I nod. I will never send for her, and I think she knows it.

She backs away, then slips through the door as quietly as she came.

I go back to the hearth and drive my fingertips into the sooty line in the brick. I pull with every ounce of my strength, bracing my feet against the opposing wall of the fireplace. Nothing moves. Sweat has begun to collect under the chemise. I swear under my breath.

I try again.

And again.

And again.

Finally, eventually, after what feels like an eternity, the brick wall shifts.

One inch, but it moved.

I roll the muscles of my shoulders to loosen them. I need more than an inch, but a small success makes me long for a bigger one.

Then I hear the bells ringing out in the courtyard, and my heart explodes with hope. I know it is unlikely, but I rush to the window to look for Mother.

Instead, I see guards coming through the trees, along with an unfamiliar wagon, bearing the gold and red of Rhen’s colors.

I sigh and go back to the hearth.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

GREY

When Rhen’s father was king, one of the final trials to be admitted to the Royal Guard was a match between a guardsman and a prisoner from the dungeon. The prisoner was given a full set of armor and weapons. The guardsman was shackled, hand and foot. No armor, no weapons. If the prisoner won, he won his freedom. If the guardsman won, he was allowed to swear his life into service for the Crown.

We drew cards to match with our prisoners, and my opponent was a massive soldier named Vail. He’d been sentenced to death for stealing from the army’s coffers, but rumors said he’d been caught violating bodies of the dead. He was scarred and vicious and practically twice my size when I was seventeen.

The matches took place before the royal family. Before that day, I’d only caught glimpses of them from afar: the king and his distant queen, Prince Rhen and his sisters.

A guardsman before me had fallen. The king looked disappointed.

Prince Rhen looked bored.

They rang a bell and led Vail into the arena.

I’d watched the earlier matches. Most of the other guards would retreat first, to wait for an opening. With Vail, I knew I’d never get one. He came after me with his sword, and I whipped my shackle chains around the weapon, holding fast. When he tried to pull free, I leapt for his throat and crushed his windpipe. He dropped like a rock.

The match was over in less than ten seconds. The bell had not even finished ringing.

The prince no longer looked bored.

“You’re lucky he didn’t take your hands off,” the guard commander called from the sidelines. “Going for the blade barehanded like that.”

“It was not luck,” I called back.

I swore an oath the very next day. An oath that lasted an eternity.

An oath I have never regretted, until this very moment.

When the wagon stops in the cobblestone courtyard of Ironrose Castle, the guards all but drag me out. I want to dig my fingernails into the splintered floorboards. I want to run. I want to hide.

Dustan rode ahead, likely to spread word of my capture, because the courtyard is packed with people. My eyes take in everything, and it’s almost too much to endure. Guards line the castle walls, but I recognize few of them. Rhen stands at the center, absolutely still. Harper stands at his side, clutching his hand. Her knuckles are white. I cannot lift my gaze to meet theirs. My vision has tunneled down to the stones at their feet, growing closer with each passing second.

The courtyard is more silent than I’ve ever known it, as if even the horses feel the weight of this moment. I have done nothing wrong, but guilt and shame curl like fire in my belly anyway.

Not like this, I think. Not like this.

But of course it could only be like this. I made sure of that three months ago.

My feet slide to a stop.

A fist cracks me between the shoulders, hard enough that I stumble forward and fall to my knees. Pain ricochets through my leg, and I bite back a cry.

“You are in front of the crown prince and his lady,” says one of the guards. “You will kneel.”

I must speak. I don’t want to speak.

My voice is barely a rasp of sound. “Forgive me, my lord.”

The guard punches me between the shoulder blades again, and this time I have to catch myself on my hands.

“You will address the prince as Your Highness,” he barks.

“Forgive me,” I say again. “Your Highness.”

The waiting silence takes my words and swallows them up. Rhen has said nothing. Harper has said nothing. I very much wish I had the power to blink myself out of Emberfall, because I would accept any other fate that did not involve me in chains at the feet of the people I was once sworn to protect.

“Look at me,” Rhen finally says.

If the words were spoken in anger or given like an order, I might have obeyed. But his voice is quiet, undercut with betrayal.

I cannot look at him. I feel as though I have betrayed him.

A hand grips my hair, and I realize one of the guardsmen is going to force my gaze up.

Rhen says, “No.”

The hand at the back of my head lets go.

“Look at me,” he says again, and this time it’s an order.

I raise my head and look at him.

Prince Rhen is the same and different all at once. The uncertainty and self-doubt from the later stages of the curse are gone, replaced with fierce determination. This is a man who endured the enchantress’s torture, season after season, to spare me. A man who gave up his life to save the people of Emberfall. This is the man who will be king.

His eyes, always keen, search mine, seeking answers.

“Are you sworn to another?” he asks me, and his voice is low and dangerous.

The question takes me by surprise—and at once I realize he thinks I have been gone because I was sworn to Lilith. “No, my—Your Highness.”

“You have given your oath to no one?”

“To no one but you.”

His mouth forms a line. “I released you from your oath.”

“Then I ask that you allow me my freedom.”

Rhen’s eyes don’t leave mine. He’s trying to figure me out.

I could solve all this inquiry. I am the heir. I am the man you seek.

And the ironic, I left to spare you all this trouble.

Harper steps forward and drops to a knee before me. Her eyes are wide and dark and sorrowful. “Grey,” she whispers. “Grey, please. You’re … You’re alive. All this time, we thought … we thought you were dead.”

I wish I could erase the pain from her eyes—but it’s lodged as deeply as the betrayal in Rhen’s.

“A princess should not kneel before a prisoner,” I say softly.

The words are an echo of so many I said when I was a guardsman, and I expect it to remind her of her place, to force her to her feet.

Instead, she puts a hand against my cheek, and that is almost my undoing. I close my eyes and turn my face away.

“Grey,” she whispers. “Please. Help me understand. Why did you leave?”

“Commander,” Rhen says sharply.

I snap my eyes to his—only to remember that I am no longer a guardsman.

The prince’s expression has evened out, but he did not miss the movement. I can read no emotion on his face now.

That’s never a good sign.