. I appreciate it. All my years being alone, having Gretta makes it seem worthwhile somehow. Like Fate has granted me a friend for all my hardship.

We climb the stairs to her room, and we both dress in leathers and light clothes. Leather corsets for protection. Lightweight blouses and pants for a quick getaway. I keep my holster, while Gretta dawns red lipstick.

“I’m the distraction tonight,” she says simply, fluffing her hair in the mirror.

I snap a cloak around my neck and lift the hood with a smile. “By all means.”

When we hit the streets, the sun is two hours past its peak. We stop at Gretta’s flower cart, and she scoops her Magic Dust packets into a small bag from the cart’s hideaway hatch.

I raise a brow at the small bags of white powder. “That’s a lot.”

She shrugs. “Business has been slow, but I figure I might as well knock out two birds with one stone. Surely the Underground has plenty of buyers.”

I nod and scan the crowd. Everywhere I look, I expect to find The Prince lurking, watching. I frown when there’s no sign of him. Where did they disappear to?

“Any idea where we should start?” Gretta asks.

“I tend to find him when I’m not really looking,” I mumble and scratch the back of my neck. “I have until midnight to complete my task.”

While we changed, I filled Gretta in on my assignment from The Beast. I gave her the bare minimum. I have a job. I was willing to take the consequences of not completing it, but The Prince fucked up. Now, I have every desire to see him beg for forgiveness.

“There was a place he took me last night. He and his sister had their own tent, and it seemed to be where they did the bulk of their business,” I explain.

Gretta follows me to Mirror Cafe. “So we’re going back there?”

“It’s as good a place to start as any.” I lead her through the mirrored halls to the black curtains, then take her hand.

There’s a loud whoosh before we’re deposited in the middle of a massive ballroom. We exchange frowns.

“Where are we?” Gretta asks.

I let go of her and move further into the room. It’s empty but decorated for an upcoming event. “Something isn’t right.”

I reach back for her hand, grateful when she immediately takes it. “Think of the tunnels.”

She nods, and we both close our eyes.

Another whoosh, and my hand empties of Gretta’s. My eyes pop open, and dread fills me as I’m right outside the thin black door to the exclusive market from last night. Gretta is gone, and I flex my fingers, thinking maybe her hand will magically reappear in mine.

That’s the thing about magic. It obeys your deepest desires. If you don’t know yourself well enough, you’ll never control it. My guess is Gretta hasn’t grasped it yet, and her desires must be vivid enough that she was taken away to wherever the magic felt she needed to be.

I peer down the tunnel, but she’s gone. It’s fine. It’s better this way. Now, she won’t get hurt. But I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right as I push the door open and step into the exclusive marketplace.

My heart rate picks up as I find myself at the back of a large crowd. I make myself smaller, slouching and keeping my head down as I try to see what’s going on.

“—take your time perusing the product. No more than four to a tent,” a man up on the stage says. He stands at a podium with a gavel. “Remember the numbers of those you like, and report back to the stage by the end of the night to place a bid.”

I frown, and The Prince’s words come back to me. Tonight, they’re selling a product. I follow two taller figures toward the first tent, but my feet plant themselves firmly outside of it when I catch a glimpse of a familiar face within.

It’s them. Horror pools inside me. It’s The Beast’s girls. I spin around, survey every face for a navy mask.

A girl screams two tents down and laughter follows. The scream, the dark chuckles – they echo, bounce around my skull, cram down my throat.

My gut squeezes, and I race out to the tunnel. I double over and hack up nothing — my stomach too empty to vomit. My eyes stick to the door, and I can’t look away, can’t unhear that scream. I pull knives into my hands, grit my teeth, and shove back inside.

I know what kind of wrath will await me once I do this. I know I’ll likely die by The Beast’s hands, or I’ll be enslaved just like the poor girls in these tents.

But as it turns out, I do have a motherfucking conscience, and lately, she’s been reeling her lethal head.

The crowd vanishes into the tents, and even the man at the podium partakes. I open the tent flap to the first and grip my knives harder.

My blinders are on. They have to be, or I’ll fall to my knees right here and now, and I’ll beg the Gods to take me away.

So I don’t look. I don’t try to assess whether there’s any kind of innocence in this tent.

Instead, I stab a man in the neck, while another is too busy feasting on his prey to notice.

I cover the man’s mouth to stifle his choked surprise, then as he slumps to the ground, I jump on top of the next and drive my blades into either side of his skull.

Usually, I enjoy my kills.

This — I’m going through the motions. This — I’ve done this before. Except, there was no scared girl gaping up at me, her body scratched and bruised.

No, there’d only been me and them.

As the last man in the tent drops, I press a blood-covered finger to my lips and give the girl a stern look.

She nods fiercely — number two, her tag says — and darts out of the tent for the exit.

I’m right behind her.

Then I’m in the next tent.

Again.

Again.

They drop like flies. And I do it all silently.

Until number six.

I saw out the tongue of one of her four predators when she snaps her jaw open and screams in terror.

“Help!” she cries. “Help, she’s going to kill me!”

I rub my temple, smearing blood across it. At this point, I’m a blood-covered demon from hell. Even my blonde hair is matted red. I don’t exactly blame her for thinking I’m the bad guy, but it’s also annoying as boots trample toward the tent with no way out.

I growl and grab her wrist, further terrifying her but whatever. She’ll thank me later. I swipe my knife down the back of the tent and cut an opening, then I shove her through it. “Run,” I command.

Her eyes widen with her mistake. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t realize —”

I turn my back on her. “Go.”

Her feet slap against the hall’s compacted dirt, but I train my eyes on the tent flap.

It’s thrown back, and the opening fills with a hulk of a figure — one I recognize.

I steady myself and lift my chin. “Felix.”

He scans me head-to-toe in distaste. “I told The Beast you were nothing but a liability.”

“Let him know I’ve terminated our contract of employment,” I remark, taking small steps back toward the slit I cut open. As much as I want to finish what I’ve started, to save the rest of the girls, I won’t manage it if I’m outnumbered.

Larger bodies than Felix’s fill the shadowed space behind him, and his lips pull back into a venomous snarl. He slides out his sword and stalks toward me. “I’ve wanted to chop you to bits since I first laid eyes on you.”

I wipe my blades off on my pants. “And would you agree to a one-on-one, or shall you fight me like the coward I know you are.”

It’s a gamble. Really, it’s to buy me more time to escape.

But then Felix’s eyes gleam with delight. “I am a man of honor, Zora Vyner. If you wish to challenge me, to end this between just the two of us, then I will.”

I stop my retreat. Fuck. My pride flares, and I level my gaze with his. “Then call off your cronies.”

He glances back and orders the others to leave us. He turns his fierce glare to me and juts his chin over his shoulder. “Out here.”

I nod my agreement, but when he turns his back, I lunge forward and dig my daggers into his back.

Felix howls, and I rip them free as he spins around to grab me. “You fucking bitch,” he snarls and grabs my neck.

I curse as he lifts me from the ground and tosses me across the hall. I grunt as I thunk into the side of the stage, a crowd forming around us. “I never said I was honorable,” I manage and get to my feet with a wicked smile.

Felix roars in frustration and charges toward me.

I meet him head-on, sprinting forward then sliding to the right and slashing my daggers across his thigh. I narrowly dodge his sword as he drives it toward my skull, then I rush to put distance between us.

He chases me forward, and I glance over my shoulder as my heart rate spikes. He’s clumsy, slow. Both things I can work with. I stop abruptly and drop to the ground.

Felix trips on me and tumbles over my head. He shouts in pain, cutting himself with his sword. Then he lifts up and points at the nearest man. “Get her. If she doesn’t want to play fair, then so be it.”

Shit. I flee and shove through the crowd, but they catch on fast, their hands grabbing me. I shout as someone snags my waist and throws me to the ground. I cough as my breath is knocked from the impact, and I blink a few times to clear the dots threatening me with a concussion.

Felix towers above me, and to his right stands The Beast.

I swallow, fear wiggling its way between each heave of my chest.

“Give me that.” The Beast snatches Felix’s sword and positions its tip above my heart. He glares at me through his mask, his mouth twisted with scorn. “Zora, I had plans for you.”

“Then I gladly accept death.” I squirm to free myself, but the men around me stomp their boots atop my wrists and ankles. I hiss in pain as they rip my daggers from my grasp.

“You’re right,” The Beast amends and lowers the sword. “Perhaps death is too good for you. Besides, do you know the fortune you cost me this evening? I think you’ll need to work off such a debt.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as panic tries to consume me. Why did I have to entice him? Why can’t I ever just keep my damn mouth shut? My eyes flash open as hands wrap around my biceps and lug me to my feet.

“What do you say, boys? Who wants to bid on something feral tonight?” The Beast calls over the crowd.

Several murmur their distaste, but too many smile with delight.

My mouth dries. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The Beast leans in close to my ear. “Whoever gets you can do whatever they like. This is the cost of playing the hero, Zora, especially in the Underground.”

“25 threads,” Felix snarls, starting the bidding.

My eyes narrow on him as my lips peel back.

“26,” someone calls.

“48.”

Fuck, this is actually happening. I wrestle with those holding me in place, kicking and squirming. “Whoever buys me dies,” I cry out, but I can hear the fear in my voice and so can they. No no no.

“120.”

“150.”

I scan the crowd, search for any way out. There isn’t one.

“300.”

“32 –”

I tremble as my surroundings shimmer into black. I flex my biceps as I realize the men who held me are gone. I jump to my feet and make a slow circle, but everything has vanished. Everything. Life itself seems to have given up, and I wonder if I’m dead. If this void is my happily ever after.

But then light sparks all around me, like stars shooting across the night sky. I spread my feet to steady myself as they whirl closer, tighter around me.

Magic, I realize, just as the darkness evaporates, and strange, out-of-place chords of classical music dance toward me. I inhale, my eyes adjusting to the place I’ve been transported to.

A shrill cry bursts from beside me. I jump at the sound, and the music comes to an abrupt halt.

My vision clears, and goosebumps line my arms as I realize I’m in the same hall Gretta and I were randomly transported to earlier. The only difference is now there’s an actual party here.

With actual people.

And I’m a blood-covered demon.

Several women peer at me. With the music and the destination, I expected them to be dressed in formal wear, but all of them adorn armor and leather. For some, richly woven capes grace their shoulders, their hair braided or knotted but firmly out of the way.

Confusion courses through me as my eyes fly about the room, spotting weapon after weapon. Some carry swords. Others have flails. One woman even has a whip.

“What the fuck,” I mumble, just as the sound of heels hitting marble comes from my right.

“Zora!” Gretta cries, embracing me despite, well, many things. One, I don’t hug in public, but also – blood demon. She scans me over, trying to figure out if the blood on me is mine or someone else’s.

“What’s going on?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “I’m not really sure, but I met your friend.”

I shift my weight, feeling awkward as the women around us continue to stare. “What friend?” I whisper.

Just then, I spot Talis leaning against a pillar further up the banquet hall. His face is bruised, still swollen in some spots, but he’s alive and intact. He gives me a smirk, then a wiggle of his fingers in a wave.

Gretta pulls me toward him, but I stop her.

“He’s not my friend,” I say.

“Um, are you okay?” a woman asks to my left. She has her thick brown hair braided down her back and wears mostly leather. Her face looks like it’s somewhere stuck between disgust and concern as she gawks at me.

I ignore her and focus on Gretta. “Where are we?”

Gretta isn’t paying me any attention, however. Her gaze is latched to Talis, and – great, just great, she’s fucking blushing.

“Gretta,” I growl and give her arm a shake.

She finally looks at me and opens her mouth to say something, but trumpets blow.

Some of the tension leaves me as everyone in the room turns to face a balcony above, but a few continue to shoot me wary glances.

I fold my arms, the taste in my mouth sour as Gretta abandons me with a quick, “Sorry, Talis told me I’m not really supposed to be here for this, so I need to go stand with him.” I glare at her back as she retreats to the shadows, then I turn that glare to Talis.

He looks amused. Amused.

I grip my elbows in fury, ten seconds away from stomping toward him and demanding an explanation, but then he lifts his arm and points a finger up to the balcony as several women gasp and murmur in excitement.

My eyes flick up to the balcony, and my jaw falls slack.

“May I present,” The Princess says – but she’s not the fucking Princess tonight. She’s dressed in a stunning teal gown, her hair flowing down past her shoulders. She wears no mask, her blue eyes electric beneath elaborate eye makeup. “The Kingdom of Estal’s only heir to the throne,” she continues, but her expression tenses when she finds me, her eyes slicing with scorn at my appearance.

I smirk, because, well, fuck her.

Then the curtains behind her part.

“Cristen Estal, your Heir of Fate,” she announces.

Time slows. My heart thunders. My stomach twists. Everything in me fills with disbelief, doubt, distrust as The Prince steps into the light beside his sister.

But he isn’t a Boss. He wears no mask. His infinite gaze is on full display, along with a chest covered in a silken fabric, golden chains strewn across it and linking to a long cape. And as I stare at him, at this man I thought I knew, at least a little bit, I realize how terribly, utterly foolish I’ve been. I mean, his Gods-damn Boss name was The Prince, for crying out loud.

I’ve never been more grateful to be covered in blood, as it hides the blatant embarrassment reddening my face, the exposed parts of my chest.

Cristen’s eyes sweep across the crowd, his lips set in a small, practiced smile. Then he finds me, considering I’m pretty damn hard to miss, and that smile vanishes.

Concern etches across his face, as fury pools through me. My arms drop to my sides as my fists curl.

Every eye is on me or him or glancing furiously between the two of us. Cristen steps up to the banister and grips it so tightly his knuckles turn white. Outrage darkens every crevice of his face, which only fuels my own.

He doesn’t get to be angry at me. If anyone has a right to throw a tantrum right now, it’s me. Me.

I lift my chin. If this is the beginning of that stupid contest to win the Heir of Fate’s hand in marriage – Cristen’s fucking hand in marriage – then I’ve clearly lost.

I spread my arms out to the side, locking my gaze with his as I give him a lethal smile and dip into a low curtsy, extending my middle fingers out on either side of me.

Several of the women cover their mouths. Most of them, however, openly gape. Talis laughs, then slaps a hand over his mouth.

My smile widens because I don’t care. I don’t care. I stand and toss my bloody hair back, swiping it with my middle fingers for emphasis, before I drop my hands and glare at him. “Bastard,” I snarl before I spit at the ground and turn my back on him.

CHAPTER NINE

I’m this close to smiling my way out of the banquet hall and going about my life without The Prince or Cristen or who the fuck cares.

This. Damn. Close.

But as it turns out, a woman’s war cry can stop me in my tracks.

I swivel back around, my eyes flying wide as a female warrior charges toward me. “Fuck!” I screech as her leather-clad shoulder rams into my chest and knocks me to the floor.

“You will not insult our Heir,” the woman hisses with venom. She jams her forearm across my neck and cuts off my windpipe.

“How ironic of you,” I squeak, remembering her face, “just moments ago, you were worried about me.”

“That was before I knew you were a despicable brat.” She pushes her forearm down harder.

I bat at her sides, and victory scores through me when my fingers find a dagger strapped to her waist. I rip it free then plunge it into her bicep.

She howls and falls off of me.

I spring to my feet, bend down and tear the dagger free from her arm. I pant heavy breaths as I rake my eyes over her in displeasure. “You shouldn’t attack an enemy without knowing their strengths.” I lean over her with a snarl. “Mine is being cornered.”

“You’re disgusting,” she growls.

“Better that than pathetic,” I snap back and bare my teeth at her.

“That’s enough,” a low voice murmurs.

I falter to the side. My insides twist with unease.

Cristen Estal stands a few feet away. His face is grim, but I swear there’s a hint of pride lighting those ever-swirling eyes of his. “Tonight is a night of peace for us all. Tomorrow begins the tournament.”

I reel in my fatigue, embarrassment, fury, and find my indifference. I fold my arms over my chest and purse my lips. “I no longer wish to compete.”

Cristen’s gaze darkens, fleeting between maroon, indigo, and emerald. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not without wiping your memory.”

I scowl. “I don’t care. I clearly don’t belong here, so I want out.”

His shoulders tense beneath his cloak. “I would have to erase every memory since your initiation to the tournament that is tainted with my presence.”

Something cold and mournful rolls through me. Every memory of Cristen, of The Prince – gone? I chew on the inside of my cheek. No, it would be more than that. I would forget the only lead I have on my brother, too, because Cristen was there. I swallow and flick my gaze around the banquet hall.

Everyone stares. No one speaks.

I level my gaze with his. I don’t need to say anything. He knows I can’t back out, not if it means giving up the only lead on my brother. Still, I can never control my snake of a tongue. “Then I’ll stay, but not for you. For my brother.”

The tension in Cristen’s shoulders amplifies along his neck, his jaw. His eyes become nothing more than a storm, and it’s hard to tell if it’s anger or pain. His lips part slightly on a small, barely conceivable inhale. Maybe he thinks himself stoic, that I wouldn’t catch it, but I do, and it makes the cold, mournful thing inside me grow teeth. That small, pained inhale – it saws in half whatever faint line of feeling was left between us.

He gives me a single, cold nod before he turns away and points to the orchestra. “Play,” he demands, and it’s the voice I remember he used with Ferris. It’s the voice of a Boss. Or, perhaps, one day a King. He gestures to the crowd with annoyance. “Dance. Feast. Celebrate. In a week, one of you will be the future Queen of the Kingdom of Estal.”

And just like that, the festivities commence.

I stand still, fidget as eyes fall on and off me. People mingle, but it’s obvious what their main topic of discussion is: me. I scan the room for Talis and Gretta, but they’ve disappeared. My eyes trail Cristen as he climbs up a spiral staircase to the balcony.

His sister latches to his arm as he moves to the curtain at her back. He shakes her off and whispers something angrily in her ear before he swipes the curtain out of the way and disappears.

The Princess finds me staring and shoots me a disgusted sneer before she parts the curtains and stomps after him.

Someone bumps into me, hard.

I turn my head and find the female warrior who attacked me.

She bandaged her arm and looks not at all phased by the wound. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t see you,” she says and bats her eyelashes.

I roll my eyes, then catch sight of the girl next to her. Sera, I remember, the woman having been gossiping about Cristen in the streets. Makes sense these two would be peas in a pod. They’re both annoying as fuck.

“Not that you care, but I’m Harmony,” the woman introduces herself. Then she gestures to Sera. “This is my younger sister, Sera. We’re Evercore sisters.”

I narrow my eyes. Why is she saying her surname as if it’s supposed to mean literally anything to me? “You’re right,” I respond, “I don’t care.”

Harmony bristles and her fists clench.

Meanwhile, Sera stays silent, which is a considerable upgrade for her. She seems keen to let her older sister take the reins of the conversation.

Harmony grits her teeth. “Despite your blatant disrespect, you have skill, guts. We’re going to need that on our side for this tournament.”

I lift a brow. Was that a Gods-damned compliment?

“Must I spell it out for you?” Harmony asks, noting my confusion. She scoffs. “We want you to join our alliance.”

A snort of laughter escapes me, thinking she’s joking. Then I straighten at her anger. “The point is to win over Cristen, is it not? Why would you want me?”

Harmony and Sera exchange a confused look.

“What?” I ask.

Sera finally piques up. “No one cares about winning Cristen’s favor. Do you not understand the tournament?”

I clear my throat, uncomfortable. Heat travels up to my cheeks in embarrassment.

Harmony balks. “How could you not, at the very least, know the purpose behind the tournament you signed your life to?”

“I’m sorry, say that again,” I blurt.

The Evercore sisters share another look, this time of concern.

“This tournament is a fight to the death,” Harmony says slowly.

Sera grimaces. “We’re forming an alliance to get us through until the end. But then, well…” she averts her gaze from her sister.

“We all have to kill each other?” I ask. Panic builds in my chest. I knew the tournament would require battling each other, but I thought it would simply be until the other person conceded, not until they were dead. “What’s the point of that?” I look between them, then glance around at all the other warriors in the room.

“It makes perfect sense if you think about it,” Harmony explains. “The Heir of Fate needs a protector. A Queen who can also be a bodyguard. That way, he can step into the public light and begin his reign.”

“The tournament finds the strongest of us, while it eliminates every future threat to the throne,” Sera continues for her sister. “Only Royalist families like ours have the ability to challenge the throne, but there is no challenge if the families’ sole heirs have all been picked off by one another.”

“That’s…” I begin. That’s actually crazy smart. I press my lips together in contemplation. “So you two have trained your entire life to die?”

“No,” Harmony immediately insists, her tone deadly. “We’ve trained our entire lives to die for the throne.”

“It will be Harmony or me,” Sera says, so sure of herself I almost believe it. “There are no better warriors here. We’ve had the best instructors – not just in the Kingdom but in the entirety of Mirror.”

“We are offering you a free ride until the end, and then a peaceful death of your choosing,” Harmony explains.

I stare at their leathers, their capes. They certainly dress the part.

“We expect you to carry your weight, though,” Sera adds. “We only want the strongest in our alliance.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste as she adds, “After you told me in the street you were competing, I did my research on you.”

“While we don’t want a non-Royalist, we admire your…scrappiness.” Harmony extends to me what I think is supposed to be a smile, but really it’s too dishonest to be anything but a grimace.

“I’m not the ‘team’ type of person.” I tuck my bloodied hair behind my ears. “I work alone.”

“That would be a mistake in this tournament.” Sera flicks her hair over her shoulder. She wears it in loose waves, a total opposite to her sister’s sleek braid. “Look around, Zora.”

My ego flares, but I force it away as I study the warriors around me closely.

Several, if not all of them, have bunched into groups here and there.

They’re also forming alliances, I realize. I look back at the Evercore sisters. “How can I trust that you won’t stab me in the back until the end?”

Harmony looks downright offended by that, and I’m surprised to see that Sera mirrors her distaste. “The Evercores have been many things over the centuries,” Harmony admits, “but our word is ironclad. We are true-blooded Royalists.”

My stomach squeezes. “I’ve known other Royalists. Lived with Royalists, once upon a time. I have no desire to repeat that.”

Sera shakes her head in refusal. “There are different factions. My sister and I are as honorable as they come.”

That gives me pause, considering I wasn’t finding them honorable at all. “You attacked me,” I hiss at Harmony.

She shrugs. “I only knew what Sera told me about you. I wanted to see if it was true.”

I run my tongue over my teeth. “I want time.”

They both nod.

“You can have until thirty minutes before midnight,” Harmony agrees.

“They will direct us out of the banquet hall around then,” Sera continues. “Find us if you wish to join us.”

“If not,” Harmony says, her voice low and powerful, “I advise you to stay out of our way unless you wish for a painful death.”

I nod my agreement, and we separate from each other. I prowl to the sidelines of the crowd, watching as the Evercore sisters visit one alliance, then the next – likely seeking a replacement if I decide not to work with them.

I gravitate toward a table off to the side, where drinks and delicate finger foods rest. My mouth salivates at the sight of it, and I pile up a plate before I stuff them down my throat. I groan in ecstasy, closing my eyes as my stomach screams with pleasure.

Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to a daily slice of meagerly seasoned bread. This – this is heaven. I finish off my plate within a few minutes and suck the grease off my fingers in satisfaction before I stroll back to the table for seconds.

Movement behind one of the many pillars lining the back of the room catches my attention. I set my plate down and stride over, fully expecting to find Talis and Gretta tangled up together. She is going to get a piece of my mind, and he is going to give me the damn truth.

I step behind the pillar, ready to grab Talis by the hair and rip him from my friend, but instead, there’s no one. My brow furrows, and I take a step back.

An arm snakes around my waist and tugs me backward. Some semblance of a yelp escapes me as a hand clamps over my mouth. I snarl and bite down on their fingers, which pull away quickly.

“Fuck,” Cristen grumbles, his curse rumbling through his chest and against my back as he shakes out his hand.

I spin out of his grasp and scrape my gaze down his body.

He hides himself behind a pillar, shadows filtering around his tall, muscular frame. His face is scrunched in pain as he surveys the finger I chomped on. “I should’ve known you’re a biter.”

“And you should know better than to grab an unknowing woman behind a dark, creepy pillar,” I snap.

He drops his hand and lifts his gaze to mine. He clenches his jaw.

“What do you want?” I demand. “Isn’t it enough that you tricked me?”

His expression softens. “I wanted to tell you, Zora.”

“But you didn’t.” I itch behind my ear, scraping off dried blood in annoyance. “I don’t want your stupid explanation, alright? I just want to know why you’ve pulled me behind this pillar so I can get back to eating free food.”

The corners of his lips quirk up at that, but they fall as he takes in my fury. He takes a measured step toward me, his body stiff. His gaze flows over my frame again, and the unfiltered anger I saw when I first showed up at the banquet hall returns. He takes another step and stares me dead in the eyes, his expression so cold and serious it burns through me. “Who did this to you?” he growls, then lightly runs a finger over my chin, taking blood off as he goes. “And tell me none of this blood is yours, or Gods help them – they will receive a visit from their greatest fear tonight.”

My body tenses at the feel of his touch, at the anger in his gaze. He’s not angry at me? My eyes drift to his neck, where his pulse hammers enough to see it. “You’re not mad I showed up to your party like this?”

He pulls back as if I struck him. His face twists with hurt. “You think I care more about this damn party than your well-being?” He grits his teeth as he scans my face. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I seethe. “You locked me in a room, left me behind.”

“I had to,” he counters. “I had to go back to the palace, and I couldn’t let you hurt Talis.”

“I said I wouldn’t,” I argue.

“And I knew that was a lie, especially if he told you the truth,” he throws back.

My mouth snaps shut. Adrenaline builds inside my veins.

Cristen closes his eyes for a moment, his expression falling to guilt.

“You know something?” I ask, my voice shrill. I lose my composure and slam my fists into his chest. “Do you know what happened to my family?”

Cristen’s jaw flexes, his neck strained as he keeps his mouth shut.

I step away in horror. “You’ve known about how they died, haven’t you?”

He sucks in a careful breath. “I’m the Heir of Fate, Zora.”

It’s not until he says it that the reality of who he is fully and truly settles into my bones. “You know everything,” I whisper and stare at the ground. I can’t look at him. He isn’t a man. He’s never been a man. He’s Fate, itself. He knows not only everything about me but everything about the universe. He. Knows. All.

For years, I have hunted for the truth. I was two, and my parents were murdered. I was two, and my brother was taken. I was meant to remain innocent for so much longer, but the Royal Guard stormed my home and snatched my innocence away. As long as I can remember, that was the only true lead I had. The King had been involved. But I knew nothing else, and as time passed, even that fact became murky. There were so many shattered pieces of the truth, that everything – even the most honest things in life – became lies.

“Tell me,” I say, and my voice is as small as a child’s. In this moment, I am not the woman who murdered several Royalists and freed trafficked girls. I am not the spymaster for one of the most influential Bosses in the Underground. I am nothing but two-year-old Zora Vyner, desperate to cling to something, anything with a resemblance to an answer. To why. WHY.

Cristen reaches for me, but I step further away. “Look at me, Zora,” he pleads.

“Tell me,” I say, and the words are hoarse.

He lets out a shuddering breath. “What I know has too many holes,” he says quietly. “If I tell you, you’ll jump to conclusions, and I can’t afford that right now.”

My fists clench. “Don’t deny me this.” I force my eyes up to his, and my body wants to cave in on itself. I look at him, and all I feel is betrayal. “If you deny me this truth, then I will never speak to you again. Not like this. You will never have my trust, my heart, not even my rage. You will have none of me.”

His face darkens with pain. “Zora, please. You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” I shake my head, then wet my lips. I push aside my defeat, my hurt, and I lean into what remains of the feelings I have for him. I can banish them as much as I want, but they’re there. They’ve been there. I take a timid step toward him and reach a hand up to his cheek.

He inhales sharply as I touch him, and his hand moves up to cover mine, capturing me there and squeezing my fingers. The galaxy of his eyes sharpens with anxiety, desperation, lust, but mostly, I just see sorrow. So, so much grief.

“Cristen,” I whisper his name for the first time, and what a massive part of my heart hopes isn’t the last time. “Please.”

His nostrils flare, and he bites his lip as he stares at me. The hand that squeezes mine trembles a bit as he carefully drops his lips to my forehead.

I forcefully push back the anger that flares through me, because I know what this is. This is goodbye. Not goodbye to the tournament. No, I’ll win that, and I’ll take the throne, and then I’ll force him to his knees with my blade until he gives me the truth. This is goodbye to us, to whatever it was we were becoming.

He lifts his lips from my forehead and tugs me to his chest, wrapping me in an embrace. “Forgive me,” he whispers into my hair, then steps away.

He’s gone quick, his long cape disappearing around one pillar then another before every piece of me hardens.

“Never,” I say to no one but the shadow of him that lingers before me, dark and tumultuous. “I can never forgive you for this.”

CHAPTER TEN

I stay behind the pillars until a trumpet blows and a guard announces it’s time for everyone to leave the banquet hall. My feet move me forward, but my heart stays in those shadows, hoping, wanting, wishing.

I find Harmony and Sera leading the crowd. A group of hopefuls surrounds them, women wanting to take my place.

But I meant it. I’m going to win, and winning means being smart.

Harmony lifts a brow at me in question.

I give her a firm nod.

And that’s that.

The guard leads us to a large archway. It shimmers with magic, and Sera elbows me softly.

“Be ready,” she mutters.

I instinctively reach for a blade but falter. “I don’t have a weapon.”

“There will be some at the far end of the arena,” Harmony whispers. “Head straight there. We will meet you after we pick off the weaker ones.”

I set my jaw with determination.

We walk through the portal side-by-side, and my stomach clenches as I free-fall toward a massive pit. I cry out just before magic wraps around me and sets me on the ground.

In the pit, the walls are smooth and shoot straight up for at least 30 feet, making escape impossible. Chairs line the edges, and I’m shocked to see them filled. Nerves tighten my core, and I swallow my mild panic. I didn’t expect an audience, but of course, there is one. This tournament ends with a Queen. The Royalists will want proof of that.

At the far end, atop the wall, a throne is positioned. Cristen sits on its edge, elbows on his knees, his eyes stuck on me. He wears a circlet now, its bronze metal shining beneath the moonlight. To his left and right are his sister and Talis, and to my shock, beside Talis is Gretta. They all stare at me, but Gretta is the only one who looks excited. She claps her hands toward me and offers me a stunning smile.

Oh, Gretta. I smile back at her, and Cristen straightens at the sight of it. I force my smile to fall away, and I avoid making eye contact with him. If he wants my attention, he will have to force it. I’ll never give it to him willingly again, unless he’s on his knees, my sword at his throat.

Soon, the other women are lined up beside me. They all ready themselves, and I take a moment to digest the arena’s contents.

Along either side, a tall lush forest grows, offering cover I’ll probably need sooner rather than later with how exhausted my muscles feel. The middle of the arena remains untouched, except for a small river dividing the whole thing in half. At the farthest end, just like Harmony said, there’s a table set up with several weapons, bags, and even some food.

She must have insider information, I realize, and I’m suddenly more than happy I teamed up with the Evercore sisters.

I position a foot behind me, anchoring myself in the dirt and preparing to take off. There are about 30 women here, and at least 12 have their eyes locked on the supplies awaiting at the opposite end. I need to be fast, but by the dangerous smiles lining Harmony’s and Sera’s faces, I have a feeling my competition is about to grow very, very thin.

Cristen stands from his throne to speak, an amplifying enchantment across his voice. “Thank you for coming,” he addresses the Royalists watching. “I am happy to take my first steps out of the shadows and introduce myself to you this evening.”

There’s a splatter of polite applause.

“Tonight, I begin the hunt for my bride, my protector, my equal.”

I can’t help but look up at him as he speaks. His voice is magnetic, charming, dark. It’s the voice of a King, and I hate the pride that swells in me. You don’t know him, I reprimand myself. Also, you hate him right now. Get it right, stupid heart.

It doesn’t listen. My stupid heart lurches as his eyes lock with mine as if he’s speaking to no one but me as he continues.

“I’m looking for my Queen,” he says, a bit of emotion breaking through his voice.

My mind races back to last night, to when he called me exactly that. I force myself to stare at the ground.

“I humbly thank each and every family here that is willing to sacrifice their daughters in the hope of winning the throne. I am overwhelmed by your dedication, and I assure you that I will honor the results of this tournament. The last warrior standing will be crowned.”

This time, the applause is deafening. Families shout down encouragement to the women around me.

“Funerals will be arranged after the Queen is found,” Cristen concludes, his words strained with tension.

I expect the crowd’s encouragement to die out on that grim note, but it becomes a roar. So much so, I almost miss my chance.

A trumpet blares from the top of the pit, and I break into a sprint. I measure my breaths and pump my arms, not daring to look around me or to pay too much attention to the screams. Faster.

I close in on the supply table, but I’m forced to slide to a halt as a bulky woman with an ax skids to a stop before me.

I duck with a yelp as she tosses her ax at my neck. I use my smaller size to my advantage and scurry around her. I stop in front of the table, sling one of the bags over my shoulder, and grab as many weapons as I can. I strap two daggers to my thigh, then reach for a sword.

I spin around, blade forward as a roar blasts from behind me. I dart to the left as the ax once again flies toward me, its owner furious. It nicks my shoulder, and I hiss as blood bubbles up from the wound and mingles with my dirtied skin. I clutch a hand over it and keep my sword extended as I scan the area.

So far, it’s just me and Ax-thrower. Everyone else is tied up in battle near the middle of the pit, including my allies.

“You don’t deserve to be part of this, and I’m going to prove it right here, right now.” Ax-thrower spits on the ground at my feet.

I wield my sword in a spin. It’s a showy move, but it also proves I know how to use it. I could let her think I’m small, weak, but I prefer to beat my opponents as nothing more and nothing less than myself.

She snarls and cleaves her ax toward my chest.

A loud clang rings out as my sword intersects her charge. My muscles bulge, and the wound on my shoulder aches as I hold my blade steady. I can’t hold it, I realize, just as the woman lets out a howling screech. I stumble back in shock, and the ax falls out of the woman’s hand.

She topples over, her eyes growing dim before she face plants in the dirt. A blade sticks straight out between her shoulder blades, and the culprit stands proud three feet away.

Sera is as covered in blood as I am now, her loose hair stringing around her in red and her chest heaving as she rips her sword free. She gives me a tense smile. “You got a weapon.”

“And bags.” I leap over the fallen warrior and grab two more bags from the table. “For all of us.”

Battle cries ring out, and the arena fills with the sound of boots thumping into dirt, slamming the ground with fury.

“Move to the forest,” Sera commands and points to the right side of the arena. “Harmony went to make camp.”

“What about you?” My heart stutters as I take in the group of warriors making their way toward us.

“I’m not done.” Her tense smile widens into something wild and uncaged.

I try to imagine the woman in front of me as the same gossiping simpleton I met in the streets, but I can’t. Whoever that girl was, she was a farce, a deception hiding the beast within.

And I realize how much I needed to see that. To know another woman is as eager for blood lust as me, not willing to bow for anyone but herself.

Respect turns my vision red, and despite my exhaustion and my wound, I return her smile, drop the bags at my feet, and raise my sword. “Allies,” I tell her, as my ring finger’s constant tremor steadies.

She tilts her head in appreciation, then directs her attention to the coming herd. “They don’t know how to play dirty,” she says.

My smile turns lethal. “Perfect.”

There’s a millisecond before the roar, the clang of weapons, the lives shredded to pieces, and in that moment, I know I could die. I know it so intently that my heart races to a tune too fast to comprehend and yet too slow to not already be broken. I know I may not walk away from this fight, and I see my death in every pair of eyes staring back at me.

I turn my gaze toward Cristen. I don’t want to. But it’s also everything I want. I don’t know what I expect from a man who has done nothing but lie to me.

But I know I don’t expect the way his gaze is glued to me, his chin resting on his folded fingers as if in prayer. Not to the Gods. To me. There is so much hope and fear and certainty in that gaze — that one fucking look of his, and it unravels me.

That look is belief. He believes I will win this. He believes I am strong enough to beat strength itself, because that’s what this is. These female warriors are strength.

He believes I’m stronger. Maybe he even believes I’m stronger than him.

In that single millisecond, that single forsaken look, I believe in myself. I know I can kill. I know I can be what I need to be for a job. But to win this, to come out on top, I can’t just be skillful. I must be power, and I must believe the muscles beneath my skin will not fail me. I must believe I can be a queen.

And as much as I want to find my brother, as much as I want to avenge my murdered parents, I also think, for the first time, I want something for myself.

I don’t just believe I can win this tournament. No, Cristen’s look offers me a perspective of so, so much more.

I will be the best damn Queen this kingdom has ever seen, I think and take off running into the battle with a cry of fury.

Then, I slash my sword through hearts, so they bleed like mine has for so long.

For too long.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Get down!” Sera yells and swings her sword toward me in the same second.

I drop and shield my face as her blade severs a neck. Blood splatters over me, but I don’t have time to digest the kill. I throw a leg out and trip a woman sprinting toward Sera before I jump up and push my back against hers.

The other warriors have us surrounded. They form a circle, trying to overwhelm us.

“We need to retreat,” Sera shouts and cuts into a thigh.

I grit my teeth and dance over a couple of bodies before I land a strike on someone with their back turned and their attention on a different opponent. They fall with a cry, confusing their opponent long enough for me to make a second strike.

I stab my blade through their opponent’s chest, but I wobble on my feet. I’m tired. Too tired. No amount of adrenaline will get me through the entirety of this battle. “Let’s go!” I answer Sera.

She backs up toward me, and we press our shoulder blades to each other. “We need a distraction.”

My eyes search the arena. Some of the weaker warriors turned their attention to those more their caliber, leaving only a few enemies against us. Still, it’s a few too many. “I don’t think we will be that lucky.”

“Then we fight through.” Sera groans as she takes a hit from the side.

I counter, blocking a second blow before it can reach her. I avoid eye contact with the female warrior attempting to take us down before I swivel my blade and plunge it into her torso. It’s easier this way – not seeing the light leave their eyes. Innocent innocent innocent, my brain screeches, but I refuse to listen. I can’t.

The warrior crumples, and I yank Sera away.

We sprint toward the tree line, then we slam ourselves down as metal zings through the air. Golden arrows whiz by in the same instant. The moment they pass, we shoot back up to our feet and continue to flee, hand-in-hand.

It’s not until the first twig hits my face that the muscles in my jaw unclench. We run up a hill, then hide behind two trees to catch our breath.

I stare up at the foliage, listen to the screeches of battle beyond. “Now what?”

“We find Harmony.” Sera gulps in air. She checks her side for a wound. The blade made a deep cut into her leather, but the actual wound is a minimal scratch.

I reach up to my bicep, hoping for the same luck but pull back a sticky hand. “Shit, I really hope these bags have gauze in them.”

Sera’s eyes narrow in on my shoulder. She frowns. “It’s bad.”

“It feels bad.” I close my eyes and lean my head back on the tree. As my heart rate slows, the pain trickles in. Soft and steady, then a roaring storm.

“The stronghold isn’t far from here.” Sera rolls her shoulders back and sheathes her sword. “We should go while we still have the strength to carry on.”

“Who says I even have that?” I grumble and take a languid step forward.

Sera rakes a hand through her long, bloodied hair. Her face twists into a haughty, annoyed expression, and I see a semblance of the frustrating gossip I first met. “Just move.”

I glare at her back but follow her further up the hill.

The forest becomes denser as we trek forward, and after several minutes, I can’t hear the battle. Leaves rustle nearby, and I study the shadows. “It’s just us in this arena, right?”

Sera glances back at me with weariness before she sets her focus ahead. “The arena is filled with any challenges the Heir fears we will face during our reign.”

“That’s not really an answer,” I point out.

“No, it’s not just us,” she deadpans and parts a set of vines.

I struggle to pass through them as she doesn’t hold them open for me. I grunt as I tangle myself, batting the things around until I make it through. I slow, and my muscles turn to liquid.

Sera crosses a river over a thin, wooden plank before she meets Harmony on the other side. Behind them is a small hut made of branches, twine, and leaves.

Harmony stands covered in dirt, a pile of twigs and branches held under one arm.

“Did you build that hut?” I ask.

She shrugs and gestures to her sister and me. “Couldn’t have been any more difficult than whatever you two just went through.”

I lift a brow and carefully cross the river to the other side.

Harmony sets her pile of wood down, then sets to work on building a fire.

“You know how to survive in the wilderness?” I stare in curiosity as Sera crouches with a handmade flint.

Both sisters exchange an annoyed look.

I frown. “I just don’t get it.”

Sera huffs. “I told you: the Heir wants us prepared for anything.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I sit down beside the fire as it blazes to life. I shuck off the three backpacks I strapped over myself and rummage through them in the hopes of a salve for my wound. “I don’t get why he chose me for this. I can kill, but that’s about it.”

The sisters settle on the other side of the fire. Harmony kicks her boots off, and they both take off their capes.

“We don’t get it either,” Harmony says after a moment.

My heart sinks in my chest a little, but I remind myself of the belief I saw in Cristen’s eyes. The belief I had in myself for a moment. I can do this. I just need to be smart. I need to learn. My fingers scrape against a plastic container at the bottom of one of the bags. I take it out and pop off the lid, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of a first aid kit.

“Let me do it,” Sera says and scoots closer.

I tense as she takes a bottle of alcohol out of my grip before she drizzles it over my wound without warning. “Fuck,” I bite out as the wound bubbles.

Sera cracks a smile, and Harmony chuckles.

“Not funny.” I glare at them, then hiss as Sera cleans the wound with a cloth.

“This is pretty deep. We’ll have to keep an eye on it for infection.” Sera lifts my arm up, then wraps a bandage around the wound. She ties it off, cinching it directly over the tear in my skin.

“Don’t ever be a nurse,” I say with a wince.

Sera laughs and gives the bandage a flick. “I don’t know. I think I did pretty good.”

Harmony undoes her leather chestpiece and slides it off. “I’m going to rinse off. Sera, keep watch.”

I look over to the river. “Is it safe?”

“Until sundown,” Harmony answers as she pulls off the rest of her clothing.

“But it’s…” I trail off as I look up at the sky. When did the sun come up? “Morning,” I finish. “We were fighting all night? It felt like an hour at most.”

“Adrenaline does that to you.” Sera takes out her weapons and takes turns sticking them in the fire to burn off the blood. “You should always keep track of time during a fight. The last thing you want is for it to get away from you and to die of exhaustion.”

“Will the others not find us here?” I wonder as I lie down on my side, my back to the fire and my eyes glued to the set of vines separating us from our enemies.

“It’s possible, but my guess is we won’t have any intrusions until nightfall. Those left after the initial battle are strong, but we are the strongest. They know they won’t stand a chance in combat.”

“So, they’ll try sabotage,” Harmony adds in a sing-song way as she plunges into the river. She disappears beneath the water before her head pops up and she slops her hair behind her.

“The keyword is try,” Sera continues. She shrugs. “We’re ready for anything.”

“Because you have insider information,” I say.

Sera grins. “We’re Evercores. It has perks.”

“And what happens to the river at night?”

“We don’t know,” Sera says. Her smile fades into annoyance, and her voice slides into a slight whine. “We were warned. That’s all.”

We fall to silence as the tension of the battle eases.

Harmony rinses out her hair, and the blood stuck to my skin screams with an incessant itch. “That looks nice,” I admit.

Sera waves me on. “Go ahead, but take off your bandage and set it aside. We’ll need to reuse it.” She scratches her brow. “And hurry up. I’m itchy too.”

I stand and peel off my clothes, my shoulder aching with every movement. As soon as I’m down to my underwear, I gently unwrap my wound and set the bandage aside, before stripping down completely. I pad over to the water and dip a toe in, then bite my tongue. It’s freezing.

Harmony splashes at me. “Just jump in.”

I shiver but concede. I give myself a few steps of a running start, then cannonball in. A faint screech erupts from Harmony and Sera as my head drops beneath the frigid surface. I float beneath for a moment, goosebumps rising across my skin as I scrub away the blood. My muscles tremble, but after a few seconds, they numb in the iciness of the water. I bob up to the surface with a gasp and blink to clear the droplets from my lashes.

“You almost put out the fire,” Sera shoots at me. She crouches beside the flames and coaxes them to grow, using her sword to push around twigs.

“Oops.” I manage a sheepish smile.

Harmony swims over next to me, then rests her elbows back on the bank. “So what’s the story?” she asks me, lifting her face up toward the sun and closing her eyes.

I scrunch my hair in the water, then run my fingers through it until every matted portion teases out. “What story?”

“You and the Heir,” Sera says, as if it should be obvious what they’re asking. She moves to the river bank and splashes water on her face, rinsing it off but keeping her attention on the entrance to our stronghold.

“I’ll even take the story about showing up to the party already covered in blood,” Harmony submits. One of her eyes peeks at me. “Or maybe that’s all the same story.”

“I killed some bastards.” I scrub at my cheeks. “There’s not much more to it.”

Harmony scoffs.

“And the Heir?” Sera persists.

“What makes you think I know anything about him?” I swallow and turn away, afraid my face will reveal too much. I rinse under my nails, beneath my breasts, even my Gods-damned belly button. Why does blood have to get everywhere?

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the electric tension between you two,” Sera explains.

“Or the way he was eye-fucking you the moment he saw you,” Harmony points out.

I redden and keep my back turned. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“One of us is going to marry the guy. Also, we’ve basically saved your life.” Sera tugs off her boots and rolls up her pants before she drops her legs into the river. “The least you could do is let us know if he’s a dick.”

I turn to them with a dark expression. “Okay. Fine. He’s a dick.”

Harmony drifts back into the water. Her lips pull into a smile. “I kind of like dicks.”

Laughter bubbles up in my chest, and when Sera bursts into a hacking fit, I can’t help but join her.

Harmony pauses, considering what she just said. Her cheeks flare with a blush. “I mean…you know what I mean.”

Sera and I get control of ourselves for half of a second before we roll into another laughing fit.

It’s weird. I’ve never been a girls' girl, but there’s something therapeutic about talking to the sisters. I miss Gretta, I think, and my laugh dies out. Worry fiddles with my heart. Talis better not hurt her.

“What?” Harmony asks, noticing my concern.

My body convulses with a shiver, so I swim to the river bank and pull myself free of the water. I wring out my hair, then grab my clothes and bring them to the water to clean them. “My friend. Last I saw her, she was with Talis, the Heir’s, well, I’m not sure what he is.”

The sisters share one of their ‘wait-she-doesn’t-know’ looks, and my heart gives a solid thump. “What is it?”

“I guess you didn’t grow up in the Royalist circle, so you probably don’t know much about the Heir, do you?” Sera asks.

“No,” I admit and continue to scrub at my clothes.

“We know more than most,” Harmony says as if she’s trying to lessen my embarrassment.

I wave her off. “I don’t really care. He’s a dick like I said. That’s all I really need to know.”

I clearly don’t convince them as they share another one of those looks.

I scowl. “Just tell me.”

“Cristen has the ability to see lines of Fate, but it’s a burden that would drive any one person mad,” Sera explains. “I mean, try and imagine knowing everything.” She shivers with over-dramatized disgust. “What a headache.”

“Our parents told us stories about Cristen when he was a kid. His father, the late King, would force Cristen to read the threads of the dead,” Harmony continues. She grimaces. “The King consulted our parents, and they tried to sway him in a different direction, but he kept using Cristen.”

I think back to Ferris, to making Cristen read his threads. He’d been in pain. He almost died. I suck in a breath and wring out my clothes. “Why dead people?”

“The King had a temper. Not many survived a couple of minutes in his presence unless they were devout Royalists,” Sera says. “We don’t really understand how Cristen’s ability works, we just remember our parents being distraught. They witnessed the King forcing Cristen to read the threads of a dead soldier.”

“We overheard them arguing about it,” Harmony says, her eyes staring off into nowhere as she remembers the day she and her sister eavesdropped. “Reading the threads is painful as it is. Apparently, it’s worse when the person’s dead.”

“The King would cut him if he disobeyed or was too exhausted to continue,” Sera finished with a look of disgust.

“The scars,” I say before I can stop myself. I swallow and look away. “He has scars all over his chest, maybe his whole torso. He used an illusion of tattoos to hide them.” I peer up at the sisters and find them gawking at me.

“Were you two…together?” Sera asks, her eyes wide.

I shake my head, then stop myself. “Not really. I don’t know. We certainly aren’t now.”

“And he didn’t tell you any of this? About his ability?” Harmony wonders.

I exhale and lay my clothes out to dry. “No. I didn’t even know he was the Heir of Fate.”

The sisters fall silent as they try to make sense of that.

I grimace. “What were you going to tell me about Talis?”

Harmony clears her throat and pulls herself out of the river. “Cristen uses his sister, Caya, and Talis as anchors. The King instituted it after Cristen nearly died as a kid.”

“Anchors?” My brow furrows.

“It’s a spell used often among those with powerful magic. It provides balance and allows you to do more with your abilities without pain or fatigue,” Sera explains. “But it binds your anchors to you for life. It can’t be broken once the spell is performed.”

“That seems intense,” I admit, finding a new appreciation for The Princess – or I guess Caya – and Talis.

“More than intense, considering the Heir can’t see the Fates of those he’s closest with. He’s spell-bonded with Caya and Talis, so he can’t protect them from the unknown.” Harmony shakes out her hair and begins to braid it. Her lips purse in discomfort. “I don’t envy him or his ability. I think most people do, but it’s because they think he’s all-powerful. In reality, I don’t think he can even help the people he loves the most.”

My mind whirs at that. Maybe I misjudged him. Maybe he had a damn good reason for not telling me the truth. I chew on my lip. But does that make it right?

No. I move by the fire to dry my skin and hair. A lie is still a lie.

My body dries, and I grab a stick, setting my clothes across it and holding them carefully above the fire. They steam but dry far quicker, and after fifteen minutes, I pull them on. They’re a little damp, but it’s better than the blood-covered alternative.

Sera and Harmony fall into whispers, and I choose to ignore them. More than likely, they’re plotting my death. I don’t blame them, but I also don’t want to know when, how, or where.

I step up to the small hut Harmony built and duck inside. She used leaves to create padding under her and her sister’s capes. I’m not as lucky, but sleeping on the ground is my forte.

I curl up in the far corner of the hut, my body too exhausted to stay awake any longer. My mind wanders back to the Underground, and I wonder if The Beast is searching for me. They’ve probably ransacked my apartment, even Gretta’s, I guess, and the thought makes me grateful Talis took her under his wing. Maybe he knew. If he’s Cristen’s anchor, does that mean he shares some of the Heir of Fate’s powers?

I fall asleep as my brain turns to mush, similar questions swirling about like a tornado. Despite my exhaustion, my sleep is light, and I toss and turn. One of the sisters collapses next to me at some point, and it’s way too soon when my shoulder is shaken.

“Zora, your turn for watch,” Harmony whispers, trying not to wake Sera.

I groan and sit up, immediately realizing I forgot to wrap my wound. My shoulder burns with intense pain, and I have to bite down on my tongue not to moan. Harmony gives me a concerned look, but I shoo her toward her bed and leave the hut.

One swipe with my hand, and I know the wound needs stitches, but the first aid kit came with no such materials. My eyes fall on my sword, its tip tucked in the fire and red hot. “Oh, fuck me,” I mutter and tear off a piece of my sleeve. I ball it up and shove it in my mouth before I grab the sword and slap it across my wound.

I screech into the fabric as the sword burns the wound closed. It takes a painful moment to get the blade free, some of my skin peeling up with it.

My chest heaves as I set the blade back into the flames and watch my skin melt off its tip. I peer down at my wound. It’s a disgusting mess of melted flesh, but after I splash some water over it and use my torn sleeve to wipe it clean, I see it’s no longer losing blood. I re-bandage it, then collapse at the edge of the river, training my eyes on the vines.

The sun sits just past its peak in the sky. Sweat batters the back of my neck. I fidget in the dirt, uncomfortable but also unwilling to find somewhere else to relax. I want to use every spare moment of rest doing absolutely nothing for as long as I can. I give my cheek a slap, my eyes begging to close. Stay awake, but it’s no use. After a few more minutes, I doze off. Between dealing with the Underground, the emotional exhaustion of learning the truth about The Prince, and then fighting my way through a horde of the best female warriors in the Kingdom, I am well and truly spent.

But not enough to miss the growl.

My head snaps up, having rolled over to my shoulder in sleep. My hands clench into the dirt as the sound comes again. Low. Menacing. Wild.

I shove up to my feet and backtrack to the fire, grabbing my sword. I survey the dense foliage surrounding our stronghold, and my focus hones in on a bristle of leaves only 20 feet away.

My heartbeat scatters as two large yellow eyes appear in the shadows. Then four. Twelve. All on one face. A beast that can see all of me, hunger marked in each of its pupils.

“Shit.” I grip my sword tighter. “Harmony? Sera?”

The beast steps a massive claw out of the tree line. The slits of its nose flare, and its jaw opens to reveal pointed teeth lined with saliva.

I’m not scared of a lot.

But I am scared of whatever the fuck that is.

My lips part in horror as it leaps out of the darkness toward me, bat-like wings fanning outward and blocking the sun as it descends. “Shit!” I scream and scramble backward, holding my sword up and out in the hopes of impaling the thing.

It swipes out its claw toward my chest, and I fall to the ground, my sword clanging away from me. I crawl backward, its many eyes gleaming with glory. “Godsdammit, this is not the quick painless death you promised me!” I shout toward the hut.

I squeeze my eyes shut, mumble what may be my first prayer.

The beast screeches in agony, and my eyes fly open. A gasp rattles through my chest as golden muscles wield a long sword straight through the creature’s neck.

Cristen cleaves the monster’s head from its body, his dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

The head topples to the ground with a solid thwack.

He turns to me, his chest bearing all his scars plus a single tattoo, and I realize I’m seeing all of him as his face fills with so much desperation that my throat squeezes frantically. “Are you okay?” he asks. He bends over and offers me a hand.

I stare at his open palm, then at the tattoo on his chest. I recognize it. It was the only tattoo that stuck out to me when I trailed my fingers over the overlapping web of his ink. I saw through that illusion, just like I had with his eyes. I just didn’t realize I had.

He crouches, aligning his incredible gaze with mine. “Zora? Are you in shock?”

I find some of my composure and glare at him. “Is there any other way to be when the man I hate saves my Gods-damn life?”

There’s a rustle behind me, and my head snaps around as Harmony and Sera emerge from the hut.

Sera rubs sleep from her eyes, and Harmony’s whole face might as well be a yawn. They both notice Cristen at the same time. Their brows scrunch, shoulders tense.

“No way did you both not hear me scream,” I hiss toward them.

“You screamed?” Sera asks. She shares a guilty look with Harmony. “I knew my gut was trying to wake me up.”

“We were trained to sleep through hail storms,” Harmony adds. “Warriors don’t get much sleep, so when we get the chance, it needs to be quick and powerful.”

Sera gestures to Cristen. “What is this?”

Cristen stands and slicks back his hair.

“I don’t know,” I admit, and get on my feet. “That thing was going to eat me, and Cristen…he…”

“I saved her,” he finishes for me.

I fold my arms and scowl at my boots.

“I don’t care.” Harmony’s tension flares into an annoyed snarl. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“Nothing said I couldn’t be.” Cristen moves to the river and splashes water up his arms, washing off the remnants of the strange monster.

Sera’s face contorts with offense. “You’re going to fight with us?”

“I want an equal.” He stands, and I try not to stare at the way his abs shine with sweat and water. “That won’t happen if one of you sees me as your tormentor. It’s only fair that I fight alongside my future Queen.”

“Are we supposed to kill you?” Harmony questions.

I perk up at that line of questioning.

Cristen’s eyes dart between us before they land on me. His lips curl into a smirk. “You can try.”

My toes cramp in my boots. I grit my teeth and fight off a shiver. He doesn’t get my attention, I remind myself and turn away. I trudge toward the forest line.

“Zora, where are you going?” Cristen asks. He strides after me.

My ring finger ticks.

“Zora.”

I stomp through a thicket of brush and shove through leaves.

“Are you seriously not going to talk to me?”

I smile to myself.

“Please. I didn’t think I could tell you anything, but Talis came to me after our fight. He told me I needed to be here, that we needed to fix the chasm between us before it grows too large.”

Anger boils inside me. “So Talis sent you here,” I say at last, but I continue to break my way through the woods.

“Yes, but I also want to be here, need to be here.”

“If Talis hadn’t told you it was okay, would you have come?” I slow my march, wait for his answer.

It takes several long seconds.

“There are things —”

“Answer the damn question,” I spit and turn toward him. I take an immediate step back, finding him close, too close. My breath catches in my throat, and panic rises within me as I lift my gaze to his, to those impossible eyes.

It’s addicting knowing the galaxy in his eyes, all this time, was Fate staring back at me. And also fucking terrifying. My mouth dries.

“No,” he says finally. His throat bobs. “Talis is my anchor, Zora. He feels things that I cannot. If he felt the right path for the Kingdom was for me to sit back and stay on my throne, then I would.”

I let those words sink in, and my limbs feel heavier with each syllable. “Why can’t you make your own choices?” Why can’t you choose me?

“Fate isn’t choice; it’s shackles. I obey. I do not live,” Cristen says, his voice low and monotone as if reciting from a rule book. “One bad decision and Fate could unravel.”

“You would unravel, you mean.” My eyes trail over his nose, his lips. I glance away.

“Yes, but it’s more complicated than that.” Cristen lingers closer. His fingers lightly brush mine.

I shake my head and take a large step back. “I don’t want you here. I’m doing fine. I will win, and when I do, I’ll take what I want.”

“You would marry me,” he states, his voice filled with tension, “but you refuse to know me?”

I set my jaw. “I do know you. You just don’t like my deduction.”

“Because you’re basing it off things I could not control,” he growls. “I am here, Zora. I am me. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m asking that you look at me. Look at me. See me as I am, and if you still hate me, that’s fine. I’ll respect your opinion. If you win, I will marry you but keep my distance.”

“And you’ll give me the truth,” I add, lifting my chin.

“Yes,” he agrees, but his tone is scored with grief. “Yes, I will give you whatever truths you seek.”

I bite my lip. “You’re offering me this? If I just hear you out?”

He nods.

I bring my eyes back up to his face, terrified by the hopeful feeling tiptoeing down my spine. His face is so earnest, a mirror of my own hope, that I extend my hand to him. “Deal.”

He slips his fingers over my palm without hesitation, his eyes coming to life with electric blues and oranges. “Deal, Princess,” he whispers, and his lips slide into a smile.

I shift my weight and tear my hand from his, my heart in my throat. “I told you, I’m a Queen.”

He chuckles, and I glance toward him as his smile widens. “We’ll see.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

If anything has been proven to me in the short time span I’ve known Cristen Estal, it’s that he makes me dumb. Still a badass. Still awesome as fuck. But also – yes – decidedly dumb.

It’s not making a deal with him that brought me to that conclusion, however.

No, it’s the fact that I’ve made a deal with him after stomping my way through an unknown forest. With no weapons. No food. No sense of Gods-damn direction.

At most, I have my temper, and I guess, if I must count Cristen, then I also have a stellar view of his scarred torso.

His abs should be criminal.

Not that I’ve noticed.

We stand a few feet apart, our deal made but our frustration heavy. He stares at me. I stare at him. I should move. I should try to get back to Harmony and Sera. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, and they made it clear shit goes down when the moon rises.

But I’m also so damn confused. I hate Cristen, but I also want him, but I also also want him to not be here, in this arena, toying with me. His logic doesn’t even make sense. Why would he fight alongside us? Allow us to get close to him with a weapon? The whole point of this terrible tournament is so that something like that never happens to him.

I cross my arms and grip my elbows, sucking on my bottom lip. It’s taking everything in me not to create a snarky comment or kick him in the balls. I’d do it, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t mind, which is – without a doubt – in-fucking-furiating.

My focus drifts to his abs again, before I slap the heels of my hands over my eyes, tilt my head up and groan loudly, miserably.

“Is it your wound?” Cristen asks, twigs breaking beneath his weight as he steps toward me.

I hold out a finger, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t come closer.”

He raises his hands in surrender, his brows shooting up his forehead.

“Where is your Gods-damned shirt?” I shout at him. I don’t mean to shout, but I blame aggravation, maybe a bit of sexual frustration. No no, Zora – no ‘sexual’ anything with the man who betrayed you.

Cristen’s eyes widen a little, then he glances down at himself as if he didn’t know. He raises his head, and a smile spreads across his face. “Am I making you nervous, Zora Vyner?”

I narrow my eyes, and maybe I should make amends. Maybe I should try to be on his side, at least until he makes his case. But I’m too flustered, and I need to have some semblance of control when I’m around him. So, I say the wrong thing, the worst thing. “Those scars are brutal,” and I say it with too much venom. In my head, it sounded like a lead-in to get him to open up to me.

Out loud, I sound disgusted.

And the way those four words break his smile – I’ll never forgive myself.

His face pales as shame chokes him. He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes anywhere but my face, then he turns away and leaves.

Dammit. I chase after him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I call after him, but he plows forward, the muscles along his back bunching with tension. “Cristen, wait.” I grab his shoulder, but I quickly let go as he flings himself back from me.

Cristen stumbles into a tree. He catches himself and sucks in a stuttering breath. His eyes are darker than a storm. He angles his torso away from me, drags his fingers through his hair.

“I wanted to know about them,” I say, filling the silence. I take a timid step toward him and close the distance between us. “I’m sorry. Trust me. I would never judge you for your scars. I have many of my own. Some on my body. Most on my soul.”

He lowers his gaze to mine, and the storm of his eyes lightens. “You once told me you loved scars.”

I hesitate, then I reach a hand up and push his shoulder back, forcing him to turn his chest toward me. “I have to if I want to love myself.”

His brow furrows, but he follows the flow of my push, bringing all of his scars to my attention.

Up close, each has a different depth of pain. Some were shallow cuts. Others may as well have been stabs. “You say that as if it’s difficult to love you.” A bit of sarcasm drips off his words.

I give him a stern look. “Watch it.”

He smirks but falters as I move my hand to his chest.

I trace a finger over his scars, just as I had his illusioned ink until I reach the only tattoo that hadn’t been false.

Without the layering of the other tattoos, the design is clearer: a sphere with smaller circles dotted along it. There’s shading to make the line work blurred, and then several other circles overlap the original. If I look at it long enough, the circles move, weaving in and out of each other, every line a varied shade of black, the top-most circle the darkest and likely the most recent addition.

I wait for him to answer me, to tell me about his scars, but his body locks up. His breaths are sharp beneath my fingertips. I trace the circles. “What does it mean?” I look up at him.

He drags in a breath. “To explain that, I’d have to explain everything.”

“Good thing we made a deal for you to do exactly that,” I point out.

He swallows and takes hold of my hand against his chest. He pulls me away from him, then he turns and continues back toward the stronghold.

My fists ball, but they relax as his rich voice fills the woods surrounding us.

“Walk with me, and I’ll start with the beginning,” he says with a knowing glance over his shoulder.

I hurry to catch up, matching my stride behind his.

“I was always a Fate,” he tells me, his voice low. “Though, I didn’t know it until my mother died. You see, when a person slips from life to death, their essence flashes through them.”

“Like their soul?”

He lifts a hand, tilts it from side to side. “Sort of, but not really. Their soul passes somewhere else. I get their essence.”

“Everyone’s?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “I always did, I just didn’t notice until it was my mother’s. I always just thought I had a vivid imagination or was a lucid dreamer. Then she died, and I saw every path her life could have taken. I wasn’t sure at first, but there was a point in her essence where she could have chosen to not have me or Caya. But then, she also wouldn’t have been a queen.

“When I saw myself and my sister, I began to pay closer attention to my imagination but so did my father.” He stops at a fallen tree and settles onto it, rubbing his jaw. “As I got older, it was harder to deny I was a Fate. My eyes, well – ” he gestures to them “ – did whatever the hell they do, and my imagination got worse. My father had a terrible temper, and anytime I was around one of his kills, the dead’s threads would tear into me. Over time, I learned to fortify myself, to only take in the essence of those I wanted to know or needed to.”

I sit down beside him, lean my elbows on my knees. “I don’t understand. You and Caya seem to read threads when a person is well and alive.”

Cristen shrugs. “Anyone can, but it’s easier for me because I’m a Fate. It’s easier for Caya because she’s bonded to me as an anchor, as is Talis. However, Caya is stronger, as she carries the same bloodline as a Fate.”

He sighs and drops his gaze to the forest floor. “I was 10 when my father really, truly figured it out. Fate’s are too rare to generally spot, and normally a Kingdom only ever gets one — usually a royal, because they breed the lines specifically to create a Fate.

“So he hid me. He became increasingly paranoid that if I was in public, someone from the Underground would kidnap me or murder me. I was already valuable being the King’s only male heir, but I became more than that as a Fate.

“The scars – they’re my father’s doing. I did a lot to resist him as I got older because I realized he was using my ability for nefarious reasons. Rather than proving guilt, he would kill every suspect, then find out through me who was actually guilty. There was so much innocent blood being spilt, and as you may have been able to tell, it’s not the most pleasant experience for me to read threads, especially from a corpse.”

I suck in a breath and lay a gentle hand on his knee. “I’m sorry your father forced you to do that.”

Cristen offers me a sad smile before he continues, “I was fifteen when he bonded me to Talis and Caya. Most go through the bond to enhance their natural abilities, but my father bonded us as punishment. He knew his wounds on my flesh weren’t enough. I’d gotten to a point where I didn’t care if he scarred me, because it meant I was saving innocent people.” He hesitates and drops a hand over mine on his knee. “So, he bonded me to my sister and my best friend, knowing that once he did, any wound inflicted upon my skin would place them in pain.”

I turn my hand over and lace my fingers through his. “That’s…awful.”

“I was left to choose between the people I would eventually one day rule over – people I’m meant to protect with everything I am – or the two people that were more family to me than my father or mother ever were.” Cristen squeezes my hand. “Something had to be done about my father. Everyone agreed, but only one person was allowed to get close enough to him.”

I straighten as realization settles over me. “You killed the King.”

He stares at the ground. “I killed the King.”

Being a non-Royalist and having too much of my own bullshit to deal with, I never kept up with the Royal family. My monarchy had always been the Bosses of the Underground. They kept a roof over my head, bread within my reach.

But the day the King died was heard by all. The Underground was shut down for an entire week, due to the fact that most of the Bosses are Royalists, just in masks. They mourned their King, debated over his mysterious death.

Me? Well, that week I went particularly hungry.

“When I killed him, I was bedridden for over a year. All of his threads not only sank into me, but they attacked me. As Fate, I’m supposed to be a somewhat bi-partial party. I can’t just make a monumental decision that ultimately changes the entire course of history. I was punished severely by my own body when I killed him.” He rubs his brow with his free hand. “It was awful timing. My initial plan was to step up the moment my father was dead. I wanted to take control and get the Kingdom back on track. It devolved during my father’s reign, and I planned to right it, but being as sick as I was, I couldn’t do anything.”

“That’s why you had me kill Ferris, isn’t it?” I ask. I hadn’t thought much about the fact he brought me along to kill that sick bastard, but now it makes sense. He wanted Ferris dead, but he couldn’t do it himself.

“Yes, and because Caya and Talis are bonded to me, they can kill but not on my behalf. If I’d asked one of them to do it, then I would’ve been knocked out. I’m not sure for how long.” He heaves a breath. “Within the single year that I was unable to rule, enemies rose to the surface. Other kingdoms prepared entire legions to take us out. The Underground became infested. I needed to take control back into my hands, but I knew I’d need to work through the weeds first.”

“So, you became a Boss,” I surmise, but I frown. “How does that help with the other kingdoms, though?”

“It doesn’t. Not really.” Cristen gestures to the forest around us. “But this tournament does. By marrying, I will increase my strength. Any of these powerful female warriors also have incredibly powerful families. Many have entire armories – weapons I will need in the coming months.”

I slide my hand out of his. “I don’t.”

He chews on his bottom lip. “Yes.”

“But you brought me here,” I say, my words quivering with uncertainty.

Cristen nods. “Yes.”

I roll my eyes and huff. “Well, are you going to tell me why?”

His nostrils flare. “There’s something you should know about Fate, Zora. It doesn’t take much to change it.”

“So you brought me here to change it?” I guess.

He meets my gaze. “The opposite actually.”

My brow furrows. “I’m supposed to be here?”

“In some ways.”

“That’s incredibly vague, Cristen.” I fold my arms and kick at the ground.

“If I tell you too much about your own Fate, you could alter it. If there were a rule book for who I am and what I do, that would be first on the list of things that should not be done.” He tilts his head, studying my expression. “Please try to understand.”

“I do.” Then because I’m a spiteful prick, “In some ways.”

His face breaks into a smile.

My heart stutters.

“If we marry, that will change,” he says lightly, taking my hand back into his. “I know you’re not part of the Royalist circle, so you should know there will be things expected of you.”

I run my thumb over the back of his palm. “If I don’t get to do what I want, then what’s the point?” I lift my chin. “I have goals if I win this thing.”

“Oh?” His eyes sparkle.

“Yes,” I say, my voice finding its power again. “I want to end the sex trafficking, put more laws in place to help women.”

Cristen grins. “I like that. Is that all?”

“Of course not,” I scoff. “I also want a horse.”

He snorts. “A horse? Really?”

I blush but keep my head held high.

“Alright. A horse it is.” He reaches a hand toward me and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ll have to win first. Do you think you can do that?”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t actually. Seeing Fate isn’t like seeing actual images. Not always, anyway. Mostly, it’s a lot of gut feelings, but with you, it’s always been a little blurry. It’s strange because Talis and Caya see your Fate better than I do,” he admits. “Part of me is glad because you’re something new to discover. Another part of me is terrified because I fear not seeing your fate means I care for you deeper than I probably should. I’ve never been able to get firm reads on Caya or Talis, either.”

My skin heats. “You care for me?”

His grin widens. “I think I do, yes. At the very least, I find you absolutely enthralling.”

I look away. Part of my chest feels like it’s caving in. I run a hand up my neck, scratching lightly.

Cristen’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “So you care for me as you would an experiment? Or a project? Is that why you’ve inserted yourself into my life?”

He frowns. “Zora, no. I mean, maybe at first, but there’s something more here. Don’t you feel it?”

Yes, but I’m sure as hell not going to give in to it. I bring my gaze back to his, my face pinched. “Thank you for telling me about yourself. It clears some things up, but I’m also not sure it changes anything between us. You still lied to me.” I push up from the fallen tree.

Cristen follows after me, his frown deepening. “And you haven’t lied to me? Am I supposed to believe that?”

I try to spy where I trampled the forest, deducing my way back to the stronghold.

“Zora, we made a deal.”

I look over my shoulder. “You told me your story.”

His face twists with annoyance. “I told you a piece of it. I hoped I’d tell you more over time, that I could also learn more about you.”

I find some flung-aside branches and stroll through the opening. I pause when I remember the one thing I should’ve already asked him. I turn back, tensing when I find him on my heels. I look up at him, his size dwarfing mine. “Is Gretta okay?”

He stares at me. “You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m protecting my friend. Is she okay?” I repeat.

He nods. “She’s taken a liking to Talis.”

Worry pulls at my brow. “She often takes a liking to things she shouldn’t.”

“Talis is a good man,” Cristen assures me. “Gretta will be safe with him.”

I chew on my lip. “He still has information I need.”

Cristen looks away, his jaw flexes. “The only information Talis has is that he is safekeeping your thread archive.”

I straighten as shock rolls through me. “Fucking what?”

He shrugs. “As I said, you intrigue me.”

“You’re the reason why I don’t exist at the Gallery of Threads?” My eyes trace his face. “But my box has been missing for years.”

His nostrils flare.

“Have you been…spying on me?” I persist.

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “I didn’t really know it was you. Your threads were from your point of view. I never saw your face. I only ever heard your voice, the feel of your essence. That first night at the club, I immediately recognized you.”

“How long?” I demand. “How fucking long have you been watching me?”

He gives me a guilty look. “Several years.”

I twist away from him and march my way forward. I don’t even care if I’m going in the right direction.

“Can you quit walking away?” he asks, chasing after me. “I found your thread box in a chamber hidden away in the palace. It was among many things my father, for whatever reason, hoarded. I had no idea it was you. When I found your box, I was seventeen and naturally curious.” He jogs in front of me and blocks my way forward, giving me a pleading look. “You were so beautiful, Zora. I didn’t even know what you looked like, but I saw the way you fought and it gave me hope. You’re part of the reason I ever managed to kill my father and free the kingdom from his wrath. I honestly never thought I’d ever meet you. Reading your threads was like reading an endlessly wonderful book. I only knew you were still alive and kicking because each month, your box would fill with more threads, just like anyone else’s.”

“I want it,” I snap. “Those are my threads. You had no right to keep them. Had you returned my box to the Gallery of Threads, then maybe I would have found it all those years ago. Maybe I would know how my family was torn apart.” A chill strikes through my heart, and I take a threatening step toward him, pointing an accusatory finger. “Do you know? Did you see who hurt my family?”

Cristen gives a vigorous shake of his head. “No, and trust me, once I officially met you and learned about your family, I went back through your box, read through every thread. I searched for your answers, Zora, but someone must have taken that thread from you and kept it all those years ago.”

I grind my teeth but nod. “That would make sense. I don’t even really remember the night, which I’ve always found strange. I may have been young, but it was a monumental moment. If someone stole it from me, that would match up.”

He runs his fingers over his hair. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew more about your past in that regard.”

“Could you… could you read me?” I wonder.

He hesitates. “I could, but I think it’s safe to say someone took that night from you. Likely those responsible.”

“Unless I’m repressing it.” I inhale deeply. “That happens.”

He nods. “Sometimes, yes,” he admits, his voice soft, “but I don’t think I should read you, Zora.”

I frown. “Why not? What else are you good for, besides those stupidly hot abs?”

His mouth lifts into a goofy grin.

Shit, did I say that out loud? I swallow and motion toward him. “Come on, just read me.”

“If I sift through your threads, and I find a trapped memory of that night, you’d have to relive it,” he says slowly, his brows knitting. “If your mind is suppressing it, it’s doing so for your own good. If I force it forward, I could hurt you.”

“Hurting me hasn’t stopped you before,” I growl.

He grimaces, anger carving out his features. “Alright.” He steps toward me and grips my shoulders. “Just remember you asked for this.”

My body tenses beneath his touch before my shoulders wilt against the warmth of his palms. I close my eyes, unable to take his intense stare. My heart pounds harder, and anticipation builds inside me. “Do it,” I say.

He slides his hands from my shoulders to the bare skin of my neck.

My eyes flick open, and I quickly step back as his hands form a chokehold. “What the hell?”

“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “That was unintentional. I need skin-to-skin contact, and the deeper the thread, the closer I’ll need to be.”

I extend my hands toward him. “Then you can hold my hands like you did with Ferris.”

He nods and gently takes them. “And if I need more? If I need to push further?”

“Fine. Whatever. You have my permission to do what you need to do if it gets me what I want.” I squeeze his hands. “Just do it before I chicken out.”

He swallows thickly and tugs on me, pulling me closer to him. “Close your eyes and do your best not to move. Relax as much tension from your muscles as you can. The more willing you are, the easier I can dive beneath your flesh.”

My face twists. “Ew.”

His nose scrunches. “I know, but there’s no better way to say it.”

“Alright.” I huff and close my eyes.

There’s a hint of a smile to his voice as the tips of his boots nudge against mine. “Alright.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It starts with flashes of light and dark – incoherent sparks of my life littered behind my eyelids.

First, there’s Momma as she cooks my favorite lentil soup and sings an old hymn: Look how the roses wilt, look how he holds the hilt…

Then there’s me, small and in my brother’s arms as we find constellations in the sky. His laugh is tiny, child-like but infinite in happiness. So innocent and beautiful.

Look how these thorns wound, look how she must swoon…

On my skin, Cristen’s fingers move up my arms, his chest bumps into mine. I draw onto my toes and tuck into him.

There’s a black hole at the back of my head. Vacant, endless. It gapes and yawns, sleepless yet silent but for Momma’s hymn: Look how we drown in gold, look how our stories are told…

I see myself kneeling in our backyard. Dirt cakes my knees, my hands, my face. I cackle as my brother dances before me, his little arms spread wide and his head tilted to the sun. His long mane of blond hair trickles down his spine in a ponytail. He always refused to cut it.

I whimper into Cristen’s chest.

His hand grapples the back of my neck as he presses me harder against him.

Look how the Royals die, look how our babes must lie… And the hole taunts us, Cristen and I. It grows wider, wishes to swallow us into its depths and never set us free. One more step into my mind, and we’ll be prisoners. We’ll fall and fall and fall and –

I gasp for breath, my eyes popping open in horror.

Cristen’s forehead presses against mine. His chest heaves to the rhythm of my heart. His eyes blink a few times, resurfacing from my threads as I do.

The rational side of my brain tells me to rip myself from him, but I’m too busy drinking in his scent, scraping my nails into his back. It’s like there’s a throbbing tether between us, and if I move away, even an inch, it will snap. It’s not a lifeline, and it’s not a noose. It’s somewhere in between, and it’s greedy.

Cristen must feel it, too. His breaths are ragged as his lips skim my forehead. “I can try again,” he murmurs.

“That place,” I whisper, “that black hole. What was that?”

He knots a fist in my hair, the muscles along his bicep bulging as if he’s restraining himself. I don’t know if it’s from moving away – his consciousness screaming at him as mine is – or from wanting to move closer. “It could be a spot where a major memory was stolen,” he mumbles. “It could also be a repressed memory.” He tightens his hold on my hair and forces my gaze up to his.

His eyes swirl with dark, sensuous colors, the pupils dilated. He inhales deeply as if trying to pull himself back from something, but I move my finger against his spine, and his desire burns into me, crawling across that invisible tether between us.

“What is that?” I ask as heat builds in my core. Rational thought leaves me as he leans down, his eyes focused on my lips. “Cristen?”

“Hmm?” His eyes flutter shut as his nose bumps with mine.

“What’s happening?”

A tremble runs through his body. “I don’t – I can’t…” He grits his teeth and forces himself to look away from me. “Zora, push me off.”

“What?” I ask breathily as he hardens against me.

“If you don’t push me away, I’m going to – fuck.” He shudders as I claw my fingers into his back.

Pressure builds in my chest, in my head. I need release, and for some reason, the only thing that makes sense is clawing deeper into his skin, ripping him to fucking shreds, feeling all that he is. Am I panting? I try to clear my vision, but Cristen blurs before me. He’s not a man anymore. He’s…he’s… An essence.

I grab the back of his neck and yank his lips down to mine. Not enough. I sweep my tongue between his lips, and his meets mine with the same terrible need. Our teeth clack together as we force our tongues deeper, almost like we wish we could crawl into each others’ skin, become one being inside and out.

I moan into his mouth, and he scrapes his hands up beneath my shirt. He squeezes my waist and pushes me back until I bump into a tree before he grinds against me.

I tear my mouth from his and viciously bite my way down his jaw, his neck, claiming him over and over with my teeth.

He mirrors me, groaning with each slice of my teeth.

You’re mine, a little voice echoes through my head, to kill. I reach a hand down and cup the bulge of his pants, then give it an aggressive tug.

His abs tense up, and he slams his forearm into my neck with a low, menacing growl.

It knocks me from whatever fucked up stupor I’m in, and my eyes fly wide as I immediately let go of his Gods-damn balls. “Shit.”

Cristen’s gaze is entirely black, every thread of color gone. It’s as if he went to the black hole inside my head, and he devoured it with each swipe of his tongue and every bite to my skin.

Maybe he did, I realize, panic and discomfort making knots in my stomach.

His arm pushes harder against my neck, and I thrash against his hold. My feet lift from the ground, and I kick aimlessly at his legs.

“Cristen!” I shriek. I gulp in a breath, then butt my head forward, knocking into his.

He groans and stumbles back, his hands flying up to his forehead.

I drop to the ground and brace myself on my knees. I trail my fingers over my neck, the skin tender. It’s sure to bruise. I look up at him in confusion, rage. “The fuck was that?” I hiss, and it hurts to talk.

He grits his teeth and bows over, clutching his crotch and shaking his head. “Gods, I don’t know.” He lifts his head, and the knots in my stomach ease at the sight of his normal, swirling gaze of color. “Fuck, Zora, I’m so sorry.” He hurries to my side and kneels in front of me. He brings his thumb up to my lip, then pulls it back to reveal blood. I don’t remember him biting me there, but I certainly remember elsewhere.

My eyes train to the teeth marks along his neck, and his find mine, too.

“I swear to you, I’ve never, never had that happen. If I knew I would put you in danger like that, I never would’ve tried to read your threads,” he promises, his voice tight and his expression filled with guilt.

“Did you see anything during all of that?” I ask, cringing as my vocal cords tingle with pain.

“Yes and no. It was like the universe fell away and all I could feel was you and…fury.” Cristen gently runs his fingers over my throat. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”

“This is uncharted territory then, for both of us,” I say.

He nods. “I’ll need to be more careful around you.”

My eyes drift to his lips. I shouldn’t want more after what just occurred. I shouldn’t want him at all. But I do. I bite my tongue.

He traces his fingers up to my cheek, his eyes darkening to maroon and magenta threads. “Deep down, I’ve known I needed to distance myself from you. Whatever is between us, I’m not sure it should ever go further. I wish it could, but I won’t risk hurting you.”

My focus drifts to his tattoo. The circles move in that strange optical illusion, capturing my attention and driving me nuts. “Can I know what that means now?”

Cristen drops his hand from my face and helps me stand. For a moment, we hold on to each other, before he takes a stiff step back. He runs a thumb over his tattoo. “What does it look like to you?” His expression turns nervous as if my answer could solve a thousand riddles.

I lift a brow. “I’d assume the same as everyone else. It’s overlapping circles, but they’re intricately woven to create some kind of illusion.” I shrug. “I like it. I wouldn’t mind my own.”

He intakes a sharp breath before he snaps his lips firmly together. The swirls of color in his eyes sharpen and wiggle about with intensity.

“What?” I ask.

He clears his throat and looks away. “It’s nothing.” He glances up at the sky.

The moon makes its presence known, the last rays of the sun disappearing and a smatter of stars blinking to life.

“We should get back to your campsite.” He turns his back on me and trudges in the general direction of the stronghold.

“Wait a second,” I say with a scowl. I follow after him. “You just about broke my fucking windpipe. The least you could do is tell me what’s up with this tattoo situation.”

Cristen ducks his head below a branch but avoids eye contact. “It’s a Fate thing.”

“Oh, and now you’re icing me out?” I poke his shoulder. My tone is playful in the hopes that he’ll lighten up, but it’s like a dark weight settles upon him.

His jaw tightens. “We should be quiet. I don’t want to attract another one of the monsters. They’re bound to be prowling around with the moon risen.”

I slip my hair behind my ears, then stomp around him, forcing him behind me. “I’ll lead. You’re not even supposed to be here.” I glance behind me, expecting him to bite the bait, but his eyes glue to the forest floor, his shoulders hunched in thought.

“Fucking men,” I grumble and march forward.

He chuckles darkly. “I heard that.”

“Good,” I spit in his direction. “Who knew the Heir of Fate would be so Gods-damn high maintenance?”

“I have the literal world on my shoulders,” he says with a lilt of mock complaint.

I roll my eyes and spot the stronghold’s fire flickering between gaps in the forest, just as a dire screech breaks through the night.

My spine goes rigid, and Cristen grabs me, forcing us both into a crouch.

“Attack!” A woman roars.

The bushes near us rattle as female warriors charge into the stronghold, their weapons raised.

I spy Harmony and Sera ready by the fire. They draw their blades, their eyes narrowed. “I have to help them.” I spring up onto my feet, but Cristen latches a hand around my calf.

“You’ll be killed,” he hisses.

I scoff and shake him off. “Has no one ever taught you to never underestimate a woman?”

His expression tightens with concern. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you won’t, you fucking buffoon. Clearly, you don’t know me very well.” I part some leaves and stare out.

The Evercore sisters twist and roar in synchronized movements, taking one woman down before another. They’re stronger, but they’re overwhelmed.

My eyes fly to my weapons. They lie beside the fire. I look down at Cristen. “You had a sword.”

He instinctively reaches to his waist. It’s strapped down behind his left thigh, so inconspicuous that I hadn’t noticed it before, the sheath’s black leather blending perfectly with his pants.

“Give me it.” I hold out a hand and wiggle my fingers.

He stands and bites his lip. “You’re sure?”

“I made a deal with them. I won’t leave them alone,” I assert, then plunge my hand toward his leg and rip the blade free myself.

Bits of blood and guts from the forest monster have dried to the blade, but it’s meticulously crafted. It feels balanced, wealthy. Something deep inside me purrs with pleasure. My lips pull into a lethal smile. “You’re not getting this back.”

Cristen flicks a hand toward the battle. “Yeah, I figured as much. Now go kick some ass.”

My smile widens and I move to leave the sanctuary of the leaves, but Cristen takes my arm and tugs me toward him.

He presses his lips to mine for a moment, then abruptly shoves me away. “By all means,” he says, his eyes dancing with playfulness, “go win my hand in marriage.”

“I think you mean I should go win my throne,” I amend, then crash through the branches.

A scream rattles out of my throat, vicious and violent as I slam a shoulder into an enemy and take her down to the ground.

Cristen sprints out of hiding, my move creating a clear path toward my weapons by the fire. He snatches a dagger into each of his palms, then taunts the warriors with a smirk.

Several women are taken aback by his sudden appearance, but Harmony and Sera make quick use of the distraction, plunging swords into chests.

“Get off of me!” The woman under me growls.

I position my blade against her throat.

Her eyes flash with horror, and her bottom lip quivers. “Just let me go,” she whispers. “I’ll leave.”

I grit my teeth as I move into a straddle, nicking her throat. Blood seeps out, and my heart thrashes into my rib cage. I look back at Cristen.

He moves gracefully between the warriors, but he doesn’t kill. With each opportunity to take a head or tear out a heart, he spins away a few steps and waits for them to advance again.

This isn’t right. I swallow hard and clutch the hilt of my sword tighter, just as something slams into my torso. I gasp and turn my attention back to the woman beneath me.

She grins and yanks free the dagger she knifed through my side.

A pained moan stretches out of me, and in a quick, thoughtless movement, I slice her neck.

She gargles her shock before her body falls limp.

I stumble off her and grip my side. Dots form in my vision. MotherfuckshitGodsdamn — I arc my sword with one arm and slice into the back of a woman trying to knock down Sera.

Sera heaves a large breath, and her eyes widen as I reach for her. She catches my arm and lifts it around her shoulders.

The ground shakes.

The clangs of weaponry subside as everyone pauses.

I lean into Sera with a groan. “Fuck, what is that? Tell me it’s the end of all this bullshit.”

“Afraid not,” Sera says and tugs us toward Harmony. “I think it’s just the beginning.”

I blink my vision clear as someone screams to retreat.

“It’s the river,” Harmony breathes.

I vaguely remember her mentioning something about the river being safe during the day. “Does it come alive or some shit at night?” I cringe at how pathetic I sound.

“Zora!” Cristen jogs to my side. He scoops me into his grasp in an instant. He wraps his large palm over my wound, his eyes panicked.

“Get her out of here,” Harmony hisses. “It can smell the blood.”

“But…fight…badass…” I mumble. The stars above swim around. Wait, do stars swim?

I must’ve tried to swing my blade or something, because Cristen snags the sword from my grasp and sheathes it, all the while holding me against him.

“You strong,” I slur.

He carries me away. “Yeah? Well, you’re stronger, so don’t fall asleep. Okay?”

“Water…monster…”

“The Evercores are adept enough to fight it off. Don’t worry about that.”

“Backpack…first aid…”

Cristen picks up his pace. “Don’t worry. I have a place nearby.”

My face scrunches up as branches whack against my ankles.

“Open those beautiful eyes, princess,” he commands.

They’re closed? But I still see stars… “Princess is sister. Ew,” I grit out.

He snorts, but his panic takes precedence. “Way to ruin that. You’re a pain in the ass even when you’re mildly unconscious.”

“Am not,” I whine.

He lays me down on something soft. Then he taps my cheek lightly. “Look at me, Zora.”

I peel my eyes open.

We’re in a cave. That much, my brain can figure out.

“This is going to hurt,” he warns.

“I don’t get hurt — oh motherfuck!” I screech as he pours alcohol over my wound.

He presses a hand to my chest as I try to buck upward. “I have to clean it so I can see how bad it is.”

“Stitches,” I manage.

“Stitches,” he agrees.

“Put blade in fire,” I suggest.

He shakes his head. “Is that what you did to your arm?”

I shrug but regret the movement as it pulls in all the worst places. “No thread. No needle.”

“Well, I have those.” He shows me the needle. It glints off the cave’s dim lighting. “Here.”

He thrusts a balled-up scrap of fabric into my mouth.

Logic vanishes. “Kinky,” I say, my voice muffled behind the cloth.

He lifts a brow. “What?”

“KINKY,” I try again. Really, it sounds like, “KUH-KUH.”

He stabs me with the needle.

I bite down on the cloth with a whimper.

He’s quick, obviously well-versed in the art of stitching.

I guess he would be, having a father who maimed him as a boy.

He finishes, ties the stitch off, and removes the rag from my mouth. He runs a finger over his work, then takes a damp rag to the places where the blood spread. He gently removes my corset, lifts my shirt to right below my breasts, and cleans my rib cage, my stomach, his touch so feather-light, it’s hard for me to believe it’s his.

“Where are we?” I whisper. The edges of my vision drag me toward sleep, but I force myself to remain awake.

He lifts a candle, its little flame the source of our light. “We’re at the far edge of the arena’s pit. Talis told me he had caves dug out into the walls, the entrances almost indistinguishable.” Cristen uses a small basin filled with water to clean out the bloodied cloth.

“Talis designed all this?”

He grimaces. “He likes his games. Sometimes, perhaps, a little too much.”

“So this tournament wasn’t your idea?” I grunt and shift myself onto my non-injured side, propping my head up with my hand.

He frowns. “In all honesty, I believe it’s a test for me as much as it is for the women fighting. As you know, I can’t read the threads of those closest to me. That very much includes myself. Seeing my own future is forbidden, but Talis and Caya feel things about my path forward. Talis felt I’d need a Queen, and Caya felt that it needed to be a protector, someone who could outmatch the rivals in our Kingdom.”

“And this fucked up tournament was your solution?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I kill people for a living, but never innocent people. These women don’t deserve to die like this.”

“This was set forth years ago,” he explains. “If there was a change in Talis or Caya, they’d tell me.”

I stare at him. “So you just do whatever they tell you. Like when Talis made you kiss me?”

He wrenches out the wet cloth, his biceps sharpening with tension. “I don’t get to make monumental decisions on my own, Zora. If I did, I would’ve married you already.”

“Oh,” I say, the word strangled as silence stretches between us. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I plant my gaze onto the cave floor.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” He exhales and settles next to me. “Even that kind of declaration could alter Fate. I can’t see your threads well, Zora, but I can see enough to know your future is thoroughly wrapped up in mine, in the Kingdom’s.” He clears his throat. “I’m just not sure if it will be a good thing.”

I look at him, mustering all my strength to get the next sentence out. “You don’t want me to be part of your future, but you’ll declare you want to marry me in a Gods-damn cave?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “What I want and what Fate wants are separate things.”

“But you’re Fate.”

“I’m a Fate. I see the threads that hold this universe together. It doesn’t mean I’m the one who completely controls them.”

“So just to be clear — you want me, you just need permission?” I laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

His eyes darken, and he smiles. “You’ve no idea how much I want you, but that’s for good reason. I don’t think you’d stick around.”

“You’re probably right. Especially since I’ve lost all my trust in you.” I lie back and close my eyes.

He lightly pulls my hair off my neck and presses a sweet kiss there. “What must I do to win back your faith in me?”

“You can do more of that,” I mutter, trying to move closer but drawing back with a wince of pain, my stitches pulling.

Cristen dabs at my forehead. “You have a fever. You need to rest.”

I nod in agreement, my cheek pressing into whatever soft, pillowy thing he placed me on.

“Good night, beautiful,” he whispers.

The last thing I feel is his lips on my temple, his fingers sliding through my hair — peace.

But somehow, I know, this is the calm before the storm.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

For the first time in my life, I wake up safe.

I peel my eyes open, and I’m face-to-face with a knocked out Cristen. His arm is firmly around me, his fist clutching the back of my shirt. I blow out a slow breath, my body feeling as at ease and secure as his face looks. No frown lines or turmoil. Just a man relaxed.

I could get used to this, I think, and fear sprouts to life in my torso. I weed it out, crush it beyond distinction. Let me enjoy this, I demand of myself.

Cristen’s dark hair falls across his eyes, hits above his thick lashes. His lips are slightly parted, and I jolt a little when he snores.

A giggle – yes, a Gods-damn giggle – bubbles up and out of me as the tiniest bit of drool droops from his mouth. I clamp a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late.

Cristen stiffens, and his eyes snap open. His tension smooths as he looks at me, the threads of his eyes clear and beautiful in the morning. Each little swirl writhes in pastels, his pupils striking. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he mumbles groggily and sits up. He swishes the back of his hand across his mouth, the light bronze of his cheeks darkening in embarrassment when he finds the trail of drool.

I burst into a full cackle, then double-over and clutch my side. “Agh,” I growl, prodding my fingers along Cristen’s stitch work.

“I’m not sure what that means,” he says, his brow lifting in amusement. “How do you feel?”

“Like a real piece of shit,” I grumble.

He helps me to my feet, and I look down at the makeshift bed we’d slept on. It’s an actual cot. A thin mattress, but a mattress, nonetheless.

I side-eye Cristen. “Care to share how you wove that in the wilderness?”

“Um,” he rubs the back of his neck and gives me a sheepish smile.

I snort and turn away. “You really are a prince.”

“Where are you going? You’re barely healed.”

“To find my allies. Last I remember, we left them in a rather precarious position. I’d like to know if they’re still alive.” I move to the cave’s exit, combing foliage out of the way. There’s an ache in my chest as my heart whispers stupid, irresponsible things like, Go back to him, and, Stay in this cave forever.

Outside, the sunrise crests the top of the trees. I wade through tall grass and slink back in the direction of the stronghold, wary of my wound as I go. Every step, every breath – pain ricochets through me. Enjoy the peace, I tell myself.

Growing up in Gronem, all I’ve ever known is city life. Without being under attack or bitching with Cristen, I think I might actually like nature. The way the canopy of trees swish and swish. The buzz of various insects forming a numbing, glorious hum. The way my chest doesn’t cave in with each breath, no city pollution waiting to steal years off my life. I allow myself a smile and tilt my face to the sky. The sun’s rays peek through here and there, sinking into my skin with a warm fuzziness I don’t think I’ve ever felt before, but I —

CRUNCH.

I lose my smile.

Crunchcrunch.

I glance over my shoulder.

Cristen moves forward with no regard for my much-needed peace, his boots killing every plant, breaking every twig.

I grit my teeth. “Could you be any louder?”

“Probably.”

“That was rhetorical,” I huff.

Cristen catches up to me and lightly bumps my shoulder. “Shall I tiptoe?”

“Just shut up.”

“I take it you're not a morning person.”

I glare at him. “I’m not a life person.”

He grins at me as if I’m joking.

I’m not joking.

“Your temper should be studied,” he remarks.

“I told you to be quiet.” I rub my temples.

He mimes zipping his mouth and throwing away a key.

My shoulders relax as we pick up our pace and walk forward quietly. For a few moments, I’m back to a bliss one can only find in the woods. Then, I become too aware of Cristen’s presence. The way his fingers brush mine every few steps. The slight puff of breath he exerts when we climb up a hill. I stare at him, and I swear I can even hear his thoughts. With his scrunched brow and the tornado of colors in his eyes, it’s as if he’s pondering the universe. He very well could be. What else does the Heir of Fate think about?

He catches me staring and offers me a questioning look, one brow lifted.

“You’re thinking too loud,” I complain.

His brows pull together, and his mouth twists. “I’m sorry, shall I simply not exist, Zora?”

“That would be wonderful,” I say with a sigh of relief.

His jaw clenches.

Good job. You really have a way with words. I open my mouth to apologize, but the words are torn from me.

Lying across the path ahead is a body. A woman with dark hair and vacant eyes. Something besides a warrior got her, her intestines pulled free, her mouth agape in a silent scream.

“Gods.” I crouch and close her eyes. I turn to Cristen. “How can you be okay with all this? These are innocent women.”

He presses his lips together, scoops a hand through his hair, and continues forward, ignoring me and the body.

“Hey,” I snarl and catch up to him, “I asked you a question, your highness.”

He grimaces. “If there was another way, Talis or Caya would’ve told me.”

I scowl but fall silent. I get there are rules he can’t break. But this? My stomach squeezes. Do I want the throne if it means continuing this tournament?

We slow at the edge of the stronghold, the smell of burnt flesh lingering.

I swat away leaves and step into the open.

Harmony sits by the fire. Her skin is slick with some kind of black ichor. She spins a nasty-looking piece of flesh on a spit, cooking it above the fire. She looks up at us, and her eyes flare with annoyance.

“Sera?” I ask, my eyes darting around the campsite.

“Asleep in the hut.” She reaches down beside her and lifts something, before tossing it toward me.

I catch it, then immediately thrust it to the ground. “Gah!” I stare down at a head, the face covered in slimy black scales. Two bulging eyes of sapphire with yellow slits stare lifelessly up at me.

“You left us with that thing,” Harmony complains. “We’re supposed to be allies.”

“She was badly injured. If she stayed, she would’ve died,” Cristen says.

“I can speak for myself,” I snap.

Harmony waves her hands in frustration. “Hello? What is he even doing here?” She glares at Cristen. “We are dying in your name, and you spite us by bringing yourself down into this pit, where you could easily be killed.”

“I should fight next to my future queen, should I not?” he asks.

She scrunches her long golden hair, her braid torn free over the course of the last 48 hours. “While it may be admirable, you are clearly picking favorites.” She gives me a pointed look. “We are all here for you.”

Sera pops her head out of the hut. “Shut the hell up. I’m trying to sleep.” She spots Cristen and I, and her nostrils flare in rage. “Or better yet, leave.”

“You want to end our alliance?” I ask, looking between them.

Harmony bites her lip.

Sera steps out of the hut and crosses her arms. “You’ve been nothing but a distraction, dragging us down.”

I balk at her. “I saved you that first day.”

She sighs. “Sure, and I thank you for that, but honestly, Zora, why should we help you out when you already have the Heir on your side?”

I crane my neck toward Cristen. “Do you see what you’ve done? I told you not to be here.”

He scratches his chin.

“Who is even taking care of the Kingdom right now?” Harmony asks.

“The Royal Council, as well as the Princess.” He shifts his weight and rolls his shoulders back. “If you sincerely want me gone, I can go. I only thought if I was sticking you all in the trenches, then I should suffer by your side.”

“We have trained our entire lives for this tournament,” Sera barks. “You may think you’re being honorable to your future wife, but you’re also being condescending.”

“Oh, he’s always like that,” I add.

Harmony tugs on a strand of her hair. “Leave, prince. You’ll be with one of us soon enough.”

“I don’t doubt that with the way you two fight,” he offers and smiles.

My brow furrows. “Hold up.”

“I’ll be going then.” Cristen ignores me and backs away. “Thanks for saving me from doing the honorable thing. It’s a lot of work if I’m honest.”

I narrow my eyes. “Fucking excuse me, but did you just leave me out of your ‘who’s going to win this’ round-up?”

“He’s being sarcastic, Zora,” Sera says with a roll of her eyes.

I straighten.

Cristen chuckles.

“Wait, so you’re not leaving?” I demand.

“Gods no.” Cristen strides over to the water beast’s leg on Harmony’s spit. He plucks a piece of its cooked flesh in between his fingers. “Why would I return to a castle with all my riches, when I could stay here with a group of beautiful women and eat…” He tosses the meat into his mouth, and Sera gives a disgusted gasp. His face scrunches up, but he tries to hide it behind a weird half-smile. “Such delicious, and er — chewy food,” he finishes, before forcing a swallow.

Harmony grins and tears off another piece. She hands it to him and bats her eyelashes. “Since you like it so much, here’s seconds.”

He pales.

I bite back a laugh and give the monster’s head a kick. “Or maybe you’d like some raw? I hear fish is great that way. Maybe the sentiment transfers to slimy water beasts?”

Cristen looks between the three of us, panic tensing his features. “Oh, I’ve made a mistake.”

“What? It’s just you and us. Don’t worry. We won’t judge,” Sera says.

“No, that’s precisely the problem. You’re all ganging up on me,” he remarks, his gaze swirling intensely. “You’re supposed to protect me.”

“After you marry one of us,” I point out. “Until then, you’re fair game.”

“Very true,” Harmony agrees. She rests her hands on her hips and looks Cristen up and down with a sly smile. “Fair game in every department.”

“Why am I suddenly envious of the water monster?” Cristen mutters and walks away.

“Where are you going?” Harmony fake pouts.

“I need a bath.” He waves an arm back at us. “I’ve got a sword. I’ll see you three later. Maybe.”

The three of us exchange a humored look as he walks away.

“He isn’t suited for the woods,” Sera says. She settles by the fire.

“True, someone should probably go with him,” I say with a shrug.

“I don’t know, he took down that first beast.” Harmony sits next to her sister.

“He had the advantage of surprise. Also, there’s a big difference between a stupid monster and a badass warrior.” Sera helps herself to some of the thing on the spit. She gnaws on it.

“He’s fine,” I say and check my stitches.

“That’s an understatement,” Sera says with a sigh of lust.

“That’s not what I meant,” I bite out.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Harmony sings.

I can’t help but snort my agreement.

We fall to silence as we rest by the fire. The sun is high, but the breeze is frigid and crisp. I shiver and comb my fingers through my tangled hair. “Are we still allies?”

Harmony looks at me with a frown. “I guess.”

“Leave us again in the middle of battle though, and I’ll hunt you, string you up, and drain you of your blood,” she says casually, picking at her fingernails.

I grin. “You’re a peach.”

“And you’re a sour-ass grape.” Harmony lies back on her elbows.

A horn blows in the distance. We all look up as magic stretches across the sky, its tendrils black as night.

“REPORT TO THE ARENA CENTER,” Talis’s voice booms through the woods.

I frown. “What’s happening?”

Harmony stands and grabs her sword. “I’m not sure.”

“This wasn’t in your ‘how to cheat’ dossier?” The strategic side of my brain whirs to life.

“Definitely not,” Sera says. “But neither was the Heir joining us.”

Cristen. My eyes dart around the edges of the stronghold.

“Grab your weapons.” Harmony tosses a couple of daggers to Sera, who expertly catches them at the hilt.

I scoop up my own, grunting as my side throbs. “What about Cristen?”

“I’m sure he heard the message.” Sera bumps past me, unhooking something from a pouch at her waist and tossing it to me.

I catch a small vial and eye it. “Poison?”

She snorts. “Healing potion.”

My lips part. “Are you serious? You’ve had this the whole time?”

She shrugs with a smirk. “I was saving it for myself.”

I glare at her as she turns away, then pop off the cork cap to the bottle and drain it. The magic tickles down my throat, warming my insides as it seeps into my veins and travels to the infected wound on my bicep and my newest gash on my torso. I clench my fists as the wounds work to seal themselves.

I snatch up my weapons, strapping daggers to my thighs and sheathing my sword across my back. Then I follow the Evercore sisters as a second blast of the horn sounds. The magic in the air tickles the back of my neck, sends a deep, unwavering chill down my spine.

Talis likes to play games, I remember Cristen saying.

“Be ready,” I command Harmony and Sera.

They share a wary look.

“Whatever comes next,” I tell them, “it won’t be easy.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Evercore sisters and I leave the woods. Blood coats the center of the arena from the first day’s battle. My boots scuff up deep, burgundy patches, and I force myself to lift my chin, to not feel the pain echoing through my chest. The bodies of the women lost may be gone, but their spirits linger here, tension and anger thick in the air. It’s as if their souls are trapped in this damned pit, only to be vindicated when one of us takes the throne.

I scan the edges of the woods.

Only five other women appear, their weapons at the ready.

Where are you? I search for Cristen.

At the top of the pit, where the throne rests, Talis stands in formal attire. The Royal Council crowds on either side of him. They all stare down upon us like Gods. A wild smile glitters across Talis’s face, and my gut tells me to fear that smile, to know that nothing good has ever come of it.

“Something isn’t right,” Harmony whispers. She nods to the Royal Council. “Our parents aren’t up there.”

I tear my gaze away from Talis. I don’t recognize any of the faces on the Royal Council, and I frown as I realize who else is missing. “Caya, the Princess. She’s not there, either.” And where is Gretta? The beast wound tightly in my belly roars to life as I find my friend missing. I put her on the back burner. Cristen promised she’d be safe. My eyes flick back to Talis, to that crazed smile. Fuck.

“Nor the Heir.” Sera keeps a firm hand over the hilt of her sword, ready to pull it free. “He’s not here with us, and he’s not up there with them.”

“And what is that?” Harmony asks. She points ahead.

My steps falter at the sight of a massive black curtain. It hangs magically by itself, its thick fabric rippling like oil. Fuck fuck fuck. I wet my lips. “I’ve seen those before.”

We slow several yards from the curtain, the other women in the arena ignoring us. It seems we’ve all come to an amicable agreement – whatever’s next, we fight it together.

Magic pulses out from the curtains. It latches to my skin. I shake it off with a growl as it attempts to dig into me, to seek out all my desires. It’s just like the magic of the Underground, and the thing in my stomach breathes fire. My skin heats with anticipation, and my finger pulses with the need for blood lust. There are some things that will never change when it comes to that curtain. My need to kill will always be one of those things, especially with the curtain and its possessive magic here in this arena.

I want to give in. I want to let it take what it wants, and I want to sink my blade into wherever it transports me. But I need to play smart. I grit my teeth and spread my feet to anchor myself.

“Push it off,” I command my allies, all of them. “These curtains are used for the Underground. Normally, its magic will crawl inside you, procure your needs, and transport you where you want to go.” I clench my fists as the magic tries to pull on me harder. “I have a feeling these curtains won’t be giving us what we want. Not even close.”

I train my eyes above, meeting Talis’s wicked stare.

The smile stretched across his lips pulls at the disfigurement of his burnt flesh. He gives me a small nod, but it’s far from encouraging. It’s an acknowledgment that the game he has in store is up to par with my strength. Perhaps, it even surpasses it.

“Welcome, ladies. I’m glad to see we’ve already narrowed it down to our top eight. Well done.” His voice carries down to us with an amplification enchantment. “As you all well know, the biggest threat facing Estal Kingdom is our unruly streets. More specifically, the armies occupying what is known as the Underground.”

The curtain waves harder as if wind pummels it despite the still, quiet air. Its magic zings and crowds around me. I gasp as it breaks my barriers, digging its claws down into my rib cage, then wrapping around my heart.

Never have I felt magic like this. It burns, like talons sinking in. I breathe out a shaky breath, swaying a bit.

Some of the women gasp as they fall into the magic’s clutches. Even the Evercore sisters falter at my side, their stern expressions furrowed with pain.

But no one backs down.

Talis’s smile pulls down into a slim grin. His face darkens with annoyance as we all stand firm and proud.

I throw a dazzling smile on my face and offer it up to him, forcing his grin into a firmly pressed line. It’s going to take more than that to knock us down, I think toward him, leveling a challenge with my stare.

He adjusts his stance and throws an arm down to the curtain. His frustration wipes back into that wicked expression of his. “The magic inside you currently seeks your greatest desires, as the curtain of the Underground typically does, but it is also finding your deepest fears. Tonight, you will be called into the curtain, and you must face what lies beyond. Only those who return will continue in the tournament.” He juts out his chin. “Extra points go to those who eradicate all they pass during their time in the Underground. Bosses, mercenaries, loiterers, anyone.”

My heart pounds. Bosses and mercenaries – sure – but everyone else? I glare up at him. “There are innocent people that go to the Underground for nothing more than a good time,” I shout.

“They are all fair game,” he shoots back. Several of the Royalists on the Council nod in agreement. “Going into the Underground is against the law. Break the law, and you’re aiding criminal activities.”

“We want our streets cleaned up,” one of the Royalists barks down to us. He’s a large man dressed in a pressed gray suit. His head is shaved, the sun’s rays bouncing off it.

I exchange a look with the Evercore sisters. They want to win this as much as I do, but there’s an understanding here. No more innocent blood will be shed. Not on our watch.

“We will do what’s necessary to protect the Heir,” the woman to my other side calls up to the Royalists.

I fold my arms and scowl. “Kiss ass,” I mutter.

She shoots me a glare, her amber eyes filled with tension. “Want to say that louder?”

I do, but I won’t. There’s a certain peace between the warriors at the moment. I won’t let my big mouth ruin it. Save your strength. The pain of my wounds is almost nonexistent, the healing potion working fast. Thank Gods for that.

“You will enter one at a time,” Talis announces.

“Then this is it,” Harmony breathes.

“The alliances are over,” Sera agrees.

Shit, I bite my lip, but I give the sisters privacy as they squeeze each other’s hand.

“If it’s not me, I’m glad it’s you,” Harmony whispers.

“Same,” Sera nods.

“Gee, thanks guys. I feel very appreciated,” I throw toward them.

Neither smile. Harmony fixes her gaze with mine. “Tell us, Zora. Give us something to go off of.”

“A parting alliance gift,” Sera explains. “Give us information on the Underground.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that I may be the only woman standing here with experience being within the Underground. That’s a large advantage in my personal favor, I realize. I look up at Talis.

He still wears that wicked smile, but suddenly, it’s less wicked and more strained. Maybe it always was. Maybe those looks of frustration weren’t because of our defiance. He likes to play games, but would he really put Cristen in danger? I shake my head and pull my focus back to the sisters.

“It’s ruthless,” I say, not caring if the other women beyond my alliance hear me. “Wherever that curtain takes you, be prepared for anything. Honestly, if there is a better strategy, I say make yourself as invisible as possible. Find your threat and take them out. Use the shadows to your advantage.”

What’s left of the warriors nod their thanks.

I turn to the Evercore sisters. “Thank you for protecting me, for giving me a chance. Though my ego is suffocating with this admission, I don’t think I’d be standing here without your alliance.”

“Damn right,” Sera scoffs.

Harmony smiles. It’s soft and pained but genuine. “We may have been friends in another life.”

I look between them and shrug. “I don’t know what you mean. We are friends. I’m not dead yet, Evercores.”

“Some moments, that’s to our profound dismay,” Harmony laughs.

I shrug again, this time with a grin. “You’re no friend of mine if you don’t at least go out fighting. Knowing you two, whoever awaits you on the other side of that curtain is in for the ass-kicking of their lives.”

“Finally, we agree on something.” Sera bumps her shoulder lightly into mine.

“Up first —" Talis begins.

We fall silent as women are called one by one. We stand strong and proud, sending sneers up to the Royalists that leer down into the pit.

Panic settles alongside adrenaline as I drum my fingers on my pant legs.

Gretta is missing.

Cristen is missing.

The two people I would likely fight tooth and nail for — gone.

“Sera Evercore,” Talis calls.

Sera steps forward. She knotted her hair, every strand slicked back to reveal her sharply defiant bone structure. Her and her sister share a nod of encouragement, before she walks toward the curtain and disappears, her sword in her grasp and her knuckles white against the hilt.

“Harmony Evercore,” Talis’s voice booms through the pit.

There’s a polite smatter of applause for each name, but for Harmony, the Royalists erupt into a chant of approval.

“Seems they’ve chosen a Queen,” I mumble.

Harmony tightens her ponytail. “They don’t get to choose. We do.” She looks at me then, pulling free her sword in one hand and planting a dagger in the other. “That’s the beauty of this. A choice, when we so often never have one.”

“Then choose to not die, alright?” I ask. I swallow and clear my throat.

Harmony’s eyes narrow with beautiful ferocity. “See you on the other side, Vyner.”

She charges forward with a battle cry and collides with the heavy curtain. It sucks her in, a faint echo of her roar bouncing around the pit.

I inhale, exhale, steady myself. My finger twitches at my side, and my eyes fall to the blood-stained ground beneath my boots.

“Zora Vyner,” Talis announces.

There’s no applause among the Royalists, but their silence is monumental. All that tension, all that will driving toward me and hoping I’ll die – I drink it in. The Underground always knew not to underestimate me. It’s time the Royalists learn that lesson, too.

“Fuck it,” I grumble and unsheathe my sword. I stroll forward. The magic of the curtain swarms around my body, plucking at every thread in my being. It shifts through my past, present, and future, settling only when it finds the essence within me that desires and fears.

There’s a lust there for Cristen, strong enough to almost outweigh all else, but as much as I want him, there’s a desire rooted far deeper in my soul.

A desire to have a family. To steal back what was taken from me when I was far too young. A desire to be loved the way a brother might love me — a brother who exists but who has been forever lost to me. I think of Gretta, of her love and compassion, the kind a true sister would give. She may not be my brother or my blood, but she’s been there for me when it counted most. She’s family, and right now — she’s missing.

The magic flares as my fear does, and it’s then I realize my desire and my fear are one and the same. I can’t lose the only family I’ve ever had. Take me to her, I beg the magic.

It vibrates around me, coils into the center of my core. It burns and burns, writhes against my wishes, and tries to implement its own.

Let me save her, even if it’s the last thing I do, I demand.

Despite the nagging ache in my heart that doesn’t belong to Gretta, the ache only ever belonging to Cristen, the magic ignores it.

Instead, for once, the curtains listen to me, Gretta’s name whispering through my soul as I’m whisked from the arena.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Darkness sweeps across my vision as the arena swirls away. I catch myself against a wall draped in a lavish tapestry. The ground beneath my boots stabilizes, and the blood of battle is replaced by smooth black marble. Every hair on the back of my neck raises.

I stand in The Beast’s living room.

A glance out the window confirms I’m in his townhouse, and I grip the hilt of my blade tighter. His home must connect to the Underground’s network of magical tunnels somehow.

My eyes dart about the room. It’s empty — at least I believe it is until I take a step around the plush sofa.

On the floor, curled in a fetal position, tied up and gagged is Gretta. Her clothes beneath the restraints are torn apart, the skin beneath marked with large gashes of dried blood. Her skin is pale — too pale — and her face is calm — too calm.

I drop to my knees and grab her face between my hands. “Gretta?” I whisper and shake her.

She doesn’t move, and her cheeks…her cheeks feel cold.

My breaths come quicker as I pass a hand over her neck and feel for her pulse. A strangled noise of pain tears from my throat. “Gretta!” I cry and shake her harder.

“What’s left of her is here,” a voice rumbles behind me.

I spring to my feet and turn toward The Beast.

He leans in the archway to the living room, a vial held between his forefinger and thumb. He gives it a little shake, the eyes behind his mask alight with violence. “You hurt me, and I will always hurt you back, Zora.” He slips the vial inside his suit jacket. “I’ve trapped your friend’s essence in that bottle. If you want it back, then you’ll have to give me something else. Something of equal pain for you,” he bargains. “It’s only fair.”

“How did this happen?” I screech through gritted teeth. All my strategies unravel each time my eyes flick to Gretta’s lifeless body. Could it really just be that her essence is stolen? Or is that a lie and she’s dead? How would one even take another’s essence?

“We have a mutual friend,” The Beast says with a smile.

“Friend is a strong word,” a deeper voice seeps forward from the dark hall beyond.

My stomach tightens. My grip on my sword falters, and it clangs down onto the marble floor. “No,” I whimper, the word passing my lips without my permission.

Cristen steps up next to The Beast, his face grim. He doesn’t wear a mask or the illusions of tattoos. No, to The Beast he is the Heir of Fate. To The Beast, he is an ally.

“What the actual fuck?” I spit at him, lunging forward.

Cristen waves his fingers, and magic collides with me like a solid barrier.

I yell in frustration and buck forward, clawing my hands over the invisible wall in fury. The magic shatters, and I continue my path forward, happy by the surprise across Cristen’s and The Beast’s faces.

Cristen straightens. “You forgot your weapon,” he attempts casually, daring a taunting look.

“I don’t don’t need a fucking weapon,” I hiss, cocking my arm back in the same instant. “You’ve sharpened me enough.” I slam my fist into his face. Pain immediately blossoms across my knuckles, but it's a pain I relish.

Cristen stumbles, his hands flying up to cast more magic, but I don’t hesitate with another hook and another. I scream and drive the toe of my boot home, nailing him in the groin.

He grunts in pain and falls to his knees.

I grab his hair and rip his head back, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “You tell me, right fucking now, why. Why are you here? Why are you aligned with a man who enables men like Ferris? Why is my best friend, my sister, as good as dead on the floor? What. Have. You. Done.”

Cristen grimaces as I tug his head back further. His eyes search my face, those endless swirls full of darkness.

For a moment — a millisecond of a second — regret fills every crevice of his features, but in a blink, it’s gone. Before me is a man I don't recognize, and the acidic taste in my mouth makes me wish I could spit venom onto his flesh. I want to watch him burn, and I will gladly add The Beast’s limbs as kindling.

I turn to the other bastard at that thought, my anger surging over and over, battering my soul into oblivion.

The Beast looks me over, and he smiles. Smiles. “If you want to find what’s left of your family, if you want every answer you’ve ever sought, you must choose something to give up.”

I let go of Cristen and stride back to Gretta without an ounce of hesitation. “I will always choose her.” I glare at Cristen. “He is nothing to me now.”

The Beast’s smile widens. “Good to know.” In a swift movement, he procures Gretta’s vial of essence —

and smashes it to the ground.

“No!” I scream and rush forward, just as he clamps his boot over the broken pieces of the bottle, crushing them further.

I frantically retreat to my friend, taking her face in my hands and hoping maybe she’ll return to me.

But her face loses what little color it had left, and her body sags.

My hands tremble. Tears scorch paths down my cheeks as I softly tuck her hair behind her ears. I lean my forehead down, and I press it against hers, closing my eyes and praying up to whatever Gods will listen. Please don’t take her from me. I clutch her to my chest. “Gretta, please,” I whisper into her hair.

That deep, dark void in the back of my head yawns wider with my pleas. It sucks in every thought and channels my entire being toward blood lust. My ring finger pulses to the steady thrum of a war drum, and pure rage rushes in my ears. I can hear nothing, see nothing. I become wrath as my fingers slide across the marble and reclaim my sword.

“Don’t you want your answers?” The Beast asks, his tone calm, even bored.

I lift from the floor, my cheeks wet from my tears, but my vision is clearer than it’s ever been. “No.”

“No?” He scoffs and looks at Cristen. “Fine, then it’s time to finish this job. I’m tired of this game.”

Cristen remains on his knees. His eyes look almost wholly black, as they had after he tried to read my threads.

I take slow, precise steps forward, my eyes narrowing on The Beast’s chest. I wonder if there’s a heart in there to rip out. I’m going to know soon.

“Capture her,” The Beast commands.

Cristen stands, and my attention snaps back to him. “I can feel it,” he says, his voice so quiet I know he means the words only for me. The dark haze of his eyes glistens with starlight and prophecies. “I can feel the thing inside you, how it’s sunk its teeth deep into your skull.”

“There is nothing inside me.” Another step forward. “There is only me.” I raise my sword.

“Grab her,” The Beast says. His hands tighten into fists at his sides as I move closer.

Cristen remains still, his shoulders pressed back, his face resigned. His jaw slackens as he enters some kind of trance, every light left in his eyes obliterated. “It wants me, too,” he whispers, the words sharp as knives.

I don’t hear him, but I use his distraction to my advantage and focus on the one person I know deserves to be taken out. I turn my blade on The Beast, prowling forward with determination.

He grumbles something under his breath and knocks past Cristen, unsheathing a blade at his side. “I suppose if you want something done right, you ought to do it yourself.” He lifts his sword and motions me forward with a sly smile. “Come on. Race to your cage.”

“I can’t be caged,” I spit at his feet.

“Oh, Zora,” he tsks and taps his sword lightly against mine. “You already are.”

My brow furrows, but I don’t have a moment to let his words sink in. The dark wave inside me rises as he masterfully carves his sword toward my torso.

I jump out of the way and spin forward, lunging sword-first toward his thigh. I cut into his slacks, opening a gash across his skin.

The Beast growls and slams his fist down atop my wrist.

I gasp and my sword falls, the attack forcing my fingers open.

He yanks my back to his chest and places his sword beneath my neck. “Not much of a fight,” he says.

I drive an elbow back into his gut, and he stumbles back. “I didn’t realize it was over,” I taunt, grabbing my sword and wielding it forward with blunt force. My muscles strain as I corner him.

He meets my blade, tries to drive me back.

But the glittering panic in his eyes presses me forward.

Maintaining my hold on my sword, I quickly grab a small knife from my waistband and slash it toward The Beast’s forearm.

His face twists with pain and surprise, his sword falling as he moves to place pressure on the wound.

I slam into him, lifting onto my toes and holding my blade to his throat. “Take off your mask so I can kill the coward beneath.” When he doesn’t move, I allow my blade to slice the smallest amount into his neck. “Take it off!”

He raises a trembling hand, and I track the movement as he carefully undoes his mask.

Whatever he sees in my eyes, he isn’t questioning my resolve.

“Are you sure you wish to kill me?” he asks and peels the mask away.

Illusions snap and crackle outward. His bone structure slims further, sharpens. The sleeve of ink on his arm swirls from a muddy mess into the crisp lines of strange, patterned runes — maybe ancient letters of an equally ancient language. They carve up his entire arm, his neck. A large archaic symbol of an eye opens across his forehead, the ink as dark as the thing writhing inside me.

The Beast drops the mask from his eyes, revealing irises I could never forget. Irises that once held so much love and joy and passion…for me.

I inhale sharply and step back, throwing my sword to the floor and staring at a face resembling some of my own. Tears pool in my eyes. Grief and terror and absolute fucking fury thunder within me. I turn back to Cristen, to demand answers I know he must have, but he’s gone. He left me. Again.

I bite my tongue and ignore the broken, mangled object in my chest that perhaps once, long ago, was a heart. My body shakes, and a low sob rakes through me. I cut it off, swallow it down.

The Beast steps closer. He reaches out and catches one of my falling tears. He frowns at it. “Zora.”

I tear my gaze from Gretta’s dull, gray form and stare at the man before me. The void inside my skull doesn’t feel like a void when I look at him. It feels like a whole, complete darkness. A cancerous mass. The kind that can’t be stopped. “Xavier,” I breathe, the name rough with sorrow against my tongue.

“What if I told you your cage was a palace, little sister?” he asks softly.

“You killed my friend, made the man I —” I shake the word love away. I glare at my brother, at Xavier, at The Beast. I wanted to find him for so, so long. Here he is. Here he’s been. Near me. All this time. Anger flares. “What have you done?” I grit out.

Xavier Vyner tucks my hair behind my ear, the touch light and endearing. It does not match the hardened, cold face across from mine, but I can also feel his grief, his longing. His eyes flash with pain, but he offers me a small, sad smile. “I’ve shaped you,” he says, his voice thick with finality. He brings his hand down from my hair and takes my chin between his fingers, forcing me to stand taller, prouder. “I’ve shaped you into the Queen I need you to be to save us all.”

My pulse stutters as magic locks around my body. “Where will you take me?”

Xavier steps back, and his lips pull into a satisfied smirk. “Home.”

HEIR OF FATE

Lose the hand of Fate. Spiral into betrayal.

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Start Reading Book 2: Heir of Fate by Jinapher J. Hoffman

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Table of Contents

Wrathos Books

The Shard & The Serpent

Map

Dedication

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

Heir of Fate

About The Author