I close my eyes, willing the memory to surface. The last moment I saw him. That look in his eyes—part challenge, part promise—as he asked me to decide what I really wanted. To choose him.
And I did.
I was going to tell him. I was ready to—
My chest seizes, the air sucked from my lungs like I’ve been punched. My blood feels like lead, like I’m being weighed down despite my urgency to run.
He must’ve gone to find me. To hear my answer. Only to find nothing but silence.
What if he thinks I left because my answer wasno? That I ran away instead of choosing him?
The thought slices clean through me.
No. Please, no. Not after everything. Not after all we’ve been through.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek and press trembling fingers to my temples.
“Dante.”
The name echoes inside me—not spoken aloud but hurled like a stone into the icy air. My telepathic magic has always been unpredictable. I don’t even know how to control it. It didn’t work when I tried it on Nadya. I don’t know if it’s bound by distance, or by the chaos of my emotions. But I have to try.
“Dante, please. Hear me. I didn’t leave you. I didn’t run. I was taken. Torbin has me—and Nadya too.”
I wait. I pray. I don’t even care if it hurts me; the pain will be worth it if he hears me. I open my senses, hoping to feel that familiar buzz I felt when Dante heard me before. But there’s nothing.
Only the creak of the floorboards as Staja shifts behind me, weaving delicate braids into my hair.
“I was going to sayyes, Dante. I was ready to sayyes. Please don’t think otherwise.”
Still nothing.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them back. I can’t cry now. Not with Torbin waiting. Not with Nadya’s life tangled in the knot of mine.
A shiver travels up my spine, and I feel as if I could jump out of my skin. I just hope that Dante is confident enough in our love to know I would never abandon him and to have the resolve to come find me.
ChApter
Forty-Eight
Staja finishes twisting my hair into a loose, elegant braid and fastens it with a clasp that gleams like polished bone. She gives me a onceover, then nods. “It will do,” she whispers.
She opens the door, and I step out of the room.
The hallway beyond is dim, the stone floor slick beneath my bare feet. Iron sconces cast long, flickering shadows, and every ten steps, another Dulcamaran guard stands sentry. Their armor is matte black, with jagged pauldrons that catch the candlelight like teeth. They watch me with eyes like slate—unfeeling, unreadable.
Then another figure approaches, and I feel a chill run up my spine.
“Finally awake, I see.” Osrem, Torbin’s advisor and spy, scrutinizes me. This is the man King Silas mistakenly sent to search for Torbin, not understanding fully how loyal he was to the monster his son has become. “Let’s not keep Prince Torbin waiting.”
With Osrem leading the way, and the guards following behind me, we make our way down the hall. Each step I take, flanked by Staja, feels like walking into an elaborate trap. My skin glitters with a shimmer that doesn’t feel like mine. My stomach clenches with fear that Nadya may beharmed. And my heart aches with words that may never reach the one person I need to hear them.
“Please, Dante. Hear me. I’m still yours.”
And I pray with everything I have left that the bond between us is stronger than the darkness rising around me.
The wind cuts sharp against my skin as Osrem leads me through a room and continues toward glass doors that lead out to a balcony. As I step outside, the cold, northern air coils around me like unseen chains. The sheer curtains behind me flutter in the freezing wind.
I keep my spine straight, my chin lifted, refusing to shiver, even as the thin silk of my gown offers little protection. The fabric grips me, shimmering like frost-kissed water, the delicate embroidery of silver vines trailing over my arms. The slits in the skirt expose far too much of my legs, and every movement makes the cool silk whisper against my skin like a ghost’s breath. The dress is beautiful, elegant—but impractical, meant for display rather than warmth.
