Graysen had been considerate of Sage. He'd brought my friend to me when he knew I needed one most. He'd brought toys for Sage and made sure my wraith-wolf had water and mangy chicken carcasses every morning and evening. Though it was a closet for fucks sake, I did have my own bedroom and private space, when he could have so easily gone with his family's plan and trapped me in darkness below the Keep. Down there, with my fear of the dark, I would have shattered and broken.

There were other things he did too, like when he'd moved the armchair for me onto the balcony without being asked. Or there was always a glass of water within reach or something to snack on that he knew I liked, and he made sure there was honey for my tea rather than sugar.

But we hadn't ever talked like other people. Over the course of my sister's engagement to Corné Pelan, we hadn't chatted as we'd grown together. We hadn't exchanged dialogue with everyday normal conversation in how a boy meets a girl in the usual sense, with both getting to know one another through trivial information.

But, I reminded myself, Graysen and I weren't normal. There was and never had been, anything normal about our relationship. Ever.

Sage flopped down by my feet, stretching his big body out and I turned back to sifting through Tabitha Crowther's romance collection.

I didn't have many books that I liked to read in Graysen's room. He liked off-beat classics and a few trashy bestsellers full of mystery and intrigue. Interesting enough, but not romance. I missed my Kindle. I missed my steamy romances.

There was a small grouping of books. The series captured my attention. They all had titles referring to a Princess. Scouring through them, I pulled out a few and flicked through the first couple of pages, until I had a handful that was of a certain heat level I was curious to read, stacking them on top of one another on the coffee table. The last book had a startled laugh bubbling from my throat, which was genuine and true, and gifted me a moment of light-heartedness. The cover had a man, his white shirt gaping wide to reveal a buff chest as he leaned into a swooning woman with a tiara sitting on the crown of her dark-haired head. I purposely cleared my throat, raising my eyebrows when I'd ensnared Graysen's attention. I wiggled the front cover of the book in front of him and gave a faux gasp, a hand clasped to my chest. "They wrote a book about us."

This time his lips twitched as he pressed back a smile, reading the title: The Princess and the Jerk.

For a moment, just for a moment, I forgot myself. And I grinned.

He did too, his striking features lightening at that moment.

And then I remembered where I was and what he planned for me.

I'm not your prince, little bird. I'm going to steal you from everyone you love.

Ice filled my veins.

My grin faded, and the amusement playing across his features faltered.

And we simply stared at one another, at the despair mirrored in each other's expression.

He sighed wearily, bowing his head to shield himself, then pushed off the bookshelf to straighten his posture, while I busied myself collecting the books I'd chosen.

Graysen cocked an eyebrow at the armload I had gathered, and without hesitation, he reached out to take them from me. He adjusted the books in his arms, and when he took in the top book's image and title, he hissed, "Holy fuck." His eyes flared wide with shock and met mine.

"Shut it," I snapped back, raising a finger. I shot him a dark scowl that challenged him to further question my taste in reading. "Besides, these belonged to your mother."

He shuddered, his lips twisting with distaste. "Don't remind me."

He jerked his chin toward the staircase, indicating it was time to move on. Disappointment had me chewing the corner of my mouth. I'd hoped he'd let me spend more time in the library. "Can I come back here later?" I asked.

"Later," he replied. "There's something else I'm sure you'd like to see."

When I tipped my head sideways, my expression expectant and filled with curiosity, he answered. "Draxxon."

***

The floor was rough beneath my feet, not smooth like the hallways—perhaps to stop folk slipping on spilled ale. And hellsgate it was cold. My toes were already half-frozen, and my teeth chattered. Why hadn't I given into wearing shoes, and brought a shawl?

But there was something else beyond the vast scale of the Great Hall that made this room colder.

We weren't alone.

Scattered about the room there were people seated in small pockets with drinks and plates of light snacks. Men and women dressed in old-fashioned house uniforms, in grease or dirt-creased overalls; soldiers too, their black fatigues giving them away.

My pale pink dress floated over my figure. The skirt's layered length rustled softly as I moved across the stone floor. One hand went to grip the adamere beads at my wrist for comfort, but they weren't there.

Sage paced by my side, bristling. His misty body shimmered as if he was trying to break free from the bottled lightning that was coiled around his neck, and he hungered for a less corporeal form so he could fade into the wraith-void and attack.

Once more Graysen was tense, almost battle-ready. He'd fallen into his earlier pattern as soon as we'd left the library—giving my romance novels to Penn to take back to his tower—shielding himself behind a cold, disinterested expression. Though his shoulders were pushed back and his spine rigid, his movements held a graceful element. His eyes were wolf-bright and unblinking. I surreptitiously glanced sidelong, noting how his fingers curled and uncurled, and the erratic tick in his jaw.

He flanked me, and with every step he closed the gap between us, my shoulder almost brushing his arm as we approached the far wall. If he could have growled like Sage, I imagined he would have. He seemed to be aware of everyone here and every movement they made, assessing whether or not they were a threat to...

To whom?

Me?

"Our Great Hall—anyone at any time is welcome," Graysen said.

My family didn't have a Great Hall. I suppose my surprise showed on my face because he carried on speaking as if in answer. "We have a Great Room like everyone else to greet and entertain the Houses." He gestured with a wide sweep of his hand. "We've carried on the tradition of our ancestors. This place is for our family and our staff. Once a week we all converge here for an evening, where we all mingle."

It was yet again something else that set the Crowthers apart from all the Houses. Here, besides their soldiers that made up their small army, maids and laundry girls, men and women that looked after their orchards and farmland, were invited to eat and drink with the Crowther immediate family. This was something my parents and other Houses wouldn't tolerate, nor even think to do.

The chatter in the hall grew quieter as the gathered staff came to realize I was amongst them, walking between the rows and rows of long tables and the giant pillars, grooved with Ukkenskrit, supporting the lofty ceiling.

I forced myself to stifle the shivering and leisurely stroll the length of the Great Hall, arranging my features into a haughty look, even though the hall itself was magnificent and tugged at me to marvel at the beast coiling around the walls and the white gems fixed into iron-wrought chandeliers and lanterns. Brilliant white light spilled downward and reflected upward like starlight onto the vaulted ceiling, where between the stone and sturdy rafters were slats of glass. Again, like the library, the glass was stained, this time with muted greens, the image broken up and outlined in black lead like the library's mural. I frowned, thinking about the pattern. Then forced back the smile that wanted to curve my lips as it sunk in—scales, that's what they looked like.

Conversation dried up as the staff twisted my way to gawk. I lifted my chin higher, feeling the weight of their attention pressing on me almost as heavily as stone as I swept a disinterested gaze across them.

Except I was lying.

I was interested in their reaction to me.

Inside, a turmoil of conflict dashed upon me.

I'd killed their friends and loved ones. Almost two weeks ago I'd fatally wounded many of the Crowther warband with my fire and vicious squalls of barb-tipped wind.

And here I was, face-to-face with the survivors. It wasn't the soldiers. It was the servants, with drawn faces etched in grief, who were staring down at their goblets and plates of food, most of which were only half-picked at as if they hadn't the heart to eat.

Remorse swamped me and thickened my throat. My bottom lip wobbled and stinging heat burned my eyes.

I'm sorry...I'm sorry...

"Wychthorn," I heard murmured beside me, so quietly only I could hear.

When I glanced up at Graysen, his face was distorted by the unspilled tears that shimmered in my eyes and made his image swim. I rapidly blinked them back, but moisture escaped to streak down one of my cheeks. Quickly wiping them away with the heel of my palm, I cursed myself for feeling this way. I'd been the one hunted, captured, trapped.

An almost perceptible shake of the head. Graysen's eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as if warning me not to fall into sorrow and guilt. "This is our way of life. You were cornered and we know that. Every day our lives are at risk when we deal with the crime syndicates. Some of our warband fell in the siege against the Widowmakers, and the grief is still new and raw."

When we reached the opposite end of the hall with its enormous twin hearths, crackling with orange flames as the fire ate large logs and billowed out a haze of heat, there was nowhere left to go. Graysen turned around to face everyone, while, like a coward, I stared straight ahead at the curved stone and tried to collect myself. The wall was carved into a relief sculpture of a place with rolling hills and a winding river cutting through forests. On the hewn peak of a craggy mountain was a Keep. This Keep, I realized, as I recognized Graysen's tower butting against the adamere structure. The fortress was much smaller, comprising I suppose, of only the Heart of the Keep, the place the Crowthers later turned into the library.

Sage brushed up against my thigh with a low whine, knowing that I was faltering, that a veil of anguish had settled over my heart. He sat down and I rubbed his head, behind his ear, feeling a little better when he pushed back against my touch, his tail thumping against the floor.

Graysen's cousins had fallen in the battle to capture my wyrm, and in his despair over the death of Hollis and Collens, Jett had surged forward to attack me. Would have, if Graysen hadn't placed his body in front of mine. Even his father, Varen, had defended my actions.

I tried being rational. I had been cornered. I was trying to break free because the Crowthers were doing something so terribly wrong by trapping me, an innocent, to later use to save their mother.

I shouldn't feel tormented that I'd taken lives.

But I did. I did care that I'd stolen something precious—life, and irrevocably.

My penance would be that I'd be sold at the Witches Ball.

And that terrifying thought, that reminder, had my fingers curling into a fist by my side. Anger, pure and welcome, heated my blood and body, hotter than the blazing fire right in front of me. Anger burned away the wretchedness, calmed my heart, and strengthened my resolve.

My auction at the Witches Ball sure as hells wasn't going to happen.

As if Sage read my mind, he gave a gruff bark that reverberated off the stone walls in agreeance.

I didn't see what Graysen silently asked. But by the noise, the clatter of plates, cutlery, and tankards, wood scraping on stone, and retreating footfall, he'd asked them to leave.

After a few heavy minutes, silence reigned.

And we were left alone.

I glanced sidelong at Graysen. His attention was on the massive oak doors to the Great Hall, listening with his keen senses. Then, I suppose once the area cleared and it was back to being just us both, he visibly relaxed.

My skirt flared wide as I turned around to walk deeper into the Great Hall. The room was enormous and took up the entire four levels of the Keep. The reason why almost encircled the entire room. I felt Graysen's eyes on me. He was hungry for my reaction. His eagerness for it barely leashed. The intensity of his anticipation crackled along the line of my limbs as he tracked my every movement and the nuances playing across my features.

I really wanted to be dismissive and feign boredom because he wanted my reaction too much. But I couldn't do it. I gave in to the childish excitement of seeing something so fucking amazing. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, fast, jittering with exhilaration.

Holy Skalki!

A wyrm coiled around the room. Not carved into the stone—its likeness was formed with real, real scales. Such a dark green they were almost black.

The very scales that armored Draxxon, the greatest wyrm that ever lived. The wyrm that had saved the Houses on the ravaged battlefield against the Children of the Harbinger who had aligned themselves with the mortals rising up against us and provided them with a legion of others who had almost annihilated our kind and way of life.

Draxxon took up the entire space from floor to ceiling, and his serpentine body curved along three walls, leaving only the one with huge double hearths free.

"He's enormous," I breathed in awe, spinning around. My skirt flowed with the movement, and my braid bounced against my back when I came to an ungainly halt. My wyrm formed of flames wasn't as big as Draxxon. Mine was adolescent and much smaller. Draxxon was unbelievable. I was standing in the shadows of greatness. And for a reason that I couldn't fathom, I had a wyrm and its might inside me.

Fierce hope, and a desire to burn everything in sight, lit up like a beacon within me. The things my wyrm and I would do when I got Zrenyth's rope from around my neck and set us both free...

I would raze this House to the ground.

Graysen shot me a swift inquiring look, his brow furrowed. I realized too late that he could feel my desire beneath his skin. That I was broadcasting my emotions too loudly. This strange connection between us hadn't been severed with the rope around my throat nullifying my wyrm.

I banked the smoldering embers of fury—calm, calm, calm—forcing myself to focus on the here and now, the great beast before me.