I keep staring at that waving blond hair, at the limp arm dragging the ground. He could be a trafficker. She could be dead—or close. I can’t do nothing.

I slip out of my sneakers so my stupid left foot won’t make a dragging noise against the pavement. I can move quickly when I want to, but quiet is tough to master. I rush forward and raise the bar.

He turns at the last second, which probably saves his life. The bar comes down across his shoulders instead of his head. He grunts and stumbles forward. The girl goes sprawling onto the pavement.

I raise the bar to hit him again, but the man retaliates faster than I’m ready for. He blocks my swing and drives an elbow into my chest, hooking my ankle with his own. I’m falling before I realize it. My body slams into the concrete.

He’s suddenly right there, almost on top of me. I start swinging. I can’t reach his head, but I catch him across the hip. Then his ribs.

He seizes my wrist, then smacks my arm down to the pavement. I squeal and twist away from him, but it feels like he’s kneeling on my right thigh. His free arm pins my chest. It hurts. A lot.

“Release the weapon.” He’s got an accent, but I can’t place it. And now that his face is on top of mine, I realize he’s young, not much older than Jake.

I clench my fingers even tighter around the bar. My breath makes huge panicked clouds between us. I beat at him with my free hand, but I might as well be striking a statue. He tightens his hold on my wrist, until I genuinely think the bones are rubbing together.

A whimper escapes my throat, but I grit my teeth and hold on.

“Release it,” he says again, his tone thickening with anger.

“Jake!” I scream, hoping enough time has passed that he might be heading back. The pavement stabs daggers of ice into my back. Every muscle hurts, but I keep fighting. “Jake! Someone help me!”

I try to claw at his eyes, but the man’s grip tightens in response. His gaze meets mine and there’s no hesitation there. My wrist is going to break.

A siren kicks up somewhere nearby, but it’ll be too late. I try to claw at his face again, but I catch his neck instead. Blood blossoms under my nails, and his eyes turn murderous. The sky lightens fractionally behind him, turning pink with streaks of orange.

His free hand lifts and I don’t know if he’s going to hit me or strangle me or break my neck. It doesn’t matter. This is it. My last sight will be a glorious sunrise.

I’m wrong. His hand never strikes.

Instead, the sky disappears altogether.

CHAPTER THREE

RHEN

Sunlight gilds the fixtures in my sitting room, throwing shadows along the hand-sewn tapestries and the velvet chairs my parents once occupied. Sometimes, if I sit here long enough, I can imagine their presence. I can hear my father’s brusque voice, full of admonishment and lectures. My mother’s quiet disapproval.

I can remember my own arrogance.

I want to walk out of the castle and fling myself off a cliff.

That doesn’t work. I’ve tried. More than once.

I always wake here, in this room, waiting in the sunlight. The fire always burns low, just as it is now, the flames crackling in a familiar pattern. The stone floor appears freshly swept, wine and goblets sitting ready on a side table. Grey’s weapons hang on the opposite chair, waiting for his return.

Everything is always the same.

Except for the dead. They never come back.

The fire pops, a bit of kindling sliding to the base of the fireplace. Right on schedule. Grey will reappear soon.

I sigh. Practiced words wait on my tongue, though sometimes it takes the girls a while to awaken from the sleeping ether Grey gives them. They’re always frightened at first, but I’ve learned how to ease their fears, to charm and coax them into trusting me.

Only to destroy that trust when autumn slides into winter. When they see me change.

The air flickers, and I straighten. As much as I hate the curse, the never-ending repetition of my life here, the girls are the one spot of change. Despite myself, I’m curious to see what motionless beauty will hang in Grey’s arms today.

But when Grey appears, he’s pinning a girl to the floor.

She’s not a motionless beauty. She’s scrawny and shoeless and digging her nails into the side of his neck.

Grey swears and knocks her hand away. Blood appears in lines across his throat.

I rise from the chair, nearly losing a moment to the sheer novelty of it all. “Commander! Release her.”

He flings himself back and finds his feet. The girl scrambles away from him, clutching a rusted weapon of some sort. Her movement is labored and clumsy.

“What is this?” She gets a hand on the wall and staggers to her feet. “What did you do?”

Grey grabs his sword from the chair, pulling it free from the scabbard with a fierceness I haven’t seen in … in ages. “Have no worries, my lord. This may be the shortest season yet.”

The girl raises the rusted bar as if that will provide any kind of defense against a trained swordsman. Dark curls spill out of the hood of her clothing, and her face is tired, drawn, and dusty. I wonder if Grey injured her, the way she keeps her weight off her left leg.

“Try it.” She glances between him and me. “I know a good spot I haven’t hit with this yet.”

“I will.” Grey lifts his weapon and steps forward. “I know a good spot I haven’t hit with this yet.”

“Enough.” I’ve never seen Grey go after one of the girls, but when he shows no intention of stopping, I sharpen my tone. “That is an order, Commander.”

He stops, but his sword remains in his hand and he doesn’t take his eyes off the girl. “Do not think,” he tells her, his voice fierce, “that this means I will allow you to attack me again.”

“Don’t worry,” she snaps. “I’m sure I’ll get another chance.”

“She attacked you?” My eyebrows rise. “Grey. She is half your size.”

“She makes up for it in temperament. She most assuredly was not my first choice.”

“Where am I?” The girl’s eyes keep flicking from me to him to the sword in his hand—and then to the doorway behind us. Her knuckles are white where they grip the bar. “What did you do?”

I glance at Grey and lower my voice. “Put up your sword. You’re frightening her.”

The Royal Guard is trained to obey without hesitation and Grey is no exception. He slides his weapon into its sheath, but strings the sword belt around his waist.

I cannot remember the last time he was fully armed on the first day of the season. Probably not since there were men to command and threats to deflect.

But removing the weapon has drained some of the tension from the room. I put out a hand and keep my voice gentle, the way I speak to skittish horses in the stables. “You are safe here. May I have your weapon?”

Her eyes slide to Grey, to where his hand remains on the hilt of his sword. “No way.”

“You fear Grey? Easily solved.” I look at him. “Commander. You are ordered to not harm this girl.”

He takes a step back and folds his arms.

The girl watches this exchange and then she draws a long breath and takes a tentative step forward, the bar held in front of her.

At least she can be tamed as easily as the others. I extend my hand and give her an encouraging look.

She takes another step—but then her expression shifts, her eyes darken, and she swings.

Hard steel slams into my waist, just below my rib cage. Silver hell, it hurts. I double over and barely have time to react before she’s swinging for my head.

Luckily, my training is nearly as thorough as Grey’s. I duck and catch the bar before she makes contact.

Now I understand why Grey grabbed his sword.

Her eyes flare, burning with defiance. I jerk her forward, ready to wrestle the bar out of her grasp.

Instead, she lets go, forcing me to fall back. She stumbles toward the door, limping into the hallway, her breathing ragged.

I let her go. The iron bar drops to the carpet and I press a hand to my side.

Grey hasn’t moved. He’s standing there, arms folded. “Do you still wish for me to leave her unharmed?”

There was a time when he wouldn’t have dared to question me.

There was a time when I might have cared.

I sigh, then wince as my lungs expand into the already-forming bruise on my side. What began as a novelty now simply hurts. If she fights to run so fiercely now, there is little hope for later.

The shadows have shifted a bit, tracing their familiar path. I’ve watched it hundreds of times.

When this season ends in failure, I’ll watch it again.

“She is injured,” says Grey. “She cannot get far.”

He is right. I am wasting time.

As if I don’t have time in spades.

“Go,” I say. “Bring her back.”

CHAPTER FOUR

HARPER

I’m running down a long hallway, my breath roaring in my ears. This has to be a museum or some kind of historical building. My socks fight to grip the velvet carpeting that lines the marble floor. Wood paneling covers the walls, with stone masonry climbing to a ceiling that arches high above. Heavy wooden doors with wrought-iron handles sit at uneven intervals along the hallway, but none are open.

I don’t stop to try any. I just run. I need to find another person or get out of here.