The tsar doesn’t watch me leave. He’s already turning back toward the center of the chamber, the flickering light swallowing him once again.
The seer watches me intently as I make my way out of the room.
As the door shuts behind me, my head drops. I don’t know if I’m mourning the man he was, or the one I wanted him to be. But either way, something inside me cracks.
Torbin leads me back through the frozen halls in silence, though I feel the weight of his gaze on me every few steps.
When we reach the door to my chamber, I stop short, planting my feet.
“I want to see Nadya,” I say, my voice low but firm. “Where is she?”
He turns to face me, brow arching slightly. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
“She’s my friend,” I snap. “She’s done nothing wrong—”
“She is fine,” he cuts in smoothly, stepping closer. “You, on the other hand, have bigger things to worry about.”
His smirk widens, and he turns the iron key in the lock. The door creaks open, and I take two steps inside.
When he follows, I stop short and whirl to face him. “What are you doing?”
His gloved hand rises—slowly, deliberately—and brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. The gesture is almost tender. Almost.
It takes every ounce of control I have not to flinch.
His eyes flick to mine, and something dark and possessive stirsthere. He chuckles softly, seeing through my tough façade. “Everything is falling into place, Celeste. You’ll see that soon enough. All you have to do is stop fighting it.”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t agree with you.”
His eyes flit over my features as he clicks his tongue. “Be smart, my dear. You’ve already seen what happens when you go up against the seer. You wouldn’t want to test my patience. Things could get rather… ugly.”
I shake my head. “I’ll take my chances. You’ve had a chance to kill me, but you haven’t. So unless you’re going to kill me right now, why don’t you get the hell out of my room?”
For a moment, he simply stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then he leans in before I can pull away, his lips brushing my cheek in a mockery of affection. The touch curdles in my stomach.
I dip my head and recoil.
He lets out a small chuckle. “Sleep well, Celeste. We have lots to discuss in the morning.” He steps back, watching me as he pulls the door closed.
After the sound of his footsteps diminish, I check the handle.
Locked.
Of course.
I stand frozen in the dim room, the silence pressing down on me like a second skin. The fire in the hearth has burned low, throwing soft, twitching shadows against the stone walls. I press a hand to my cheek, wiping away the ghost of Torbin’s kiss as if it were filth. Then I walk to the small window, needing air I can’t reach.
He’s alive.
My father is alive.
The thought circles my mind like a vulture. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be. And yet—I saw him. I heard his voice. I felt the gravity of his presence in my very bones.
He’s not a rumor or a myth or a nightmare conjured by others. He’s real. And he has become something I don’t recognize.
Something I want no part of.
I think of what my uncle said.“I can’t prove it to be true. But Ibelieve your father killed your mother.”
