Page 202

I turn the page, and another document makes my heart stutter. It states that any costs, expenses, medical care, travel, or necessities I might require can be charged directly to Sangremere Kingdom, and it is signed by Kylian himself and stamped with his kingdom’s crest. I gasp.

He didn’t simply demand me from Zander. He paid what I owed, and he made sure I would never have to owe anyone again. Turning to the next page, my breath catches for an entirely different reason.

Arlo.

His name is printed across the top. His debt also cleared. Beside it rests his own Royal Writ of Emancipation. For several seconds, I can only stare.

Then the pieces finally fall into place as I see the date written on each one. He did this the day after he learned of Arlo.

I have been the property of one kingdom or another since the day my mother died, unable to leave, to make my own choices, always at risk of being forced back into the flesh markets for saying or doing the wrong thing.

Maybe that’s part of why making any decisions about what I want feels so hard. Because until now, no one has ever asked me what I want, and even if they had, it never mattered.

Kylian freed both of us. If I wanted to leave Sangremere, I could. If I wanted to walk away from him, I could. And if I chose Arlo, Kylian made sure even that choice would be mine.

My throat tightens. He has known every secret I have tried to bury and forget. Every debt, every record, every chain Purgatory wrapped around us. And instead of using those chains to tether me to his own kingdom, he cut every single one.

He was always willing to let me go. His kingdom’s curse, his curse, the bond, all of it was second to what I wanted. I set the letter down carefully, exactly as I’d found it, and flee the office before the tears can start.

All this time, all the agony I’ve put him through, he has secretly been looking for Sable, paying off debts, freeing us, possibly dooming his kingdom if I chose to leave.

***

I find Eagan’s room after getting directions from a maid, knocking softly in case anyone is sleeping.

When the door opens, I expect Eagan, but it’s Arlo instead. His face lights up in that familiar, uncomplicated way that makes my guilt twist deeper.

“Ali.” He steps aside to let me in. “I was just—”

“I need to speak with Arlo,” I say, turning to Eagan, who is sprawled in a chair by the fire with a book he clearly isn’t reading. “Alone. Please.”

Eagan raises one eyebrow, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. “You want to kick me out of my own room?”

My cheeks heat. “I just—”

“I’m teasing.” He closes his book with a snap and stands, stretching like a cat. “I’ll go check the hallway perimeter. Or stand three paces past the doorframe. Whichever feels more dramatically appropriate.”

He slips out, chuckling to himself, and the latch clicks behind him.

Arlo watches me, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. “Ali? What’s wrong?”

I open my mouth to lie, to protect him from everything I am feeling, but instead, I cross the room and sit on the edge of Eagan’s settee, my hands clasped tight in my lap.

“Sit with me,” I say quietly. “Please. Just . . . sit with me.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he moves to get us both drinks from the small water urn on the dresser. He passes me a glass and drops onto the cushion beside me. Close enough that our shoulders touch. It is familiar. So familiar that my chest aches.

“Having you here alone reminds me of when we used to sneak off.” He smiles at the memory, his voice soft. “Do you remember hiding in the hayloft and pretending the world couldn’t find us?”

I smile. “You were terrible at hiding. You always sneezed.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.” I bump his shoulder with mine, and he laughs. It is a good sound. An old sound. Something from a life that doesn’t exist for me anymore.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, not at first. It is the kind that used to settle between us when we’d exhausted every word and still didn’t want to leave each other’s side. But tonight, there is a weight to it. Secrets pressing against the seams.

Arlo picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I never told you what I found out about Angie,” he says slowly. “But now it makes so much sense why Mom did whatever Crawly demanded and asked of her.”