I crowded up against Wychthorn in an alcove not far from the den. Sage kept close, prowling back and forth.

"What the fuck were you thinking, going in there?" It came out harsher than I'd intended.

She flinched.

And I felt like a fucking asshole. But when she'd soared through the threshold of the den, I'd panicked. It took everything I had to hide it from Sirro. I didn't even know why fear had flooded through me, why panic crushed my lungs with a tight fist.

Fuck. I never panic.

Well, almost never.

"I wasn't. I just..." Her hands fluttered, trying to grasp the magnitude of what she'd done. "I wanted to speak with my father. I didn't think—"

"Shit, Wychthorn...Sirro." I roughly rubbed my chin with the tips of my fingers. Sirro could find a way to bend the Alverac, and I was so close, so fucking close, to claiming Wychthorn. How many daughters, even a few sons kept away from the intricacies of our world, knew swifting? Carola Pelan wouldn't even know how to spell swift, let alone what it meant. But Wychthorn did. There was finely honed intelligence in my little bird, and the rightful heir to the Great House, if Byron wasn't such a sexist prick.

"You've piqued his interest." And not just her sharp clever mind either. Other women probably thought it a romantic idea to be picked for Sirro's harem. How many daughters had he chosen over the centuries? How many never returned? And those that did, after being used and discarded—

Fuck. It wasn't anything I'd wish, even for Wychthorn.

There was an intimacy in how I caged Wychthorn as we whispered in the shadows of the alcove, our bodies leaning in, heat swirling between the slight gap. We'd never been this close before tonight.

What the fuck am I doing?

In only a few hours, this is what we'd become?

She scrubbed her creased forehead with a knuckle, the adamere beads clacking together with the movement. "Shit, shit, shit..."

Besides my baby sister, she was the only other girl I knew who didn't hunger for the power and beauty that surrounded Sirro. He didn't have her knees buckling and her simpering and drooling after him. As much as I despised her, I had to respect her for that. And there was something else, something gnawing at the walls I'd built to keep her out. Something I didn't want to think about—

Make it stop.

Make her go away.

"Graysen," she softly whispered, severing my thoughts. She darted a wary glance toward the oak door of the den. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, chin lifting as she stared up at me with intense gray eyes.

Graysen. Not Fucking Prick or Arrogant Asshole or Crowther or even, You. Interesting.

She seemed edgy, as if she were still debating whether or not to tell me, her mouth opening and closing and opening once more. She glanced away and shook her head ruefully, her braid swishing over her shoulder. "Nothing."

My hand on her arm made her still. I was curious. What did she want to tell me?

"Master Sirro. He wanted us to think it was a declaration of war."

"It is a declaration of war."

"It felt...wrong."

"Felt wrong?"

She chewed the inside of her mouth, frowning in thought. Her gaze snapped to mine. "Like weight...when something feels different in your hand. As if you haven't quite realized you've picked up the wrong book but...the weight of it feels off." She blew out a breath, looking as if she wished she could take it back. "It sounds stupid. I shouldn't—"

"Don't." The truth of it all, it did feel wrong. I'd felt his urgency for me to agree, to make his opinion solid and founded.

Her gaze sharpened. "There's something else going on, I'm sure of it. What if it wasn't a declaration of war? What if it was more about them looking for someone?"

My brows nudged together—Go on.

"If the Horned Gods have an interest in others, why shouldn't someone else?" Her tone dropped even lower. "What if they found what they were looking for and hid it by burning the others?"

I sucked in a breath. Fuck, she was right. So far, no one had come out of the shadows to claim responsibility and they'd struck several times before this one.

The door to the den suddenly opened and Sirro strode out, followed by his Familiar and the rest of the Heads of Houses.

Sage went alert. Bristling. Tail straight.

I angled myself closer to Wychthorn, pushing her deeper into the alcove, offering protection and shielding her slight body with mine.

Territorial possessiveness gripped me hard the moment Sirro stepped into view. That insistent pounding in my head, roiling through my blood: protect, protect, protect—

My lips almost curled back into a snarl.

Sirro breezed past, his amber eyes sliding over me, trying to see through my figure to where I kept her hidden. I felt her trembling hands suddenly fist the fabric of my shirt and heard the rapid beat of her heart as her breath quickened. She was mine, and no one, not even a Horned God who could shatter every bone in my body, was going to take her from me.

Sirro's footsteps faltered as he stopped, turning back.

Move—that gaze demanded as it landed on me.

Fuck you, Sirro—but I slowly slid one step aside.

He relaxed his posture, with one hand resting in his pocket, his weight on one leg, the other bent slightly. He dipped his head to Wychthorn as she stepped into view. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Nelle." He smiled, raising his head—

And that smile faded.

I cast a sideways glance and shock rattled through me.

Fuck, Wychthorn. Who the hells was this girl?

She'd collected herself and banished the trembling that had overcome her only moments ago. Now there was a stiff disdainful line to her body. She was five foot nothing, my little bird, but right this moment she seemed to tower over Sirro.

Steel and iron met golden eyes.

If he frightened her, nothing gave her away, not even I could sense it. She was ice. Her features were schooled into glacial coolness, with a haughty angle to her chin as if she were stationed above him, not the other way around. As if he should be kneeling at her feet.

"I hope we'll meet again...soon," Sirro said, his brow furrowing just slightly, stunned at the coldness radiating from her.

Fuck, I almost burst into laughter. Welcome to my world Sirro. Whether he'd been a Horned God or not, this girl could slay with just a look.

But Wychthorn merely inclined her head to Sirro with an imperious arch to her eyebrow.

Fuck, she didn't need me to protect her, at all.

Sirro walked away, giving her a swift, perplexed glance over his shoulder. I suppose just to double check, himself. No one, I suspected, had ever dismissed him so thoroughly.

Wychthorn didn't move a muscle and kept that glacial expression intact until we both heard the front door to the mansion open and shut. Only then did she slump back against the wall, expelling a breath of utter relief, a hand clutched to her chest. "Holy hellsgate..."

I pressed closer, bowing my head, and hers angled up. "Fuck Wychthorn. If looks could kill."

She gifted me a crooked grin, kicking out with her heeled shoe at me—not hard, playful. "He just needed to know I'm not interested."

"Turning down a Horned God?" I purred. "Someone else you want to bed? Someone stupidly beautiful?"

"Maybe I should call him back?" she shot back, whip-smart.

"Don't you fucking dare." But I knew she was teasing.

The sound of clattering shoes against the tiled floor came from behind me. I half-turned to find Byron, grinding to a halt, anger and displeasure washing all over his age-lined face. I knew how it might look to him, me pressed close to his daughter, but fucked if I cared.

"Nelle," Byron said gruffly. "With me, now."

I arched a biting look at Byron. He knew better than this. His jaw clenched, but he asked, "If you don't mind, Crowther?"

Better—I smiled coldly back.

Strangely, I found myself reluctant to let her go. Before I did, I had to know how she'd come to find out why Sirro had been pressing us to accept the act of war, and how she'd felt it was wrong. "How often do you feel these things?"

She knew what I was asking. Her cheeks seemed just a little rosier but that could have been the lighting. She didn't look at me as she answered, brushing past me. "Only when it comes to you."

***

My father strode into his office, and I hurried to catch up. I'd spent many an afternoon here on the leather couch with a book spread across my lap, listening and gathering information about the Houses and the Horned Gods while my father worked.

Sage sank down beside the mahogany filing cabinet, stretched long, and rested his head on his paws, watching my father. He leaned over his desk, running a hand over his face. "What possessed you to enter the den? Master Sirro...if he discovered what you are—"

"I know, I know," I cried. The sensual way Master Sirro had been staring at me still clung to my skin with the slickness of oil. "But he didn't."

"No," he snapped, his gaze hardening. "He just thinks you're a girl who knows far too much."

The way my father spoke those words as if he were insulted, stunned me.

Everything I'd come to talk to him about was instantly forgotten as fury whirled through my blood. I braced my legs apart and snapped my spine straight. "I was born into this world. I inhabit it. Wychthorn or not, I'd be a fool not to equip myself with every bit of knowledge I can scavenge."

"You don't need to. That's what I'm here to do. I'm the one protecting you from it all—"

"Because I'm a girl?"

He hissed out an annoyed breath and turned away, bending over to pull open a drawer. Fishing around, he pulled out a fresh bottle of cognac and plonked it on the desk with a thump that rattled the glass surface. A French rose-crystal tumbler followed suit.

"Such utter rubbish," I spat, not caring how his features darkened in anger. "Why shouldn't I? Or Lise or Evvie? Why shouldn't one of us be the heir to Great House—"

"It goes to a male," he growled, unscrewing the bottle cap. He didn't even pour a measure; he filled it almost to the lip. "The first male born. It will either be Annalise's child, or Evvie's. Whoever comes first." Because that had always been our way—the reign of our House handed down from male to male. But this was no longer the dark ages, for fuck's-sake!

It hurt that he should see us as broodmares. Rankled that he didn't see us as smart enough, worthy enough, for the right to rule. There were female leaders out there, women who held the Heads of Houses. I was just about to fling this at him when he interrupted.

"What did you come to see me for?" He suddenly looked weary. New wrinkles creased his face as if he'd aged ten years since coming out of that meeting.

Right, right...this was about my sister.

I pushed aside the anger I wasn't good enough because I was born the wrong sex. "Evvie shouldn't marry Corné."

His expression became impassive, unreadable. "And why is that?" he said carefully.

"Corné has a mistress."

"Most men do," he replied. There was no divorce in our world and I knew I shouldn't be so naive not to take that into consideration. But I was and I did. "Some women, too," he added quietly, staring down into his glass of cognac.

I stilled. A cold fist tightened in my chest. This wasn't how I expected the conversation to go. I thought my father would be raging. I tried again. "I don't like how he looks at Evvie. As if she's a possession he's wondering how to break."

His eyes flicked up to narrow on me, and he gulped back a mouthful of cognac.

"And...I caught him hurting her," I added.

He froze at that. "How?"

"He was holding her arm too tightly."

He gave a dismissive snort.

My lips thinned and annoyance slashed through my veins. Saying it out loud like that seemed to soften what I'd witnessed.

My father's nostrils flared as he took another long sip, wiping the beads of alcohol from his lips. "We need this alliance with House Pelan," he said before turning away to stride toward the window, the summery night sky obscured by storm clouds.

I followed at a clipped pace, crossing the room. Sage got up and stalked beside me, his paws silent on the wooden floor. I urged my father, "You're their leader. You don't need to cement it with a marriage. The Houses are loyal to you."

"There are undercurrents at play here, Nelle," he snapped, swiveling around. I suddenly found myself backing up, nearly tripping over my feet as he strode right for me, anger glowing in his bright blue eyes. We stilled at his desk. He stabbed the desk's glass top with his forefinger. "Houses have been removed from their position at the Horned Gods' whim or by deception from other Houses!"

I knew that. Of course, I did.

"It's not for you to worry over," he barked.

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "No. I'll stick to worrying over the Crowthers, shall I?"

His temper flared hotter and he pounded his fist on the desk, startling me. Dark amber liquid spilled from his tumbler. "Evvie is a Wychthorn. She will do her duty as a Wychthorn. She will marry who I see best, whoever will benefit our House. Just like Annalise did. Just like you will!"

My whole body trembled with fury. "Except you didn't choose the Crowthers for me. They did!" Before he could say anything else, my tongue ran away with itself. I flung an arm outward. "So you'll marry Evvie off to Corné, quite happily, for an alliance to secure our position as Great House, even if he hurts her? Even if he breaks her spirit? Even if he humiliates her with his mistress?"

A cold wind stirred in the office, ruffling the loose paper strewn over his desk.

A snarl from the creature as it uncoiled with my anger.

I advanced a few furious steps and stabbed a finger at his face. "Because by doing all those things it's not just Evvie who gets hurt. It's our House he's basically saying a fuck-you—"

"NELLE!"

We faced one another, both of us breathing hard, both of us livid.

Then a shift came over him. His shoulders slumped and his gaze mellowed. "Nelle," he said again, this time almost apologetically. But I knew there was nothing I could say to change his mind. We were what we were—Wychthorn daughters used to gain an advantage. That's all we'd ever be to my father.

I backed away, tears threatening not from despair but from burning hot rage, spun on my heel, and fled. I ran along the twist and turn of hallways, down the graceful spiral staircase, and onward until I arrived back at my mother's favorite room where the Pelans had gathered with my family. Sage paced around my jittering feet.

I hovered near the threshold of the party for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. Who could put an end to this engagement? The smoky doors were open and both guards waited for me to enter, but I lingered in the foyer watching as Aldert Pelan rejoined the family gathering. My father returned by another entrance to the room, his half-drunk glass of cognac pinched between tense fingers.

My lips curled back, teeth bared. My father—he'd caged me tightly in this estate, like one of my mother's birds in her pretty aviary.

I needed to talk to someone. Not Evvie, nor my mother—

Maybe Danne.