That makes me smile. “When we did not speak. By the fire.”

“Not the time you told Grey to kill me?”

“I told Grey no such thing.” Her hair slips loose again, and this time, when I reach to push it back into place, I let my hand linger. Her lips part as my fingers brush the rounded shell of her ear.

But then her hand flies up to catch my wrist. She’s suddenly breathless and angry. “I know what you’re doing. You’ve had three hundred women to practice this on. Stop.”

The words hit me like a dozen arrows, piercing flesh and hitting every nerve. I jerk free and turn away. My fists are tight at my sides and my voice is full of ice. “As you say, my lady.”

“You’re not going to trick me into falling for you.”

I glare at her. “You have made that quite clear.”

“I don’t trust you, Rhen.”

Each word brings another bolt of pain with a chaser of resignation. “You have made that quite clear, as well.”

She throws the door open. “Well, you don’t trust me, either, so I guess that makes us even. Don’t do that again.”

With that, she storms out.

I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed, then run my hands through my hair. I should have let Karis Luran’s men run me through. That would have been less torturous.

I touched her without thinking. So very careless. She was right—I have had over three hundred women to practice on. I should have known better.

But for one brief moment, I forgot the curse. I forgot that she is not some simple girl who sparks intrigue with every other word from her tongue.

And for one brief moment, I remembered. I remembered what it was like to want to touch a girl, not as part of a carefully planned seduction designed to lure her into breaking this curse.

Silver hell. This is terrible.

Grey appears in the doorway. “My lord?”

“What.”

He’s quiet for a brief moment. “May I be of service?”

Yes. He can end this torment.

The thought feels immeasurably selfish now. He can kill me, but that will do nothing to spare my subjects from an invading force. My death ends my suffering. It does nothing for him or for my people.

In truth, my survival does nothing either. The creature will destroy them all just as easily.

I look up. “Lady—Princess Harper has asked to stay here tonight. Will you inform the innkeeper?”

“I will.” He doesn’t move from the doorway.

I study him, wishing again that Harper did have a battalion of soldiers at her beck and call. At the very least, wishing I had a fully staffed castle guard, to give the impression of defense. Something. Anything.

I have nothing. I have Grey.

“Why do you stay?” I ask him.

“My lord?”

“Why did you not run with the others, the first time?”

He needs no further clarification than that. “I swore an oath. When I did so, I meant it.”

I give him a wan smile. “I am certain the others meant it, too, Grey.”

“I cannot speak for them.” He pauses. “Perhaps I meant it more.”

Perhaps they meant it less.

“Do you regret your oath?” I say.

“I do not.”

His answer is quick, a practiced response. I won’t let him out of it that easily. “Have you ever?”

“No.”

“This is our final season, Commander. You must know you can speak freely without much consequence.”

He hesitates, which is rare for him. When he speaks, I realize the pause is not for the reason I would expect. His voice is quiet. “I do speak freely, my lord.”

His loyalty should inspire me. It does not. I have done nothing to earn it.

I find that I regret his oath.

“Leave me,” I say.

The door whispers shut. Grey has always been good at following orders.

And for the first time, I wish he wasn’t.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

HARPER

I hide in the stables.

At first, I tried to join Evalyn and Freya in the kitchen, hoping to lose myself in their chatter, but they were too busy fawning over me.

“Your father’s power must be immeasurable, my lady. Tell us of life in your court.”

“Your beauty knows no bounds. It is no surprise you caught the prince’s eye. Are curls a trademark of your people?”

“My lady, are the women of your lands known to be warriors? You spoke with such fierceness.”

I had to get out of there.

The stables are small, offering six stalls, a low overhang, and a narrow aisle down the middle. The innkeeper—or Bastian—keeps it orderly, the stalls clean. Hay and sweat fill the air, underscored by the cold, wet scent of melting snow. I’d give anything to saddle up and ride out of here, but armed men will now be watching for “Princess Harper of Disi.”

The buckskin blows warm air on my hands, looking for food, then lifts his head to nose at my face.

“I’ll bring you an apple next time,” I whisper. “I promise.”

I have no idea what just happened with Rhen.

Maybe I was overwhelmed from chasing the men out of the inn. Maybe it was the bickering. Maybe he read that wrong. Maybe I did.

I know how quickly a skilled con artist can talk their way into your head and convince you their path is the best path. I saw it happen to my father. Jake and I were paying the price.

Well, right now, Jake is paying the price.

I pull the phone out of my pocket. The clock says it’s three thirty in the afternoon in Washington, DC.

The battery meter is glowing red and I have no way to charge it.

Emotion swells in my chest, tightening my throat. I’ve barely looked at the pictures, but I guess leaving it on drains the power.

Once it dies, I won’t have any connection to them left.

I sniff the tears back, and the buckskin pushes at my fingers again, running his velvet nose over the corner of my phone.

“I have learned that when you go missing, I should check the stables first, my lady.”

I turn my head to find Grey at the end of the aisle.

I look back at the buckskin and slide the phone into my pocket. It’s hard to chase thoughts of Jake out of my head, but standing in this stables, listening to snow dripping off the roof outside, leaves me with the bizarre, disorienting feeling that here is real, and there is not.

“I’m not good at pretending,” I say quietly.

“Pretending?”

“Acting like someone I’m not.”

He steps into the aisle and stops beside me. “I did not see much pretending, Princess Harper of Disi.”

I blush. The horse lips at my fingers, and I pull them out of the way before lips turn to teeth. “When I said for you to prove how serious I was, I wasn’t entirely sure you’d do anything.”

“You give orders well.”

“I’m surprised you listened.” He glances at me, so I add, “To me, I mean. Instead of Rhen.”

He says nothing to that. Instead, he says, “You are the first girl I’ve claimed from the other side who has such familiarity with horses. Why?”

“I used to ride a lot. When I was young. Mom took me—” My voice wavers at the mention of my mother. “At first it was just therapy, after I had surgery to fix my leg. But as I got older, it became a passion.” I pause and stroke my hand along the buckskin’s cheek. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until … until I came here.”

“Yet no weaponry?”

That startles a laugh out of me. “Those don’t really go hand in hand where I come from.” I pause. “How did you learn to throw a knife like that?”

“Practice and repetition.”

“Was your father a guard, too?”

“No. My father was a farmer.” He hesitates. “My mother had been a lady’s maid in the castle, and my uncle was a soldier with the King’s Army. When I was a child, my uncle would show me what he knew. I was a quick study. It became a fun pastime.”

“So you grew up wanting to be a soldier?”

He shakes his head. “I grew up intending to inherit farmland.” A pause. “When I was young, my father was badly injured. He became caught in a thresher, then dragged by the horse. He could no longer work. He could no longer walk. I had nine brothers and sisters—”

“Nine!” No wonder he’s good with children.

Grey nods. The horse butts at his hands and he gives the animal a soft word and strokes his muzzle. “I helped as best I could, but I was a boy trying to do a man’s work. Over time, much of our land was sold. Much of our livestock. Our crops suffered. We suffered. Every year, the castle would accept ten new guards. As you heard, it is a significant mark of favor for the family. I would have to forswear any connection to them, but I knew it would end their misery. When I came of age, I applied.”

I study him, charmed by his story. My eyes flick over his broad shoulders, the sheathed weapons, the armor he has not yet removed. I try to imagine him in denim and flannel, throwing hay bales into a wagon.

I completely and wholeheartedly fail.

I lean against the stall door. “So underneath Scary Grey there’s a big softy who’s good with kids and animals?”

His eyebrows lift just a hair. “Scary Grey?”