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“Did you see it?” Rafe’s voice spins us around. He stands at the courtyard entrance, his tall frame silhouetted against the palace hallway. His sharp gaze takes in the scene—the frozen cherubs, the scattered nobles and craftsmen now cautiously returning, the guards still at attention—and then snaps to Lark. “Did you see the shadows?”

Good to know I wasn’t losing my damn mind.

Lark’s face falls. “What shadows?”

Odessa edges forward, eyes wide with alarm. “Shadows? Surely, you don’t mean…”

“No, not drachen.” Rafe gives the near-hysterical wedding planner his version of a reassuring smile before gesturing to us. “If you’ll excuse us, I need to have a word with the queen and crown prince.”

“Of course.” Odessa wrestles her stack of papers into control and turns to Lark. “We’ll meet again later?”

“Can’t wait,” Lark lies as she retracts her wings and pats the short sword at her side, as if confirming her weapon is still there. “We really appreciate all that you’re doing. We trust your judgment. So depending on what else comes up in the next few days, if we’re not able to meet for a while, just keep doing what you’re doing. Thanks to you, the wedding will be fabulous.”

Beaming at Lark’s praise, the wedding planner scurries away.

Rafe crosses his arms. “Before you dealt with the cherubs, the shadows were spelling words.”

Lark rubs her temples, and I read the weariness in her eyes. “What words?”

“‘Follow the signs.’” Rafe’s chin juts forward with the importance of this revelation.

Lark’s eyes widen. “That’s it. That’s what’s happening. The gods are leaving us breadcrumbs. Not attacks, but messages.”

“Or maybe messages along with attacks.” I gesture toward the frozen cherubs. Those diamond teeth seemed plenty capable of piercing flesh.

Around us, the courtyard begins to return to normalcy. Guards escort shaken nobles back to their quarters, and servants rush in to clean up the damage.

Face set with grim determination, Lark addresses Rafe. “We need to document every strange occurrence, no matter how small. The gods are trying to communicate through chaos. Or hurt us through it. I’m going to try to reach out to some directly.”

I slip out to my private patio holding a small open flame in my palm. Sterling waits inside. Nyc, the Goddess of Night, has spoken to me several times, but never where he can hear.

The crisp night air carries the scent of damp earth and distant gardens. My fingers trace the cool railing as I climb the narrow stairs to my private rooftop balcony. Tonight, I need answers, and there’s only one being I know who might provide them.

The royal guard stationed at the top of the stairs stiffens at my approach. Even in darkness, his training is impeccable.

“Your Highness.” He bows and begins to back away. “I’ll give you privacy.”

I nod, grateful for his discretion. “Thank you.”

He vanishes into the sky, leaving me alone beneath the vast expanse of stars.

I move to the center of the balcony, where the stone is worn smooth from years of use. Though I brought nothing to sacrifice, I plan to try contacting the goddess anyway.

Snuffing the flame in my hand, I let the darkness wrap around me like an old friend.

“Nyc, I seek your guidance.”

Usually, when the Goddess of Night answers, there’s a peculiar warmth to the darkness. A contradiction that makes perfect sense in the moment, like the comfort of the womb. Her presence feels like a smile you can’t see but somehow know is there.

Tonight, something’s different.

The darkness coils around me, carrying an inexplicable sense of wrongness. There’s a frigidness that has nothing to do with temperature. A sharpness in what should be soft.

I fight the urge to pull back and break the connection. “Nyc? Will you heed my call for clarity?”

The darkness around me tightens, and I sense her presence crystallize. But the soothing warmth I’ve come to expect is absent, replaced by something that has my skin crawling.

“The old alliances shift.” Her voice whispers directly into my mind, and each word scrapes like broken glass across my thoughts. It’s nothing like her usual velvety tone. “Choose carefully where you stand, mortal queen.”