I stir as the pale light of dawn slips through the gossamer curtains, casting thin golden lines across the room. The air is cold, heavy with the damp chill of Coldspar, but what makes my stomach knot is the sight of Rael, lounging in the chair.

  Asleep.

  At least, that's what it would look like to anyone else. His head tilts slightly as if in slumber, arms crossed over his broad chest, the faint rise and fall of his breathing rhythmic enough to be convincing. But I know better now. I know that he chose to sit there, silent and still, not because he wanted rest, but because he wanted distance.

  'I'm not going to hurt you, Selene.'

  My own words from the night before slither back into my mind.

  "What if your king demands it?"

  The moment I asked, the entire atmosphere shifted. His silence stretched unbearably long after he pulled away, his gaze locked onto the flames rather than me. And when he finally did speak, it was clipped, final. A simple "Sleep." A dismissal, plain and clear.

  I'm not stupid—I knew that question was dangerous. But I hadn't been able to stop myself from asking it.

  He has a duty. I understand that. But if his promises can be so easily undone, then how do I know any of his words were ever true?

  I yawn and sit up, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs. Across the room, Rael shifts, finally moving. Without a word, he stands and crosses to the door, collecting his things as he goes. Not a glance in my direction.

  So that's how today is going to be.

  Biting back a sigh, I rise, slipping on my boots before snagging his cloak from where it had fallen on the floor.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The streets of Coldspar sparkle with a layer of frost, the morning mist clinging to the edges of buildings and drifting through the alleyways like ghosts. The scent of brine drifts in from the river, mingling with the smoke of awakening forges as drowsy fishermen trudge toward the docks.

  I glance sideways at Rael as we reach the horse, watching as he unties it from the post. His movements are efficient, practiced—just like everything else about him. Normally, I might find that reassuring. Today, it only irritates me.

  Say something.

  "So," I wrap the cloak tighter around myself, "to the docks?"

  Rael gives a curt nod. "Yes."

  That's it. No sharp-edged teasing like he usually favors. Just a single terse word.

  I purse my lips as we start toward the river. "Lovely."

  Minutes pass, the horse's snorts and clopping hooves the only sound between us. My frustration quickly grows from a simmer to a boil, every step toward the water gnawing at me until I can't help myself.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "Rael."

  He doesn't look at me as he continues onward. "What?"

  I pause, the words tangled on my tongue. I understand it's not your choice. I know you are bound to loyalty. But I don't say that. Instead, I shrug, my voice light. "Nevermind... it's a futile endeavor."

  I wait for something—a reaction, a glare, even the barest hint of emotion. But he doesn't take the bait. He merely tugs the horse alongside him without a single glance.

  Sullenly, I follow behind.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The wooden planks of the dock creak beneath our boots as we approach the boat. It's a small ferry, just large enough to hold a handful of passengers and cargo—though this morning, it's only us. The boatman, a wiry man with weathered skin and a beard streaked with gray, eyes us warily as we lead the horse aboard.

  "Not often I get travelers headin' to Varethia," he mutters, securing the ropes methodically. "Stranger still for a young lady to be goin' there. You sure 'bout this, miss?"

  I open my mouth to answer, but Rael shifts, stepping forward just enough that his presence looms. The boatman looks up, meets Rael's eyes—and stiffens. His entire demeanor changes in an instant. His throat bobs with a hard gulp, and he gives a curt nod, retreating without another word. But not before casting me one last curious glance.

  I sigh and turn toward the water. The river stretches wide and dark, the current sluggish but steady. Beyond it, the Varethian shore looms, a dense forest shrouded in morning mist. It looks... different. Wilder. Like the land itself belongs to another realm.

  The boat rocks gently as we push off, drifting from the safety of Coldspar's shore. I clutch my necklace, watching as the water churns beneath us. The farther we go, the more anxious I feel. I don't know if it's the thought of crossing into a kingdom that could very well be my prison or the King's Blade's cold shoulder.

  He is your guard, not your friend. I remind myself.

  Pulling the history book from my cloak pocket and flipping it open, I force myself to focus. If Rael won't speak to me, then at least I can try to learn something on my own. My eyes scan the text, absorbing details about Varethian customs, noble houses, and—

  I pause, my gaze snagging on a passage about demons.

  Though many believe demons possess only brute strength, all of their kind hold varying degrees of magic. The lesser thrive on deception, using trickery and illusion to swindle humans, while higher demons—nobility—are capable of granting wishes. But these wishes are never without cost.

  Magic. The idea of it unsettles me having never dealt with such a possibility in Elyndria's magic-bare lands. I glance up at Rael standing near the bow, arms crossed, gaze locked on the snow-coated mountain peaks as the chilled breeze tousles his midnight hair.

  Has he ever granted a wish before?

  Could he?

  I gather my courage and close the book, crossing the boat to stand beside him. "Demons can use magic," I state over the wind, watching for his reaction.

  He remains staring ahead. "Yes."

  Not exactly an invitation to continue, but I press on. "To trick humans."

  A muscle in his jaw tenses as he grates out a curt, "sometimes."

  I grasp the opportunity, pushing further. "And noble demons... they can grant wishes?"

  His knuckles whiten against the dark railing. "The greater the desire, the greater the sacrifice."

  I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

  I frown. "Have you--"

  "I've never used magic." Rael's features remain stoney.

  "Never?"

  "Never."

  It doesn't make sense—how can he not have used it if all demons had magic? Does he mean he has never needed to, or that he can't?

  I hesitate before asking the next question. "Has the king used magic?"

  Silence.

  Rael doesn't look at me, nor does he speak. But his lack of an answer is an answer.

  Before I can decide whether to interrogate him further, the boat lurches as we reach the opposite shore.

  Varethia.

  The sky has dulled to a pale gray, the early morning sun hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. Mist lingers low over the ground, curling around the roots of gnarled trees that line the riverbank. Their dark silhouettes stretch upward, bare branches clawing at the sky. The air is cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and distant rain. Somewhere in the forest, a crow caws — a low, guttural sound that echoes across the water.

  I grip the railing tighter, the cold biting through my fingers as unease coils in my chest.

  There's no turning back now.