Slade had picked the lock in about three heartbeats. Thorne had checked the alley twice. Now they waited outside, one at the front, one at the back, shadow and muscle guarding the exits while I stood surrounded by reminders of a life I’d narrowly escaped.
I ran a finger over the counter where Callan once told me to pick something—“anything you want, Princess”—like trinkets could make up for losing everyone I loved to a curse made of perpetual slumber.
“Are you sure he’ll come?” Slade had asked me earlier, after convincing a courtier to carry the message into the castle.
Of course Callan would come.
His ego wouldn’t allow him to ignore it.
I shifted my weight, listening to the muted sounds of Grey Oak at night—distant voices, a wagon wheel rattling over cobblestone, the faint clatter of a tavern somewhere down the lane. The city felt tense. Like it was holding its breath for tomorrow.
For the wedding.
For the moment their king publicly tied himself to the monster at their doorstep.
My fingers brushed the tattoo along my throat. The only way we’d stop Heliconia would be with the power imbued to me from this mark. And even then, only if I could control it. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to admit that to Slade or Thorne. And neither one had asked.
The door latch clicked.
I went still.
No bell. No sound. Just a soft draft of cold air and the faint, familiar scent of expensive cologne.
“I have to say,” Callan murmured, “your choice oflocation is almost romantic.”
He stood just inside the door, unhooded, unguarded. No crown. No armor. Though, beneath his dark cloak, I glimpsed a tunic pressed and tailored within an inch of its life, as if he’d stepped out of a ball rather than skulked here alone in the middle of the night.
His gaze swept the shop before landing on me. For a heartbeat, his expression flickered.
“Hello, Aurelia.”
“Callan.”
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it like he owned the place. Which, knowing him, he probably did now.
“No entourage?” I asked.
“I travel light these days,” he said. “Besides, according to your note, if anyone asks, I’m visiting the goddess’ temple and praying to the Fates before the big day.”
“Did you? Pray?”
He smirked. “The Fates aren’t exactly my go-to deity these days. Nor, I suspect, are they yours. Even if they were reachable, they’re a bit too sweet for what I want done.”
“Maybe you won’t need divine intervention,” I said. “You do have a knack for scaring away your bride all on your own.”
“Aren’t we full of humor tonight?” He stepped closer, boots soundless on the floor. “So. You summoned me to a jewelry shop the night before my wedding. Either you’re here to kill me, or you’ve finally come to your senses and want a ring from me after all.”
He said it lightly, but there was something under the words. A question he wouldn’t ask outright.
I ignored both. “I’m here because you’re out of time.”
His jaw flexed. “Yes, well, I did bring that to your attention back when we had a bit more of it.”
“I know. And I’m sorry for not doing more to help.”
The humor fell away like a cloak. I saw it then, the pain I’d caused by refusing him. The fear he was battling on his own.
“Tell me what you want,” he said quietly.
