Chapter 4
Kieran
The Divide breathed even at midnight—shutters drawn, lamps guttering low, but its veins still pulsed hot.
Alleyways hummed with dice and low spells, doors wore stitched wards like teeth, and every head that turned carried an assessment.
Here, titles meant nothing. Here, a prince was just meat with a price.
And still I walked, shadow to Merrit Locke’s flame.
She minced quickly through the crooked streets, her satchel bumping her hip, cloak pulled close.
Not running but not strolling, either. Merrit was a woman who knew exactly how many eyes followed her and didn’t give that first fuck.
Gods, I wanted to know what that silence cost her—that blade-keen calm after she’d split a man’s arm open without blinking.
“You’re an idiot,” Solis muttered at my shoulder. My enforcer. My weapon when I needed blood drawn, my shield when I needed someone else to bleed for me. He’d been at my side longer than anyone still breathing.
I didn’t so much as glance at him, not once peeling my gaze off my prey. “For coming here?”
“For thinking you could sneak into the Divide without me,” he said, voice pitched low. “Half these bastards would’ve gutted you before you reached the corner. And the other half would’ve sold your boots with you still in them.”
“I had it handled.” I, in fact, did not, but he didn’t need to know that.
“You almost never have it handled.” His teeth flashed in a grin that was all bite. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep you pretty. Nadia would skin you if you came back missing an ear.”
I snorted, eyes still on Merrit. “You told me she was special. I came to see it for myself.”
“I did,” Solis said easily. “Didn’t think you’d actually listen to me this time.”
She disappeared into a crooked shopfront ahead, the bell’s shriek carrying even out into the street. Wards snapped across the threshold, the kind that hummed against the skin if you strayed too close. Witchwork, old and bitter—the kind of work that kept polite people polite and thieves careful.
Solis leaned against a lamppost, arms crossed. “You’re really doing this.”
“Already did,” I murmured, gaze fixed on the door she’d vanished through. “She agreed.”
“Agreed, or you boxed her in so tight she had no way out?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes weren’t—sharp edges gleamed beneath the calm. “Blackmail’s a short leash, Kieran. Leashes snap. Knives don’t.”
I ignored the barb, though the words cut deeper than I liked.
I hadn’t wanted to blackmail Merrit, but I couldn’t take it back now.
There was too much at stake. My top advisor was in the infirmary, pale and sweating from a poison meant for me.
Tobias had lifted the cup without hesitation, taken the swallow I hadn’t, and dropped within breaths.
If Solis hadn’t shoved the healer into the room, he’d be dead.
Loyalty like that demanded repayment. It also meant my enemies were closer than I’d thought. If they could reach him, they could reach me. Merrit was the only chance I had at staying one step ahead.
The Divide shifted restlessly around us, shadows prowling. Somewhere, a fight broke out, metal on bone, quickly silenced by a burst of magic that lit the rooftops green before winking out. No one paid much attention. Just another night.
A part of me respected this slice of the continent—the way it seemed to survive no matter what was thrown at it.
The other part of me knew everything balanced on the razor’s edge, and I didn’t want that for my people.
But my mind wasn’t on the street. It was behind that door, where Merrit Locke bartered secrets with a witch.
Solis tilted his head, studying me like he studied battlefields. “What do you think she’s buying in there?”
“Insurance, protection. Maybe both,” I muttered.
“Against you?” His grin widened.
“If she’s smart? Against everyone.”
And gods help me, I respected her for it. I would’ve done the same after Tobias hit the floor with my cup still in his hand.
Solis fell into step beside me, his long stride loose and deceptively casual. Most guards bristled when I left them behind—Solis only smirked, as though watching my back was a game he’d already won.
“You know,” he drawled, “most princes prefer courtiers for their advisors. The kind who bow and scrape instead of throwing knives across the room.”
I gave him a withering look. “And most princes end up dead because they trusted them to watch their backs.”
His grin widened, but his eyes stayed hard. “She’s fire, Kieran. Pretty to look at, dangerous to touch, and she’ll burn you down if you’re not careful.”
I disregarded the warning, though the words stuck anyway. “Twice tonight she moved before anyone else could. I need that.”
“What you need,” Solis said, voice dipping into something almost serious, “is to stop collecting strays and start thinking about who’s sharpening blades in your own hall.”
The words dug deeper than I let him see. Servants gone. Food soured. My own allies were bleeding out before I could name their killers. It wasn’t chance. It wasn’t luck.
And Merrit Locke wasn’t chance, either.
“She’s a risk,” Solis pressed, shoulders brushing mine as though daring me to argue. “One that’ll either save your neck or put it on the block.”
I let a thin smile curve my mouth. “Then it seems we’re well matched.”
Solis snorted, the sound rough as gravel. “Well matched my ass. You’re not dragging her to Court just to sit at your elbow. You’ll dress it up. Wrap it in silk and teeth. Make it look like something no one will dare question.”
I arched a brow. “And what would that be?”
His grin curved sharp. “Your consort. That’s the game, isn’t it? Court won’t blink if you chain yourself to a pretty throat. But tie yourself to a bartender with knives in her boots? They’ll smell blood in the water. A mistress is gossip; a consort is spectacle. People respect spectacle.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because he wasn’t wrong. This had been my plan all along: to pass her off as my latest fling to keep her throat intact and me breathing free.
Solis leaned in, lowering his voice until it brushed like a whisper. “Just remember—pretend long enough, and the Court won’t be the only ones who believe it.”
My jaw tightened, but I let the silence stretch. Better that than admit how close his words hit.
The moment Merrit Locke stepped back into the Divide, she’d belong to me—whether she liked it or not.
After what seemed like eons, the wards shivered once before releasing, and the shop door groaned open.
Merrit slipped back into the street, satchel heavier now, the stink of witch-smoke clinging to her cloak.
She didn’t pause, didn’t look around—just pulled her hood lower and walked like she could outpace every eye in the Divide.
She couldn’t outpace mine.
I tracked her through the crooked streets, Solis a quiet shadow at my shoulder. Dice clattered in alleys, shutters rattled in the breeze, someone laughed harsh and ugly in the dark. None of it touched me. All I saw was her—silent, quick, carrying secrets like thorns under her skin.
Dawn bruised the horizon by the time she reached the edge of the Divide, where cobbles gave way to dirt and the air smelled less of wild magic. That was where I stepped out of the dark.
“Merrit Locke,” I said, her name curling like smoke between us.
She stopped hard, the satchel swinging against her hip. Her hands came up fast. “You shouldn’t be here,” she signed—short, clear.
I smiled without warmth, signing, “And yet, here I am.”
Solis hung back, broad arms folded, his gaze sweeping over her like he was measuring a threat. Merrit’s eyes flicked to him, wary, then locked back on me with a look that said she’d rather see me in the dirt.
“Dawn waits for no one,” I told her, inclining my head toward the paling horizon. “And I don’t linger where I’m not welcome.”
Her fingers signed hard and defiant: “Then leave.”
I almost laughed. “You agreed, Locke. You walk into Court as my advisor or my leverage. Either way, you walk beside me.”
Her jaw flexed, anger sparking in those piercing green eyes, but she didn’t deny it.
The horses waited tethered nearby, black hide gleaming even in weak light. I untied the reins and offered them to her. She looked at the beast, then at me, suspicion carved into every line of her face.
“You ride with me,” I said simply.
She hesitated, then swung up smooth as a born rider, settling onto the saddle without so much as a wobble.
I mounted behind her, the leather creaking as I slid close, my chest brushing her back, her hips pressed snug to mine, her ass settling firm against my groin.
Every shift of the horse made the contact unavoidable, a slow drag of heat and pressure that sent my focus scattering places it shouldn’t.
Too close. Gods, far too close.
Her hair smelled faintly of lavender and something wild, a copper strand catching on my jaw.
Heat curled through me, intense and dangerous, the kind that made men ruin themselves.
I set one hand on the reins beside hers, the other at her hip, light enough to feign balance.
Gods help me, even pretending restraint burned.
I didn’t bother with words she couldn’t hear. My fingers flicked against the air, sharp and deliberate where she could see them. “Don’t fall.”
She glanced back just enough to meet my eyes, defiance sparking in hers. Her spine stayed stiff, every line of her body daring me to try and hold her tighter.
The satchel bumped against my thigh with each stride as the horse carried us toward the road to Morathen.
Beside us, Solis fell into an easy pace, his laughter low and needling. “Most princes take courtiers to Court. You bring a woman who looks like she wants to kill you in your sleep. Bold choice, Prince.”
I ignored him, my mouth curving anyway as Merrit’s shoulders tightened. She didn’t belong at Court. She didn’t belong to me. And still, here she was.
And I’d be damned if I let anyone else take her.
We rode in a line of breaths and hoofbeats, the Divide shrinking to the long, raw road between it and the Crown Province. Dawn washed the world in a weak, gray light that softened nothing. The air tasted of damp earth and old smoke.
Solis snorted, the sound like gravel rolled in a jar.
He fell quiet for a breath, then struck with the sort of fact that landed like a thrown knife.
“While you were hiding out,” he said, “a minor merchant turned up at the west gate with a poisoned parcel. Not meant for you—yet—but meant for someone who eats at the same table as you. It was a test run. Someone’s practicing. ”
The words sliced through the pretense of strategy.
“Anyone notice?” I asked, my chest tightening.
“A guardsman with an honest face. He fumbled the parcel as he checked it, and the thing hissed when it split. A crate of wine caught the spill. No one died. Yet.” Solis’ jaw ticked, eyes narrowed.
“But the work was sloppy—mundane wards, clumsy runes. That means there are at least two hands in play: one to strike, one to distract.”
My jaw set hard enough to taste copper. Tests scared me more than strikes—they meant someone knew my patterns, and that teeth were coming where I’d thought myself safe.
“When?” I asked.
“Tonight. Just before you cast your shadow over the Divide. The guard sent word, and I put a tail on the courier. The trail went cold in the market outside the river bridge.” He spat to the side. “Someone’s practicing reach.”
I stared past Merrit’s hooded shoulders at the road ahead.
Small frame, steady seat, every line of her posture carried its own kind of defiance.
The risk wasn’t theoretical anymore. A poisoned parcel could cut down my steward, my taster—hell, even me if timing went wrong.
Gossip and spectacle wouldn’t cover that.
Solis eased closer, voice low. “A pretty dress and fake love story will buy you a month, maybe two. But you walk her into the lion’s den, they’ll claw at her to see if she bleeds. Keep her close. Keep your exits cleaner than your lies.”
I nodded, though my thoughts had already shifted from costumes and cover stories to maps and sentries. “We’ll parade, yes,” I murmured. “But I won’t hand her to the wolves just to amuse the Court.”
Solis let out a single, barking laugh. “That’s the first decent answer I’ve heard tonight.”
We rode on. Hooves beat a steady rhythm, but my mind kept circling the poisoned parcel, the hiss of runes splitting, the notion of sloppy hands testing for weakness.
Tests meant timing. Tests meant patience.
Whoever was behind it wasn’t ready to strike—yet.
Which only made me wonder how long it would be until they were.
The horizon peeled open ahead, the spires of Morathen catching the first light of dawn.
Gates loomed, stone etched with sigils that hummed faintly against the skin, the air shifting from wild to Court-marked in a breath.
A pair of sleepy guards blinked at the sight of us—a prince pressed too close to a cloaked woman, Solis shadowing at our flank—then straightened fast, dipping into shallow bows at my sigil.
Their obedience should have settled me. Instead, it only reinforced the reminder that danger was already in my house.
I slid from the horse as the gate opened, the world narrowing to Merrit’s keen eyes as she dismounted. Even here, with guards watching and dawn burning the shadows away, she looked like a knife someone had forgotten to sheath.
And gods help me, I needed that knife sharp.