1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Aliya

Aliya Larimar's new husband, the king of Lions Grove and the human realm, planned to murder her tonight. Which explained why he'd had her locked in the castle's cruel joke of a "honeymoon suite" instead of allowing her downstairs to enjoy her own wedding reception. The room was small, stuffy, and barely large enough to qualify as servants' quarters.

The paper one of the maids had slipped her crinkled in her fist. Smoothing the wrinkles, she combed the hastily scrawled words for some bit of help beyond their warning.

He's going to kill you after the party, just like he killed his other three wives. They were mages, too.

Tearing the message to shreds, she tossed it in the hearth. The next fire would obliterate any evidence of the staff member's interference. Some faceless servant had literally risked her life to warn Aliya. For all the good it did.

She brushed her hands over her updo, taming the blonde ringlets that had fallen loose around her face.

The room's other occupant, a black cat sunning itself in the last of the afternoon's light, lounged on the windowsill. The feline judged her through a half-open eye as Aliya paced between the feather bed and the cold hearth. The hem of her wedding dress swished against the floor in a mockery of the day's events. The lace and corset itched as they chaffed her skin.

Rumor said he didn't plan to just kill her body, but to snuff out her soul by stealing her magic, as well. After he fulfilled his duty as host at the feast, of course. It would be such poor manners to do otherwise.

At least it bought her some time to escape from this whole sham of a forced marriage. She ran to the door and jiggled the knob and pounded her fist against the wall.

Still locked.

Not like it would have mattered—the king's guards were posted on the other side.

The cat's glare raised the hair on the back of her neck. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder.

Yet still it eyed her, its stare unwavering.

Her gut twisted.

She hadn't known King Malkov had a cat. Out of all the places in the castle, why was it up here with her?

She shook her head. Turning her attention away from the animal, she reached for the kernel of light at her core, scrunched her eyes closed and sent a wisp of power toward the guards.

Unlock the door and go away. Go away, go away, go away.

No click of the latch releasing greeted her efforts, nor retreating footsteps.

She sighed and curled her fingers into her palms until her nails left red crescent indents. Stupid worthless magic. All it ever caused was problems. It never actually fixed anything.

The cat's tail swished through the air, as if irritated she'd disturbed its nap. The feline rolled its eyes.

She shook her head. No. She must have imagined that. Attributing human expressions to animals…what would she come up with next? With a sigh, she glanced out the suite's window, trying to ignore her fuzzy roommate. The pane had no lock, but the sheer drop was deterrent enough. Her blood went cold at the sight. It wasn't so much that she was afraid of heights, more the fall and sudden stop at the end. Maybe she could use her magic to transport herself to the ground, instead.

Closing her eyes, she reached for the power within again. She imagined standing in the king's garden, dew from the grass dampening her shoes as she sent her magic toward the window.

The glass cracked as though hit by a cast iron skillet, a lightning-shaped fissure marred the clear surface. But her feet remained firmly planted on the stone.

The cat yowled as it leaped from the sill and scrambled under the bed.

"Blast it!" A tear crept down her cheek as her throat closed. She grabbed her curly locks with both hands and tugged, heedless of the fancy hairstyle. "Why can't you cooperate, the one time I need you," she croaked.

With a sigh of defeat, she collapsed to the floor.

Her power had never worked right—not the way it was supposed to. No matter how many dusty old grimoires she studied, or how many times she practiced. The only thing worse than being a magic user was being one who couldn't control their abilities. She covered her face with her hands.

She'd take up residence at the Mage College and the subsequent forced conscription to the army over this marriage any day.

Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten at all.

Hadn't been allowed to eat or drink.

Only her adoptive father knew she needed water for her strongest ability—the one magical skill she could control. Her shapeshifting.

She could change shape on a whim and was the only mage in the realm able to do so, as far as she knew. Conjuring other magic required concentration, clear intention, and composure. None of which she had, according to the so-called experts at the Mage College.

Each shift took several glasses of water, which, now that she thought about it, her father had kept her so busy she hadn't even noticed he'd been denying it to her for the last two days as he ferried her from luncheon to dinner to reception over and over. She'd gone through more formal gowns in the last week than she had in her entire life.

If she didn't have something to eat and drink soon, she was in real danger of fainting.

The cat slunk out from under the bed and settled back by the window. It curled into a ball, wrapped its tail over its face and closed its eyes, pointedly ignoring her.

Her throat swelled and burned as she tumbled onto the mattress. Her adoptive father's betrayal shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. It wasn't like they'd ever been close.

But married off to die ? Truly? She bit her lower lip and swallowed the sob, blinking the tears away before they could overflow. She wiped her nose and rolled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Mom…" But it was useless. Her adopted mother died long ago, and not even the most powerful mages in the realm could raise the dead.

Wiping the wetness from her cheeks, she moved to the window, running her hand absentmindedly down the cat's spine. The heat and silky fur through her fingers helped settle the churning in her stomach. "I don't suppose you know a way out of here?"

The cat blinked and shifted its position so she could scratch its lower back. It stared at her, then turned its attention outside.

Aliya cranked the broken pane open and studied the outdoors. Warmth from the sun's mocking gaze bled into her skin. A crisp spring breeze with the scent of fresh blooms swept into the room. Sprinkled across the noble quarter, the banners of the five great houses flapped in the wind—light blue Larimar, green Alinac, orange Castedrass, yellow Havenash and purple Macherall. The largest banner, red and black for the royal House Cerel, flew from the turrets high above, out of sight.

Opposite the standards for each of the highborn families, the decrepit rooftops of The Warren clawed at the sky, casting shadows on the extravagant gardens below.

She glanced at the cat and shook her head. "I don't think so. It's three stories straight down. And I haven't had enough water to be anything other than myself." The guards would catch her again in a heartbeat, which would only hasten her fate.

The cat's torso deflated in a perfect imitation of a human sigh.

The latch on the door clicked. Heart leaping into her throat, Aliya whirled as her adoptive father, Baron Larimar, stepped into the room. His sagging jowls trembled as he swayed with each step. Dark hair styled too long to be in fashion tumbled across his eyes.

The reek of wine tainted his breath.

Behind him, guards in red uniforms with the royal crest sewn in black on their shoulders pulled the door closed.

The baron threw his hands open wide. "Congratulations, Aliya. Was it that bad? Getting married? I told you it would be just fine. There was no need for such a scene beforehand."

She stalked to the far side of the room before whirling around and gesturing to the door. "Why am I up here instead of enjoying the party? I'm supposed to be one of the guests of honor, you know."

Her father's countenance darkened as he crossed his arms over his sizable gut. "Don't take that tone with me, young lady."

She scowled. "Or what? You'll hit me? In case you missed it, I'm queen now. Striking me is treason." She put her hands on her hips. "So is murdering me."

The baron sighed, running his hand through his hair, pulling it off his face. "I'm tired of this conversation." He stalked over to her. "A servant's whisper is not proof of some clandestine plot. You act like without your magic, we'll lose the war or something."

She clenched her fingers as heat flooded her face. His exaggeration of the drama wasn't helping things. "Doesn't it seem odd to you that I'm not attending my own wedding banquet? Eating and drinking with everyone else?"

"He's the king." Her father shrugged. "His word's law. Be happy, Aliya. With this marriage, you've paid me back for raising you. With his gifts in exchange for your hand, we can clear our family's debts and secure our political standing going forward."

She bared her teeth, his words an icy dagger in her chest. His gambling debts. Not theirs. "If Mother were still alive, she'd never allow you to get away with this."

He scowled as his face flushed. He raised his hand as though to strike her, then whirled away, storming to the far side of the room before turning. "Don't bring her into this. Don't you dare!"

She choked as her throat swelled. "When you adopted me, you swore to protect me!" Her voice wobbled and her eyes burned with a betraying wetness.

He ran to her and grabbed her chin, holding it tight. His nostrils flared and his eyes bulged as he stuck his face a finger's width from hers. "You are not my daughter, and you know that. You're not even human. I performed my duty, fed you, sheltered you. I didn't even pack you off to the Mage College when we realized you were one of them, even though it's the law. So now, it's time to pay the piper."

She spun away, out of his reach. "With my life?"

Her father's jaw tightened as he glared at her. Dropping his voice with a quick glance at the closed door, he hissed, "If you don't do this, we're ruined."

"No. You're ruined. Why should I suffer for your bad decisions?"

His eyes flashed. An ugly flush mottled his features as he grabbed her by the shoulders. "I can't control the wildfires that burn our fields, or the elves that raid our borders, killing our children and stealing our food. Your marriage guarantees us income and royal protection." He released her with a thrust of barely controlled violence and spun away, pacing toward the hearth. "It's not common knowledge yet, but the kingdom's reserves are strained. Soon, the king will have to be more selective in how he allocates resources. Your marriage ensures the Larimars won't be neglected."

Her heart crashed to the floor. She grabbed the bedpost to steady herself. "You truly don't care, do you? As long as you control Taldea Pass and the elves don't attack your lands, nothing else matters."

"Nothing else matters to our family. You're eighteen, and a married woman now. Behave as such." He turned and strode to the door. Resting his hand on the doorknob he spun to face her. "Don't make a fool of yourself or embarrass me, or what I'll do to you will be worse than anything your husband could." He yanked the door open and disappeared. The sharp click of the deadbolt locking into place followed.

Her blood heated as ribbons of magic danced through her veins.

She crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the mattress. Fabulous. So, she was supposed to just sit here and await her fate?

Forget that.

If she could just get out of this room and sneak into the kitchen for some water, she could lose herself among the rest of the wedding guests with no one the wiser, and no one would ever see her again.

A furry black body leapt onto the duvet. "Meow!" It pawed at her.

"What do you want?" She brushed it away. "Leave me alone. I'm trying to figure something out."

A soft paw swatted her. Hard.

"Hey!" She sat up, rubbing her head. "What?"

It peered at her for a heartbeat, then jumped to the floor and ran across the room to bat at a tapestry depicting hunters and a stag. It glanced back at her. "Mrow?"

On the other hand, maybe she'd been right about the cat having human emotions earlier. "Okay." She wiped her cheeks and heaved herself from the bed. "What is it, kitty?" She pulled the edge of the rich cloth aside.

A door stared back at her.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Surely, they wouldn't be stupid enough to put her in a room with an unlocked servant's entrance. Malkov was far too smart for that.

She worked her fingers into the narrow latch and tugged. The door slid sideways on well-oiled tracks.

A supply closet greeted her, filled with a broom, mop, extra firewood and…

A porcelain jar of water for the washbasin.

The servants must have stashed it where she wouldn't find it rather than pour it out the window. Less work for them to refill it later if they didn't empty it in the first place.

She laughed as she lunged for the vessel and poured the liquid down her throat. It flowed over the rim and spilled down her neck, soaking the front of her dress. Tension unfurled in her chest as her body absorbed every bit of the fluid.

She wiped the last drips from her chin and studied the cat. "How did you know what I needed?"

Quicksilver eyes blinked back at her.

Eyes that matched her own.

Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Another shapeshifter?

"Meow!" The animal ran past her to the open window. It leapt onto the windowsill and stared at her pointedly before disappearing out the other side.

"Wait!" She lunged after it. "You'll fall to your death!"

The cat was waiting for her, a mere arm's length below, perched precariously on a lip of stonework no wider than three fingers that she'd missed earlier.

It twitched its tail at her and nodded to her right.

She leaned out. The narrow ledge extended for approximately fifty paces, where a balcony jutted into open space.

An escape route.

If she could get there.

Her heart thumped against her ribs as her breath hitched. Dimming vision had her squeezing the edge of the window until her knuckles cracked. She shook her head. "No, I don't think I can. I don't like heights." The one time she'd changed into a bird and tried to fly had been disastrous.

The cat glared at her. "Come with me or stay and die. Your choice, child." The feminine voice had a depth that hinted at the cusp of middle age, and didn't sound at all feline.

Aliya gasped. "Who are you?"

It turned and took three steps toward the balcony, then glanced over its shoulder at her.

Aliya bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. The jump wouldn't be quite so challenging to land if she was smaller. She scrunched her eyes and imagined the small furry body of a kitten. The world went foggy as her muscles and bones rearranged themselves. When she opened her eyes again, long whiskers tickled her cheeks. Marmalade fur covered her oversized paws and her tail swished through the air.

Slipping out from beneath the frilly white gown that was far too big for her now, she took a few steps to get her footing as she toddled to the edge of the windowsill. Four feet were a lot harder to manage than two. Focusing only on the ledge itself, ignoring the drop below, much longer now that she was so tiny, she scrunched down, wiggled her behind, and jumped.

Her claws scrambled over the stone for purchase as she pushed herself firmly into the wall. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she panted.

The older cat nodded and twitched its whiskers.

She followed her rescuer onto the balcony and through a door they nudged open.

Her guide led her through a maze of hallways, significantly more intimidating now that she was a kitten. A myriad of new scents tantalized her nose that she itched to explore almost as much as she ached to be free of the walls and her new husband.

A loud sound boomed down the hall, reverberating through Aliya's skull. "Shadow!"

Aliya's bones chilled as the familiar voice raised the fur on her back. King Malkov stepped out of a room immediately in front of them. She froze.

The other cat meowed and wound itself around the king's ankles.

Aliya's stomach dropped to the ground. Shadow had betrayed her!

The tall man bent down and ran his fingers down the cat's back. The long-sleeved cuffs that had been pinned so tightly during the ceremony were open now, revealing muscular forearms and a tattoo of angular symbols that encircled his right wrist like an ancient bracelet. "What's this?" He turned to Aliya and reached for her. "You have a friend?" His grip was firm but soft as he stroked her fur.

She scrambled backward, hissing.

The older cat glared at her, a low growl rumbling in its throat.

She was making a scene—by refusing to let him pet her, she might reveal herself. Scrunching into as small of a ball as possible, she trembled beneath his touch as he ran his fingers over her a second time.

He shuffled forward until she was between his shoes. "No need to be scared, kitten. I won't hurt you. Any friend of Shadow's is a friend of mine."

The tattoo on his right arm glowed red, casting the entire hallway in russet light. Aliya's pulse thrashed past her ears. Her heart pounded against her ribs, spreading a paralyzing heat through her muscles.

With a curse, he leaped to his feet and spun in a circle, holding his wrist in front of him as he drew his sword with his off hand. "Guards! Guards!"

Footsteps thundered down the corridor.

Aliya crouched down and backed up until the space between Malkov's feet became too narrow for her to proceed. She was trapped.

As soon as the sentries came around the corner, Malkov yelled, "There's a mage nearby! But I can't tell where. Find them!"

His men surrounded him and fanned out, half going each direction down the hallway. Their swords caught the red light from the king's tattoo, reflecting it along the walls.

Her heart in her throat, Aliya dodged Malkov's feet as he strode off after them.

She nearly collapsed with relief.

As her breathing slowed, she swallowed. If the king had some way to detect mages, she couldn't stay here after all. She'd be discovered the next time she was within his presence.

Shadow merely lifted her tail in the air and continued in their original direction. Aliya scrambled to keep up.

Maybe the Mage College could help her? At least there, surrounded by other magic users, she wouldn't stick out. They were somewhere to the south, just outside of a town called Westcliff, if she remembered correctly.

The black cat led her confidently through the halls. Aliya tried to mirror her smooth swagger, but she was too distracted and quickly gave up.

She ached to question Shadow about so many things—who she was, why she was helping—but the grounds were too full of people, and talking cats would give them both away.

The other shapeshifter steered her past the king's garden to the main gate before turning and disappearing back into the crowd.

Aliya meowed. "Wait!"

Shadow didn't reappear.

With a sigh, Aliya looked left and right. At least the hard part was done—she was free. The streets were busy even this late in the evening, filled with lots of giant people and things deadly to kittens. But as long as she stayed out from underfoot, she should be able to make her way easily out of town, where she could change back into a human and get far away from here. A kitten wouldn't stand a chance of surviving the journey through the wilds to the Mage College.

But to be a humanoid, she'd need clothes. And money. She stared at Malkov's castle, then into the chaos of Lions Grove.

With one glance over her shoulder, she bounded into the crowd in search of the market.

Back in human form and clothed, Aliya held her breath and pushed the backwater inn's heavy door open with a grunt, ignoring the handwritten sign that proclaimed, "No Mages Allowed!" She'd shortened her blonde hair to halfway down her back and altered her bone structure and muscle tone to resemble a peasant, accustomed to hard work on a farm. The last touch had been a slight darkening her skin and adding a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheek bones. The chill of the early spring evening, and her thirst, finally forced her to seek shelter. Pipe smoke and heat from the hearth's fire blasted her face, along with the satisfied hum of men with full bellies and empty beer mugs.

Each patron in the tavern could use a haircut and a good bath. She glanced at her frock. To be fair, so could she. At least she was several miles away from the capital, and that much closer to the Mage College.

She kept her gaze down and hood up to hide her face as she slinked to the counter. Pulling out two silver pieces, she put them on the bar. "Dinner and a room, please?"

The innkeeper leaned over as his eyes traveled from her shoes to the top of her head. She pressed her lips together and jutted her chin out defiantly as she steeled her muscles against the urge to run.

The grizzled man spit on the floor. "One gold for room and board." His cracked brown teeth matched the wood counter.

Liar. She could read better than most. Pointing to the sign above him, she frowned. "One silver for a meal, one for a room."

He shook his head, a broad smile further exposing his poor dental hygiene. "Not tonight. Demand pushes the price up."

A few patrons farther down the bar chuckled. One of them sneered at her. "Hey, girlie. Yer welcome to share my room. We can work something out in trade."

She clenched her jaw. "No, thank you." She didn't have the luxury of making a scene haggling with this lowlife.

The coin in her outstretched hand disappeared faster than she could blink. "Top of the stairs, second door on the right." The bartender smirked. "Whenever you're ready." The innkeeper winked at the men who had laughed earlier and nodded toward her. Unkind smiles spread across the goons' faces.

She shuddered as she turned away. Ugh. Great. Did all women have to deal with this? She'd had enough trouble today. Hopefully her room had a deadbolt.

It was too bad she couldn't use her magic to turn the slime into a toad.

She walked to the lone table in the corner and sat, trying to disappear into the shadows. Her eyes danced from side to side, watching everyone in the room. Glancing down at her sky-blue cloak, the color of House Larimar, she cursed the instincts that had urged her to choose something familiar as she'd made her way through the market. She pulled the thin material around her with a shiver. The black wool one would've been warmer, and less conspicuous, but it had also cost twice as much. Slapping at her dirty skirt a few times, she sneezed at the grime it kicked up. At least completely covered in dust, there was zero chance of anyone assuming she was wealthy enough to travel by coach, and thus an easy mark.

Her gut twisted at the thought of the poor merchant whose purse she'd cut to acquire her funds. It was a meager amount, but she'd been desperate.

The barmaid brought Aliya a tankard of ale and a bowl of whatever passed for dinner and disappeared into the crowd. She downed the beverage too fast to taste it and jumped as someone dropped a mug. The world tilted sideways and she grabbed the table to avoid falling out of her chair. She took two deep breaths. She needed to be cool. Calm. Pretend this was customary, like she stayed at common inns all the time. And she needed more to drink. A lot more. Even though the ale tasted disgusting and made her head spin.

Her stomach growled. She brought a spoonful of the stew to her mouth, and nearly spat it back out. Watery, and whoever prepared it was way too fond of salt. Her father's hounds wouldn't touch this slop. She sighed. Still, it was better than nothing.

She should eat fast, so she could get out of sight before security came looking for her. Wrinkling her nose, she swallowed another mouthful.

At last, her bowl empty, she headed for the staircase to her room, being sure to give the other tables ample berth. According to the Larimar sentries, bar patrons were supposed to be grabby.

Hopefully the men at the Mage College were better behaved.

The tavern's door crashed open. She jumped and froze, her foot on the third step. Four guards appeared in the doorway, dressed in blue and silver.

The Larimars.

A strange man with a blood-red jewel held up in his hand and a black cloak with the royal seal stood among them.

All noise died as everyone tried to appear inconspicuous and not stare at the officers.

The gemstone flashed crimson, lighting up the room as though a silent thunderbolt had struck.

The kernel in Aliya's core that was her magic writhed, as if the gem was trying to draw it out of her very essence. Her knees went weak as the nugget fluttered like a spark before an explosion. A bitter taste arose in the back of her throat as she clamped down on the power as hard as she could.

This was wrong. Magic shouldn't behave this way.

The king's man turned and locked eyes with her. He lifted his hand and pointed. "There!"

A barrel-chested captain by the name of Hart scanned the crowd until he saw her. "Aliya Larimar!" He cleared his throat. "I mean, Aliya Cerel!"

She froze. Dang it.

Hart bellowed, "By the authority of your husband, King Malkov Cerel, you are ordered to return with us at once." He coughed and dropped his voice. "Your Majesty."

Nausea roiled in her gut as heat flooded her face. Of course her father was working with Malkov to bring her back. Influence over family.

In her peripheral vision, the bartender and his buddies paled. Warmth curled through her stomach at their discomfort before her attention snapped back to the strange man holding the glowing gem in front of her.

She couldn't run upstairs or she'd be trapped, and the soldiers would drag her right back down. The guards blocked her path to the windows and door. Her power stirred beneath her skin. Maybe an explosion by the hearth as a distraction? She took a deep breath then stopped. If she released her magic here, as unpredictable as it was, a lot of innocent bystanders would get hurt. And after changing shape twice today, she was still too dehydrated to do anything else.

One of the officers stalked over, grabbed her upper arm, and escorted her out of the tavern. She jerked a few times in his too-tight grip, but couldn't break free. Relaxing, she allowed him to muscle her around; at least until they were outside.

Dust and pebbles ground beneath her feet. The fresh scent of pine trees replaced the smoke and body odor.

Finally —she had space to move. Turning on the guard in the middle of the darkened street, she bit his hand.

He cursed and snatched his bloodied limb away. "What the hell?"

By the Seven Gods, please work!

She released the kernel of light in her core that blossomed and flowed to her fingertips. She pointed at the four guards. Bursts of fire erupted from her palms and flew toward the men. They screamed and dove away. The fireballs exploded in their midst with an ear-splitting shriek.

Razors shredded her eardrums. She slammed her hands over her ears, then pulled them away as the cry subsided, perplexed. The ringing in her skull remained, and blood coated her fingers.

Her throat tightened as she balled up her fists and squeezed. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't her stupid magic work right for once?

She glanced at the guards, lying prone on the ground, covering their own ears. One's cloak burst into flames and guilt sliced through her. But the men shouldn't be permanently damaged.

Hopefully.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She clenched her jaw and inhaled. No. They'd all made it clear whose side they were on, despite the fact that she'd grown up with most of them. Her father would buy his soldier a new uniform. No one could give her a new life.

She turned and sprinted toward the forest. In the dim lighting, she stepped into a rut and stumbled, wrenching her ankle. A sharp pain shot up her leg, matched by that in her palms as she slammed into the earth.

She cried out as the chance at freedom slipped away.

The guards were on her in an instant. Two grabbed her by the arms, hauled her up and shook her. Malkov's man stood off to the side, his arms crossed. The light from the tavern flashed off the jewel in his hand.

The closest of her father's men gaped at her with familiar green eyes. "What are you doing, Aliya? Let us bring you home." He gestured to the stranger in the royal colors. "Or would you rather the king's soldiers find you, instead? Don't make things worse for yourself."

She threw herself against him, trying to break his grip. "You don't understand. He really will kill me!"

Hart, the captain, rolled his eyes. "Quit being so dramatic. Why would His Majesty do that?"

She flinched and swallowed hard. Her throat burned with unshed tears. Why wouldn't anyone listen? "We grew up together! You know I'm not a liar, and I don't exaggerate!"

Hart paused and glanced away for a heartbeat. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "It's not that I don't believe you think that. But he's the king. Disobeying his orders will get me executed." He sighed and stepped back, shaking his head.

Her hopes rose.

Another guard pulled a strip of cloth from his belt and bound her wrists. "The ropes are infused with iron. Can't have you trying more magic on us."

Hart winced. "Sorry," he mouthed.

"No, stop!" She struggled as the guards dragged her back to town.