His expression changes, and he begins to pull his hand away, but I press it to my cheek and blink the tears away.

“You swore your life to him,” I say. “I know enough of you to see how that must weigh on you. But did you swear your life to him alone, or did you swear your life to him as the ruler of Emberfall? Your duty was not to the man himself, Grey. Your duty was to his country. Your country.”

He is no longer trying to pull away. His eyes are dark and intent on mine.

“You’re not arrogant,” I say. “You are not cruel. You say Rhen is a man of honor, but I believe you are.” My voice breaks. “I saw it in Blind Hollow. Your people would love you. If you would give them the chance. If you would give yourself the chance.”

His other hand comes up to cup my face. “Please—please do not cry for me.”

“Ah, fell siralla.” I clench my eyes shut. “I am not crying for you, stupid man.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I am crying for me,” I say. “Because you are a prince. More than a prince. A great man who should be king.”

“Lia Mara.” He’s so close. His breath brushes against my lips. His hands are warm and sure on my face. I want so badly for him to close that distance. I want to fall into him.

I want …

His lips brush mine.

I gasp and draw back. My heart is wild in my chest. I stare at him, at the firelight painting sparks in his hair, at the heady intensity in his gaze.

I want so much. He’s so close, and I long to undo the last moment in time, to press my lips back against his. The night presses in around us, and it would be so easy to forget that we are anything more than two people sharing shelter from the rain. I want more than his hands against my face, against my neck. I want more than I’ve ever wanted before.

I put my hands on his wrists and pull them away.

Because of everything I want, I cannot have him.

“I am crying because you are a prince,” I say softly. “And I …” I let out a breath. “I am not a princess.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

GREY

The next morning, as the clouds lighten at our back, we ride through the mountain pass toward Syhl Shallow.

I slept little through the night, worried that Dustan and his men would wait to ambush us before we could reach the pass, but a dense fog has rolled in with the chilled morning air, granting us a reprieve.

We stay quiet despite the misty cover. Iisak flies high overhead, invisible through the clouds. For now, Lia Mara rides at my side, but her gaze is trained ahead. Her back is straight and her gaze is clear, but her mood seems as heavy as the weather around us.

Mine matches.

I feel the way I did during that moment in Ironrose Castle, when my heart was begging me to dig in my heels and resist. Once I cross the border into Syhl Shallow, there will be no turning back. Seeking assistance—even sanctuary—from Karis Luran is as treasonous an act as I could conceive, short of driving a blade straight into Rhen myself.

I wonder what Dustan will report to him about what transpired in Blind Hollow, how the people turned against the guards and supported me. How we fought alongside Rhen’s subjects and drove the guards and soldiers out of the town.

If I aim to fool myself, I am failing. Crossing the border will not be my first act of treason.

Considering the secret I kept, it is likely not even my second.

A horn sounds through the valley, loud and repetitive.

Lia Mara gasps and lifts her head. A large shape looms ahead of us. Green and black pennants hung high above snap in the wind. For the first time this morning, her eyes brighten.

I’ve heard their horns before, when they rode into Emberfall to lay siege. My hand itches to draw my sword.

Iisak floats down through the clouds to land at the back of our party. He told me this morning that he does not wish to approach in an offensive manner. If we have anything in common, dread for this moment seems to be it.

Right now, I wish for his claws and fangs and brutality to be at my side.

I remind myself again that I am not here to fight. Nor am I here to surrender.

My heart pounds in my chest, disagreeing.

Shapes appear in the mist ahead of us. Soldiers on horseback, clad in green and black. A dozen at least. Most carry crossbows.

They’re all trained on us.

I force my hands to stay on the reins.

Lia Mara calls out to them. Her voice is joyous. Relieved. They shout back to her, and she looks at me quickly. Her voice is a rapid rush. “You must dismount. They want you to disarm.”

I do not want to do either of these things. I want to turn this horse, gallop out of the pass, and ride straight for Ironrose to beg forgiveness.

No. I do not want that. Lia Mara’s words from last night sit heavy in my thoughts, trapping me here.

I kick my feet free of my stirrups and swing off the horse, glancing back at Jacob and Noah, at Tycho, whose face is pale. They will follow my lead.

Run, my thoughts whisper, every moment of my training roaring at me to fight or retreat. These are your enemies. You are outnumbered. Run.

But they are not my enemies. Not now.

My fingers slip the loop at my sword belt, and the weapon drops to the ground. The daggers quickly follow. Behind me, I hear the others doing the same. My breathing feels shallow, but I step away from the horse and lift my hands to show I am unarmed.

Lia Mara is still talking, her voice melodic yet commanding. The Syhl Shallow soldiers move forward as a unit and stop a short distance away. The two in the center dismount, while the others keep their crossbows trained on us.

Jacob moves forward to stand at my side, his hands up similarly. His voice is very low, very quiet. “You don’t look too sure about this.”

“I’m not.”

“Our weapons are still in reach. If you want to bail, say the word.”

I glance over to see that he is serious. He is as fearless as Harper, and as brutal as I am.

“I underestimated you, Jake.”

“Yup.”

The two soldiers have reached us. They’re both clean-shaven with black hair and cream-colored skin, though one is middle-aged, with gray threading the hair at his temples. His armor bears extra adornment, a leather cross dyed in green and black and outlined in silver, likely signifying him as an officer. He looks from me to Jake, and then behind us. Taking our measure in one glance. If Iisak startles him, he gives no sign of it. His cool gaze returns to mine.

When he speaks, his voice is very deep, very gruff, with a thicker accent than Lia Mara’s. “You have escorted a daughter of the Crown safely to our border.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “You have our thanks. My name is Captain Sen Domo. Welcome to Syhl Shallow, Prince Grey of Emberfall.”

Prince Grey.

I say nothing to correct them.

Lia Mara was right. We’re taken to the guard station and asked to wait for a dignitary from the palace. Unlike the redbrick buildings I’m accustomed to in Emberfall, this guard station is built directly into the side of the mountain, with walls of wood and steel meeting up against exposed rock. Few windows allow light, but torches burn in each room.

Everyone speaks my language, but I do not speak theirs, which feels like a disadvantage. I am certain fell siralla would not endear me to any of these guards.