1. Hector

CHAPTER ONE

HECTOR

A fter being poisoned by my own people, my condition was improving.

It was thanks, in no small part, to settling with my brother and sister in the lands of the Hawk Clan of Nemeda, and in particular, Lady Rosaline's excellent cooking, which I had never once had reason to question the safety of.

Certainly, I was more cautious on the days that Paris helped her in the kitchen, but even then, I'd been forced to admit he had some skill at a stove that I never would've predicted.

Unfortunately, I'd begun to realize that I would never be sure if I was fully healed, or simply better compared to the wheezing, rotting thing I'd been when Paris had come home to find me in bed, hardly able to maintain consciousness long enough to plan our escape from Urial. I'd been so sick, unable to eat much at all, and on the path toward my own untimely demise. The only thing that'd kept me hanging on was knowing that Paris and Helena would be alone in the world then; I couldn't leave them.

The poison had buried deep in my chest. It had taken something from me, but I was half mad, questioning whether it was physical or mental, sure that I was weak but unclear on the manner of it.

Perhaps it was the shadow of merely knowing my own people wanted me dead that hung over me. Perhaps it was that I had left everything behind—everything that was mine and had promised me a future. And here I was, on the coast of Nemeda, watching my brother grasp his future in both hands.

Literally. He was smiling and chatting to the wedding guests and just then, he gripped Chief Brett's face in both hands and kissed him sweetly and I looked away, swallowing something bitter at the back of my throat.

Beside me, someone clicked their tongue. "Not pleased for the happy couple, are we?"

I turned to see a man with golden-brown hair, amber eyes, and a sharp, crooked nose. The Falcon.

"Don't be ridiculous." Though I smiled, I spoke through my teeth, which had far more to do with the man questioning me than either my brother or his husband. "Of course I'm happy for Paris. We should all be so lucky as to find such a loving, devoted partnership. I couldn't wish better for him."

Once, I feared he'd wind up the shadow behind Prince Tybalt's throne, forgotten and whispered about, undervalued and used.

Now, he was husband to a clan chief in Nemeda, far from the southern border wall and the war that raged beyond it, and assured the plenty that the Hawk Clan had to offer. Truly, I couldn't have found a better match if I'd scoured all of Urial myself.

And Paris had built this all on his own.

The Falcon's lips twitched, and he raised a second wine glass my way in offering. He might've meant it as an olive branch, but I was too tired to look for double meanings and far too thirsty to refuse him. I snatched the glass and drank deep, the wine like a balm for my frayed nerves, smoothing the edges of all my scattered worries.

"Well," the Falcon said, "I suppose there is some comfort in knowing your family is taken care of, isn't there?"

I snorted into my wine glass, taking another large sip.

Gods knew I'd done a terrible enough job of taking care of them.

Paris was little when his mother, my stepmother, had died. Helena had never even met her, at least not that she could remember. And Father? Well, he had his grief and his duty to the king and, frankly, the deflection of both to distract him. It had made him a sometimes-fun parent to both my siblings. He was quite keen to play with them and make them laugh.

But when it came to practical things, he preferred not to think too hard about them. A poor harvest? Mismanaged accounts? Those problems were mine to deal with, even at the tender age of thirteen.

I had always given myself credit for keeping the mechanism of my family working, but then Father had died. Within months, I lost everything—the land, our holdings, whatever wealth we'd had back in Urial. Almost all of it was left behind when we fled south for Nemeda, and it was only the generosity of strangers that had kept us housed and fed.

The reality that I was half as responsible, as pragmatic, as capable as I'd assumed myself to be had settled over me like a wet cloak, heavy and impossible to move.

For the first time, I had nothing to offer my family—no safety, no potential future, nothing. What we had, Paris had scrambled to bring together, working only with his own goodness and a heart that anyone would value. That Brett could see his worth—well, we should all be so lucky to find someone to love us, even when they saw the whole of us.

Helena and I had simply lucked out, that Brett was the sort of person who would open his doors to us when we were in need. I wasn't exactly surprised, given that my brother had fallen for him so thoroughly.

No, though my heart was strangely heavy, I was happy for my little brother, and the Falcon would not take that away from me.

It seemed, however, that he was determined to try.

"Though, I do wonder when our new Nemedan will serve his year on the wall," the Falcon mused.

My head snapped toward him. "What do you mean?"

When he looked my way, his eyes were wide, lids fluttering, feigning innocence. "Well, don't you know? Every Nemedan spends time fighting on the wall. It's how we earn our place here. You must've realized that this place isn't like Urial. We must all pull our weight."

My jaw ticked as I finished off the wine. There was no way in any hell that I would allow my little brother to be taken from his new family and made to fight.

But I did not trust the Falcon to tell me the truth of things, and there was Killian, who knew the matters of this war better than anyone. He'd tell me all I needed to know.

Luckily enough, he wasn't hard to spot. His long white hair, threaded with a thousand feathers, was impossible to miss. He stood out, shining and handsome, swathed in white and blue.

I'd not spoken to him since arriving in Heron lands. In fact, hadn't spoken to him since we'd settled with the Hawk and he had left to see to his people.

And here, now? Well, I wasn't avoiding him, precisely, simply the way my mouth went dry when I looked him. I'd meant to greet him eventually, perhaps after another glass of wine.

The Falcon had put me on edge, however, and I was after answers from lips I knew to be honest and honorable.

"Excuse me." I drained my glass and pressed it back on the Falcon before marking my target.

Just marching through the wedding guests and Nemedans simply in attendance for the clan meeting, my need for assurance was more urgent than the strange warmth that rushed beneath my skin when Killian met my eye and tipped his head.

If the slant of his lips made me pause mid step? It was only for a moment.