Keira was running.
The trees were twisted and black, their roots snarling like skeletal hands reaching out to grab her ankles. She was barefoot, the stone ground slicing into her soles, but she couldn't stop. Something or someone, was chasing her. She could feel the weight of their gaze on her back, sharp as a blade.
Then she was in the clearing.
Stone. An altar. She knew it even though she'd never seen it before. Pale and smooth like bone, the altar stood alone beneath a weeping willow that had long since died. Its branches were heavy with thorns.
And standing beside it was Prince Riven.
He was crying.
Real tears streaked his face as he raised a curved dagger, the edge gleaming with runes. His voice was low and trembling as he whispered, "I'm sorry."
She tried to scream. To move. But she couldn't. Invisible vines held her down. Then the dagger plunged into her chest, slow and sure. Her vision bled black around the edges.
Her last thought was his name.
"Riven—"
Keira gasped awake, sitting up so fast the world tilted.
Her sheets were damp. Her chest heaved. She pressed her hand to where the blade had entered in the dream, just between her ribs, but there was nothing but skin slick with sweat.
A pair of eyes stared at her from across the room.
Keira jumped.
It was Yvaine, standing still as a specter by the door.
"You were screaming," Yvaine said, her voice filled with concern. "Half the hallway heard it."
Keira swallowed, her throat raw. "I—I didn't mean to…"
"You're burning up," Yvaine interrupted, walking closer and peering down at her. "Get up. I think you need to eat something."
Keira rubbed her eyes and blinked blearily at the light beginning to slip through the windows. It had to be early morning.
"Come on," Yvaine said, already turning. "Let's go before they serve the scraps."
They walked in silence, passing other fae and human servants heading in the same direction.
The servants' hall, if one could even call it that, was a long chamber with rows of wooden benches and iron sconces flickering against damp stone walls. Unlike the grandeur of the royal dining hall, this place had no tapestries or golden dishes.
Just porridge, a bit of cheese, some kind of dried fruit that may have once been edible, and bread so hard it could kill a mouse.
Keira sat between two older human men who barely looked up as she joined. Yvaine disappeared further down the table. The food was warm, at least, and Keira was too hungry to care about taste. She took a bite of the bread and nearly cracked a tooth.
Then she heard it.
"She's dead," someone whispered.
Keira paused, spoon halfway to her lips.
"She had a mark on her neck," said a fae boy with golden skin and silver-tipped hair. "An ancient one apparently. The Lords recognized it."
Keira leaned in, her brows shooting up. "Who are you talking about?"
The boy glanced at her, then snorted. "Where have you been? Prince Riven killed one of the humans. A girl. Sera."
The name hit Keira like cold water and her eyes widened.
"What?"
"It happened yesterday," someone else added, a girl, human, gaunt. "They said she had a mark that reeked of bad omen."
The spoon dropped from Keira's fingers and clattered against the bowl.
Dead?
Her legs moved before her brain could. She stood abruptly, her wooden chair scraping harshly against the stone floor. Eyes turned. Yvaine walked up to her and reached for her wrist, whispering, "Keira! Wait—"
But Keira didn't wait.
She stormed past the rows of tables, the fae and humans staring in silent shock at her blatant disregard for decorum. Her fists clenched at her sides, her chest heaving. It couldn't be true. It shouldn't be true.
Sera.
The girl who once clung to her during the journey to this cursed palace. The one who laughed even when her voice trembled. Who braided Keira's hair and whispered nonsense to distract her from the terrifying fae lords with their too-sharp smiles.
They killed her.
Keira's vision blurred with hot, angry tears as she crossed into the High Ledge. She didn't knock. She didn't hesitate.
She shoved open the towering doors of Lord Aeren's chamber and stepped inside.
He was there, at his long desk, a silver quill in hand, his back to the high arched windows. His white hair fell loose over one shoulder, and diagrams lay sprawled across parchment. At the sound of the intrusion, he looked up sharply.
"What is the meaning of this?" he said, rising. His expression darkened before briefly widening in shock at the sight of her.
Keira was already crying.
"They killed her," she said, her voice breaking. "They killed Sera."
Aeren's eyes narrowed. "Close the door."
She didn't move. Her body shook with fury. "Why? Why would they do that? She was just a girl. Just...she didn't deserve that."
Her voice splintered into sobs.
Lord Aeren's eyes softened, just slightly, and he stepped forward. "Sit down."
"No!" she snapped, wiping her face with her sleeve. "Why do you act like this is normal? Do you not see what's wrong with this place? First you used us as your pawns for games. Then you.."
Aeren sharply interrupted her, his breathing harsh and fast. "Watch your tongue. You know nothing of the politics you speak of."
"I don't need to!" she cried. "She's dead! She had a name. A soul. She was a fool and was childish, but she told me jokes to stop me from being scared and, and now she's just gone. Because of what? Some old mark?"
Without warning, Aeren closed the distance between them in a single step. He reached out, catching her face gently in his hands. His touch was hesitant at first, fingers trembling slightly, like he didn't trust himself.
His palms were warm, surprisingly gentle for someone with such a cold, closed-off presence.
Keira froze.
Her breath caught in her throat as her body stiffened under the weight of his gaze. The fury that had brought her here, the tears that had been falling like rain, they paused, caught in the strange stillness between them.