Sárait sucked in a breath as she saw Kían. A thin layer of dust covered their warm brown skin, clinging to their sweat, but Sárait stared at them as if they were covered in glittering diamonds. They moved toward each other at the same time; their embrace was one of lovers long parted.
Clía looked for something—anything—else to focus on. They were owed a private moment. She met Ronan’s gaze, and something in her ached with a longing she had been trying to ignore for days.
She hadn’t talked with him outside of meetings, unsure of what to say. Spending more time with him, alone, would make their inevitable separation that much more painful, and she couldn’tbear it. And based on the sorrow she saw behind the yearning in his eyes, the hurt wasn’t hers alone. Soon, she’d be returning to Álainndore, and he would be traveling back to the Scáilcan palace in Suanriogh.
But she kept finding reasons to stay at Caisleán. Talking with Domhnall about Scáilca’s plans. Discussing Tinelann’s potential next steps with their commanders. Her excuses were running thin, and she couldn’t avoid her duty forever. Even if the thought of returning home felt more and more like swimming into the open ocean with no raft.
Caisleán’s cold walls had become a different kind of home to her. A place where she had felt happy and built friendships that she never would have in Bailetara. She was tried and tested and had proved herself.
She came here assuming she would go home triumphant—a prince on her arm. But now she was returning with a war as her prize.
A dull ache formed in her head at the thought. This was useless. She would be going back to Álainndore, but she didn’t need to taint the time she had left with her friends with doubt and fear.
***
CLÍA LOUNGED ON THE OVERSTUFFED COUCH ACROSS FROMthe burning fire in the library, exchanging stories with her friends with a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. Ronan sat only a foot away.
“So it was you who killed him.” Kían laughed, their fingers toying with Sárait’s hair. They were entwined together on thefloor, closest to the hearth. Clía hadn’t seen the two of them separated since Sárait’s return. Kían’s hand would always be holding Sárait’s, or Sárait’s arm would find itself wrapped around Kían’s waist.
They looked at Clía expectantly. She nodded, not wanting to go into detail.
“Bloodthirsty.” Sárait whistled. “Who would’ve known.”
Clía’s stomach roiled as the words sank in. She kept her mask firmly in place, offering them a smug shrug. Ronan’s hand crept toward hers on the couch before stopping a breath away. Inches turned to miles, and she didn’t know how to cross them.
Niamh sat cross-legged on the table, leaning back on her arms. Her hair tumbled behind her, and her skin glowed gold in the firelight. She opened her eyes, narrowing them on Clía.
“When are you going home?” Niamh said bluntly.
One would think talking about murder would bring about a low mood, but it dropped even further at Niamh’s question. The study was quieter than Clía had ever heard it. “Soon.”
Ronan’s hand, and the magnetic pull it carried, withdrew. She wanted to reach out. Hold it, holdhim. She needed to tell him that when she closed her eyes, she dreamed she’d be able to stay at the castle. They would wake up horribly early for grueling training sessions, and laugh in the arena as they worked, with the fading stars as company. Dinners would be spent complaining about how badly their muscles ached. She would have been happy.
But there was no room for joy in war. Not with everything at stake.
“If you ever need any help, with anything, I’m sure we canarrange a visit,” Niamh offered, sending a pointed look back at Domhnall. He sat on the armchair behind her, the eye not protected by his new eyepatch fixed on something she couldn’t see.
When Niamh turned back, Clía could see a glint of hope and determination in the set of her brows and the slight curve of her mouth.
Clía grinned. “I’d love that.”
***
DOMHNALL PULLEDCLÍA ASIDE AS EVERYONE WENT OFF TObed. She followed him out of the castle walls and onto the southern grounds, where dust from fallen stone covered dead grass. The wall had been rebuilt rather quickly, but it was changed. There was a difference in how the stones lay together. It was uneven and rushed, but it would serve its purpose.
“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation.
Her eyes narrowed. “You know this.”
When he sighed, it was as tense as his stance. “Vagueness does not become you, Princess Clíodhna.”
“I tire of keeping to etiquette,Prince Domhnall.What are you asking?”
The chill from the winter air had begun to sink through her cloak. She wasn’t the only one affected. Domhnall rubbed his hands together, pink in the cold. “Niamh asked you a question. Earlier. You were vague, and I don’t think it was simply for dramatics.”
“I’m a very dramatic person—haven’t you learned that by now?”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” he said, and she thought she saw thehint of a smile playing at his lips. “However, you typically are also honest. It can be infuriating at times. So, why be deceitful now?” He arched a brow.
