level-headed and slow to judgment—if he can’t believe me, no one will.
“Listen, I know it sounds mad. But she said…things.”
After a long moment, he turns back. “Fine, I’ll bite. What things?”
“Edwin is my half-brother.”
“How would she even know that?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea.”
“What else?”
“She helped create the Chasm. The fae knew it would destroy us—that’s why they left. But there’s a way to heal the rift before the darkness claims both Draegan and Renove.”
“I hate to ask.”
“Our families must unite—mine and Amalia’s. She must marry the heir of Draegan, and a princess of Draegan must marry Braeton.”
I can’t bring myself to say Cassia. I haven’t even dared consider how my sister is connected in all this.
“Then nothing changes. Edwin—”
“Edwin doesn’t share Father’s blood. It must be me. I have to marry Amalia.”
After I convince her to forgive me—after I work up the nerve to come clean.
Lewis narrows his eyes. “Were you drinking last night? This all seems rather convenient for you. You’re saying that if you get the girl and the kingdom, you’ll save us all?”
I grunt, knowing full-well how absurd it sounds.
“And what about Cassia? You’re willing to hand your sister over to the man we abducted? ‘So sorry about that, Braeton. Please, take my sister as a token of our sincerest apologies and goodwill.’”
I mutter a curse under my breath.
“You’ve said it yourself a dozen times—the plan is good. It’s solid.”
It was. I believed in it.
“Don’t stray off course because a pretty girl smiles at you, Rhys. There are plenty more where she comes from.” With that, he clasps my shoulder and then rides ahead.
My men and I part at the city gates, and Amalia and I continue to the infirmary. She rides by my side, fidgeting with her reins as we travel the bustling streets. Her face has gone pale, and I know she’s afraid of what she might find when we return.
I want to talk to her, comfort her, tell her why I’ve pulled back—throw myself at her feet and beg forgiveness.
I wish Edwin were here. He’d know what to do. If only I’d fought with him against Father instead of staying silent. If I had, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
But then I would have never met Amalia, and that seems unthinkable at this point.
“I’ll go in,” I say to the princess when we arrive, catching her elbow before she walks up the stairs. “It’s safer.”
Without a word, she passes me the blue bottle. When I accept it, our fingers brush, and I look up, accidentally meeting her eyes. She studies me, her expression impassive.
I’ve been distant these last few days, and I know it’s hurt her. In front of my men, I’ve had no choice.
But I hate it. I want Amalia to look at me like she did a few days ago—like I hung the stars. Like I was worthy of her adoration.
“Amalia…”
“Go on.” She jerks her head toward the entrance. “Please hurry.”
Nodding, I clench the bottle in my hand and turn toward the door. I stride up the steps, worried about what I might find inside. The sickness travels too quickly.
It brings me back to a time, years ago, when Cassia was diagnosed—only hours after Tryndon. She’d scraped her knee in the castle courtyard, the only outdoor area where we were allowed to play. Our aunt had died of the illness only months before, and I was terrified I would lose Cassia too. I told her to hide it, stay in her room. I knew if they took her, I’d never see her again.
But brave at only nine years old, my sister marched to the castle infirmary and turned herself in.
She and Tryndon made it through. A few of the other children we played with, including our cousin—Braith and Cabe’s eldest sister—did not.
Steeling myself, I push through the door. The building is unnaturally quiet, and the skin at the back of my neck pricks with unease.
A physician’s maid quietly steps out of a room. She wears a white apron over her dove-gray dress, and her hair is pulled up in a tight bun. Dark circles shadow her eyes, making me think she hasn’t slept for many hours.
She notices me near the door, and she draws in a deep, bolstering breath. “I’m sorry, but we’re not accepting visitors right now.”
“I must speak with Kent.”
“Is the doctor expecting you?”
“He is.”
“Your name?”
“Rhys.”
She dips her head and then turns. “I will fetch him.”
I pace, waiting for what seems like an eternity. I’m about to