Chapter 18

"What will you do?" Cyra asked.

I wrapped my arms around my knees in the tub and curled my shoulders so she could wash my back. "What choice do I have? If I don't marry Ronan, I'll be…nothing, I guess."

She tsked as she scrubbed the cloth down my spine. "You would be you. Honestly, Liria, have you listened to me at all over the years? You don't need a man to give you worth." Her hand stilled. "What about Sigurn Brighthelm?"

My heart thumped. I kept my voice light. "What about him?"

"No way," she said, knee-walking to the front of the tub and staring me down. "You're not getting away with pretending nothing happened."

"Nothing happened."

She curled her fingers around the edge of the tub. "I will dump you on the floor."

Laughter bubbled in my throat. "I promise." Memories of his body pressed against mine invaded, but I stuffed them down even as heat prickled over my skin. "Yes, Sigurn is handsome?—"

"Are you joking? The man looks like a god. A wild, bearded god of…" She groped for a word?—

"Horny ladies-in-waiting?" I offered.

"I was going to say something like battle, but yours is more accurate. Every woman in the castle is talking about him. I've been turning ladies away from your door all afternoon. They want details."

As much as I needed to confide in Cyra, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Cyra loved me—and she would keep my secrets—but I wasn't sure she was ready to hear that I'd slept with two men on opposite sides of the Covenant.

Plus, my head was still spinning from Ronan's confession about my father. I'd spent the better part of my twenty-one years thinking I was entitled to the throne. But my whole life was a lie. My parents had lied to me. Ronan had lied to me—or at least hidden the truth. He'd kept me in the dark about quite a few things, like how he'd known Sigurn for ten years.

And Sigurn was just as bad. He'd had plenty of opportunities to tell me about his bond with Ronan. Yet he'd stayed silent.

"Do you know of him?" I'd asked.

"A bit."

Had Sigurn merely toyed with me this whole time? Maybe he'd lured me across the Covenant just so he could turn me over to Ronan. But that didn't explain why he'd fucked me.

On the other hand, did I really need an explanation for that? He'd done it because he wanted to. Because I'd been stupid enough to think I could win him over to my cause with sex. He'd probably had to fight back laughter as he thrust inside me.

Cyra waited, an expectant look on her face.

I shook my head. "It's like I told you before, I crossed the Covenant and met Sigurn. I thought he was going to help me, but then Ronan showed up."

Her playfulness fell away, and she lowered her voice. "So it's true what everyone is saying? Sigurn is frost-touched?"

"It's true." Any other time, Cyra would have been the one offering gossip. But she'd swooped into my chamber as soon as Ronan left, tears in her eyes as she apologized for not doing more to stop Ronan from taking the scepter. We both knew there was nothing she could have done. The way she told it, my father had died shortly after I fled the castle. Ronan had seized the scepter, walked the forest path to the tree line, and covered every tree in a layer of frost so thick it was unlikely to melt for years. Cyra had dispatched her message to Lord Ulred and then immediately sent another missive instructing him to disregard her plea for help.

Ronan's coup had taken all of ten minutes. So far, the lords of the Winter Council appeared to accept his rule. It was hard to argue with such an impressive display of power. Of course, now the castle buzzed with news of Sigurn Brighthelm's mismatched eyes and dreadraven tattoos. The Council was undoubtedly displeased to learn Winter's new king flouted the law.

Ten years.Had I ever truly known Ronan? Now that he'd taken the throne, would he continue to hunt the descendants of the men who killed his father? I knew the answer. Even if the nameless vow didn't bind him, Ronan wouldn't rest until he avenged Sylvar. He needed Sigurn to anchor him in Nordlinga. The Council might balk, but Ronan would prevail.

"Ronan is bold," I said. "I suppose that's a hallmark of kings."

Cyra offered a sad smile as she brushed a lock of wet hair off my shoulder. "Would it be so bad being his wife?"

"He took the scepter from me." I swallowed the impulse to tell her about my father speaking to Ronan in the Crypt. The wound was too raw. Possibly, it would never heal, and I'd keep that knowledge like a scar under my heart. If I kept it up, I was going to have as many secrets as Ronan.

Cyra straightened, her hands on the edge of the tub. "All right, so setting emotion aside, what can you gain from this marriage? If we're being practical, we have to admit you're unlikely to wrest the scepter from him."

I rested my chin on my knees. "I know."

"So that path to the throne is closed to you. But if you marry Ronan, you'll still be queen."

"That's almost exactly what he said."

"Ruling at his side is better than not ruling at all. And you're not exactly indifferent to him. Why not take pleasure and power where you can find it?" She raised her brows. "You could have ended up with Lord Velador. Imagine taking him into your bed every night."

"Now you really sound like Ronan." Although, not quite. Most married nobles have sex. They rarely fuck. I'm never going to have sex with you, Princess, but I will be fucking you. He'd pressed his erection between my thighs when he said it.

Without warning, Sigurn's raspy voice invaded my head. Beg me to fuck you. Ask me to spoil this sugary little pussy the way it deserves.

My intimate muscles clenched hard as indecent thoughts flooded me. Gods, I had no business thinking about either of them.

"I'll think about it," I told Cyra, pushing to my feet. She fetched the towel, then helped me dress and untangle my hair from my adventures across the Covenant. After she hugged me and left, I paced in front of the fire, one burning question swirling in my head.

What should I do?

Ronan was king, and that was unlikely to change. He had the scepter now. He was capable of using it. And I was unworthy. That was never going to change. If Ronan told the truth about speaking with my father—and his vow in the Old Language was pretty convincing proof that he did—I had never been worthy.

So why had my father spoken to me on his deathbed? He could have simply said goodbye or I love you or I'm sorry I ignored you from the moment you were born. Instead, he'd left me with a cryptic handful of words.

Sigurn.

Bond.

Scepter.

What did it mean? Probably nothing, and I should let it go. It wasn't like I could ask my father for clarification. He was dead. He was?—

I stopped pacing, my gaze shooting to the door. My father was dead, yes, but he wasn't buried. His body lay in the Crypt, along with the scepter and its condensed, shivering power. Maybe it wouldn't yield answers, but it was worth a try.

As I headed to the door, twin purposes filled me. Time to find out if my father had anything else to say.

And time to find out if Ronan told the truth about not holding me prisoner.

* * *

Minutes later,I had an answer to one of my questions. No one had attempted to stop me as I made my way through the castle. The few nobles I'd passed had shot me inquisitive looks, but they'd backed off as I offered polite nods and continued my brisk pace. I wasn't ready to speak to anyone just yet. Not until I decided what to do about Ronan's proposal.

Bursts of cold fire accompanied my descent into the Crypt. The torches flickered as I passed, the flames searing a slick path through the bits of hoarfrost that clung to the walls. Halfway down, a sense of unease drifted through me. I stopped, my skirts in one hand and my ears pricked for sounds. But there was nothing. No foul-mouthed, disrespectful guards. No Ronan. Swallowing against a dry throat, I continued downward and entered the Crypt.

My parents lay side by side. Any traces of their splendor were gone, their shriveled, gray bodies encased in brilliant robes woven from snowflakes spelled to never melt. My throat tightened as I stared at the people I'd never failed to disappoint. Light from the scepter fell over them, the blue fractals glinting among the ice.

A scuffling noise made me whip around.

Sigurn stepped from between two statues at the rear of the Crypt. He wore the same clothes, but his hair was damp and combed back in thick waves. His pale blue pupil was a sharp contrast to his brown eye—and a reminder that he worked for Ronan.

He raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"What are you doing down here?"

"I wanted to pay my respects." He nodded toward my parents' biers. "I didn't know King Haluven or Queen Maeve, of course, but they ruled for centuries. Every human knows their names. And I am elfkin."

Anger stiffened my shoulders. "How could I forget? I only need to look you in the eyes to remember." I gathered my skirts.

"Don't go," he said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. He lowered it, and his voice went raspy. "I never meant to hurt you, Liria."

"Well, you did," I snapped. "I'm not ashamed to admit it." My throat burned, but I swallowed the tears of humiliation that tried to rise. Our people don't weep. "I guess I can understand why you kept your bond with Ronan secret. What better way to curry his favor than to capture his runaway ward?"

"That was never my plan." A frustrated look passed over his face. "I don't expect you to believe me?—"

"Good, because I don't. You pretended to like me."

"Liria—"

"You fucked me," I growled, my tears evaporating. "And the whole time you intended to turn me over to him. You said my secrets were safe with you, remember? You vowed it. Now I know your vows mean nothing."

His mouth tightened. "That is not true. I had no idea Ronan was going to show up. It was foolish to stay at the cabin. I should have found another place for us away from the barrier. But I didn't know what to do or where to go. My kingdom is restless, and my mother's kin are squatting in my castle. I wasn't sure how I could possibly help you."

"You could have started by telling me the truth."

"And have you run from me immediately?" He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "Because that's exactly what would have happened. If I'm wrong, tell me now."

My heart pumped harder, each beat pounding in my head. Breathing was suddenly difficult, like someone had placed a weight on my chest. Cyra must have laced my gown too tightly.

I pressed a hand to my midsection. "You made me think you cared for me."

"Because I do." Sigurn took another step forward. "Gods, Liria, I want you so badly it hurts. You're so far above me, the idea of you giving me even a shred of your time is laughable. But you did. You spoke to me. Then you crossed the Covenant to meet me again. And I was addicted from the first second I saw you." He gestured to his chest, running his hand up and down the front of his jacket. "I'm torn up inside. Seeing your face at the river gutted me. I had every intention of meeting you at Castle Nordlinga. No matter what, I would have made it work. Instead, I let you down." An agonized sound broke from him. "Sweetheart, you have no idea how sorry I am about that."

The pounding in my head became a stabbing pain. A second later, the room tilted. I staggered sideways before I righted myself.

"Liria?"

Sigurn's voice seemed to come from far away. He went blurry before me. Spots danced in my vision.

"Liria, are you well?"

"I have to go," I said, my words rippling in my ears like waves after a stone is skipped over water. I moved toward the stairs, my legs suddenly heavy. When I spoke, my speech was slurred in my ears. "I don't know what you want from me, Sigurn, but you're unlikely to get it. In case you haven't noticed, I'm powerless here."

My vision darkened.

I had to get to the stairs. Had to get to Cyra. But the room began to spin. The statues of the Lords of Winter whirled around me, their solemn faces blurring into one. In the center of the chaos, the scepter shimmered steadily.

Pain lashed me, and I stumbled.

"Liria!"

Strong arms caught me just as the ground reared up.

Everything went black.