She put a dismayed hand to her mouth, but dashed inside. Her beady eyes peered through the window as Marai and Thora slowly approached her husband.

The man pointed a quivering finger at them. “If you so much as—”

“We won’t,” Marai snapped back.

“May I . . . have your hand, please, sir?” Thora asked in a trembling voice.

The man breathed in short, raspy breaths. Ever so slowly, he opened his palm to reveal a nasty, gaping slice. It was hardly visible beneath all the blood and torn flesh. Thora’s shaking fingers reached for his hand. The man yanked it back.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you. When I was blessed with these healing gifts, I swore I would never use them for harm. Please, I can help you.”

The man bit back a comment, glancing to Nyle and Elmar. He unfurled his fingers once again. At Thora’s gentle touch, he flinched, but held his hand in place. That same warm, blue magic seeped from Thora’s palms into his own. In seconds, the wound vanished, along with the blood. Color returned to the man’s pallid face. His jaw dropped as he flexed his fingers, removing his hand from Thora’s.

He avoided her eyes as he mumbled a curt thanks, then rushed back inside his cottage. Marai raised her head. The rest of the neighborhood, it seemed, had drawn in closer to watch. Wide eyes and whispers greeted her as Thora bit her lip again. One figure stepped out from the crowd.

“I . . . have a knee that twinges,” said Elmar.

Marai noticed Raife leaning against the doorway of his cottage, arms crossed, watching Thora and the humans.

Thora wasted no time. “I can help with that.” She gestured to a stump, and Elmar sat down, jutting out his left leg. Thora knelt and placed her hand over his kneecap. Again, healing light surrounded the guard’s knee, and in moments, he got to his feet.

“Incredible,” Elmar said with a smile. He bent his knee, back and forth. “The pain is gone!”

Louder murmurs traveled up and down the street. Elmar shook Thora’s hand, and she blushed from head to toe.

“We’ll soon have a line out the door,” Raife said, giving her a grin. Thora’s face flushed a deeper pink. Raife turned to Marai. “Can you take Leif to court with you? He can’t stand being cooped up in that cottage any longer. He’s unbearably irritating.”

“That doesn’t make me want to take him,” Marai said dryly. “What about you?”

Color bloomed on Raife’s freckled cheeks. “I think I’ll stay here with Thora today. And Kadi. So they can continue their work.”

The look that passed between Raife and Thora brought a sudden sadness to Marai. And envy. How glorious it would feel to be so self-aware. To be so in-love. They didn’t hide their affection from each other. Maybe they never acted on it, but at least they knew how they felt. Love shimmered between those glances like threads of magic, tethering them to each other.

Keshel marched out of the cottage, Leif and Aresti in tow. Thora stepped away from Raife, who pretended to pick dirt out from under his fingernails.

“Come,” Keshel said, sweeping past, long hair fanning out behind him, glossy in the sun’s rays.

Marai joined at the end of the pack, leaving Thora, Raife, and Kadiatu behind in the street. They hiked up to the castle, where Keshel and Marai dropped Leif and Aresti off at the training ring fence.

“Don’t stay out here too long,” Keshel warned them, “It’s going to rain.”

The sky at that moment was mostly sunny and the air pleasantly tepid. Birds whistled and chirped in the nearby barren trees. The sky didn’t exhibit signs of rain, but Keshel knew. Leif waved him off and settled into the court with Aresti.

Marai and Keshel parted ways in the entrance hall of the castle. He turned right into the Witenagemot chamber, while Marai headed upstairs to Ruenen’s private dining room. She spotted him in the hallway, staring up at a portrait of a young couple.

The handsome man stood behind a chair, where his wife sat demurely. At first, Marai thought the woman was Queen Larissa, but Ruenen stared at the painting in such a sad, wistful way that Marai knew it wasn’t her.

“I’ve walked past this portrait multiple times, and I only now realized who they are,” Ruenen said. His fingers traced the wooden frame, but dared not touch the canvas. His face betrayed a hunger and longing that made Marai’s throat constrict and burn. If anyone saw Ruenen next to this portrait, there would be no doubt as to who his father truly was. Lord Rehan had Ruenen’s eyes and strong jaw, and Marai bet that if the man had been posed smiling, he would’ve had dimples in his cheeks. Lady Morwenna was, indeed, nearly identical to her sister, Queen Larissa, but her hair was the chestnut shade of Ruenen’s.

He swallowed. “I would’ve liked to have known them. She wrote me letters. Dozens of them. I burned all the letters in Holfast’s chest, but not hers.”

Marai reached for his hand, but Mayestral rounded the corner and she hastily stuffed her hand in her dress pocket. Two guards appeared behind the Groom.

“Breakfast is ready, Your Highness,” Mayestral said with a bow, “and for Lady Marai, as well.”

“Your shadows are back again, I see,” Marai whispered as she and Ruenen followed Mayestral into the dining room, the guards a few paces behind.

Ruenen made a face. “Apparently, I’m not allowed to go anywhere on my own. I swear, Mayestral would come into the privy with me if I didn’t forbid it.”

Marai had to stop herself from laughing as Mayestral turned, bowing again, after pulling out Ruenen’s chair at the same four-person table. Eggs, breads, fragrant sausages and bacon, and buttered scones sat on gold platters. Coffee from Henig steamed in a pot next to a carafe of fruit juice.

“I shall be in the hall, Your Highness,” Mayestral said, oblivious to Ruenen’s comment. He exited the room, but the guards remained.

Ruenen grabbed two of everything in front of him. “I think this is my favorite part of being royal.”

Marai smiled, and started with coffee, a hard-boiled egg, and a piece of oat and seed bread.

“Sleep well?” Ruenen asked lightly, slicing up a juicy sausage. He stuck one in his mouth and moaned with delight.

“I slept on a bed of reeds,” Marai said, swiping a pad of butter across her bread. “I’m used to roughing it outdoors. I don’t mind.”

Ruenen chuckled, a low, warm sound that Marai felt in her chest. “You can always sleep here at the castle. Lirr knows we have the space, and you already have a room set aside.”

A glint in his eye made Marai think he wanted her to sleep at the castle. Marai didn’t answer. Instead, she salted her egg and tried to eat as politely as she could. With the guards watching, she felt strangely self-conscious. Did one use a fork to eat an egg? How do you peel it without making a mess? How many cups of coffee was deemed acceptable? Ruenen dispensed with all decorum and ate mostly with his hands, easing Marai’s anxiety slightly.

Upon finishing, Ruenen stood and stretched from side to side. “Ready to whip me into shape?”

Marai nodded, grateful to be outside and away from gold and marble, etiquette and standards.

Aresti and Leif were already sweating by the time Marai and Ruenen met them in the ring.

“Good of you to finally join us,” Leif said to Marai. “Did you dine on pheasant or truffles during your fancy breakfast at the castle?”

Marai ignored him. Ruenen discarded his coat and vest, plucking a sword from the weapons rack. Marai unsheathed Dimtoir and pointed it at him. A challenge. Ruenen smirked, devilishly, and his steel met her blade.

After the usual back and forth, Ruenen dropped his blade and caught Marai off-guard, grabbing her from behind. His strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her feet from the ground. She had no leverage to fight him off. There was nothing she could do. But instead of fear coursing through, Marai felt heat.

The nearness of him . . . his arms wrapped around her, not possessively, but playful. Ruenen’s clothes smelled of fire smoke mixed with the intoxicating clean scents of lavender and coffee.

Marai had the urge to lick the smell right off him.

Ruenen didn’t sense that shift in her as he laughed in her ear. He released his hold on her body, setting her back gently to the ground.

“You left yourself wide open. That’s the first time I’ve ever bested you.” His smile fell as he took in her expression. Marai hadn’t moved. She didn’t know what her face betrayed. “I’m sorry . . . I forgot you don’t like to be held. Or touched.”

Ruenen’s eyes flickered down to his hands.

“It’s fine,” she said. She wanted to trace a finger across his furrowed brow and erase the tension and concern. To speak and show affection with ease the way Thora and Raife did. “I’m fine.”