Bewildered, I watched them celebrate. Lyres were plucked, flutes blown, even the off-kilter voice of the double-piped aulos wheezed, barely cutting over the sounds of laughter and drunken bluster that filled the great hall.

How many had died? How many lay wounded in the infirmary still? And yet no one showed signs of the deep wounds the day’s carnage had left festering in my own heart. Even the followers—friends and family of the day’s fallen—ate and drank, gambled and danced, fondled passing slave girls, and replayed in glorious detail the deaths of their comrades.

I passed through the crowd, guards tracking my every move. A seat waited for me atop the dais, gilded and plush with brocade pillows. It stood beside the occupied throne. But my feet dragged, heavy as lead.

I rubbed at my arm, a fresh bruise there from the Emperor’s hand. I wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet.

I crossed to a food table that was stacked high with mountains of honeyed fruits, olives, cheeses, a whole farm’s worth of suckling pigs, and enough wine to drown an army.

"Brordur,” called out a harsh voice in Old Dorian. "Se hara.”

"Jar," an identical voice answered. ”De Gudas Tordur.”

That was a phrase I’d heard often enough. The Goddess’ Daughter.

The Eleutherians stood before me, the food table all that separated us. One of them grinned. His braided beard was soaked red with wine. Red like blood. I swallowed thickly. “Good evening,” I greeted the brothers. One held a meat-covered bone in hand, the other had his arm draped around the shoulders of a topless slave, her breasts covered in the same wine that coated his beard.

The one who I thought to be the wielder of the battle-axe smiled wider, revealing his missing teeth. “You look ill, Korai. You should come to the mountains. Our females would teach you to have a strong stomach.”

My fists clenched tight. This was the same male who’d forced himself on the slave the night before. “I’m not ill, but perhaps you should come to the infirmary. Maybe I can bleed that Bloodlust out of you.”

The war hammer-wielding brother chuckled. “Your fire burns hot, Gudas Tordur. But you will learn. All females learn, in time.”

“Learn to stomach bloodshed, or learn their place?” an accented, feminine voice asked.

The Eleutherian brothers frowned at a figure behind me. “Perhaps the latter is a lesson you need to learn yourself, Myridian.”

Tall, skin a sun-kissed caramel, she stepped forward. Dressed in a simple emerald gown that clung to her strong form, she wore her hair in a severe knot at her nape. It accentuated the fine cut of her high cheekbones. She stopped at my shoulder. “If you would be so kind, I’d like a word with the Korai. Alone.”

“Yes!” I said before they could speak for me, more than ready for an excuse to escape them. Then I remembered myself. This was a Myridian. An enemy.

Battle Axe and War Hammer, as I was coming to think of them, shared a glance. The toothless one shrugged. “If she wants to sully herself with your company, we will not stand in the way.”

Aidoneus’ follower offered a mocking bow, then took my arm and pulled me away through the crowd. “What lovely males you have vying for you.”

I glanced back to the Eleutherians, whose attention had gone back to the slave they apparently meant to share for the evening. “They aren’t here for me. At least, I hope they aren’t.”

A brow cocked. “Oh?”

“They just want to be noticed. Eleutherians are considered some of the strongest warriors. I’m sure they hope a wealthy noble will see what they can do and offer for their services.”

“Hmm. I’d heard such things were common but I didn’t believe males would be foolish enough to enter this vulgar contest for something as paltry as a bit of gold.”

“Then you don’t know much about Dorians.”

“Oh trust me, Korai, I know more about Dorians than I care to.”

“Did you want something from me or did you just need an ear to pour vitriol in?”

She pulled us to a stop by a fountain mounted in a corner alcove. She studied the stone satyr whose pipe poured water into the marble basin below before fixing me with a hard stare. “Why did you do it? Why call out like that?”

I sighed. “How many times must I be asked that tonight?”

“You see, Korai, the difference between me and everyone else is that I’m going to get an answer.”

I crossed my arms, matching her stare with one of my own. “The staff he used . . . it’s yours.”

“What of it?”

“Why do you prefer a staff to a blade?”

“It’s less messy.”

Sweetness, so thick it tasted like a rotting berry, rolled over my tongue. “I see you like to lie as much as your lord does.”

She stepped closer, a low noise coming from her throat. “If you think to put him in your debt, I will make you wish—”

“What? That I hadn’t saved him. You should thank me. If I’d kept control over my tongue, his pyre would be smoking by now.”

The scent of cloying roses drifted toward me. A second later, Elysa appeared.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” my sister lied, “but Aurora is needed elsewhere.”

The contempt in the Myridian’s gaze was caustic. Without another word, she turned and stalked off in the opposite direction.

“Lovely speaking to you,” I called after her. “Could have at least introduced yourself . . .”

“Her name is Nerina,” Elysa said.

I glanced at her. “How did you know?”

“Leda told me. There was some unpleasantness when she escorted the Myridians to their chambers.”

“Well, that explains her refusal to anoint him,” I said as I followed her back through the crowd.

What did she want with you? Elysa asked mind to mind.

The same as everyone else.

Ahh, well she spoke to the wrong Korai. I know why you did it.

My feet stopped and I grabbed at the sleeve of her silvery gown. She turned to face me, features as cool and distant as ever. What do you mean?

She shrugged. You feel a connection to the Myridians. They are emotional, sensitive. In truth, you are more like them than like us.

I bristled. I am nothing like them.

And though the words were not spoken, still the taste of the lie filled my mouth.

Elysa chuckled. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.

Whatever relief I’d felt at her intervention was long gone. And when I saw where she’d led me, I wished she’d kept her distance.

The dais stood before us, the Emperor seated on his throne. But he wasn’t the seat’s only occupant. A slave sat firmly in his lap, one hand resting behind his neck, the other on his chest. Naked legs hung over the seat’s arm. Dark hair flowed down across her chest, giving her at least some cover, for what she wore . . . I blushed at the translucent swathes of fabric. The way the garment was cut accentuated every curve and revealed more than it covered. But then I saw her face and my blush paled. This was the same girl the Eleutherians had toyed with the night before.

I looked away, willing the disgust from my features.

“Oh, Aurora, my dear,” the Emperor said, glancing up from his prize. “Are you feeling more yourself?”

I offered a small curtsy. “Yes, Majesty.”

He waved a perfunctory hand in my direction, too busy with his lips at the slave’s bare shoulder to pay me much mind. Grateful for his distraction, though hating the cost, I slipped into my seat.

“You know, Aurora,” he said sometime later, “I do wonder if we keep you Korai too secure behind these city walls. Your . . . episode today . . . My own wife displayed a similar distaste for bloodshed when I first claimed her, though she grew more accustomed to the way of things in the capital. After a time.”

I swallowed. “She must have been strong, Queen Ileana, to have given life to a male like Varian.”

“Oh, yes. Her power was great, despite her failings. Had I been mated to a lesser Korai, I would have died in the Livonian War. I was forced to channel every ounce of her power to win the final battle, and still, it was a close thing. Yes . . . I owe much to her.”

Channeled her power. All of it. He’d killed her in the process. And now he spoke of the queen’s death, all the while stroking his newest pet. I shuddered. My hands fisted in my lap as I fought to calm the fire in my veins.

The Emperor lifted a hand then, beckoning, and a servant approached. “The lady seems parched. Bring a bottle of the vintage that was such a favorite of the queen.”

“Yes, Majesty,” the servant said, bowing low. “An excellent choice.”

My brow furrowed. If he was still angry with me, the Emperor certainly had a strange way of showing his disfavor. I sank back in my seat, some of the tension leaving my shoulders.

Soon, the servant returned with a decanter of deep, ruby-red wine. The servant poured, the Emperor watching. “When Ileana was . . . troubled, I would have this brought to her. It calmed her when little else would.”

The servant offered me the glass. My fingers curled around the stem.

“You are her heir in many ways,” he went on. “I thought it only fitting to share this with you.”

“I’ll drink in her honor, then.”

He toasted me with his own glass of amber liquid. “To Ileana’s memory and to the hope that you will follow in her footsteps as the future queen.”

I clinked my goblet against his and drank. But over the rim of the glass, my eyes found another.

Aidoneus stood in the glow of a brazier. As always, he wore black, though a bare hint of a white shirt was visible at his collar. Jaw tight, his arms were crossed over his chest. He stared at me as the sweetness of the Emperor’s wine washed over my tongue.

Blood rushed to the surface of my skin. Hand tight on the stem of my glass, I looked away.

The Emperor waited, expectant.

“I’ve never tasted wine so sweet.”

His thin, withered lips lifted in answer, though something hard lurked there.“I like sweetness. I find it tempers a bitter tongue.”

My stomach dropped. “Majesty, I’m sorry if my behavior—”

His attention drifted. The hard edge to his features was instantly gone.

“Ah, my son! I wondered when you might join us.”

A warm hand settled on my bare shoulder. Varian gave me a gentle squeeze.

Though his presence usually soothed me, my chest clenched tight. He’d heard me during the Trial. Everyone had.

“You had quite the showing today,” his father went on. “Though I must admit . . . I’m disappointed that the Myridian still draws breath.”

I stared into the depths of my wine, hoping the liquid might swallow me up—hide me from Varian. When the silence stretched longer than was comfortable, I glanced up over my shoulder.

Varian gave a tight nod, gaze flicking to the slave girl sprawled in his father’s lap. “I’m sure that will be remedied soon enough. But I came to see if Aurora might wish to take in the night air.”

The Emperor chuckled, ignoring his son’s obvious disapproval. “Yes, by all means. After all, night is the province of youth. I should retire. Forgive me, my dear, for keeping you all to myself. Go, enjoy the evening.”

Without a glance in my direction, Varian offered me his arm. I took it carefully, as if it might transform into an adder and strike.

Behind us, the Emperor struggled to his feet. He and his new favorite slave moved toward the corridor that led to his chamber. This we both pretended to ignore.

We walked in silence through the raucous crowd. I stole a glance at his face. His features were tight and a vein throbbed at his temple. My heart sped. A scolding from Sibyl or Parthenia was fine. But from Varian? I wasn’t sure that was something I could bear.

The terrace doors stood open, but we found ourselves alone once we crossed the threshold. The only witnesses to our presence were scattered couches, potted trees, the sea far below, and the stars far above.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out before his words could fall.

Varian’s attention went to the sea. Slowly, he made his way to the balustrade. When he turned, the anger had melted from his features. He took me in, lingering on the gem-encrusted slivers of fabric that covered my breasts. “You look stunning tonight.”

I fidgeted with the folds of the gown. “You aren’t angry with me?”

“No. Not with you.”

“Everyone else seems to be. Or else, they think me mad.”

He reached out a hand. It was an invitation that I accepted. I closed the space between us and allowed his warm arms to encircle me. “You’ve been sheltered all your life,” he said. “Now we throw you into this ugliness and expect you to be untroubled by it? That is madness. Your reaction was . . . not ideal, perhaps, but natural enough. Trust me, darling, I’ve seen even the God-Blooded react worse to their first time on a battlefield. But you . . . you shouldn’t be expected to watch males die—to hear their screams and watch the life leave them. If we protect you, then we protect you. It’s foolish to keep you from violence than be surprised when you flinch from it.”

Below us, white foam rose out of the darkness, only to fall a moment later. “Your mother . . . Your father spoke about her tonight. He hoped I’d follow in her footsteps.”

Varian’s hand took my chin and forced my face up to meet his gaze. “I’m not my father. I would never—”

Footsteps sounded on the marble, then faltered. “Apologies, my lord.”

Varian’s eyes stayed on my face. “What.”

“There . . . there is a messenger. From Cyron, my lord. He says he carries important news.”

Varian’s annoyance melted like spring ice. He released me. “Where is he?”

“Barracks, my lord.”

“I’ll meet with him directly.”

The man bowed before scurrying away.

“You have to go now? Surely it can wait until the feast is over.”

A hand lifted to caress my cheek. “I’m sorry, darling. My father will have my head if I don’t see to this. Just don’t stay up too late. The males’ behavior will only worsen as the night goes on.”

“Goodnight, then.”

He pulled me close and brushed a quick kiss across my lips. “Goodnight.”

Then he was gone.

I remained there alone long after, savoring the last of summer’s warm nights and listening to the calming sound of the waves as they crashed to the shore below. But I couldn’t escape the feast. Not forever.

With a sigh, I pushed away from the balustrade and took a reluctant step towards the door.

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickled. A low thrum of power vibrated through the Ether and I stopped. All senses alert.