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The crowd did not disperse after the King’s decree. They remained standing along the balconies and palace steps, watching me as if they expected me to beg once the reality of my impending torture and eventual death settled in.

But I wouldn’t give them that pleasure.

Even as the cold seeped through my knees from the execution stone, and the iron collar around my throat pulsed with rune magic, I kept my spine straight beneath the weight of the Annatalian cloak. I had morphed into many personalities over the years, but I would die as myself. The forgotten princess who became the protector of her younger cousins, a rebel and a spy, a book restorer, and now a murderer. Every past action, right or wrong, was part of my fractured, blackened soul. It was there, kneeling before death, that I finally allowed each broken part of me to fuse into someone new. Someone stronger.

We are, after all, what we endure… what we survive.

Torran shifted uneasily but remained standing beside the execution platform while the King ascended the steps once more. The Smoke Phoenix landed heavily upon the western tower behind him, black wings half unfurled against the night sky. The phoenix’s silver eyes never left me. Neither did Torran’s.

Movement flickered to my right.

Aster.

He stood deep in the shadows, but I could make out his gaze—and he was livid. My heart shuddered, and I bit down on my tongue to stop myself from speaking. A lump built in my throat and my eyes stung. I didn’t want him to see me like this: defeated and on Death’s Door.

He slunk deeper into the crowd as they began to disperse, but even when he disappeared, his image remained. With everyone’s focus on me, I hoped he had the opportunity to slip the Carro powder he’d taken with him all those nights ago when we’d left the cabin, and lace the King’s wine or one of the pitchers in the dining hall. When he’d signed, “You never know when you might need to poison someone… perhaps a King.” If there ever was a time, then it was now.

King Malar clasped his hands behind his back as he approached one of his Riders. “She cannot die before the last night.”

Torran’s expression remained unreadable, and his voice held a hint of humour. “Then perhaps your Riders should stop trying to kill her.”

A dangerous silence followed.

Several nobles murmured along the balconies overhead, then Draga stepped up next to his father. His mouth curled into an ugly smirk. “She survived the journey,” he drawled.

“You didn’t need to fly her. Not with the rogues around,” Torran replied. “We never get much information from your dead ones.”

The two princes stilled and stared at one another across the courtyard. Did they truly hate each other, or was it for show?

The King’s jaw hardened. “Enough.”

Draga looked away first. “Take her,” the King ordered. “And if she attempts escape—”

“She won’t,” Torran interrupted.

His confidence unsettled me more than the collar around my throat.

The King studied him for a long moment before nodding once. “Three nights.”

Then he turned and swept back toward the palace while the crowd finally began dispersing around us. Music rose again from the open windows above.

As though none of this mattered. As though my death were simply another Yule entertainment. Guards approached and hauled me upright from the execution stone. My legs nearly failed beneath me after kneeling so long on the frozen platform, but I locked them before they could drag me.

Draga stepped close enough that only I could hear him.

“If he breaks you first,” he murmured softly, “I’ll be disappointed.”

I tutted, but it was time for the silence that I was so very good at existing in.

Torran moved between us, and his gloved hand grabbed my elbow. “You’ve had your turn,” he said flatly.

A dangerous smirk flickered across Draga’s face, but after a moment he stepped back with a mocking inclination of his head. “Enjoy your prisoner. I’ll be sending my very best men to make sure that the job is done. As soon as she breaks, they’ll head out to find the other two.”

Torran ignored him and motioned toward the waiting guards. “Clear the courtyard.” The command carried enough authority that they obeyed.

Within moments, only a handful of Barren Riders remained near the execution platform, along with Smoke, crouched high upon the tower. Snow drifted gently through the courtyard now, settling against my blood, which had marked the stone.