We became fast friends—a first for me, after the chaotic life I left behind in Washington, DC. She’s clever and strong, with a dry sense of humor, and sometimes I’d stay up well into the night when she was stationed outside my door. We’d wonder what happened to Grey after the curse was broken, or we’d whisper about the rumors over a missing heir, or we’d muse over what would happen to Emberfall if Syhl Shallow attacked again.
But then Grey was found hiding in another city, and he apparently knew the identity of the missing heir—but he refused to tell Rhen. Rhen tortured him to get the information, and he got it—but not in the way he expected. Grey knew the identity of the missing heir, because he was Rhen’s older brother. He was a magesmith, with magic in his blood. He was the heir to the throne.
He’d never known it. Neither had Rhen.
I helped Grey escape after Rhen tortured him.
Zo helped me.
It cost her a position in the Royal Guard. Grey once told me that his guards forswear family and relationships for exactly this reason. She was sworn to Rhen—but she acted for me. Rhen is never cold to her; he’s too political for that. But there’s an edge between them now. Like the ball of anger in my gut that won’t go away, I’m not sure it will ever soften.
I want to beg Zo to stay, because every moment I spend with Rhen feels prickly. But asking Zo to stay feels selfish.
Asking her to help Grey was probably selfish, too. Zo and I are friends, but she was my guard. Did she help me out of friendship, or out of obligation? I’m not even sure if it matters. She helped me, and now she’s out of a job—a job she loved.
Rhen isn’t heartless. He gave her a year’s worth of pay and wrote her a letter of recommendation, both of which she keeps in her quarters—but she hasn’t left, and he hasn’t forced her out.
She wanted to be a guard. She gave up her apprenticeship. She says she doesn’t want to leave me alone while everything is so precarious, but a part of me wonders if she doesn’t want to go home carrying the weight of the choices she made. Of the choices I made.
I’ve hesitated too long. Rhen comes through the doorway to the courtyard, trailed by two of his guards. He’s tall and striking, with blond hair and brown eyes, and his clothes are always finely detailed, right down to the ornate hilt of the sword at his hip or the silver hand-tooled buttons of his jacket. He moves with purpose and athletic grace, never a hesitation in his step. He moves like a prince. Like a king. A man born to rule.
But I can see the subtle changes. The shadows under his eyes have grown slightly darker. The edge of his jaw seems sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. Unease has taken root in his eyes over the last few weeks.
His guards take a place by the wall while he strides across the courtyard toward us. Zo sighs.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her.
“Nonsense.” She curtsies to Rhen, even though she’s in breeches and armor. “Your Highness.”
“Zo,” he says coolly. His eyes shift to me. “My lady.”
I inhale to try to say something to ease the tension between them, but Zo says, “If you’ll forgive me, I was just about to return to my quarters.”
“Of course,” says Rhen.
I bite my lip as she moves away.
“She is running from me,” Rhen says, and there’s no question in his gaze.
I bristle immediately. “She’s not running.”
“It certainly seems like a retreat.”
Wow. Someone certainly seems like a jerk. “Zo is allowed to be mad, Rhen.”
“So am I.”
That stops my mouth from forming whatever words I was going to say. I didn’t know that he was still angry at Zo. I wonder if he’s still mad at me, if I’m not the only one with this burning core of anger in my belly.
Before I can ask him, he draws his sword. “Show me what you’ve learned.”
I put my hand on the hilt, but I don’t draw it. I’m not entirely sure why—especially since I told him to come show me. Maybe it’s because he said it like an order. Maybe it’s because his mood feels belligerent. Either way, I don’t want to face him with a weapon.
I glance away. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I turn toward the door he just came through. “I should go get dressed for breakfast.”
I hear him sheathe his sword, and then his hand catches my arm gently. “Please.”
It’s a broken word. A desperate word that cuts the tiniest hole in my anger.
“Please,” he says again, and his voice is so very soft. “Please, Harper.”
He has a magical way of saying my name, his accent softening the edges of each r to turn a couple syllables into a growl and a caress all at once, but that’s not what gets my attention. It’s the please. Rhen is the crown prince. The future king. He doesn’t plead.
“Please what?” I say softly.
“Please stay.”
He means right now, but it feels bigger. Broader.
A memory flickers into my thoughts, from a year ago. Mom was already sick, cancer invading her lungs, and Dad had blown through our family savings trying to cover what insurance wouldn’t. He made bad choices to get money, choices that put our family in danger. When Mom found out about it, she told me and Jake to pack our things. Dad was crying at the kitchen table, begging her to stay. I remember my big brother shoving things into a duffel bag while I sat on his bed and stared with wide eyes.
“It’ll be okay, Harp,” Jake kept saying. “Just get your stuff.”
It wasn’t okay. None of it was okay. At the time, the thought of leaving was terrifying. I remember being relieved that Mom relented, that we stayed. That she stayed.
Later, as things got really bad, I remember wishing she hadn’t.
I stare up into Rhen’s eyes and wonder if I’m making the same choices. Jake left with Grey. My brother will be on the other side of this war.
I take a breath and blow it out. “I don’t want to fight.”
I’m not talking about swords, and I think he knows it. Rhen nods. “Shall we walk instead?”
I hesitate. “Okay.”
He offers his arm, and I take it.
CHAPTER FOUR
RHEN
My guards trail us as we walk. Harper’s hand on my arm is light, as if she might pull away at any time. Grey used to say I would plan my moves twenty steps ahead, and he’s right—but all of my moves now seem to be directed by another. I can’t plan out twenty moves when the enchantress might change course after the second or third or fifteenth.
I want to tell Harper about the enchantress so badly—but there are so many ways that could go wrong.
I kept this secret for more than three hundred seasons. I can keep it again.
“You are angry with me,” I say quietly.
Harper doesn’t answer, but then it really wasn’t a question. She’s been angry for weeks. For months.
The cobblestone path begins to thin as we approach the wooded path that leads into the forest. I expect her to turn when we reach the tree line, to keep our walk short, but she doesn’t. We step into the early morning dimness of the woods, letting the silence swallow us up. The trees haven’t fully changed, but red and gold leaves are plentiful, drifting through the air to litter our path.