“And I you.”

“You have until sunset tomorrow.” He raises his voice. “Commander!”

I’m returned to a different room, but this time, no shackles encircle my wrists. A guard remains outside, but as promised, I’m allowed some liberty. A low fire burns in the hearth, and a pitcher of water, a kettle of tea, and a selection of sweetcakes waits on a side table. Before I can touch them, a servant enters, bringing a pile of folded clothing.

“His Highness thought these would be more to your liking,” he says, leaving the clothes on a chair before exiting quickly.

I pick through them. Everything is made of fine leather and expensive cloth.

I know Rhen doesn’t think I can be lured into revealing the heir by extravagance. Maybe this part of his friendship is true.

A shadow flickers in the corner of the room.

I keep my hand on the clothing, running my fingers along a carefully stitched seam, but my attention is on the shadow now.

Maybe Rhen hopes to assassinate me. But that’s ridiculous. He could have had it done right in front of him.

Another small movement, by the draperies surrounding the corner window.

I straighten and sigh and stretch as though tired, then move along the wall, extinguishing the sconces one by one, making a show of preparing for bed. When I reach the sconce by the corner, I plunge my hand into the draperies, aiming for a throat or an arm.

Instead, I find the clear features of a face. A woman cries out and flails at me through the lengths of gauzy fabric.

I jerk the drapes wide and pin her against the wall, one hand against her throat and the other gripping her arm above her head.

It’s a girl I’ve never seen before. Red hair hangs long and straight, past the curves that accentuate her waist. Soot streaks her face and arms. Her eyes are wide, her breathing quick.

“Who are you?” I demand, my voice low.

“My name is Lia Mara,” she whispers, her voice thick with the accent of Syhl Shallow. “And you’re the rightful heir.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LIA MARA

In person, Grey is much larger than he appeared in the courtyard. Considering his injured leg, I didn’t expect him to be so quick or so violent, which is rather unfortunate because he’s about to crush my throat. His body pins mine against the wall, but my fingers dig at his wrist.

“Please,” I say, my voice strained. “I have little time.”

His grip doesn’t loosen. “How do you know who I am?”

“My mother.” Spots begin to flare in my vision. Breath rakes across my tongue. “Please—I need to speak with you.”

He studies me for the longest moment, until I’m certain I will lose consciousness. He’s extinguished most of the oil lamps along the wall, so shadow cloaks us both. His eyes are deep set and dark, like charred wood in a burning hearth, so much darker than eyes native to Syhl Shallow.

His hand eases on my neck, and sweet air floods my lungs. The weight of his body still holds me against the wall. No man has ever been this close to me. Even with his hand against my throat, Grey is not being rough, but he’s close enough for me to feel his heart beat nearly against my own. A flush colors my cheeks, and I hope it’s too dark for him to see.

His fingers tap at my neck. “Now you have little to say?”

I swallow. “I did not—you are not what I expected.”

“I did not expect to find a girl hiding in the draperies, so we have that in common. Who are you?”

“Lia Mara.” I pause. “My mother is Karis Luran.”

He inhales sharply, and his fingers flex against my throat.

“I am not your enemy!” I whisper quickly.

“A spy from Syhl Shallow is certainly not a friend.”

“Prince Rhen knows I’m here.” His expression turns skeptical. “Well—not here,” I amend. “I may only have a short time before the guards discover I’m missing.”

“You are his prisoner.”

“No. Yes.” Grey is so unyielding that I turn flustered. “I did not—I am not a spy. I came to the castle with a proposal of peace.”

“Ah, a proposal of peace. So often delivered in such a way.”

I make a frustrated sound and snap at him in Syssalah. “Fell siralla! Would you stop talking? I am trying to explain.”

He raises his eyebrows, as if to say, go on.

I quickly explain what happened when I arrived, how Rhen refused my offer and took me prisoner. When I get to the part where he executed Sorra, my voice begins to waver.

Grey’s expression does not change.

I steady myself and continue. “I saw you brought into the courtyard. I knew who you must be.”

“The prince himself does not know,” he says. “How do you?”

“I didn’t—not for sure. Mother only said you knew the true identity of the heir, so at first I believed you carried some secret. But I began to question why you would not reveal it to your prince. You were the captain of his guard, were you not?”

“Commander.”

“Yes. Commander. You forswear family, yes? If the heir were another man, you would surely volunteer that information.”

His eyes reveal nothing. I wonder if my hypothesis worries him. If I figured it out, surely the prince can.

“He will kill you if he finds out,” I say softly.

“As a matter of course.” He says this without emotion, without one breath of doubt.

“But you must have magic if you are the son of a magesmith! Why would you allow yourself to be taken prisoner?”

He swears. “Maybe I have the blood of a magesmith, but so far it has done me little good.”

I study him. “You could escape. My mother seeks you as well.”

“I want nothing from Karis Luran.”

His voice carries an edge like a knife, and I flinch. “She would offer her support to your claim on the throne.”

“I seek no claim to the throne.”

“Not even if it means peace between Syhl Shallow and Emberfall?”

“Peace between our countries cannot be achieved through trickery and treason.” His hand is very warm on my throat, a reminder that he could kill me right here and all my hopes would die with me. “Based on your story, it seems you’ve learned that lesson yourself.”

I frown. “I will not apologize for trying to save the lives of thousands of people. You and your prince may believe that the solution to all life’s challenges exists at the end of a sword, but I do not.” I look him dead in the eye. “If you will not accept my offer of assistance—”

“I will not.”

I square my shoulders, but all it does is press my chest into his. I force my voice to remain level. “I will ask you to unhand me, so I can return to my room to await my fate.”

He’s staring at me like he’s unsure what to make of me.

“Now,” I add.

It’s a bold request. He could call for guards, and they would certainly put me somewhere I can’t slip through the fireplace. He could kill me himself, to keep his secret.

The weight of his scrutiny crackles in the air between us.

He frowns, but his hand slips away from my neck.

Before he can say anything, the door creaks, and he jerks back. I dash behind the curtains again.