Page 58

Thorns tear into my fur coat as I squeeze through. Pain flares and blood darkens the ground beneath me, but I keep moving, forcing myself through the tight passage until I’m inside the castle grounds.

I tilt my head back, spotting the soft glow of light from the prince’s chambers high above. He’s here.

I don’t have to wait long for a guard to open the castle doors. When one does, I slip inside, darting through the winding halls and servant passages. Stray cats are commonplace throughout Coral Haven and Magda alike. No one looks twice at me.

I duck into a supply room just before the main corridor to the prince’s quarters. Brooms and buckets hang crooked along the walls, the space messy and forgotten. I shift and relief floods through me as I return to my true size, everything settling back into place. I love being in my cat form, but it’s restrictive in a situation where I need to be able to use my weapons.

Stepping out, I face massive twin doors to Roman’s room stretching nearly to the ceiling. One is cracked open, spilling a ribbon of warm, amber light into the hall. With it comes the memory and the reminder that he has seen all of me. Touched me with healing hands. Spent weeks pulling my broken body back from the brink of death. He could have died in the process. He owed me none of it. He could have let me die. I killed his uncle in one of the most brutal ways imaginable and he cleaned up the mess.

I press my back against the doors and slip inside.

I’m met with an empty stillness. He isn’t here. Lovely, now I have to wait. I roll my eyes slightly as I take in the massive room.

The space is vast, three times the size of my chambers at the Academy. Beneath arched ceilings is a towering canopy bed that commands the center of the room, its carved posts rising like sentinels. Six bodies could comfortably fit atop it.

Does he fill it? The thought flickers through me—and is gone just as quickly.

Through the tall windows, the room overlooks both the town and the restless sea. Moonlight spills across the water in a silver ribbon, catching on each shifting wave like scattered silver coins. The streets still look unsettled. The city glimpsed something it cannot explain tonight, something it isn’t sure it survived.

It almost didn’t. A quiet laugh slips from me.

The room is drenched in navy blue. My brow furrows. I expected red from the Cinder Prince. His cotton bedding is a deep, deliberate blue trimmed in muted gold. The furniture mirrors it, polished, expensive, and curated with care rather than excess. The ultimate display of controlled power.

He has style, I’ll give him that, but the room feels empty. The bed is untouched. The desk is immaculate. There are no scattered papers, discarded boots, or clothing tossed aside. It’s devoid of all signs of a man who actually lives here. The only proof he was ever here at all is the lantern still burning, its flame low and warm.

Footsteps echo down the stone hall. I move instantly, scanning for the highest place I can reach without being seen. The canopy bed will have to do. I climb one of the tall posts, careful not to stir the cream curtains draping from the frame. I fold myself into the shadows above just as the door opens.

Roman steps inside and shuts the door behind him, locking it. My gods, he’s devastating. The scent of smoke and blood cling to him like a second skin, heat and violence lingering in the seams of his clothes. There’s a slight smile coasting across his face. I narrow my eyes.

Where has he been? Who did he kill? Was he at the burning tonight?

Why do I care?

He crosses the room without haste and stops beside the bowl of water set near his dark oak armoire. He dips a white cloth into it and drags it slowly over his face.

Ash streaks away first, then blood. Is it his, or someone else’s? The fabric stains red and gray in uneven smears before he lets it fall to the floor without looking.

He moves to the windows, broad shoulders framed in moonlight as he stares out at the sea as though awaiting something.

“Little ember…” he says. He turns to reveal only one side of his face, the other swallowed by shadow. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips. “You’ve finally come to see me.”

Why am I not surprised? I drop, landing softly on a fur rug, my eyes never leaving his. He turns his back to me, leaving himself completely unguarded.

“I could smell you,” he says quietly. The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He turns his body slightly, his gaze drifting lazily toward the bed. “But that…” His eyes return to mine, dark amusement flickering there. “That was an interesting choice.”

I straighten, my cloak falling around me. “I came to tell you—”

“Tell me what, little ember?” he interrupts smoothly, as if he already knows the answer and is simply enjoying watching me say it. I narrow my eyes in annoyance.

“That the life debt I owe you is paid.” My voice is steel. He studies me for a long moment before a low laugh escapes him.

He turns, leaning back against the windowsill, utterly at ease. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” I snap.

“Care to elaborate?” His tone is condescending, but his voice… It’s warm and intoxicating. I want more of it, and I hate myself for that. With how he speaks, moves, and looks at me, I can’t help but feel this gravitational pull toward him. I hate it, I want it to stop, but I also don’t? What is wrong with me?

“No.”