I sit curled up in the Foundress’s sitting room, clutching another of her library’s books, and stare at the pages. My cheeks have been flushed all morning and they still feel hot. I’ve been asked twice if I’m feeling alright.

  I feel amazing. I made a demand. And even though Abel hadn’t wanted to agree, he had. I’d won. It felt… it still feels so… exhilarating.

  I close my eyes and revel in the way my stomach flips at the thought of it. The way he’d stood so close with his strong, angular jaw and forest-green eyes. Imagining that moment over and over again makes for the perfect distraction from the disaster of my real life.

  Taron bursts into the room in a tightly fitted maroon tailcoat, a silver-thread embroidered waistcoat, and fitted black trousers that make his lanky legs extremely long and lean. “Get up! We’re going out!”

  I drop the book. “I beg your pardon? Out?” I planned on retiring at the earliest possible hour to rest up for my night with Abel tomorrow.

  Taron tugs at his left cuff and adjusts one of his many pocket watch chains. “Of course. Arthur Vale is throwing me a little coming home party and I simply cannot show up by myself. Not when I have two beautiful young women staying in my home.”

  Lilianna breezes in, dressed in a flowing pink chiffon—one of mine that she has exquisitely tailored herself. “What are you doing just sitting here? You’re not even dressed yet!”

  Oh, Skies. They’re serious. Will the Prince be there? “I’m not sure if—”

  “Nonsense! I am Taron Privett, Founder Lord, and I declare that you shall accompany me tonight and you shall have a golden time of it.” He winks.

  A smile tugs my mouth. His energy is too contagious to resist and it’s not like I can explain why not. The Prince will be there, I just know it.

  Well, too bad for me. I pick up my book and slap it on the side table. No more fear. This is my life and I cannot cow away and hide forever. Here is a Founder Lord demanding my company—and I need a Founder Lord for a husband.

  “If you insist, who am I to deny you?” I force my smile true.

  A wicked grin lights Taron’s face. If he sees my reservation, his mask is as good as mine. “I insist.”

  The Vale manor house perches atop a hill surrounded by acres of pristine landscaping. Gates and iron fences lined by thick hedges separate the estate entirely from its surrounding peasant village, farmland, and distilleries we passed on the way. It feels like entering a different world.

  Servants clad in crisp white uniforms—not shabby, patched, collarless shirts and canvas trousers—help us from Taron’s carriage and guide us to the manor’s drawing room where other partygoers have already coalesced. Every window and set of balcony doors lay open and servants wave giant fans to circulate the air.

  The Vale estate’s level of extravagance is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before—second only to the palace and far more lavish than Venon’s. I never realized before how wide the spectrum of wealth spreads, even amongst the Founders. I’d always assumed Venon’s rumored debts left them only marginally less wealthy than the other lords. A temporary struggle. Clearly they’ve been struggling a long time if this is the level of wealth the other Lords possess.

  That treasonous little book’s words echo in my head, Venons will forever be the shadow of the Kingdom.

  Taron leads us further into the room as if he owns the place, head up and chest out. The din turns into whoops and cheers. But I don’t miss the glances between Taron and me, the raised brows, the not-so-subtle whispers.

  Prince Emory stands by an open window on one side of the room, sipping from an amber glass. He chokes when his gaze falls upon me and his brows descend into hostile bitterness.

  Nicoletta, Janine, Francesca, and a few other noblewomen cluster around him, plucking sweets off a passing serving tray and eying me behind their decorative handheld fans.

  “Taron!” Arthur Vale bursts from the thick of the guests and strides up to us, smoke trailing behind him from the cigar between his fingers. “You made it! And look at you! True Taron fashion, a beautiful lady on either arm. You make the rest of us look like dogs.”

  Taron grins and claps Vale on the shoulder. “Good to see you again, Arthur.”

  Vale moves as if to embrace Taron, but at the last second, he whips a dagger from his hip and thrusts it upon Taron’s chest.

  I jerk forward, too slow, always too late.

  The tip of the dagger slams into Taron’s chest with a shriek like nails against metal and the blade snaps in half.

  Lilianna screams.

  Arthur lets out a booming laugh and tosses the broken dagger’s hilt aside. “Ah! That never gets old. The lone Lord among us! Honestly, am I supposed to simply let you walk amongst the rest of us mortal chaps? Pish! Glory to the Lords!”

  Taren feigns irritation and pats the new tear over his left breast that now exposes a sliver of sparkling wyvermail-clad skin. “Really, must you keep putting holes in my best coats?”

  The crowd laughs, as if this is a cute joke they’ve witnessed countless times before. My heart still pounds in my chest. Skies Above, who stabs their friend as part of a welcome home greeting?

  “And somehow you still haven’t learned to not wear your favorite things around me,” Heir Vale says and embraces Taron. Then he draws back and turns to the other guests. “The man of the hour has arrived! Someone fetch him a drink. A cigar! Come, Taron, I’ll get it for you myself, my dear friend. Whiskey still?”

  “Right you are there, Arty-boy,” Taron says, and gives my hand a squeeze. “I must know all the latest. I leave for six months and come back to women all over my home!”

  Arthur Vale laughs, but shoots me a side-long glance as he pours amber liquid from a crystal bottle into an empty glass. “If only we could all be so lucky. Have you quenched your wanderlust yet, or are we to expect your disappearance within the week, like last time?”

  Taron accepts the glass. “It’s hard to say, but my mother insists I stay at least ‘til summer’s end. There’s nothing quite like summer in Kheovaria, so what can I do but oblige? And the house isn’t so drab with guests.” He smiles fondly at me and Lilianna in turn. Even so, his gaze flicks to Arthur in between, as if to gauge the man’s reaction.

  Perhaps Arthur is poorly practiced at hiding his tells—or perhaps the prestige of his title makes it unnecessary—as his expression slips into a frown. “I can imagine,” he says carefully, as if the subject is a dangerous one.

  My gut churns. He’s heard—something, at least. Maybe not the details, but I can feel it. His expression, the way everyone in this room is not just watching us, but me specifically.

  Taron sips his drink. “Ah, I’ve not had whiskey like this since I left. They don’t make it the same in Pachuate. Surely I’ll have to bring at least two extra cases when I return. Now, do tell me everything I’ve missed.”

  Heir Vale eyes me again. “I’m afraid the biggest news is unlikely to be fresh to your ears.”

  I smooth my hand over the front of my dress, a delicate pale green number with off-the-shoulder straps, a high back, and lace cutouts down the sides that reveal the shimmer of gold down my waist and the outsides of my legs. I angle my face away as if his words mean nothing.

  “Well, we have had two wyvern attacks in the past few weeks and more than a handful of sightings outside of that,” Heir Vale goes on. “None in over a year and now this cluster? Not sure what they’re on about. Hardly alarming for you, I’m sure, since Pachuate sees their fair share of attacks. Oh, and there’s been much… activity lately, of the renegade kind, but I hesitate to bring it up, given how Em,”—Arthur lowers his voice and jerks his head towards the Prince—“starts spouting off about it at every opportunity. I’m afraid we’re all right sick of it, but what can be done?”

  A servant appears with a tray of champagne flutes. I snatch one and take an eager swallow. Lilianna takes one also and uses it as an opportunity to position herself beside Arthur Vale with a toss of her hair over her shoulder.

  Vale affords her only a passing glance and that hurts worse than anything. Just a few weeks ago, he’d been pleasant and friendly with her. Now he’s cold, as if she doesn’t matter. As if my significance no longer casts my stepsister in a desirable light. Arthur’s attention is all she’s ever wanted and the scrambled confusion playing across her face nearly breaks me. This is what I’ve done.

  “Interesting.” Taron lightly punches Arthur on the shoulder. “No little ‘Arthur juniors’ since I left?”

  Arthur laughs. “Dear lords, no! There were a few close calls—you know how it is. But nothing that hasn’t been taken care of.” His gaze tracks a passing server’s bosom. “Now, I must tell you, Taron, my private selection has improved since you were last here. I welcome you to indulge if you’re not otherwise… preoccupied.” Arthur glances between me and Lilianna.

  My stomach roils over on itself and it takes everything in me to keep my face neutral. Even Lilianna’s cheeks flush. Maybe I’ve done her a favor.

  Taron tips his glass to Arthur. “Generous as always and I am always the spoilsport to decline.”

  I let out a breath. I hadn’t realized how badly I’d wanted Taron to differ from that vileness until he refused. Skies, had Taron even asked the question to show us Vale’s character? Had he seen Lilianna’s flustered disappointment at being ignored by Arthur? I want to believe it true.

  “Oh, look, Laurence Gosfeld has graced us. Come with me, Taron. I did hear something about an attack on Gosfeld lands just last night. I’m sure he’ll have something of interest to say. But do beware of Em,” Arthur claps Taron on the shoulder and hurries past him towards the entry of the sitting room. “Lawrence! You slagger, you’re late!”

  Taron glances around the room in Arthur’s wake, then his eyes drop to mine and his eyebrow raises. The general mood of the room and Arthur’s coldness is apparently not lost on him. “Forgive my leave, ladies. I’ll just be a few minutes. I do believe there’s an assortment of chocolates over there and, while the Vales are most known for their whiskey, their liquor-filled chocolates aren’t to be missed.” He gives my elbow a squeeze and follows after Arthur.

  Lilianna swings fiery eyes upon me. “What have you done?” Her voice comes out a taut hiss. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

  I suck in a breath. “For Sky’s sake, not here, Lily.”

  Lilianna’s gaze sweeps the room, clearly noting that, though much of the hum of conversations have resumed, every eye still trains on us. Her lips press into a thin line that looks so much like Clara’s. She gives a curt nod, smooths her face into a pleasant smile, and strides off to the dessert table.

  I square my shoulders, neutralize my own expression, and draw in a deep breath. No sense in panicking about it. I have to survive this night and I’m here with purpose: to find an alternate candidate for marriage. Best to get to work.

  I nod to a cluster of nobles, the young Kevy Graff among them. They avert their gazes and act as if they haven’t seen me.

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  I press on. Maybe an extremely wealthy upper noble can afford enough of a guard to convince the King? Each cluster of nobility I near turns away just as I reach them, their conversations suddenly enrapturing.

  “Unemployment rates are too high, it’s starting to cause problems in the city,” one of them says.

  “Yes, the peasants keep fucking like rabbits. Can’t afford the kids they have, it’s ridiculous.”

  I struggle not to flinch. Contraceptive teas are expensive. Not something the average peasant can afford.

  I scan the room. I am truly a fawn against the wolves. I can’t possibly find an alternate match if no one will speak to me. Vale has clearly already turned his back. Perhaps my only remaining option is Taron? I like him plenty, so far, but his mother was very clear about his disinclination for marriage. Perhaps I can convince him otherwise… yet the idea of trying to manipulate Taron leaves me sick to my stomach.

  I should have kept my head, tolerated the Prince. The Wyvern Bell would have saved me and everything would’ve been fine. I could’ve gradually withdrawn without harming his pride. This must be what happens when a woman refuses royalty. Do not disobey. Do not defy.

  Lilianna stands alone by the desert table, casting a wary gaze around at all the guests pointedly turned away from her.

  Fury, hot and burning, ignites deep in my core. I can endure insults, I can endure cruelty. But my family cannot afford excommunication.

  I slam my shoulders back and lift my chin. I’m a gold-marked. I will not be cowed. If they think they can just shuffle their little groups around to avoid me and my stepsister, well, I can play that game too.

  I cross to the opposite side of the group of women now clustered at one end of the dessert table, and use Lilianna on the other side to unwittingly fence them in.

  Nicoletta looks up as I approach. A sinister smile spreads across the woman’s lips. Leave it to Nicoletta to rise to a challenge. Her mistake.

  “Good evening, ladies,” I say with a curtsy so shallow it borderlines on rude.

  “Lady Aubrey,” Nicoletta says, her predatory gazed fixed and narrowed.

  Janine echoes a curt greeting and averts her eyes—clearly with the program.

  “Nicoletta, how are your family’s crops fairing in this heat? It’s unusual so early in the summer, is it not?”

  Nicoletta takes my bait. “They are doing very well. We are always prepared for anything.”

  “What good fortune,” I say brightly and I don’t even have to force my smile. I’ve won. Nicoletta has engaged, broken a silence no one else has dared cross.

  Janine coughs and nudges Nicoletta with her elbow.

  Nicoletta glances at Janine, then her gaze sweeps the watching room. She raises a brow and her lips twitch. I swear she almost looks impressed. “I’m surprised to even see you here. I’d have thought you’d run back to your own little hovel of a farm by now.”

  It’s hardly an insult by Nicoletta’s standards—is she throwing me a bone here? “Not yet.” I say and feign sudden notice of Lilianna. “Ah, Lilianna, join us. You’ve met my stepsister, haven’t you, Nicoletta?”

  Lilianna hurries over, tucking her long, dark brown curls behind her ears. She does not stand like me. She’s not endured ridicule publicly before, only privately. I tap my fingertips on her lower spine and she snaps straight.

  “Good evening,” Liliana says, dipping in a far more courteous curtsy than I’d done.

  Nicoletta inclines her head and shifts her jaw, as if she’s chewing her words. The corners of her mouth still twitch slightly upwards, as if she’s fighting amusement at this whole mess. I wish I could be so cavalier.

  “Ladies!” a loud, gloriously familiar voice calls out. Taron approaches, his arms spread, a full-again glass of whiskey in one of his outstretched hands. “You’re all looking ravishing, as always. You’ve all met this pretty gold thing, haven’t you? My mother went and kidnapped her while I was away, trying to get me married, that old bag.”

  Janine stifles a giggle. Lilianna barks out a nervous laugh.

  “Come, deario.” Taron takes my hand and tucks it on his arm with his wickedest grin. “It’s my party and I simply insist upon having the goldest on my arm tonight.”

  I flash him my most dazzling smile. “Of course, my Lord. Ladies.” I nod to the other women and lock eyes with Nicoletta for one fantastically smug heartbeat. I catch Lilianna’s eye next and jerk my head for her to follow.

  Surprisingly, Lilianna raises a hand and nods for me to go on without her. Maybe Lily can hold her own, after all.

  Taron guides me across the room, waving and shouting jokes to everyone we pass, commanding the attention of each guest in a starkly different fashion than I had moments ago.

  This. This must be why he travels. Why he works as a foreign diplomat. He so easily controls the room with his smile and an expressive flick of his hand.

  He leads me out onto one of the balconies off the main room and closes the doors behind us. This one overlooks the cliffs and the ocean beyond them. I’ve never seen the ocean before and as much as I know this is a critical opportunity for me to turn charms on Taron, I cannot tear my gaze from the flickering reflection of the moon on distant, undulating darkness. I wish I could see it closer, see all its details.

  “Well, you’ve sure made a mess of things,” Taron says, coming to lean on the railing beside me. “Don’t suppose you can imagine the conversation I’ve just had with your fair prince, hm?”

  I blanch and tear myself from the distant ocean view. I can imagine a lot of things Emory might say about me. My pulse rate rises. I should have warned Taron. He staked his reputation with mine by appearing here with me. As a guest in his home, I never should have let him walk into this blind.

  Taron rests his forearms on the railing and speaks out into the night. “He asked me to be cold to you. He can’t ask me to turn you out, his father would skin us both for something like that. But he’d like me to.” He sighs.

  I clasp my hands together to hide their trembling. The disgrace of such a thing would destroy my reputation—my father’s, too. “I sincerely apologize for any action I’ve made that’s put you in this position.” Perhaps I should drop to my knees and beg him not to turn us out. But how can I even ask him to defy the very man who’d one day hold the Wyvernblade? The one thing that can slay Taron in an eye-blink?

  Taron lets out another long breath. “Well, the real problem here is your chance at any of the others is shot now, eh?”

  I blink, unsure how the conversation has moved in this direction.

  He straightens abruptly and levels a serious look upon me. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  My mouth falls open. This man… how… he cares? “No, he didn’t—it never got that far.”

  Taron settles his low back against the rail and gives a sharp nod. “Good, he didn’t describe it as such, but dear-ol’ Emmy has never been especially accurate with his recollections. You’re sure you’re alright?”

  I nod and warmth blooms in my chest. He’s… the first person who’s asked after my wellbeing. Not once, but twice now.

  “Well, then, I suppose we’ll have to see how things pan out. I’ll work on him. He’s probably just hot-headed about it. With any luck, this’ll all blow over in a few days. And, thus far, Maurus’s offer is still on the table—I asked Maurus about it. I don’t know if Emmy even knows about that. It’s not something he’d think to ask and Maurus isn’t announcing it.” He gives a little shrug. “It’s kind of popular just now to not announce it, so that doesn’t mean much—What is it?”

  I startle—he’d caught me staring. “You’re not going to turn me out?”

  Taron scoffs. “Of course not. Told Em that too. Not in my nature. It’s why I do what I do and why I can do it. I make friends, Aubrey, not enemies. Wherever I go, that’s my goal. And you, my gold-marked girl, are the kind of person I like to be friends with. Gold girls go places no other can. Besides, I like you.”

  My heart does this awful squeezing thing, hurting and swelling at the same time. He’d stuck his neck out for me. I can’t recall anyone doing that for me before. Except Farnell. Farnell might’ve died for me. Tears prick my eyes and I frantically blink them away. “Thank you.”

  Taron shrugs, as if his actions aren’t threatening his don’t-make-enemies goal. “Em and I are going hunting tomorrow. I’ll work on him then. I take you don’t want him, correct? That I should be convincing him to let you go to another? Maurus?”

  I swallow, my throat dry and painful. Slowly, I shake my head. “I can’t say I’m inclined towards Maurus either. I’m sorry, I’m hopeless.”

  He laughs. “Thank the Skies, Maurus is an asshole. But therein lies your problem. You’ll simply have to marry me.” He drops me that devilish smile.

  There goes that awful heart squeeze thing again. Though I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

  His smile lights his eyes. “It’s something to consider, truly. I’ve never fancied myself a wife, but I suppose I’ll have to take on the pretense one of these days. Why not now? You’d never have children, unless you procure them yourself—no offense, you’re lovely, but simply not my type. It’d be a business arrangement—if Em will ever agree. At the moment, he’s of the opinion it’s him or no one.”

  “I… that’s so generous of you.” And it would solve all my problems. Tension lightens within me at the offer, but, somehow… despite all the times I’ve told myself I can’t afford love or romance, I still expected… I suppose I expected to feel more.

  He drums his fingers on the rail. “It’s a tricky situation. Your mother chose a peasant-born and what a scandal that’d been. Not that anyone could openly speak about it because William was the King’s closest friend. But it helped that everyone saw, right from the beginning, that she had eyes only for your father, even though she was supposed to go to Giraldus. The King is supposed to get the goldest Gold, you see.” He taps me on the nose and smiles again, but it’s a gentle smile, almost a sorrowful one.

  I do see. This is why Clara’s had such high hopes for me.

  “But that’s the problem, right? You aren’t choosing someone else, you’re choosing not him. A very private romance with Maurus would be almost too easy to paint. I, on the other hand, have unfortunately arrived too late to be your love since you refused him before you met me. That leaves us with Arthur Vale, who we’ve already seen hasn’t the spine to stand up to Emmy, at least not yet. Rael, if that bastard would ever show up to anything these days, I’ll have to pay him a visit. And Kevy, who is far too young for you. Not ideal, is it?”

  I nod, still struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that he’s helping me. Not just tolerating me, not just being friendly. He’s openly trying to help me. “Thank you, I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  He smiles and nudges my chin with his knuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with you, I assure you. It’s the general lack of decent selection.”

  Again with that brutal ache in my chest. “I deeply appreciate that.”

  “Alright.” He claps his hands. “Chin up. I’ll go in, you take your time. I’ll fetch Lilianna. You can meet us by the exit and we’ll all go home. We’ll come up with a better plan tomorrow after I’ve gone hunting with that idiot. Hopefully I’ll get him to see reason and I’ll marry you. See you shortly.”

  I linger on the balcony and draw in great big breaths to calm myself. I can’t believe he can be so cavalier about it, but I have an option: Taron. It is, honestly, the best outcome I can hope for, of the options at hand.

  I blow out a breath and slip back inside to the din of raucous laughter and chatter. I attempt to skirt the festivities as best I can. I’ve kept my head high enough for the evening and I’m exhausted.

  I’ve almost let myself relax, the exit in sight, when I pass an alcove and spot Maurus and Lilianna. He has his hand pressed against the wall over Lilianna’s shoulder, towering over her as she stares up at him with lips parted and an expression of… I can’t quite place it.

  Maurus’s shoulder hitches and he casts a glance over. He straightens and takes a step back, his thin lips curling into a smirk. “Good evening, Lady Aubrey.”

  “Lord Venon.” I force myself to curtsy. I didn’t realize he was even at this party. What in Skies is he doing with Lily?

  Lilianna tugs at her gloves and smoothes her dress as she crosses to stand a few steps behind me. Her cheeks shine pink and she keeps her gaze down.

  Maurus watches her go, then stalks to me. “I’ve heard of your… misfortune. Then again, one man’s loss is another man’s gain.” He lets those words marinate far longer than necessary and his gaze flicks once to Lilianna. “While the others shy away from the impudent Prince’s tantrum, my offer still stands. Given recent events, I imagine your mother has thought more on the arrangement?”

  “Stepmother.” I can’t quite stop myself.

  His lips twitch, like he’s baited me on purpose. Damnit.

  I lift my chin. “I’m afraid she doesn’t confide in me. She’s a very particular woman, I’m sure you understand.”

  He smiles. “I needn’t have her approval if I have yours. Elopements do happen these days.”

  I swallow down the rise of bile in the back of my throat. “She is rather old-fashioned, so I think she’d disagree. If you’ll excuse me, I believe Taron is waiting for me.” I attempt to step around him.

  His fingers bite into my arm and he leans in. “I am not a patient man, Aubrey. Do not keep me waiting much longer or I may find another that suits my needs. We wouldn’t want you to end up with no options at all.”

  I try to pull out of his grip, but it only grows more painful the more I struggle. I’ve just opened my mouth to assure him Clara will be in touch, when a flash of silver catches my eye.

  At first I’m sure it’s only the glare from a tipped serving patter falling near Prince Emory, who’s reclined in an armchair with Nicoletta draped across his lap on the other side of the room.

  The High Guard—who I also hadn’t realized is here—sweeps in front of the Prince with inhuman speed, his sword flying from his hip to collide with that flash of silver, which is not a platter at all, but a short sword. The clang rings out and, before I can even blink, the High Guard’s plunged his sword into the attacker’s chest. He gives the hilt a ruthless twist.

  Janine’s champagne flute crashes to the ground. Gasps and screams echo after.

  The High guard rips his sword free and the blood-stained white-clad body crumples. The High Guard wipes his sword on the man’s uniform and sheaths it. Then he glances in my direction.

  I startle—why in Skies would he look at me?

  High Guard Rahiid Venon turns back to the body and crushes the dead man’s hand with his boot, freeing the short sword. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands. As a child, I’d watched my father train soldiers, but I’ve never seen anyone move quite like this man.

  Nicoletta, face stricken and fixed on the High Guard, slips from the Prince’s lap to wrap an arm around Janine.

  The High Guard holds the sword out to the Prince, who still sits shocked to stillness in the armchair. “Pachuate-made,” Rahiid Venon says, his voice as low and menacing as ever, but this time it takes on a different, heartless meaning to me. This time I understand why this monster of a man has been made High Guard. Why the King trusts him with the Prince’s life—a life so vulnerable without the Wyvernmail he’ll one day inherit. And why Abel ran from him that day on the High Road at my carriage’s ambush.

  Rahiid Venon is a killer. A ruthless, methodical one.

  Cold trickles down my spine.

  Vale guards appear out of nowhere. They sweep through the room, grabbing and roughly patting down all the remaining servers.

  “To your carriages. Return home,” the High Guard roars over the chaos. He glances in my direction again—like he somehow knows I’ve made a deal with the rebels, like he knows I’m also the enemy—then turns back to directing the Vale guards about the scene.

  Blood pools around the slain body, sinking into the lines between the tiles like rivers on a map. The fake servant’s face remains a frozen twist of anguish. It’s not a face I recognize. Hopefully, he really is a Pachuate soldier, and not one of Abel’s men. I never want to see Abel stand against this killer.

  A hand touches my shoulder and I jump.

  “Just me,” Taron says. “Come, let’s go home. Try not to look.”

  He must have seen me blanch—good that he assumes it’s because of witnessing death and not because of my own treason.