in the tower. As Leo guides me to Justice Méndez, King Fernando holds his hand up. We stop and go where the king beckons us.
He stands but doesn’t take my hand. His deep brown stare slides from my toes to my extravagant dress, the faint scar he gave me on my chest, and finally, to my eyes. My pulse is rapid, and the fresh wound on my forearm concealed by my glove thrums with a constant, dull ache.
At the sight of me between the king and the justice, the ballroom’s energy shifts. Dresses rustle as ladies cluster around carved pillars, whispers traded behind flapping fans. Throats clear and conversations come to a halt, instruments hit the wrong notes, and a glass shatters somewhere. All eyes turn to us three.
“Honored guests,” King Fernando says. “Today we celebrate our creator of all, the Father of Worlds, his joyous triumph over the treacherous Lady of Shadows and the usurper gods of old. This year we celebrate more than that. This afternoon, there was an attempt on my life by the Whispers during my queen’s own celebration.”
He stops speaking to let the crowd gasp and speculate among themselves. King Fernando knows how to fan fear.
“You might have noticed the guards. Please, both our neighbors across the seas, understand that this is to protect everyone in this room from those who would try to destroy us. On behalf of my queen and my son, I would like to dedicate the first dance of the Sun Festival to Renata Convida, the Robári of the Hand of Moria who saved my life.”
My eyes water with anger at his every word. Stay calm. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. I am petrified as he takes my hand. The heat of his palm radiates through my glove, and my first instinct is to recoil.
He clamps his fingers around mine, too tightly. We’ve taken two steps toward the center of the dance floor when someone bars our way.
My hands shake, and the air is kicked out of my lungs at the sight of him—wind-tossed golden curls and sparkling war medals on an embroidered blue jacket that matches his eyes: Prince Castian.
At last.
“If I may, Father,” he says in a smooth, deep voice accompanied by a charming smile.
There’s ire in the king’s brow, tightness in his puckered mouth, but he won’t dare make a scene, not in front of all these people. He relinquishes his hold on me.
I’m handed over to Prince Castian like a toy it’s his turn to play with.
The orchestra kicks up a tune that feels more familiar than it should. I’ve been waiting for this moment for days, weeks, and now that it’s here I shake down to the bone. I’m disoriented. I’m a coward. I can’t even look him in the eye.
“You’re frightened,” the Bloodied Prince says, placing a firm hand around my waist. I clench my teeth and keep my eyes trained over his shoulder, to the red-and-yellow starburst mosaic behind him. My fingers close around his arm, perhaps too hard.
“I’m not frightened,” I say, harsh as a winter snap, and I keep a foot of space between us, which makes for awkward dancing.
“When I heard you were here, I knew I had to return.”
“You came all this way to see a Robári do tricks for the court?”
“No,” he says, so earnestly that I refuse to look at him. I have seen the way he kills, the way he makes people forgive him, the way he lures women in and then wrecks them.
“Then why?” I slip and grab his shoulder for purchase.
He flinches. “Careful.”
“You’re injured?” There have been no reports of skirmishes or battles. Where did he get wounded so close to his heart?
He sidesteps the question with the easy shuffle of his feet. When he glides his hand high on my back, images spill from the Gray despite my surge in power from the platinum dress.
Clothes strewn over the bed.
A golden trail of hair over firm muscle.
Queen Penelope pleading with Illan.
The Ventári in the solitary cell.
A wooden box.
Celeste up in flames.
Dez, always Dez.
When Castian pulls me closer, the dancers part for us, and I regain control of the Gray. I push the memories back and focus on the polished tiles beneath our feet, so blue it’s like we’re walking across the Castinian Sea.
“If you aren’t scared, why won’t you look into my eyes?”
My lips tremble, my nostrils flare, but I say, “Is it not enough that hundreds of eyes are already looking at you as we