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“I’d expect nothing less,” he replied, a glint in his emerald eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Kit stood. “Let’s see if she tries to murder you first.”

“I would be disappointed if she didn’t.”

Sephone snorted into her drink.

Raefe cleared his throat as Kit moved toward the door. “Give the Revenant and her prince my regards.”

She gave a hesitant nod and reached for the door handle, then paused. “Thank you. For helping her. For getting her out.”

Raefe pressed his lips together and issued a nod of his own.

“Anything else before I go?” Kit said over her shoulder.

“Safe travels.” Sephone’s voice was wry as a gust of wind ruffled Kit’s hair, the air barrier around the room dissipating. “Come back to visit anytime.”

The sun had almost set by the time Kit made her way back down that long, winding hall and out of the Gilded Gryphon. She grumbled as she pulled her cloak around her shoulders, inwardly lamenting the fact that she’d have to delay her departure until morning. It was just as well, she supposed. She hadn’t even said goodbye to her mother yet. She was just so desperate to leave, to get away from these people who knew too much and not enough all at once.

When she landed on her balcony at the Ravenswing estate, she braced her hands on the railing one last time, watched the sunset shimmer on the canals that bisected the city, took in the way the colors of the sky reflected off the gold-domed roofs.

It was a beautiful city. Kit had always loved it here. Loved the bustle and noise, the merchants who hawked their wares in the town square each week, the music that wafted from the open windows of the conservatory. She loved the joy that spread through the streets every time the king’s procession left the palace. Loved being a part of that procession.

Now it felt strange. Foreign. And Kit wanted nothing more than to be gone from this place, gone from this city, with its idle king and people who were more than content ignoring the atrocities happening elsewhere in the world just because they weren’t happening to them.

She flexed her fingers against the railing, relishing the cool bite of the metal against her skin, how it made her feel just slightly more awake.

Her uncle would not help, so she’d found someone else who would.

She hoped.

Because just like she’d told Ric all those weeks ago, it was not a foolish thing to have hope.

And that’s what Kit would keep telling herself until she had her arms wrapped around Elyria once more and the proof that she was safe and real and rescued was undeniable.

18

SANCTUARY

CEDRIC

Her head was on his chest.

Moonlight spilled through the latticework of silveroak branches above, casting faint shadows over Elyria’s bare shoulders. Her breath rose and fell in slow, even pulls as she lay against him, one hand next to her cheek, her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.

As if he would ever go anywhere again.

Cedric held his breath and shifted, just an inch, lifting his head to place the arm that wasn’t currently pinned under Elyria’s resting form behind his head. He did not bother to chase sleep. He knew it would not come even if he did. Knew he did not want it to. Not while he had been given this miraculous gift of time. Not while he had the ability to watch the tiny movements of her face—the faint twitch of her lashes when she slipped further into sleep, the little furrow between her brows smoothing, then returning, then smoothing again.

He counted each of her inhales like he was hoarding each breath. And with each of her sighed exhales, he, too, felt like he could breathe a little easier.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

He hadn’t quite let himself believe it at first. Not really.