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Except, as I stand on my own personal balcony, all I can think about is Agnar.

His smile when we danced. The way he looked at me from across the campfire while I tried to explain Warden magic. How he didn’t mock the things I cared about. The way he kissed me in the arena like I was the only thing in the world worth holding onto despite all his injuries.

And now, he sits battered and broken in a filthy cell, all because I sold him out to my father.

I did this. I’m the monster. Shame and self-loathing beat at me endlessly, scouring my body like sandpaper. I wanted him, had feelings for him, and I destroyed him instead.

Agnar was right to hate me.

I hate myself too.

Chapter Forty-Five

Agnar

Damp, decaying cold reaches me before consciousness does, crawling beneath my skin and seeping into my bones like I’ve spent too long lying on the chilled earth, unmoving.

Except, I’m not lying down.

Am I?

Awareness arrives in pieces of physical discomfort.

Pain lances through me as I try to move. My body doesn’t cooperate, every lead-heavy muscle screaming in protest. Rust and a bitter substance cling to my mouth. Poison. Vast, absolute darkness presses against my open eyes

As I attempt to move again, a weighty clink echoes. Metal scraping metal.

Iron cuffs bite into my ankles and wrists. I pull again, and the chains attached to them barely budge.

Wet stone presses against my back, soaking through my tattered shirt. Somewhere nearby, moisture drips with grating regularity.

I must be in some sort of dungeon.

I close my eyes against the darkness, willing my thoughts to cooperate.

Whatever the guards dosed me with is still working through my system, slowing my thoughts and dampening my magic to a distant, unreachable flicker.

I shift, striving to ease the pressure on my shoulders. The rattle of the chains echoes in the dark, reinforcing how alone I am.

Rage flares so quickly, my pulse hammers against the iron around my wrists.

I should have known better than to hope, to let myself believe that something genuine existed between us. To think that, despite our rocky start, I meant as much to Esme as she did to me. But hope is a wily bastard. It keeps creeping back in even when you know it’s going to ruin your life.

Not this time, you fucker.

Footsteps approach and stop outside my cell, and a key scrapes in a lock. The door swings open, hinges squeaking. I didn’t know there was a door there. Couldn’t even see the solid, dark wood in the pitch-black. Torchlight spills into my cell.

I squint against it, my eyes burning. The figure holding the torch is a shadow wrapped in gold, but I know that shape. King Edric Solvain of Meridia.

He enters my cell. Unlike her sister, Esme doesn’t resemble him much at all. “Agnar Kerrin, the Wrath of Tirene, awake at last. I was beginning to think we’d miscalculated the dose.”

“You can go to hells, Your Majesty.” My throat is raw, my tongue thick from dehydration. “And take your daughter with you.”

His expression doesn’t change, but the chilly air gets colder. I’d forgotten he’s an air-wielding prick. “You told me that once before, Kerrin. That time has passed. I need an unhatched dragon egg, and rumor has it that Tirene has some. You’re going to get me one.”

A harsh laugh scrapes my throat raw, and spikes pain through my tortured wing. “I don’t know where you heard that rumor, but someone’s lied to you. There are no dragon eggs in Tirene.”

Those eggs are now yearlings, though I’d give my good wing before divulging any information about our dragons to the Meridian king.