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The afternoon slowly gives way to evening, and evening then fades into the darkness of night. The fire in the hearth has burned down to embers that shine the same crimson as his eyes. There is no more wood to burn, and the room becomes colder as I watch it die out.

Kylian does not return, and Eagan doesn’t unlock the door. I stay in the room as the light fades and wait for what happens next, but the act of waiting is in itself a form of punishment. It doesn’t leave physical injuries, but it wears down my nerves until they’re bare.

Each sound from the corridor makes my heart jump against my ribs. The mere idea of Kylian being near makes the bond more hopeful, but my stomach drops whenever the door opens. It isn’t Kylian. He must still be angry with me. Does he really think there’s something going on between Eagan and me?

Eagan stands in the frame but doesn’t look at me, which just makes the nausea I feel even worse.

“The king wants you in the town square.” His voice gives nothing away.

I stand on legs that feel unsteady and move to follow him. When I notice his hands are behind his back, I pause next to him and open the door.

“You’ll need a coat. The temperature has dropped outside,” he states without even glancing at me.

“Are you taking me to see Kylian?”

Eagan nods once, and I move to the closet and grab the first thing my hand lands on, which turns out to be one of Kylian’s coats. I pull it on and inhale his scent that seems woven into the fabric.

Behind me, I feel Eagan’s presence, but before I can ask if Kylian is okay, something cold clamps around my throat. It happens so quickly that my shock leaves me stunned, giving him time to spin me around and clamp the shackles onto my wrists.

“Eagan?” I ask, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.

He quickly reaches forward and zips my coat up.

“You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m sorry, Alessia,” Eagan mumbles as he marches me toward the door, but when I catch sight of myself in the mirror above a dresser, my heart stalls.

The shackles around my wrists, the metal collar around my throat—I look no different than the enemy spies rotting in the castle cells. There’s cold pressure sinking inward around my throat, and it settles around the place where my magic lives.

Fine lines encircle the collar, but as Eagan attempts to tug me forward, I see the strange markings shimmer in the light. My breath catches, and my hand jerks against the cuffs as I try to bring it to my neck. I can’t place the markings exactly, but my body recognizes them in a way my mind cannot.

Eagan nudges me forward. “Forgive me, my queen. Please know, I take no pleasure from any of this. Nor do I see this being the brightest idea of the king’s,” Eagan states.

When we reach the next corridor, a small number of guards fall behind us. The procession winds through the upper parts of the castle and snakes down a stairwell I have never taken before. We travel passages that lead to broader corridors, bordered by tall windows that give me a passing view of the night sky.

The walls smell earthy and sharp as we coil through a tunnel system, and eventually, we surface through a door leading into the council building. I glance back at the dark passage, realizing this must be how Kylian gets around to avoid the streets during the day.

Eagan clears his throat and inclines his head for me to follow. He leads me upstairs to the balcony overlooking the town square. Kylian is standing there rigidly, arms draped over the railing as he peers down at something happening below. Eagan nudges me out the door into the cold air.

“Kylian, what is the meaning of this?” I ask, shaking my shackled wrists at him.

“It’s to ensure everyone’s safety, including mine. You won’t be able to use your power while wearing the blessed collar,” he states.

I flex my fingers and reach instinctively for the power that runs through my veins, but the moment I touch it, the collar around my throat tightens inward around something no metal should be able to reach.

My magic does not disappear.

It recoils.

What scares me even more is the fact that it is still there, still alive, still lying beneath the surface, but the collar’s grip feels like a hand covering a child’s mouth.

The markings pulse.

My breath catches.

I know this rhythm.

I do not know how I know it, only that I do. Gritting my teeth, I take in the scene below, and my stomach drops so violently that I nearly faint.