He changed everything. He consumed me in a different way—the way his eyes made everything jump inside of me when I looked into them, his laughter, temper, the way he sometimes struggled for words, the way his jaw twitched when he was angry, the thoughtful way he listened to me, his incredible restraint and resolve in the face of overwhelming odds. When I looked at him, I saw the easygoing farmer he could have been, but I also saw the soldier and prince that he was.

We’ve had a terrible start—it doesn’t mean we can’t have a better ending.

The way he filled me with hope.

But I couldn’t ignore the rocky path of love either. I thought of my parents, of Pauline, of Walther and Greta, even Calantha, and I wondered if love ever ended well. I knew only one thing with certainty—it couldn’t end the way Kaden hoped it would.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

The wind moaned through crevices and battered doors and shutters like a giant fist. Let me in. It was the kind of storm that sounded like it would never end. I’m here for you. This was snow. This was winter.

Two fires roared in Sanctum Hall, one at either end, but cold drafts still swirled at our feet. I watched for Venda, for a reassurance that I wasn’t mad, that Rafe’s plan of crossing the river wasn’t insanity itself, but the shadows were only shadows.

Rafe sat just a few seats down from me, and we all waited for the Komizar and the Rahtan to arrive. The chievdars bellowed among themselves as usual, but the absence of the Rahtan seemed to set the governors on edge. They were unusually subdued. None mentioned my cheek, but I saw them looking at it. “It was the stairs,” I finally blurted out, then caught myself, repeating more quietly, “I fell on the stairs.” I wanted no scenes, no words, nothing to raise the ire of the few governors who had been kind to me. Governor Faiwell shot me a brief, questioning glance. The low, stifled conversations resumed. Governor Umbrose sat staring into his mug, looking slightly dejected—or drunk. Was it their Council meetings today that had dampened their usual revelry? And then we heard the faint echo of footsteps.

I had never heard the Rahtan all approaching together. There was an ominous rhythm to their steps and a chilling ring to the weapons at their sides. It wasn’t that they walked in unison but with a deliberate demanding beat. Never fail. That’s what I heard.

“What’s this?” the Komizar asked as they entered. “Has someone died?”

There was an effort to fill the quiet pall. Instead of sitting in clusters as they usually did, the Rahtan spread out, dragging seats between governors. Kaden sat adjacent to me, and the Komizar took his place on my left. He didn’t bother with the pretense of a kiss—other matters seemed to occupy his thoughts. He called for ale and food, and the servants began bringing platters to the table.

Calantha sat at the other end of the table, almost as if she wanted to distance herself from Rafe and me. Was she already regretting her acts? Was she seeing the Komizar with the eyes of yesterday again? And more important, would she expose her transgression? Maybe she had already removed the knife from my room. I prayed Aster had hidden it well. Only when it was time for me to go would I dare to carry it.

The platter of bones was set before me for the blessing. I nearly spilled it as I lifted the heavy tray.

“Wedding jitters, Princess?” the Komizar asked.

I pasted on my most serene face. “On the contrary, sher Komizar. I’m eager for tomorrow. My fingers are only numb from the cold. I haven’t yet grown accustomed to your climate.”

I held the bleached sacrifice over my head for what I hoped was the last time and stared at the sooty ceiling of the Ancients. In an instant, I saw the sky and stars beyond, a universe spreading wide, with a long memory—and that’s when I heard the cries. Across time, thin as blood swirling in a river, I heard the cry of death, the grieving howls of mothers falling to their knees, the weeping of my own mother. They knew. The news had reached Morrighan. Their sons were gone. The grief stole my strength, and I thought my knees would buckle.

“Be done with it,” the Komizar snapped impatiently under his breath. “I’m hungry.”

The platter shook in my hands, and I wanted to bash it into his head. Rafe leaned forward, catching my gaze, and I saw the strength in his eyes, the restraint, the message—hold on, we’re almost there.

I said the acknowledgment of sacrifice, and when I set the tray down, I kissed two fingers and lifted them to the gods, my mother’s cries still ringing in my ears. We’re almost there.

The rest of the meal was uneventful, for which I was grateful. Each quiet step brought us closer to tomorrow. But it was almost too quiet.

Kaden had hardly spoken a word of consequence through the whole meal, but as I started to push away from the table, he grabbed my hand. “What did you see, Siarrah?”

It was the first time he had ever called me that.

The Komizar snorted, but everyone at the table waited to hear my response.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Your lashes fluttered before the blessing. You gasped. What did you see?”

The truths may wish to be known, but now was not the time. Instead I twisted lies into something golden and glorious that I knew Kaden wanted to hear. Something I hoped would stop him from searching for the truth.

I looked at him warmly and smiled. “I saw myself, Kaden. Here. Many years from now.”

I let my gaze linger on his for a few moments more, and though I didn’t say the words aloud, I know he heard, I saw myself here with you.