Kiera's POV
Lord Silvercrest's smile makes me want to break things.
"Sit," he says again, gesturing to the chair across from his son.
I stay standing. "I'd rather eat glass."
"That can be arranged." His voice stays pleasant, but his eyes go dead. "Or you could sit, listen to our offer, and possibly walk out of this prison alive. Your choice."
Behind me, Marcus clears his throat. "Miss Ashwind. Please."
Something in his tone makes me look back. He's not threatening. He's... worried? For me?
I sink into the chair, shackles clinking. Davian watches me with those cold silver eyes, his face showing nothing. How does someone look so perfect and so empty at the same time?
Lord Silvercrest moves to the window. Outside, the purple crack in the sky pulses like a wound. "Tell me, Miss Ashwind. What do you know about Skyhearts?"
"They keep the city floating," I say through gritted teeth. "And you blame us Windborn when they fail, even though it's your corruption killing them."
"Interesting theory." He turns back. "Here's a fact: three Skyhearts have failed in the past six months. At this rate, Aethercrest will fall from the sky in less than three months. Everyone—aristocrat and Windborn alike—will die."
My stomach drops. Three months? That can't be right. The news never said—
"We don't broadcast that information," Davian says quietly, like he's reading my mind. "Panic would destroy the city faster than falling."
"Why tell me?"
Lord Silvercrest leans against the desk. "Because ancient texts suggest that Windborn and Skyborn working together through a bonding ritual might stabilize the cores. We need someone with specific... markers. Genetic compatibility." He pauses. "You're the only prisoner who qualifies."
I laugh. Can't help it. The sound comes out harsh and broken. "You murdered my brother. Locked me up for two years. And now you want my help saving your precious city?"
"Not just our city," Davian says. His voice stays flat, but something flickers in his eyes. "Your people live here too. Your friends. Everyone you know."
"Don't pretend you care about Windborn lives."
"I don't." Lord Silvercrest's honesty is almost refreshing. "But I do care about my city surviving. Which brings us to the proposal."
He nods to Davian, who reaches into his jacket and pulls out a document. Slides it across the desk.
I don't touch it. "What is it?"
"An engagement contract," Davian says. "Between you and me."
The world tilts sideways.
"You're insane," I whisper.
"The ritual requires a bonded pair," Lord Silvercrest explains. "Windborn and Skyborn in perfect harmony. Marriage creates the strongest bond according to the texts. It doesn't have to be real—just legal. You'll live at the Silvercrest estate, attend necessary functions, and assist Davian with his research into stabilizing the Skyhearts."
"And if I refuse?"
Silence.
Then Davian says, very quietly, "They'll execute Sera Nightwind at dawn."
The name hits me like a fist to the chest.
Sera. My best friend. The girl who taught me to fly properly when we were kids. Who smuggled food to my family when things got bad. Who got arrested three months ago trying to break me out of this hellhole.
I thought they'd let her go. Thought she'd be safe.
"You're lying."
Lord Silvercrest pulls out a tablet, taps the screen, and turns it toward me.
The video shows a cell. Sera sits on a cot, knees pulled to her chest. Her left wing hangs at a wrong angle—broken. Her face is bruised purple and yellow.
But she's alive.
"This was recorded an hour ago," Lord Silvercrest says. "Cooperate, and she receives a full pardon along with you. Refuse..." He lets the sentence hang.
My hands curl into fists. The shackles bite into my wrists but I barely feel it. "How do I know you won't kill her anyway?"
"You don't." Davian's bluntness surprises me. "But my father always honors his contracts. It's the one thing you can trust about him."
Something in his voice makes me look at him—really look. His face stays blank, but his jaw's tight. His hands rest on the desk, completely still, like he's forcing them not to move.
He hates this too.
The thought catches me off guard. I expected a monster. Expected someone who'd enjoy watching me squirm. But Davian Silvercrest looks like he's swallowed poison and is trying not to show it.
"The ritual," I say slowly. "What does it actually involve?"
"We don't know yet." Davian pulls out another document covered in symbols I don't recognize. "The texts are fragmentary. Ancient Skyweaver language. It will take time to translate and understand."
Skyweaver. The word sends ice down my spine. My mother used to whisper stories about Skyweavers—people who could bend the sky itself. The aristocrats hunted them down centuries ago, called them dangerous.
Called them what they call all powerful Windborn: savages who needed to be controlled.
"One hour," Lord Silvercrest says, checking his watch. "That's how long you have to decide. Sign the contract and save your friend, or refuse and watch her die." He moves toward the door. "Davian will answer any questions. I suggest you choose wisely."
He leaves. The guards follow. The door clicks shut.
It's just me and Davian Silvercrest. The man whose research gave the Council justification to execute my brother. The man I've hated for two years.
My future husband.
"I know what you're thinking," Davian says quietly.
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know my research was used to kill your brother. I know you have every reason to hate me. I know this situation is impossible." He finally looks away from me, staring at his hands. "I know you're wondering if you can kill me once we're married and escape."
My breath catches. That's exactly what I was thinking.
He meets my eyes again. "You probably can. I'm not a fighter. You are." His voice drops lower. "But before you decide, you should know something about Finn's execution."
My heart stops. "Don't you dare—"
"My research proved Windborn weren't contaminating the Skyhearts. Someone altered my findings before they reached the Council. Someone wanted your people blamed." His silver eyes burn into mine. "I've been trying to find out who for two years. And I think I'm close."
The room spins.
"You're lying."
"I wish I was." He slides a folder across the desk. "This is everything I've found. Read it or don't. But if you want the truth about why your brother really died, you'll have to trust me long enough to find it together."
I stare at the folder like it might explode.
Outside, another Skyheart fails. The entire building shakes. Somewhere in the distance, people scream.
Davian stands. "Fifty-eight minutes left. I'll give you privacy to think."
He walks toward the door.
"Wait," I hear myself say. "If I agree... can I see Sera? Before I sign?"
He pauses, hand on the doorknob. For the first time, his mask cracks. Something almost like sympathy crosses his face.
"I'll arrange it."
The door closes behind him.
I'm alone with the contract, the folder full of secrets, and a choice that will either save my best friend or destroy whatever's left of my soul.
My hands shake as I reach for the folder.
Inside, clipped to the first page, is a photograph.
It shows Finn. Alive. Smiling. Standing next to someone whose face has been burned out of the picture.
On the back, in handwriting I don't recognize: He knew too much. You're next.