I lifted my glass, tilting it so the light from the dying fire filtered through the crystal, throwing a prism of color against the far wall. I searched the depths of the vessel, its bottom rounded on the interior, the edges carved in stark diamond angles. I frowned at what I found there. Or rather, what I did not find there. The glass was empty. It held not even a drop of burgundy liquid.

Damn.

I didn’t need to look at the decanter on the end table to know that I would find that, too, empty.

I sighed, pushing to my feet, the world spinning a bit around me as I stood. I grabbed the back of the settee to steady me as I glanced about the room.

Empty of life. Just as my glass was now empty of wine.

At least the priestesses had not ordered me back to the dungeon. After I’d been dragged before the Council—and the two younger Korai—to give an accounting of how I could possibly still draw breath, the guards had been ordered to see me to the rooms I’d been given upon my arrival. The rooms I’d shared with my friends. Why the priestesses had the sudden change of heart, I couldn’t say for certain, though I suspected it had much to do with the Emperor’s suddenly regained years.

And that troubled me. Greatly. In the countless years I’d spent at my father’s court, I saw many things that should have been impossible. But this change in Adresto . . . nothing in all that time had prepared me for that. And this monster wandering through the city, killing the God-Blooded—how better to regain lost power than to take it from the young and strong? Though how he managed it . . . Well, the answer to that still evaded me.

And so, I was drinking, to quiet the dark suspicions I was currently powerless to do anything about, but mostly to take the edge off the icy pain spreading from the spelled iron that once again circled my throat and both my wrists. As soon as the guards found me—still alive in my cell, to their great disappointment—they’d clamped the irons right back in place. Thankfully, the chains were left in the dungeon, but the iron bands were bad enough on their own. In fact, the priestesses must have done something to make them even worse, because the first thing I’d done after they’d deposited me in my chambers was test the iron's strength.

It was a defiance I regretted.

My hands still shook. Every inch of my body ached. When I’d approached the door—overconfident in my own power and the Dorian’s habit of underestimating it—the iron around my wrists and throat had turned impossibly cold, sending a chill so strong it burned up my arms until my entire body was sent into debilitating spasms.

After I’d recovered the use of my limbs, I’d noticed a tray on the side table with roast beef and vegetables. I’d ignored the meal and gone straight for the decanter of wine beside it. But now that was gone and, while I was already well on my way to being drunk and pleasantly numb, I wasn’t quite there yet.

Knowing the most likely place for liquor to be hiding, I went straight to the room Peleus had slept in. After digging through the bedside tables and dresser drawers, I checked the tall wardrobe, and I wasn’t disappointed. Pushed back in a shadowed corner sat a black flask. I dug it out and gave it a little shake. A satisfying slosh met my ears.

Perfect. It was still full.

I carried it back into the room, noticing as I passed by a mirror hung over the side table that the clean white shirt I’d changed into after I’d finally bathed for the first time in weeks had purple wine stains all down the left side. I took it off, carelessly throwing it to the floor as I made my way back to the settee before the fire.

But before I got there, a shift in the Ether stopped my steps. Even in my current state, my senses were sharp. Someone was close. Very close.

I stood still as death, listening. Barely audible above the fire, I heard what my instincts had sensed. I turned toward the far wall. There beside the hearth, a tapestry hung from the ceiling to brush the floor. The slightest sound of footsteps came from behind it.

Walking in the silent way all Myridian warriors learn to move—in the way I’d tried to teach Varian, but he had never learned— I crossed the room until I was just in front of the slightly swaying fabric.

Another step fell, this one closer. But it wasn’t stone I was hearing it through. The resonance of it told me there was wood beneath the tapestry. A door? I waited for the squeak of rusted hinges and the scrap of wood against the marble floor, then I lunged, the iron around my wrists and neck burning cold in warning.

The tapestry parted and I reached just to the threshold, my hand wrapping around a thin wrist.

But the slightest of breezes blew in from whatever corridor lay beyond.

I froze.

The scent. I knew that scent.

"Aurora."

I released her, stepping back into the room with a small chuckle as I held the tapestry out of the way. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on a wounded animal, Princess. They tend to bite.”

She pressed into the room, stepping from the humble corridor onto the fine marble floor. In the firelight, her hair glistened like burnished gold where it tumbled from beneath the hood of her cloak. Amber eyes, warm as honey, fixed on me as she straightened. With effort, I tore my eyes away from her long enough to give the hidden door she’d just appeared through a measuring glance. Barely large enough for her slight frame, its hinges and handle nearly rusted beyond use, it seemed to be a long-forgotten servant’s entrance to the chamber.

“I’m afraid if we shut that, it won’t open again,” I said, turning to where she now stood a few feet inside the room.

Her eyes moved over me, taking in my shirtless chest. I glanced down at myself, wondering what else she might be seeing, and found that the top laces of my leather pants were indecently loose.

A lovely hint of color rose to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.

I stalked toward her, unable to help myself, especially as the last time I was alone with her filled my mind.

A flash of something like panic filled her face and she whirled toward the fire, away from me. I pulled up short. Why did it feel like a knife had suddenly sunk into my chest?

“Well,” I said, rubbing at the invisible wound, “to what do I owe this surprise visit?”

She moved closer to the fire, her hands twisting nervously before her. “You need to go, Aidon. Sibyl told me the Third Trial is happening in two days. You need to get out of here.

I shook my head. “Too late for that, Princess.”

She glanced up at my words, her face fully lit by the firelight. Her normally rosy complexion was far too pale. “Parthenia could still get word to your Seven. If they are as good as people say, they could get you out.”

I closed the space between us in two long strides, fear banishing my reserve. Taking her by the waist with one arm, I pushed back her hood with my other hand, beyond pleased when she didn’t fight me. “What’s wrong? Did he hurt you again? Did you drink more of the wine?”

Her soft coral lips parted, hissing out a breath of surprise. “The wine . . . how did you know about that?”

“Let’s just say the Emperor has a long history of similar behavior. And I saw you the night after the First Trial. I saw how he watched you as you drank. But the wine was only a guess. As soon as I saw you after your illness, I knew what he’d done. But, Aurora, it might not just be the wine now, the poison could be in your food, on your clothes . . .”

“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” She frowned up at me. “Aidon . . . you’re shaking.”

And so, I was. I’d still not fully recovered from my idiotic attempt to leave the room.

Her warm eyes were wide as she searched my face. Her concern made my chest suddenly too tight. I stood there, not knowing what lies to say to drive her fears back as her small, impossibly hot hands slowly climbed up my bare arms. My breath picked up speed. A curling heat stronger than the liquor from Peleus’ flask burned through my veins. When her hands rested on my shoulders, I brought my arms around her, pulling her tight against my chest. “You don’t need to worry about me, Princess. You’ve saved me twice already. It's time to worry about you.”

“You have to run,” she said again.

“I can’t. They’ve done something to the irons. I can’t leave this room.”

I brought my hand around the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her hair as I gently angled her head back to meet my eyes. They were shimmering, moisture already beading down her face. “Then you have to win,” she said. The words were hard. An order.

I opened my mouth to make her promises I couldn’t hope to keep—and that’s when it hit me. Where her hands touched my shoulders, white-hot flame licked the length of my arms and through my chest. I tried to back away, to pry her heated touch from my shoulders, but she held onto me with all her strength as her magic poured into my body. Even as I tried to fight her, I felt a stirring—an awakening of the slumbering beast that lay coiled deep, deep, deep within the well of my power.

When it was over, she sagged against me, both of us covered in sweat and our breath mixing in labored gasps. But the weakness and the shaking were gone. I reached within to the cool darkness where my magic lived and found that beast of death and darkness alert, ready and waiting for the moment I was free of the spelled iron.

But the cost . . .

She’d gone still. Too still.

I held her back with one arm as I bent and scooped the other behind her knees. I carried her over to the settee closest to the hearth, her head resting against my chest.

“Aidon,” she said a bit sleepily, “I’m fine. Really, I am.”

I sat down, cradling her in my lap. Tilting her chin back, my hands moved over her cold and clammy face. This time, at least, there was no blood. “Do you have no sense of self-preservation at all?” I growled.

She chuckled weakly. “Probably about as much as you do.”

Fair point though it might have been, I ignored it. “Why did you do that?”

“I told you. You have to win. Can’t win if you don’t have your strength.”

Heat burned through me. I blew out a breath. I was angry, so angry that she’d risk herself. And yet . . . she wanted me to win. Wanted me to win her. I shook my head, torn between the feelings. “It’s only been a few days since you saved both me and our good friend War Hammer from certain death,” I said through my teeth. “Are you wanting me to take you home and introduce you to daddy dearest so badly that you’ve developed a death wish?”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she nuzzled against my bare chest. The contact sent a jolt of lightning straight to my groin. “I dreamed that I did already . . ."

Whatever heat I felt vanished. “What?”

“Hmm?” she asked sleepily.

I sighed, shifting her so she sat more comfortably. As she was seeming to drift in and out, I didn’t bother questioning her more. We sat there for a time, her sleeping against my chest as I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the plain linen shift she wore. But eventually, I noticed a strange lump at the front of her dress. She shifted in her sleep, drawing her legs up closer to me, and the lump moved, rising halfway out of her pocket. A book. Curious, I drew it out with my free hand.

If I’d not had enough shocks for the evening, this certainly filled my quota. The book’s worn leather cover was engraved with asphodels—the same flowers that grew in an obnoxious abundance in my father’s kingdom. One-handed, I flipped the book open, turning to a random page. Little good it did me. The script was in Old Dorian.

She moved against my chest and I glanced down at her, watching a small crease distort the gold dust that was always painted on her brow. Then she stretched and opened her eyes. She blinked up at me blearily.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to rejoin the world of the living, Princess.”

She frowned. “How long have I been here?”

“Not long. You’ve slept perhaps half an hour.”

She sat up, though I curled my arm tighter around her, keeping her in my lap. She rested her head on my shoulder. Her eyes found the book.

“What is this?” I asked.

She yawned. “A gift. A priestess from the temple at Mount Ostara gave it to me.”

I held up the page I’d turned to. “Care to translate, or are you going back to sleep?”

“I can’t sleep. I have . . . things to do.”

“Oh? What sort of things?”

She ignored my question and plucked the book from my hand. “Let’s see . . . This page is a hymn . . . or maybe a poem of some kind. It looks old. Very old.”

“Really, if I have to choose between a bedtime story and you answering my question, I’d rather you answer my question”

So, naturally, she chose the bedtime story. “The translation might not be perfect, but in the Common Speech it should go:

Daughter of Dawn, beget by darkest moon.

Daughter born to thwart night’s maddening doom.

Rise, promised daughter. Oh! Queen of the Dead.

Rise, fair bearer of life’s last golden thread.”

The shaking returned as my hand tightened on her waist. Aurora turned to me, eyes once again filling with concern. “Aidon . . .”

But I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that book she held in her hands. A book that bore a prophecy that every member of my father’s court, and many beyond his borders, knew by heart.

It was a prophecy. Uttered by the Fates before the Olympians ever even knew of this world. And my father had been waiting millennia beyond count for this promised queen.

“A priestess gave this to you," I said, voice coming out a bit strangled. "Why?”

That small line was back between her brows, distorting the mark painted on her forehead. She shook her head. “Why are you so curious about it?”

I shut my eyes, trying to drown out the sudden sound of my blood pounding in my ears. “You said something when you were falling asleep. You said something about a dream.”

She blushed. “It was a fever dream. When I was . . . ill . . . after the First Trial. I suppose you were on my mind. I dreamt that I was in the Underworld. Your father was there, as well as this beautiful female who kept staring at me like she wanted to see my head torn from my shoulders. But I had many strange dreams, then.”

“I’m sure you did,” I said a bit numbly.

Warm hands reached for my chin, turning my face to hers. Amber eyes gleamed like gemstones in the firelight. I took a breath, willing thoughts of my father and his obsession with that prophecy out of my mind. “Are you alright?”

“You are infuriating, you know that?” I asked, breathing in the breath she breathed out. But I couldn’t tell her the truth . . . I scrambled for something to say. “If I do win, I’m going to have to tie you to the bed to keep you from running around my city, healing everyone with the smallest ache. Or at least enforce some very strict infirmary hours.”

She took a shaky breath. “You’d take me to your city? What about the King?”

“Damn the King. We can pay him a visit if and when you decide.”

Her forehead rested against mine and she closed her eyes, a drop of moisture escaping from beneath her dark lashes. “You’d . . . you’d let me decide? And . . . you’d still let me heal?”

I pulled back, gathering her beautiful face between my hands. I leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Tasting the salt of her tears. “No one should let you do anything, Princess. You are no one’s property. No one’s slave.”

Her coral lips spread into a smile that sent my heart into my throat. I kissed her again. But this was not the chaste peck I’d given her a moment ago, this was firm and deep. My tongue brushed her bottom lip and she opened for me like a flower blooming beneath the sun. I tasted her, the sweet warmth that was her. Her lips grew insistent against mine, pushing the rhythm into a faster, reckless dance.

She shifted in my lap, throwing a leg over mine so she straddled me, and the heat of her was suddenly there, right against the growing, pressing need barely contained by my loosened leathers. I groaned, the sound swallowed by her mouth as her arms encircled my neck. My hands went to her hips, pulling her more tightly against me, and she let out a delicious little gasp. Everything else faded from my mind and I was lost to all time and reason as my world centered on her lips, on the movement of her as she rocked against me.

Until, breathless, she pulled away. “I have to go,” she whispered against my mouth.

I reached for her, to pull her back to me. “A little longer can’t hurt.”

She shook her head and stood, swaying. I followed. Suddenly strong, thanks to her, I put a steadying arm around her waist. “What is it?”

“Things . . . things I have to do.”

I pulled her in close and bent down, grazing her ear with my mouth. She shivered. “Important things?” I purred into her ear.

She moaned low in her throat. “Very important. You’ve no idea how important.”

Then my mouth traveled down the line of her jaw until I found her mouth again. Her hands traveled up to curl in my hair as my arms ran down her back, as my tongue learned every hidden, sweet inch of her mouth.

She pulled away again and a growl ripped from my throat.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”

“Why?”

“Aidon—”

“Why, Princess?”

“I'm going to the temple,” she said, pulling out of my arms.

A chill settled in my chest. Wherever this was going, I didn’t like it one bit. “Which temple?”

She bit her lip, eyes flashing toward the hidden door.

No, I didn’t like this at all.

“Aurora—”

“I just . . . I have a feeling about Leda and Soren. I need to know if I’m right.”

My heart sped. “Selene's temple, then. Aurora . . . Let’s think this through—”

She backed toward the door. “Just, promise me you’ll be careful. Please. If . . . if the chance presents itself, run. Alright?”

“No way, Princess. When I leave this city, you are coming with me,” I said as I followed her toward the servant’s door. I reached for her, but she danced out of my grasp.

“Please tell me you are just going back to your room.”

She was nearly to the tapestry, the fabric thrown over an unlit sconce, leaving the small door free and clear. I quickened my steps. As I reached her, the iron grew cold in warning. She backed away until she hovered in the threshold. She had the book in her hand, I noticed. I watched as she slipped it back into her pocket. “I’m going to the Temple. I want to see for myself that the lower levels are closed like Sibyl claimed they are.”

“You’re going out in the city, to the scene of a murder, when you know that the murderer is still running free. You’re mad if you think I’m letting you do that.”

She watched me carefully, her eyes going hard. “You said no one lets me do anything.”

“That doesn’t include recklessly endangering your own life.”

She took a tiny step backward, her heel inching into the corridor beyond.

“Princess . . .”

She took off.

I lunged, my fingers grabbing her cloak. But my wrist had crossed the threshold. Cold ice filled my veins, spreading from every point where the metal of the fetters met my skin. My fingers grew numb and I lost my grip.

“I’m sorry,” I heard her say. Then the rusted hinges creaked, and the door shut in my face.

When the frosted, debilitating bite of the iron and the grip of the body wracking spasms finally abated, she was gone. And without full access to my power, with these vicious iron fetters trapping me in this room, I was powerless to go after her.

So, I roared my rage.

The only answer was the echo of my own impotent fury as it uselessly reverberated off the cold stone of the palace walls.