The last I saw of Narcissa, she was entombed in a wall and only her hands—forever clutching for help—remained free of the marble.
“A terrible tragedy, Your Highness.” I never liked her, but nobody deserves to die that way. “And it was not bravery that saw me win the day, but luck.”
Malechus glances at Keir beneath his lashes. “Tell me… did you bring me her killer’s head?”
Keir stares him down. “No. I burned Calliope’s body and gave the ashes to the forest.”
“A pity.” Malechus’s lips thinned. “I should have liked to have set it on my castle walls.”
There’s a hard truth in Keir’s eyes. “I should have liked to have had a chance to… discuss many things with her before I was forced to kill her.”
A shiver runs through me.
Calliope claimed she was born from the bloodlines of Queen Mab—the fae queen who married the most powerful of the dragon kings. Mab birthed a daughter, Igrainne, who bore half of her mother’s magic and her father’s power, and all of the hunger for more.
Calliope was a direct descendant of Igrainne.
She tried to kill me.
She very nearly pushed me into a wall, leaving me to suffer the same fate as Narcissa. If I’m a little swift to snatch a glass of elderberry wine from a passing servant, it’s only because drowning isn’t the only death that makes my heart race.
But it’s the first time Keir has mentioned Calliope’s name.
She was part dragon herself, determined to eat his heart in order to fully transmute herself into “what she was meant to become.”
As I sip the wine, I can’t help stealing a glance at him. Does he wonder if he could have reached her and swayed her from her mad plan? Or does he wish he had time to personally question her, in a chains-and-rack kind of way?
“Come,” Malechus says, gesturing us into the hallway. “I shall have servants sent to make chambers for you. In the meantime, you must greet our guests.”
A gasp comes from behind.
Glass shatters.
I have the hilt of a thin dirk in my hand as I turn, but the danger doesn’t come in the form of a weapon.
No. It comes in the form of a voluptuous redhead wearing a gown of seafoam draped with gold netting, her jaw gaping open as she stands in the wreckage of what was once an elegant wineglass.
Princess Ismena.
The sister of the King of Storms, and the woman I saved from Calliope’s murderous wrath the night she was killed.
“Merisel,” she says in faint horror, and relief floods through me as I realize she still believes me to be Merisel of Greenslieves.
If her brother has my face plastered on reward posters, then I need to ensure my glamor doesn’t slip, even once.
Is that why she’s looking at me as if I was the one who tried to kill her?
What does she know?
Keir pushes past me, using his body to force my hand down. I shoot him a glare and vanish the knife.
“Your Highness,” I greet.
Ismena recovers well, pasting a smile on her lips as she glances toward Keir at my side. “Such an honor, my prince. I did not expect to see you here—either of you.”
And then she makes a swift apology and virtually flees.
I exchange a look with Keir.
This might be a problem.
“I forgot how much I hate these shoes,” I groan as I climb the stairs toward our rooms. They’re endless monstrosities of polished alabaster and my heels are a good four inches high. I’m fairly certain my calves are about to commit mutiny, and my toes want to scream. “Do you think anyone would notice if I Sift to the top?”
“I forgot how much I hate balls,” Keir mutters as he eyes me. “Here.”
He sweeps me into his arms before I can react and resumes our quest.
“What are you doing?” I blurt.
“Carrying my beloved,” he mocks. “As any heroic prince would do.”
My tongue stills. No one has ever carried me and it’s a strange thing to be in his arms like this. It takes me back to the Court of Dreams. To the first time he kissed me. I found his strength and presence overwhelming then, and if anything time has only worsened that impression.
But I also forgot how warm he is.
A shiver runs through me. I can’t stop myself from thinking about what it would be like to have all this weight pressing me into a mattress. I’m trying not to touch him, but up close and personal, all this muscle is distracting.
He sets me down outside the door to our rooms, my skirts slithering down around my calves.
“There,” he whispers. “Better?”
I’m not entirely certain the answer to that is yes. “Thank you, but if anyone was to see us, they’re going to think you’ve fallen for me.”
Keir’s smile remains dangerous as he reaches past me to unlock the door to our rooms. “Anyone who saw us this summer would know I had already been a fool for you.” His smile fades. “If we’re going to continue the lie, then we have to sell it. Anyone who knew me would know that my feelings for you would not fade so swiftly.”
I examine the stern lines of his jaw as he opens the door. If a sculptor was ever to create that face out of stone, they’d be lauded through the ages.
“You’re a prince,” I point out as we sweep into the antechamber that lingers between our bedchambers. Despite my distraction, my breath catches when I see them.
Malechus has certainly spared no expense in outfitting his court—or perhaps he set his servants to scrambling the second he realized Keir was here. Or did he simply cast another couple out of these rooms?
They’re gorgeous.
Sumptuous red silk cushions. Low divans and rugs. The room itself is carved out of the mountain,
