was a fragile,

ons. Sloane felt the inferno recede, banking into manageable embers. Her heart slowed to

casing his organs halted its advance. A slow, spreading warmth seeped into him, agonizingly t

ng vision saw was the face of

tion. Strands of dark hair clung to her sweat-sh

anddaughter, Aethelgard's most notori

look in his eyes as they fixed on her was pure, undiluted hatred. She'd seen that look before-on prisoners who realized they'd been captured by the enemy. Fury, yes, but

ace. The face beneath her resolved into a clear identity: chis

The Prince Rege

. The man who had publicly declared he would rather marr

ffirming rhythm, gave a hard, sickening lurch.

ut she had just invited

ould speak, the night's

h of boots on dry leaves. The bo

re you out here?

et, a perfect imitation

the curse. This wasn't a r

scene in stark, unforgiving shades of orange and b

wild. His velvet tunic was open, her hand resting on his bare chest where she had so

guards, followed by scandalized whispers. Eyes fell upon h

nd flying to her mouth in a f

ered, her voice carrying to every corne

trap: the poison, the thug, the public shaming. Lydia had

ow growl of pure fury rumbled in his chest, but he couldn't yet co

d Sloane's arms with rough, punishing grips

asp, but it held the unmistakable edge o

e. She glided towards Sloane, face a

ead. "I know you have your... ways, sister. But

s supposed to be Jed Tucker or some faceless commoner; the Prin

ng calm settling over her. No panic, no fear. Only the chi

, Damian got to his feet. He was unsteady, but his height and the sheer force of hi

"Imagine, what would your perfect fiancé say i

d. It was a small, s

nt face to the towering, silent figure now s

e a razor. "Lydia, dear cousin. Take a good look. Do you rec

barb. She turned, her eyes flick

n she s

zen, murderous stare

n Lydia's face didn't j

-