“You’re okay.” Nyssa is the first to reach me, her face pale, eyes wide and scanning my body for injuries. She leans forward, and I know she’s almost desperate to pull me in for a hug. But our ruse and the blood covering me hold her back. “Aella, I thought—” She cuts off, inhaling sharply.
Pan approaches more slowly, his usual grin replaced with a grim line, his brows drawn together in disbelief. “Cursed Anemoi,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “That wasn’t a performance—that was a bloodbath.” His eyes flick to the smear of blood on my arm, wincing. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re not hurt. Gods, you’re drenched in blood—of courseyou are.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “It looks worse than it is.”
Eleni steps in next, her face tight with shock, as though she’s struggling to make sense of what she just witnessed. She reaches for my hands, hissing when she notices the dagger I’m still clutching. “Aella, blood was everywhere. You didn’t kill anyone, I know, but…” Her words falter, and she shakes her head. “That girl—she’s dead.”
“And she’s probably better off for it,” Titaia says from behind them, her arms folded tightly, her expression harder to read than usual. She doesn’t step closer, but her eyes meet mine, sharp and steady. And I read the unspoken sentiment within them.
Better to die than to be the prince’s bride.
“Come,” Nyssa says gently. “Let’s get you back to our chambers and get you cleaned up.”
The group falls into step with me like a protective shield, guiding me toward the fringes of the hall. Their steps are heavy with disbelief, their murmurs low and charged as they try to process what they just witnessed.
We don’t make it far.
“Princess Aella.”
My feet stop of their own accord. The voice is warm and smooth, refined at the edges but unmistakably firm. It doesn’t ask—it commands. Turning, I find Keres standing just a few paces away.
He moves toward me with deliberate ease, the crowd behind him parting as if they can feel the undercurrent of tension radiating from him. My friends freeze at my side, each of them equally still, until Keres’s sharp gaze flickers in their direction.
“May I borrow her for a moment?” His tone sounds gracious, but I don’t miss the way it isn’t really a request.
Nyssa looks at me, her chin lifting in question. I exhale slowly, nodding for her and the others to stand down.
“Of course,” I say, the faint rasp in my voice betraying my unease. I pull free of Eleni’s hold and take the arm Keres offers. His hand is steady, his touch cool but tangible against my skin as he leads me away from them and the growing murmurs of the court.
We step into the adjoining courtyard, where the cold night presses down heavily, the air thick with the lingering musk of rain and wilting flowers. My boots click against the stone, the sound loud and stark against the backdrop of rustling leaves. Still, I say nothing, waiting for him to speak first.
When we stop beneath the drooping branches of a wisteria tree, Keres finally faces me. His red-brown eyes gleam, lingering on mine in a way that feels more intrusive than inquisitive.
“You didn’t kill her,” he says, his voice smooth and unruffled as he steps closer. His polished words, sharp as glass, exude a calm that feels almost jarring given the subject at hand—life, death, and everything in between. “I thought the trial made that perfectly clear.”
I know he’s talking about Cynna—about me knocking her down, bloodied but still alive—yet his gaze dips too long to be curiosity. Apang of unease flares in my chest, though I force a coy tilt of my lips. “You said the last twostanding,Keres. Why should I have bothered killing her when I’d already won?”
“I think,” he begins, his hand brushing against the bottom of my rib cage, “you have a sweet heart, Princess. Beneath the hard shell of an exterior you wear, I think it aches. I think it bleeds for others.”
His words don’t feel like a compliment. They carry an edge, as if he’s imagining prying open my rib cage to glimpse my heart with his own eyes.
And yet, something about his words unsettles me. It’s as if, despite my carefully crafted facade—without breaking through—he’s perceived me. I stay still, maintaining the illusion of composure while my pulse pounds in my ears like a war drum.
But then—mercifully—a voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
“Princess?”
Nyssa’s voice.
I step back, putting space between us. Keres’s jaw tightens before he smooths his expression, but his red gaze catches on Nyssa in the distance.
“What is it?” I ask, clearing my throat as I turn to my friend.
“A raven arrived,” she says, her face a practiced mask. “A letter from your father. I thought you would want to see it.”
“Of course.” I glance up at Keres. “Thank you for the walk.”
Keres’s smirk doesn’t fade, though something sharper cuts beneath it as he inclines his head. “Anytime, sweet heart.”
