Page 22

Nyssa

“How does one lose a prince?” I mutter as Maxim and I step into the eastern gardens, the air cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine.

The moon hangs low, and our shadows stretch long across the gravel path ahead.

Maxim slows his pace and turns toward me, his expression dry. “I do have days off, you know.”

“Doesn’t he have other guards you could check in with?”

He rolls his eyes. “He does, but he dismisses them all.”

“And what makes you so special?” I’m genuinely curious about the answer. The prince obviously trusts him enough to enlist him in clandestine trips from the palace and plots bordering on treasonous.

“I’m offended you even have to ask,” he says. “I was brought to the palace shortly after Aella was sent away. They trained me as a guard, but also as a companion.”

“Interesting choice for a child.” I glance at him, my steps slowing. “Did you want that for yourself?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “We were both going through a difficult time,” he says finally, his voice measured, as if he’s choosing each word with care. “What about you? Was being inducted into the Aviary not an interesting choice?”

The question lingers in the air, and I feel its weight settle in my chest.

Survival has always been instinct. It had to be. I was five when my parents died. Lucaz was only ten at the time, but he swiftly learned how to keep us alive—how to steal without getting caught, how to lie without flinching, how to disappear when the streets turned dangerous. I followed him like a shadow, and together we scraped by. Survival was all we had.

The Aviary offered food, shelter, and purpose. But I was too young to consider the cost, and we’d spent too many nights hungry, too many days wondering if we’d make it to the next.

I force a shrug. “It wasn’t really a choice.”

A sharp cry pierces the air, drawing my gaze upward to a white hawk perched in the leafy crown of a sculpture.

Maxim sighs deeply.

“Hello, Cinder,” I croon, a small smile curving my lips. I’ve encountered the bird a few times, delivering notes between Aella and her brother. And his presence could only mean one thing.

The prince is here.

We round the side of the sculpture, and the smile promptly falls from my face.

Prince Kallias is slouched against the base of the hedge, legs sprawled carelessly, a clay cup held limply in his hand. At his side sits a small cask of whatever poison he’s decided to drown himself in tonight.

He looks like a fallen painting—too beautiful to burn, too broken to restore. All sharp lines and rumpled grace, like ruin trying to remember it was once royalty. His tunic hangs loosely, exposing the rise and fall of his chest. The typically soft curl of his mahogany hair is now a tangled mess, the kohl lining his eyes smudged, a single tear track staining his cheek like a blackened scar.

At least he brought a cup. There’s something civilized about that.

Maxim’s expression tightens as he takes in the scene. He winces, then lifts a hand to brush back the black curls from his brow. “Now might not be the best time for this.”

At the sound of Maxim’s voice, Prince Kallias’s bloodshot eyes snap open. They slide straight past Maxim and land on me, recognition sluggish before clarity and anger sharpen his gaze. He stumbles upright, swaying close enough that the heat rolling off him sears me.

“What are you doing here?” His words slur, but his voice still carries enough venom to sting.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

“Well, congratulations,” he says, tossing the cup aside. It clatters onto the gravel path, echoing through the garden. “You’ve found me. What do you want this time?”

“Kal,” Maxim warns.

But the prince doesn’t so much as glance at his friend.

My temper flares, but I force myself to take a slow breath as I try to keep my composure.