When I do not answer, he frowns. Some of the ice melts from his expression, and the edge in his voice softens. “You trusted me once,” he says. “What have I done to lose it?”

Those words are spoken in earnest, and they take me by surprise. “My lord—Your Highness. You have done nothing.”

“Something has clearly changed between us, Grey.”

I look away.

“Silver hell,” he says. “You were dragged before me in chains. Surely you know I can force answers from you if I wish it.”

That sparks my anger. “Surely you know I am more of a danger to you in this moment than you are to me.”

He straightens. “You wish to issue threats?”

“That was not a threat.”

Tense silence hangs between us for a moment. I wait for him to call for guards, to cut me down for daring to challenge him.

I should know better. Prince Rhen is not his father, for better or for worse.

Not our father. The thought hits me hard and fast, and I’m not ready for it.

He must see the flicker of distress in my expression. “What did Lilith tell you?” he says. “Tell me what you know.”

“I have committed no crime. I have asked for my freedom. Nothing more.”

“Are you sworn to her?”

“No!”

His voice gains a pulse of anger. “Are you lying to me?”

“I have never lied to you. I cut her throat and abandoned her on the other side.”

He snaps back, surprise plain on his face. His voice is little more than a hushed whisper. “Truly?”

I nod. “Truly.”

For a moment, the weight of his relief is a weight in the room. A tension I wasn’t aware of eases. Rhen takes a long breath and runs a hand across his jaw.

I study him. “I had not considered you would bear such worry.”

His hands clench on the arms of his chair, and he half rises, rage plain on his face. “How could you not?”

The door swings open. Dustan looks in. “My lord—”

Rhen doesn’t even look at him. “Out.”

The door closes, and silence drops between us again.

Rhen’s eyes narrow, turning calculating once more. “Fine. You were not sworn to her. You are clearly not dead. Why did you leave Ironrose?”

I shift my weight slightly, and it doesn’t help. Sweat has begun to collect in the small of my back. “You released me from my oath. My service was done.”

“You know guardsmen must be discharged officially. You do not just leave.” The fire cracks, accenting his words. “Why did you run from Dustan?”

No answer seems safe to give.

“Karis Luran believes you know the identity of the rightful heir. She says Lilith claimed you alone knew.”

“I have no information that you would find useful, Your Highness.”

He smiles, but there is nothing pleasant about it. “That is a very careful answer, Grey.”

My own anger flares. “You trusted me once. What have I done to lose it?”

“You left.”

The words hit me like a knife in the back. I have to look away. Silence swells to fill the space between us again.

“My words are true,” I finally say. “I left to protect you. To protect the line of succession. No good can come from this knowledge, Your Highness. I swear it.”

He says nothing.

“Allow me to leave,” I continue. “I will beg it of you if you wish.”

“I cannot. You know I cannot. If you know anything—”

“Please.” I put my hands on the floor, prepared to make good on my offer. “Please. I will leave here and speak of this to no one. You know I would never put you at risk—”

“I do not know that.”

“You do know that,” I say viciously. “I swore my life to you and to Emberfall, and I have proven it time and again.”

His eyes bore into mine. I remember the last night we faced each other like this. We stood on the castle parapet. He was on the verge of becoming the monster.

He wanted to jump. To destroy himself before he could destroy his people.

He was afraid. More afraid than I’ve ever seen him.

I reached out and clasped his hand.

“I would prove it now,” I say. “If you would offer me the chance.”

Some emotion fractures in his eyes. He stands, and for half a moment, I think he will call for the guards to drag me out of here.

Instead, he extends a hand. “Get off your knees, Grey.”

My heart pounds. I take his hand. He pulls me to my feet.

“Would you sit with me for a time?” he says. “I will call for a proper meal.”

It’s a request, not an order—which implies I can refuse.

I don’t want to refuse. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Rhen,” he says.

My eyebrows go up.

His expression turns a bit sheepish, his voice a bit rueful. “I have long thought we should have been friends, Grey. I should have remedied that ages ago.”

“I could not have endured watching Lilith’s torments on a friend,” I say. “Likely you could not either.”

“True,” he says. “But I can dine with one.”

I smile. “Yes, you can.”

Despite the small sampling of delicacies along the sideboard, Rhen sends for dinner, and a massive platter of roasted beef and sugar-crusted vegetables is delivered almost at once. I eat like a condemned man facing his last meal: slowly, savoring each bite, making the food spend an eternity on my tongue. I had forgotten the splendor of food at court, and each morsel is better than anything Jodi could prepare on her best day. Rhen called for wine as well, and he sips from his glass as the fire snaps behind us.

He poured some for me, but I have not touched it.

“Still no head for it?” he says.

“Not yet.”

That makes him smile.

The room is quiet while we eat, and at first, it is not an easy silence. I cannot forget why I was dragged here to begin with.

I know Rhen hasn’t forgotten.

But familiarity begins to steal the tension between us. Too many memories of other shared meals blend together, many in this very room. Countless card games played late into the night when the curse seemed interminable and neither of us felt like sleeping. Racing through the woods on horseback or matching blades in the arena when he wanted a challenge. Mourning our losses in silence when the days grew long and the curse seemed it would never be broken.

He was always the prince and I was always his guardsman, so we were never truly friends. Like Rhen, I regret that. But we were trapped together for so long that we were … something.

I didn’t realize I missed his companionship until now.

When he sets down his knife to speak, I tense, but he only says, “Tell me about the boy they captured with you.”

“Tycho. He is no one. A stable hand at Worwick’s Tourney.” Tycho’s treatment has been nagging at me since the moment I was dragged from the courtyard. “Is he well?”

“A little awestruck, according to Dustan, but he is well.”

Tycho was awestruck over the possibility of five hundred silvers. Ironrose likely knocked him off his feet. “Not chained in a cell, then?”