Startled, I sat up quickly, scrambling to my feet.

Graysen Crowther.

My gaze narrowed on his tall figure cut into a dark suit, annoyed my personal space had been invaded. Darkness wrapped itself around him as if it welcomed him into its fold of shadows. He was eighteen, nineteen perhaps, I couldn't remember. Handsome, as all the Crowthers were, with sharply cut features that were almost brutal if not for the supple line of his mouth.

He sketched a shallow bow, straightening to stare at me as if he'd already judged me and didn't like me.

I glared back. He knew nothing about me.

But the thing that prowled beneath my skin was intensely curious about him. I was not. I shoved away that prickling feeling and ignored the hyper-awareness of him that seemed to hum between us like a musical note drawn out by the strings of an orchestra.

I swiped at my dress where my skirt was scuffed with grass stains and now more dirt. Godsdammit. My tone was waspish as I snapped at him. "What are you doing here?"

He glanced away, answering in that same flat tone he'd used earlier in the great room. "Same as you I suppose."

I shot him a curious look.

Is he hiding too and needs to settle himself?

He drifted deeper into the aviary. His sharp eyes shone like an animal that hunted at night. The shapes of the roosting birds should have been indistinguishable, but he clearly made them out as his head tilted upward in their direction. "Rather a dull choice of bird," he muttered. My mother could have had all kinds of exotic birds—brightly plumed parrots, lorikeets, or even hummingbirds—but she preferred thrushes and sparrows and finches.

How did he find me here?

Is it coincidence, or has he sought me out on purpose?

Graysen twisted around slowly to face me. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, head tilted to the side, those coal-black eyes meeting mine. His wavy hair had been pushed back from his forehead, but there was a cowlick at the hairline and the wayward hank of hair slipped across his eyes. He shook his head, flicking it back, but it wouldn't settle into place. "Why are you rarely seen?"

I tensed. I'd been purposely kept away from the other Houses. Someone like me should have been handed over to the Horned Gods at birth.

To keep me safe.

To keep me from people like you.

Instead, I just offered a shrug as if I didn't know.

"Do they keep you caged, little bird?"

The name rankled and I glared. "Don't call me that."

The way his eyes lit up, I realized I'd just done the worst thing possible. Inwardly I groaned.

"Little bird." He rolled the name around in his mouth, tasting it. Liking it.

I folded my arms across my chest. "If you're after Annalise you're too late. She's in love with Aldan Reska and already promised to him."

His brows rose slowly, perhaps because I'd been so forthright, but his tone remained flat and bored when he said, "Your sister wants to marry that Reska asshole—"

"Takes an asshole to recognize another," I muttered.

He was surprised. And he actually seemed to like my bite judging by the wolfish grin. "Doesn't it just." He strolled closer. "If we want that betrothal overturned, it will be."

I gasped. But my sister loved Aldan Reska. He was all she talked about. Granted it'd become a little tiresome to hear just how perfect he was. I had my own opinion of Aldan ever since I'd seen his appreciative gaze drift over the curve of another girl's ass, but I didn't want to admit to Graysen that I might agree with him.

"Pick another daughter. Another House," I urged.

He didn't smile, but there was a cruel amusement in his dark eyes as he slowly shook his head.

I blew a frustrated breath, taking a sideways step, crushing soft grass beneath the soles of my feet. "Which one of you is this betrothal for?" Which one would Evelene be forced to marry? I'd already decided on the eldest, Kenton. A respectful choice.

"Betrothal?" He frowned, speaking the word as if he didn't recognize it.

"Kenton," I pressed. "It's only right the eldest should marry Evelene."

"Marriage?" I'd confused him for some reason. "Marriage," he repeated, tasting the word as he had done with little bird. He shot me an odd look and drifted over to a birch, scratching a fingernail against the papery bark. "It doesn't matter which one of my brothers is chosen to wed. Only which one of you we choose."

Of course. It made perfect sense to join by marriage to Great House Wychthorn. We were after all their rulers.

He continued. "Even with Annalise promised to Lord Asshole, there are still two daughters to choose between—"

"Two?" I interrupted. Shock creased the lines on my face.

Two daughters.

Cold fear settled into my stomach. Why hadn't I considered the possibility that I might be desired? "But I'm fourteen." It spilled from my lips rather wobbly sounding, just like the child I was.

He turned back to me with a raised brow. "No one is going to marry you at fourteen," he drawled. For a fleeting moment, relief flooded through me, until he added, "They'll wait until you're a little older."

Gripping the flashlight in my hand, I began to pace our small arena.

He pushed into motion too. We circled one another, confined by the wrought-iron bird cage. Grass gently rustled beneath my feet as I stalked, keeping a safe distance from him, while there was a predatory gracefulness to his stride.

His raven-black eyes and features were shadowed with night. No one should have been able to read him in this darkness. But I could. He despised me.

Still, it didn't make any sense why anyone wouldn't want my sister. Beautiful, charming Evelene. "But... my sister..."

He cocked his head to the side, a bird-like movement, and thick brows nudged closer. "Why would we want Evelene?"

I scoffed, rolling my eyes at his idiocy. "Are you stupid? Of course, everyone wants my sister." She was as sweet as she was beautiful. Kind and considerate. When we were curled up on my bed eating popcorn and watching a movie, Annalise would tease her about all the boys from the Houses who'd noticed her too.

"She's a simpleton with no backbone and utterly worthless."

I sucked in a sharp breath, stilling, feeling my eyes flaring wide. How dare he insult my sister. Anger seethed, and something inside me uncoiled and slithered along my bones.

An ice-kissed wind stirred in the aviary.

Leaves rustled and branches groaned with its growing tempest.

I was a Wychthorn—he should be bowing at my feet, groveling for forgiveness. It must have shown on my face because for the first time actual delight shone in his gaze.

The unnatural wind ruffled his hair. "Didn't like to hear that, little bird?"

He took one step toward me. I supposed he thought I'd yield a step.

Not likely. I stepped forward. My hands balled into fists, white and burning hot, itching to bestow violence.

The bloodline of the Crowthers had bred cold, vicious hunters—their senses heightened, stronger, faster. But my temper had been stirring of late. Things had a habit of breaking around me. I was sure I could break Graysen if I wanted to. Right now I really, really wanted to. I wanted to snap him like a twig.

We met with barely an inch between us. He was so tall I had to crane my neck back to glare up at him.

"You're so young," he said softly, though the words bit. He bowed closer, smiling. He smelled of boy and something else, something woodsy with a promise of smoke. His scent was nice, pleasant even. My gaze flicked upward and I suddenly realized that smile didn't reach his black eyes. They remained cold and impassive. His breath kissed my temple. "Just so you know, little bird, there's no way in Nine Hells I'd ever fucking marry you."

No one dared speak to me like that. For a moment I was so shocked, I could only gape back.

"Why would I want to marry an entitled mouthy brat." His disparaging scowl took in my scrawny frame—from the top of my wild hair to the tips of my dirty toes. "Gods, you look like you've been dragged out of the woods kicking and screaming."

Aghast, I whirled away only to spin back. "What makes you think I'd want to marry a lowly Crowther? You're no good for anything but mopping up messes." This was something I'd overheard my mother say to my father when I shouldn't have been listening to their private conversation. My father hadn't agreed, but at the same time, he hadn't disputed it either.

"A Lower House? Lowly foot-soldiers," he ground out. "Are we deemed so lesser, so unworthy of the great and mighty Wychthorns?" He took another step closer. "We bleed for your House, Wychthorn. It's our blood that spills so that yours does not."

Standing there quivering, my hands balled into fists, I snarled, "Oh, go shove a knitting needle up your ass." And I added something that started with mother—and ended with—ker.

We were toe-to-toe, scowling at each other. I thought he might be so angry he'd have smacked me one. My mother sure as hells would have if she'd heard what had come out of my mouth. Except Graysen didn't. He straightened slowly, and his tight features softened. Then a sound came out from him that I just did not expect. A whispering huff of laughter as his shoulders jostled.

It only provoked that unnatural wind to whip faster.

I tipped my chin at him, parting my mouth cruelly to hurl something else. My finger stabbed his way and the movement was jerky. The beads tied around my wrist—clinked. The delicate sound reverberated in my ears, reminding me to leash my temper. Calm. Calm. Calm.

That eerie wind died.

My mother's voice cut through the tension. "Nelle?"

Both of us jerked apart and swiveled around to face my mother. She stood just inside the aviary, darting a concerned look back and forth between us. "You're both needed inside."

Graysen dipped his head in acknowledgment. He spun on his heel and strode off.

My mother didn't say anything but there was a stiffness in her shoulders and her hand was in her pocket, no doubt gripping those pills, as she watched Graysen's retreating figure.

She still remained silent while drawing me into a tight hug, her honeysuckle scent kissing my nostrils as she pressed quivering lips to my temple.

Why is she worried?

As soon as my mother led me back inside the mansion and down the twisting hallways toward my father's office, I knew why Graysen and I had been sent for.

Stupid, stupid me.

The door swung open and I stepped inside my father's office. My heart pounded in my ears. The room was large and spacious and filled with rare antiques. But with Graysen and both elder Crowthers in there too, the room felt far too small, too confining.

My mother gestured to a dark brown leather couch where Graysen sat leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, as he fiddled with something in his hands. I watched his jaw tick in agitation as I sat down beside him, making sure there was plenty of space between us.

Valarie stood beside her brother, hands clasped before her, listening to Varen and my parents. They were gathered around my father's desk and a parchment was spread across the glass. When Varen stabbed a finger on the parchment biting out, "Eighteen years old," my stomach sunk. It was true then. I gave Graysen a sideways look, cocking a brow. And he'd sworn he would never marry me.

He in turn glared back like I was a bug he wished he could squish beneath his expensive leather shoes.

"That's too young," my mother appealed, wringing her thin hands.

"Eighteen," Varen stated once more. I had a feeling they'd been arguing about this for a while now.

"Twenty-five," ground out my father.

"Twenty," Valarie spoke firmly. "And at nineteen they'll get to know one another."

My father went to reply when Varen held up a hand to stop him. He dragged in a tired sigh through a nose that looked like it had been broken a long time ago. "Twenty." But the way his jaw clenched he was furious he had to give that much. "Or, I'll take her right this moment."

My father's shoulders slumped. It was the first time this great ruler showed defeat. It stole my breath and terrified me.

He nodded once before leaning over the parchment and amending it with black ink and a quill. Our world held to tradition tightly. No modern-day pens for these types of transactions. Always quills and ink.

My father turned back to us, strength returning to his elegantly attired figure. "Nelle, Graysen, come here."

We rose as one from the couch. Graysen allowed me to go first, following closely as we joined our fathers. Mine had something clasped between his fingers. He waved at me to hold my hand out. I placed mine in his. His hand was warm while mine was cold.

My eyes cut to his, he held my gaze—an apology, a desperate need for forgiveness swirling in his blue eyes—and then something pieced my thumb.

A knife.

The blade sliced a thin line across my thumb pad, stinging and burning the flesh in its wake. He held my hand over an ink well and beads of blood splattered into the small metal bowl. My mother pressed a quill into my other hand, gesturing toward the parchment spread across his desk. What was it?

My mother spoke. "This is a marriage contract—"

"An Alverac," Varen cut in, shooting a sharp look at my father.

My mother carried on speaking softly as if Varen hadn't interrupted her. There was a slight crack in her voice. "Promising you to Graysen Crowther."

I stared at the parchment. At all the words cutting across its width. I had to sign my name in my own blood.

Graysen paused, for once that impassive, bored face was creased deeply in fury. For one reckless hopeful moment, I thought he'd toss the quill down and refuse.

Do it, do it, do it—because I was too weak to go against my father.

That jaw ticked again. His nostrils flared and lips thinned before he whipped his furious gaze from his family and canted forward to sign his name in blood—a neat scratch against the parchment.

My signature was wild and wide.

My father's smooth fingers dug into the ornate silver urn that sat on the mantle behind his desk. He blew the ashy substance onto the contract. It was the bones of our ancestors, ground to dust.

The elder Crowther must have brought a pinch with him from their ancestral home, as a moment later, a swirl of fine bone settled over our own like a thin coating of frost.

For the first time, Graysen and I shared a look, both of us reflecting the other's horror.

I felt it then. I was sure he did too, the magic of the Horned Gods weaving around us like filament.

A rattling noise erupted inside my head, grinding against my bones—a turning of iron teeth, a clicking and a grating sensation—as if a heavy lock was sliding with finality into place.

It was done.

We were bound to one another.

There was no way out of this but death.

My future husband didn't bother looking directly into my eyes as he cut a curt bow, stalking behind his father and aunt to slam the office door behind him as they left.

I was still in shock. I think we all were. My parents had vainly hoped Varen might not choose one of their daughters, and certainly not me. But why should Evelene be sacrificed to keep me out of their clutches?

Anger burned brightly.

My father was a Wychthorn, a king amongst the Houses. Perhaps not in title but certainly in the lofty placement of our House. We were it, the highest you could rise in serving the Horned Gods—Great House Wychthorn. He could have demanded for Master Sirro to overturn this ridiculous boon.

And now, at twenty, I'd be forced to marry that egotistical brat from a House that dealt in death.

"You could have stopped them!"

A wind that had no right to be there in the office swirled around me, lifting locks of pale hair around my head and ruffling my skirt.

"Nelle," my father murmured, his tone at once soothing and commanding. "Calm."

Calm? Calm? How could anyone be calm about this? I'd been bartered and sold like chattel.

That creature inside me unfurled, raging with my anger, snapping and snarling—Let go, let go. Let. Me. Go!

Power surged and I unleashed it.

My mother took several nervous steps back.

My father reached for me—

I screamed.

I screamed because they couldn't go against the Horned Gods. Master Sirro. The Crowthers.

I screamed because they'd given me away to that sullen boy and made me sign a contract that now wrapped itself around me with iron teeth.

One moment the desk was there separating us from one another—

The next—

Glass shattered, funneling upward and tinkling against the ceiling, obliterated into tiny fragments that sparkled and shone like a rainbow as it rained down between us.

Nothing of the desk remained.

Nothing but that parchment.

Seemingly even my wild power couldn't overturn that.

I stumbled back, my breathing a wet rasp. The back of my knees caught on the couch and I fell onto the soft seat, bursting into hysterical laughter.

My parents exchanged a look and a whisper, which of course I heard but I was too busy focusing on my own selfish thoughts— I couldn't get out. I couldn't free myself. I was a bird trapped in an aviary.

My laughter died as cold fear swept through me.

My hands clenched and unclenched and as I made the panicked gesture, my knuckles brushed against something.

I glanced down and frowned to find something in the space that Graysen had vacated. Something that was nestled upon the soft, leather material of the seat.

I plucked it carefully between pinched fingers. It fitted perfectly into the cup of my palm. Small. Delicate. Crafted from neat, precise folds of paper torn from a book. A creature with wings spanned wide, ready for flight.

Graysen Crowther had left me a gift.

A tiny paper bird.

***

I saw Graysen Crowther over the years when the Houses came together.

We skirted around one another, each aware of the other, but neither of us desired to speak. We sent hate-glares every time our gazes clashed.

I was pretty sure both of us wished the other had some kind of accident so we'd never have to marry.

I know I sure did. I thought about it a lot—him dying.

It was even tempting to go to House Simonis to buy a curse.

I wanted to, yet I never did.

At nineteen, I was glad I hadn't.

At nineteen, Graysen Crowther saved my life.