“Take him to a room,” he says. “Clean him up, dress his wounds, and leave him unharmed. Have the kitchens send him a meal.”

“Yes, my lord.” Dustan grabs hold of my arm.

“And, Commander?”

I flinch but do not look up.

Rhen’s eyes are cold. “Make sure he can’t escape.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LIA MARA

I had no interest in the goings on in the courtyard until I heard a shout.

I had no idea what was going on until Princess Harper dropped to a knee and called the man Grey.

So this is the man everyone seeks. Not dead after all.

He’s much younger than I expected, for a man who was commander of the prince’s Royal Guard. Clanna Sun is Mother’s chief adviser, and she was not elevated to that station until she reached her fifties. This man appears hardly older than I am, though he’s rough and worn and injured, blood staining a bandage wrapped tightly around his thigh. His eyes are despondent, his posture defeated.

What did the guardsman say? We found him in Rillisk, my lord. He was going by another name. Once I realized who he was, he attempted to flee.

Why would he hide? Why would he run? If he knows the identity of the heir, as the enchantress claimed, why would he not reveal it to his prince? If he once held such a lofty position, he must have proven his loyalty.

And if he wasn’t loyal, if he keeps such a secret for nefarious reasons, I’d expect to see some defiance in his gaze. Some grim determination. Instead, he kneels at the prince’s feet as if he would offer his life in service this very moment. His expression is full of deep remorse. He looks conflicted. He looks … lost.

They drag him away, into the castle, and I am left to wonder.

I go back to pulling at the brick barrier. I can now move it three inches in either direction. The track is old and rusty, but the more I work at it, the more success I have.

While I work, I think.

I have seen that look in Mother’s guards, men and women who would lay down their lives if she requested it. It is curious to find it in a man who keeps such a secret. By virtue of that expression, I would expect him to be desperate to share the identity of the missing heir, especially if it’s an individual who shares an affinity for magic.

The brick wall gives another inch. I drag a forearm across my sweaty forehead, likely leaving another line of soot.

What would Grey know that the prince wouldn’t? Why flee? Who could he be protecting? It could not be a child. According to custom here in Emberfall, the heir must be older than Prince Rhen.

A friend? What kind of friend would inspire such devotion in a matter of months? Surely this Grey must know his life is forfeit if he keeps a secret from his prince. What friend could be worth that? What friend would require it?

A sibling? I could see myself keeping a secret to protect Nolla Verin, even at the risk of my life. But of course that’s ridiculous, because if Grey had a brother, then that man could only be—

My hands go still on the brick.

Suddenly I understand the conflict in Grey’s expression. I understand why he would run. I understand why he would hide.

Grey is being loyal. He is protecting the prince. There’s no defiance because he was willing to lay down his life in favor of Prince Rhen.

What did Mother say?

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

We all thought that meant the enchantress had revealed this knowledge to Grey—and I’m sure Prince Rhen did too.

We were wrong.

Grey knows because he is the heir.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

GREY

By the time Rhen calls for me, the sun has long since set. I’ve been chained alone in an empty room for most of the day, and the cold of the marble floor has seeped into my bones, leaving a stiff ache that refuses to disappear. The guards followed orders, but only to the letter, so I’m clean and my wound is bandaged, but I haven’t seen food since morning. I have no idea what they’ve done with Tycho.

Rhen waits in his chambers, the space a stark contrast to where I’ve been kept all day. A fire burns low in the hearth, stealing any hint of a chill, exactly as I remember. Vibrant wall hangings stretch between the windows, a wide chest of drawers sits along the opposite wall, and an impressive selection of liquors fills a cabinet in the corner. Food waits on a low table near the chest, sliced fruits and warm breads.

I consider how long it’s been since I’ve eaten, and I wonder if the waiting food—clearly untouched, set just out of reach—was deliberate.

I consider Prince Rhen, waiting impassively in a velvet armchair, and I know it was.

The guards draw me to a stop before him, but I know better than to hesitate now. There is no carpeting here, but I kneel anyway, my injured leg clumsy and stiff, my chains rattling against the marble floor. The air flickers with uncertainty and betrayal.

Two guards stand at my back, while Dustan stands to Rhen’s right, near the hearth. The prince says nothing, so I wait. We all wait. An ache settles into my leg, and I desperately want to ease it.

This is also deliberate.

I had almost forgotten he could be like this. Prince Rhen is a brilliant strategist and a consummate gentleman, but he can also be petty in the most creative of ways. The curse changed him—in truth, it changed us both—but it did not lessen his ability to be vindictive.

It did not lessen my ability to tolerate it either.

That thought alone allows me to meet his gaze. His eyes reveal nothing, but we have far too much history for his thoughts to be a mystery. He is well practiced in hiding emotion, but he’s only ever this stoic when he’s deeply unsettled.

That makes two of us.

When Rhen finally speaks, his eyes don’t leave mine. “Unchain him,” he orders. “Leave us.”

Dustan hesitates. “My lord—”

“If Grey meant me harm, he would not have been living two days’ away, under the guise of another name.” Rhen doesn’t look away. “Unchain him.”

Dustan pulls a key from his belt and gives the other guardsmen an order to disperse. The shackles fall from my wrists and ankles, clattering on the marble, and I have to fight the urge to rub at my sore wrists. Dustan winds the chains between his hands and moves to return to his spot by the fire.

“No,” says Rhen. “Go.”

Dustan inhales to argue, but he must see Rhen’s expression, because he withdraws, and the door eases closed.

The sudden silence magnifies every emotion. His eyes still haven’t left mine, and I can read the uncertainty and betrayal in his gaze, as surely as he can read my own.

“So,” he says. “Hawk, was it?”

He’s clearly baiting me, which doesn’t seem promising.

“Dustan tells me you weren’t even working as a swordsman,” he adds. “That you simply stood in for another man who was injured. To be honest, I’m surprised.” He sits back and lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I told you I would write you a letter of recommendation.”

My eyes narrow. I grit my teeth against the ache in my leg and will myself to remain still.

He must read the shadow of pain in my expression, because he says, “Do you wish to move?”

I cannot read his voice, and his eyes are still cold, so I do not know if this is a genuine offer or just a way to force me to admit weakness.