A Dance of Dragons: Series Starter Bundle
Author: Kaitlyn Davis
Date: 2014-12-08 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Fantasy; Paranormal; Fiction; dragons; Young Adult Fantasy; Young Adult; Science Fiction Fantasy; Magic
Description: ****More Than 500 5-Star Reviews for A DANCE OF DRAGONS On Goodreads!*** * **"If you want to set out on a journey, read this."** \- We do Write **"Mind. BLOWN."** \- Spiced Latte Reads **"Wow. My more extensive review: Just wow."** \- Brooke Blogs **An ancient evil awakens. Three unlikely heroes rise. An age of myth is reborn.** Try the A DANCE OF DRAGONS series today, perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas, Kristin Cashore, and Tamora Pierce! This bundle includes the prequel novella, The Golden Cage, as well as the first full-length novel, The Shadow Soul. ~~~ ** THE GOLDEN CAGE (A Dance of Dragon
Publisher: Smashwords

LEENA'S STORY

The Complete

A Dance of Dragons

Novellas

By Kaitlyn Davis

Kindle Edition

Copyright 2015 Kaitlyn Davis

Cover Art:

Novella Bundle: Manipulated by Kaitlyn Davis from an attribution licensed flickr creative commons photo by David LeRoy Lyles, a DeviantArt photoshop brush by Alexandra Alexandersson, a DepositPhotos.com image by alexannabuts called Woman In Black Cape, and a dreamstime.com image © Captblack76 | Dreamstime.com - Beautiful dark woman in a desert landscape.

The Golden Cage: Manipulated by Kaitlyn Davis from attribution licensed flickr creative commons photos by Naval History & Heritage Command and gill_penney, and a DepositPhotos.com image by alexannabuts called Woman in Green Bandage.

The Silver Key: Manipulated by Kaitlyn Davis from an attribution licensed deviant art photo by iconseiyastock, a pixabay CC0 Public Domain image by Piper60, and a DepositPhotos.com image by alexannabuts called Brunette Woman In Cape.

The Bronze Knight: Manipulated by Kaitlyn Davis from attribution licensed flickr creative commons photos by Thomas Quine and Perfect Zero, and a DepositPhotos.com image by alexannabuts called Woman In Black Cape.

The Iron Rider: Manipulated by Kaitlyn Davis from an attribution licensed flickr creative commons photo by Kat Lovasi, a DeviantArt photoshop brush by Alexandra Alexandersson, a DepositPhotos.com image by alexannabuts called Woman In Black Cape, and a dreamstime.com image © Captblack76 | Dreamstime.com - Beautiful dark woman in a desert landscape.

World Map: Illustrated by Sarah Faith Morris (Sylva Knight)

The right of Kaitlyn Davis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be direct infringement of the author's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblances between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

ALL WORKS BY KAITLYN DAVIS

A Dance of Dragons

The Shadow Soul

The Spirit Heir

The Phoenix Born

A Dance of Dragons – The Novellas

The Golden Cage

The Silver Key

The Bronze Knight

The Iron Rider

Once Upon A Curse

Gathering Frost

Withering Rose – Coming Soon!

Midnight Fire

Ignite

Simmer

Blaze

Scorch

To my family for their unconditional love,
my friends for their overwhelming support,
and my fans for their incredible enthusiasm.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Click on the title to jump to the start of the novella

The Golden Cage

A Dance of Dragons #0.5

The Silver Key

A Dance of Dragons #1.5

The Bronze Knight

A Dance of Dragons #2.5

The Iron Rider

A Dance of Dragons #3.5

More Books by Kaitlyn Davis

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About The Author

THE

GOLDEN

CAGE

A Dance of Dragons #0.5

By Kaitlyn Davis

DESCRIPTION

From bestselling author Kaitlyn Davis comes a fantasy adventure perfect for fans of Throne of Glass, Graceling, and Game of Thrones.

In the land of Ourthuro, cruelty is a way of life. The king rules with an iron fist and no one dare defy him—no one except his daughter. Princess Leena is keeping a dangerous secret, she has fallen in love with a soldier and it would mean both of their lives if her father ever discovered their affair.

But Leena will risk it all to be with the man she loves—her heart, her life, her freedom. And when her brother's birthday celebration takes a dangerous turn, Leena is forced to make a decision that will change the fate of her nation and eventually the world.

The Golden Cage is a prequel novella to THE SHADOW SOUL (A Dance of Dragons #1)—Available now!

ONE

Princess Leenaka was a flirt.

Resting on her gilded throne, face hidden behind a veil of golden links dangling from a jeweled crown, she held the attention of every boy in the ballroom. Her smile was coy, half lifted in mystery and half drooped in boredom.

Casually, she made eye contact with a young nobleman, piercing through the metal wisps of her veil and then shyly looking away. Repeating the process, she found another son of a noble house close to her age. Another wink. Another smile. Another victim.

It wasn't a game of ill will or even the whim of a foolish girl—it was survival. Her survival…their survival.

A hush settled over the crowd, pausing Leena mid-thought. It could only mean one thing. The King of Ourthuro had arrived with his son, her brother—the youngest of King Razzaq's children and the only male heir.

Leena spared a glance to her side, eyeing her sisters. They sat still on eleven petite thrones all lined up behind the main dais where the king, queen, and prince would preside. Like statuesque decorations in flowing golden dresses and jingling jewelry, their faces were hidden behind veils. A backdrop. Pieces of art to be admired.

Such is the way of the Ourthuri. Leena sighed. Of the twelve princesses, she seemed the only one uncomfortable with the whole display.

Returning her gaze forward, she watched as the royal family walked through the sea of guests and approached their stage. Her father was not an overly large man, but he was still imposing. The king's crown rested upon his head, shimmering gold and glistening with polished stones, making him seem a foot taller. His flowing robes, like the sun, seemed to produce a light of their own. And the only things in stark contrast to the gold draped over his body were the black tattoos elegantly circling his arms from wrist to shoulder, branding him undeniably as king.

Everyone in Ourthuro had tattoos, a gift from birth. Leena's were those of a princess, painted with images of flowers and jewels as they swirled up her skinny arms. The noble families were allowed images of their own choosing so long as they did not pass one's elbows. The upper arms were reserved for the royal family alone. And for the lower classes, a simple band of black was usually all anyone could afford.

It was another tradition Leena was unsure of. History taught her that it gave hope, that tattoos could always be built upon but never lessened, giving the common people something to dream of or aspire to. But everyone in Ourthuro knew that was not true. There were the unmarked—slaves and criminals whose inks had been forcibly removed. Really the tattoos were just another display, like a line of princesses at one's back, hiding something darker.

Leena's eyes shifted to the queen, who was adorned in a dress made of metal petals that seemed alive, seemed to move like fire in the candlelight. As usual when sighting the queen, Leena's thoughts shifted to her own mother. A woman she would never know but often dreamed of. A woman stolen from her at the moment of her birth. For the darker side to the display of princesses was the missing display of queens. In Ourthuro, a queen could only live if her first child was a boy, if she provided an heir.

But… Leena pushed her morose thoughts aside and smiled at her brother. Finally my kingdom has a son. A son who was turning five, a son with a birthday to celebrate.

Despite looking exactly like the king, Prince Haydar had a warm spot in Leena's heart. Perhaps it was his innocence, perhaps his jovial smile, his carefree attitude, his young defiance. Whatever the cause, she loved him.

Biting her lip to keep back a giggle, Leena watched as he walked forward—three steps for every one of the king's. His eyes furrowed in concentration, his small lips resolutely firm yet raised just slightly with a smile. He looked straight ahead, marching as he was taught, but still a boy, thankfully. He was not yet the man her father was pushing him to become.

Nonetheless, Leena saw a difference in him. Like a ghost before her eyes, memories flashed. Her brother at the age of four, of three, of two, of one. A baby with wide eyes, a toddler with an untamable laugh. He used to run wild through the halls. He used to visit her to play. He used to talk to everyone he met regardless of their tattoos.

But now, he was starting to learn the rules. Nod to the nobles. Do not speak with the servants. Never look down. Show no mercy. All laws of a future king.

Leena shivered.

It hurt her soul to watch him grow up, to watch the bars slowly build around him, a gilded cage. A cage invisible to everyone it seemed except her. But it was there.

Even in this ballroom, wide and open, she saw the bars. Columns built of stone lined the floor, surrounded its occupants—wide and immobile. The exits were plentiful but all guarded with soldiers. More displays of wealth and power. But everyone smiled except her, the only frown in the room. Luckily, her veil mostly hid her expression from the guests.

The royal family reached their seats, settling in. Her father paused for a moment, letting the tension in the room build as it always did before his speeches—a little knot of angst he loved to hold onto if just for an instant. No one was ever sure what would come out of his mouth, what new command he might speak, but that was how her father liked it. He thrived on their uncertainty, on their fear.

"Today we celebrate the fifth birthday of our most honored son, Prince Haydar," he began. Leena tuned him out, refused to give him her fear. But his voice, like always, seemed to drown her, to suffocate her.

So she searched for her solace.

There was a reason Leena was known as the court flirt. The more men she talked to, the fewer she was tied to. The more flirtatious she was, the less anyone thought she held a secret. It was a display, just like those she had learned from her father—a pretty front hiding a darker truth.

Hiding a forbidden love.

As slowly as she could manage, Leena let her gaze pass over the crowd. She continued to smile at a few boys, to meet their eager glances, to make them feel special for a quick second before releasing their hold. But all the while, her eyes were moving imperceptibly further away from the guests, closer to the shadows in the back of the ballroom, until finally her eyes met the one gaze they were meant for.

Beside the column, second to the left from the center, in his spot so Leena could easily find him, stood Mikzahooq—soldier, honored personal guard, true love. If the palace was her cage, he was her trapdoor, her little glimpse of freedom. And the ache in her chest instantly released as he grinned slightly, letting her know he had caught her staring.

You were staring first, she thought, fighting back a smile. Then again, he was her personal bodyguard—it was his job to stare. But Leena knew the deeper meaning in his eyes. He watched because he wanted to, because he could not look away.

Leena could not look away either.

In his formal garb, chest encased with gleaming armor, arms firm and strong as they held a curved sword at the ready before his eyes, Mikza was so beautiful—a perfect statue. But knowing the gentle soul hidden inside those hard muscles made him all the more handsome. The deep rumble of his laughter echoed in her ears, a memory, a weapon to block out her father's voice.

But even Mikza could not block out the collective gasp of a hundred noblemen or the clang of a sword slamming on stone. Leena's head jerked to the noise as her mind fought to piece together what had happened.

A servant was splayed across the floor, head bowed down against the stone, his entire body trembling. A few feet before him rested an amethyst silk pillow, wrinkled from the fall. Before that, a sword, curved like the sun, inlaid with rubies, flickering with reflections of candlelight. A sword too small for a grown man but perfect for a little boy.

Leena closed her eyes slowly, taking a deep breath, dreading what would come next. It was Haydar's present. It had to be.

Now, instead of a sword, her brother would be given a new weapon. Power. Authority. This offense was not something her father would dismiss with the wave of his hand, not in front of the entire court, and not on a day meant to honor his only son.

Leena looked closer at the man, still shaking against the cold stone. His tattoos were gone, as she expected. In place of ink rested mangled flesh where his skin had been cut off, forcibly removed. An unmarked. A slave.

He would not be easily forgiven.

Her father stood quickly. The metal trinkets dangling from his ceremonial robes clanged together, oddly musical in the tense silence. Without a word, he stepped down from the royal platform until he was level with the crowd, closer to the unmarked man. He stopped before her brother's sword.

"Pick it up," the king growled, kicking the sword by the hilt so it spun in circles closer to the servant.

The man did not move a muscle even as the newly sharpened blade smacked into his arm, drawing a thin line of blood. Only when the sword came to a complete stop did he place his fingers underneath it and rise slowly, eyes focused on the ground, hands raised above his head, presenting it as worth more than he. And to her father, it was.

The unmarked man was unflinching as he waited with one knee on the ground and head bent, following orders as he had been taught. But his breath came quickly, giving his fear away.

"Prince Haydar, retrieve your present," the king commanded.

Her brother eased off his throne, still too large for his tiny legs, which dropped almost soundlessly to the ground. But the light click of his boots was unmistakable against the utter silence. He shuffled down the steps, unsure, but needing to please his father.

Leena licked her lips, forcing her eyes to remain open even though she wished to look away, to find Mikza, to escape.

Please, she thought, he is just a boy. Please do not make him a man, not at only five years old.

But the hope was futile and she knew it. Her father often spoke of his childhood, of the lessons he learned from the former king—one more harsh ruler in the long line of Ourthuri royalty. He had only been seven the first time he killed a man—an unmarked he caught trying to escape the palace grounds.

It was difficult to imagine her father as an innocent boy, but it was more difficult now to watch her brother's innocence fade away, to watch his eyes harden and his tiny fingers wrap around the hilt of a sword, to watch him raise it and wait for a command.

"What punishment do you think befits this crime?" Her father asked, loud enough for all to hear but directed at the little prince.

Haydar scrunched his lips, flicking his eyes around the room in search of the correct answer. "I don't know, Father." He spoke slowly, unsure of himself.

The king knelt beside his son, dropping his weighty arm over Haydar's shoulder and pulling him in closer. A loving gesture. A twisted one too.

From the back of the room, two soldiers stepped forward, making their way through the crowd. Her father's personal guards. They knew what was coming next.

"He dropped your birthday present, our fine gift to you. And look," he said, gently pulling the sword closer, inspecting it, "we think there is a scratch, right there on the hilt."

"I see it," Haydar agreed, but his brows knotted together. There was no mark.

"He was clumsy."

Haydar nodded.

"He ruined our celebrations."

The guards reached the unmarked and forced him down on the ground, bending him so his forehead pressed harshly against the floor. His arms extended to either side, held down by their knees.

"He dishonored us."

King Razzaq hugged Haydar closer, brows raised, waiting for a proclamation of punishment. Her brother squeezed the grip on the sword, eyes still clouded with confusion, growing clearer by the second. The entire room stared, wondering what sort of man their future king might be, expecting very little change.

And Leena held her breath, clenching her fists, waiting, hoping his gentle mind could not put the pieces together. Hoping everyone was wrong.

"He will…" Her brother paused, looking up at their father's face, searching for the right words. "He will lose one hand?"

Leena's heart dropped.

The king smiled.

"A good choice."

One of the guards holding the man down reached for his weapon, but the king raised his palm. Leena gasped.

He couldn't mean to…

Not at his birthday celebration…

"But a king must do more than just proclaim his punishment," King Razzaq continued, standing slowly. "Sometimes, he must carry it out as well."

And with that, he nudged Haydar forward.

The boy stepped cautiously toward the unmarked, whose scars were like a perfect target, circling his wrists. He tightened his hold and raised the sword above his head, tiny arms shaking with exertion, ready to draw his first blood.

Leena looked away, not caring if anyone saw how fast she turned her head or how quickly her eyes focused on the back of the room.

Mikza.

He was watching her, eyes saddened but not surprised. He had been waiting for her, and she needed his strength.

Leena tightened her grip on the throne, digging her fingers into its golden arms to keep from running across the ballroom. In her mind, she felt Mikza's arms surround her, felt him caress her hair and bring her head to rest in the nook below his shoulder, a spot that seemed perfectly designed just for her. He was holding her, protecting her, but also stopping her. Saving her from the thought of what she might do with her brother's sword, given the chance.

Blinking back blurry tears, she gritted her teeth, letting the pain take away the defeat, the hurt. Her father had won, as he always did.

Leena did not see Haydar's blade fall but she did not have to. The cries of pain were enough to make her flinch as they echoed around the room, as they were dragged farther and farther away, made fainter and fainter, until a full silence hung in the air.

And then clapping. The celebration of her brother finally becoming a man, becoming a prince worthy of being King of Ourthuro.

Leena never let go of Mikza's eyes, worried what she might do if she did.

TWO

Leena sat under the deep water of her private pool, safe in the muffled silence, letting the gentle hum ease away her fears, her worries. Looking up through the glittering shafts of light floating and filtering through the cool blue, the world felt miles away. Anger still clenched her fists, sorrow still gripped her heart, but here under the surface, drenched in sapphire, she could hide away for a little while.

It had been a long night of pretending, of smiling, of hiding everything she truly wanted to say. After her brother's performance, Leena had done her duties as a princess. Dancing and making conversation, then leaving as early as was politely possible for a princess to do, keeping the tears to herself until she was hidden behind the thick walls of her suite.

Mikza would find her, he always did. He always came to comfort her, to kiss her. At that moment, she knew he waited outside her doors, guarding the entrance as was expected, waiting until it was dark and the halls were empty before slipping inside.

But she wanted him now.

Usually the water was enough of an embrace to calm her rushing pulse. Not tonight. Not when it felt as though someone she loved had died, or worse, disappeared before her very eyes as though he had never existed. Perhaps her brother had always been vicious, like their father. Perhaps she had misled herself, believing he could be different, thinking that someday things might be different.

But she remembered cradling him in her arms as a baby, the little spittle drooping from his lips while he giggled, the time she taught him to blow kisses, the way he wrapped his tiny fingers around her thumb.

Leena released the breath she had been holding, watching the air bubbles float before her face and drift higher, disappearing into the glare of the candlelit room up above.

Water had always been her friend, there for her even before Mikza. Her eternal escape. Her secret hideout. Some might call it magic, but to Leena it was as natural as breathing, sitting in those cool depths for hours without needing to fill her lungs, knowing she would never drown no matter how long she stayed below the surface. As a girl, she thought maybe her mother had gifted her with the powers, letting the pool provide a warm embrace since her nurturing arms had been stolen away.

Now, Leena did not know what to think. Dreams of her mother seemed childish, but she had no other explanation for the gift. She could not manipulate the water, could not move it, or produce it from thin air. It was more like a close friend. A place she could cry without fear of discovery. A place she could dream and pretend she was somewhere else.

For tonight, a place she could remember an innocent, beautiful little boy without facing the realities of her world. It wasn't his fault, she tried to remind herself, not really. Haydar was just becoming what he was groomed to be, what he knew, what he was taught. But still, it cut her deeply.

A shadow fell overhead, interrupting her thoughts and casting a dark circle through the water.

Leena looked up, smiling, as a memory flashed before her eyes. Two and a half years ago, on the day of her fifteenth birthday, the same thing had happened. Only then, it was met with fear instead of excitement…

Leena knew it was time to get out of the water. Her maid would be there any second to primp her for the party—for her party. Fifteen. It didn't feel so old, not really, but it was old enough for her father to take notice—to present her to the men of the court.

She never talked to boys, never spoke with them, and never showed any interest. She was happy in her solitude. In her freedom. Leena did not want anything to change. It was too fast.

Her hands shook, making bubbles in the pool, a drift of fizz that floated to the top of the surface, a trail of nerves.

She really should get out. But her limbs felt too heavy to move, so she continued to sit and ruminate, hidden from the world.

A sound made its way to her ear. A muffled noise she could not make out, something very loud for it to travel all the way down to her, breaking the silence.

Leena looked up and gasped, accidentally swallowing water.

A shadow looked down on her, a person, someone she could not recognize through the ripples.

Frozen. She was frozen in place. No one knew her secret. Not even her sisters.

Suddenly white blinded her, a splash and then a crash as a body hit the water, breaking it apart, sinking closer.

Where could she run? There was no place to hide—she was discovered. And now even this secret had been stolen from her.

Time seemed to stop as the body swam closer, as two brown eyes grew more distinct in the blue, a reassuring face that seemed to tell her it would be okay. Leena did not struggle as the man wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging, pulling her up and up, until her head broke the surface and she took a long gasping breath, shaky with fear.

Silence trapped her tongue and she did not speak as he lifted her from the water, laid her gently down, and cupped her cheek.

Words, but she was too distracted to listen. It was not a man but a boy, a boy who had to be hardly older than she, his olive skin tanned and his muscles firm as they held her. She had never been so close to one before.

"Are you alright, Princess?" He repeated. She didn’t know how many times he said it before she finally found the courage to pay attention. And when she did, the entire situation came barreling forward into realization. She jumped from his embrace, stepping backward on unsteady feet.

"Who are you? How dare you manhandle a princess of Ourthuro? I demand to know your name."

He stood abruptly, moving his hands into a fist behind his back, squaring his shoulders and stepping his feet perfectly together.

"I am Mikzahooq, your new personal guard assigned by King Razzaq, my Princess."

"Oh," she exclaimed, surprised, interested, trying to ignore the flutter of her heart as he said the word princess. He was older than she had thought but gentler than she expected a soldier to be. "Well, please do not barge into my rooms unannounced again."

"I won't, my Princess." He paused, squinted at her. "Only, may I ask what you were doing? When you did not respond to my knocks I grew worried that you were hurt. I saw you in the pool, and I feared, well, the worst, my Princess. I only ask so I can better protect you."

"I…" Leena bit her lip, shuffling uncomfortably on her feet. "I was swimming of course. I dropped a ring and I needed to go find it." She held up her hand, defiantly presenting him with the emerald band circling her finger.

"Of course, my Princess." He could not hide the smirk on his lips, the knowledge that she was lying, but he did not press. And Leena silently thanked him for that respect, a respect very few ever graced her with—one not out of duty but out of kindness.

"You may go," she said, covering her giggle as he jumped into action, suddenly realizing that she was in her undergarments and clearly safe from any harm.

Leena followed him to the door, shutting it gently when he left and falling back against the metal, biting her lip, thinking how fun fifteen might be.

Leena remembered that night so clearly—it was the night her reputation as a flirt first began. Throughout the ball she danced with every boy, remembering no faces because she pictured each with the same features, Mikza's features, imagining she danced with him, her accidental savior.

It had taken months for her to break down his walls, to make him talk to her so openly again, but it had been worth it. He was a man of duty and of honor, a soldier with rules to follow, but love was strong enough to weaken those barriers. Eventually, Leena had told him the truth about her magic, which was why he had now learned to wait for her to rise from the waters on her own.

With one shove of her feet, Leena pushed off from the tile floor, swimming up through the blue until his face became ever more clear. As he had done a hundred times before, Mikza reached both of his palms below the surface, holding her gently and pulling her from the water so she stood in his arms.

Staring into his deep brown eyes, glittered by the candlelight, Leena finally felt relaxed. Mikza lifted a warm palm to her cheek, using his thumb to brush away the water masking her tears, concerned.

But Leena did not want to talk about her brother. Not yet.

"Do you remember the first time we met? How you tried to save me?"

Mikza grinned, nodding as he slipped his hand to the back of her neck and ran his long fingers through her dripping hair.

"I remember the seven other times you made me save you, too, before you finally confessed your secret."

"What secret?" She teased, opening her already large eyes even wider, feigning innocence.

"That you love having my arms wrapped around you," he whispered.

"I don't think that was ever a secret."

Her hands drifted further up his chest until they found his shoulders and pulled him slightly down, just enough to meet her lips.

Immediately, her heart fluttered as though airborne in her chest, lifting her closer to Mikza, making her arms squeeze him tighter. His touch was soothing, comforting, but still burned a slow fire in her belly—a heat she hoped time would never take away. His kisses were the only thing she feared she might drown in, so she clung to him.

Mikza's arms wrapped firmer around her waist, lifting her to the ends of her toes. He was tall and lean, but strong and perfectly fit to her body. They molded together like water, with a fluid grace. As he moved, so did she.

When Mikza pulled his neck back, she tried to follow, but Leena knew that move. He rested his forehead against hers, breath unsteady in the small space between them, leaving an unbearably long inch between their lips, and an even longer pause. She waited for the words she knew would come, the ones she hated for ruining their perfect slice of happiness, but also ones that needed to be said.

"Leena…"

She dropped back down so that her heels came to rest on the floor and stepped back, escaping for a few seconds longer. Mikza watched, waited, but Leena kept moving, running.

Walking past her private pool, she stepped into the night air, onto the balcony outside her bedroom. It was cool, prickling her moist skin and bringing an instant chill to her body. But the cityscape below provided the distraction she needed, the one she searched for.

Da'astiku. The capital city of their island kingdom, Ourthuro. The golden palace belonging to her father sat at the top of the mountainous city, and each level below degraded slowly down in class, from the glimmering silver coated plateau of the nobles to the bronze plateau of the merchants, all the way down through iron and rock until one reached the sea.

Many loved the beauty of Da'astiku during the day, the way the sunlight bounced from metal roof to metal roof, but Leena found those glares too harsh, too blinding. The moonlight was more beautiful, it made the jagged rock look gentle, the ferocious waters look calm. Even the roofs sparkled, not enough to make her wince, just enough to glisten like diamonds, mirroring the shimmering surface of the water.

Ourthuro was a hard place. The islands were steep with cliffs, with edges that cut. The rock they lived on was relentless, filled with metal ores that made their people rich in coins and jewels but left room for little else. Their land could not grow food, could not nurture plant life. The hunger and the heat had made their citizens tough. But in the night, under a bed of stars, Leena could sometimes forget that her home was an unforgiving place. Under this silky sapphire, she thought maybe there was room for love.

Mikza stepped beside her, dropping his arm over her shoulder and pulling her in close. Heat billowed from his skin, warming her, melting away the harsh exterior of an Ourthuri princess until she was just a girl, hurt and lost. Leena relaxed into his embrace, bringing her arms around his waist, using his sturdiness as her strength.

"He is just a boy," she whispered.

"I know." His deep voice was soft and soothing.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," she said slowly, hardly believing herself. But it was the truth.

Mikza's heart paused. She felt the beat stop in her ear, heard the shock in his chest. "Are you…?"

He drifted off, letting the breeze speak for him. But Leena understood. They had spoken about this many times before, always with her ending the conversation, saying she could not abandon her little brother, could not leave him to this fate.

But time had worked against her. He was already beyond her reach.

"I want to leave." Leena arched her neck up, resting her chin on his chest so she could see into his eyes.

"When?" He asked.

"As soon as possible. In little more than a week, Fayrih will be wed and then my father will turn to me, his next youngest daughter. We've both known for a while that my time is running out. I'll be matched soon, and once that happens, there will be no escape for us."

Mikza brought his hands to her cheeks, cupping Leena's face. His deep brown eyes bored into hers. They always grew darker when his passions were high. Now, they seemed almost black.

"Are you sure you want this? A life on the run?"

His gaze explored her face, searching for the truth. Leena slipped her hands from his back, bringing them over his, holding him, squeezing just slightly, emphasizing her truth.

"I love you, Mikza. I could never want a life that did not have you in it, and so we will run if that is the only option we have."

"I will have nothing to offer you. I will be disgraced. There will be no fancy clothes or luxurious baths or servants to help us."

"I don't care," Leena urged. "The way we feel is richer than this golden palace to me."

A war raged in his mind. Leena could see it. His entire life was about saving hers—always a soldier, always looking to protect her, always putting her needs before his own. In a way, it made her love him more. But in another way, she worried it was the one thing that would ruin them.

If he thought she would be happier married to a noble lord, living in Da'astiku for the rest of her life, raising a herd of children her father would turn cruel before her eyes—if he really thought that fate would be better for her, he would do it. He would sacrifice. But Leena would not let him decide for her.

"Mikza," she sighed, "please trust me. If I stay here any longer, I will die. Perhaps not my body, but my soul. I can already feel it slipping away, hardening. That is what this place does to people, that is what my father does. We must fight it. I need you to help me fight."

He dipped his head, gently pressing his lips against hers, holding onto the moment. This time, Leena was the one who pulled back, who implored, who forced him to speak.

"My Princess," he sighed, lips lifting ever so slightly. Leena's heart followed with them. "Such a handful. Yes, let's do the impossible. Let's defy the king. Let's find our sliver of forever."

Before he finished speaking, Leena had jumped into his chest, trusting him to catch her. Burying her head in his neck, she smiled, wider than she ever had before, happier in that moment than any time she had ever known—as though her heart would burst, unable to contain the mounting joy.

Mikza caught her, held her high, and laughed carefree with her, mad with love. He spun her around, letting the water on her dress fly off into the night air, spatter around the room, each droplet a little beat in their song.

We'll do it. We'll escape.

Leena had faith. Love was the only thing her father did not understand, so she had to believe it was the only thing he would not suspect. Love, after all, was not the Ourthuri way.

But it was her way.

Their way.

Their freedom.

THREE

Marriages were supposed to be happy things, but Leena could not remove the ribbon of panic knotting her insides. With every passing hour, she was brought closer and closer to her father's attention. And in a few short minutes, all eyes would be on her.

Her sister's wedding had taken place that afternoon in the garden terrace with the sun god playing witness as well as most of the city. It had been beautiful, not that Leena paid much more attention than sitting silently with a smile on her face, a mask covering her growing neurosis, her tumultuous and distracting emotions.

During the ceremony, her sister had been the center of attention. But now, the celebrations were about to begin. Tonight, every lord in Da'astiku would approach the king, asking to wed his son to the newest available princess of the kingdom. Unfortunately, Leena was next in line—a shiny gold coin they would now all want to own.

The same thing had happened to Fayrih. In less than four months after their elder sister's wedding, she was engaged to a wealthy noble house, chained and bound to this city forever.

Leena vowed never to share that fate.

She glanced in the mirror, confused by the woman who stood before her. Pale skin from a lifetime spent pampered indoors, naturally olive, begging for the sun. Dark ebony hair that fell down in curled tresses, uncut for most of her life, now twisted and spun into an overflowing knot atop her head. Large eyes, too large for her petite face, with golden accents painted all around, bringing out the honey in her irises.

A princess.

But it was not how she saw herself. This girl was weak, demure, meant for nothing other than a life of birthing sons. Leena wanted so much more for herself. She was stronger than that fate.

"Almost done, my Princess," her maid said. Leena smiled her consent—she was used to these preparations. A few more metal trinkets in her hair and it would be complete.

She stared into the mirror, looking behind her face and toward her bed. Hidden underneath, scrunched among her dress boxes, was a small suitcase, almost filled.

Mikza had gathered peasant clothes for both of them, dried food reserves, and weapons just in case. Leena had stolen gold coins and a few pieces of jewelry from her vast collection. Not enough to go unnoticed in this palace, but enough for some people to live off for a lifetime.

There was only one more item they needed in order to leave. One Mikza promised he could find tonight.

"Time for your veil, my Princess."

Leena refocused her gaze, watching as elegantly woven chain-link gold was dropped over her face. So odd that so much time and effort went into beautifying her features, only to have them covered up and hidden from the world.

"Stop," Leena said, lifting a hand. "I will do it myself. Please leave, I would like a few minutes alone."

Mikza waited outside her door, guarding it, as was his duty. But she wanted to see him just for a minute without metal hanging over her eyes, slightly obscuring her vision.

"As you wish, my Princess."

Her maid turned and left, closing the door softly behind her. Leena stood, eyes still on the stranger before her. The dress was new, sewn especially for this occasion. Her sleeves were open and translucent, revealing the tattoos that painted her arms. The golden silks flowed around her narrow frame, elongating her legs. An ornate belt cinched her waist, sparkling with diamonds, matching the coins around her ankles. Every time she stepped, she jingled slightly.

What would it be like to wear dull brown garments, roughly woven so they scratched the skin? To be able to dress herself? To show her face, rather than cover it with lotions and powders and veils?

To be with Mikza in the daylight, surrounded by other people without fear of discovery?

Would she ever feel so free?

The knot squeezed tighter. Leena took a deep breath, pushing her stomach against her belt as far as it would go, trying to calm her rising nerves. For some reason, she could not shake this feeling of dread rising inside her.

A knock sounded. Two fast followed by one slow. Their sign.

Her anxiety lifted slightly as she walked to the door, opening it to let Mikza inside.

"I found it," he said, excited as he entered and quickly shut the door behind him. He pulled a small jar from his pocket, holding it so Leena could see. There was no label, but she knew what it was.

A very expensive lotion. A lotion created to perfectly match her skin-tone. Thin enough to easily slide over her arms, but thick enough to hide the black swirls branding her as princess. In a country where tattoos meant class and everyone spent the days with arms uncovered in the heat, this lotion was her only ticket to freedom.

And it had cost a fortune.

Mikza had found a merchant used to working outside the law, a man he would normally have arrested, but instead paid very well to procure this ointment for them.

Leena ached to try it, to cover her arms and run that very instant, but instead she covered Mikza's hands with hers and kissed him quickly.

"We should leave tonight, after the celebration," she pleaded. The knot in her stomach was lessening now that she knew they had everything they needed. "Everyone will be resting, probably drunk and not at all on guard. The palace will be quiet."

"I agree," he said, and she released a heavy breath, forcing the tension from her body. Tonight. She had a timeline now, a countdown to freedom. She was almost out of her father's grasp. "Keep this with you, in case anything happens. Is there anywhere you can hide it?"

Leena looked down at her gown. The jar was smaller than her fist, but there were no pockets, no folds that could hold it.

"I will have to keep it here," she said and pulled the glass free from his grip. Their bag was sandwiched too far under her bed to retrieve now, but there was nowhere else she trusted the vial to remain hidden.

Her clothes belonged to the maids that dressed her. It was their job to rifle through her drawers. And the topside of the bed belonged to the servants who snuck in every morning to carefully pull her sheets back into place and fluff the pillows. Even in her room, nothing truly belonged to just her.

Nothing, except…

Leena jumped into action, remembering the one thing no one would dare touch. On the lower shelf of her bedside table rested a jeweled box, just large enough to hold her shoes. But it held something much more precious. A lock of her mother's hair, a strand of her pearls, and the note she had written her unborn child in case it was a girl and they would never meet. Even in this place so devoid of love, the servants knew to leave those possessions alone.

Careful not to wrinkle her dress, Leena knelt down and slipped the little jar into her mother's box, hoping an angel would protect it.

Mikza dropped a hand on her shoulder. She felt his skin through the thin layer of her dress, warm and inviting. Leena stood, meeting him, sharing words without needing to speak. He brushed his fingers along her cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup, just light enough to make her skin buzz.

Leena did not need to be so cautious, and she gripped his arms, never wanting to let go, wishing that if she just held on strong enough he could carry her away.

"I should leave," he sighed. They had been too long already. He started to turn away, but Leena would not let go.

"If this is to be my last ball, I want to dance with you. Just once, I want to be all dressed up, staring at the man I love, smiling and not pretending."

His eyes softened and his hand fell to her waist, gripping her ribs just above her belt, a little higher than was proper. With his other hand, he traced the length of her arm, searching for and eventually finding her fingers.

"Just once, I will be the man you are dancing with," he whispered, "instead of the man watching from the shadows."

There was no music, but at the same time, Leena felt she heard strains of a melody on the breeze. A secret song meant just for them, a beat they both stepped to, swayed their hips to. The coins around her ankles sounded like bells, beautiful and melodic as she followed Mikza's lead. Leena wished to let her head fall against his chest, to pull him close, but she could not risk damaging her carefully created face, not if her father actually did choose tonight to finally notice her.

So instead, she let the feel of his muscles shifting below her fingers, coiling and releasing, lull her. The perfect curve of his smile brought one to her lips, the twinkle in his eyes, she was sure, did the same.

Time seemed to stop, and then he pushed her away, spinning her in a wide triumphant circle, only to pull her close again, laughter adding to their song.

Leena could stay like this forever.

But they both seemed to sense when their time drew to an end.

"Tonight," Leena whispered, like a prayer.

Mikza nodded, reaching for the door, but before he got there, the knob moved, twisting, scratchy and rough in Leena's ear.

Her jaw dropped, eyes widening, and Mikza jumped to the side just as the door swung open. His body was still visible, a thin shadow cast along the floor, but he was mostly hidden behind the now open frame.

"Leenaka?"

She couldn’t breathe. It was her elder sister, Yasmine, dressed up for the ball.

"Is someone else in here?"

Leena found her voice, rushing toward her sister to keep her from stepping any farther into the room.

"No, of course not. I was just singing to myself. Are you ready to go?"

"I did not see your guard, is he not supposed to be here as your escort? Even in the palace, your safety is not assured."

Leena rolled her eyes, trying her best to look exasperated. "Yes, I know. I have heard the same lecture before, but I sent him off early to the ball. I was hoping for a few minutes alone."

"Nervous?" Her sister smiled, putting up a display of nicety but only to hide the sinister undertone of that statement. They looked similar, but Leena had no foolish notions of affection from Yasmine. Siblings, especially twelve girls, were not encouraged to love one another, not in this family. Each had their own mother to mourn, their own marriage to secure, their own ploys to gain the attention of their father. No, competition was the Ourthuri way, not love.

Yasmine was older, married, and a mother. But that did not mean she would not rat Leena out to their father if she thought it might gain his favor.

"Of course not, why should I be?" Leena shrugged, innocently widening her gaze and raising her eyebrows. "It is my turn next, though I guess someone as old and wise as you barely remembers what it was like before you were engaged. I bet you can hardly recall the rush of having suitors begging for a dance."

Her sister's smile faltered. "Yes, the foolish whims of teenage girls are behind me. Are you ready to leave? I will walk you, so you do not dishonor this house meandering the halls alone."

"Thank you, Yasmine. I trust you always have my best interest at heart. I will just need a moment to put on my veil."

Leena stepped backward, hoping her sister would not follow, unsure if Mikza was well enough hidden for scrutiny. But Yasmine just waited in the doorway with arms crossed, a slight scowl dirtying her otherwise lovely face.

Quickly, Leena grasped her veil, fixing the crown in the bed of her hair and slipping in two gold clasps to keep it steady. She kept her eyes on Yasmine as best she could, watching her sister's gaze travel around the length of her room, searching for some secret. But her expression never changed to one of victory. Her cool stance never lightened. And before she could look any further, Leena turned back around, ready to face the party.

Sparing just one quick glance at the door, wishing she could say goodbye and look into Mikza's eyes one more time before the ball, Leena followed her sister outside.

FOUR

For what felt like the one hundredth time that evening, Leena reached out her hand, accepting an offer to dance.

This time it was Lord Padmir, a wifeless and childless bachelor far too old for her. At least she hoped her father wouldn't actually consider him. While hunched shoulders and a rotund belly wouldn’t concern the king, the man's falling fortunes would likely be enough to remove him from the list.

A leer spread across his lips, sending a shiver down Leena's back. She spared a glance over her shoulder, searching for Mikza. Still in their spot, he watched on, lips pressed in a tight line. Normally that move was made in anger, but by the slight glimmer in his eye, Leena thought he might be holding in a laugh.

Glad someone is enjoying himself.

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the lord, trying to keep her small dinner firmly in her stomach.

He bowed.

She curtsied.

Then the music began anew, and he pulled her from the sideline into the center of the ballroom, gripping her waist tighter than was comfortable. Luckily, it was frowned upon to talk during a dance, so Leena just had to smile and step, two motions that came naturally to her.

After a few spins, Leena found herself in a daze. Eyes glazing over, she began to picture Lord Padmir as Mikza. Young, handsome, in love with her. It made her giggle to imagine people's reactions—the shock that would spread around the room if a soldier walked out with the princess and put all of their dancing to shame.

Because the two of them would have done just that.

They would have blazed, setting fire to the room, blinding everyone with the force of their passion. No one would be able to look away. All would stand transfixed, jealous, and curious, in awe.

Tonight.

The word had become her prayer for the evening. Repeating it soothed her, snipping the nervous threads coiling through her limbs. Tonight she would be gone. Tonight she would be free. And she would never have to pretend for any man ever again. Mikza would be hers and she would be his, and everyone they met would know it.

Tonight.

The music began to wind down and the vision faded, replaced by graying hairs and a too wide smile that made Leena flinch.

"Enjoying ourselves?"

She stiffened, feet halting immediately. Leena knew that voice.

"Of course, my King," Lord Padmir rushed, bowing so quickly that he almost toppled over.

Leena moved more slowly, cautiously. Her father had paid her no attention all night, but it seemed that gift was finally gone. Standing behind her, he looked as commanding as ever. Off the throne, but still graced with the crown and an air of arrogance, King Razzaq knew how to impose. And at that moment, his umber eyes glimmered with intelligence, putting Leena on edge.

What did he know?

"Yes, my King," she said, forcing a smile through her teeth, trying to calm her suddenly racing pulse. "Who could do anything less than enjoy such a wonderful party, especially in honor of the wedding of my dear sister?"

"Who indeed?" He smiled, too sweetly. Eyes flicking to the lord, he said, "Leave us."

Leena gulped, resisting the urge to find Mikza, to make sure he was all right. Looking at him now would only encourage her father's suspicions, would only endanger them both.

"You seem happy tonight."

"Of course, Father," she answered, mouth suddenly dry. "I am only excited that it is now my time to be matched."

"Do not lie to me, girl," he said, gripping her wrist tight enough to bruise. To an outside observer, it might look like a touch of affection. But his eyes were furious. "I have heard it all before. Do not forget that I had sisters, and there were other daughters before you."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Father." Leena fought to keep her voice even, but the pain in her wrist only mirrored the fear in her heart, both making her body shake.

"Enough," he growled, pulling her in close, digging his fingers into her arm. "You will share one more dance of my choosing and then retire for the evening. Understood?"

Leena nodded, not trusting her voice. His rings were scraping her skin, chafing it raw, so she closed her eyes against the hurt.

Somehow, he knew.

Yasmine. It was the only explanation Leena could think of, but they had given nothing away.

Mikza?

Leena forced her neck still, fought to keep her head from jerking to the side, from finding him. Moments ago she had seen his smile, was it possible he had so quickly been taken? That things could so quickly change?

"Good," the king sneered, releasing Leena and stepping back. Placing his hand at her back, he pushed her forward. Not forceful enough to be noticed, but with power. Leena could not run, she could only step where her father wished, feeling like she marched to her grave and not to a dance partner.

"Lord Biitar," her father called, voice suddenly jovial. The old lord turned, Leena recognized him.

"My King," he said, bowing informally in greeting. No surprise shone on his mature face. This moment had been planned, Leena was sure of it. "May I introduce my son, Amosaan. Amo to our closest companions, which I hope you will soon become."

A young man stepped forward, skin firm with hardened muscles. Tattoos of curved daggers and harsh waves decorated his forearms. His face was pleasant, jaw square with soft lips and eyes a muddled hazel, unusual for the Ourthuri. She knew him, of course, but couldn't remember interacting with him before. Something about his smile seemed too kind to be trusted.

"Our daughter, Princess Leenaka," her father said, shoving her closer to the boy. She curtsied and offered her hand. He lifted it gently, placing a soft kiss on the backside of her palm. Fighting the urge to scream and run, Leena let her hand fall slowly back to her side.

"We think you should share a dance. The two of you certainly make a fine," King Razzaq said, then paused, eyes shifting to Leena, grip tightening just enough to make her listen, "match."

Leena caught the gasp before it slipped past her tongue, but the triumphant look on her father's face was enough to tell her something had been given away. So this was the boy he wanted to match her with, the man he wanted her to marry.

"Princess?" Amo said, offering his hand to lead her to the floor.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Her mind protested, but under the watchful eyes of her father, Leena could do nothing but smile and accept. Amo led her out, placed his hand on her hip, and confidently began the steps.

Shorter than Mikza—that was what she noticed first. He had none of Mikza's grace, none of his fluidity. This boy was stone where Mikza was water. His movements jerked her around, pulling instead of leading, commanding instead of sharing.

He was a son of Ourthuro.

He was everything she wanted to escape.

Tonight.

Leena tried to calm herself, but the prayer wasn't working. As she spun, her eyes shifted around the room, spotting Mikza unharmed and still standing guard.

Safe.

He was still safe.

But for how long? Her father had to know something. Or hinting at her match would not have been so satisfying to him, so sinister. Like a ghost, Leena still felt his grip on her arm, felt the rings of a king taking hold. He would never let her go.

The room began to blur. Heat built under her skin. The columns circling the dance floor seemed to expand, to close in, a beautiful prison, a golden cage. The laughter in the room grew unbearable, the candles blinded, the colors grew so saturated that she could hardly make out one person from the next. Suddenly her father's face seemed to loom in the air, to grow larger, an image she could not escape.

"Princess?" Amo said, breaking her trance.

They had stopped without her realizing. The room felt silent without music, empty, everyone seemed to be staring at her.

But they weren't. Leena looked around, her anxiety becoming too much, but no eyes met hers. No one had been watching, not really.

"I apologize," she said, voice hoarse. Leena took a deep breath. "I suddenly do not feel very well. I think I will retire to my rooms."

Amo tugged on her arm, and in her weakened state, Leena fell forward. His hands caught her, just as her fingers landed on his chest, trying to find her balance. Just like a young couple in love might look, as though her father had planned it himself.

"If we're to be matched," he whispered, voice low, tone like iron, "I demand more respect than you have shown tonight. My wife will know her place, one way or another."

And then he released her, warm smile back on his lips. "Are you all right?" He cooed, settling her back on her feet, lightly running his hand from her shoulder to her elbow before letting go.

Leena could not think of a word to say. Her dry lips seemed glued shut. Her body trembled, and she felt as though she might faint. So without a response, she turned and walked slowly out of the ballroom, into the shadows, the cool night, wondering how long she could hide before someone would find her.

Fearing who that someone might be.

FIVE

"Leena?" Mikza's soft voice called, breaking her reverie.

She had found her way onto the balcony outside the ballroom, seeking the comfort of the moonlight. The stone floor was lined with shadows cast by the candlelight inside the room, creating stripes as the beams broke through the spaces between each towering column.

"Mikza," she breathed, hating how weak she sounded. Maybe she was that princess after all, that girl with no backbone, the girl who hid instead of fighting.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, just loud enough to be heard. Standing four feet away, still in the doorway, he seemed a lifetime from her. But he could come no closer. They were still in public, still surrounded by her father's guests, and a guard was not supposed to talk to his charge.

Leena kept her gaze focused on the rippling ocean below, letting the rolling waves and the sound of his voice soothe her. If her father suspected Mikza, he would be locked up by now—maybe dead already.

"I met my match."

He sucked in a pained breath, one so loud she could hear it cut through his lungs, a knife in his chest. "Already? So fast…"

"I think my father suspects something. Not you, but that my heart already belongs to another, that my dreams lay outside of his hold."

"But we've been careful."

"Have we?" She asked, sparing a glance his way. Mikza had unconsciously stepped closer, within a foot of her body. She could feel the heat of his skin on her arm, a magnetic pull teasing her to close the gap.

He met her eyes, dark and downcast, before stepping back into the light of the ballroom, across the invisible barrier.

"We're so close," he murmured, more to himself.

Leena cast one more glance over the edge, down the steep cliffs, all the way to the crashing splashes of water below. So close, but so far.

"Let's go now," she whispered, turning quickly around, saying goodbye to the night. "Let's leave before the ball is over. Everyone is here. Everyone is occupied. No one will know."

Indecision stopped him. Leena could read it. He was no longer sure what was best for her.

"Mikza," she pleaded, "I am leaving, tonight. With or without you, but I cannot stay. I refuse to be married to that man."

He nodded, not certain enough to bind it with words, but that was all she needed.

Taking the long route, Leena stepped between the shadows, letting the light flicker over her, disappear, only to illuminate her again. Mikza watched from behind as she finally stepped back into the outskirts of the room. He followed from a proper distance, the way a bodyguard should—emotionless, detached—death with a sword to any who might mean her harm.

Leena spared no glances toward the interior of the room. There was no one she wished to see again. Prince Haydar would be her only regret, that she could not save him, that she was giving up on him.

The halls were quiet, almost eerie, causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. Unease curled her stomach, quickened her pace, and she could not shake it. The emptiness seemed to whisper in her ear, it is too calm, too easy.

No one seemed to be around, even the guards normally kept at the doors. Leena could not remember the last time they had left their posts. Some of them she had actually wished to see, friends, guards that had helped keep their secret, people she wanted to thank and say a hasty goodbye to.

When they reached her room, Leena stopped. The royal quarters had never been so abandoned. Holding up her hand, she signaled Mikza to halt, to not follow her inside. Just in case someone watched, he needed to keep up appearances for as long as possible.

Heart in her throat, she turned the knob.

The door swung open.

Leena broke.

Everything she had, every hope, every ounce of strength, every dream, seemed to rush from her body, leaving her empty inside. A shell of a person.

Their bag sat ripped apart on the bed, empty, contents splayed across the ground. Their clothes, their food, torn apart. Weapons broken to pieces. Jewels and coins scattered.

And behind it, her father stood with his personal guard, waiting for her arrival.

Hate coursed through her veins.

Pure.

Strong.

The sort of loathing that built over time, waiting for the right moment to take hold, waiting for this moment when she had nothing but that one feeling to give her the strength to carry on, to fight.

"Father," she growled, muscles clenched.

"Will you deny it now, Daughter?"

Leena said nothing. Did not even move.

"You do not know this, but every time you attend a ball, I send my guards to search your room. You and your unmarried sisters. I've seen it all before." He was calm, standing straight and tall, soldiers at his back, all the power in his hands. "You are not the only one who has tried to run, but you are the first to be so well prepared, to have men's clothes also packed for the journey."

Still Leena remained silent, refusing to give anything away, to give him any information he did not have. Defiance was not something the king was used to. Leena tried to picture any of her older sisters trying to run, but she knew them, in her position they would have already fallen at his feet, groveling to be forgiven.

The image only gave her more strength to fight.

"Is that all?" She asked, voice as cold as she could make it, hard like an Ourthuri.

In a flash, her father was next to her. Before Leena could anticipate the impact, she was hit. His hand slammed into her cheek, and she could not help but cry out as she fell, landing cushioned by the clothes he had destroyed. Her veil was ripped from her head by the blow, and it landed beside her with a deafening ring.

"Who is he?" The king demanded.

Gripping her cheek, Leena looked up from the floor, fearless. Mikza was the one thing the king could never have. Love could not be slapped away, torn out of her heart by soldiers. Her love would burn no matter what he did.

"I will never tell you."

With a roar, the king leaned down, gripping her throat. "You will tell me now. Do not think I won't harm you. There are worse fates than marriage, girl, far worse."

"I welcome them," Leena choked out the words, coughing as his grip tightened and her airway seemed to close.

"When I scar your pretty face, maim you, make you unfit for the public so you must live in the shadows. What will your love do then?"

"He—"

"It was me," a soft voice interrupted.

Leena gasped. "No!"

But Mikza walked into the doorway, head bowed in surrender. He knelt down, removed his sword from his waist, letting it drop to the ground with a resounding clang, and placed his hands behind his head. All the while, he refused to meet her eyes.

Leena fell back to the ground as the king dropped her, turning his attention to a new conquest.

"Mikza," she murmured, voice cracking as her chest burned, as her eyes blurred. Why? Why didn't he let her fight? It was her father, her battle. He had no right to take that away, to save her when she wanted to be the one to save him.

But it was too late. The king had a hunger in his eyes, a feral gleam. There would be no escaping him now.

"A soldier in our own household," the king said, his tone sadistically light. Leena closed her eyes, trying to erase the pictures zipping to the front of her mind. Her father was going to enjoy this. "Take him away."

At those three words, words she had heard over and over again in her nightmares, Leena snapped. Invaded by some animalistic spirit, she sprang from the ground, jumping on her father, ripping the crown from his head and using her arms to strangle him. She screamed, cried, fought with everything she had.

Like a fly, he swatted her away.

It took no effort at all to throw her back to the floor, where one guard came to hold her down. Try as she might to break his grip—pulling, biting, scratching, pinching—nothing would loosen his grasp. For the first time, she realized how much strength Mikza had to control, how gentle he had truly been with her.

And that thought broke her in a different way.

It stilled her.

Slowed her.

Made her eyes rise, watching as he was led through the door, slowly out of her room, disappearing in the night never to be seen again. Her body shook, a tremble that grew more violent with each passing second. A wave of cold splashed over her, stealing her thoughts, vanishing her strength, and she collapsed in a ball.

Sobs wracked her body. Sobs that sounded less than human, as though her soul was being ripped from her chest. Sobs that even a soldier could not bear to hear.

"Princess," a warm hand landed on her arm, caressing her, trying to soothe her. Through blurred eyes, Leena looked up toward the sound, barely recognizing the figure as a man, let alone a specific person.

But his features gnawed through the numbness—she remembered them. Childlike almost, as though he had the body of a man but the innocent face of a boy—plump cheeks with dimples and round eyes. Mikza's closest friend, a friend who had always risked much to help their doomed romance.

"Tam?" She questioned, hushed and weak. "What will they do to him?"

"I don't know, Princess," he shook his head. Hurt was written across his face. Hurt that he had been a part of the capture. Hurt that he had not been able to keep Mikza safe. Hurt that he could not help her. Leena saw each thought flicker across his eyes, like an apology, one she did not want from him.

"Tam, you need to go to him in my place. I will not run, I promise. I will not break your trust. But you have to go and pull him back from the brink of death, which is where my father will surely leave him."

Her voice did not waver, did not break.

"I will, Princess. And here is my promise to you. When he is safe, I will bring you to him. I will give the two of you a proper goodbye."

Tam squeezed her hand, then dropped it, gently releasing his hold on her body. With one glance back, he left and closed the door behind him. Like a strong tide, her heart went with him, sucked from her body, pulled free.

Leena walked emotionless across her room, throat raw, limbs weak. Then she stepped off the edge and sunk deep into her pool, letting its warm waters embrace her, not sure if she would ever surface again.

SIX

Time ceased to exist underwater.

Had it been hours? One day? Two days? An entire week? Leena did not know, and she did not care. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Her limbs ached for their weight, but she continued to drift, to float, ambivalent.

Down here, it was easier to pretend. To let her memories take over, to let her dreams unfurl. Sound was muffled. Light was softer. The world seemed far away and out of reach.

Leena was happy to leave it that way.

Without Mikza to save her, Leena could just drift until the end of her days. No one else dared enter her quarters without permission, not while she was inside. He had been the only one willing to save her, to ignore protocol. The servants might inform the guards of her silence, the guards might inform the king of his daughter's deep mourning. When she started to miss events, balls or dinners, he might be angry enough to intervene.

Leena almost hoped her father would be the one to discover her, to see her at the bottom of the pool. Maybe he would think her drowned, defiant until the end. Maybe then she would be free of him.

As if reading her mind, a body slid under the surface, distracting Leena, tearing her eyes open for the first time in she didn’t know how long. Arms encircled her, and for a moment, she let herself dream it was Mikza, let her heart soften and her body curl into the warm chest.

And then they broke through the surface, and the dream shattered. Noise jerked her senses, unwelcome after all the silence. The roar of waves, the tinker of metalworking, the hum of human voices screaming from below. The sounds of her city infiltrating her peace.

The sun was bright, painful, and its heat stung her cold skin, sizzling the water droplets away.

"He said you would be in the water," a soft voice said, and he gently placed her on the ground.

"Mikza? He's alive?" Leena turned over, rolling up from the ground to face Tam. She recognized his caring voice, but his face seemed older, somehow aged since the last time they had met.

Tam nodded, but held something back, words he seemed unable to bring himself to say aloud. "Come, Princess, there isn’t much time. He is to be moved from the palace dungeons in a few hours."

Leena needed no other prompting. Despite her protesting muscles, soft from so much time spent unused, she stood and then raced into her bedroom for dry clothes. Within minutes, hair unpinned and face free of powder, Leena met Tam outside her quarters. Mikza wouldn't mind. He preferred her this way, simple and uncovered, more like the girl she wanted to be instead of the princess she was.

"Follow me, my Princess," Tam whispered.

Leena noticed that there was no new guard stationed outside her door. Maybe Tam had inherited the honor, or maybe he had bribed someone away for an hour. Leena did not question, she was beyond her area of expertise.

The palace might be her home, but it still seemed foreign in many ways. And the farther Tam led her down the open corridors, the more she realized just how small her life truly was. These were halls she had never walked.

There was an entire world outside the palace, but aside from a few trips to silver levels or maybe even to the bronze merchant plateau, she had never seen it. The ocean lay just outside her balcony, but she had never dipped her toes in the cold currents. Never stepped foot on the docks at the base of her city. Never ventured to any of the other islands in their kingdom, let alone to foreign shores.

But today was a start, and Leena followed Tam down to a part of the golden palace that the sun did not illuminate, a place where cages did not pretend to be anything but prisons, and chains did not masquerade as jewelry.

The place Mikza had been damned to because of her.

"Tam?" A dry voice whispered. A voice she remembered as clearly as her own.

"Mikza," Leena sighed, searching for him in the dark. Tam had come to a stop outside a gate, and inserted a key into the lock.

"My Leena," his deep voice sighed, pain etched in the words. "You should not be here."

"I had to see you," she said, reaching for Tam's torch. But he stopped her and walked deeper into the cell, leaving Leena at the entrance.

With every step, she waited for Mikza to come into view, his strong legs, his soft eyes. Tam continued, not pausing, not searching, until he reached the back wall and placed the torch in a socket. Then his head shifted, his gaze slid across the stone to the corner of the room.

Leena gasped, her hand automatically rising to catch the cry on her lips.

Mikza was there, huddled in the corner, covered in dry blood. His back was striped with deep lines, marks left over from who knew how many lashes. His cheeks were swollen, enlarged enough to almost close his eyes, red and raw.

But the worst were his arms.

His unmarked arms.

Mikza's tattoos had been removed. His skin had been cut deeply, burned and shredded apart so it still bled just a little around his wrists.

Leena stepped forward, but he flinched away. Too proud to want her to see him in such a state. But Leena cared little for his pride right now.

"Why?" She asked softly, continuing to move closer. "Why did you have to confess? Why couldn't you let me fight? I don't care about my face. I don't care how deep my father would have cut me. It would have been better than this. Oh, Mikza, I love you. Why did you give that away?"

Leena knelt down, hand floating an inch beside his wounded cheek, unsure if it would only bring more pain for her to touch him. He didn't need to answer, she knew the truth already. He would never let anyone hurt her. He would give anything to protect her, to keep her safe.

And he had.

"I am no longer Mikzahooq." His words contained no bitter edge, only the emptiness of defeat. The unmarked had no name. No identity. No individuality. With their tattoos, so went everything about their former lives. They were less than human in the eyes of the Ourthuri.

"You will always be Mikza to me." Leena caressed his face with the back of her fingers, and despite the wounds, Mikza leaned into her touch. "We can still find a way. I'll leave tomorrow, I'll go wherever you want. We can figure something out."

He pulled away.

"You must forget me, Leena. You must move on with your life. I want better than this for you. I want you to be happy. So…" he paused.

Leena's throat caught. What have you done? A mounting sense of dread filled her chest.

"I made a promise to your father."

"No." Leena winced, gripping his arm. "No, Mikza, what did you do?"

"He didn't want to kill me. He said it was too quick—not enough of a punishment for me and that it would only make you more defiant. Instead, he did this, and he is sending me away. I don't know where, very little was explained, just that I am to be gone from Da'astiku on a ship leaving in a few days time."

"I will come," Leena interrupted, eyes shifting across his bruised features, trying to read the emotions on his swollen face. "I will find you."

"No." He shook his head, wincing. "No, Leena." He gripped her hand, moving slowly to entwine their fingers one last time. "I promised him that I would let you go. That I would never return. That I would never speak to you again. And if I defy him in any way, break that promise—"

"He will kill you," Leena finished his sentence—solemn, stuck.

"No," Mikza squeezed his eyes shut, letting one wet tear slide free. "He will kill you."

I am already dead, Leena thought but kept silent. It would be no use. Mikza had already sacrificed everything for her, and she would not let him know it was in vain. The girl he knew was dead, and Leena could only guess at the woman she was about to become.

"I love you," she whispered. That was the only certainty left in her life, a truth she would hold onto and let guide her into the future.

"I love you, too."

There was nothing else that needed to be said, not then, not in their final minutes together. So Leena sat back against the wall and pulled Mikza's head into her chest. Running her hands along his limbs, she tried to soothe his pain, to pour out all her love so the memory of this moment would last.

He hugged her close and they stayed like that. Intertwined. Not moving. Barely breathing. Just being.

But in the silence Leena's mind spun. She had a promise of her own to make. A promise to never stop fighting until her father was in the ground, buried, dead, unable to spread any more cruelty into the world.

If he was the hard rock of their island kingdom, she was the water crashing into their shores, slowly breaking it down, slowly chipping the stone away until there was nothing left. If he believed that love had weakened her, he was wrong. If he thought this would break her, he was wrong.

Leena felt strong for the first time in her life.

Empowered.

Love was her weapon.

Love would bring the king to his knees.

###

THE

SILVER

KEY

A Dance of Dragons #1.5

By Kaitlyn Davis

DESCRIPTION

From bestselling author Kaitlyn Davis comes the second companion novella to the thrilling A Dance of Dragons series—perfect for fans of Throne of Glass, Graceling, and Game of Thrones!

Weeks have passed since King Razzaq discovered Princess Leena's affair and banished her lover from the kingdom. So when Mikza suddenly appears in the golden palace, chained and bound, Leena is floored. Even more mysterious is the man he travels with—a redheaded prince of Whylkin. Unable to control her curiosity, Leena follows the strange convoy, hiding in the shadows as they meet with her father. But what she witnesses will the change the course of her life, and the world, forever.

Taking place parallel to the events in THE SHADOW SOUL, read Leena's side of the story as she teams up with Jinji to save Rhen's life and seeks to escape her father's hold once and for all.

ONE

Leena stopped dead in her tracks—afraid to move, to breathe, afraid that even the barest hint of reality would crash the illusion somehow coming to life before her.

Mikza was here.

Chained, bound, being dragged behind a strange convoy. But here. Alive. In Da’astiku, in the golden palace once more.

Weeks had passed since she’d last seen his face—weeks of wondering, of daydreaming, of missing. Her thoughts were a constant jumble of questions—where was he, what was he doing, was he alive, was he thinking about her too?

That last night in the dungeons seemed so long ago, a lifetime. Her father had discovered their affair and enacted his punishment by turning Mikza into an unmarked, stripping his tattoos, his very identity, away. The memories haunted her, infiltrating her sleep in the dead of the night, images she could not erase. Whispering through a shroud of tears. Holding him gently, trying to soothe the pain of bruises and wounds she thought might never fade. When Leena closed her eyes, she could still see the bloody stripes down his back, the burns and cuts circling his wrists. Could still hear the soft words rolling off his lips, I love you, You must forget me, and the worst, Goodbye.

And now Mikza was here.

Leena drank him in, eyes roving his tall, elegant frame. Time had not marred the grace of his proud stance—muscular shoulders square, chin straight, hands folded at the base of his spine. Still a soldier, still honorable, despite the marks of disgrace, despite the scars.

She ached to run her fingers over his smooth, olive skin. To lace them through his onyx hair. To kiss his velvet lips. To wrap her arms around him, to have his wrap around her. Even now, her hand outstretched, reaching toward him.

And then the truth sunk in. The harsh reality.

Mikza was not here for her.

Ever her protector, Mikza had made a promise to her father on that fateful night when his tattoos had been carved away. He swore he would let her go, would never return to this golden city, would never speak to her again. And in return, her father had made a promise to him—if Mikza broke his word, Leena was the one who would die.

No.

Leena shook her head, elation fading away as she took a step back, pulling her wayward palm into her chest, letting it hover over her broken heart, a weak shield.

No. Mikza was not here to find her, to save her from this place, to take her away. He was a man of his word. He would never break his promise, especially when it was her life on the line.

Leena blinked as the realization hit, drying her wet eyes, and searched for an explanation. Her gaze drifted, slipping to the three other men bound with Mikza, to the servant in golden robes leading the men slowly through the halls, and then finally to the curious man in between the five Ourthuri.

Red hair.

That was the first thing Leena noticed, eyes widening in shock. And then she picked out his pale coloring, his freckles, his wide build.

A man of Whylkin. In Da’astiku. Alone.

He was either stupid or crazy, and she had a feeling only time would tell which. Curious, Leena followed as a servant led the group between rows of columns, across the courtyard, away from the entrance of the palace and deep into its core—to the throne room. Her gaze flicked constantly between the foreigner and Mikza, two men who could not be more different.

Mikza’s umber eyes were solemn, downcast toward the floor, desolate.

The foreigner’s were wild, roaming the halls, jumping this way and that, alert.

As they reached the throne room, Leena tore her gaze away, hating even for a moment to lose sight of Mikza. But her father could not see her out of her rooms, especially not now with Mikza bound and such an easy target. King Razzaq was not a merciful man. Leena had no doubt that Mikza along with the other three prisoners would be covered in lash wounds by the end of the day, cut and bleeding, left to writhe in their pain. But if the king saw her there, the punishment would surely be worse. Loss of limb. Blindness. For her father, the gory possibilities were endless.

Leena ducked behind a column, breathing quickly as the thought of Mikza in so much pain tightened her chest, sent trembles across her body. Inhaling deeply, she calmed herself, stilling all of her muscles before moving through the shadows to the one spot Mikza might find her.

Their spot.

His spot.

Countless times Mikza had watched her from the corner of this room, standing guard while she sat on her gilded throne, hidden behind a veil, silent as a statue. Whenever her father became too much to handle, all she had to do was look—second column to the left from the center—and Mikza was there, giving her strength, calming her tumultuous emotions. Now she hoped that for once, maybe she could do the same thing for him.

All he had to do was look.

Look, she silently pleaded, head peeking out from behind the stone. All she wanted was to gaze into his eyes once more, to see his soul, to touch their love, to let it fill her for a moment. Even if it were futile, the stubborn hope wouldn’t fade. Distance had only made it stronger, a twisting knot in her stomach, a gut-wrenching need to be with him.

But Mikza’s head did not turn, did not even move. His eyes were locked forward, locked on the king, and Leena found her gaze slipping sideways. First to the guards on either side of the throne, then to the golden robes billowing down the steps, up to the ebony tattoos circling his arms, farther to the gleaming headdress crowning him as king.

And finally to his face. Her father. King Razzaq.

The sight made bile curl in her stomach, made her blood boil with hate, made her fists clench in fury. Right now, he was smiling, a sinister sort of smirk. And that made another emotion rise to the surface—dread.

“Prince Whylrhen,” her father’s voice echoed across the hall. “Welcome to Da’astiku. What brings you to Ourthuro?”

Leena found her focus shifting to the red-haired man standing in the center of the room, gaze narrowed and uncertain at the scene before him. He was a Whylkin prince. Leena recognized the name Whylrhen, the youngest son of their enemy king, and now that it was spoken, she couldn’t believe she had not placed him earlier. A bright red overcoat adorned his chest, decorated with a black horse. And that deep red hair, it was as sure a sign of Whylkin royalty as the tattoos naming her a princess of Ourthuro.

Stupid or crazy? Leena thought again, disbelief spreading through her veins. But then another thought came unbidden. Or brave?

“King Razzaq,” the Whylkin prince began. Leena couldn’t help but notice how strong his voice sounded, not at all afraid. For a moment, she was in awe of this prince, to face her father without a hint of concern.

Then he tugged on the prisoners behind him.

As Mikza was forced forward, unable to fight the pull of his chains, Leena covered her mouth to keep from speaking. Nerves coiled tight, painful, as she watched her father’s eyes scan their faces, pausing on Mikza, before returning to the prince.

Look at me, Mikza, she thought, heart beating faster. Look at me.

Fear formed a pit in the back of her throat.

But Mikza did not hear her silent pleas.

Prince Whylrhen continued. “My king thanks you for your kindness in welcoming his son to your grand home. I am overwhelmed by the bountiful city I have seen thus far. A true masterpiece.”

“We thank you,” King Razzaq boomed. His deep voice spurned Leena on, made the terror surge even greater.

Something was not right.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Look at me.

If she could just meet Mikza’s eyes for a moment, Leena knew the urgency would fade. The dread would subside. Calm would wash over her as it always did when he looked at her.

But Mikza was stone. Immobile.

Look! She wanted to shout.

Instead, Leena dug her fingernails into the column and her eyes grew wide.

The foreign prince kept speaking, unaware. All of his words washed over her, wrong, wrong, wrong. “I have traveled far to return these four men to your person. We found a ship floating aimlessly through our waters, adorned with the flag of your great kingdom, and took it upon ourselves to search for survivors. Locked below deck, we found these four men alone in the dark. In a show of no bad will between our two kingdoms, peaceful now for over a hundred years, I, a Son of Whyl, came to deliver them unharmed.”

What was Mikza doing on the ship?

What was he doing near Whylkin?

What was her father up to?

More and more questions floated to the surface, leaking through her panic, bubbling with suspicion.

She couldn’t blink.

She couldn’t breathe.

Look at me.

Look.

Mikza!

Look!

Her father bade the prince step forward, but Leena could not tear her eyes from Mikza, silently shouting at him to look at her.

One glance and she would be all right.

One glimpse and the irrational terror would fade.

One…

Mikza’s head whipped violently to the side.

For a moment, his deep umber eyes landed on hers. For a moment, warmth filled her chest. For a moment, she could see the love twinkling in his irises.

The moment passed.

His gaze grew blank.

For the first time, Leena realized he was falling, tipping, toppling to the side. For the first time, she noticed the spear embedded in his chest, the blood slipping to the floor, bright red against the golden tiles.

“Mikza!”

The sound tore free from her chest, ripping its way up her throat, incoherent as her voice cracked, rose higher into a shriek. Sharp as a spear, the scream echoed back, stabbing her in the heart.

Dead.

Lifeless.

Leena sank to the floor, eyes glued to the pool of blood widening against the tile, spreading through the cracks, slipping toward her. To the vacant eyes still turned in her direction.

She had wanted him to look. Now she could not look away.

Her mouth opened. Closed. No sound came. No cries. Tears burned the back of her throat, but they would not come. Sobs ached to be released, but Leena was in shock. Shaking her head this way and that, unable to comprehend the sight before her.

Mikza, her one beacon of hope, had faded away.

And suddenly all Leena felt was disgust. At her father. At her culture. At herself. What had she promised deep in those dark dungeons? That her father would pay. That love would bring him to his knees. That she would end him. Yet in all the weeks Mikza had been gone, she had done nothing but wallow in her own despair.

That time was over.

Without realizing her actions, Leena rose into a crouch. Animalistic. Lip snarling. Legs ready to stretch into a pounce. She had no weapon, no hope of harming her father, but she was filled with a desperate need to act, to attack, to do something with the rage. So Leena let go, releasing the hold on her muscles, and jumped blindly forward.

Arms crashed into her chest, catching her, dragging her back into the shadows.

A hand clamped over her mouth, smothering the frustrated scream.

Leena kicked and squirmed, growling in anger, demanding to be let go, put down, freed.

“Princess,” a voice whispered, “please.”

She recognized the kind tone belonging to her only friend in the world, the only person she had left—Tam. He had been Mikza’s best friend in the guard, protecting their secret, helping their romance. And even after they had been found out, it was Tam who helped smuggle Leena into the dungeons, Tam, who had given her and Mikza one last goodbye.

Tam, who she hadn’t spoken to in weeks.

Tam, who now risked his life saving her from herself.

Leena stopped fighting, relaxing her muscles as her chin began to wobble and the ache rose past the fury, too great to handle. In one motion, she dropped her feet to the ground and spun, hugging her friend close, crying into the metal chain covering his shoulder.

Unused to her touch, Tam was stiff at first, but then he relented and hugged her back. Below her hands, Leena felt his skin tremble, a quiet sign of pain. They had both lost someone dear.

“You should not be here, Princess,” he whispered a few minutes later.

Leena sniffled, drawing back. The gold on his clothes glittered with her tears. Now that the dam had broken, she could not find her voice, could not reach below the hurt.

“Go,” he gently urged, “you’ve seen too much already.”

But she was frozen.

Looking past Tam, Leena’s eyes found Mikza, still on the floor, and she did not want to leave him.

“Princess,” he tried one more time. Leena looked into his warm eyes, friendly with concern, and shook her head. Tam closed his lids slowly, trying to hide his wince, and for a moment she wondered what he saw in her face. Pain? Sorrow? Defiance?

Before she could answer her own question, an anguished scream filled the throne room, an echo of the one burning inside her chest.

Leena pushed past Tam and he spun around, following her movements, as both of their gazes fell on the Whylkin prince storming the throne in a blind rage. Golden sword gleaming in the sun, as though made for this palace, the prince zeroed in on their king.

Go, Leena found herself urging, wringing her hands, watching in disbelief. She had fantasized about killing her father, ending his reign by placing a sword in his throat—but her thoughts were just that, dreams. In real life, no one dared defy King Razzaq. No one dared attack him. No one.

And yet, this Prince Whylrhen was.

Completely alone.

Hopelessly outnumbered.

Leena cringed as guards seized his ankles and the prince fell hard, cracking his forehead against the steps at the base of the throne. For a moment, she thought maybe he was dead. But in the next instant, he flipped over, stabbing one of her father’s guards in the stomach.

Then he rolled to the side, nimble in a way that reminded her of Mikza, and Leena found herself cheering for her enemy. Cheering for a prince of Whylkin. He wiped the blood from his brow and kicked, slamming his foot into the gut of another of her father’s soldiers, almost severing the man’s arm as the prince slashed his sword deep.

And then he was on his feet.

Leena could not believe her eyes.

“Kill him,” she mouthed, afraid her father might somehow hear her if she spoke the words aloud.

Beside her, Tam ran forward, joining two-dozen other guards who stepped free of the columns, like ghosts emerging from the shadows.

Prince Whylrhen remained defiant, holding his sword aloft, turning. He was a caged animal, surrounded on all sides, but unable to admit defeat.

“My father will destroy you,” the prince seethed. Leena wished the words to be true. But in her heart, she knew it was over. The brief moment of hope faded away.

As though he could sense her helplessness, the king began to laugh. Each chuckle made Leena’s fists ball tighter. She retreated into herself, ignoring the sounds around her, watching as the guards, Tam included, disarmed the foreign prince. He was kicked to the floor, held down by her father’s men while they tied his limbs with rope. Yet still, he used every muscle to squirm, to struggle for freedom.

Brave, she decided in that instant. Surrounded, disarmed, bound, and still fighting—this prince did not know how to give up.

Then her father pronounced his fate.

“You will die, Prince Whylrhen,” King Razzaq proclaimed. Leena felt no surprise at the words, but she was shocked by the sadness gathering in her heart over this man she had never met before. A foreigner. A prince. But more than anything, a fighter—something Leena wanted desperately to be.

Maybe that was why she stayed hidden behind the column as a guard slammed his skull with the hilt of a sword.

Why she watched the men take him away, dragging his motionless body from the throne room.

Why she found herself following them, promising to help set this man, Whylrhen, free.

The foreign prince had done the one thing she promised to do, the one thing she had never found the courage to do—he tried to kill her father. And witnessing that, Leena decided she was ready to fight.

She had failed to save Mikza.

But maybe, just maybe, she could save another brave man. Another man who deserved to be set free.

TWO

Leena gripped the knife tighter. Was she capable of stabbing someone? Would it even make a difference? One princess against her father’s entire guard?

She shook her head, biting her lip to keep back a frustrated scream. After following the soldiers and the fallen prince to a side courtyard, Leena had watched them dump his still body beside a giant pool and then nothing. They waited, standing around, Leena assumed, for instructions. Whatever the prince had whispered to her father in those final moments had thrown him, made the king question his plan—that alone made her want to kiss the Whylkin boy, to hug him in gratitude.

But saving his life was another story.

After realizing she had a small sliver of time, Leena had raced back to her room, adorning the only armor she’d ever known—a golden veil to hide her tear-stained cheeks and a gilded knife meant for nothing more than decoration. And then she’d come here, to a small room no larger than a closet, a hidden spot she and Mikza had discovered. Before it had been a place for stolen kisses and secret laughter—now it was where she tried to gather courage, futile as the effort was.

Leena slashed the knife through empty air.

A grin widened her lips.

She slashed again, already feeling more empowered. Her muscles were strong, her conviction even stronger. Maybe she would run up to the men and distract them just long enough for the prince to escape. Maybe her knife, small as it was, could still cut his binds. Then she pictured facing her father later, strong and defiant, grinning at the stupefied look on his face as he realized his own daughter had betrayed him. Maybe then he would see he was not as all-powerful as he believed.

Leena moved to the door, opening it slightly, peeking through to make sure the hallway was clear.

A line of unmarked slaves filled the corridor, carrying heavy boxes, straining with the effort. She grimaced. None of these poor souls deserved to be entangled in the drama she was about to create, especially when her father would not hesitate to punish anyone who had even laid sight on her. So Leena waited, eying the long line of men, hoping the procession would end soon.

And then she gasped.

Mikza?

Shaking her head, Leena stared at the man walking innocently down the hall, throat burning.

He was Mikza.

And yet, he wasn’t.

The Whylkin prince was utterly forgotten in that moment. Leena hardly remembered to breathe as she stared at the features she had never hoped to see again—proud jaw, deep brown eyes, perfectly sculpted cheekbones. But the man was too short, the proportions were just slightly wrong, and his expression was confused, as though he had never walked these halls before, hadn’t spent his entire adult life guarding them.

To an unknown observer, he was just another slave in a long line. To Leena, the woman who loved Mikza with all of her heart, he was an imposter.

As the man drifted closer, Leena couldn’t help herself. Muscles acting on their own accord, her hand snaked through the opening of the door and grabbed the imposter’s arm, yanking him inside the room. Slamming the door behind her, Leena charged the man, using all of her newfound courage to hold the knife to his throat.

“Who are you?” she accused, voice low and demanding. “What did you do to Mikza? Who are you? Did you know him? Why are you here?”

The questions came fast, hardly spaced out so they sounded more like one long word. But Leena’s mind was moving a mile a minute, Mikza’s bloody end jumping into the forefront of her thoughts.

The man looked scared at first, but then a complete sense of calm washed over his body, and he looked at Leena differently, with awe and respect, with curiosity.

The reaction just made Leena’s words come quicker, made them harsher. She pushed the knife deeper into the man’s throat, her own confusion making her anger spike, making her hurt turn more painful.

Then the man spoke.

“I do not understand.”

And the words came out in the language of Whylkin.

Leena’s eyes narrowed and she shoved herself closer, suspicion mounting. “You are not Ourthuri?” she asked, using the foreign tongue, something all Ourthuri royals were forced to learn.

“No.”

The response just confirmed the truth—even though he might look it, this man was not Mikza. Her Mikza was dead, body left in the throne room for the unmarked to clean, blood still seeping from his wounds. And whatever sorcery this man had used to steal Mikza’s face, Leena saw it as nothing but the deepest disrespect for her lost love.

“How do you wear that face?” She spat, pressing the knife even closer, indenting the man’s olive skin, surprised that she had not yet drawn blood.

The air before her rippled.

That was the only way Leena could describe it. As though the air were a still pond disrupted by a rock—it pulsed. The space blurred. And then Mikza’s face disappeared, replaced in the blink of an eye by that of a woman. Brown skinned, more red than that of an Ourthuri. Open, hopeful, honey eyes. Black hair cut coarsely short, like that of a boy. But her features were still graceful, supple in a feminine way.

Leena stepped back, dropping the knife in her surprise, dropping her jaw too.

Magic.

“I traveled with Prince Whylrhen,” the girl spoke in a rush, fighting to explain herself, “who came to the palace today to return four Ourthuri men that we found on a ship. One man, Mikzahooq, was very kind to me, and I borrowed the image of his body to sneak here to save the prince, who I believe your king is going to kill. I can sense the spirits around you. I can sense that you have magic too, and that it does not frighten you. I promise I did not come here with intention to hurt anyone, only to save the prince who has become a dear friend to me.”

As the words continued, Leena’s anger turned immediately to affection, surprising her with the swift change. This mysterious woman could be her mirror image. She was fighting to free her love, fighting King Razzaq, concealing a power that no one else could ever understand. At a basic level, they were exactly the same. And it was the first time in Leena’s life she had felt so close to another woman, so understood, so empathetic.

The realization of their connection constricted Leena’s heart, pulled it tight with a surge of warmth, and she processed the rest of the words. This woman had met Mikza, had spoken with him, had potentially comforted him in Leena’s absence. Tears began to silently slip down her cheeks, of gratitude, of longing, of grief. Leena brought her palms to her mouth, catching the whimpers tickling her throat.

And then she nodded.

Insufficient to convey the full spectrum of emotions she was feeling, but it was all Leena could offer. A simple sign of understanding, of shared awareness.

And then she found words, pushed them through her closed throat, heard them waver weakly in the air, and then stay there—strengthened by love. “He was kind? Mikza?”

The girl’s face softened and a slight smile pressed against her lips. “Yes, he told me about these islands, so foreign from my own home, and comforted me.”

Leena smiled. It sounded so like Mikza, like the gentle soul he showed only to her. Kindness was not accepted among the soldiers of Ourthuro, but for Mikza, there had been no other way. He could act the ruthless soldier, but in his heart, in the place Leena was so blessed to see, Mikza was soft, too soft for their harsh homeland.

The foreign woman kept speaking softly. “We were trying to help him, to bring him back to his family, but…”

“But what?” Leena asked, taking an unsteady breath. She had a feeling she knew what came next, and instantly her mind flashed to that night in the dungeons, the scars oozing on his back, the burns surrounding his wrists. All that physical pain, but in his eyes, Leena had only read love and the brutal burden of goodbye.

The girl shrugged, hesitant. Leena waited, not looking away, until the girl relented. “I do not believe he was very excited to return. I sensed that there was something here he missed, something that had been ripped from his side, leaving a gaping wound in his heart. But there was something he feared as well—or someone, maybe.”

Leena felt herself freeze, harden. Molten gold cooling to an unbending weapon, like the knife by her feet—sharp, determined. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, standing straighter as the memory of her final promise to Mikza burned in her chest—to bring the unchallenged King Razzaq to his knees, to destroy him with love.

“I know who he feared,” she whispered, tone like iron. “It is the same man we all fear, but cannot escape.”

“Who?” the girl asked.

Leena looked up, meeting those confused honey eyes, insides as jagged as ice. “King Razzaq…my father.” And then she picked her knife up off the ground, mind whirling as a plan seeped into her thoughts.

To run away.

Without Mikza, Leena assumed that she was trapped in this golden palace forever, doomed to suffer under her father’s reign for the rest of her life. Without Mikza to protect her, to keep her safe, how far could she really run? Where would she go all by herself, no skills, no knowledge of the world outside these walls, just a princess who had been pampered all her life?

But now a way out beckoned. And she was going to take it. No matter the cost. No matter how hard the road might be. After today, Leena couldn’t even think of her father without picturing Mikza’s vacant face, pressed against the floor, dead. And she could not set eyes on her king again without knowing that soon the nightmare would be over, soon she would be gone, and soon it would be her turn to hurt him.

Maybe they were more alike than she cared to realize. But Leena wanted to think that she at least had justice on her side, even if a small thrill filled her heart at the thought of her father destroyed.

“I will help you save your prince,” Leena said, pausing for a split second before pushing herself onward, finding the strength deep within herself to fight. “But only if you can promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Protection,” Leena said, releasing the word like a sigh, heavy and full of hope. Slowly, she lifted her hands, taking off her crown, removing her armor as the chain-link veil slipped below her face, baring her features and emotions to the world. She wanted this girl to understand the truth, wanted her to read the depth of the hatred in her soul. “I cannot stay here with that man anymore. No matter what it takes, I am finding a way out, and when I do, I will need protection and a safe place to live where he cannot touch me. If your prince can help hide me, then I will help save his life.”

Even if the girl could not make such promises for the prince, Leena would help save him, just as she had planned. He was brave. He reminded her of Mikza. And he deserved to be set free.

Still though, a weight lifted free of her shoulders when the girl grinned full across her face. “My prince has a special liking for saving people,” she assured, tone laced with strength. “He will help you. I swear it.”

Leena couldn’t smother her own grin. “Then use your magic to change your clothes to match mine, and follow me.”

Securing the golden crown and its metal veil back over her features, Leena jumped into the hallway, wrapping the persona of the wounded princess securely around her—all the while relishing in the strength bubbling in her gut.

Together, they raced down empty corridors, moving between endless rows of towering columns, filtering between gold reflections and ebony shadows, the two different faces of her city.

Da’astiku, Leena thought, picturing the city below her and all of the people who filled it. Olive-skinned like her. Branded like her. Trapped like her. Somehow betraying the king didn’t feel the same as betraying her people—it almost felt like saving them.

As they rounded the final corner, a turquoise pool and the unmoving prince beside it slipped into view. Leena breathed a sigh of relief—they had made it in time. Yes, the prince was still unconscious and bound, but that was better than dead.

Quickly, she grabbed the foreign girl around the waist, holding her back from charging in without a plan. Placing a finger before her lips to signal silence, Leena eased the girl around the wide column until her prince came into view.

“They are going to drown him,” Leena whispered, repeating words she had overheard while following the guards, “to make it look like an accident, as though he died in a shipwreck.”

“How can we save him?” the girl asked, voice strained, concerned.

Leena just smirked. Finally, after so many empty promises and so many hours of biting her tongue, Leena was going to act. A princess of Ourthuro was going to fight back, was going to defy her king. “I create a scene, something my king will love, and while I do, you grab the body. Can you only change your image or can you mask other things as well?”

The girl paused, and then a wicked smirk spread her lips. “I can mask other things as well.”

“Then do it, and meet me back here.”

And before Leena could lose her courage, she stepped into the light. Forcing her feet to carry her confidently forward, Leena made her way toward the circle of guards talking quietly to each other, watching the unconscious man from afar.

The closer she stepped, the more her buried rage pushed itself to the surface. Before she knew it, Leena was running, crashing into one of the guards, pounding her fists against his solid metal chest, and cursing his name.

“You killed him,” she shouted and it felt good to lose control, to stop playing the princess and to let every single smothered emotion make itself known with the beat of her hands. “Mikza was one of you and you killed him. All of you. By doing nothing but just standing there, by throwing the very spear that pierced his chest. You killed him!”

Her voice rose, growing more accusing, more pained.

The men circled her, unsure of how to respond. It was against the law to touch a princess, to mishandle her, but Leena was a wild animal uncaged for the first time. Taking turns, spinning on her heels, she let her emotions out on every one of those guards—every one except the final one, who she realized at the last moment was Tam.

Leena paused, breathing heavily, wanting to maintain the distraction, to keep screaming and shouting, to just let it all go. But she wouldn’t do that to Tam. Not when she knew he was hurting just as much as she.

“Princess,” he said softly, warmly, too friendly in the presence of other people.

Leena didn’t respond. Instead, she dropped a furious gaze on each and every soldier around her, secretly thrilled when she realized her distraction worked perfectly. All eyes were on her. The prince had been forgotten in her screams.

But just as she opened her mouth to keep the charade going, the echo of boots filtered down the hall.

Leena spun.

More guards were marching forward, and Leena knew that could only mean one thing, her father was on his way, ready to enact his cruel and twisted justice. The prince had run out of time. She had run out of time.

As if sensing her distress, Tam stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Does the princess require an escort back to her rooms?”

Leena smiled, grateful, but also sorry. Because she was going to accept his offer, only Tam didn’t realize what he was truly inviting himself into. But Leena knew she and the foreign girl would need all the help they could get, and Tam was the only hope of aid they had.

“Thank you,” she whispered, torn even knowing it was necessary, and accepted his hand.

As they left the group, Leena’s gaze drifted to the side, heart sinking. The Whylkin prince was still an immobile heap on the ground, still bound, still unconscious. Where was the girl? Had she succeeded? Was it just an illusion? Or had Leena failed, again?

All those questions formed a knot in her stomach, but as they neared the edge of the room, everything changed.

Leena stepped through an invisible threshold. The prince disappeared, simply blinked out of existence. Beside her, Tam gasped, but Leena quickly jumped to cover his mouth, pushing his shocked body behind a column and silencing him.

Waiting for them was the girl, breathing heavily, sweat dripping off her brow. But the prince was at her feet, saved.

“Tam, please, you must be silent.”

Below her palm, he nodded. Leena closed her eyes tight, nerves pinching, but she chose to trust in her friend. Slowly, she pulled her hand from his lips. Tam remained silent, but the confusion in his eyes spoke volumes.

“I know this doesn’t make any sense, but I have to do it, Tam. My father can’t get away with everything, and I feel in my gut that this prince is important, that letting him free could change the world. And I’m hoping you will help me.”

Tam pursed his lips, squinting.

“He killed Mikza,” she whispered. “He murdered him. And even though it is not a princess’s right to question her king, I need to. I want to punish him, Tam, I want to make him hurt.”

Leena waited, heart pounding deafeningly loud in her ears.

After a few silent moments, Tam nodded. “Okay.”

And that was all the encouragement she needed.

THREE

Leena hated goodbyes. But unlike her goodbye with Mikza, this one was filled with hope, with excitement, with the promise of things to come.

Leaning out of her golden carriage, so out of place in these iron districts, Leena met the girl’s eyes—Jinji. By now, her disguise was back on, no longer a woman, but just the image of a young boy. On the carriage ride down, Jinji had tried to explain her motives and Leena understood them in a way—being a boy was much safer than being a girl in this world. Still though, catching her eyes moments after saving the prince, Leena wondered why this foreign girl did not at least admit the truth to the man she was so obviously in love with. But that was not Leena’s concern—her concern was bringing them to safety, which she had done to the best of her abilities.

Leena held Jinji’s thankful gaze as the prince stepped free of his hiding spot in the trunk attached to the carriage, eyes adjusting to the daylight, stretching his sore muscles. She willed words to come to her lips, a way to show her gratitude, to thank Jinji for the new ray of light and the new plans growing roots in the back of her mind. To tell the foreign girl the truth—that the prince was not the only person saved today.

Leena was born anew. Finally she had acted. Finally she had disobeyed. Finally she had done something, anything, to bring down her father.

Finally.

But the words would not come—the thoughts alone overwhelmed her. So instead, Leena just whispered, “Good luck.”

A lame farewell, but it was the best she could do as she silently promised they would see each other again. No matter how hard, Leena was going to escape and when she found this girl Jinji again, she would have the right words to say to express her gratitude.

Taking too long already, Leena reluctantly settled back inside the carriage and knocked twice on the front wall. Within seconds, Tam spurned the horses into motion, pulling Leena back up the city streets—back to her prison.

She ached to pull the curtain aside, to set eyes on Da’astiku for the first time at eye level—not from above. Leena had never traveled so far below the golden palace. To the silver level and wealthy noble homes, yes, but never here. The iron streets were full of merchants and peasants. Shouts echoed around her, calling to test their goods, to eat their bread, to sample their jewelry. Playful children screeched and laughed. Just below the louder yells was the constant chatter of high-pitched voices, women and girls to be sure. Hooves clattered on metal and stone. Carts and chimes and other noises Leena could not place but wished to uncover.

So much life.

So much freedom.

Nothing like the quiet halls surrounding her rooms in the palace, isolated and confined. Sometimes her world was silent enough for Leena to actually hear her own heart beating—pounding against the walls of her chest, fists against a locked door.

But far too soon, the sounds in the streets hushed. Only then did Leena break her promise to Tam and peek around the curtain, greeted with golden arches and the front courtyard of the palace plateau.

A shiver traveled down her spine. Cold.

The carriage pulled to a stop. Tam swung the door open, offering his hand, but when Leena met his warm chocolate eyes, they both paused, staring. Unable to move. Unable to believe they had returned undiscovered. Unable to comprehend their success. Tam’s gaze twinkled with diamonds. Leena’s lips pulled into a grin.

And then the bells began to chime.

Soft and musical, at first Leena didn’t understand. Not until alarm widened Tam’s eyes. Not until his mouth fell open in surprise. Not until his hand lifted, tugging her swiftly from the carriage. And then she realized—these were not normal bells. The sound amplified, echoes traveling farther and fainter until air itself seemed to ring.

This was an alarm.

“Are we discovered?” Leena whispered.

Tam bit his lip. “I don’t know. But guards are likely on their way here.”

Leena glanced around the open space. Behind her, the golden columns of the palace. Before her, the golden archway of the bridge. The only entrance to the royal levels of Da’astiku, and the only exit too. Already, the space was beginning to fill with guards emerging from the palace, from the slave quarters, from the stables. Eyes landed on her only to slip away, slanting toward the city below.

“Follow my lead,” Leena whispered, stepping out from behind Tam, leaving him to follow as a guard should. Chin lifted high, the image of confidence, Leena glided forward, cresting the steps, and walking without pause into her home.

“Princess!”

Leena stopped, swallowing the lump forming in her throat, and forced a smile to her face. Stilling her trembling hands, she turned. “Yes?”

A guard Leena did not recognize bowed low before her, eyes flicking to Tam before resting fully on her, slightly suspicious. “The king is looking for you. He requests your presence in the throne room.”

Leena nodded her head in thanks, not bothering to speak, acting more royal and more rude than usual. But fear held her tongue—fear she did not want this already wary guard to see. So instead, she continued forward as though seeing her father were the easiest and most natural act in the world. Inside though, Leena was falling to pieces, panic closing her throat as she repeated over and over to just breathe.

The throne room came into view too soon. And her father with it, sitting on his gilded dais, no different from the last time she had seen him earlier this day. The floor though, Leena realized, had already been cleaned. The blood had been washed away, leaving the tiles shiny and glistening once more. But the image of Mikza’s hollow eyes was not so easy to erase.

Bowing deep, burying her terror and hate under every ounce of strength she possessed, Leena said, “Father, I—”

“Tamarin, leave us,” he interrupted, voice deep and demanding.

Beside her, Tam bowed. Leena did not look at him, too afraid her father would read the trust and apology in her eyes as her friend walked away. The sound of his boots on stone made her chest heavy.

“Remove your veil,” the king ordered, his steely expression returning to her. Leena obeyed, shivering as the full wave of his anger hit her.

“Fa—”

“You were seen leaving the palace today. Why?”

Leena swallowed. “I needed to be alone with my thoughts.”

King Razzaq shook his head, unsatisfied. “Why?”

“Because you killed him,” Leena whispered, “and I needed to get away.”

The king stood, stepping down from the dais, within a foot of her body, looming. “Why?”

Leena fought the urge to cower, using the bubbling defiance to strengthen her voice, give conviction to the half-truths about to spill from her lips. “Because I wanted to leave.”

“And go where?” He seethed.

“Anywhere.”

The king seized her by the throat, not hard enough to choke, but hard enough to bruise. “Tell me the truth, girl.”

“I am,” Leena spat, smiling through her teeth, “I hate you. I would risk anything to escape you. And I would have if that guard hadn’t brought me back.”

Her father stared into her eyes, holding her tighter, so her breath came short. Leena could read the calculations behind his dark gaze, the scenarios spinning, whether he believed her or not. And she felt the shift the second he trusted her words to be true, realized it even before he pushed her away, hard, so she stumbled and fell to the ground.

Leena remained staring at the floor, breathing heavily behind a curtain of ebony hair, trying to hide the grin pulling at her cheeks.

Pride.

That was what she had seen in her father’s eyes the moment before he let her go—arrogance, vanity, pride. The great King Razzaq could never admit that all of his plans had been thwarted by his own daughter, by a princess, by a girl. Part of him knew there was too much coincidence—his daughter throwing a tantrum and then leaving the palace while at the same time a prisoner escaped. Part of him knew Leena was not innocent, that she had, without a doubt, had a hand in the Whylkin prince’s escape.

He knew it.

She knew it.

But admitting it was something else. And King Razzaq would never publicly confess to being bested, especially not by a woman. Even with no witnesses around, her father could not speak the words—to even voice them would go against every instinct in his body.

“I have sent a letter to Lord Biitar,” her father spoke, voice utterly calm. Leena looked up, meeting his cold eyes, filled with the flicker of revenge. Before the next words were pronounced, she closed her lids tight, trying to hide from the truth clenching her gut. “Your match with his son Amosaan has been formalized and arrangements are being made for the coming weeks.”

Leena couldn’t stop her features from falling, reacting to a sentence more terrible than any other her father could pronounce. She was to be matched, married, discarded, and dealt with as someone else’s problem. No more private rooms. No more hours spent deep in the depths of her personal pool. No more time alone without servants or guards to watch her every move. Once she had a husband, the binds around her would be complete.

She knew it.

And her father knew it too.

A sinister grin separated his lips and a terrible glint lit his eyes, letting Leena know that he knew the truth—to her, this was a fate worse than death.

Hardening her nerves, Leena stood, curtsied, and turned away. Before she could step, her father grabbed her arm, gripping it tight, jerking her around so she met his gaze.

“You are playing a dangerous game, daughter,” he murmured, dark and foreboding, “one you do not know how to win.”

Winning is not the point, Father, Leena thought, unable to speak the words aloud. The point is to do everything in my power to make sure you lose.

On the outside, she smiled, widening her eyes, innocent. “Whatever do you mean?”

But her father had already shoved her away, turning to the sound of a guard sprinting down the hall. Leena left, walking swiftly to the exit, pausing long enough to listen to the king howl in frustration.

It could only mean one thing. The search was over and the Whylkin prince had officially escaped. She had won—the battle at least, if not the war.

Leena let that thought keep her feet light as she raced for her rooms, for the solitude of her private pool, for the security behind those walls, the only place she could catch a glimpse of freedom. But when she got there, all the elation faded away, vanished.

A vase rested just behind her door.

Unimposing. Chipped. Muddy clay with no adornments.

Without even opening the lid, Leena knew exactly what it was.

“Mikza,” she murmured and collapsed, limbs sinking slowly to the ground. Against her will, Leena found her hand was moving, her fingers were gripping the handle and pulling the top free. Inside, just as she expected, sat a pile of ashes.

All that was left of her love.

The unmarked were not allowed a proper burial. They were less than human. They did not deserve to be remembered, honored, memorialized. The unmarked were burned instead.

Though she wanted to cry, for the first time, Leena realized she had no tears left. For the past month, all she had done was cry. When they had been found out. When Mikza had been brutalized. When he had been sent away. When her days were filled with lonely hours she could not escape. And even today, a day of triumph, was marred with tears over his death.

There was nothing left in her that could mourn.

The past month had been one, long, extended goodbye, and for the first time, it was not tears that came to her cheeks, but a smile. Looking down at those dusty ashes, Leena realized something. Finally, Mikza was what he had always wanted to be—he was free.

Almost.

Before she could second-guess, Leena lifted the vase and ran onto her balcony. As soon as she stepped outside, a massive gust of wind blew against her cheeks, throwing her hair wildly to the side, making her skirts rise up around her. A sign. A good sign. The air was wild, just like she felt, just like she wanted Mikza to be.

In one quick motion, she threw the lid to the ground and flipped the urn on its side, shaking. White dust filled the breeze around her, a cloud brought down to earth for a moment before billowing back up into the sky.

Leena closed her eyes as the wind pressed against her—Mikza’s arms around her waist, his lips lightly kissing her neck, his touch everywhere at once. And in the howl, Leena heard his voice, quiet and soft, whispering, “I love you.”

And it was not a goodbye, but a promise.

That he was there.

That he was with her.

Always.

FOUR

For the third time in a week, Leena sat with her hands crossed, waiting for her future husband to arrive. Though she looked the part of demure princess, patiently resting in a golden silk gown, face downcast and hidden behind her metal veil, Leena’s mind whirled.

Today was the day she would press her luck.

Today was the day she would press Amosaan for information.

Something was happening outside this palace. The air carried a fiery current, lightning about to zap, filled with excitement. The guards spoke in hushed tones. The high-ranking lords flooded in and out, secret meetings with secret agendas about to come to fruition. And her father, a man of complete control, drowned himself in celebratory wine, unable to hide his glee.

For their first two meetings, Leena had held her tongue, barely speaking, listening to her future husband regale her with meaningless tales of his strength, his prowess, his cruelty. The prideful boastings of an Ourthuri noble, and Leena had done everything she could to play the enthralled princess. Smile at all the right moments. Shyly run a finger over the sharp curves of his dagger-shaped tattoos. Glance flirtingly under hooded brows, mysterious and alluring.

But today, during this third meeting, Leena was going to test the strength of her powers of manipulation. How much would her future husband, a man bubbling over with vanity, reveal to someone he saw as nothing but a silly girl? A lot, Leena hoped. Because without a doubt, whatever brought such joy to the king’s face was something to be feared, and if possible, stopped.

Mikza was dead. Tam had been removed from her service, stolen away to another area of the palace. Her guards had been changed, their shifts doubled, her freedom cut far too thin. Amo was her only hope now, her only potential source of information.

And he was finally here.

Leena slid gracefully from her seat, dipping into a deep curtsy, waiting with her knees almost to the ground. Amo enjoyed commanding his women—Leena learned that early on, as far back as their first dance at her sister’s wedding only a few weeks ago. Though her thighs trembled with the strain of holding her body so low, Leena refused to move until Amo slid his fingers under her veil, placing three of them below her chin, forcing her gaze and her body up. Leena obeyed.

“Princess.” He nodded, hazel eyes running over her figure, well displayed in the thin, curve-hugging gown.

“Amosaan,” Leena purred, adding a slight vibrato to her voice, saying his true name rather than his title. Amo’s gaze deepened. Too easy. Leena fought away her smirk.

He did not apologize for being late, for keeping her waiting. Amo expected his wife to do as she was told, no questions, for what better thing did a woman have to do than wait on a man?

Leena took a deep breath, calming her anger as he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to her chair. Within moments, a servant arrived with a tray of teas and desserts. Leena shooed the woman away, aware that Amo preferred she serve him, and poured two glasses.

Then it became a waiting game.

Leena listened to Amo speak, nodding when appropriate, offering demure gasps of appreciation, making sure her eyes never grew glassy from her boredom. But more stories of Amo in the practice yards fighting opponents with a blade did not require much concentration. And in the back of her mind, an endless line of questions started to form, painting a terrible future.

What if she never escaped? What if she married Amo? Would this be her life, tea and pretending and boredom? Or would it be worse, would Amo turn the cruelty in his stories on her? What would he force her to do during those long hours of the night? If she couldn’t contain her strong will forever, what then? Would he be able to break her, until even Mikza back from the grave wouldn’t recognize her?

“Amo,” Leena gasped as he finished his tale, turning an expectant gaze on her. In truth, Leena had stopped listening long ago, but everything he said was nearly the same. And she had reached her limit. Time to take her chances. Leaning in, bringing their faces closer together, Leena whispered, “You are so brave. I wish I could be so brave.”

Amo shrugged. “Women don’t need to be brave, that is what men are for, to protect them from situations where such bravery is required.”

Leena closed her eyes to hide her glare, trying to keep her nostrils from flaring, to keep her face from revealing her annoyance. Playing it off as worry and admiration, Leena spoke in a trembling tone, “I only meant that I wish I weren’t so afraid. Did you know that a prisoner escaped my father only a week ago, an enemy prince? I could hardly sleep for days I was so worried about where he might be or what he might do.”

“Princess…” Amo sighed, shaking his head as though she was a child. “You do not need to worry about such things.”

“But I do, he was a big brute of a man, so uncontrolled. And I have heard stories of Whylkin that haunt my dreams.”

Leena forced a shiver to her limbs, waiting until the vibrations hit her fingers before grabbing Amo’s hand. He glanced down to the spot where she clutched his palm, back to her eyes, wide and worried, and then he looked around the room. The guards were stationed far enough away to grant them privacy in the open area, set up for the sole purpose of their meeting.

“When I say there is nothing to fear, I expect you to listen,” his voice turned cold. Then it softened, “but since we are still new to each other, I will offer you explanation just this once. Do not question me again.”

Leena nodded in understanding, turning her gaze to the floor as though ashamed, knotting her brows in apology.

“The prince you speak of is inconsequential. He escaped your father’s hold and is returning to his own kingdom, but the boy is just another Whylkin fool. And soon we will have no need to worry about Whylkin any longer.”

Leena’s heartbeat grew frantic and she clutched his fingers tighter, afraid that anything she might say would stop him. Instead, she remained quiet, hoping the silence might lure him to more speech.

It did.

“The Ourthuri have made plans with disgruntled Whylkin lords, plans to overthrow King Whylfrick. And secretly our fathers have made plans on the side, to turn our armies on all of Whylkin once the coup is complete. Our enemies and our allies will not know what has happened until it is too late, and soon, our people will rule both kingdoms.”

Leena’s stomach flew to her throat, tumultuous, as fear sent a chill through her veins. Her father—king to even more people? Images flooded her thoughts. Whylkin people being tortured, carved, turned to unmarked. Blood flying from lash wounds. Battlefields strewn with the dead, Ourthuri and other. If her father gained Whylkin, then there really would be no stopping him.

Losing control, Leena’s gaze jerked up from the floor, meeting Amo’s burning hazel eyes. Instantly, he read her dread, brows knotting in confusion.

Leena bit her lips, retreating, searching for a cover up.

And then she found one.

“Amo,” she whispered, voice airy and weak, “are you to be fighting in this war? Are you leaving?”

He leaned back, eying her with pity as he crossed his arms, taking her reaction as proof that women really were the weaker sex. Leena wanted to slap him. Yet this smug reaction was more perfect than any other she could have hoped for, confirming for Leena that her deception was complete.

“The fighting will be left to less important men,” he assured. “My father and I will remain here in Da’astiku to assist the king.”

It seemed to Leena that a man so bent on proclaiming his bravery would want to fight his own battles, but she bit her tongue, no matter how much it pained her to hold the snarky response in.

“And you’ll remain here to be married,” Leena gushed, smiling wide, striking behind her veil.

“Yes,” he murmured, but Leena could tell his attention had drifted, tired of her already—mind still back on discussion of politics and war, topics he would never purposely debate with her. As predicted, he stood, offering his hand. “I should return you to your rooms. My father will be expecting me back in the throne room soon.”

“Of course.” She curtsied again before accepting his arm as they walked through the halls. She chattered on about inconsequential things—what flowers they might use at the ceremony, what food they might eat, how she couldn’t wait to dance the night away. All topics he expected from a princess.

Under that façade, her intelligence worked—was it too late to stop her father? Could the prince she had saved keep his kingdom alive? What sort of information could she gather? Was there any chance she might still escape?

So many different conversations swirled her thoughts, so many words, that she spun to her rooms with a quick goodbye, needing the solace and a private place to think.

But Amo did not let her go so easily.

As her new bodyguards held open the door to let Leena inside her personal quarters, a hand gripped her upper arm—hard. Surprised, she spun when tugged, stumbling forward.

Amo’s hand crept under her veil, cupping her face, too firm to be romantic. It slid farther up, to the crown atop her head, yanking it free so the veil dropped with a thud to the floor. And then he grabbed her behind the neck, shoving her forward until their lips met in a kiss.

Leena froze.

Torn between utter revulsion and the need to keep her cover.

But her body reacted for her, stomach recoiling, bile surging up her throat, fingers curling into a fist, voice murmuring a protest. But Amo mistook it for passion in his own arrogance and pulled Leena closer—demanding.

There was no tenderness, no gentle brush of her cheek, no subtle dance of their lips, no tantalizing tease of fingers—nothing of the love Mikza always communicated with his touch. This was her homeland in a kiss—hard, rough, mercilessness. This was the kiss of a man who thought nothing of the woman on the other side of his lips—a man who thought only of his own urges. And when it was over, Amo gone from her sight, Leena felt dirty. Used. Abused.

Unable to meet the eyes of the guards who stood and watched, offering no assistance, Leena rushed inside her rooms, fighting back tears, more determined than ever to run away.

But she couldn’t. Not yet. So she hid in the only way she knew how—she fled to the water.

Not even pausing to remove her luxurious gown, Leena stepped off the ledge and sank into the cool depths of the private pool in her room, letting the liquid rush over her, letting it wash the taint of Amo away, leaving her clean. Bubbles fizzed across her face, prickling her skin, crackling and popping as they rose to the surface. But the deeper she sank, the more it faded away, subsided, until only a smooth caress was left. The gentle hum of this world calmed her, pushed the palace and all of its people far away.

Leena curled in on her limbs, resting her cheek against the tile floor, floating in oblivion. For as long as she could remember, the water provided solace. For as long as she could remember, its cool touch openly embraced her. Leena didn’t know how or why, but she didn’t question—she could breathe under the water, could remain here for hours undisturbed, just as healthy as when she entered. And right now, that was exactly what she needed. To let the magic control her body so her mind could drift away, back in time, back to a better place.

Back to her first kiss with another man, the only man for her…

Leena was crying. She hated to cry, hated it more than anything else in the world. There was nothing weaker than a weeping woman, nothing her father hated more. But sometimes, she found, she couldn’t help it.

Like now.

There was no particular reason she found herself kneeling on the balcony, hands clutching the rail, looking out at the vast sea as tears dripped from her cheeks. It was more a buildup, of everything, of everyone. Loneliness clogged her throat, plugged it so tightly that sniveling was the only way air could creep through. All because she had done a stupid thing—she had opened the box with her mother’s possessions, slid her hands through the dainty rings, combed her hair with the old bristled brush, read the note she had left in case she gave birth to a daughter.

If Leena were a boy, her mother would still be alive.

But she was a girl, and for that, her mother had been killed. In a way, she herself had killed her. And once those thoughts seeped into Leena’s mind, as they had so many times before, the tears had come.

Pent up. Finally released. Uncontrolled.

“Princess?”

Leena gasped, jumping to her feet as she rushed to wipe the water from her face, to hide the evidence of her pain.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

Leena recognized the soft voice, filled with compassion. She grimaced, the ache in her heart only strengthening as she turned to find the last man she wanted to see in that moment.

Mikzahooq.

Her bodyguard.

Her not-so-secret crush.

The desire to weep only intensified as she met his sorry expression. For months, Leena had tried everything to catch his attention. Fawning over his muscles. Granting him her most glorious smile. Pretending to fall just so he would catch her. Nothing worked—none of her feminine wiles, none of her tricks, none of her flirting.

“I’m fine,” she responded, straightening her spine, trying to put on a brave face. Failing.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Because,” Leena started, and then paused, thinking of a coy response. But her will to win him over was gone. For once, she wanted to speak the truth. “Because sometimes I want things to be different, I want it so much that it hurts.”

Mikzahooq tilted his head to the left, eyes squinting, gaining a light as though he was looking at her for the first time.

Then he took a step closer.

Another.

Another.

Before Leena realized what was happening, he was right in front of her, peering through her as though he could see down to her soul. His hand came to rest on her cheek, thumb gently caressing her skin. His forehead followed, landing gently on hers so their breath mingled. His other hand came to her waist, only half touching, light enough to tantalize.

And then he stopped. Waited.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

But Leena’s breath had vanished and she couldn’t find the words. So instead, she lifted her lips. Mikza met her half way, pressing his lips against hers, and they were kissing…

Weeks later, after many more kisses, Leena had asked him why—why then, why that moment, when she was covered in tears and looking her absolute worst. And she would never forget his answer.

Even now, trembling below the water, the words warmed her heart, soothed its ache, a perfectly crisp memory.

Because, he had said, before that moment you were a princess, untouchable, a young girl playing games with her guardian, flirting with danger for the first time. And after, you became the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I never knew love could happen so fast, that in an instant you could fall, that in one moment your life could change forever. But it did. Mine did. I saw in your eyes a woman filled with pain, older than her years, passionate and full of conviction. I saw someone who shared my dreams. And I couldn’t think to do anything but kiss you.

FIVE

Leena sat on her balcony, staring out toward the horizon, letting her dreams hover over that distant line. What was the world like beyond these golden walls? Would she ever see it? What would it feel like to breathe the sea in, to rest under the surface of those choppy waters, surrounded by salt and sparkling sun and life? How far could she swim when there were no walls around her?

The little jar of ointment in her palm waited like a question—when to use it, how to use it, could she use it?

Leena pulled her gaze away, fumbling with the lid, staring at the last gift Mikza had given her. On the night of her sister’s wedding, when they had been so close to running away, he had presented her with this lotion—a perfect match to her skin tone, makeup to cover her tattoos.

Looking down at her arms, Leena couldn’t imagine seeing bare skin there. Her arms had been covered with ebony lines for as long as she could remember, swirling ocean waves, blooming flowers, dazzling jewels, the best artistry her kingdom had to offer. Branding her as royal. Branding her as princess.

The biggest obstacle in her escape.

Leena ached to see if the lotion worked. But she squeezed her eyes tight, resealing the lid, and put the jar back down. Fingers trembling, Leena tried to breathe, slow and steady. She couldn’t afford to waste a single drop, especially not on a day like today, when the idea of escape was utterly hopeless.

Her gaze drifted back out to the sparkling sea.

Dreams were her only hope of escape today.

And yet…

Leena sat up, squinting against the harsh sunlight as she peered down at the docks below. The ships appeared to be leaving. Gleaming white sails were raised, and even from this height, Leena could make out the golden spears at the front of the boats, the Ourthuri battering rams. These were not merchant ships preparing to leave—they were war ships.

She stood, hands on the rail, leaning over as close as she could go. The few extra feet made no difference at this height, but Leena’s excitement still grew.

Something had happened.

Something had changed.

But, she tried to reason, that doesn’t necessarily mean for the better. The ships could mean a number of things—her father had been successful and was readying his victory fleet. The Whylkin king was dead and now her father sent soldiers to conquer the rest of their enemy kingdom.

Or maybe, it meant that Whylrhen, the prince she saved, had managed to thwart her father’s plans. Maybe it meant that her father had lost and there was still time left to stop him. Maybe her hopes of escape were not completely gone.

Leena raced back inside her rooms, slipping the ointment into its hiding place—the box with the last of her mother’s possessions—before throwing open her door. The guards stationed in the hall jumped, startled by her sudden emergence, but Leena paid them no attention. In fact, their surprise worked in her favor.

She started to run.

Before the guards had a chance to react, Leena had a decent head start, zipping through columns, lacing herself in and out hallways, not pausing to look back. Only when she reached her destination did she suddenly stop, push open a hidden door, and enclose herself in darkness. Then she waited, breathing in and out as boots thundered by.

Leena smiled. She and Mikza had uncovered many secret closets in this palace, private hideouts. For a place that appeared open and unguarded, rows of columns, few walls separating different rooms, there were certainly a lot of hidden doors to disappear behind.

Waiting for the sound of boots to fade completely, Leena creaked open the door, peeking out into the empty hall. She had managed to lose her guards, but she had no clue how long this sliver of freedom would last.

It was time to find Tam—a task that proved much easier than Leena ever dreamed—for a few moments later, he walked straight into sight.

Still hidden behind the door, unable to quite believe her luck, Leena poked her head out, loudly whispering, “Tam!”

He stopped, brows knotting together as he looked around curiously, unsure.

“Tam!” she tried again, still not wanting to raise her voice to full level—who knew who else waited around the bend. But this time, it was enough. Tam saw her, breaking into a grin as he shook his head.

“Princess,” he whispered as she opened the door to let him inside. “I saw your guards wandering the halls and came to check that you were all right. Clearly, you are.”

“Yes, well…” Leena shrugged, not sure if he could see her in the dark space. “I was actually trying to find you.”

“Why?”

She waited for her eyes to adjust, endless black turning to dull, shape-filled gray. The crack in the door let enough light through for Leena to just make out Tam’s face. More than anyone else in the palace, she trusted this man, her friend. But was that enough for him to help her? Enough for him to truly betray the crown, not in a moment of emotional weakness, but for an extended amount of time?

Leena wasn’t sure. But she had to try.

“Tam.” She sighed, wringing her fingers. “Do you ever wish life could be different?”

He shifted his weight, uncomfortably shuffling around. “In what way?”

Leena swallowed, gathering her courage. “Mikza and I used to dream about running away all the time, I’m sure you remember hearing as much from him. But there was more, more we never told anyone, things we would only whisper in privacy, under the stars.”

“Treasonous things?” Tam murmured.

Leena nodded.

“What?”

Looking up from hooded brows, Leena studied his determined face, daring to open herself up to hope. “We shared dreams of a less cruel world, one not run by my father. We hoped that Ourthuro might someday be a warm place, not just in temperature, but in heart as well.”

“I believe we’ve all imagined that world, Princess,” Tam said gently.

Leena smiled empathetically, understanding the sadness in his voice, looking at a kindred spirit. And then she pressed on, more certain than ever of Tam’s response. “What if there was a way to change things? Would you help?”

He looked up, meeting her gaze, and whispered, “Yes.”

“It might be dangerous,” she cautioned, sure he knew the potential consequences, but needing reassurance.

Tam released a low breath, an ironic sort of laugh. “Do you know anything of my family, Princess? Of my heritage?”

Leena shook her head, disappointed in herself for never asking him about it.

“I was born here in Da’astiku, to a noble family in the silver levels of the city. During my childhood, I wanted for nothing. I studied books. I learned swordplay from the best masters. But for all my efforts, I was a disappointment. My older brother was far better with a blade, my younger far smarter with a pen, and I in the middle offered nothing. At ten years old, my father gave me away to the palace guard, and for fifteen years I have lived no more than a carriage ride away, but have seen nothing of my family. Not even my mother.”

“Oh, Tam,” Leena said, reaching out to land a hand on his arm, to offer some comfort. But he just shook his head, looking up from the ground with a smile.

“I do not say this for pity, I say it so you will understand. I did not know friendship until I met Mikzahooq. I did not know love until I saw the two of you together for the first time. And I did not know hope until a week ago when we saved that prince from certain death. For the first time in my life, I felt empowered, as though my actions were actually helping rather than hurting people. So that is why when you say you need help, I offer it willingly.”

Leena squeezed her fingers tight, embracing him in a small way, unsure of what to say after such moving words. But she did know one thing—hearing them gave her hope. Not just for her future, but for that of her people. The sensation constricted her heart, making liquid pool in the corner of her eyes, sending warmth to the very tips of her toes. Maybe more Ourthuri than she realized dreamt of change, dreamt of a different life—and maybe she could be the one to give it to them.

Tam shifted his weight, biting his lip, uncomfortable with being so exposed. Leena understood his shyness—they had been friends, yes, but never on such a deep level. And now they would be more than companions. They would be confidants—accomplices. And it was time to get to work.

“Do you know what happened today, Tam? Why the fleet set sail?”

He nodded, thinning his lips. “A message arrived carrying word from King Razzaq’s allies in Whylkin. Their plan to kill the royal family failed. Two of the sons escaped, as well as the newborn babe. The fleet sent today is sailing toward the southern edge of Whylkin to meet with the army already gathered there. I believe they are to march on Rayfort.”

Leena sucked in a breath, dropping her hand. “Do you know which Sons of Whyl lived?”

“Prince Whylrhen, the man who we helped escape, was one of the survivors,” Tam murmured with suppressed glee. Leena matched his feeling, letting a grin pull across her face, imagining how furious her father must be.

“If he still lives, then there’s a chance,” Leena murmured, more to herself, forgetting for a moment that Tam was there as plans began to formulate, threading and knotting across her mind.

“A chance for what?” Tam asked.

But Leena shook her head, already ten steps ahead as various scenarios ran through her thoughts. “I’m running away, Tam. Mikza and I had a plan once, and I think, even without him, I may be able to pull it off. But that’s not enough. Even if I escape the palace, even if I make it to the docks, find a ship, get to Rayfort, that wouldn’t help anyone but me. I need information, I need to know what my father is planning, anything and everything that I can give to the foreign princes to help them win this war, to help them defeat my father. Once I’m there, I’m sure I can negotiate some sort of truce. They don’t want our lands or our people, maybe our gold but I am willing to give it away if it means a fresh start for our kingdom.”

“Princess,” Tam interrupted, voice soothing—opposite her frantic tone. “What would you have me do?”

Leena took a deep breath, but she couldn’t help it, her entire body was buzzing with newfound excitement, newfound possibilities. But everything hinged on uncovering the secrets of what her father had planned. Without that, there was no escaping King Razzaq’s reign, no escaping his gilded prison. And Tam was the only person in the world who could get the information for her. He was the key to her freedom—to her people’s freedom.

“I need you to speak with the other guards, to find out whatever they know about my father’s war tactics,” Leena began, trying to keep her voice even this time. “Anything I can offer to the Whylkin princes, anything to help them win. Where is he sending ships? Where are they planning to attack? What armies do we have already, what other soldiers are on their way?”

“If I get you this information, many more of our people will die in this war,” Tam cautioned. His pearly eyes pierced through the shadows, gleaming with the light leaking in through the door. They caught her gaze and held it, unwavering, forcing Leena to understand the full weight of his words.

She swallowed. Was the sacrifice worth it?

“I heard something from Amo,” Leena whispered, voice weak as she pictured all the young Ourthuri men that would die by the time the fighting was over. The image changed, to more men and women, of all different colors and ages, caught in the binds of her father. “He told me that my father’s end goal is not to help end the reign of Whyl and bring different foreigners to power. His goal is to conquer our enemies and extend his power across both kingdoms.”

Tam sucked in a breath.

Leena pressed on. It was her turn to command his gaze. “You are a member of the guard, a soldier. You have dreamed of a better world, yet you have followed orders that oppose the ideals you hold dear. What do you think the men fighting these battles would want? To live knowing they helped my father destroy thousands of lives? Or to die at the hands of something greater?”

Tam's shoulders dropped. His lips flattened to a thin line. He closed his eyes, paused, and then looked at her once more. “I will find out whatever I can.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling weakly.

Leena was sure they were making the right choice, for her people, for the people across both kingdoms, but that did not make the decision any easier. Innocent people would die because of her actions. Leena just had to believe that many more innocents, now and in the generations to come, would live happier lives because of her too.

SIX

The next few weeks passed in a blur of anxiety and impatience. While Leena sat in her room, waiting for any sort of word from Tam, war plans surged forward. More ships left the harbor on an almost daily basis. Guards were thinning in the halls of the palace. Her father had regained a positive outlook, fury falling away as new schemes moved into motion. And that, more than anything, scared her.

For that first week, when King Razzaq’s rage had been at its peak, all wedding plans and social events had been cast aside. But already this week, Leena had met with Amo twice. A seamstress visited her room almost daily to fit her gown. Servants came and went with different questions about the food, the décor, and every other minute detail Leena felt she had no time for.

The bars of her cage were closing in.

Tighter.

Tighter.

Already, Leena could hardly breathe, smothered as time continued to tick away. At what point would her window of opportunity close? Had it passed already? Waiting, not knowing, wondering—all of it grated her sanity, wore it thin.

So when a knock sounded lightly against her door in the middle of the afternoon, Leena had no hope that it meant anything. A servant, most likely. Maybe her guards checking to make sure she was all right after so many hours of silence. At best, some afternoon tea. At worst, her father stopping by to cast a smug grin in her direction.

Leena never expected the truth.

That it was Tam, finally bringing her news.

“You’re here!” She gasped as the door swung open and her jaw dropped.

Tam was impassive to her greeting, eyes flicking to the side while everything else in his expression remained the same. Leena followed his sight, gaze landing on the two bodyguards beside the door, eying Tam curiously, and offered a slight nod in understanding.

They were not alone. And they were being watched.

“Princess, may I come in? Your father asked me to speak to you in private,” he said, bowing curtly.

Leena highly doubted her father had sent him, especially when he had gone out of his way to remove Tam from Leena’s service, but her bodyguards would not question an order that had any chance of coming from the king.

“Please,” she agreed and stepped to the side. Tam walked around her guards and closed the door behind him.

Biting her tongue, Leena stepped farther into her room, away from the door to lower the possibility of being overheard. When they reached the balcony, she allowed herself to speak, whispering, “What did you find?”

“It’s all in here,” he told her, and pulled a roll of papers from his overcoat.

Leena grabbed it, unfurling the pages, hastily taking in the words. But the more she read, the slower her eyes moved, the more concentrated she became, the more concerned.

Her father had it all figured out.

Leena shuffled from one page to the next, each time hoping one would reveal a weakness, an opening to take down her father. But King Razzaq was nothing if not thorough in his destruction. The Whylkin princes were doomed. They all were.

“Have you read these?” she asked as she flipped the last page, heart sinking to the ocean floor a thousand feet below.

“I have,” he said, voice grave.

Leena rolled the papers between her palms, wringing the sheets, crumpling them in her frustration. Stomping her foot, she turned on her heel, pacing across the balcony. “Is there any point now? To run? To even try?”

“I don’t know,” Tam murmured.

“What should I do?” she asked, spinning to face him, shrugging with helplessness.

Tam shook his head slowly, a sad smile across his lips. “If you find the Whylkin prince, there is no guarantee that any of what we’ve found will help. I’m not sure any amount of information or preparation will be able to stop your father, not with the plans he has set in motion.”

“But?” she prompted.

“But I wonder if you would be able to live with yourself if you did nothing.”

Leena stopped, chest caving in as though punched, hunching over as the breath whooshed from her body. Stumbling, she shuffled to her bed, falling on the soft cushions as her father’s words flashed across her mind.

You are playing a dangerous game, daughter, one you do not know how to win.

Had he been right? Had she been deceiving herself this entire time, dreaming of a new life, of a better future? Leena hated to believe she could have been such a fool—how could she, a girl who had barely stepped outside the palace walls, beat a king? How could she, a princess, not a soldier, stop a war?

And yet, Tam’s words rang true. Even in the face of impossible odds, Leena could not just sit and do nothing, could not rest idle and let all of her hopes slowly slip through her fingers. If she were a fool, she would rather be a defiant fool than a submissive one, would rather die trying than live to ask herself what if.

No matter how crazy or idiotic, her decision was made—and just like when she watched Prince Whylrhen defy her father against unbeatable odds, a little voice in her head whispered, or brave?

Leena sat up, taking a deep breath. “Tam?”

There was no turning back now. And there was no time to wait. Leena jumped from her bed, crouching to retrieve the little box with her mother’s things, the box with the balm that would cover her tattoos.

“Tam? I have to leave today. I can’t wait another moment. The wedding preparations are hurtling forward faster than I ever dreamed, and if this information you found is true, we cannot afford to lose any more time.”

Fumbling through her dresser, Leena found a small satchel—the least ornate one she owned. There were no gems and no pearls, no fine embroidery, but the material was still an expensive silk that likely wouldn’t blend in with the common folk. But there were no other options, so she began to pack it full. First, the letter from her mother, wrinkled from being read so many times. Second, the ring Mikza had given her, pieces of his golden chainmail coiled and braided to fit her finger. After that, a baby rattle she had stolen from her brother’s crib long ago and never returned. Next, her jewelry and any other diamond-encrusted items she could find that might garner her a bribe and passage across the sea. And finally, the papers from Tam, proof that her information was true.

Gazing around the small room, Leena was almost amazed to find there were no other items she would miss, nothing else she needed to take. But every other moment of joy from her life was safely tucked away in her memories, not tied to baubles and trinkets and clothes.

“Are you ready, Tam?” Leena reached for the ointment, prepared to conceal her tattoos. But as her hand closed around the jar, she realized the room had grown utterly silent. Too silent.

“Tam?” Leena asked, dropping the ointment and the satchel on her bed, rising slowly to look out toward the balcony.

She froze.

He stood in the doorway, stance wide, hands before his face, holding up the curved sword of the Ourthuri guard. In the sunlight, it was blinding, gleaming bright while the rest of his body was silhouetted. Dark. Dangerous.

Leena stepped back, hesitant.

“Tam?”

He didn’t say anything. But a moment later, he didn’t have to. Tam walked one foot forward, and Leena gasped. The face that had always looked too young for his years, bulbous cheeks pinched with dimples, was now alight with savagery. A cruel smile twisted his lips. But worse, so much worse, was the look in his eyes.

Empty.

Completely and utterly empty.

Gone were the warm brown irises, the friendly expression, the prideful gleam as they worked together for a better cause, a just cause. His eyes were white, vacant pearls devoid of any sign of life, as though Tam had disappeared, leaving an imposter in his place.

“Tam,” Leena murmured one more time, weak, but there was no longer a question in her tone. Tam was not here, his body maybe, but not him.

He lunged forward, air whistling as the sword cut through the space where Leena’s skull had been. She dropped to the floor, hands reaching for anything that might help as a scream ripped through her throat.

Her fingers wrapped around something metal, and she swung wildly as Tam’s sword made another slash for her face. The candlestick in her hand clanged against his blade, knocking it off path, but before Leena had time to reach back for another swing, Tam had righted his weapon.

A princess against a trained warrior?

It was no contest.

“Help!” she shouted, fending off another blow. “Help!”

Tam’s hand whipped down, tearing the makeshift weapon from her grip and throwing it across the room. Each thud of metal on stone stopped her heart. He knelt down, leaning over her, pressing the curve of his sword against her throat, moving slowly, as though he was enjoying the sight of her struggle.

Leena pushed against his arms with all of her strength, but it did nothing to stop the pressure. She squirmed, but could not dislodge his heavier frame, could not free her legs to kick him away. She shook her head, but that just made the blade sting more.

“Tam,” she whimpered, trying to find her friend in the void. But it was useless. And in less than a second, her windpipe was cut off, unable to make a sound.

Then he was gone.

Howling.

Rolling off her, jerked to the side by an unseen force.

Leena gasped, swallowing air, coughing as she rolled toward the door. Her bodyguards were charging through the opening.

“Princess?” they called.

Leena coughed, unable to respond, and shook her head.

A hand gripped her leg, pulling, and she slid backward across the floor, using her nails to grip the tiles. A body fell on top of her, a heavy crushing weight. Blood dripped onto her cheek from above, warm, drop after drop as she waited for the pierce of a blade in her side.

Would it hurt?

Would she fade quickly?

Would Mikza be there to welcome her home?

But then boots slid into her vision, and before the sword could fall, her bodyguards were there, dragging Tam away, locking his arms behind his back and holding them steady.

Leena dragged her crumpled body to a seated position, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily as she rubbed the sore area below her chin, pulled her hand away to check for blood.

“Princess?” A ragged whisper filtered into her ears.

Leena looked up into muddy brown eyes, slowly clearing, filling at first with confusion and then with horror.

“Pr—”

The hilt of a blade thudded against Tam’s head, and he slumped, eyes closing, body going utterly still. Lodged in his shoulder was a small knife, the weapon that must have freed her the first time. But now, Leena couldn’t help but wince at the sight of so much red seeping out, staining his golden silks.

“What happened, Princess?” one of the guards asked.

Leena shook her head, whispering, “I don’t know.”

“We must bring him to the king immediately.”

“No!” Leena gasped, jumping free of the wall, rushing over to the bodyguard, laying a pleading hand on his arm. “Please, no. It wasn’t Tam, I mean, he wasn’t himself. Something happened, someone poisoned him or drugged him.”

“Tamarin attacked a royal princess, he must face the consequences.”

“Please,” Leena begged, stepping back, eyes falling to her unconscious friend—a man who had given her so much, a man she couldn’t bear to see punished for a crime she knew in her heart he would never commit. Then her gaze shifted to the two bodyguards watching her sadly, and she realized they hated the task as much as she did. “Please, no one has to know. Take him to someone who will treat his wounds. I will never speak of this day again. It will be our secret.”

The two men looked at each other quickly, passing unspoken words. Leena kept arguing.

“My father will kill him,” she implored, “and I can’t bear to have another death on my hands. Not another guard. Another friend. Please, he is your friend too.”

Their gazes turned dark, found one another, and they nodded almost imperceptibly.

Leaning down, each bodyguard grabbed Tam by one shoulder, lifting his body from the floor, grunting from the exertion. Watching from a distance, she bit her lip, wanting to question but knowing there was no more to say. And then the first bodyguard, the one who had spoken to her, looked up and held her gaze. Raising his brows, he glanced toward her bed, to the bag of jewels sitting open, the little jar of skin-colored ointment, to all the evidence of her escape.

And then he looked back at her once more before shifting Tam’s weight and stepping with his partner toward her door. They didn’t say where they were taking him, what they were doing. But Leena knew they were listening to her pleas, to all of her pleas, when two words drifted across the open space of her room.

“Goodbye, Princess.”

Was it her relationship with Mikza, who used to be one of them, that changed their minds? Or was it listening to her mournful cries, night after night while she was locked away in her rooms? Was it simply two men unable to say no to a beautiful woman? Or was it possibly two more Ourthuri hoping for a better life for their people? She would never know why her bodyguards, two men under oath from the king, decided to break the rules and help their princess.

But she did know one thing.

The door was open, unguarded, and waiting for her.

SEVEN

Leena was free.

Still in her rooms, still in the center of the golden palace, still hours away from safety and true release. But staring at her arms, completely bare aside from two thin black strips at the base of her wrists, Leena was free of the weight that being an Ourthuri princess settled on her shoulders.

The ointment was pure magic.

Running a finger up her arm, Leena marveled at the smooth dry skin below her touch. The balm had dissolved upon contact, untraceable, staining her skin a rich olive tan. Gone were the tattoos that had labeled her all her life. And just like that, escape was closer than ever.

Sealing the jar tight, Leena stuffed it at the base of her satchel and slipped on the ring Mikza had given her long ago. Without the marks of a princess, she felt bold enough to wear the gift, to brand herself in a new way—as a woman in love. And she wished Mikza were alive to kiss her, to see her the way they had always imagined, as his and no one else’s. Yet, Leena knew he was with her, in the cool breeze drifting in from the open balcony, brushing against her cheeks, bringing goose bumps to her bare arms.

Yes, Mikza was with her. Giving her luck. Bringing her just enough strength to make the escape they had planned together all on her own.

Leena slipped into the plain dress she had stolen from her maid not a week ago, in preparation for this day. The material scratched her skin, but she didn’t miss the smooth silks she normally wore—silks worn only by royalty. In the garb of a servant, she would move undiscovered—at least that was what Leena hoped.

Then she took a deep breath.

Faced the door.

And left.

Keeping her head down, Leena tried her best to blend in. Though her feet itched to race down the halls, to run out of the palace and never turn back, she kept her steps steady. One after the other. Slow but not too slow, calm and purposeful, as though she had somewhere to be, something to do, but nothing out of the ordinary. Just another mundane task for the royal family. Another day at work as a servant in the palace, gathering items for her master.

And it worked.

Eyes glided over her, unaware.

As Leena stepped down the front steps of the palace, skin warmed by the heat of the sun, she could hardly breathe, waiting for everything to fall apart, waiting for one person to recognize her, one person to stop her, one person to sound the alarm. Gaze locked on the stones beneath her feet, Leena stepped to the beat of her heart, faster now that the exit to the golden plateau was in sight. If she made it over that bridge, there would be no one to stop her as she marched down into the silver levels, down to the iron merchant streets, farther to the docks, then to freedom.

“Miss?”

Leena wanted to sprint away as the voice called in her direction, but that was what a guilty person would do—not an innocent passerby. Instead, she turned, smiling lightly as she met the eyes of the guard standing watch on the bridge. The golden mail covering his chest nearly blinded her on this cloudless day, imposing as his gaze swept over her figure, and for the first time Leena understood what it was to be looked at as something other than a princess. Fear trickled down her throat as a bead of sweat pooled, trailing slowly down her spine, cool against her skin.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to pull the educated lilt from her voice.

The man blinked as he surveyed her one more time, scanning her face. For a moment, his eyes filled with a sense of recognition, but then it passed as they settled on her arms, bare except for servant stripes. He stared at her tattoos, or her lack thereof, lids narrowing, lifting back to her face. Without makeup, Leena did not look like a princess, but the curves of her face remained the same, familiar under scrutiny.

He shook his head, blinking.

“You may go.”

Leena did not need to be told twice. She took off across the bridge and did not look back. But as her feet passed over the golden path and her gaze filtered down through the spaces in the metal to the rock far below, she couldn’t hold back a small grin.

In Ourthuro, tattoos never lied.

Tattoos were a person’s identity—take them away, and the soul became unmarked, less than human. Even if he thought her a princess, the tattoos told a different story and tattoos were trusted above everything else.

For the first time that day, Leena was at peace. She continued down the mountain, through the silver level sparkling with ornate homes, decadent entrances, silk curtains billowing in the breeze, taking every detail in.

The noble plateau was much like her home. Women walked draped in gauzy fitted dresses and metal veils—here silver and not gold. Their eyes passed over her, labeling Leena as a servant not worth their time. Males and females alike were dripped in jewels, metal belts and pins decorated with diamonds, ankle bracelets that chimed when they walked, spreading music through the air. Their clothes were of the finest materials. And Leena had seen it all before.

But when she stepped over the silver bridge, leaving the nobility behind, her eyes widened and she slowed her steps to enjoy the real Da’astiku for the first time. For years, she had sat on her balcony, looking down over her city, wondering from above what it looked like from below. And now she knew.

This high, even the iron homes carried some elegance—copper window frames, the occasional metallic dome, bronze sculpted tiles along the façade. But the lower she walked, the simpler her city became. Houses more like metal boxes, dull gray and iron, piled atop one another, less beautiful. Streets were more uneven, stones giving way to dirt and sand.

But the people, Leena thought, were the opposite. Whereas the silver level was serene, air filled with soft murmurs and the chink of metal charms, these lower levels felt alive. The air was full of noise and chatter, of life. The same as Leena heard in the carriage weeks earlier, but now her eyes drank the sights in—the common folk dressed the same as she, no metal except for the occasional crude belt to cinch their clothing in. But smiling wide, emotions on display, laughter bubbling on their lips and escaping into the world with no shame. Children running and playing, no strict rules of decorum to keep them in line.

Leena stopped in the middle of the street.

One moment.

That was all she wanted. One moment to remember her city, the true city, before she left it behind. There was no guarantee she would make it to Whylkin, let alone be successful enough to ever return home. And seeing her people now, a tear came to her eye—a longing to slip through the vendor stalls, to join them, to live amongst them as one of them, if only for a little while.

But just as the desire filled her heart, another sound snaked through the streets, coiling around her, invisible chains.

The bells.

The alarm.

Leena recognized the noise. And this time, there was no doubt that it was meant for her.

Her bodyguards had gifted her with a window of escape, but that didn’t mean they would also gift her with endless time. And they hadn’t. Desperation filled her body, and Leena threw caution to the wind, lifting her skirts to run as swiftly as her legs would carry her.

Whereas weeks before, the streets of Da’astiku were regularly patrolled by palace guards and soldiers, with the imminent war, those levels of security had been worn thin. No one manned the bridges between levels, no one waited there to cut off her path, and Leena made it freely to the docks without harm.

Once she got there, however, gold swarmed her sight.

It was everywhere.

The warships overflowed with soldiers. Men in official uniform walked every inch of the docks, moving supplies, talking with each other, preparing the ships. And there was not another woman in sight.

Suddenly all eyes were on her.

And as the ringing of bells filtered down, overtaking the churning waves of the sea, those eyes filled with suspicion. And then cloth snapped above her head, cracking loud as a whip, signaling the end.

Heart rapidly sinking, Leena looked up to see the black flag blowing in the breeze. Even a princess knew what that meant—the dock was closed. No ships in. No ships out.

No escape.

And yet, movement caught her eye deep in the distance. A ship near the end of the dock had just lowered it sails, preparing to leave—a merchant vessel, clearly out of place against this backdrop of war.

But then her vision retreated, scanning the mass of people between her and her way out, nerves coiling tight. There was no way she could possibly make it to that ship. Not in time. Not past so many soldiers now on the alert. Not before being caught.

A hand gripped her arm, spinning her.

Leena met the man’s eyes, shaking her head. He was a palace guard. One she had seen before, one she recognized—one undoubtedly sent to bring her home.

His hold tightened. “Princess?”

Leena didn’t wait to hear more. Reacting instinctually, she kicked, shocking the guard with the blow, and he let go. She ran, pushing around people, trying to squeeze through seams in the crowd, desperately making for the end of the dock and the one ship that might grant her passage.

But the next instant, a shout carried to her ears.

“The princess! Seize her!”

Hands found her clothes, tearing them. Her hair, pulling it. Her bag, ripping it.

Leena struggled, fought.

Then hands found her skin. More fingers than she could ever pry loose, but she tried, screaming and shouting, kicking.

“Enough!” a man yelled.

The soldiers securing her released their grips, forming a circle around her body, an unbroken ring of gold.

The guard that had recognized her stepped through the pack. “It’s over, Princess. Please come with me. I do not want to harm you, but under the king’s orders, I will.”

Leena swallowed, lips trembling, hands shaking. Fury mounted below her skin—at being so close only to have her chances stripped away. She met the man’s gaze with defiance, eyes searching the circle around her for a break, a hole, a way out. Thinking of the Whylkin prince she helped save, Leena was determined to keep fighting with every ounce of strength she had. These soldiers would have to kill her, to knock her out and drag her unconscious body back to her father. Because one thing was certain—Leena was far past going willingly back to her cage.

And then she saw it.

Blue.

Just behind her, visible through a large gap between the bodies of two soldiers, was the sea.

Taking a deep breath, Leena let her shoulders fall and bowed her head. When the men around her shifted their weight, relaxing at the sign of their princess giving in, she jumped—one large leap that sent her out beyond the reach of their hands, beyond solid land, floating for a moment before dropping heavily down.

The water embraced her.

Leena swam.

Crashes boomed from above, but Leena did not stop to look at the soldiers jumping in after her. Fingers slid around her calf, but Leena kicked, dislodging them, pulling herself down continually, deeper than she had ever gone before. Arms reaching, legs pumping, whole body undulating to make her move faster.

Then Leena’s fingers brushed the bottom.

It was not tile, but sand. Soft below her fingers. Moving up in a pouf of dust as she flipped herself, lying backward, peering through the shimmering aqua laced with rippling strands of the sun.

From here, the world looked upside down. Green-tinted wood floated in ovular shapes above her head, surrounded in shadow and splash, massive ships much less menacing from below. A long shadowy line blocking out the sun was all she saw of the dock, so terrifying only moments ago. Evenly shaped poles stretched from the shadow, below the water and down to meet her at the bottom of the world.

Looking from side to side, Leena smiled.

The walls were gone.

This was no small plunge pool in a palace—this was wild. The ocean teemed with life. Salt burned her throat. Fish swam above her head. The sand moved with the current, swaying to the thunder rolling in her ears as waves broke on wood above her head. The water tasted richer, fuller—it crashed and fought, buzzed with energy.

Leena reached for her bag, digging her fingers through the floating jewels, feeling for papers that she hoped would survive this plunge, wrapping her fist around the rattle—thinking of her brother, of the others she hoped to save before her father’s fist clenched too tight.

And then she swam.

Down the long corridor of ships until she reached the end. The merchant ship was far easier to reach below the water than above, in her territory, her domain. Within minutes, her fingers wrapped around a scratchy rope, and she followed it down, pulling on the cord, until she spotted the anchor partially buried in the sand. Leena hugged the giant hook to her chest and propped her feet on its base—waiting.

Soon enough, the black flag would lower and the dock would reopen.

Soon enough, this anchor would raise, bringing her to the ship she hoped might bring her to a new life.

Up at the surface, Leena could still make out soldiers diving deep below the water, pausing for a moment before surging up for breath. They were searching for a body they would never find.

Soon enough, Princess Leenaka would cease to exist.

Dead.

Drowned.

That’s what the people would think. What her father would think.

Let them.

Leena turned so she faced the other direction—no longer staring at her past, but out into the endless blue, toward her future.

Toward Whylkin.

###

THE

BRONZE

KNIGHT

A Dance of Dragons #2.5

By Kaitlyn Davis

DESCRIPTION

From bestselling author Kaitlyn Davis comes the third companion novella to the thrilling A Dance of Dragons series—perfect for fans of Throne of Glass, Graceling, and Game of Thrones!

Princess Leena arrives in Rayfort with one thought on her mind—getting the information that might stop her father's armies to Prince Whylrhen as soon as possible. But once there, she quickly realizes the situation is far more dire than she ever anticipated. Abandoned by Jinji and Rhen who were sent away by the king regent, Leena is left alone with an impossible decision to make. Stay in Rayfort and fight with the rest of the doomed city. Or risk a life on the run for the chance of survival.

Taking place parallel to the events in THE SPIRIT HEIR, read Leena's side of the story as she takes fate into her own hands while the city of Rayfort crumbles around her.

ONE

For the twelfth morning in a row, Leena woke with the unmistakable urge to vomit. Slowly peeling her eyes open, she glanced from side to side, knowing that the feeling might subside if she just didn’t move. If she just waited it out. So, she completed her morning ritual—counting the wooden slabs on the walls around her. Fifteen up on the left. Twenty-five across the ceiling. Fourteen down on the right.

Leena closed her eyes, sighing, shaking her head just barely.

Fourteen. Why?

Twelve days on this ship, twelve days locked away in the first mate’s cabin, twelve days of seasickness, twelve days of traveling away from her homeland, and still, that little bit of asymmetry bothered her more than anything else. If there were fifteen wooden boards on the left wall, why weren’t there also fifteen on the right? Why fourteen? Why?

And just like that, the nausea subsided a little. But Leena knew better than to trust that slight sense of ease, because many a morning she had stood too soon, only to run to the nearest bucket and empty her stomach. Instead, she focused her gaze on the small circular window to her left, and the white stone wall waiting just out of reach.

Rayfort.

They had arrived almost two days ago. An eternity to Leena as she sat in this room, unable to leave the ship without the captain’s permission, something that was starting to seem impossible.

Twelve days ago, her dear friend Tam had given her stolen information, secrets revealing her father’s plan to destroy Whylkin, secrets revealing that Prince Whylrhen and his kingdom were in dire need of her help. Armed with that knowledge, Leena ran—barely escaping King Razzaq’s guards, fleeing to the depths of the ocean, pretending to drown in the harsh waters of the Dueling Sea. But in truth, she had used her ability to breathe underwater to hide at the base of a ship’s anchor. And only when the captain set sail, raising his anchor, was she found out. But by then, the docks of Da’astiku were barely in sight. A simple bribe was all it took, as Leena had suspected. She offered an entire bag full of jewels in return for safe passage. Well, that, and the knowledge that if the captain turned the boat around to bring her home, she would tell her father he was an accomplice. And one needn’t be Ourthuri to understand what that meant—death.

For once, King Razzaq’s cruelty had worked to her advantage.

Leena sighed, pushing away the frustration that came with thinking of her homeland and her situation. Instead, she stood and got dressed, fighting the woozy feeling tightening her insides just long enough to prepare for the day ahead. Not that anything would change. But still, she walked to the window, opened it to let the breeze in, and turned her eyes to the docks, searching for the captain to return, as he promised he would—with the Whylkin King by his side. Until that happened, she was stuck in this room, locked in by a key the captain carried around his neck.

But as soon as her eyes took in the scene outside, Leena gasped.

The ships were gone.

Almost all of them, vanished.

Leena blinked, sticking her head through the opening, glancing at the empty rows of piers. The warships that had been surrounding her a day before were all gone. Closing her eyes tight, she winced.

The Whylkin princes were falling right into her father’s trap. A trap she should have been able to warn them about two days ago, before they sent their ships to their doom. Why must she always be one step behind? Farther away from her father than she had ever been before, and he was still controlling her, still beating her, still winning. Cursing, she slapped the wooden wall, biting back the pain of the sting, welcoming it in a way.

And then Leena noticed something else.

A lone figure. A woman in a pale lavender dress. A woman with short hair and dark skin. Was it possible?

Leena leaned a little farther out the window, as though a few inches would make the image clearer. They didn’t. But a pinch in her gut urged Leena to believe. Was it possible that the woman was Jinji, the girl who weeks before had spoken the very words promising Leena safe haven in Rayfort in exchange for saving the prince? The very girl who had given her the hope to believe that escape was possible? Could it be Jinji, no longer pretending to be a boy, finally revealed as the woman she was?

Leena blinked, stepping back, shaking her head.

It wasn’t possible. No one was that lucky.

Her hair must appear short because it is neatly pinned atop her head, Leena reasoned. Her skin must appear dark because it’s up against the pristine white stone of the city walls.

Unless…

Leena glanced over again, watching the woman walk to the very end of the pier and sit down with her feet dangling over the water. Who else could it be? No one in Whylkin who could afford to walk around in colorful silks would be unchaperoned and alone at the docks. Ourthuro and Whylkin were very different kingdoms, but some things always remained the same.

Before Leena had time to ponder any other possibilities, the girl fell face forward off the end of the dock as though pushed by invisible hands. Her body was lifeless and immobile as it splashed almost silently into the sea, dragged under by some unnatural force.

Leena’s eyes widened, alarmed.

Swim, she thought. Swim.

But there were no flailing arms breaking through the surface of the water. No gasping breaths. No movements at all. To the casual observer, it might seem as though the girl went willingly to her grave. But Leena knew something was wrong. She sensed it in her bones. A crime had just been committed, and Leena, it seemed, was the only witness around.

Body reacting before her brain had time to process, Leena found she was half out the window before she even realized what she was doing. But the circular opening was small, nearly too small for even her thin body to squeeze through. So she dangled, half in the ship and half out, pausing for just a minute before biting her lip and making the decision. If it was Jinji, there was no way Leena could let her die. And if it wasn’t, there was still no way she could sit idle—not knowing she could have helped. One strong push was all it took to shift her bum through the window, and then before she knew it, she was falling, smacking against the water, slipping under—free.

Leena smiled, surrounded by endless blue, and let the sea fill her senses. The taste of salt. The sensation of liquid smooth against her skin. The rumble of waves crashing overhead. After days of sailing above the surface, Leena had never felt happier to be back beneath the water, back in the only home she had left.

And then she swam.

Within minutes, she found the body resting still at the bottom of the ocean, weighed down by heavy clothes, barely disrupting the sand. One look at the woman’s face, and Leena knew she had been right all along. Somehow, someway, fate had given her another gift—the girl was Jinji. A lifeless, breathless Jinji, but Jinji all the same.

Acting swiftly, Leena scooped her up, wrapping an arm around her waist, and searched for some way out of the water. She didn’t want to leave, not really. No place had ever felt so safe, so expansive, so liberating. But saving Jinji’s life was far more important—saving all of Whylkin from her father was far more important.

Near the edge of the dock, Leena saw her chance—a stone ramp starting from the sandy shore and leading up and out of the water. Moving as quickly as possible, she pulled Jinji’s heavy body through the water and closer to their only way out. And as soon as she could stand, she broke the surface, breathing in air once more and dragging Jinji up the stones behind her. When they were free of the sea, Leena dropped to her knees. Sheltered as she was, she had seen someone drown before—a slave child who had tried to swim in the palace pools on a hot summer day. And she still remembered watching the guards try desperately to save him, to get him awake and out of the palace before her father found out.

Opening Jinji’s mouth, Leena pushed the air from her body down into her friend’s throat, and then pumped on her chest. Again. And again. And again. More times than the guards had tried with the little boy, more times than a sane person might, but there was no giving up. No other options. This had to work. Desperation fueled her movements. Jinji was the only person in Rayfort who could help her, who had seen her unveiled face, who could vouch for her identity and her truths. She couldn’t die or everything was lost.

“Come on,” Leena whispered harshly, pounding on Jinji’s immobile chest. “Come on!”

The gods listened.

Jinji’s entire body jerked, lifting off the stones, twitching as a cough ripped through her. Quickly, Leena turned her on her side, giving the water rising from her chest a better place to go—out.

“Let it go,” she cooed gently, trying to ease the worry tensing Jinji’s muscles. She patted her back softly until the endless river stopped pouring, and the coughing was replaced by gasping breaths instead.

“Rhen?” Jinji whispered scratchily, voice sore and broken. But soon her eyes gained focus and she turned her head, brows furrowing in confusion. “Princess?”

Leena winced at the title. “I’m not a princess anymore,” she growled. But then she paused, breathing for a moment to regain her composure. It wasn’t Jinji’s fault. The girl was oblivious of everything Leena had done to strip herself of the title of princess—a different girl and a different life she had left far behind. Softer, she said, “You may call me Leena from now on.”

“Leena…” Jinji repeated, trailing off and shaking her head, eyes alight with confusion and disbelief. A feeling Leena definitely understood. For the second time in mere weeks, against all odds, fate had thrown the two of them together. And Leena had no idea what fate had in store this time.

But before she could answer, a shout rose behind her—harsh and angry, riddled with accusation.

“It’s an Ourthuri!”

“Seize them!”

Leena spun toward the sound, fear pinching her heart. How could she have been so stupid? Of course these people would fear her. She was the enemy after all. And before she could even offer a single word to defend herself, hands covered her lips, grasped her arms, and hauled her to her feet. Within minutes, her limbs were bound by rope and she was tossed in the back of a carriage, locked away once more.

Leena sighed and shook her head, silently fuming. This was exactly what the captain had predicted would happen, the entire reason he locked her in the first mate’s cabin. No one in Whylkin would trust her. No one would see past her olive skin and tattooed arms. No one would believe she was trying to help. No one except the girl by her side and the prince out of reach in the castle.

Leena glanced over, trying to make Jinji out in the darkness of the carriage. There were no windows, just a slight crack where the door opened, letting a tiny sliver of light peek through. Did they think Jinji was an Ourthuri too? Or had she lost favor with the prince? Had he cast her out? Leena sighed, shaking her head. Of course Prince Whylrhen would not have cast his best friend aside. But what if it wasn’t his choice? Leena had seen the love in Jinji’s eyes, and maybe someone else had too. Someone who didn’t like the idea of their prince with an oldworlder, someone who would keep Whylrhen out of both of their reaches.

With yet another sigh, Leena dropped her head back against the carriage wall, shifting her hands uncomfortably as the ropes tightened around her wrists—a completely unfamiliar sensation. All of these questions were useless. Only one thing was certain at the moment—for the first time in her life, Leena was truly a prisoner, not in a golden cage, but in an iron one. And she needed to find a way out.

Just as she was about to question Jinji, the girl spoke up instead, voice tenuous. “Leena, are you all right?”

Leena sighed once more, rolling her eyes in the dark. No, she wasn’t all right. There were so many things wrong about the situation, about her life, so many things she wished could have happened differently. But instead of complaining, Leena just answered honestly. “I never expected a warm welcome, and I’ve been through far worse than this.”

“As have I,” Jinji replied quietly.

And a familiar sensation returned, one Leena had felt the first time the two of them met. Companionship. Like-heartedness. Two women who understood each other despite not truly knowing each other, two women forced to be older than their years.

“Do you know if they will take us to the prince?” Leena asked, mind wandering back to Whylrhen and the need to give him her information. It was the entire reason for her journey, the desire to somehow help put a stop to her father and maybe bring about a better life for her people.

Jinji paused, taking her time with the answer. Leena tried to ignore the growing sense of unease spreading through her limbs. For such a simple question, she had hoped for a simple answer. But nothing was simple, not anymore.

“I hope so,” Jinji finally answered, “but an army rests outside the walls, an army of soldiers from your homeland, so I doubt the guards will take care to treat us kindly. I expect they’ll send word to the king, so one way or another, Rhen will find us.”

Rather than bring comfort, the words brought a heaviness to Leena’s heart. The armies were already here, already stationed outside. Was she too late? Would she be locked away before ever getting the chance to speak with the prince? Was all lost? Leena shook her head, tightening her brows and then releasing them, determined to keep at least a small flame of hope alive.

“Much has changed since we last saw each other,” she whispered, more for herself than for Jinji. More to remind her what she had lost and what she was fighting for—what she would continue fighting for with her dying breath. “I have lost someone I love. I have abandoned my family. I have betrayed my people. And I have defied my father. But if I can bring an end to this war before it truly begins, if I can help overthrow my king, then everything will be worth it.” But just as the words were spoken, Mikza’s face flashed before her eyes, his beautiful, warm, loving face. A vision in the dark. A memory, which was all she had left. Leena murmured, “Almost everything.”

Jinji found her hands, grasping them as though sensing the loss in Leena’s words, giving her comfort in the only way she knew how. Unused to the kindness, Leena wasn’t sure how to respond. Affection was not the way of the Ourthuri. But it was the human way, the natural way, because her body responded for her, fingers tightening and soaking in the warmth.

“I noticed that you no longer hide your face, that you now wear the clothes of a woman and not a man,” Leena mentioned quietly, not wanting to pry but curious all the same. What had changed on the other side of the Dueling Sea while her own life had turned upside down?

“A lot has also changed in Whylkin since we last spoke,” Jinji answered. And Leena couldn’t help but grin just a little at the words. It was as though Jinji had read her thoughts, as though they were of the same mind. Which in some ways, perhaps they were.

But before Jinji could explain any further, the carriage jammed to a halt and the door beside them was thrown violently open. Leena barely had time to brace herself as rough hands grabbed her, tossing her from the carriage like a sack of dirt. Off balance, she fell to her knees, unaccustomed to such treatment, but it was clear the guards had no idea who she was, or perhaps knew and didn’t at all care.

As new hands grasped the ropes around her wrists, tugging her upright and toward some unknown destination, Leena couldn’t help but glance at the white stone castle looming over her shoulder. Just as domineering as the golden palace she was used to, if totally different in style. But that wasn’t what really caught her attention. It was the fact that it was behind her, the fact that she was so clearly being pulled away—away from access to the prince, away from her true destination, away from anywhere she might be able to help.

Leena focused her attention ahead, to Jinji, to the one person Prince Whylrhen would hopefully come running for. It was the only chance she had. The only chance they all had.

TWO

Of all the times Leena ever imagined traveling to the mysterious city of Rayfort, she never imagined this. Sitting idle in a cell, locked behind bars, dripping wet in a soaked gown with her hair sticking to her neck, waiting for a prince that might never come. She felt more like a wet dog than a woman, let alone a woman carrying vital information that just might save everyone in this city—including the men who had mishandled her.

So Leena did the only thing a former princess who had abandoned her kingdom to help aid an enemy king could do, she straightened her shoulders, held her chin high, and tried to look as royal and as unaffected as possible. Because if the prince did come, she needed to be the princess he remembered—a princess with authority who would be taken seriously.

“How did you find me?” Jinji asked, pulling Leena from her thoughts. “How did you happen to see me in the water, to save me?”

“Luck,” she said, answering the question with the first thing that came to mind. And yet, something about the word felt right, felt so accurate. Suddenly her mood lifted. Luck had brought them together twice. Luck was on her side. Luck would bring Prince Whylrhen, luck would get her message to his ears. Turning fully to Jinji, Leena smiled widely, letting the glee filling her chest trickle out into the world, dissipating the dreary mood surrounding them. Words began to tumble quickly from her mouth, excited. “Probably the same luck that brought us together in Da’astiku, the same luck that made it possible to save your prince. The ship that carried me away from my homeland is currently docked in Rayfort’s harbor. I recognized you the instant I saw you and did not hesitate to dive into the icy waters the moment I saw you slip under.”

But a moment after she finished speaking, Leena watched as Jinji’s mood turned from one of curiosity to one of panic. Her breath grew staggered and her eyes turned sharp with concern.

“Leena,” Jinji began, voice urgent. “Do you remember when you asked why I no longer wore the face of a boy?”

Leena nodded slowly, unsure where she was headed.

But the response was enough, because Jinji leaned forward, frantic. “It was not by choice.” Leena’s brows tightened, instantly on edge. Jinji continued speaking, “I never meant to reveal myself, but an evil force—a darkness I know only as the shadow—that is killing spirit users like you. It can take possession of a person’s body, it can control them. When we first met, I didn’t know what it wanted, but it tried to murder Rhen, and I realized the truth too late. He is alive by a miracle, and I do not want your fate to be the same.”

Leena hardly heard the end of Jinji’s words, her mind was already spinning, already whirling, traveling back to that day a week and a half ago in her rooms, that day her dear friend had become a man she did not recognize. The day her dear friend had tried to kill her. “Tam…” She whispered, trailing off with disbelief.

“What?” Jinji asked, inching just slightly closer as she bit her lip, desperate for more information.

“He was my friend, is my friend,” Leena said haphazardly, trying to make all of the connections in her mind as the questions that had haunted her journey across the Dueling Sea were brought back to the forefront of her thoughts. Was Tam alive? Was he dead? Had King Razzaq discovered Tam’s involvement in her escape? Was he just another man whose blood was on her hands? Leena shook her head, trying to dispel the heavy weight of her doubts. Instead, she focused on her memory of that day, speaking to Jinji almost without realizing. “He was in my rooms one afternoon, helping to plan my escape, when his eyes suddenly glazed over, grew the most vacant white I have ever seen. And then he attacked. I barely got out alive, I had to…had to hurt him…”

A picture as vibrant as any she could recall rose to the front of her thoughts. Tam with a knife lodged deep in his shoulder, blood flowing freely over the golden chain links of his uniform, slumped on his side and unconscious. And now Leena was discovering that it was all because of her. Because of who she was. The one thing that had provided her comfort through every hardship in her life, her relationship with the water, was the one reason her friend might now be dead. Because this thing, this shadow, wanted to kill her. And according to Jinji, he would use any means possible to do so.

Hands grabbed her wrist, jerking her back to reality. It was Jinji, wide-eyed and demanding. “When did this happen?” she asked, tone deathly grave, for reasons Leena did not quite understand.

“Not two weeks ago,” Leena muttered as a ripple passed through her body, a shiver. But she pushed the ache aside, as she had so many times in her life, drawing back into the act of a poised princess to feign strength, to keep the fear and the sadness locked inside where no one else would see it. Such was the Ourthuri way.

Jinji, however, was quickly losing all control. She stumbled back, eyes flicking this way and that, not looking out into the world but stuck in memories, in a place Leena could not see. Finally her lids slipped closed, head shaking slightly, face dropping in utter defeat.

“Jin!”

Leena spun, eyes slipping down the hall to a figure running at them in full speed. A man with vibrant red hair, fire in his gaze, and fury that sparked the air around him.

Prince Whylrhen.

“Jin!” he shouted again.

Leena couldn’t help but grin the closer he came. Partly because luck had saved her once more. But partly for something else—for the fact that his eyes had not yet noticed her, that his eyes had seen no one but the small woman by her side. And for just a brief moment in time, he reminded her of Mikza. The fiercely protective, fiercely in love Mikza.

Without removing his gaze from Jinji, Whylrhen tore the gate open, flinging the bars to the side, charging in without any hesitation. But the moment he closed the gap, his touch turned tender. Such a drastic change from the man Leena had just observed. He slowly lifted his hands to cup Jinji’s cheeks, fierce eyes running over every contour of her face, drinking her in.

“Are you all right?” he asked, voice calmer, growing more affectionate with each passing word. “I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I heard. The gods, I think I punched one of the guards just to let my anger out on someone. But I commanded them to treat you as a lady of the court—not as a criminal!”

“Rhen,” Jinji said with a sigh, cheeks blushing pink, eyes alight with humor, and with something else, something Leena recognized and desperately missed. Love. Though she felt like an intruder in an intimate moment, she couldn’t look away. Because her heart hurt, and for the first time in weeks, watching the two of them made her feel just the slightest bit better. “I’m all right.”

And upon hearing those words, all of the tension left Whylrhen’s body, and he tugged, pulling Jinji into his arms, enveloping her small figure in a tight embrace. Leena watched Jinji sink into his touch, but a moment later her body stiffened and she released a small hiss of pain.

Feeling the ropes chafing her own wrists, binding them painfully, Leena understood. But the prince, on the other hand, pulled back, confused.

“What…” And then Leena watched as his eyes dipped to Jinji’s hands and darkened to the color of deep emerald. Grabbing a dagger, he sliced the ropes with a growl, brushing his fingers gently over her raw wrists. Her skin was maroon and scabbed, deep brown with scar tissue—disfigurement that these ropes could never have caused. Like one of the unmarked, Leena mused, frowning. What had happened to Jinji in the weeks since they had last met? What had happened to them both?

But Jinji paid no attention to the marks on her arms, to the pain. Instead she reached up to touch Whylrhen’s cheek, murmuring, “It’s okay.”

And they stayed like that, gazing into each other’s eyes, words and feelings unspoken. The moment stretched, deepening their connection, and Leena couldn’t help but bite her lips with contained joy. Watching them now, nothing had ever been clearer. Jinji was in love with the prince, as she always had been. And clearly, the prince was in love with her as well. But even more obvious, revealed by the gentle touches, the long embraces, the longing gazes, was the fact that neither person was aware of the other’s affection. Lovers would kiss upon meeting, would cross that line, but these two were straddling it, on the verge of diving head first off that cliff.

And though she wanted to let them have their moment, to let them bask in their emotions for just a little while longer, Leena knew she had to act. Love would always find a way to make itself known, but right now, Leena had vital information to get to the king, information that might help defeat the army sitting beyond these walls, and she had been delayed long enough.

Coughing under her breath, Leena gently broke the moment. Slowly Jinji and the prince both turned, eyes shifting to Leena. Whylrhen jumped away, startled, as though noticing for the first time that the two of them weren’t alone.

After a moment, recognition flashed across his irises, and he offered her a deep bow before jumping forward to slice the ropes binding her wrists. “Princess Leena, welcome to Rayfort. I apologize that the welcome was not as, well, welcoming as you probably hoped it would be. But I assure you, my promise of providing you safe haven has not been forgotten.”

As he spoke, a weight she had been trying to ignore lifted, a little doubt dislodged. Whylrhen was holding true to his word, to his promise. For the first time since Mikza was taken from her, Leena felt safe.

“Prince Whylrhen, it’s an honor to be here,” she said and curtsied, bending deeply. Mind flashing back to the last time she had seen him, passed out on the floor of her home and then stuffed in the trunk of her carriage, Leena couldn’t help but add, “And a pleasure to see you again, conscious this time.”

“I try,” he drawled, shaking his head with just the slightest embarrassment. But both of them were smiling at the memory. “How is it that you came to be here?”

Leena shrugged, the tale was starting to sound absurd to her ears—more like a fable whispered from a mother’s lips to a child’s ears, and less like something she had actually done. “I escaped the golden palace by hiding my tattoos and found passage on a ship bound for Rayfort. We were docked here for two days while the captain tried to gain access to your king. But this morning, I happened to see Jinji on the docks. She seemed unaware of her surroundings and fell into the sea, so I dove to her rescue. Then we were captured and brought here.”

The short version, obviously, but Leena guessed that it worked.

“Unaware of her surroundings?” Rhen questioned, mind obviously circling back to the thing that mattered most to him. “Jin, what happened?”

And both of them turned, only to see Jinji had retreated to the back wall, shrunken as though overcome by some inner fear, watching the two of them with a blank expression.

“Jin?” Rhen asked again, confusion evident in his tone.

Jinji’s breath grew short as she continued to stare at the two of them, eyes flicking back and forth, lips pursing. “I have to go,” she whispered. And then she glanced between the two of them again, wincing.

And in that moment, Leena understood perfectly. But before she could speak, before she could soothe Jinji’s fears, the girl ran from the room as fast as her feet could take her.

“Jin!” Rhen called, but she was already gone.

Leena sighed. That was the one problem with love undeclared—it bred insecurity. She could remember those long months before Mikza first kissed her, before she truly understood that the twinkle of interest in his eyes was not just her imagination. Every glance had a double meaning, every word would be dissected, every ounce of attention gifted to another was scrutinized. And often not in her favor.

Rhen turned to Leena, eyes wide with uncertainty. “What…?”

And she couldn’t help it, she laughed. Just a tiny puff of air, but enough. The prince was such a man, just as Mikza had been. An idiotic man who just didn’t get it—didn’t get that all he needed to do was speak up, announce his interest, and everything would be clear. But Leena couldn’t tell him what to do—to chase after her, to find her later, to just tell her he loved her. Those were the sort of things a person had to discover on his own, or they meant nothing. So instead, she just smiled. “I’m sure you’ll understand soon.”

“Do you understand?” he asked, doubtful, raising an eyebrow in question.

Her smile grew. “I’m a woman.” She shrugged. “Of course I understand.”

Whylrhen of course just looked more confused than ever. But he shrugged, sighing, prepared to get back on topic. “Princess,” he began, struggling to focus his thoughts.

“Just Leena, please,” she murmured, still unable to hear herself called princess. The words only served to remind her of that weak girl she used to be, the one hiding behind a veil and living in dreams. No, now she was laid bare, no longer the naïve girl she had once been. “I’m no longer the princess I was.”

The prince took her in for a moment, gaze traveling around her frame, noticing, she was sure, the royal way she still carried herself. But after a moment, he just nodded. “Leena then,” he said. “Why did you come?”

“I came for many reasons,” she began, gaze slipping to the floor as all those reasons overwhelmed her. Mikza, her lost love. Haydar, her innocent little brother turned cruel before her eyes. The dead mothers, invisible behind every princess. The slaves, disfigured and helpless against the king. Her very culture, each moment of beauty scarred by some hidden darkness. Many reasons, she thought, and then spoke aloud, “But they all combine to one—my father is an evil man and he must be stopped. I will not allow him to rule over any kingdom any longer.”

Whylrhen nodded. “I have experienced the wrath of King Razzaq myself, a fate you once saved me from. But is he not your father? Do you truly share no loyalty?”

Leena sighed. The prince didn’t understand. What he witnessed was just the surface of what her father was capable of, a passing image. He didn’t live with the fear every day. He didn’t live with the unending burden her people faced every morning when they woke up and every evening when they went to bed. The harsh reality of Ourthuri life.

“Do you love your family, Prince Whylrhen?” she asked.

The prince’s gaze narrowed, inquisitive. But his answer was without hesitation, instinctual in a way Leena’s never would be if asked the same question. “I do.”

Leena pried further, pushed it further, the only way to make him truly understand. “And your nephew, the future king? Do you love him? Would you do anything for him?”

“I would.” Again, without an ounce of uncertainty.

“Then you will never understand what it means to be Ourthuri,” Leena confessed, sighing as her voice gained the sharpness of the home she left behind, the one she desperately hoped to save. She continued in a whisper, fierce and strong. “It means we do not love, we fear. I have twelve sisters—not a single one would hesitate to kill me if they saw me now. I have one brother—a little boy I love more than anyone else alive in this world. But he is turning into a stranger before my eyes, no longer the caring toddler I once knew. No—my father is warping him, twisting him just like the gold bands that adorn his cold body, molding him into the proper shape. And I cannot stand idly by, watching as my kingdom is cursed to another harsh reign, another king who favors punishment above praise, another king who rules by fear.” Leena paused, breathing heavily, trying to regain her lost composure. “You are fighting a war to save your kingdom, and I am fighting one to save mine.”

But before the prince could respond, the sound of feet pounding against stone filtered to her ears. Leena turned only to find another Son of Whyl with burning red hair running toward her. And based on the information she had gleaned from Tam, there was only one other Son of Whyl who it could be. Whyllem, the king regent.

“Where is the second one? The slave?” he asked, panting to catch his breath.

Leena winced, looking at Rhen who already had his lips drawn in a thin line, fury blazing in his eyes. “There never was a slave,” he growled through gritted teeth. “The guards mistook Lady Jinji for an Ourthuri slave due to the scars around her wrists, but I released her and sent her back to her rooms.”

Leena couldn’t help but bite back a grin as Rhen described Jinji’s exit. Released her? It took all of Leena’s control not to raise her brow at him in mockery. But she didn’t have to, Whyllem didn’t hold back.

“That explains the guard with a bloody nose outside,” he drawled, trailing off for emphasis before turning to her, intrigued.

Leena stepped forward, curtsying. “I am Leena, former princess of Ourthuro, and I thank you for the protection the family of Whyl has offered me.”

The king regent took her in, brows raised, and turned to his brother. “Are we offering it?”

Leena gulped, closing her eyes tight for a moment to hide the dread that must be devouring them. If she wasn’t safe here, than she was as sure as dead because without the protection of the family of Whyl, King Razzaq would surely find her. And there was not a doubt in her mind that she would be given no mercy. In her father’s eyes, she was already dead. He would take no pain in killing her.

“We are,” Whylrhen spoke, authority oozing from the words. The king regent nodded slightly, accepting his brother’s statement as truth, and relief flooded Leena’s body—relief that she was safe, relief that she still might be able to save her people, relief that the hope of bringing an end to her father was still alive, and mostly relief that the two men in front of her were from Whylkin and not from Ourthuro. The unspoken bond they shared, the unbreakable trust, was not the way of the Ourthuri, but it had just saved her life.

Whyllem turned to her, hands clasped behind his back, the image of a king in his stark black overcoat, trimmed with blood red rubies. “Then allow me to be blunt. Can you help us win this war?”

Leena smiled. Finally. “A dear friend of mine was able to gather information for me before I left. It is not much, but I pray that it will help.”

“Anything will,” Whyllem commented darkly.

Was hope so lost? His tone already spoke of defeat.

Leena opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. She paused, taking a deep breath, realizing for the first time that up until this moment, she hadn’t done anything to directly betray her people. But giving up this information would result in Ourthuri deaths, would result in innocent lives being lost. Remembering her conversation with Tam weeks ago, she knew it was worth it. Innocent lives would be lost either way, but at least this way she might be able to end her father’s reign, she might be able to make a real difference for her people, to show them that love could be stronger than fear if they just gave it a chance.

“My father seeks an attack by sea above all else,” she said quietly, quickly, almost worried her voice wouldn’t come. But it did. And that gave her the strength to push through. “At least fifty ships wait in Da'astiku, leaving in a week's time if my information is correct. They will travel through the Straits, directing their attack on Rayfort. The lords of your homeland are camped outside, but they are not to engage until my father's ships arrive, until you are surrounded. And then the siege will begin in earnest, not ending, not slowing until the entire city is leveled or the family of Whyl has surrendered."

"How do they plan to make it through the Straits unharmed?” Whyllem asked, taking control over his brother, letting Whylrhen stand back and listen. “A third of our army waits on those cliffs, ready to attack from above."

“I know,” Leena admitted, voice rich with sympathy and sorrow. This was the part the Sons of Whyl had not seen coming, the part that would either break them or give them the strength to keep fighting. And she truly hoped it was the latter, for all of their sakes. "My father knows and they expect your men to be there. Only half of the land army waits outside your walls, and the other half was sent to resecure the Straits so the Ourthuri ships could pass freely. I'm not sure when they will arrive, but I expect it will be soon. And with the cliffs at their backs, your men will be surrounded. Knowing what I know of this kingdom, I doubt they will die without a fight—but they will die eventually."

The king regent cursed under his breath, fists clenching at his side. And then he looked up, expression blank and bare. “Rhen,” he said, sounding like stone, turning to his brother, “please take the princess to her new home and then meet me in the throne room. I need a few minutes alone to think."

Whylrhen did as he was told, taking her gently by the arm, leading her back from where she came, out to the green courtyard, so vibrant compared to the monotone golden walls she had grown up with. And the more they walked, the more Leena began to understand how far from home she really was. Trees. Flowers. Grass. All life too gentle for the harsh rocks of her home. This castle was a stone fortress crushing down paradise, and as she followed Rhen inside, she realized she might have protection in Rayfort, but she would never belong here. Every person they passed paused, snarling at her, eyeing her with mistrust, silently outcasting her and labeling her the enemy. They would never believe all she sacrificed to try to save them, and even if they did, she doubted it would change their minds. She was Ourthuri, other, foreign. Her tattoos were still a label she couldn’t outrun—they still held her hostage.

Eventually Rhen paused beside an open door, showing her inside. “These will be your rooms, Leena. A servant will be here shortly to help with anything you might need.”

And though he didn’t say it, she couldn’t help but wonder—her rooms or her cell? Had she just traded one cage for another?

As though sensing her thoughts, Rhen spoke softly as she passed him by, entering the rooms. “It will get easier.”

She paused, meeting his gaze, wondering if it was foolishness or hope that fueled his words. “How do you know that, Son of Whyl?”

“Because…” He trailed off with a shrug. “It has to.”

Leena smiled sadly, wishing those simple words could be true. “No, it doesn’t, Prince Whylrhen, things can always get worse. But you are right in a way—it will get easier. I know that in my heart.”

And somehow, after everything, after all the loss, she did. Her life was living proof that time only made things more difficult, that time only made things harder. And yet, her hope grew stronger every day, her love for her people, her will to keep fighting, her conviction.

Now it was the prince’s turn to look at her, to wonder what truth she had that he didn’t. “How?” he asked.

Mikza’s face came to the forefront of her thoughts. His caring umber eyes. His sturdy, calloused hands. His gentle lips. His soft fingertips. His unwavering heart. “Because I’m in love with an amazing man,” she whispered gently. “And though he is now no more than ash in the wind, his memory gives me the strength to do what I must.”

Before she broke down and let the tears on the edges of her eyes slip free, Leena slammed the door in the prince’s face, relishing her solitude. And then she walked to the window, opening it to let the breeze in and imagined the landscape before her was not a foreign one of rocks and trees and fields that stretched on as far as the eye could see. No, surprising even herself, she imagined she were home on her balcony, staring over gleaming metal to a sea that stretched for miles. And as the wind kissed her cheeks, Leena imagined it were Mikza, embracing her when she needed him most.

THREE

For the thirteenth morning in a row, Leena woke with the unmistakable urge to vomit. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself for the morning routine. Counting wooden slabs, dreaming of getting off this godforsaken ship.

And then she opened her eyes.

Blinked.

Remembered.

Shaking her head ever so slightly, Leena stared at the silk canopy overhead, the wooden four poster bed so different than the golden metal frame of the one she slept on at home. She looked to the window, to the blue sky floating over grassy fields. Glancing to the other side, she saw a wardrobe, and then a little farther an open door leading to a sitting room. White stone walls and not wooden slabs surrounded her.

What?

Leena sat up, confused. Surely seasickness would dissipate when one was no longer on the sea. Why on earth was she still nauseous?

But moving was the wrong way to go, and immediately her stomach flipped, recoiling, regurgitating, and Leena jumped from the soft mattress in search of a chamber pot. There. On a table beside her bed. She grabbed it with just enough time to get settled before the vomiting began in earnest. When it was over, she stood on wobbly feet, feeling far greener than the normal olive tone of her skin, and sat beside the window, drinking in fresh air.

And then the truth hit.

Leena gasped, widening her eyes, snapping her head up as the world faded away and all she could see before her eyes were numbers. Days and weeks, counting back. And she realized something—something that had been lost on her through all the mourning and the endless hours planning her escape.

She had not had her monthlies for quite some time.

More numbers.

More counting.

The last night she and Mikza had been together was the eve of her sister’s wedding, the night before they tried to escape. Weeks ago.

Slumping back against the cushions, Leena’s hands found her belly. Was it swollen? Was there a baby resting there, safe and warm, a little piece of Mikza she hadn’t lost? Tears came to her eyes, slipping free before she could stop them. But for the first time since she could remember, they were not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy. And a smile spread slowly across her cheeks, wobbly from the sheer force of her emotions.

Leena eased off the window seat, standing before the mirror in her nightgown, and pressed the fabric to her skin. Nothing looked different, but the awareness was there, a motherly affection rooted in hope and possibility, and she was certain beyond a doubt that she was with child. With Mikza’s child.

Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she glanced up only to find a shadow in the mirror, a phantom in the shape of a man, a figure just over her shoulder.

Gasping, Leena spun. But the room was empty.

She blinked. Shaking her head, dispelling the image. But at that exact moment, a gust of wind roared through the window, flinging the glass wide, sweeping over her things, and rustling the curtains. Leena smiled as the breeze caressed her cheeks, whipped around her body, blowing the nightgown this way and that. She closed her hand over the little golden ring circling her left finger, the one crudely shaped from the broken link of a guard’s uniform, the one she had only had the courage to slip on during her escape from Da’astiku, the one Mikza had given her in private as a sign of his devotion.

All the fear drained away.

Because she knew exactly who was with her. Mikza, ashes in the wind, sharing his joy in the only way he had left. And though it seemed crazy, perhaps impossible, Leena was well acquainted with magic. She knew nothing was ever as far-fetched as it might seem.

A thundering knock at the door broke the moment. Almost instantly, the wind died away, disappeared, which only acted to strengthen Leena’s belief.

“Princess?” a man called.

“Yes?” she called back, struggling to find her voice, throat still tight with unfelt emotions.

“The king has requested your presence in the throne room.”

Leena bit her lip, looking at the state of her hair, her clothes. “I require a few minutes to prepare myself.”

“I will wait.”

Cautiously, she walked to the wardrobe, hoping it wasn’t empty. At the sight of bright silks, she breathed a sigh of relief. Women’s clothes. But so very different from the ones she was accustomed to, with long sleeves, lacing up the back, wide and heavy skirts. The clothes of her homeland were simple, sleeveless and shapeless—it was the jewelry, the metal accents that really denoted status. Chewing on her cheek, she stared helplessly, not at all sure where to begin.

And then another knock sounded.

“Miss?” This time softer and more feminine.

Leena spent no time hesitating as she rushed to open the door, thankful for the slightest bit of help. But immediately, she knew no companionship waited in the hall, just orders.

The woman stepped inside, eyes narrow, lips clipped, and got to work. Without so much as a hello, she strode to the wardrobe, pulling out an orange gown—the one color Leena hated against her skin. Perhaps it was growing up around so much honey gold, but orange just reminded her of rust, metal gone sour. And for a moment, she wondered if the maid did it on purpose. She couldn’t help but ask the question again as the strings at the back of the gown were pulled tight, stealing the breath from her chest, completely restricting her movement. But the maid assured her that was how the dress was meant to be worn.

When it was done, Leena stood before the mirror, unrecognizable to her own eyes. Sleeves dripped past her fingertips, completely covering her tattoos—something that was illegal in Da’astiku. The skirt stretched far beyond the edge of her toes, weighing her down with the excess layers. Her waist was cinched in, unnaturally so, binding so tight her breath came out airy. The shoes were hard with a heel at the back, not at all like the comfortable sandals she was used to. Her hair was braided and tucked, pinned, and there was no veil to cover her eyes.

Different.

That was all Leena thought.

Everything was different here. And she wanted to go home. But she knew she couldn’t, and perhaps never would.

Before she had time to think anymore, she was ushered from the room and transferred into the hands of the guard stationed outside. He, too, did not speak to her, did not even offer a mumbled “good day”. So Leena followed suit, remaining silent by his side as they traversed the unfamiliar stone hallways, closed in and claustrophobic, nothing like the sweeping rooms and endless columns of the golden palace. Everything here was heavy somehow, the castle, the dim light, the draping tapestries. Whereas everything at home had seemed light.

But upon entering the throne room, even Leena had to admit the sight was impressive. The massive carved throne. The expansive window behind, offering a view that stretched over the entire city and out to the sea beyond. And the man on the throne was no less impressive than the sight behind him, face grooved with a deep frown and piercing, thoughtful eyes. And on his head, a gilded crown, dripping with precious stones. On his shoulders, a rich crimson cape, sparkling with embroidered diamonds, flowing blood red over the edge of the seat. And underneath, a stark black overcoat, a powerful reminder of who he really was. A king regent, and not a king.

She curtsied, bowing deeply, only reminded by the scene how little power she had left in the world. How little power she had always had. “King Whyllem,” she said, still looking at the floor. Then she stood, meeting his mysterious gaze, noting the sorrow there. “You asked for me?”

“Princess,” he said, voice echoing across the empty hall. The word filled the space, bouncing all around her, and Leena couldn’t help but wince. The king noticed. “Do you not like to be called princess? It is what you are, after all.”

“It is what I was,” she murmured.

Whyllem just shook his head, eyeing her sadly. “Perhaps that is what you’d like to believe, but blood never lies.” And then he stood, walking slowly to her side and taking her by the arm, gently guiding her to the window. “If I can be so bold, I wish to speak with you freely, one royal to another, one human to another.”

Leena scrunched her eyes, growing more curious by the second. But her only response was to nod silently, flicking her gaze from the view, to the man, and back again, unsure where to settle her eyes.

“I have sent my brother and Lady Jinji away. Somewhere, out there on the White Stone Sea, is a meager little boat holding the last hope of my dynasty.”

Leena inhaled slowly, trying her best to remain calm, because she understood the deeper meaning to those words. Whyllem had lost all hope. He believed the city was lost, that his family was lost, and that sending Whylrhen into hiding was the only prayer left to keep the line of Whyl alive. Blood never lied. He was correct in that regard.

And still, she wanted to hear it from his lips, to hear that all of her trials, all of the hardships she had overcome to travel to this foreign kingdom, all of it had been for naught.

“Have you lost all hope, then?”

“Kings don’t have the luxury of hope,” he said, gaze still plastered on the horizon. And then a tremor ran through his body, ever so slight. He turned to her. “And neither do you, Princess. You have a choice to make. Because there is another meager boat in the harbor prepared to take you away, as thanks for all you have done to try to help my family. You can stand here with us and hope, or you can run and live. The choice is yours.”

Leena gulped, overwhelmed.

Hope or despair.

Stay or run.

Live or die.

And then she remembered that the choice was not only hers to make, it was theirs to make. And she pressed her hand to her stomach, imagining the innocent soul resting peacefully within her womb. Twisting the simple gold band around her finger, she let herself get lost in thought. What were her choices really?

To leave? Wouldn’t that mean certain death, too? If her father won, if he gained control of both kingdoms, there would be no place secret enough to escape from his power. No place safe. What kind of life would that be for her, for her child? Always running, always hiding, always afraid. It was the very life Mikza had always been petrified Leena would be destined to have, the single excuse he always gave when they used to plan their escape in the dark hours of the night, safe to dream impossible dreams. What would he say now?

Leena imagined him here, his sturdy arms hugging her waist, her back pressed close to his stomach, completely wrapped up in his love. Mikza’s strong solid hands resting gently over hers, as close as they could be to his child. He would kiss her neck softly, and then he would whisper in her ear, the gentle caress sending a shiver down her back. And what would those words be?

To stay? To fight?

Once upon a time, they had both chosen to run. And look where they were now. Mikza murdered, Leena dead in the eyes of her people, a traitor too. What would running bring her this time?

She stepped forward, placing her palm against the window, truly taking in the city down below. The buildings were entirely different, the customs, the culture, everything. Was this to be the scene of her final hours, her final battle? If she were destined to die one way or another, wouldn’t she rather die fighting? Wouldn’t Mikza?

“I will stay,” Leena whispered.

The king inhaled sharply, somewhat shocked she was sure. “You’ve surprised me, Princess. My brother fought to stay with every argument possible, and I challenged him every step of the way, demanding he leave. But you are not under my command, so I will not force your hand.” And then he paused. Leena could feel his eyes on her, the respect in his gaze. “May I ask why you choose to stay, defending a city full of people you’ve always considered enemies?”

“It is not just for them,” Leena said, one palm pressed against her still flat stomach. “It is for my people, the ones who suffer every day under the rule of my father. It is for the people who would suffer here should he gain control of your kingdom. It is for the hope that the war is not over, that we still have a chance. For the hope that one day, I’ll be able to return home, to a kingdom changed, to a kingdom that has tossed cruelty to the side and replaced it with love. You may call me naïve, or young, or in over my head, but hope is all I have left, so I cannot abandon it. I can only trust it.”

And unspoken, but at the forefront of her thoughts, Leena knew it was for the unborn child within. The one she only just realized she carried, but had already come to mean everything in the world. The one she wanted to raise in a loving household, not constantly running for her life. The one she hoped would grow up proud to be Ourthuri, proud of her heritage and her home, not disgraced by it as Leena had always been. All of the changes she had once hoped to see for herself were now all the changes she needed to see for her child. And for Mikza, for the strength he still gave her, and to honor all the dreams the two of them were only ever confident enough to dream together.

“You are much stronger than I ever guessed, Princess,” Whyllem murmured by her side.

“Why?” Leena smiled, turning to him. “Because I’m Ourthuri or because I’m a woman?”

Both.

The word hung unsaid between them, but Leena saw the answer in the depths of his irises. Surprise. Wonderment. Approval. And to her shock, a hint of envy too.

“Should we find a way out of this war and a way to bring King Razzaq to his knees, I would be happy to begin a new age between our two kingdoms. To broker a peace with you and to put you back on the throne of your homeland.”

Leena shook her head. “My brother will be king, I just hope to teach him a new way of thinking, a new way to rule, to open his eyes to the possibilities my father will never let him see.”

“Perhaps by the time my nephew Whyllean grows to be king, he’ll find it hard to imagine a time when Whylkin and Ourthuro were not the greatest of allies.”

Leena smiled at the dark humor in Whyllem’s tone, understanding that he didn’t truly believe the words to be true. But deep in her heart, she did. Instead of fighting, she met his gaze, infusing hope and lightness in her tone. “Perhaps.”

And they stood like that for a while, two different royals, imagining two different worlds, but dreaming beyond a doubt for the same future.

FOUR

Hours later, hiding in her rooms, Leena was summoned again. This time for something far more intimidating than a private meeting with the king—no, this time she was called upon to attend dinner as the guest of honor, called upon to sit before all the nobles in Whylkin as they passed judgment, a rabbit in a den of wolves.

Before the maid arrived, Leena scoured the closet in search of an outfit of her own choosing. No more orange—not for an event like this, not when she needed courage and confidence above all else. Rich auburn with a folded and layered skirt? Deep sapphire with long and flowing sleeves? Burnt umber with a low and daring neckline?

And then Leena saw a dress pushed to the very far corner of the closet, the barest flash of violet catching her eye, and she dug, pulling the silks from the depths. Amethyst had always been her favorite gemstone, and since Leena had not a single jewel to her name, why not wear one on her body? With one tug, Leena knew she had made the perfect choice. It was as though the garment had been made for her. The sleeves, though long in the Whylkin style, had slits cut to the elbow, high enough to reveal her Ourthuri tattoos. The skirts were full but light without needless under layers adding excess weight. And the color shone beautifully against her golden olive skin, bringing out the highlights in her eyes. When the maid arrived, Leena was already halfway into the gown, and the woman just wordlessly tied up the laces. Armed for battle in the only way a woman could be, Leena let the guard show her the way.

As she paused before the towering door of the dining hall, she couldn’t help but suck in one long, slow breath. But before doubts and nerves could overtake her senses, she charged forward, trying her best to ignore the hush that fell across the room. Every click of her Whylkin heeled shoes reverberated around the walls, every whisper was heightened to a scream, every glare like a knife in her back. Until she stopped before the king regent, and absolute silence took over. The entire room hung still, waiting.

Whyllem stood, gesturing to the open seat at the far end of the royal table, and waited for Leena to take her seat before announcing to the room, “Please welcome Princess Leenaka of Ourthuro, a woman who risked very much to come to our aid.”

Immediately, a roar rose, the instant buzz of ignited conversation. Leena shut her eyes for a moment, and then resolutely opened them, folding her hands on her lap. She met every glare with a pleasant smile of her own. Inside, they cut. Inside, they stung. Inside, the rejection was overwhelming—the sense of other, of outsider, of knowing she would never be welcomed here, even if it had become her new home. But outside, Leena plastered a serene smile to her lips, the same one she had used many times in the ballroom of the golden palace. Only this time, as she looked to the back wall, there was no familiar face to warm her cold heart, no Mikza to make the time pass quickly, to tear her mind from the pain.

Except there was something she didn’t expect to see.

A boy, probably around her own age, watching her with a soft expression. No anger, no accusation. Almost with pity. Almost with affection. Leena couldn’t help but notice that he sat on his own, at the far corner of the room, no friends to keep him company. In fact, the next closest person at the table was squished as far away as possible, uncomfortably near the man on her other side. The boy grinned at Leena, as though both of them were in on the joke. And maybe they were, though she didn’t quite understand. But after another moment, before Leena could figure it out, he looked away, eyes flicking to her left, to the king, before settling on an empty spot on the other side of the room.

Leena twisted the ring around her finger, thinking of Mikza, unable to ignore the coincidence. What were the chances that the spot he had always stood guard in the golden palace, a direction her eyes were always unconsciously drawn to, would be the same spot of the only compassionate face in Whylkin? Was it a message? A sign? A warning?

Still holding onto that modest ring, the only metal she had left to her name, Leena turned to the woman by her side, hoping for light conversation to distract her wayward thoughts.

She was met with Queen Katrina’s backside.

Leena glanced around the older woman, only to see Whyllem’s animated face in the middle of the story, paying her no attention. Judging from the subtle twist of the queen’s body, the way her legs were pushed to the other side, Leena knew she was not planning on turning around soon. No, it was clear the queen had no intention of welcoming an Ourthuri even if her son did.

Leena kept her gaze down, waiting for a plate to be produced, already aware that the meal would inch along at an agonizing pace. And it did. Her wine sat unfilled for three passes of the servants, until she finally quietly asked for more. Each course was cold by the time it was placed before her. Her knife was the dullest she imagined the castle owned. And the queen never once turned around, leaving Leena with only her thoughts for conversation.

Resolutely letting her sleeves fall to the floor, Leena pushed her wrists through the slits up the side so the crowd could gawk at her tattoos, ebony against her already foreign skin. Odd that for most of her life, Leena had cursed those very tattoos, wishing beyond anything else to cover them. And now that she could hide them, she was stubbornly determined to show them off, to put her otherness defiantly on display, silently daring the people around her to second-guess their king.

As the last plate was cleared, Leena breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she could retreat to her rooms. Finally, she could be alone. But then a shadow passed over the table, stopping before her.

“Princess?” a warm voice asked.

At the tone, Leena glanced up, curious. It was the boy from before, looking far more like a man from such close proximity. He stood near enough now for her to see that his kind eyes were the shimmering color of bronze, glittering with excitement. The metallic hue reminded her the slightest bit of home, and that was enough to hold her attention.

He stepped forward, aware of her silent approval. “Princess Leenaka, may I introduce myself. Lord Calen,” he said softly with a bow. There was a morose undertone to his words she didn’t quite understand. “The Lord of Roninhythe.”

The title sounded familiar, but she wasn’t sure from where. The city was the second largest in Whylkin and she recognized the name, but an itch in the back of her mind told Leena it was something else, some other reason.

Unable to produce the answer, she nodded slightly, murmuring, “How can I help you, Lord Calen?”

“I was hoping you might take a walk with me, if I may be so bold. I would love to know more about your homeland.”

Leena scrunched her brows, intrigued and unable to stop the corners of her lips from rising. But then the hairs on her arms stood too, suddenly aware the two of them had gained the attention of the room. Glancing to the side, Leena caught the eyes of the king, surprised to see he watched with approval. The other stares, however, were filled with a very opposite emotion.

“Lord Calen,” Whyllem spoke, letting his voice carry, “please escort the princess back to her rooms.”

The man Calen bowed to his king and then turned to her, raising his arm, offering it to her. Leena wasn’t sure if it were him or just the thought of leaving the dining hall that had her so excited, but there was a bounce to her step as she stood—one she hadn’t felt in a while. Placing her arm through his elbow, Leena let the boy lead her silently down the center aisle and out the door.

The second they crossed the threshold, both of their bodies slackened, relaxed. Out of her peripheral, Leena caught his slumping shoulders and the subtle frown that crossed over his lips. He noticed her attention and turned to her with a friendly smile.

“I’ve never truly enjoyed dinner in the main hall of Rayfort,” he said quietly, leading her through the corridor to a destination that remained unknown. “But ever since the fight, I’ve enjoyed it even less.”

The fight? Leena thought. And then she remembered—the start of the war. The rebellion against the family of Whyl, the one she once feared had killed Prince Whylrhen, the one Tam divulged to her in secret. The Whylkin lords rebelled against their king, nearly ending the war before it even began. And they were led by…

“The Lord of Roninhythe,” she murmured.

And then Leena looked up. Calen flinched at the recognition in her gaze.

“You said you’re the Lord of Roninhythe?” she asked softly. “But isn’t he, didn’t he—”

“I see my family’s fame has spread beyond the Dueling Sea,” Lord Calen muttered with a heavy sigh. “The man you are thinking of is my father, the former Lord of Roninhythe. But he sacrificed his title the moment he turned traitor to his people, to his kingdom.”

And suddenly everything made sense. Leena thought back to the dining hall, to the circle of empty space surrounding Lord Calen. The sins of the father had unwittingly become the sins of the son. He was tainted, just like her. Ostracized, just like her. Outsider, just like her. Except these were his people, this was his home, and yet they had banished him just the same. Was this the fate that would await her if she ever returned to Da’astiku? Would anyone ever understand her choices, would they understand her vision for a better life, or would they just push her to the side without a second thought, treat her as an invisible ghost who would go away if ignored long enough?

Leena glanced at Calen, seeing the despair behind his gaze for the first time, and she tightened her fingers against his forearm, catching his attention with a slight smile. “Is that why you asked to walk with me, Lord Calen? Because our fathers have cursed both of our fates?”

He just lifted the corner of his lip. “Truthfully? I just wanted someone to talk to, and it looked like you did too. You may call me Cal, by the way.”

“Leena,” she said with a very unprincess-like shrug. If he hadn’t judged her on anything else, she doubted he would care about the lack in decorum. Especially as he ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair, a very casual display of unease. Leena sensed words on the tip of his tongue, but then he swallowed them away.

Instead, he asked, “Would you like a bit of fresh air, Leena? There’s a balcony nearby, on the way to the guest corridor. We could stop for a moment.”

Suddenly, fresh air sounded like the most amazing idea in the world. “Sure.”

They walked in silence. Cal opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened again, fidgety by her side. And for the life of her, Leena couldn’t understand why. When they reached the balcony, he dropped her arm, stepping to the very edge to look over the grounds below. Leena followed, eyes on the full moon, searching for a watery reflection. And out in the distance she saw it, silvery sparkles dancing at the edge of sight. The moon and the water, at least, looked the same no matter where she was in the world. One constant in the never-ending change.

“You know, before this war, I was very strict about following the rules,” Cal suddenly said by her side. His hands were folded over the edge of the stone, and his eyes were on the ebony horizon. She wondered what he saw there.

“Is this against the rules?” she asked, still watching him watch nothing.

He exhaled sharply, almost like a brief laugh, and his untamed hair fell just over his shoulders. “Standing with a beautiful woman, outside in the shadows, not a chaperone in sight? Yes, it’s against the rules.”

Leena just shrugged. “I’ve never quite cared for rules.”

At that, he looked at her. She couldn’t help but notice how the moon reflected off his pale skin, so very different from the golden tone of her own. “No, I would guess not. Rhen is my best friend in the world, and he told me about you. The golden goddess who saved him from King Razzaq’s clutches.”

Leena snorted—definitely unprincess-like. “Golden goddess? How would Prince Whylrhen know? He was barely conscious during the rescue. And it was Jinji who did most of the work.”

Cal smirked. “Oh, don’t fret. Rhen has told me about Lady Jinji too. He has a way of steering conversation back in her direction.”

“They’re both gone, you know,” Leena commented, not sure if she was allowed to divulge what the king regent had told her. But she did anyway. Like she’d said, she was never truly one to follow rules. “Whylrhen and Jinji. King Whyllem sent them away, sent them to safety.”

Cal shrugged, eyes holding no surprise. “I guessed as much when he wasn’t at dinner. Whyllem has told the people Rhen is in search of magic to keep the enemy at bay, that he will use his fire powers to save us all, but I know the truth—Rhen would never leave this city unless he was ordered to do so, unless he was sent strictly away. In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he were doing something heroically idiotic at this very moment.”

Leena grinned—heroically idiotic. Though she had known Whylrhen for a very short amount of time, mostly watching from the shadows as he raised his sword against her father, defiantly ready to take King Razzaq down single-handed, she couldn’t help but think that description was incredibly accurate.

Cal nudged her, raising his brows. “You know it’s true.”

“I do,” she conceded.

“And I’m guessing Whyllem offered you the same deal. Rumors spread that you were in the throne room this morning. Of course, the court gossips would like to believe you’re a temptress sent from Ourthuro to ensnare our very new, very single king regent.”

Leena gasped. “They do? But I’m not, I wouldn’t, I—”

“I know,” Cal interrupted with a laugh.

“I came here, betraying my people, to give your king information about how my father intends to win this war. That is all.”

“And you stay here, why?” His bronze eyes pierced, growing intense.

Leena bit her lip, suddenly realizing she had told this Cal a lot already, far more open with him than she had been with anyone in a while. And yet, she enjoyed the conversation. She wasn’t quite ready for it to end. “My father is cruel. I want his reign of terror to end, and then I want to return home, to teach my brother a better way. Why do you stay? Why don’t you fight with your father?”

“Because Whylkin is my home, a Son of Whyl is my best friend, the king is just an innocent newborn babe, and though I’m sure my father tells himself he acts for the good of his people, this war is a selfish war, as most are. Our kingdom is far stronger united.”

He is a good person, she thought, understanding the earnest tone to his words, the truth with which they rang. But she remained quiet. They both did. And after a while in comfortable, companionable silence, Cal offered to bring her back to her rooms.

“I very much enjoyed spending time with you, Princess,” he said as they paused outside her door. “Would you walk with me again sometime soon?”

Leena turned to meet his gaze, suddenly afraid by the affection shining there. Affection she hoped was nothing more than friendly. Yet when he reached out to touch her hand, Leena did not pull away. His skin was smooth and comforting. His touch was a nice sort of warm. And her heart, in that moment, beat a little bit faster.

Cal raised her palm to his lips, but paused half the way there. Following his gaze, she found his eyes focused on her ring.

“Are you promised to someone?” he asked softly.

Leena closed her eyelids as her whole body turned stiff. The past hour suddenly seemed wrong, like an affront to Mikza’s memory, like a new sort of betrayal—one she had never experienced, one that coiled her stomach and turned her tongue sour.

She snatched her hand from his grasp, turning cold. “I was.”

Cal grasped the meaning of her tone. But it did not stop him from asking, “You still wear his ring?”

Leena met his comforting bronze eyes, far softer than the metals of her home even if the hue matched. But there was only one brown gaze meant for her eyes, meant for her dreams, and those eyes were a dark umber, brimming over with passion. “I will always wear his ring.”

Cal blinked, unable to completely hide the disappointment in his gaze. Leena’s chest pinched, but it was better to be honest, to be truthful. She was in love with Mikza, she would always be in love with Mikza, and her heart would never belong to another. Especially now. Especially knowing that Mikza was still alive in a way, his baby growing deep within her womb. And Cal deserved to know that she would be his friend but nothing else, nothing further.

“So, will you walk with me tomorrow?” Cal asked again, and Leena grasped the hidden meaning in those words. Would she be his friend? After all, that was what they both needed most.

“I will.”

Before Cal could take her hand again, Leena slipped through the door, closing it silently behind her.

FIVE

Now that she was not alone, the days passed quickly. At first, Cal would only walk with her, chatting about the differences between their two kingdoms, of childhood memories, of Prince Whylrhen and his many quests. Occasionally about the future, but not often because it was too difficult to think of any possibility aside from one—that their side would win. So they together imagined victory and never pondered defeat.

Leena did not speak of Mikza, did not mention their child, and did not mention her powers. Those three were off limits, were secrets held close to her heart. But when she was alone, those three topics consumed her thoughts. Here in Whylkin she had no private pool to hide beneath, no place where she could go to escape, to let the gentle purr of the water quiet her tumultuous mind. So her time with Cal was her only distraction from the yearning—for Mikza and for the water.

But something had changed today.

It was Leena’s fault really, for being a little too honest in her storytelling the day before. Cal had asked for the tale of her daring escape from Da’astiku, and caught up in the joy of the stories he had already spun, Leena forgot to exclude Tam’s attack. Almost casually, she told Cal of how her friend had almost killed her, not mentioning the shadow or the blankness of his eyes as he approached. Still, Cal had stopped in his tracks, jaw dropping and eyes sharp.

“What?” she had asked, taking in the hard edges of his face—ones she had never seen on him before.

“You must learn how to defend yourself,” he’d said, voice as unbreakable as metal.

And though she tried to protest, the sounds had fallen on deaf ears. In fact, they only strengthened his resolve. She was a foreigner in enemy territory, a woman stuck in the epicenter of a war, a traitorous princess her people would want dead—and that wasn’t even counting what Cal didn’t know, that the shadow Jinji had mentioned was after people like her, people with special ties to the elements. So, in a way, Leena guessed Cal was right. A few lessons couldn’t hurt, even if they were improper and unladylike. The time for decorum had long since ended, for her anyway.

Which was how Leena found herself here, in an empty room in the castle, holding a knife as Cal circled, adjusting her arms and her grip, teaching her the proper stance for facing a foe. He had spent all morning teaching her escape tactics, how to get out of different holds a man might use to trap her, how to form a fist to punch, where to hit a man to make him go down just long enough to give her time to run. Her long legs made her quick, and though she was stubborn, she wasn’t an idiot—if a trained soldier tried to kill her, running was the only option she had.

And now, he was teaching her how to use the little knife he had given her this morning, just small enough to strap invisibly to her thigh beneath a dress.

“Hold it like this,” he murmured, eyes focused on her fingers as he moved them around. “And your other hand should be here, ready behind to block the blade from cutting your body should an attacker shove the weapon toward your throat.” He moved her other arm, lifting and twisting it around the front of her body. “And your legs should be balanced, if anything leaning slightly forward so you won’t stumble back during an attack.” He grabbed her ankle through the few layers of her dress, adjusting it.

From the side, Leena caught a quick look of disgust as someone passed by, watching them. It was not the first, and she assumed it would not be the last. Cal had said he was a rule follower, but based on everything she had seen, he cared little for the laws of court. All morning, they had been far closer than a woman and man should be allowed. His hands constantly touching her, adjusting her limbs. But his eyes were serious and determined, not at all swayed by passions. He was training her, and nothing else, nothing untoward no matter what the people in the castle thought. And truth be told, Leena cared little for what they thought. If these people were to judge her either way, she may as well learn to defend herself in the process.

“And where would I cut to do the most damage?” she asked, easing her posture, muscles growing stiff from exertion.

Cal pursed his lips. “Well, anywhere an attacker leaves open. But the best places are the throat and wrists for bleeding out. If you can catch the back of someone’s ankles, they will be seriously injured. The stomach will do the same. You might think to go for someone’s chest, but with so many bones there, I think you would only lose your weapon rather than seriously injure a foe.”

Leena tried not to wince, picturing the gruesome images. But the information might prove vital in the future.

“And—” she began, but before she could finish, the distant sound of howling horns filled the air, getting louder and louder by the second.

Cal stopped instantly, body alert.

“What?” Leena asked, sure it was an alarm of some sort, like the bells of Da’astiku. “What is it?”

Cal turned to her, expression pained. “Follow me.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. The rest of the castle was frantic with movement, so they were barely noticed as they raced down the halls. Leena only began to recognize her surroundings as they neared the front entrance, hurrying down the sweeping grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. No one stopped Cal as he led them outside, across the courtyard, and up another staircase—this time leading to the top of the defensive wall. A few guards glanced at them, cautious and wary, but no one said a word—not when to question them would be to indirectly question their king. If Whyllem said they were to be trusted, they were to be trusted, outwardly at least.

Cal only began to slow as the turquoise sea slipped into view, bright against the sunny sky.

“The gods,” he gasped, and then glanced at her, biting the next curse about to spill from his lips. “Sorry, Princess.”

Leena shook her head, unconcerned, and followed his line of sight, confused. “Wha—” And then she gasped too. Because she finally saw what he saw, why the horns were blowing.

The horizon glittered with gold.

At first, Leena had thought it was just the sun reflecting on the water, but now she saw the difference. Saw the distant outline of ships, of Ourthuri ships. The gold. The battering rams. The constantly churning oars manned by the unmarked.

“My father,” she said, tone laced with terror.

And with those two words, Leena broke.

“My father,” she whispered, barely more than a frightened breath, but it said it all. Gripping the stone wall until her nail beds turned white, her eyes remained glued to the gold line growing larger by the second. Her vision tunneled as her breath came quick and her heart began to race.

For some reason, Leena truly believed Whylkin would find a way. That they would stop her father in the Straits, that this city would protect her and keep her safe.

Fate.

Luck.

Both had been leading her here, Leena was sure of it. But suddenly, that faith waned, weakened.

My baby, Leena whimpered, legs beginning to give out beneath her, our baby. Had she doomed her own child to death? Why hadn’t she run? Why had she chosen to believe? Hope was for fools. Like Whyllem had said, hope was a luxury royals couldn’t afford to have.

“Princess?” Cal murmured by her side, arm coming around her waist as her strength failed and she slipped. Turning to him with wide eyes, Leena grabbed the front of his vest, holding herself upright.

“Please, take me to the water,” she blurted, knowing how odd it would sound and hating the weak tone of her voice, a tone too reminiscent of the naïve princess she thought she had left behind.

I’m no longer that girl, she thought, cocooning herself in calm despite the turmoil racing through her body, the panic, the anxiety. All the fears she never let herself see were suddenly pushing to the front of her mind, overwhelming her. But she wouldn’t let them win. She was stronger than any doubts ever could be.

Breathing deeply, brought back to reality, Leena regained her balance, releasing Cal as he looked on with concern.

“The water?” he asked.

“Please,” she said, much more composed. “I know you don’t understand, I know it sounds absurd, but I need to swim.”

His expression was still perplexed, but though he opened his mouth to ask a further question, he shut it without making a sound. Turning his gaze back to the sea, he pursed his lips, gazing intently at the horizon, letting the seconds stretch by. Finally, he turned to her. “I know a short cut to the White Stone Sea. Rhen and I discovered it as boys, but I’m not sure if it’s the best thing to take you there.”

“Why?” she asked, leaning forward.

“Because an army of enemy ships approaches, and they’ll be here sooner than you might think. Despite what you’ve come to know about me, I am normally the one trying to deter my friends from making reckless decisions. I’m not often the one participating in them.”

“Please, Cal,” she whispered, placing her hand over his, squeezing slightly. And even though she didn’t want to slip back into her old habits of flirting to get her way, Leena couldn’t help but widen her eyes just a little and bat her lush eyelashes.

He visibly weakened, narrowing his gaze, weighing the options.

Leena leaned a little closer. Her heart had returned to normal, the momentary panic attack had subsided, though the dread still waited just below her skin. But it wasn’t just the calmness the water brought, the ability to think, to revive her hope. It was something more—the knowledge that it might be her last time in the sea. The Ourthuri were here. The attack would begin in earnest tomorrow. They would likely win, and they would likely kill her. And if all of that happened, Leena would like to know she at least had a few more minutes of joy, a few more minutes in the only place that had ever made her feel safe—beneath a cool blue surface, shut off from the rest of the world. The memory would provide solace during the battle to come.

And just as she was about to give up, to sit back and tell Cal she could always find her own way back to the docks, he visibly relented, dropping his shoulders with a sigh.

“Follow me.”

She did, without uttering a word, too afraid that anything she might say would change his mind.

Cal led her back down the wall, around the side of the castle to a garden she couldn’t recall seeing before. Bright flowers painted the lush green, almost too beautiful to be real. And yet, the area was vacant, not another person in sight. For a moment, Leena wished her people were here to see this, to see a garden be treated as something normal, as something so common it was nothing special, nothing to admire with utter astonishment. In Da’astiku, a rosebud might cost as much as a new silk dress. In her home, an unmarked might lose his hand for letting her father’s private garden grow brown. Or he might lose something worse, his life.

“Leena?” Cal asked.

She hadn’t even realized she had stopped moving, pausing instead to brush her fingertips across a soft, peachy petal, marveling at its beauty. Leena turned with a sad smile—even Cal had no idea what a luxury this was, what a luxury the soil beneath his feet was. But now was not the time to explain it.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, letting her hand fall away, turning to continue following him.

Cal waited a second, eyes intense, but then let it go and led her forward. At the back edge of the garden rested an unusual tree Leena had never seen before. The branches were soft and billowy, swaying with the breeze as they hung toward the ground, almost like a curtain of pale sage leaves. Cal brushed them aside, letting Leena enter the alcove first, and then he followed, letting the curtain fall back, hiding them from the world.

“It’s a willow tree,” he said, smiling at her awe. “You don’t have these back home?”

Leena just shook her head, whispering, “No.”

“Come on.”

Cal ran his hands along the white stone wall hiding behind the branches, searching for something Leena didn’t see. And then suddenly she did. A door swung open, a dark hole against the white.

“How?”

Cal raised his brows, teasing, and then showed her the lever he pulled to open it. “Rhen and I found it as boys when we were trying to hide from the Master Knights. He’d convinced me to help him prank the other squires and dump bird feed in their sleeping quarters.” Cal paused, grinning. “We were in such trouble.” He shook his head. “We were hiding beneath the willow, when we both noticed this lever. We were going to get punished either way, so we figured we might as well go on an adventure first. Well, Rhen figured, and I was too nervous to stay and get caught all by myself.”

“Where does it lead?” Leena asked, peering through the shadows but unable to see anything.

Cal shrugged, eyes dancing. “Do you want to find out?”

She grinned, nodding.

Cal entered first, reaching to the wall for a torch Leena hadn’t seen. Then he patted the floor, sighing when he found whatever he was searching for. A moment later, flames burst to life before her eyes, illuminating the corridor. With one more glance in her direction, perhaps to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing, Cal disappeared into the passage, and Leena hurried to catch up. Every so often, they would make a turn in the dark. But all of the stones looked the same, all of the halls were a maze to Leena, who was so confused she could hardly tell her right from her left, let alone the direction they were going.

“How do you know your way?” she asked after ten minutes of silence.

Cal didn’t respond, and for a moment she thought he was ignoring her, but as they approached the next divide, he stopped.

“Do you see these white markings?” Cal asked, holding the torch close to the wall. And sure enough, Leena saw the arrow marker, smiling just slightly. “Rhen and I put them there so we would know where to go. After getting lost so many times, we decided to take action.”

And for the rest of the way, Leena kept her gaze glued to the stones, searching for the markers with Cal, excited to be doing something other than sitting in her room and waiting for fate to lead her forward. And then they reached a dead end.

Leena frowned.

“Where now?” she murmured.

But she saw the answer a second before Cal’s hand reached forward—another lever. A moment later, bright sun invaded her vision. But more than that, vibrant blue.

Leena jumped forward, breathing in the fresh air.

They were beyond the city. Beyond the last defensive wall.

Leena slipped off her shoes, letting her toes sink into the sand beneath her feet, spinning around to look at the white wall towering overhead. They were on a beach just outside of Rayfort, drenched in privacy where no one could find them. To one side the wall, to one side the water, to one side a long stretch of loose sand, and behind a tall cliff of rough stone.

“That path is the only way to reach this beach from the city, unless one is crazy enough to attempt to climb down the cliff,” Cal said, shrugging. Leena couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t followed her. He was still standing just inside the door, watching from a distance. “The only other way is to row a boat from the docks, which are on the opposite end of Rayfort.”

“It’s amazing.” Leena sighed, unable to contain the sense of freedom bubbling through her. On a whim, she raised her arms to either side, spinning, letting the wind wash over her, letting the sun warm her skin. And then she stopped, turning back to Cal. “Aren’t you coming?”

He shook his head.

Leena couldn’t wait any longer. She took off at a run, splashing through the gentle waves, not caring as her dress soaked through, as the salt stung her skin. Within moments, she was diving below the surface, reveling in the smooth liquid caressing her body, relishing the soft purr life took on beneath the water. She wanted to stay forever, to just sink to the sand and never return to the world above. If only she could. But Leena knew better. Taking a few more seconds to herself, to hug her stomach, to let the calmness rush over her, Leena burst to the surface. As soon as her eyes adjusted, she gasped.

He looked so much like Mikza, just for an instant while the world was blurred. Standing at the edge of the surf, watching over her protectively. So many times, Leena had broken through the surface of her private pool to see Mikza doing the same, just regarding her warmly, safely. No matter how many times she asked him to join her in the water, he wouldn’t. Too suspicious. Too dangerous. Too hard to explain should someone find them.

But Cal wasn’t Mikza. Mikza was gone. And this was a different world.

“Come in!” Leena shouted, voice barely carrying over the rumble of the waves. He shook his head. But she wasn’t going to accept a no, not this time. If they were both going to be dead in a matter of days, he deserved to have a little fun first. They both did.

Dipping below the surface, Leena swam and swam, sneaking up on Cal, using her magic to stay out of sight. And just when the depth got too shallow, she jumped up, using all of her strength to send the water soaring in his direction.

Cal tried to run, but it was no use. The splash landed true, soaking his shirt. Leena kept going, not stopping until he was completely drenched.

“That’s it,” he murmured.

Leena tried to escape before he could retaliate, but she was giggling mercilessly and couldn’t compose herself fast enough to get away. He wrapped an arm around her waist, much stronger than she realized, and tossed her easily into the water. When she rose again, huffing and ready for vengeance, Leena heard something so beautiful it stopped her in her tracks—a deep baritone laugh that drowned out the horns still booming overhead.

Outside, the Ourthuri were creeping closer, on the brink of attack. Inside, the people of Whylkin were readying their defense. But on this little stretch of private beach, secluded from the rest of the world, time stopped for a little while—just long enough for two outcasts to forget their troubles, to forget their fears, and find a brief moment of belonging to hold onto.

SIX

Leena didn’t see Cal after that.

After the beach, Cal had dropped her off at her rooms, unable to say the word they were both afraid to hear. Goodbye. Yet Leena hadn’t seen him since that brief understanding gaze they shared. And the next morning she woke to the boom of stones being ripped apart. For three days, she sat here by the window, watching the city around her fall to pieces.

The siege had begun.

Leena couldn’t see the Ourthuri ships from her rooms. Her view pointed in the opposite direction, toward grassy fields overrun with bloodied battle. Bodies littered the ground. Angry flames spewed smoke. Arrows flew constantly, darkening the blue sky. Giant machines threw boulders that tore through the stone houses of Rayfort, exploding once sturdy homes into clouds of dust that settled into nothing. And if she really listened, Leena heard the screams of those living in the rubble, dying in it. Those people with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And they made her feel ashamed. Because she was hiding in this castle, watching the enemy creep ever closer, unable to do anything to stop them.

The ground shook, rattling the glasses on the tray by her feet. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. And then a pause. She waited for the next volley—she didn’t have to wait long. Another thundering rumble that made the walls around her quake. The attacks were happening closer together. And the effects seemed to be strengthening. Glancing at the shattered city below, Leena knew in her heart the end was near.

Which is why it was no surprise when a few minutes later, a gentle knock sounded. The summons she had been waiting for.

When she opened the door, Leena stepped back in surprise, chest tightening, and then she smiled. Maybe this wasn’t what she expected. “Cal?”

“Princess,” he said, bronze eyes warm. But the rest of him was stone. “I’m here to take you to the king.”

Leena released a slow, shaky breath, nodding slightly. It was exactly what she had expected—a summons to the king. An invitation to wait gracefully for the end to come, and to welcome their defeat with courage rather than cowardice. Placing her hand gently to her stomach, Leena closed her eyes as her heart slowly began to fall to pieces.

“How is the battle?” she whispered, desperate for at least a little information.

Cal sighed. “I’ve been on the wall since we last parted, fighting beside the men and the other knights. We’re doing our best, but there are just so many of them. Every time one man dies, he is replaced by two more.” He shook his head, swallowing, unable to say more. Weariness hung in the air around him, a sense that he had aged years in a matter of only days. And Leena couldn’t help but wonder what horrors he had witnessed on the wall. But then he coughed, drawing her attention and sadly finding her eyes. “I brought these for you.”

Cal unclasped his hands from behind his back, producing a small bouquet of rosy blooms. Leena gasped, taking them from him, bringing the petals to her nose and breathing in the sweet scent. They were the same ones from the other day, the same ones from the garden. Just as beautiful, just as bright. Something the siege hadn’t destroyed.

Leena looked up from the flowers to find a small smile now graced Cal’s lips, and his eyes were as bright as the golden center of the blossoms in her hand. For a moment, she wished she could give him what he wanted. A kiss. A promise. Something more. Especially now, when there might never be another chance. But she couldn’t.

Instead, she brought the bouquet to her nose once more, covering her frown, and murmured, “How?”

“I remembered you looking at them the other day,” Cal said, shrugging, eyes retreating with self-consciousness. “I just thought they might provide comfort.”

“Thank you,” she said, voice throaty and deep. And she hoped that he understood the real meaning behind the words—not just for the flowers, but for the friendship too.

Cal offered his arm and she took it, letting him lead her through the halls to the throne room. Both of them tried to ignore the stones shaking beneath their feet and the booms echoing across the silent corridors. They stopped before the closed door, waiting for a guard to open it.

“Leena?”

She turned to find Cal watching her, lips closed tight, brows furrowed as his gleaming eyes hardened. And for the first time, they really did look like metal, sharp enough to cut.

“It’s over, isn’t it,” she whispered.

His expression only darkened.

Unable to stop herself, Leena lifted her palm, placing it gently against his cheek. Cal softened into her fingers, body bending to her touch. She didn’t move any closer. He didn’t try to step away.

Cal wasn’t Mikza. He never would be. No one would be. But all the same, in the short amount of time they had known each other, he had become dear to her. A little sliver of home in a place where she never thought she would belong.

The door behind them opened, breaking the moment.

Leena dropped her hand, drinking in his affectionate gaze, knowing it would be the last time someone looked at her so kindly.

“Please, try to live,” she murmured, and then unable to bear another second of goodbye, Leena turned and entered the throne room.

Maybe he would live.

Maybe his father would pardon him.

Maybe he would find another woman who could give him everything he needed, not stuck with this broken person she had become.

“Princess,” a voice called.

Earlier that day, Leena had donned a dress from her homeland, the one she had been wearing when she jumped off that ship to save Jinji from the water, a moment that seemed a lifetime ago. But now she was happy she had worn it. She was born an Ourthuri. She was proud to be Ourthuri. And she would die Ourthuri, elegant tattoos out for the entire world to see.

Leena lifted her head to meet the eyes of the king regent. He sat on the throne, face unreadable. To his left, Queen Katrina. To his right, the queen mother and her infant son, Whyllean, the true king—a baby fast asleep in her arms.

“I know why I am here, and I’m ready,” she said, elongating her neck and adjusting her shoulders, bringing all the poise she possessed to her graceful royal limbs.

Whyllem stood, approaching her, leaving enough distance between him and his family that he could speak without being overheard.

“I’m sorry it has come to this, Princess,” he murmured, voice full of sorrow. “I had hoped for a better end, even though I told myself not to.”

Leena resisted the urge to take his hand, to provide womanly comfort. “So had I.”

He nodded gravely. “I have spoken with my mother, and the queen mother, and have made plans for the end. Now I must speak with you. When the enemy breaks through our defenses, there will be nowhere to run. There is already nowhere to run. The women have asked for mercy for themselves and for my nephew king, and I have granted it. I, however, will wait here until they drag me from my throne. You have a choice to make.”

Leena squeezed her eyes shut, and then walked to the window, mind whirling. The women have asked for mercy. Her heart dropped at the thought. Is that what she wanted? A merciful death? To be killed swiftly and quickly by Whyllem himself rather than wait for the enemy to arrive and see how they might treat her. Knowing King Razzaq’s cruelty, a merciful death might be the best she could hope for—far better than the death her father would grant. Slow. Painful. A display for other Ourthuri who have ever wished to step above their station. But still, just the thought of giving up made Leena feel hollow inside, empty and worthless.

She turned back to Whyllem who somberly gazed out the window, watching the ships that had surrounded his city slowly tear it apart. Already, sections of the outer wall had given way to the sea, some homes too, as though Rayfort itself were sinking into oblivion.

“I will wait with you,” Leena said softly, keeping her eyes on the golden ships, wondering if her father watched beneath distant sails, victoriously smiling as though he sensed her defeat. More likely, he waited at home on his golden throne, letting others do the fighting for him as he always had.

“Are you sure?” Whyllem asked, this time staring at her intently. His eyes bore into her cheek, weighty, but Leena didn’t turn to meet that stern gaze. “There are fates far worse than death, Princess. And even death rests on a scale—some easy to endure, as quick as falling asleep, and others stretching on for hours, more pain than a person should ever experience.”

Leena swallowed, trying her best not to show her fear. He was right, of course. She had seen for herself that very spectrum. Mikza burned and broken, newly unmarked, waiting in the darkness of the dungeon, aching in a way that ran deeper than his skin, straight to his heart. Versus Mikza in death, quick as the spear pierced his chest, life over in a split second as his eyes met hers one last time, just long enough for a brief moment of overwhelming joy before he left the world at peace. She met the king regent’s gaze, voice like iron, filled with deep understanding. “I’m Ourthuri, King Whyllem, I know better than most what torture looks like.”

But I owe it to myself, to Mikza, and to our child to keep fighting until they tear my life from me, kicking and screaming. There can be no peace in the end, not for me.

Leena finished the thought on her own—some motivations were too private to share. But Whyllem must have seen something in her eyes, because he just nodded and stepped away, back to his family, leaving her alone at the window.

The longer she stared at the city, the more the smoke and ash and dust blurred her vision. One could only stare at destruction for so long. Her mind wandered, and in those swirling clouds of gray and black, new visions took hold.

First sweet, as she imagined what life after death might bring. Would she and Mikza be reunited in the afterlife, would she feel his arms around her once more, would their baby be there, newly born and laughing? Perhaps they would be in the home they had always wished for, modest and small on the edge of Ourthuro, just enough for three, or maybe four, near the water, hidden from the rest of the world? Would she find a peace not possible in this world? Would the gods be merciful after all she had endured?

Or would they call her a traitor too? Would they demand she relive her lowest moments, trapped forever in a cycle of torment? Would her future be visions of Mikza unmarked and in pain, of the spear plummeting through his heart? Worse, would she be married to Amosaan, forced to live the quiet life of an abused wife while her father watched on, a destiny worse to her than almost anything else? Or would she be sent to a bleak afterlife, trapped in an endless void with no memories, no sense of self, not even the thought of Mikza and their child to hold onto?

Leena closed her eyes, shaking her head, and opened only to find her vision focusing on the golden ships once more. So powerful. So strong. So menacing now that she was trapped on the opposite side. What would the world become when her father won? A land of unmarked slaves, desperate and without hope? And what if King Razzaq made her one of them, destined to serve at his feet for the rest of her life, watching as her brother grew into a replica of the man she hated, as her sisters smiled at her misfortune? What would become of her child then?

Twisting the simple ring around her finger, Leena couldn’t help but wonder how something so beautiful had led her to such a horrifying place. Why was love something her father feared so much? Why wasn’t it strong enough to beat him?

A heavy rumble shook the ground.

Leena stepped to the side to keep her balance.

A moment later, the door behind them opened, and she welcomed the distraction from her heavy thoughts. Even though it could only mean something worse.

“My King,” a guard said as he stepped through the opening, bowing deeply. “The outer wall has been breached. The enemy is inside the city, and we expect the trebuchet fire to close in on the castle wall soon.”

Whyllem nodded. Leena could tell from his expression that he had already known the truth. He knew Rayfort well, and she wondered if he could pinpoint what each shake of the ground meant, what each destructive sound stood for.

The guard stared for one moment longer, and then he turned, grasping the doorknob, slowly swinging it shut behind him. But he stopped just shy of closing it.

Leena tilted her head, perplexed, waiting.

But the man was a statue, suddenly stone as he waited in the crack of the door, neither in nor out, paused.

“Is there something else?” Whyllem called across the empty room, voice echoing in the silence.

But still, the guard had no response.

And then he dropped his hand to his side, releasing the door and reaching for the hilt of his sword instead. The gentle glide of steel on steel was a whispering scream, a quiet shriek that stilled Leena’s heart, making each hair stand on end with the menacingly loud silence. The guard was calm, unhurried as he pulled out his weapon, and that in itself terrified her.

What did he see on the other side of that door?

What dark thoughts prompted his action?

The king regent stood from the throne, cautious as he stepped down, closer. Before Whyllem reached the base of the dais, the guard turned.

Leena gasped.

Her heart surged forward, adrenaline pumping as her every muscle tensed, ready for action.

The guard’s eyes were white, pure untainted ivory.

And they were focused directly on her.

SEVEN

Everyone stopped. Stopped breathing, walking, moving.

And then the world rushed into action.

The guard charged, raising his sword, feet racing toward a spot to the side of the king, directly where Leena stood. Whyllem pulled his sword from its sheath, shouting for aid from the other guards stationed outside. A dozen men rushed into the room, just as the sound of steel blades meeting rang across the space. And Leena jumped forward, raising her voice to shout “no” as Whyllem’s sword was poised to plunge directly through the guard’s heart.

“Stop!” Leena shouted again. “Restrain him! He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

The white eyes.

The shadow.

Jinji had told her of this beast, and Leena’s mind immediately drew back to Tam, her dear friend turned monster. It was not the guard’s fault, and he did not deserve to die, not like this, not because of her.

Whyllem shifted his blade at the last moment, slicing through the man’s upper arm instead. The guard fell, bleeding, but still breathing as the rest of the men surrounded him. A moment later his eyes cleared, turning to a dull sage, then darkening in confusion.

Whyllem turned to her, demanding. “Explain.”

But before she could respond, another guard turned—eyes white, utterly empty yet utterly menacing in their blankness. This man was closest to her and too quick for Whyllem to catch.

Leena stepped back, stumbling on her heels until her back touched the wall, fighting the sense of déjà vu as Tam’s face appeared before her, a dark memory she didn’t want to relive.

But this time would be different.

This time, Leena would save herself.

This time, she was fighting for more than just her own life, she was fighting as a mother, and that made all the difference.

Moving quickly, she lifted her skirts, pulling out the knife strapped to her thigh, silently thanking Cal for all he had taught her. The guard’s sword slashed. Leena dodged, jumping to the side, gasping as his blade cut through the back of her skirt, barely an inch from her leg. And then she dashed forward, just as Cal had taught her, slicing the guard’s thigh. It wasn’t a big cut, barely a scratch really, but it gave her just enough time to scramble away as the other guards cornered the injured renegade against the wall.

A hand clamped around her arm.

Leena turned, wielding her knife. But it was the king, and he looked on with confusion in his colorful irises.

“What is going on?” he demanded.

Leena just shook her head—it was too much to explain. “There’s no time. It’s after me and there’s no way to stop it. I must go.”

“Princess—”

“No!” Leena shouted and wrenched her body from his grip, backing away. She was tired of being controlled by men, boxed in by them. She was tired of kings trying to tell her what to do. “I must—”

But before Leena could finish, another guard broke away, his eyes white. And without another word, Leena ran. Holding her dress high so her feet had room to move, she dashed through the already open door and raced through the halls, distinctly aware of the heavy boots pounding on the stone behind her.

Where could she go?

Where could she run?

Like the king had said, they were cornered—there was nowhere to go. And where could she hide that the shadow wouldn’t find her? He could be anyone, anywhere. Where could she go?

And then it hit her.

The water.

The sea.

And Leena knew just how to get there.

Still running, she barely registered that the boots behind her had fallen silent. But it didn’t reassure her—it terrified her. Because she had no doubt the shadow would return—it was just a question of when. Preserving the energy she had left, Leena slowed to a walk as she approached the front of the castle. Without her breath puffing in her own ears, without the slap of her sandal-covered feet on the floor, it was much easier to hear. So she kept her ears open, moving with caution toward the exit.

She reached the main hall easily, and took each step down the grand staircase carefully, eyes on the torch beside the front door. It looked heavy. But there was no other way—she would need a light to guide her through the darkness of the tunnel. Swallowing deeply, Leena wrapped her hands around the wooden post, trying her best to tug it free of the iron brackets.

A click echoed across the room, followed by a high-pitched whistle.

Leena dropped to the floor just in time for the arrow to pass overhead and land with a thunk in the stone.

Spinning, still on her knees, Leena found the guard behind her, reloading his crossbow, ivory eyes narrowed in frustration. Leena charged, throwing the knife before her. It wobbled in the air, missing its mark completely, but it did what it was supposed to—distracted the man just long enough for her to thrust her palm up into the base of his nose, the way Cal had taught her. Blood exploded from the impact, covering her arm as the guard stepped back, screeching.

And in that moment, Leena realized something.

He didn’t really know how to fight.

The guard did, she was sure. He was trained. He was a warrior. He wouldn’t struggle with how to reload his bow, and he wouldn’t have let her hit him so easily. The shadow was not a warrior. It depended on the element of surprise. So maybe for the first time, she had the upper hand.

Leena snatched her knife from the ground, taking the split second to cut deeply into the shadow’s thigh. More blood dripped to the floor, and he fell on his weakened side. Before he hit the ground, his eyes had already returned to normal—deep blue, confused, and in a lot of pain.

Leena bit her lip, watching him for a moment.

It was her fault.

He was innocent, he didn’t understand.

Shaking her head, she turned in the other direction. There was no time to waste. She had to get to the water. It was the only way. Lifting the heavy torch from its brackets, Leena gripped the wood as a weapon, and ran through the front door of the castle.

Outside, chaos ruled.

The men on the wall were shouting. The city was falling to dust. Swords clanged. Horns blew. All around her, people ran in every direction, but each one moved with purpose. All except for one man, who had just stopped dead.

And then he turned.

Leena didn’t wait to catch his face. She ran.

And like before, even surrounded by so much noise, she could pick out the rhythmic thud of boots following her. She didn’t turn around to check. She just kept racing forward.

As her eyes settled on the garden, an extra bout of energy coursed through her, adding strength to her legs, letting them pump even faster. Weaving through the flowers, running under overhanging arches filled with vines, Leena found the destination she searched for. The willow tree. But even beneath its branches, she didn’t stop. Hidden from the world, maybe, but the guard was no more than a minute behind.

Leena grasped the torch with one hand, using her hip to help hold it steady as her other hand felt along the wall, searching for the lever Cal had found so easily.

No. No. No.

There!

Leena pulled and the dark tunnel appeared right before her eyes, just as the clang of armor sounded behind her. Sparing one quick glance, Leena saw a flash of Whylkin red through the willow branches, growing larger by the second.

She jumped through the opening, trying to close it behind her, but the stone was immobile against her already exhausted arms. There was no more time to waste. Leena took off into the dark, hoping she might lose the guard in the ebony of the tunnel if she could just get far enough ahead.

But surrounded by so much silence, the pounding boots and the clanking armor grew even louder, even more terrifying. Leena tried to move as quickly as she could, pausing for only a moment at the intersections to find the white arrows Cal had shown her. But the guard was relentless, and with each passing second he seemed to grow louder behind her.

Until finally, she reached the end.

This lever was easier to spot.

Leena yanked, glancing over her shoulder, unable to pierce the impenetrable dark, but she knew he was there, knew he was close behind. But escape was even closer. She grinned, already anticipating the cool touch of the water, and jumped across the threshold.

But something else was waiting for her on the other side.

Something she didn’t see until it was too late.

A cloud of black mist spread across the sand, taking shape in the form of a ghostly army, two dozen phantom soldiers guarding her path.

She tried to stop.

Tried to dig her heels into the soft sand, to break the forward motion of her limbs. But it was impossible. And she stumbled, tripping over the layers of her dress as her body slammed into the ebony haze.

A thousand needles pierced her skin.

Ice traveled up her veins, freezing her from the inside out. Her finger stiffened, still reaching for the sea, and she landed on her back, immobile, completely still, barely able to see the sky through the translucent black phantoms now closing in.

Leena tried to scream, but the sound was trapped in her throat. The pain was overwhelming, as though her skin were cracking apart, each bone breaking and resifting inside her body, turning to stone while she lay there unable to move, to fight, to resist in any way. Tremors coursed through her, waves of agony. Her throat closed. She tried to cough, to suck in air, but it was useless.

And then as quick as it came it was over.

The phantoms disappeared, blinking out of existence.

Leena wanted to wince against the sun, far too bright after being enshrouded in shadow, but she couldn’t move. The pain was over, but her body was still frozen on the ground, unable to move from this sunken spot in the sand.

And then a body appeared over her, blocking the sun, silhouetted black, but solid. Not a ghost, not a phantom, but a shadow just the same.

It was the guard.

And his sword was raised, glittering gold.

Leena could not run, could not even inch closer to the water just a few feet to the side. Her escape was agonizingly close, and even more agonizingly far away. Her fingers twitched, some movement returning, some sign of fight, but it was too little too late. And more than anything in that moment, she wished to hug her arms around her middle, to comfort her child in the end, to let her baby know she had tried. But even with such convictions, her limbs remained heavy against the sand.

Above her, the guard paused, his weapon blazing with light, as furious as fire.

And then her eyes focused and Leena realized it wasn’t the sword.

The sky itself was burning.

A roar filled the air around them, deep and demanding, charged with fury and with freedom. A shadow passed across the sun, wings spread wide, flapping lazily against the sky, trailed by a river of flames.

A dragon.

Leena couldn’t believe her eyes.

And neither, it seemed, could the shadow.

The guard turned, staring at the sky, forgetting Leena for a moment. But then he looked back at her, ivory eyes filled with white-hot anger, and let his sword fall.

Leena braced herself for the pain.

Waited for the blade to strike her heart, to break her skin.

But before the steel could cut, fire rained down around them, engulfing the guard and then swallowing her in a river of bubbling orange. The sword landed against her arm, slicing just above her wrist, and she cried out, voice finally back, but it wasn’t a fatal blow. More alarming was the fire still burning around them. The guard standing over her turned black, burned to his very core, shielding her from the worst of the flames.

But Leena’s arms sizzled. Her skin boiled. And she blinked, trying to clear the black spots from her vision. The freeze released her, burned away along with a layer of her skin. But moving hurt too much. Her body was screaming. Through the flames, she spotted the dragon once more, liquid lava in the sky. But this time, she noticed something else.

A rider.

A rider whose red hair stood out even against the flames.

Whylrhen. Leena knew it in her soul.

Fight coursed through her, stronger than the ache, and she flipped herself over, using her still burning arms to drag herself across the sand. This would not be her end. This would not be her child’s end. No matter what, they would live. Leena was a survivor and her child would be too. Deep in her gut, a new idea took hold—that fate had a plan for her, different than she ever expected, but so much more glorious, if she could just live long enough to embrace it.

As her fingers dipped into the sea, her skin sizzled. Water turned to steam the moment it touched her scorching skin. Her tattoos had melted away to raw red flesh. And though she wanted more than anything to give up and scream until there was no sound left in her body, Leena kept crawling forward, gritting her teeth as the cool waves splashed against her, agonizing and glorious at the same time. Only when she was completely submerged did Leena let go.

Her muscles just stopped working.

Surrounded by blue, she floated, safe where no one could harm her.

Safe enough to give into the pain, to let it wash over her, drag her under.

Safe enough to hope.

Midnight blue splotched against her vision, barely distinguishable from the turquoise sea, and her eyes gradually slid shut. Leena’s consciousness gave way to the lull of the water, and she drifted into a different world where a new vision took hold.

A molten dragon soared across an open sky—a mix of crystal ice and undulating ocean, glassy like the sea on a calm day, yet with the strength of crashing waves in a storm. Ferocious, yet gentle. Hard, yet soft.

And perched on its back was a rider.

###

THE

IRON

RIDER

A Dance of Dragons #3.5

By Kaitlyn Davis

DESCRIPTION

From bestselling author Kaitlyn Davis comes the fourth and final companion novella to the thrilling A Dance of Dragons series—perfect for fans of Throne of Glass, Graceling, and Game of Thrones!

Princess Leena has finally discovered her fate—she's a dragon rider, humanity's only protection against the shadow. But deep in her heart, Leena hasn't forgotten about her homeland and the promises she made before waking her dragon. So when the shadow's phantom armies threaten Da'astiku, Leena jumps at the chance to return home and confront the king. No longer the powerless princess she once was, Leena will do whatever it takes to prove to her father and to her people that love is so much stronger than hate and that hope is far more powerful than fear.

Taking place parallel to the events in THE PHOENIX BORN, read Leena's side of the story as she seeks to end her father's reign and bring a new era of peace to Ourthuro.

ONE

Leena woke suddenly, transitioning from deep slumber to full alertness in the matter of an instant. She didn't move. Didn't speak. Nothing about her outer appearance changed. But her mind became fully aware as an odd tingle slipped up her spine, drawing her eyes open in nervous concern.

She blinked.

Once, twice, clearing the sleep from her gaze. The sand beneath her was damp. The sky was brightening to full day. The waves rolled in her ears. In fact, the only odd thing drawing her attention now, the only thing that could have possibly woken her, was Rhen.

Rhen, her fellow dragon rider.

Rhen, whom she trusted deeply.

Rhen, who was suspiciously bent over a pot of water, shielding two canteens as he filled them with liquid.

Leena shook her head slightly, trying to understand what he was doing and why he was doing it so secretively. But the longer she watched him, the more confused she became. He was as still as a rock, motionless as he held a clenched fist over the two canteens. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and his lips were forcefully pursed. He was a man who looked torn—completely and utterly torn. But why?

Leena remained silent, not wanting to alarm him. Her eyes wandered, searching for clues. Bran was still asleep by her side. Light snores still drifted over her shoulder, letting her know their newest member, Jasper, also slumbered. The riders were still camped out on the beach, which meant Jinji was still in hiding with her brother, with the shadow, unprepared to take the next step and send the evil back where it belonged. And the last Leena knew, all of them were still sitting idly by as time ran out. They were waiting for some plan to miraculously emerge—one where Jinji wouldn't have to murder her brother, one where they wouldn't have to encourage her to do so, one that didn't pit them all against each other.

Had Rhen discovered a way?

Then Leena noticed a tray of food resting by Rhen's feet—barely enough for two, definitely not meant for four. Cautiously, Leena shifted her head ever so slightly, giving herself a view of the rest of the beach.

There.

Just as she suspected.

Jinji sat with her eyes on the horizon, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin upon them. Deep in thought, just like Rhen.

When had she come back? When had she come out of hiding?

More importantly, where was Janu? Where was the shadow?

Had Jinji finally killed him? Or had she let him go free? Had she figured out another way, a better way? Or had she doomed the world to save him?

Leena shifted her gaze back to Rhen, noticing for the first time that the person he was shielding his actions from wasn't her—it was Jinji. He had turned his back to the woman he loved. And in that same moment, Leena realized his fist wasn't just clenched—it was holding a small object. There was a glass vial tucked between his taut fingers. And his eyes were no longer closed, they were staring at the vial, fierce and hard, cursing it and praising it at the same time.

In a swift motion, his palm flipped over.

The contents of the vial fell into one canteen.

Rhen sealed the top shut and slipped the glass back into his pocket.

All at once, his whole body relaxed. Whatever decision he'd had to make, he'd made it. The hard part was over, for him at least. But Leena still watched, utterly perplexed, wondering what she had witnessed and why she felt the sudden need to stop him.

Rhen looked up, meeting her gaze.

Her heart stopped.

His irises flooded with guilt.

Leena looked to the canteen again, back to his shame-ridden face, back to the canteen. What had he done? What was he going to do? Surely it couldn't be poison—no matter how dire the situation, he would never hurt the woman he loved. So what did the vial hold and why did he look so guilty?

Leena sat up. Questions burned her tongue, but before she could ask any, Rhen reached out, covered her lips with his palm and shook his head. Silently, he pleaded with her to remain quiet, to trust him. And in that moment, memories of their time together rushed over Leena. Of the way he had stood up to her father so long ago in Da'astiku, giving her hope that one day maybe she could do the same. Of the way he had offered his protection and welcome when she first arrived in Rayfort, despite never meeting her before. Of the way he had led her to the castle at the Gates, taking her to the corridor full of water, explaining that on the other side of that test her dragon was waiting to be awoken. Of his face only days ago when he had realized Jinji's betrayal, when they had all realized that Janu was the shadow, and their enemy had been within their grasp all along. Her first instinct had been to stand with Rhen against Jinji, to keep the riders united in their support.

Biting back her questions, Leena nodded to Rhen. With his hand still covering her lips, her gaze slipped over his shoulder toward Jinji, all alone on the other side of the beach. And Leena knew her side had already been chosen. Rhen had never lied to her. He had never made her question that his first instinct was to protect the world and everyone in it. He had never made her wonder if he could be trusted. But no matter how much it pained Leena to admit, Jinji had lied, had made her question, had made her wonder. And though she considered her a dear friend and wanted the best for her, the world came first. It had to.

Leena sank back down to the sand, not looking at Rhen again. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and listened to the crunch of his boots as he walked away.

The minutes slipped painfully by.

One by one, slower and slower as Leena's curiosity mounted.

And when she could take it no longer, she opened her eyes again. But this time, Rhen was alone at the end of the beach, and Jinji was nowhere in sight.

Leena stood, careful not to wake the other two riders as she approached Rhen. His gaze was set hard on the distant horizon. His irises followed Firestorm's movements as the dragon flew in and out of the rays of the rising sun. For a moment, Leena didn't think Rhen had seen her, didn't even think he was aware of the world around him. But before she could open her mouth to speak, he sighed heavily.

"It was the only way," he murmured, voice strong even if quiet.

"What was?" she asked, taking a seat beside him on the sand.

Rhen turned to her, evergreen eyes downcast, rimmed by red and strained. "You know," he said, voice full of shame, overflowing with it. "You saw."

Leena shook her head. "I trust you, Rhen. I'm on your side, whatever it was that you did. But I don't know what I witnessed."

He licked his lips, swallowing deeply. "The spirit came to me in the night," he whispered, hardly louder than the breeze. Leena held her breath, afraid even the slightest interruption would distract him. "She had a plan to stop the shadow, to stop all of this. But she needed my help. Jinji is too strong. Was too strong. And she would never have let the spirit do what needed to be done."

"Rhen," Leena pushed softly.

His eyes lifted, meeting hers. "The vial, it held an elixir that made Jinji weak enough for the spirit to control. So weak that she'll be unable to fight back when the spirit sends her brother and the shadow from this world."

Leena exhaled, eyes widening in shock before she could control her reaction. "So it's over?" she asked, unable to hide the slight elation from her voice. "The shadow will be dead by end of day?"

Rhen nodded.

A smile cracked her lips as a weight seemed to lift from her chest.

The war was almost over.

They were going to win.

The world would be safe in a matter of hours.

"Rhen!" she exclaimed, excitement palpable. But when she focused on him again, Leena realized her own callousness. Shame filled her chest, shame that the one thing she hated so much about her culture had snuck its way into her heart—ruthlessness. One glance in Rhen's eyes was enough to tell her he was nearly broken. And she only just realized why.

"She'll forgive you," Leena murmured, placing her hand on his arm, trying to comfort him. "She loves you." But Rhen was beyond comforting. Leena could see that clearly. He had made his decision, and now he was being forced to live with it.

"I betrayed her trust," he confessed. "I took away her choice. Janu will be dead in a matter of hours, and I removed her ability to save him." He shook his head, whispering, "Jinji will never forgive me."

Leena swallowed. She didn't know what to say, how to make it better. He was right—Jinji might never forgive him. But Leena knew that had she been given the chance, she would have done the same thing to save the world. There were no easy options left, only hard ones.

Before she could say any of that, could lend any sympathy, Rhen inhaled sharply. "This isn't over yet," he said suddenly, voice loud and determined, empty of emotion. "We need to wake Bran and Jasper. The shadow won't go down without a fight, and the spirit told me to be prepared."

Abruptly, he stood and started marching across the beach.

Leena chased after him, worried by his quick change of mood. But before she could confront him and demand that he let her in, he was shaking Jasper awake. She had lost her chance to speak with him privately.

"What?" the air rider groaned, eyes closed as he swatted blindly at the space above his head, trying to fight off the hand forcing him awake.

The commotion roused Bran, who sat up without complaint, gaze immediately growing concerned as he took in the look on Rhen's face.

"What's happened?" he asked, voice heavy with sleep.

Jasper sat up, hearing the uneasy tone of the question and finally understanding that it was not the time for games. Both riders looked at Rhen, then Leena, then Rhen again, waiting for an explanation.

Before either could speak, Firestorm landed heavily on the beach behind them, spraying up sand. He nudged Rhen, growling in question and showering his rider in flames. The other dragons stood, alert, and the bond between all eight of them hummed as a shared sense of dread passed between them.

"As we speak, the shadow is calling forth his armies and preparing an attack that will end the world if we cannot stop it," Rhen said, voice calm despite his words. Bran and Jasper both dropped their jaws, preparing to jump forward with questions, but Rhen held up his hand. "The spirit has taken over control of Jinji's body and is meeting with the shadow now. She says they have made a deal to end the war and remove the shadow from this world. But he is sending his phantoms to four different cities, and he is going to fight, not relenting until he is sure the spirit has upheld her end of the bargain. So we must do everything in our power to limit the damage done before that time comes."

They all paused, letting the words sink in.

And then Leena noticed something, a single word that sent a sharp, foreboding pang down her spine. "Four?"

Rhen nodded gravely. "Rayfort—"

"Da'astiku," Leena interrupted.

"Lothlian," Jasper whispered.

"And Fayfall," Bran finished.

Their silence spoke volumes. Leena's mind flew to her home, to Tam, to her brother, to all of the innocent people she had promised she would save. And as she glanced at the other riders, she knew their thoughts had taken the same direction—to their loved ones. And to the promises in their hearts that they were suddenly afraid to voice out loud—promises to keep their families safe even if it went against the duty of a rider.

Four cities.

Four families.

Four riders who had to work together, who were useless alone, who could only be in one place at a time.

Leena swallowed. "How do we choose? How can we choose?"

"We don't," Rhen said. "Before the spirit left, she told me she has done what she could to help us, and I hope that means she has done what Jinji would have done—woven empty bodies outside of all four cities, the same empty bodies we used to trap the phantoms during the battle in Roninhythe. And while we could choose one city to save, I fear that would only serve to tear us apart. Perhaps not at first, but the seeds of guilt and bitterness would grow stronger with time."

"You think we should split up?" Leena asked.

"The spirit is meeting with the shadow now, and whatever agreement they've come to, it should be over soon. Which means we don't need to defeat the phantoms—"

"Just stall them," Jasper commented, grinning as he caught on to Rhen's line of thought.

"Something we can do alone," Rhen continued.

"People from each city will perish," Bran mumbled, biting his lip with uncertainty.

"People will perish either way," Rhen said. "But at least this way, we each have an equal chance to save someone we love."

"And we can each fight to defend our homes," Leena added.

They paused. Each rider took a turn meeting the other's eyes, silently agreeing, making the decision together. No one spoke. It was done. As connected as four people could be, they jumped into motion at the same time, mounting their dragons without needing to say another word.

Bran and Jasper left first, but Leena paused, catching Rhen's eye. She knew there was no time to spare, that her people needed her, that Da'astiku needed her. But something in her gut told her to wait. A vision of Rhen hunched over that canteen stopped her cold. His gaze was emptier than she'd ever seen it, devoid of the spark it normally held. And there could only be one reason why—Jinji. The sight of such hopelessness in someone she cared for was too hard to bear. She couldn't leave him like this. So she said the first thing that came to mind. And she meant every word.

"She'll always love you," Leena whispered. "Trust in that."

A flash passed over his eyes—pain or joy she couldn't tell. But before she could say another word, Rhen was gone. The sky brightened with the bubbling flames left in his wake.

Alone, Leena rubbed her dragon's icy scales and thought, fly.

The ground disappeared quickly, and the higher they soared, the more thoughts of Rhen were replaced with thoughts of home. A shiver raced down her spine but not from the cold. Panic tightened her muscles, coiled in her stomach. The last memory Leena had of Da'astiku was turning her back on it. Deep in the depths of the Dueling Sea, she had just run away and narrowly escaped her father's soldiers. And as she gazed through the shimmering waters, watching men dive down in search of her, Leena had remained still. She let them think their princess had drowned. She had said goodbye to her life. To her family. To her friends. She had vowed never to return unless it was to face her father and destroy him.

Was she ready for this?

Leena swallowed, blinking away the memory. The mere thought of her father sent terror to her heart, stealing her strength, bringing the weak princess she thought she had outgrown back to life. Focusing on Tempest's scales and the strength buzzing beneath them, evident in each graceful pump of her wings, Leena tried to gather her own. In that instant, her eyes caught sight of her arms and the new tattoos painted there.

The fear drained away.

Gone were the marks of a princess. Leena had almost forgotten that Jinji had erased them away, replacing them with the tattoos of a rider—a dragon soaring over crashing waves.

She wasn't the girl she once was.

She was so much more.

And she was ready.

"Let's go," Leena whispered. Tempest listened.

Together they dove straight down, disappearing beneath the White Stone Sea with barely a splash, racing toward Ourthuro.

TWO

When the waters warmed, Leena knew she had entered the Dueling Sea. Eager to see her home, she broke through the surface, keeping her eyes trained on the horizon. In the bright morning sun, it didn't take very long to spot a gold band glittering in the distance.

Ourthuro.

Her homeland had been nicknamed the Golden Isles because of the metal ores seeped in its soils. They caught the light now, making the islands sparkle. Leena had only seen them from this angle once before—as she sailed away. But racing toward them left her with a different feeling entirely. Apprehension and nerves made her pulse dance wildly. Yet there was another sensation deep in her heart—excitement. No matter how corrupt, Ourthuro was her home. She'd missed it. And watching those islands flicker in the distance, Leena was only reminded of everything she thought she might never see again and of everything she wanted to save.

As she flew closer, Leena noticed something else—something that brought her brows together in tight confusion. A fleet of ships sat idle in the port, forming a ring around the entrance to the city. But they weren't ships she recognized, and there was not a single sign of movement on board.

Leena kept her eyes glued on the wooden structures as she approached, worried for a moment that she'd been too late—that the phantoms had already been there, had already killed everyone. But as she neared, a hopeful smile spread across her lips instead. The ships were filled with motionless, lifeless bodies—empty shells the shadow's phantoms would get sucked into. Those figures were the first line of defense against the ghostly invaders—the only way to keep them from the city and its living inhabitants for as long as possible. Which meant Rhen had been right. The spirit hadn't abandoned them. She was helping them, just as Jinji would have.

Without prompting, Leena's gaze shifted up.

Over the towering ship masts.

Higher.

Over the muddled gray iron houses at the base of the city.

Higher.

Until dazzling in its brilliance, nearly as bright as the sun, the golden palace sitting at the top of Da'astiku caught her eye. That was her destination—the place where she had to convince her father that the phantoms were an enemy to take seriously and that she was the only one powerful enough to stop them. The place where Rhen couldn't help her. The place where the spirit couldn't help her. The place where the riders couldn't help her. The place she had to confront all on her own.

Leena swallowed.

Her throat was already dry.

But there was no turning back.

As Tempest drifted over the lower levels of the city, shouts began to fill the streets. Shouts of wonder and terror that followed Leena as she made her way to the highest plateau of Da'astiku, the royal level, her former home. And to her surprise, as she crested the top of the ridge, a hundred of her father's guards were already waiting for her. A golden sea of chain mail stood utterly still before the palace steps watching the dragon approach, an immovable wall blocking the path to her father.

Leena landed softly.

In one swift motion, each guard raised his curved blade. The daylight caught every deadly edge, reflecting bright beams into Leena's eyes, blinding her for a moment. She remained still, aware that in the shadows more men hid with arrows cocked in their bows, aiming for her head should she take one step in the wrong direction.

But Leena wasn't the one who was afraid.

They were.

Their panic sizzled in the hot air.

So instead of blowing any icy pathway straight through the guards, a demonstration of her power, Leena took a different route—an easier one and a kinder one. Bringing a coy smile to her lips, Leena filled her gaze with humor and eyed the men around her. Though she hadn't used the ploy in weeks, it was as easy as breathing to slip back into the role of a flirtatious princess and to ease their panic with the sparkle in her eye.

"Come now," she called gently. "Is this how you welcome your princess home?"

A ripple passed through the guards. They relaxed. They recognized her. Leena searched for a face in the crowd—for Tam. But each olive-toned face was unfamiliar, not the friend she had left behind without so much as a goodbye.

"Princess Leenaka?" A guard stepped forward.

It took a moment, but she remembered him as the last man assigned to her personal protection, the one who had replaced Tam. In fact, he was the one who had carried Tam from her rooms after the shadow had possessed her friend, forcing him to attack her. Leena stared at the guard intently, memorizing each curve of his face. This man had helped her on that day so long ago. He had left her door open—he had allowed her to walk away. And today, when the fighting was over, maybe he would help her again—maybe he would lead her to Tam.

But for now, Leena watched in silence as he opened his mouth again. She couldn't help but notice the slightest bit of relief in his voice. "We thought you had died."

"Me?" she asked in mock surprise. "I merely took a swim."

"A very long swim," he added, tone light.

Leena giggled girlishly. "As you can see, water has long been my friend." Then she brushed a palm gently across Tempest's icy back, making her scales ripple in delight. A hundred eyes shifted to focus on the dragon's snout and the frosty breath blowing through her nostrils. Then they followed the path of sharp crystals jetting down her neck, over her liquid scales, all the way to the tips of her silvery blue wings. "She won't harm you," Leena said. "Not unless you mean to do me harm."

And this time, Leena didn’t hide the threat from her voice.

All attention shifted back to her.

She remained cool and calm, unaffected by their wariness.

"There is an enemy traveling toward our shores, and I need to see my father." Leena paused for effect, and then sharpened her voice, making it just as deadly as the golden blades before her. "One way or another."

"Princess—" the same guard began, tone conflicted.

"Do you see the foreign ships in our harbor?" Leena interrupted, one last attempt at talking her way through them before she forced her way through instead.

A few guards nodded cautiously. Yet only the one dared to speak. "They appeared at the break of dawn, coming into existence in the blink of an eye. That is why the king stationed us out here, to keep watch for more magic. To sound the alarm at the first sign of more trickery."

Leena shook her head. "Those ships are not what must be watched and guarded against. An army of ghosts, of phantoms, is closing in. There is no way to stop them. No way to harm them. Those ships were sent by a friend, and they are our best protection. I am here to keep you safe, but I fear even I am not strong enough to shield you should the phantoms make it onto our shores. And I must speak with the king before the enemy arrives. He must listen to me. You must listen to me. Or we are all doomed."

"The king does not wish to be disturbed," the guard answered. But his voice was solemn, edged with bitterness and not with loyalty. And when he met her gaze, there was cold rage in his eyes.

Leena softened her voice, trying to understand. "Where is he?"

The guard swallowed, clenching his jaw, trying to speak through his silence.

Suddenly she understood.

"He's locked himself away, hasn't he?" she asked softly.

He nodded.

Iron fury hardened her muscles.

Her father had abandoned them. He had locked himself safely out of harm's way at the first sign of danger. He was hiding, probably lounging on pillows, feasting on the food he hoarded, waiting for word that the battle was won. He was doing what he always did—allowing others to do the fighting for him.

Coward! She ached to scream the word, to shout it as loud as she could in the mere hope that it would find her father's ears. Coward!

Instead, she inhaled slowly, regaining control over herself. Now was not the time for vengeance. Now was not the time to confront her father and make him pay for his abuses. Now, more than ever, the people of Ourthuro needed her. And Leena would never abandon them.

"Listen to me," she shouted, blanketing the guards with the sound of her voice. They needed a leader. She could be that leader. "Forget anything and everything my father has told you, and listen to me now. There is an evil unlike any you have ever dreamed, and it is coming for us. A black mist will soon wash against our shores—an army of ghosts that carry death in their touch."

At those words, an uneasy ambiance settled over the men as they began to shift their weight, forgetting their training. Leena pressed forward, loudening her voice, hardening it to force them to listen.

"We cannot stop this enemy. We cannot defeat them. But we don't have to. All we must do is delay. Soon, the man who commands these phantoms will be dead. Soon, he and they will be banished from the world. But until that time comes, everyone in this city is vulnerable, and we have a duty to do whatever we can to help."

Some of their lips drew thin.

Some of them nodded.

Some gripped their swords a little tighter.

But all watched her, listened to her, hanging on her every word.

Leena shifted her tone, removing the steel from her words, letting hope fuel her instead. "I know I am just a woman in your eyes. I know that in this kingdom I am no more than a princess. But I also know that if you do not listen to me, none of us will survive. So though it challenges everything our culture has taught you to accept as truth, you must follow me now. You must see beyond what I am, and believe in who I am. A dragon rider, yes. But more importantly, a child of Ourthuro who wants to protect her home. Our home. Our people."

No one spoke.

There was no cheer. But no protest either.

Leena breathed heavily, lightheaded after finally being able to voice out loud words she had dreamed of a thousand times. Follow her. Follow a princess. Follow a woman. And defy a king.

Would they?

Glancing around, their expressions were inscrutable.

But Leena had faith.

And then a gasp broke the quiet. The sound was soft, but it rang horrendously loud in Leena's ears because she knew exactly what it meant. Slowly, more shock filled the air. More terror.

She didn’t have to turn, but she did.

The ebony mist had arrived.

Tempest rumbled, wings aching to stretch and fly, aching to fight. But Leena rubbed the dragon's smooth neck, calming her as she watched the smoky enemy approach, knowing the time hadn't quite come yet.

Just as in Brython, just as in Roninhythe, the phantoms advanced unhurriedly. Wispy tendrils seeped through the surface of the sea, rolling toward Da'astiku like fog brought forth on a stormy tide, stretching for the city's shores. The approach was made all the more terrifying because of its slowness. The ghosts knew they were unstoppable, that they had all the time in the world. And every man could do nothing but stare in dreadful awe as that fact washed over him.

The mere sight of the phantoms paralyzed the guards of Ourthuro.

Paralyzed the entire city.

Everyone except Leena.

Her mind raced and her eyes darted from plateau to plateau. Her father, the coward, was in hiding. He must have known what was coming. It was clear that Jinji's message of the mist had reached him. And he had chosen to station his guards before the palace, caring little for the rest of the populace in the lower levels. He had left them to fend for themselves against an evil he couldn't even comprehend. But Leena was done letting selfishness define the lives of the Ourthuri.

"Sound the bells!" Leena shouted, turning back to the guards. There was a momentary stall. The men looked around warily, eyes going from her to the mist to the palace over their shoulders. But her perch on Tempest's back placed her a head above everyone else, just as a leader should be—not hiding behind closed doors. And from that position, with iron in her voice, the guards listened.

Without further delay, the bells hanging above the golden bridge connecting the royal level to the city below began to chime. Trickling down, from bridge to bridge, plateau to plateau, music filled the air around them. The bells of Da'astiku were ringing. And for the first time, Leena felt hope and not hate at the sound.

The people of Ourthuro were listening to her.

She wouldn't lead them astray.

"Go to the lower levels of the city, all of you, and bring the people up. I don't care if their tattoos brand them as merchant or noble or even unmarked. Bring every living soul in Da'astiku as high up as you can—as far from the mist as you can. When that is done, position yourselves as a wall protecting your people. And wait for my command to fight."

With her orders spoken, Leena took off in an explosion of movement, and Tempest roared, jolting even her with the passionate outcry. The guards jumped into action, and though Leena wished she could watch, her eyes had already turned to the base of the city—to the harbor.

The mist continued its slow approach.

The sapphire sea was almost entirely covered in translucent ebony.

They would be at the ships momentarily.

"Run!" Leena shouted down over the city streets. "Escape to the palace!"

But fear of her father was even stronger than fear of the mist. The people didn’t listen the way the guards did, they stopped dead, torn between one horror and another, unsure which was more terrifying. Leena didn't have time to convince them. When she reached the port, she landed hard against the docks and let Tempest release an icy roar, blowing frost into the faces of anyone close by.

That warning they listened to.

Staring at the dragon, every sailor still on the docks spun on his heels and ran toward the next level of Da'astiku. Leena chased after them, giving anyone still stalling undeniable reason to run as far away as they could. And with the sea behind Leena, the only way to run was up and into the city toward safety. Before long she was alone on the lowest level, and only then did she turn and face the ebony smoke billowing toward her.

I can do this, Leena thought, pushing any lingering doubts away. I was made to do this. There was no time for fear, no time for hesitation. There was only instinct and hope, and the trust that those two things would save her as the world turned black.

The phantoms were here.

As the fog floated over the ships stationed in a ring around the docks, it began to dissipate. One by one, the souls of the dead sank into the empty bodies the spirit had provided. One by one, the mist was sucked away, replaced with the jerking bodies of the undead. Unaware of anything except the vivacity pulsing down from the city before them, the bodies turned toward Da'astiku, moving as a mass toward Leena's home. The souls of the living called to them, and the phantoms had only one thought on their minds—the uncontrollable need to rejoin the world no matter the cost, to taste the hot thrill of life for themselves. They fell over the sides of the ships, splashing into the sea and sinking out of sight. On and on it went, one after another, a human waterfall cascading into the ocean, until suddenly the world was silent. The phantoms disappeared almost entirely, trapped within bodies that were now at the bottom of the harbor.

Leena paused.

Could it have really been that easy?

The day had turned back into a day like any other.

The sea was blue. The sky was blue. The world stretched before her, unbelievably empty. The waves rolled in her ears, slapping up against the shores of Da'astiku. The empty ships bobbed peacefully in the port.

But Leena's skin crawled.

Her heart beat wildly fast.

Her fingers trembled.

And then a hand appeared at the end of the dock.

Then another. Reaching, pulling. Then a head, slightly blue and bloated, with eyes that were no more than glassy crystals.

All around, hands jutted from the sea, stretching toward land. Gruesome bodies followed, slinking onto the shore. As living corpses reached to clasp Tempest's icy scales, she pumped her wings, lifting them both into the sky. Leena watched in horror as the dead crawled free from the sea.

On the horizon, ebony clouds gathered.

A storm no human could defeat.

THREE

It was so much worse than anything Leena had seen before. Worse than the visions Tempest had showed her of the past. Worse than the massacre of Brython. Worse than the battle for Roninhythe.

The shadow had been toying with them. Leena never realized it until this instant, watching the dead descend upon her home. Watching them slink jerkily over the docks, swarming like insects toward the city with utterly vacant expressions, crawling over one another to get there first. Everything before had been games to the shadow—enough to taunt the riders, enough to scare them. No more than a glimpse of his true power. But this time, Leena realized as she hovered in disbelief over the horde, the shadow wasn't playing. Her eyes focused on the horizon and the new cloud of phantoms pulsing there, moving slow and steadily toward her—a mist Leena had no way to stop. There was no doubt in her mind that the shadow was using his full force. He meant to end the world. And all Leena could do was stall him and hope the spirit would make her move soon.

Tempest screeched at the undead, shaking Leena from her shock.

"Let's go," she whispered fiercely to her dragon. Together, they swooped down over the bodies.

Now! Leena thought.

Tempest roared, shooting a river of cascading water over the writhing mass. The wave hit them hard, sending the bodies back toward the sea, flipping them over one another until they rolled away from the bridge connecting the port to the rest of Da'astiku.

More!

Another wave washed over the corpses. And another. The bodies floundered like fish on land, flopping in the ceaseless onslaught, unable to break through Tempest's powerful blows.

Leena was holding them—for now. But one glance up was enough to tell her that this trick wouldn't last for very long. The second fog was almost upon her. And this time there were no more spirit-woven bodies to fill.

Thinking quickly, Leena pulled Tempest away after one last blast of cold liquid. The undead took advantage of the momentary break, turning immediately around and crawling toward the city once more. They reemerged from the sea unblocked, but Leena ignored them. Those corpses were harmless—the mist was much more concerning.

Flying to the next level of the city, Leena ordered Tempest to send a wave of water down the streets. And next came an icy blast full of crystal shards and freezing air, transforming the path into a deadly slide. They repeated the process on and on, until the entire lower level of Da'astiku was encased in slippery ice. Moving back toward the docks where the phantom-filled bodies continued to gather, they sent a wave of water into the crowd, dispersing it one last time before the mist descended.

Black filled the sky.

Everywhere Leena looked, the ebony was inescapable.

And it moved continually closer.

Surrounded her.

Enshrouding her.

There was nowhere to send it, no way to destroy it.

Tempest flew higher, escaping the smoky tendrils that reached out to grab Leena, trying to paralyze her, trying to make rider and dragon useless in this fight.

There was only one thing to do.

One thing Leena prayed might work.

Kill.

At her command, ice shards as sharp as knives spewed from Tempest's mouth, raining down over the bodies below. They landed true, spraying red blood over the city streets. Writhing bodies fell. They went still. Dancing between ebony wisps, Leena and Tempest continued their spree until the docks were covered in motionless bodies, barely visible through the fog.

They waited.

Watched.

Leena held her breath, hoping this would work.

And then a single sight sent white-hot hope into her chest.

A puff of black disappeared into one of the motionless bodies. The corpse reanimated, crawling once more for the city. Over and over, the process repeated. The mist condensed as the phantoms were sucked into the bodies littering the streets, bringing them back to life.

After that, Leena and Tempest fell into a pattern. They killed the undead, careful to strike fatal blows while also leaving the body as whole as possible so it could be refilled by a different phantom. On and on the fighting went, killing a corpse just to watch it come back to life. And in the distance, the mist still pulsed. The ebony never disappeared again. It grew. And grew. The undead made their way slowly up the city streets, slipping on the ice, regaining ground, slipping again, crawling ever so slowly toward her people. Leena couldn't stop them, she could only slow them, killing one after another, helpless as the phantoms continued their relentless approach.

She was exhausted.

She would never give up.

But the battle crept higher with Leena fighting alone against a thousand foes, losing more and more ground. Until finally, her heart fell. From below, she heard the terrified cries of her people. Sparing only a moment, she glanced over her shoulder. The silver levels of the city were packed as tightly as possible. Bodies were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, merchant next to noble, unmarked next to guard, filling the streets to capacity. Children cried as their mothers tried to shield their eyes. Men stood before their families, willing to sacrifice themselves if it gave their loved ones even one more second of life. Guards were stationed at the bridge, eyes full of fear as they watched the enemy approach, but they didn't run. They held their ground. They were ready to die in the line of duty.

"Raise the bridge!" Leena shouted to the guards.

They complied without hesitation, spinning the pulley that lifted the metal platform, cutting the corpses off from entering the next plateau. But that wouldn't stop the mist. Nothing would. And with her people resting so compactly, the phantoms would massacre them in seconds. The ebony would dissolve quickly, wiping out everyone and everything she had ever known in a matter of moments.

And there was nothing Leena could do to prevent it.

"Kill what you can!" she yelled.

The guards did. Arrows filled the air below her, landing true. But they saved only seconds. The mist stalled for barely a moment as phantoms brought the fallen back to life, and then it continued to press forward. The undead reached the bridge and tried to cross it, unaware that the other side had been lifted away. One by one they fell, dropping hundreds of feet to the rocks below, destroyed.

The mist didn't follow the bodies down the fissure.

It floated over the crevice, growing in size, creeping closer.

Leena watched in horror.

Her time had run out.

The first guard fell silently, twitching as the ebony touched his face. The second went down with a scream, dropping in a seizure as the life was pulled from him. By the time the third and fourth fell, the first two guards had already been reanimated, and they were crawling forward, reaching for the living, trying to steal the warmth for themselves.

Where was the spirit?

Leena reached with her mind, desperately searching for Jinji, for the spirit, for the other riders, for any sign that the end was near.

All she felt through the dragon bond was horror.

The riders were watching the world collapse, and they were unable to stop it.

"Help!" her people cried.

Leena fought, blowing ice and water into the mist, into the corpses, doing anything she could. But without the other riders, without Jinji, Leena had reached her point of uselessness. There was nothing left she could do on her own to stop the massacre.

Despair coiled.

Hopelessness threatened.

Then a bright ray of golden sun pierced through the mist, landing on Leena, surrounding her in a halo of light. She paused and glanced up, feeling outside of herself, separate from the world and the carnage taking place on the streets beneath her.

The sky was blue.

The sun brightened.

And on all sides, the ebony began to dissipate.

Leena held her breath, unable to believe her eyes. The phantoms were disappearing. The corpses dropped to the ground one by one, as lifeless as they were supposed to be. The fog recoiled, rolling back toward the sea, disappearing beneath the water. Da'astiku began to sparkle as the light landed on metal roofs, reflecting stars. The ice in the streets melted, flooding back toward the docks and washing the blood away with it. Silence permeated the air.

And then an uproarious cheer surrounded Leena, cocooning her in a joy purer than any she had felt before. The people were cheering. Before she realized it, tears slipped down her cheeks. And then Tempest joined in the cry, roaring into the cloudless sky and filling it with snowflakes that rained down gently over the Ourthuri. Pure, just like their happiness. Children reached for the white specks, laughing as the cold flakes landed on their skin, marveling at a sight they had never seen in such a warm kingdom. Leena reached for her stomach, remembering her own child who rested there, another innocent she had saved.

But though the streets danced and buzzed with bliss, with her hand against her womb, Leena remembered her work wasn't over. Not yet.

And she had to find Tam.

Scanning the crowd, Leena searched for the guard who had spoken to her before—the only one brave enough to do so. He had taken Tam from her rooms on that day weeks ago. He would know where Tam was now.

"Princess!"

Leena spun Tempest around at the sound of that familiar voice, unable to believe her luck.

"Tam!" she shouted as she landed and jumped from Tempest's back, running into her friend's arms. He held her close, lifting her toes off the ground with his enthusiasm.

"I thought I'd killed you," he murmured.

Leena stepped back, gripping his shoulders, hating herself for the tears wetting his eyes. "Tam…"

He shook his head. "I thought you'd died."

Leena smiled her most dazzling smile. "Because of you, I'm finally living. You helped me escape. You helped me free myself from my father. Without you, I never would have found my dragon or my destiny." Leena trailed off as she finally took Tam's entire appearance in, realizing he wasn't wearing the uniform of the guard any longer. He was in plain clothes. Her eyes dropped frantically to his wrists, but his tattoos were still intact—he wasn't unmarked. "Tam, what happened after I left? What did my father do to you?"

"Nothing, Princess." He sighed. "He never found out what happened in your rooms. He believed you had snuck out during the changing of your guards. He doesn't know I was ever there."

"Then why weren't you fighting with us today?" she asked, confused.

"I asked to leave," he told her solemnly.

Leena gasped. "Why?"

Tam licked his lips, breathing in deeply. "I had no reason to fight any longer. After watching what happened to Mikza, to you. After believing you had died. I couldn't spend my life protecting the king any longer. I was going mad, so I asked to be discharged, and because of my noble heritage, the request was granted. I came home in shame and was kicked out of my family for a second time. I've been working in the merchant levels, trying to make enough money to travel to one of the farther isles where I can forget everything I witnessed here."

Panic seized her. "You can't go!" Leena cried. "I need you."

"For what, Princess?"

At that very moment, Leena realized all of the eyes on the two of them, watching them and watching her dragon. But the gazes weren't suspicious. They were filled with admiration and with hope, marveling at Leena and Tempest, watching with wonder.

She leaned into Tam, speaking low. "I must find the other riders, but I'll be back Tam, as soon as I can. And when I return, my father won't be able to hide from me any longer. I'm going to face him, and I'm going to win, but I want more than that. I want change. I want a new Ourthuro, ruled with love and not with hate. I want the dreams Mikza and I spoke of to become a reality. I want the potential I see in these people all around us to be realized. And I can't do it alone."

"What can I do, Princess?" he asked dismally, voice brimming with dejection.

"You can bring the people together in my absence. You can plant the seeds of revolution. I know there are others out there who see things the way we do, who are tired of living in fear under a king who shows no mercy. And after today, I have more faith than ever before that they will follow me, follow us, if we just show them the way. Talk to people. Spread the word. Prepare them for my return. We need the merchants and the nobles and the guards to be united, as many sympathizers as possible from all walks of life."

"How much time do I have?"

Leena breathed deep, tasting the lingering sense of joy and hope still filling the air around them. "I want this victory fresh in everyone's mind. We can't wait long or else their courage will falter. My father will pull the leashes tight once more, and we must act before he does. I'll give you a week. And when I come back, I will have the support of the other dragon riders with me."

"A week?" he asked, confirming, chewing his lip in thought. And then Tam grinned, filling his boyish face with life just the way Leena remembered it. She had given him something new to live for, something new to dream. "The king has proven his cowardice today, and you have proven your courage. I've heard talks before of people plotting rebellion. I know there are those who have been planning their whole lives for an opportunity just like this. A week is all the time we need."

Leena opened her mouth to agree, but at that exact moment, a wave of despair punched her gut, a sorrow so all-encompassing that she stumbled, legs growing week as the desolation washed over her.

Tam caught her.

"Princess?"

But Leena shook her head, finding Tempest's eye. The sadness was pouring through the dragon bond, a river washing over them both.

"I must go," she said, standing, running toward Tempest.

"Is everything all right?" Tam called, worried.

Leena looked over her shoulder, finding his concerned brown eyes. "One week."

And then she took off, listening to the cheers that erupted in her wake, unable to believe as her name lifted up over the crowd, called out with awe and veneration. Smiling at the newfound hope brimming with that sound, Leena focused on the other riders as she left Da'astiku behind, knowing for certain she would return soon.

Through the dragon bond, she reached out, trying to locate the other riders, trying to discover the cause of the misery blackening her heart. Jasper and Bran were in flight. Leena felt the joy and concern mixing in their hearts, pouring freely through the bond. It was the same strange mix of celebration and confusion filling her thoughts.

Which left only one.

Rhen? Leena shouted through the connection.

Immediately, a door slammed shut in the corner of her mind.

The despair disappeared. The sadness blinked out of existence. But that only served to confirm her suspicions. Rhen was in mourning. But it was so much more than that. He was broken. His soul was dying. And there could only be one reason why.

Jinji.

"Find them," Leena whispered fiercely to Tempest.

But deep in her heart, she already knew it was too late.

FOUR

When the ivory peaks of the Gates slipped into view, Leena tried to prepare herself for the worst. But as she crested the mountaintop, a scream tore free, ripping its way up from deep in the base of her throat, purely instinctual, and she couldn't hold it back.

Jinji was dead.

A pool of bright ruby blood stood starkly out against the white rock. And resting undeniably in the center of that gruesome frame was Jinji, cradled tightly to Rhen's chest, unmoving.  Next to them both was a lifeless Janu.

"No!" Leena cried as Tempest landed.

Rhen glanced up, finding her gaze through blurry, strained eyes. He was lost. Completely and utterly lost. Drowning in Jinji's blood.

Leena's heart shattered into a million fractured pieces.

Without thinking, she leapt from Tempest's back and ran to them, falling beside him and clutching one of Jinji's limp hands. Her friend's palm was cold, clammy. Her skin had already turned ashen. Leena couldn't see her friend's eyes, but she knew they were vacant and hollow.

Jinji was gone.

Grief tore through Leena.

She trembled. How? When? Why?

"What…" she whispered, then trailed off, voice gone.

Rhen shook his head. There were no words.

Staring into his bleak expression, Leena remembered what she'd seen only that morning—the vial, the canteen, the elixir Rhen had slipped into Jinji's drink. He blamed himself. The guilt was written all over his face, surpassed only by his despair.

"Rhen," she murmured, fusing as much empathy as she could into those words. But rather than comfort him, her voice crushed him.

Rhen fell over Jinji's body, hugging her as though his touch could bring her back to life. Sobs filled the air around him, deep moans that came from a barren place. Leena wanted to cover her ears, to block out the cries, but she was stuck, watching in horror, unable to move.

There was no way to help him.

No way to help either of them.

Tears fell freely from Leena's eyes as she realized that she had lost two friends today. Not just the woman who had saved her life in more ways than Leena could count. But also the man who had proven to her that honor and love did exist in this world—that they hadn't died with Mikza. And as that thought struck, so did the memories.

Leena closed her eyes, shutting them tight, trying to fight the wave.

But it came unrelentingly upon her.

The bloody limb in her hand was no longer a woman's. Behind closed lids, the scene changed. Leena was no longer at the top of the Gates, surrounded by her fellow riders, surrounded by acceptance. She was alone in the golden palace, surrounded by fear, watching the spear enter Mikza's heart, watching him fall lifeless to the ground, watching a halo of blood surround him. His deep umber eyes met hers, and she held his tender gaze, unable to look away, helpless as the life slowly faded from his expression, melting into nothing. Gone. Never coming back.

So much love ripped away in an instant.

So many dreams utterly destroyed.

Too much.

Too many.

And now more.

Leena's head shook back and forth, ticking with denial.

Hadn't she suffered enough? Hadn't they all suffered enough?

No. No more.

She couldn't take it, couldn't survive it. She wouldn’t.

Almost as though answering a prayer, a voice broke through her suffering. A woman's voice. An impossible voice.

"Rhen, I'm here," Jinji whispered.

And though the words weren't spoken to her, they filled Leena's heart.

Her eyes tore open.

They found Rhen.

They found Jinji.

Her friend's lips were widened by a bright smile. Humor danced in her irises. The copper glow of her skin had returned. Pink flushed her cheeks as she fought to free her hand from Rhen's tight embrace, to touch his face. And then as Leena watched, Jinji continued speaking, undeniably alive. "I'm right here."

Mirroring Leena's own uncomprehending awe, Rhen paused, suddenly still. His eyes opened slowly, full of disbelief.

"Jin," he murmured.

A grin pulled at Leena's cheeks as the despair freezing her insides melted away, replaced by warm joy.

"I'm alive," Jinji said giddily.

"You're alive," Rhen repeated with wonder. His eyes roved over every part of her. His expression was dumbstruck. And then all at once, his tension released.

So did Leena's.

She's alive.

She's alive!

"You’re alive!" Rhen shouted, jumping to his feet and hugging Jinji close.

Leena watched from her spot on the ground, unable to contain her racing emotions. Glee practically made her chest burst as she watched the reunion, as she watched life refill both of her friends' faces. Happiness washed over the riders, a warm sprinkle that was palpable in the light breeze caressing their cheeks.

Rhen kissed Jinji. She smiled against his lips, laughing.

And Leena remained alone on the ground.

A dark spot deep in her heart stained the moment of pure bliss.

She wanted to jump to her feet.

She wanted to join them in celebration.

She wanted nothing more than to ignore the new round of grief overtaking her heart. But with the blood still staining her hands, Leena found her eyes drawn to the ruby pool, entranced by it. A face filled her eyes. Mikza. Hurt tugged at her soul. Rhen and Jinji's love was so strong it was practically tangible. And hers was so long gone that it was no more than a vision in her eyes. A memory to hold on to, and not a man, living and breathing before her.

Loneliness enveloped Leena.

Unbearable isolation.

"There is one more task that needs to be completed before we can put the war fully behind us," Jinji said loudly, pulling Leena back to the world. "There is a fifth dragon, and I need your help bringing her to life."

"Anything," Rhen confirmed.

"Anything," Bran and Jasper agreed together.

Leena nodded, unable to bring herself to speak. A tight knot sat in the base of her throat, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't swallow it away.

"I need you to ride your dragons, and when I say so, focus all of their ferocious fury on me."

"No," Rhen said immediately. "Absolutely not. I just got you back. I'm not—"

Jinji turned to him, expression softening, so full of adoration that Leena had to look away. Her eyes found the blood again.

"Rhen," Jinji murmured gently, and Leena closed her eyes, hating herself for the bundle of jealousy twisting in her gut. "I'm not going anywhere. We've both lied. We've both made mistakes by overprotecting each other, by hiding the full truth. We've both been trying to do everything on our own. And it hasn't worked. Please, trust me." A moment of silence passed. And then Jinji continued, voice stronger, speaking to all of them. "Use your full strength. Do not be nervous, and do not hold back."

No one noticed that Leena was still on the ground. That tears threatened to drip from her eyes. That she was the only one not smiling.

"Go!" Jinji commanded.

Leena didn't move. She couldn't.

A cold snout pressed against her shoulder, nudging her, drawing her attention away from the grief she couldn’t suppress.

Tempest.

The dragon slid her scales against Leena's cheek, trying to give her strength, trying to cure the grief she felt through the bond. Leena caressed her cold neck.

She wasn't alone. Not completely.

The other riders were already flying, so even though it took all of her strength, Leena stood and mounted her dragon. From there, Tempest took over, dragon leading rider.

"Now," Jinji commanded.

Water and ice roared from Tempest's throat.

Leena watched from a world away as the powers of all four dragons met in a single spot, flaring against each other, crashing in the center and merging into one another. An ivory epicenter glowed blindingly bright, spreading wider and wider as the elements continued to explode against each other. The beam brightened, blocking out the sun, pulsing with life.  Until suddenly, the entire spark disappeared.

Stop.

Tempest reacted before Leena could.

All four of the dragons halted their powers.

Leena looked down, amazed to see a pearlescent dragon resting in the spot their powers had been only a moment ago. And huddled protectively beneath its wings was Jinji. When her eyes opened, they immediately found Rhen, gaze radiating with love.

Leena ran.

Not fast. Not immediately.

Tempest continued to hover while everyone else landed. She glided gently back, farther and farther away, but slowly so no one noticed. Leena wasn't sure if she were leading her dragon, or if the dragon just knew that it was time to get away. From overhead, Leena watched Rhen and Jinji's happy reunion. Then she watched Jinji race toward her brother's side, falling knees first into the pool of blood still surrounding him. Moments later, she watched as he sat up, miraculously returned from the dead just as Jinji had been.

The last sight broke her.

Tempest turned away from the mountain peak and dropped lazily down, drifting in wide circles until dragon and rider were both embraced by the crisp hug of the sea, safe beneath the surface where the signs and sights of life were muffled and unfamiliar. Leena closed her eyes, no longer afraid to cry because the ocean just washed the tears away. She was brought back to another life, to one where a pool of water had been her only escape. Only this time, there would be no handsome man to welcome her back above the surface, lifting her gently from the water and welcoming her with a kiss.

Mikza was gone.

His body had been turned to ash. It traveled now with the wind.

He could never return.

His time had passed.

Tempest stopped sinking when they reached the sand. Leena drifted just a little farther, until she came to rest in the curve of her dragon's neck, leaning against the scales. Large wings wrapped around her protectively. And in the same moment, Leena's arms drifted to her stomach, holding it close, keeping it from harm. Her finger ran over the smooth edge of her makeshift ring, remembering the man who gave it to her and the promises that once rolled sweetly from his lips.

Down here, the sun was little more than an ethereal aqua glow moving with the current. The world was sapphire. In the water, she never felt alone. Never felt lonely. Here, all of her troubles washed away. They were easier to manage. It made her never want to leave. Never want to return to the surface again.

She had the unborn child in her womb.

She had her dragon.

There was nothing else she needed.

At least, that is what Leena tried to convince herself as she closed her eyes tight, doing her best to squeeze out the pain. Listening to Tempest's steady heartbeat, she focused on calming her own, on emptying her thoughts. She wanted to drift away like a current. If only life were just as easy to manage as a changing tide, just as steady, just as simple to predict.

The sound of a soft splash drifted down from above.

Leena didn't open her eyes. She didn’t have to. The presence of another dragon was as easy to feel as her own pulse. They were all connected, and she should have known she could never get away, never escape.

Moments later, warm air brushed against Leena's skin. The water around her disappeared, as though a large bubble surrounded her, holding it back.

"It's beautiful down here," Jinji whispered. "I understand why you picked this as your hiding place."

Leena turned away, curling farther into her dragon's side. "Don't look at me."

"Why?" Jinji asked, stepping closer until her hand brushed warmly against Leena's cheek, wiping away the tears that continued to fall.

"You should be with Rhen," Leena murmured. "You should be with Janu. You should be with your family."

"You are my family," Jinji said, voice unwavering and honest.

Leena finally opened her eyes. "I'm so happy you're alive."

"I know."

"I'm so happy for you and for Rhen. I'm so happy for myself, that I have not lost a dear friend. I'm happy Janu survived, that you didn't lose the brother you love so much. I'm happy for my people, for the world, that we were victorious today, that they are all safe. I'm happy for so many things…" Leena trailed off, voice lost.

Jinji watched her in silence. The look in her eyes was full of sympathy, as though she knew what was coming next.

"He would have been so proud of me, today," Leena whispered. Her throat caught. Her eyes burned. It felt as though someone had reached into her chest and pulled out her heart, wrenching her soul with it. "Of my people. If he had only seen the way they stood with each other, the way they protected one another in the face of such evil and the way they cheered with one another at the first sight of victory. For a moment, there were no tattoos. No plateaus. No divisions. There was just a single people, one Ourthuro. I just," Leena paused, taking a deep breath. She pressed on, needing to get the words out for herself, not even for Jinji. "I just wish he could have seen it. I wish we could have seen it together."

And then she broke.

"I know," Jinji said as she pulled her close, hugging Leena against her smaller frame. But in that instant, Jinji didn't feel small. She felt like the one thing Leena could cling to, and she did, pulling her friend close and burying her head in her shoulder to muffle the sobs. "He was there, Leena. Not in the way you both want, but he was with you. He always is. Just like the people I've lost are always with me. They are our motivation, our strength. They are part of everything we do."

Leena nodded, but she couldn't find the words.

Jinji didn't ask her to. She just held her until all the tears were cried out.

"I'm sorry," Leena said a while later, throat scratchy and dry.

Jinji shook her head. "For what?"

"For pulling you away from Rhen and Janu. For forcing my own grief upon you at a time when all you should feel is joy."

Jinji grasped her shoulders, forcing Leena to meet her gaze. "Don't ever apologize for the feelings in your heart, you can't help them. I didn't come here because I had to. I came because I care about you, because I understand missing a person so much that it physically hurts, because I couldn't leave you alone on a day when we should all be celebrating together. Everyone wanted to come, Rhen and Bran and Jasper," Jinji paused, smiling, filling her voice with humor. "But seeing as we're hundreds of feet below the sea, I was the only one powerful enough to find you and to bring you back."

Leena grinned. A small laugh escaped her lips.

For the first time, she actually looked around, taking in the invisible dome holding the water at bay, the two dragons curled against the sand, the soft blue glow shimmering over Jinji's cheeks. The bottom of the ocean felt like home to Leena. But she could understand why men made of fire, earth, and air would feel more comfortable on land.

"Rhen tried to follow me," Jinji said casually, and then she raised her brows, smirking. "One dip in the ocean was all it took for Firestorm to politely throw his rider from his back. For all I know, he could still be treading water, apologizing and trying to sweet talk his way into a rescue." Then she softened her expression. "Should we help him?"

Leena understood the real meaning behind that question.

Was she all right?

Was she ready to join the others?

Was she ready to let the pain of losing Mikza go, at least for now?

Leena nodded.

Both women mounted their dragons, glancing up at the far away sun.

"We'll always be there when you need us," Jinji said suddenly, still gazing up through the endless blue. "You only have to ask."

And then the bubble around them burst.

The water crashed over Leena, a warm embrace, but not the only one.

Jinji swam quickly on her ivory spirit dragon.

Leena raced to follow.

FIVE

Leena never before realized how slowly one week could pass. One week. Seven days. Fifty-two hours. Nothing. Easy.

But Leena was dying with the anticipation.

On the first day, Leena celebrated with the others, getting drunk for the first time in her life and losing herself in the revelry.

On the second, she cursed Rhen for her pounding headache and ordered Tempest to wake him with a shockingly cold splash of water to the face.

On the third, she gathered enough courage to finally reveal her plans of revolution to the other riders, who promptly offered to help in any way they could.

On the fourth, she was so on edge that Jinji ordered she go with Rhen to Rayfort to meet with the king, just to give her something to do.

On the fifth, she flew halfway to Da'astiku only to have a mysterious storm blow her in the opposite direction, stopping once she landed safely at the Gates.

On the sixth, she suffered a panic attack as her nerves took over, and she realized just how overwhelming a task she had placed on her own shoulders.

And on the seventh, she woke before dawn and waited impatiently for the sky to turn lavender before soaring toward Ourthuro, perfectly self-assured and absolutely prepared to do whatever needed to be done. The others had offered to come with her, to show their support, but Leena had waved them off. This was her fight. This was Ourthuro's fight. And it was enough for Leena to know her friends were behind her in spirit. Their support gave her strength, just as Mikza's memory gave her faith.

As the sparkling shoreline of her homeland glittered into view, Leena leaned over Tempest's back, lying flat so they flew as fast as possible. Unlike the last time, no nerves washed over her. There was only a hot punch of iron determination. Leena was made of ice and steel, the powers of the water rider mixed with an Ourthuri hardness inbred since birth. If Mikza could see her now, she wasn't sure he would recognize her. Yet at the same time, she was perfectly at ease in her body. No longer a girl, but finally the woman she was always meant to be.

Leena had made a promise to herself long ago that love would be her weapon—that love would bring King Razzaq to his knees. At the time, her mind had thought only of Mikza, of their loss and of their hope, of their dreams. But soaring toward her home now, Da'astiku just sprouting to life in the distance, Leena realized that love of a man was not the only kind fueling her actions. There were so many other types of love that powered her and gave her strength—that fortified her conviction. Love of her home. Love of her people. Love of her culture and the possibilities she saw there. Love of a sibling. Love of a friend. Love of an unborn child whom she wanted to gift with a better life. Love of an amazing man. And love of the woman he helped her become.

When she thought of all the love in her life, she no longer felt alone. Instead, she felt pity and sadness for the man she was about to face, a man whose heart was filled only with greed and hate and selfishness. A man who was so utterly alone and so utterly lost that he didn't realize what he was missing. Her father thought to make love a crime because he could not find it for himself, and what the king didn't have, no one else could. But love wasn't meant to be broken or tied down or contained. It was meant to explode out into the world. It was meant to be shared and displayed and available for the taking.

That was all Leena wanted.

To fill the streets of Ourthuro with love.

For her people to welcome it and not fear it.

But as she soared over her home, the streets were bare. There were no people. No sounds. No flashes of movement. Nothing.

Her heartbeat faltered.

A thought she hadn't dared consider entered her mind.

What if no one else was willing to fight with her?

She had hoped to fly into a city already stirring with revolution, not one so quiet it appeared in hiding.

What if her father's influence was too overpowering? What if the people were too afraid to face him, even with a dragon on their side? What if they liked Ourthuro the way it was and didn't see the possibilities Leena saw?

This wasn't a fight she could win alone.

Sure, she could soar to the golden palace and put a sword through her father's heart easily enough. But what then? The people needed to want change in order for change to occur. They had to fight for it together or it would never come.

Just as doubt began to curl her insides, weakening her strength, a figure in the distance caught her eyes.

Leena grinned.

Tam was waiting for her. He stood alone in the middle of the bridge connecting the silver levels of the city to the common populace below. Casually, he leaned against the metal arch with his arms crossed. To the unsuspecting viewer, he seemed like no more than a man taking in the view of the rising sun. But to Leena, he was everything.

Their eyes met.

They spoke without words.

Tam nodded slightly, eyes fierce and aglow with excitement.

He was ready. The people were ready.

Which meant Leena had to be ready too. And she was.

Breaking contact, Leena shot up, racing for the golden palace as Tempest screeched into the air. The dragon cry echoed, bouncing from metal house to metal house, reverberating from plateau to plateau, shaking the very foundations of the city. And unbeknownst to Leena, that piercing roar was the signal of the revolution. Bodies emerged from the shadows, armed with swords and axes and knives. Eyes found her in the sky. A mass of people followed her path, marching slowly toward the king.

The highest plateau of Da'astiku was no more than a sea of liquid gold chain mail, fiery in the brightening light of day. Her father's soldiers were ready to squash the rebellion—no surprise lit their stoic expressions. The king was prepared for this uprising. It came as no shock to him. But as her eyes flicked over the men, Leena found a few faces slightly upturned, gazing at her with what she hoped was a hint of anticipation. Tam had spoken to his friends, and he had many friends within the guard. Hopefully not everything was what it seemed.

The soldiers parted as she crested the ridge, creating an open path down the middle leading directly to the front entrance of the palace.

Leena's brows pressed together.

Confusion stirred in the back of her mind.

Did her father mean to surrender?

Never, Leena thought, shaking her head.

Yet did he really believe he could beat her? Could beat Tempest?

Hesitantly, she drifted through the open columns at the front of the palace, swooping low and spinning sideways so Tempest's broad wings could squeeze through. Unlike the castles of Whylkin, fortresses of stone full of narrow halls and even narrower doors, the golden palace of Ourthuro practically dared enemies with its openness. There were few walls and fewer doors. Sun streaked in from every angle. Rows of towering columns created a maze only the familiar could pass through without getting lost. Luckily, Leena knew these curving pillars like the back of her hand, and even though each one looked nearly the same, the subtle differences stood out.

She led Tempest easily to the throne room.

And then stopped with her heart in her throat.

King Razzaq sat patiently waiting. And by his side, only five years old, was her brother Haydar. He was the reason for the smug smile now gracing her father's lips. He was the reason she was let into the palace without so much as a sword raised against her. He was the reason her pulse suddenly hammered through her limbs, clunky and unsure.

Leena hadn't seen her brother in weeks.

He gazed at her now, eyes wide in excitement as he practically jumped from his miniature throne and raced from their father's side.

"Leena!" he shouted, still a child.

And then he stopped, realizing his loss of decorum, and straightened his spine. Composed, he marched slowly toward her, taking each step with deliberate concentration to keep himself from sprinting.

Princes do not run. Leena could almost hear the demanding command in her brother's ear, the invisible voice of her father whispering to him. Running signals eagerness, fear, weakness. And we must never reveal when we are not in control. Princes are always in control.

But she was not a prince.

She was not even a princess, not anymore.

So Leena jumped from Tempest's back and swept her brother off his feet, hugging him close as he sighed happily in her ear.

"You're alive," he whispered, tiny voice brimming with relief.

A warm fire lit deep within her soul—she wasn't too late to save him. Part of the little boy she loved was still there—the boy who loved everything around him, who was so full of life, who defied everything her father wanted in his son. The king was trying to stamp out every soft part of his personality, but he hadn't succeeded—not yet.

A deep cough broke the moment.

"Do princes hug traitors to their kingdom?" the king asked, leaving no question of the proper response.

Haydar jerked out of Leena's embrace, inhaling deeply, fear evident in his gasp. He spun on his heels, turning his back on her. Sounding so much older than his years, he guiltily replied, "No, Father."

Without further command, he walked calmly back to the king's side. And when he crawled up into his throne and turned on Leena, the love was gone from his dark brown eyes.

Her hands clenched into tight fists.

Her teeth ground together as her nostrils flared.

It took everything in Leena's power not to whisper one word into Tempest's mind—kill. One thought was all it would take to end this fight. One thought and an ice crystal could sail directly into the center of the king's chest. One thought could wipe the smug smile off his face forever.

But could she do it in front of her brother?

Could she give Haydar a reason to hate her? A reason to hold their father as a martyr? A reason to be like their father when he was of age to rule?

Leena took a deep breath. She had to be patient. She had to wait for the perfect moment to strike. And that time was not now.

Holding out her hand, she signaled Tempest to pause, to relax. And then her gaze swept the room, landing on the handful of guards surrounding them and the woman sitting over her father's shoulder, a woman she failed to notice before—the queen, head covered in a golden veil, still as a statue in her flowing golden gown. She was a female on display, same as Leena had once been, not free to have a mind of her own. But the king didn't own Leena anymore. She was free to speak, and she was free to say whatever words came to mind.

"Father," Leena said calmly, but her body was on full alert.

He raised his brows at her endearing term. "Should we call you daughter? The term traitor sounds far more fitting."

Leena shrugged. "Call me what you may, but it will not change the truth. You betrayed our people long before I did. And what I do, I do on their behalf, to save them from you."

"To save them from us?" he asked, voice dripping with faux surprise. He dropped a beefy, tattoo-covered hand onto Haydar's shoulder. "To save them from their king? We have done nothing but keep our country safe from intruders, keep it rich and well protected. You are the one who ran to the enemy, revealing our secrets and putting our people's lives in danger."

Leena's eyes flicked from her brother's nod of approval to her father's sinister stare. "Did you keep the people safe when you hid in the palace while I fought the army of ghosts threatening to destroy our home? Did you keep them safe by starting a pointless war with our neighboring kingdom? Did you keep them safe by forcing them to be slaves at the slightest hint of opposition? Did you keep them safe by continuing customs that have long since grown outdated and cruel? I do not feel safe, Father. And there are many others who agree with me."

He paused, licking his lips. "Are you still bitter over Mikzahooq's death?"

Leena sucked in a breath, refusing to give in to his goading. At the same time, her hand ached to slap across his face at the mere sight of Mikza's name rolling off his unworthy tongue.

"You both knew the rules," he continued. "It is not our fault you chose to defy them, knowing what fate would await."

"This," Leena hissed, "is about so much more than one man." Breathing in shakily, Leena calmed herself. To her, Mikza was so much more than just one man—he had been everything. But their shared dreams had always been about more than their love for one another. "This is about the veils our women wear to keep them from being able to speak. This is about the tattoos that brand our people from birth, never allowing them to change their station in life. This is about the fact that a thing as beautiful as falling in love is cause for a life of slavery in Ourthuro. This is about the mothers of so many princesses who lie in shallow graves because they gave birth to beautiful girls rather than boys. This is about a little prince whose innocence has slowly been chipped away in order to mold him into a cruel leader he's never wanted to become. This is about the hardness that commands our culture, crushing any soft touch that fights to break through."

"And you believe you can change all of that?" her father asked with disbelief.

Leena squared her shoulders, staring up at him boldly with outward defiance. "I already have. The people of Da'astiku are rising up against you. And when word of what happened here spreads to the outer isles, where the threat of your brutality already holds less power, they'll change with us. I have no doubt about the future. The only question that remains is how to deal with you."

He sneered. "You don't have the heart for murder."

"I don't think of it as murder," Leena replied smoothly, not even pausing to blink. "I think of it as justice for a man who has committed countless crimes, but has never paid the price for a single one of them."

His nostrils flared.

A thrill shot up Leena's back, making the corners of her lips twitch with a smile she had to fight to contain. Her words were getting to him. She was winning. And she opened her mouth to tell him so, but in that moment, the faint ring of metal striking metal filtered to the throne room, music to her ears. The rebellion had reached the golden palace, and the commoners could have never made it this far on their own. Some of the guards were fighting with them. How many, Leena didn't know. But it was enough to know that victory remained a very real possibility.

"We're curious," her father asked, regaining her attention. He didn't look at all bothered by the sounds of fighting drifting through the open halls. Indeed, he looked energized by it, as though the chaos fueled his strength. "Why did you come here alone rather than fight with the people? We know of the dragon's power and how easy it would have been for this beast to destroy our forces."

Leena sensed Tempest behind her, alert but also unworried. "Because this is my fight, Father, not hers. And I would never even think to use her the way you use your soldiers, to force her to fight a battle I know in her heart she doesn't want to fight. You might not understand this, but she is a force for good. And she will protect me if it comes to that, but it would go against her nature to kill a man whose only fault is being on the wrong side of a human war."

The king leaned back, laughing deeply as he kept his eyes on Leena. "So you mean to kill us yourself?" The clash of swords grew louder, and his mirth disappeared entirely. "Kill her," he ordered.

Everything happened in fast forward.

One minute Leena was standing before her father, and the next, she had been knocked over by the weight of a two-hundred-pound man flying into her. She landed hard against the floor, slamming her head painfully into the tile, blinding her for a moment.

"Save us," the man whispered.

Her vision focused slowly, still blurred by dark spots, but it cleared enough for her to see the life disappear from his eyes while he was still on top of her. Blood seeped into her clothes, and that's when she noticed the arrow protruding from his neck—an arrow that had been meant for her heart. But with the weight of his chain mail and his body holding her down, Leena was an easy target. A spear filled her vision, arching perilously close to her head.

Tempest whipped her tail around and smacked the spear from the air, sending it deep into a stone column. Then she roared, spewing a shower of sharp ice toward the guard who released the weapon. He went down in a matter of moments, immediately dead as the crystal shards landed in his chest, cutting easily through the metal meant to protect his body.

A moment of silence passed in awe of the dragon's fury.

And then the room jumped into motion. Half the guards ran to defend her father, and the other half rose to Leena's aid. The rebellion had made its way to the very core of her father's soldiers—his personal guard. Swords scraped against each other as sharp edges met in equal strength. The best fighters in all of Ourthuro faced one another, former friends who now lay on opposite sides of a civil war.

Tempest lifted the body off of Leena, throwing it easily to the side. But still, Leena didn't mount her. She wouldn't force Tempest to kill her father, to kill the guards, to kill anyone else. This was a fight she had to win on her own.

Separate us, Leena ordered.

Tempest launched into the air, sweeping in a circle around Leena and the royal family sitting uneasily on their thrones. Liquid ice flew from her snout, landing on the tile floor and freezing on the spot. She continued to circle, round and round, and a crystal wall rose around them—translucent enough to see blurred fighting on the other side, but utterly impenetrable.

They were alone.

Leena looked away from her dragon, finding her father.

"No!" she gasped.

King Razzaq held a knife in his hand.

He grabbed Haydar, bringing the toddler before him, placing the blade against the soft skin of his throat. The edge was sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood.

Leena pulled her sword from its sheath, a gift from Rhen. But she still barely knew how to use it. Her plan had always been to distract her father until the rebellion reached them—to give him to the people and let them do to him what they willed. But she could no longer afford to wait. Her grip tightened on the hilt as she tried to gather her confidence.

"Choose wisely, daughter," the king threatened.

Haydar opened his mouth, terrified and confused as he tried to turn to his father. But the king held him steady, eyes focused only on Leena, refusing to look down at his only son. To her father, the boy was nothing more than another pawn in his game.

"Father?" Haydar whimpered. And then he looked at Leena, biting his lip and trying not to cry, because he knew that crying was not something princes were supposed to do.

The sight broke her.

"It's okay," Leena whispered, smiling encouragingly at her little brother, trying to ease his fears while at the same time panic gripped her heart. Slowly, she kneeled, dropping her sword on the floor and holding her hands up in surrender. "Father, don't do this. He is your son."

"I can make more," was his blasé reply. The blade cut deeper. Haydar began to tremble. "Call off the rebellion. Call off your pet. And you might just save his life."

But Leena knew it was too late for that.

The people were uprising, and there was no way to stop them short of killing them. Something she could never do.

"There must be another way," she whispered, holding her father's vacant expression. But he was an evil man boxed into a corner—a terrible combination. And in the back of her mind, she whispered to Tempest, Can you hit him without harming my brother?

The dragon's reply was a resounding yes.

Leena swallowed, preparing to give the order. Preparing to murder her own father in cold blood.

Do it.

Leena felt Tempest breathe in, felt the magic within her stir, felt the icy spear form in the back of her throat. In her mind, it was already sailing toward her father, landing true, destroying him.

But before Tempest could act, the king jerked.

Leena's eyes widened.

Her dragon stopped.

King Razzaq stiffened, dropping the knife as his body straightened in surprise. A wave of pain passed over his face and then it turned blank. The life drained from his eyes. He fell forward, tumbling down the dais leading to his throne, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

Leena's gaze traveled up.

Standing before the throne was the queen, a vision in gold and precious stones, but Leena's attention went right to the red-stained sword in her hand. The blade fell to the ground, clanking against the floor as the queen's arms enveloped her son. The little boy sank into her touch, melting into his mother's embrace with a wail. Now that he felt safe enough to do so, he released all of the fear in his chest, crying and letting his mother soothe away the pain.

"Shh," she cooed into Haydar's ear as Leena watched. From behind her metal veil, the queen's eyes found Leena's. They were moist and determined, full of no remorse, but glowing with love.

Leena smiled.

She'd been right all along.

Love did bring the king to his knees.

But not the love Leena expected. Not her love for Mikza. Not her love for her people. A different love. A pure one. The strongest one there was.

A mother's love.

Something King Razzaq could never possibly understand.

Something Leena herself was just beginning to comprehend.

SIX

The fighting ended quickly once the people realized the king was dead, but it left chaos in its wake. Most of the rebels had come from common backgrounds and from the guard. A few nobles joined in the fight and a few royals like Leena and the queen. But many had resisted, and Leena refused to start a new age for her people by killing or exiling anyone who didn't believe in her vision. That was what her father would have done. But this was the chance for a new start, a gentler start. And Leena had to figure out a way to lead her people so that everyone, not just the rebels, would want to follow.

They designated her their new ruler, but she knew it would only last for a time. When the kingdom was more stable, Leena and Tempest would have to leave. She was a rider, not a queen, and she had other duties—bigger ones she owed to the world to fulfill. So Leena was left to make as many decisions as possible in the short time she had, whatever she could do to ensure that Ourthuro would thrive even after she left these shores.

Her first appointment was to make Tam lead advisor to the king. He was a silver noble, a golden guard, and an iron merchant all mixed into one person—someone who had experienced life at all levels of Ourthuri society. And he was someone who carried his heart on his sleeve, someone determined and strong but with a conscience, someone she trusted to lead a good example for her brother as he grew to be the king she always hoped he would become.

Her second appointment was to make a council of elected advisors from all levels of the populace. Nobles and commoners. Guards and merchants. Rebels and traditionalists. Men and women. People from the capital city and people from the outer isles. A voice for the king to listen to for advice, a voice for everyone in her kingdom to speak through, a way to ensure not only one side of a disagreement was heard.

Her third appointment was the most controversial by far—to abolish the practice of making unmarked and to return every unmarked to his former station in life. Her dreams were haunted with visions of Mikza in that dungeon, wrists red and raw, an empty expression in his once vibrant eyes. No more. Leena had made that promise to herself, and she intended to keep it.

Other cultural practices would be fleshed out with time. Leena had never once donned a veil since returning to her home, hoping to lead by example and show how powerful a woman could be when given the chance. Others would eventually follow, she hoped. Marriages for noble families would continue to be arranged with the king's approval, but a king who had a tender heart would make sure the match was a good one, and with time the practice might fade. The tattoos were so inbred in Ourthuri life that all Leena could convince the council to agree with was less distinguishing marks that allowed for alterations if one improved his station in life.

There were so many changes and so many adjustments that couldn't be carried out overnight—they would only come once love and kindness had found its way back into daily life. But the unmarked were something Leena would change with or without approval. And she refused to wait. She was helping those poor souls right now.

Jinji, Jasper, and Bran had arrived that morning, and it didn't take long for Leena to put them to work. The riders were sent to the outer isles to inform the people of everything that occurred in their capital and to gather up the unmarked. Taking numerous trips using cages woven by Jinji, the unmarked were brought to the palace.

Leena sat on what was once her father's throne, a head above everyone else, watching as Jinji patiently met with unmarked after unmarked, removing the burns from their hands, restoring so much more than just tattoos—restoring their humanity in the eyes of the Ourthuri.

The council arrived after the process had already begun, ready to voice their protests. But one look at the steel blue dragon standing watch behind Leena and the ivory one crouching beside Jinji quieted them easily enough. Leena hated using intimidation. The very idea that she could be as ruthless as her father made her skin crawl. But as she watched man after man be born again at the touch of Jinji's power, she knew she was doing the right thing. After today, there would be no more unmarked in Ourthuro, no more slaves. And if that was the one adjustment she had to force upon her people, so be it. She had the support of the riders, and that was good enough for her.

Yet looking around, Leena couldn't help but notice the absence of one rider—Rhen. Surprise lingered in the back of her mind. This seemed like the sort of noble act he would love to carry out. Not only that, but he'd barely left Jinji's side since she'd come back from the dead. It was almost odd to see them apart, to see Jinji work and smile without Rhen standing protectively over her shoulder.

But picturing that brought Leena's mind somewhere else.

Her eyes drifted from Jinji, over the line of unmarked waiting to be healed, back to a column at the far corner of the room. For a moment, Leena saw Mikza standing in their spot, his umber eyes staring at her proudly, his strong arms braced relaxingly across his chest. So many times she had looked to find him there, watching with love in his eyes, unable to touch her the way he wanted to, unable to hold her the way she wanted him to. His eyes had been her comfort, her warm shield against her father's cruelty. They had been home.

Will she have his eyes?

Leena touched her belly, feeling the small bump that had formed over the past few days. No one else had noticed, but she did. Her daughter was the driving force behind her every decision. What changes would make the world a better place for her? What changes would make Ourthuro a place she was proud to come from?

As Leena continued to stare at the empty space Mikza used to fill, a wave of loneliness washed over her. A familiar sadness tugged on her heart—one she hoped would fade once her daughter was born, a little piece of Mikza brought back to life. But all alone on the throne, watching Jinji work but having little to do herself, Leena couldn't fight the memory that surged to the forefront of her thoughts. Instead, she welcomed it, allowing herself to drift away to a place down in the depths of her soul where he was still alive, still holding her, still with her.

Leena rested her head on Mikza's chest, running her fingers over the hard contours of his muscles, tracing the lines of his smooth olive skin, unable to believe that such a man belonged completely to her.

"What do you dream of, Mikza?" she asked, curling tighter against his side, aware that in a matter of minutes he would remember that their time was limited—he would remember he was a guard and she was a princess, and the world continued to revolve around them. Those were her least favorite times. When he walked away from her, lifting himself from the sanctuary of her bed, closing the door behind him and pretending for the world that he was nothing more than a soldier doing his job, and she was nothing more than a woman he had to protect. If it were up to her, those moments would never come. She would live in this fantasy forever.

"What do I dream?" he asked huskily, repeating her words.

Leena shifted, bringing her gaze up to his umber eyes, noticing they were dark with passion as he watched her fingers drift across his skin. Gazes meeting, he shifted his hold, wrapping his arms tightly around her and bringing her fully across his chest so there was no space between their bodies.

"I dream of staying here with you forever," he whispered.

Butterflies filled her stomach as she looked away, hiding her smile. "I'm serious, Mikza. What do you see in our future? Sometimes when I'm alone at night, staring out over the sleeping city, I see a vision of us. We're on a quiet beach, far away from here, and behind us there is a little cottage nestled in the rocks."

"What else?" he murmured, closing his eyes with a happy sigh, imagining it.

Leena's thumb found his cheek, caressing it gently. "Sometimes I see a little boy playing in the waves. Sometimes it is a little girl building castles in the sand. Sometimes it's both."

"I would like to live in that world," he said, but Leena sensed the change in his tone—no longer dreamy, but defeated.

"It can happen, Mikza. We can find a place where my father will never reach us, I know we can." She tried to convince him, tried to hold on to this bliss just a moment longer.

But he sat up suddenly, feet dropping to the floor on the side of the bed as he reached for his gear resting in the corner of the room.

"Talk to me," she whispered.

He forced his hand through his unruly black hair, pressing it down, and turned to her with a broken look in his eyes. "You dream of a life in hiding as though it is a fairy tale."

"It's my fairy tale," she responded softly.

He sat beside her, cupping her cheek in his strong hand, but touching her gently. "I want to give you better dreams than that," he said quietly. "Dreams of a world where I could profess my love for everyone to hear, publicly claiming you as mine and mine alone. Dreams of a kingdom where passion is not a crime. Dreams of a king who does not rule with an iron fist but with an open heart. Dreams of a time when something as insignificant as our stations in life would not keep us apart. I have so many dreams, my dear Leena, too many for my own good."

That was the last time Leena had dreamed of the beach. From that moment on, her hopes had grown exponentially bigger. She shared each one with Mikza, and he shared each of his with her, until in the dark of the night they'd created a perfect society together. One she was trying her best to bring to fruition now.

But a sharp jab struck her heart as she realized something.

In not a single one of those dreams were they ever apart.

Mikza's deepest fear had always been that she would end up alone. From the very start of their romance, he'd predicted how it would end. He'd known that their dreams were just that—dreams. That they were the naïve hopes of two people in love. He never expected them to come true the way Leena did. He never really expected to survive.

In a way, they had both been right.

Leena was without the man she loved. But because of it, the world they both dreamed of was transforming into reality.

A commotion at the front of the throne room caught her attention. Leena blinked away her thoughts, pushing the memory of Mikza to the back of her mind, prepared to once again act as the leader her people needed.

But as her eyes found the cause of the noise, she smiled.

"Rhen?" Leena called, holding up her hand so the guards would step back and let him pass. "What are you doing here? Jinji said you had matters to deal with in Rayfort."

"I did," he said with a shrug. Then he grinned mischievously. "They've been dealt with."

Jinji stood, halting her magic and stepping to meet him with a quick kiss. They whispered to each other, quiet enough that Leena couldn't hear. But Rhen's face grew more and more animated the longer he spoke, drawing Leena's suspicion.

The unmarked still waiting to have their tattoos returned didn't move, but their eyes traveled from Leena to Rhen to Jinji, trying to understand what was going on. Leena ignored them for a moment, more and more curious about the delighted gleam in Rhen's eyes—the one that proved he was overly satisfied with himself, a little too self-assured for his own good. She stepped down from the throne, joining her friends in the middle of the room.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing," Rhen replied lightly.

Leena turned to Jinji. "What's going on?"

Her friend bit her lip. A guilty expression passed over her face, followed by one of anticipation. Leena frowned, staring at Jinji pointedly until she spoke.

"Nothing," Jinji said carefully.

Leena snorted. "Tell me."

But at that moment the sound of loud boots on stone echoed down the hall, bouncing around the throne room, growing louder as they came closer. Since the Ourthuri wore leather sandals more appropriate for the heat of their homeland, Leena's eyes found Rhen immediately.

"Did you really bring Whylkin guards to Da'astiku?" she asked, unable to keep the disapproval from her tone. "The peace I've established here is still unstable, we don't need foreigners around to cause tension."

"I think you'll change your mind," he answered smoothly.

"Really?" Leena's eyebrows rose accusingly.

"Yes," he retorted, full of confidence.

Leena looked to Jinji for aid, but her friend had already turned her eyes to the red-adorned guards marching into the throne room. The Ourthuri in the room broke into conversation immediately, a chaotic roar that filled the silence created when the men from Rayfort stopped moving, holding formation.

"What is the meaning of this?" Leena shouted, breaking through the cacophony of voices as she addressed Rhen, drawing the attention of the entire room. She had to position herself completely with Ourthuro. She would lose their trust if they saw her side with Rhen.

He raised a single eyebrow in her direction, amused by her antics when he knew full well that Leena would always put the riders first.

"This," he answered loudly, stressing the word as he lifted his hand in the direction of his guards. "Is a peace offering from the King Regent of Whylkin, given in the hope that there can be the start of a new age of harmony between our kingdoms."

Leena swallowed, taken aback.

"What is it?" she whispered to Jinji, confused.

Rhen paid her no mind. He continued his speech, addressing his words more to the Ourthuri around them than to Leena herself. "Our king regent has sent a loyal subject to live here among your people to act as a liaison between our kingdoms. He will immerse himself in your culture and will try to understand the ways of your people so that the Kingdom of Whylkin can better understand its neighbors. And he has invited you to do the same, should you be so willing."

Leena opened her mouth to respond, but the words dried up as the rouge-garbed guards began to separate. Her vision immediately flew to the man standing at their center, hands resting in his pockets self-consciously with an almost apologetic smile on his lips.

She gasped.

"Cal?"

SEVEN

"Hi, Princess," he murmured, bronze eyes lingering on hers before drifting down the entire length of her body and back up again, as tangible as a soft caress.

Heat flooded her cheeks. "Cal, what?"

But Leena didn't know what else to say. She was too shocked for words.

Cal, however, was prepared. He bowed deeply to her and to the rest of the Ourthuri in the room. Then he stood, motioning behind him as more Whylkin guards appeared, carting crates of gifts with them. "In addition to sending me, our king regent would like to show his support by sending a few supplies he thought you might desire."

Leena watched as the offerings were brought before her—food, livestock, wine, silks, a countless array of goods from Whylkin, more than Leena even dared dream might arrive. But in the end, it was the last few crates that stilled her heart, bringing warmth to her lonely soul.

Flowers.

A whole garden was brought before her.

And each one was a different shade of the pale peach rose she had stopped beside on that long ago day in Rayfort, when Cal had taken her through his secret passage to the hidden beach. She remembered thinking then that he, a man of Whylkin, could have no idea how much flowers meant to the people of Ourthuro. But maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe even then, when he was only just beginning to know her, he could immediately read the longing for such beauty in her eyes.

"I remembered you liked that one," he said softly into her ear, his cool breath bringing goose bumps to her skin.

Leena turned, hardly realizing he had walked up next to her while she marveled at the gifts he'd brought with him. But now, studying him, she wondered if the joy filling her chest was at the sight of such treasure or at the sight of his glowing bronze eyes. Suddenly, Leena found herself melting beneath them.

"May we speak somewhere privately?" he asked

"Yes," she replied, throat so dry the word came out as barely a whisper.

Cal gently took her arm in his, guiding her away as he turned to look over his shoulder. "Rhen, will you sort this all out?"

"Doesn't that sound like something the newly appointed emissary to the Kingdom of Ourthuro might handle?" Rhen teased.

Leena looked over just in time to see Jinji elbow him in the ribs.

"I mean, yes, of course."

They both turned to Leena with huge grins, watching Cal lead her away.

Only Cal couldn't lead her away, because he, of course, had never been to the golden palace and was lost after passing the sixth or seventh identical column, not finding a hallway to guide him. But by then, with the eyes of the Ourthuri off of her and the shock fading away, Leena had regained her composure. She led him easily through the halls, not stopping until they were alone on one of the many palace balconies. When they arrived, she dropped his hand, stepping to the edge and looking out toward the sea.

"What are you doing here, Cal?" she asked softly, eyes glued to the horizon, afraid to look at him again.

"Embracing my newly appointed position," he answered, before stepping closer, barely a hairsbreadth from touching her. "And trying to find you."

She inhaled deeply, calming her racing pulse. But she wanted to bring the conversation back to business. Everything else was too dangerous, too hard. "Did you find your father? What happened to him?"

"I found him and I delivered him to the crown just as I promised," Cal told her, voice tight. "The Lord of Roninhythe was found guilty of treason and was executed before the people of Rayfort."

"And you?" Leena asked, finally looking at him, unable to stand the pain in his voice.

"Me?" he asked, brushing his hand through his sandy brown hair, making it look wild. But Leena liked it better that way. He looked more like the outcast she had befriended and less like a foreign man of Whylkin. "I was stripped of my title and of my home, exiled from Roninhythe. I don't think Whyllem even knew what to do with me. Rhen was the one who came up with this idea, a way for me to hold on to some honor while still running away from the accusing stares of the court."

"So you're asking for safe haven?" Leena wondered.

Cal's hand inched along the banister, moving over hers. His skin was smooth and warm. She shivered at his touch. His eyes sparkled as he looked at her, murmuring, "I'm asking for whatever you are willing to give."

She had told him weeks ago that her heart no longer belonged to her. That it was not hers to share. But she knew that was what he asked for, what he hoped for. If she were honest with herself, Leena knew it from their first conversation, when he inquired about the ring she wore and then promised they could remain friends.

But friendship had never been what Cal wanted.

Not really.

What did she want?

Leena pulled away, stepping back.

She hardened the wall he was slowly chipping away.

Hardened the ice he was gently melting.

"I'm with child," she said, trying to break his heart quickly, not ready to face the emotions he was starting to stir.

But Cal surprised her. He shrugged. "I know. Rhen suspected as much and Jinji confirmed."

Leena frowned, cursing both of her friends. "I won't be here for long. The riders have other places to travel, other people to save."

Cal stepped closer. "I know that too."

"I—" Leena began, but the words stopped as soon as he placed his palm against her cheek, cupping her face and looking at her adoringly.

Her heart thudded uncontrollably in her chest.

"Who are you trying to convince?" he whispered.

Leena didn't move away. But she didn't fall into his embrace either. She remained trapped in the middle, balancing on the precipice, unsure of which direction to turn.

"I know you've lost someone. I know you're afraid, and I know I can never be that man, that I can never replace him," Cal murmured, gazing into her eyes, entrancing her. "But I also know you feel something when I touch you." He ran his thumb over her skin, making her tremble. "I know that when you first told me we could only be friends, something in my soul ached for those words to not be true. I know that our time together in Rayfort was the first time in my life that I felt truly alive. I know that when I saw you burned by fire, dying in my arms, my heart broke. And I know that when we parted ways only a few weeks ago, I cursed myself for not taking the opportunity to tell you how I feel."

He stepped closer, bringing his other palm to her face, looking down at her.

Leena held his eyes.

This was her moment to run, if she wanted to.

Or it was her moment to stay and see what fate still had in store.

"I think for once I should act first and deal with the consequences later," he whispered almost to himself.

And then he was kissing her.

Heat coursed through Leena the moment their lips met, a fire she thought she would never feel again. And it scared her more than she ever realized it would. Instinctually, her arms clasped around Cal's neck, pulling him closer, wanting to taste those sweet words on his lips, wanting to let him devour her.

But in the back of her mind, a girl screamed—a girl still clinging to the memories of a different man holding her close. Leena wanted to silence her. But she couldn't. And the longer the kiss went on, the more gut wrenching her thoughts became.

Was this a betrayal to Mikza's memory?

Would loving someone else make her love him less?

Would it taint what they'd shared?

Would it make her forget him?

With a cry, Leena tore away from Cal, breathing heavily as she presented him with her back.

"Leena," he asked, worried.

But she couldn't look at him.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She wanted so much to be happy. She wanted so much to not be alone. She wanted more than anything to be loved and to love someone in return.

But she'd missed her chance.

Mikza was gone. And she would never allow herself to replace him. To betray his memory like that.

As the thought washed over her, making her cold, a warm breeze brushed against her cheek. Leena looked up, searching for Jasper in the sky, thinking it was the act of the wind dragon sensing her despair. But the sky was clear. There were no dragons. No clouds. And down below, not even a sail billowed. Da'astiku was utterly still.

Yet around her, the wind began to grow.

Gusts swirled, blowing her hair, her clothes, whipping against her body. The air wrapped tightly around her, a warm embrace, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

Mikza was there.

He was with her.

Loving her in the only way he had left.

The wind strengthened, howling as it flew around her, touching every part of her, as if by magic.

Live.

The word filtered into her ears.

Live, the gusts wailed.

Leena opened her eyes, blinking as the breeze died down and fell away.

"Mikza?" she whispered.

But there was nothing. The world was still again.

Had it really been him? Had he really been there?

Or was her imagination playing tricks on her? Trying to make her believe in things that could never be true?

"Leena?" The whisper drew her attention.

"Cal." She spun toward him, ready to give him her answer, ready to tell him that they could never be together. That she could never be with anyone ever again.

And then she stopped.

A black mist hung in the air behind Cal's shoulder.

The particles shifted, lengthening, stretching out until they formed the shape of a man. He had no eyes, but Leena felt him watch her. And she knew in her soul who it was.

Mikza.

Her phantom in the breeze.

Her love.

Saying goodbye.

He held her gaze for a long moment. Just as she could read his thoughts when he'd been a living, breathing man, she could read his emotions now in the wind.

Live.

His words. Not hers.

Mikza wanted her to live. He wanted her to love. He didn’t want her to isolate herself. He never wanted her to end up alone. And if he couldn't be there to love their daughter, he wanted someone else to do it for him. He wanted both of their lives to be nothing but happiness, nothing but joy. He didn’t want to be the reason for her despair any longer.

When her eyes began to burn, Leena blinked.

Mikza was gone.

But Cal was still there.

Leena stepped closer to him, feeling as though she was seeing him for the first time. His peachy skin was freckled, made pink by the sun. His lips were pressed together in concern. And his bronze eyes watched her cautiously, uncertain. He was so very different than anyone she ever pictured herself loving. Not Ourthuri. Not a soldier. Foreign. But at the same time, he was a man who knew what it felt like to hate his father, to be abandoned by his people, to be lost. A man who had befriended her in her darkest hour, who never demanded more than she was willing to give, who had already made life the slightest bit easier to manage. She knew he could be everything she needed if she just opened up her heart and let him in.

Leena gently placed her palm against his face, stroking his warm skin. And when his hands landed on her hips, they didn't feel wrong. They felt right. They felt perfect.

"I'm not sure how much of myself I can give you," Leena murmured, brutally honest. Then she licked her lips, smiling up at him, fighting the fear of baring her soul to someone new. "But if you're willing to be patient with me, I would love nothing more than to find out that answer together."

Cal grinned, eyes alight with pure joy.

But then he broke their embrace, stepping out of her arms.

"Where are you going?" she asked, confused for a moment. His expression told her yes, but his actions told her no.

He scrunched his brows and answered her honestly. "I'm being patient."

Leena bit her lips, holding in her sudden mirth at the perplexed look on his face. "I didn't mean right now."

Cal's eyes widened. "Oh." Then he cursed under his breath. "Rhen always says I'm too good at following rules."

Leena grinned mischievously, reaching out to hold his hand.

"Good thing I'm not," she mused.

And then she pulled Cal closer, and she kissed him.

###

Want more from Kaitlyn?

Don't miss her other series—Once Upon A Curse and Midnight Fire!

Once Upon A Curse is a series of fairy tale retellings all set in the same dystopian universe! Once Upon A Time meets La Femme Nikita in the first book, Gathering Frost, a romantic dystopian reimagining of Sleeping Beauty!

Midnight Fire is a bestselling young adult paranormal romance perfect for fans of The Vampire Diaries, Vampire Academy, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

The first book, Ignite, is free!

Don’t miss any of Kaitlyn’s new releases!

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bestselling author Kaitlyn Davis writes young adult fantasy novels under the name Kaitlyn Davis and contemporary romance novels under the name Kay Marie.

Always blessed with an overactive imagination, Kaitlyn has been writing ever since she picked up her first crayon and is overjoyed to share her work with the world. When she's not daydreaming, typing stories, or getting lost in fictional worlds, Kaitlyn can be found indulging in some puppy videos, watching a little too much television, or spending time with her family.

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Table of Contents

The Golden Cage

ONE

TWO

Three

Four

Five

Six

The Silver Key

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

The Bronze Knight

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

The Iron Rider

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN