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He whipped his head to me, outright fury on his face, along with pure terror. Not one star shone in his eyes. “That is out of the question.”

“Why?” I demanded, matching his fury with my own. “Amren says time is short and to make the most of it. Well, then we’ll spend these next months figuring out a way to bring back the throne, to put you on it, and make them all feel good about it. We don’t bother with alliances—here or in Fomoria. We manipulate the hell out of the Prythian courts until they are gladly handing over that crown, making one for you, and we are a united force that other territories seek out for our alliance—”

“It will ruin our lives,” he snarled.

I stilled.

He bared his teeth, chest heaving, even as his words were lethally soft. “You think it’s bad having to run the Night Court, to deal with everything we have on our plates? To barely have time for each other, for Nyx? To bear the burden of so many lives depending on us? Imagine that plus six more courts. We wouldn’t be able to stay ensconced in the Night Court—we’d need to be out in front of the entire territory. And if you think we have plenty of enemies now, imagine when we’re ruling. They won’t come running for our alliance.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Look at any of those kingdoms across the ocean and you’ll see that only a few rulers manage to hold their thrones into old age.” He slowly shook his head, disgust crinkling his perfect features. “I won’t do it. Not even for this.”

“But if we had everyone supporting you, if it somehow felt fated—”

His power thundered like a night storm, setting the sand on the dunes behind us shuddering and slithering downward. “I. Am. Not. Doing. It.”

I reeled back. Rarely had we spoken to each other like this. We fought, but not like this. Not with this viciousness.

It made me all the madder, somehow. Made me hate this impossible conflict even more.

I shoved to my feet, sand spraying off my gown. “Fine.” I stared down at him without an ounce of kindness. “If you’re refusing to do that, fine.” He glowered up at me. I glowered right back as I declared, “I still want to try to find a way, one last way, to get the continent to back down. Ideally, it’s through a united Prythian, and whatever allies that might bring about. We—I—need to at least exhaust that route before I’ll consider any other option, wall or no. We failed here, but perhaps there’s still hope yet at Winter or Dawn.”

“Fine,” he echoed. “I’m not holding my breath.” I hated it, that bitter hopelessness in his tone, the fact that deep down, I, too, knew my hopes were futile. “And when everyone proves what cowardly pieces of shit they are and refuses to ally with us, when we’ve run out of options and time, then we’ll rebuild the wall for the human lands. Then a wall around Prythian. And if the other courts march on us, we’ll also build a wall around the Night Court.”

The sun alit upon the horizon line, then began to sink beneath it. Rhys made no move to stand.

No stars shone in his power. None of the vibrant array of night-kissed hues. Just black, as dark as the bottom of a depthless pit.

“Walls within walls,” I said, backing toward the surf. A wave crashed around my feet, colder than it had felt minutes ago. Rhys cast his stare toward the horizon—unwilling or unable to look at me. “I’m not sure I want our son to grow up in such a small, sad world.”

His eyes shifted to mine. Dark as pitch. “At least in that small, sad world, our son will have the chance to grow up.”

There was nothing more to say. I didn’t bother so much as nodding farewell before I winnowed to Tarquin’s palace to bid him goodbye.

Azriel

Seated on the roof of the town house, Az watched the first stars of night blink awake. A crisp autumn breeze ruffled his hair, scented with crackling fires and an array of spices—nutmeg, cinnamon, cardamom—from the many homes still busy baking for tomorrow’s festivities.

He didn’t dare return to the river house until tomorrow morning, and not just because of Elain. It had been hard enough to see Cassian this afternoon at Windhaven and not tell him about Hybern’s messenger. He didn’t know how he’d be able to look at the others without revealing it, either.

An alliance with their most hated enemy. He’d have to tell them—and soon. But not tonight. Not tomorrow.

They could wait. Hybern could wait.

His family deserved a celebration full of joy. A lifetime of it. Even if he didn’t.

CHAPTER

13

Cassian

“I hate getting dressed up,” Cassian complained to Nesta the next morning as he ran his hands through his damp hair. He’d just made it back from yet another visit to Windhaven in time to bathe off Lord Devlon’s nastiness and slip into what he hoped was a decent enough jacket and pants. Black on black, and certainly not as fancy as Rhys’s embroidered pieces, but . . . he smirked in the full-length mirror of their bedroom in the House of Wind. He did clean up nicely. He’d even given the tips of his wings a quick polish.

Nesta strode by, clad in a dove-gray silk robe, her hair already styled into an elegant bun atop her head that set the long lines of her neck on stunning display. “We’re not getting dressed up,” she said without looking at him, aiming for the bathing room. “You just happened to wash up before this ceremony and change out of your leathers for once.”

Each word was clipped. She’d barely spoken since he’d walked in. A new, hotter sort of anger shimmered around her. Something had happened since he’d last seen her. He’d done something to piss her off, he was willing to bet.

Cassian tracked her movement in the full-length mirror as far as he could follow, then turned to watch as she positioned herself in front of the mirror above the sink, making quick work of sweeping a line of kohl along her eyelash line. Then applying a glorious red to her lips.

But she still didn’t so much as look at him as she finished and walked back to the armoire in the bedroom proper. He might as well have been a painting on the wall. He’d gotten used to the tension between them lately, but she seemed especially riled. On edge.