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“Ow,” I snarl, trying to shove his hand away. But the idiot won’t budge. “Castor, what the fuck⁠—”

“Did you do something to Eden’s sister?” His joking tone is long gone.

“Are you insane? Of course not⁠—”

“Tell the truth,” he says, deathly calm.

“I. Am.” I finally manage to shove his hand off my shoulder and put a few steps between us. “I have no business with Camellia. Why the fuck would I touch her?”

“Because you still want to hurt Sol,” he argues. “And you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt Eden, so you’re torturing her sister instead.”

“You’re even stupider than you look. Why would I hurt someone my mate loves?”

Castor narrows his eyes.

“You think Eden would ever forgive me if I hurt one of her sisters?” In all honesty, I did think about capturing one of her sisters along with her. But that idea lasted no longer than a day before I realised how ridiculous that would be.

Firstly, because it took me receiving a single letter from Eden to realise how much she values her eleven sisters. And secondly, because I might be a monster, but I’m not the kind of monster who’d actually torture an innocent girl.

My brother and I have killed men for less.

“Listen to me, Castor, I’ve got no fucking idea where Camellia is, but if this is bothering you so much we can take this to Nem and he can help us find her.”

“Can you promise me that he won’t find her dead in the manor somewhere?”

“Fucking hell, Castor.”

“Promise me!” he rages.

“I promise.” I meet his gaze. It’s just as furious as mine, but it’s not because of Camellia. He’s doing this for Eden. My mate.

I’d be thankful were it not for the bitter taste in my mouth.

With a frown, I head back towards the door. But before I reach the handle, I hear the familiar sound of claws scratching against the wood.

Glancing at Castor, I arch a brow. “Is that who I think it is?”

A soft, feminine voice joins the scratching. “Oh there you are kitty! Is this where you wanted to go?”

A lock slides out of the door at the same time a guard outside yells, “No, Princess Liliana! Don’t⁠—”

44

EDEN?

Velvet rubs against my palms. No, not my palms. My hands aren’t that tanned. But for some reason, I can’t lift them from my cloak so I can look at them properly. All I can do is grip the velvet and stare straight ahead as I follow a broad-shouldered guard around a hedge.

“I’d feel much more comfortable if we could stay closer to the palace,” I say in my sister’s voice.

Camellia’s voice. My heart drops. Because this is her memory.

“The envoy is just through these trees, Your Highness,” the guard replies in an accented tone. “It’s not far.”

Don’t follow him, go back inside, I want to scream, but instead we turn a corner to reveal a dainty set of garden chairs and a table. On the table are two goblets, a bottle of wine and a small plate of biscuits.

It would probably be quite a pretty sight, were it not for the dread sinking inside me.

“Please.” The guard gestures for me, or I suppose Camellia, to take a seat.