Prince Rhen’s guards do the exact same thing.

They stare at each other across a barrier of protection. Mother’s expression is carefully neutral, but Harper’s is flushed, her eyes pleading.

“You should hope he is dead,” says Mother. “For the sake of your prince. For the sake of his kingdom.”

Harper’s breath catches. “Why?”

“According to the enchantress, Grey is the only man who knows the true identity of the heir.”

Harper goes white. Prince Rhen has reached her side, and his face is full of fury. “This is not the first time you have attempted to undermine my rule with trickery and lies. You will not get another chance. Leave. Now.”

Mother turns for her carriage.

Nolla Verin climbs into ours. I follow, my heart thudding at a rapid pace. A guard slams the door.

“He is a fool,” Nolla Verin says to me before the horses begin to pull away. Her voice is loud enough that I’m certain the prince will hear it.

I think of the damage we caused to this country already.

I think of that trapper in the woods, his daughter cowering beneath him.

This should have gone so differently. Nolla Verin implied I would have sought an alliance with nuts and honey—but I know I wouldn’t have sought one with callous arrogance and disregard.

The prince is not a fool, I want to say.

But I am not the heir, so I don’t.

CHAPTER SIX

GREY

Jodi’s tavern is packed. The heat wave has men thirsty for ale and women looking for any excuse to get out of the sun. The heady scent of shellfish and baked vegetables mixes with the slightly sweet tang of liquor for those with a few more coins to pay. Tycho and I take a table near the back just to get away from the noise.

Days have passed, and our shared secret seems to have bonded him to my side like a brother. We’ve been sparring in the early-morning hours when the sky is barely pink and the tourney is deserted. After only a matter of days, his skill with a blade has improved exponentially. It’s more than the swordplay, though. It’s the trust. A wall has come down between us that I didn’t even know was there.

Jodi brings a pitcher of water to replace the one we’ve emptied, along with a basket of steaming bread and a thick slab of cheese. She casually bumps my shoulder with her hip, then leans down close, so the feathers in her hair tickle my forearm. “I wish I could hide back here with you two.”

She smells like strawberries. She must have been slicing them for the wine. “You’re welcome to try.” I nod at the packed front of the tavern. “I think they’d seek you out before long, though.”

She pouts. “You’d protect me from them all, wouldn’t you, Hawk?”

I pull a hunk of bread from the loaf. “You’d do better to ask Tycho. He’s braver than I am.”

She swats me on the back of the head and moves away.

I use the knife to slice a piece of cheese to add to the bread, then realize Tycho is staring at me. “What?”

His voice is low. “I think Jodi might fancy you.”

Jodi couldn’t be more obvious if she climbed into my lap and began unlacing my shirt. “I’ve noticed.”

“You don’t fancy her?”

I glance across the tavern, where Jodi is sashaying between tables. She flirts with all her customers, but she never lingers like she does with me.

We’re far from other patrons, but I drop my voice anyway. “To be a guardsman, you had to forswear family.”

“Forswear?”

“Pretend they don’t exist.” I hesitate. “Family is a liability. If a guardsman can be manipulated by a threat to those he cares for, he can be used against the Crown.”

He frowns. “So … what? You’re to care for no one?”

I think of my mother—or the woman I thought to be my mother—watching me leave with panicked eyes. I think of my nine brothers and sisters, slaughtered one by one as Lilith attempted to manipulate me into betraying Prince Rhen.

Her efforts did not work. My training was too thorough, my loyalty too steadfast. There was no one she could have used against me.

Unbidden, my thoughts conjure Harper, her fierce bravery countered only by her gentle kindness. I remember the day she convinced a cadre of Syhl Shallow soldiers that she was the princess of another nation. How after they left, spitting threats and promises of revenge, she didn’t choose to run and hide. She asked me to show her how to throw knives.

When Lilith threatened to kill Harper, I yielded. I got down on my knees and offered to swear myself to her.

I refuse to allow these thoughts to hold any power over me. “I’ve forgotten how to care for anyone, Tycho.”

He studies me for the longest moment. “I don’t think that’s true.”

I consider how I almost tossed him from the hayloft, and I’m not sure what to say. I tear another piece of bread from the loaf.

“You can’t train mercy out of someone,” he says.

“You surely can.”

He’s frowning again. I tear another piece of bread and hold it out. “Eat. I don’t want to have to run back.”

Dutifully, he eats. We lapse into silence, and the space around us fills with the braying laughter and heady conversation that packs the tavern. Near the door, an older man with a heavy paunch is draining what must be his third tankard of ale. His name is Riley, and he’s telling a story about a blind woman who was sold a donkey instead of a draft horse, and he couldn’t convince her otherwise. He’s one of the few blacksmiths in Rillisk, but he and Worwick share an old grudge, so he doesn’t shoe our horses. He probably charged Worwick a fair price, which to Worwick would be too much.

Jodi passes our table again, her hand brushing against my arm. I entertain the thought of catching her fingers and drawing her back. It would be simple. Uncomplicated. I could lose myself further into the persona of Hawk, leaving Grey behind.

When she turns, I meet her eyes, and she smiles.

I offer one of my own, and she blushes.

This should feel easy. It doesn’t. It feels like manipulation.

I break eye contact and look back at my bread. “Nearly done?” I say to Tycho, and my voice is rough.

He nods and pulls coppers from the pouch at his waist.

The door at the front of the tavern swings open, and a group of men enter slowly. The tavern is too loud and crowded for them to garner much attention, but light glints on steel, and I catch a flash of red.

I go still. My hand finds the knife.

But it’s not a Royal Guard uniform. It’s the Grand Marshal’s enforcers. The leading man is older, with graying hair and a thick beard, a patch covering one eye. He’s trailed by three others.

“Where is the blacksmith called Riley?” he announces, and there’s enough weight in his voice that conversation dulls to a murmur. Every head in the tavern turns to look at the corner where Riley sits.

Riley shoves back his chair and stands. He’s an honest man, so he looks more confused than concerned. “I am Riley.”

“You are accused of using magic to better your trade. You will come with us.”

Riley falls back a step. “I don’t— I’ve never— I know no magic.”

The guards have already begun surrounding him. The other men at the table have drawn away. All conversation has stopped.