Chapter 15
Merrit
Serenya’s brisk knock vibrated through Kieran’s chambers, yanking my gaze from the spot where Nadia had just vanished. Still reeling, I hesitated to move at all, worried the odd woman would step from the shadows just to scare me.
After a few long moments of watching and waiting, I pushed to my feet, cinching the robe tighter at my waist. The movement tore the stillness apart, and pain flared in its place. Yesterday’s violence came rushing back—deep aches flaring where adrenaline had once kept them quiet.
Not the surface sting of cuts—those were long gone, sealed under Kieran’s blood—but the deep, slow throb of battered flesh left behind.
Bruises I hadn’t yet seen but could feel blooming beneath the skin were hot and heavy as coals.
My ribs ached when I drew breath. My shoulder pulled like it had been wrenched from its socket.
Even my jaw complained, tight when I clenched it, tender where a blow had landed.
The adrenaline that had carried me through the Hunt had burned away, leaving nothing but the wreckage it buried.
Every step was a ledger of impact: stone against bone, fist against face, ground against spine.
Pain uncoiled through me, familiar and unwanted, reminding me I was still mortal beneath all the masks.
The door opened before I could reach it. Serenya swept in with her usual rush of perfume and silk, words on the tip of her tongue for Kieran.
They died on her lips when she saw me instead.
Her eyes flicked quick as a whisper, taking me in head to toe. Mischief tugged at her mouth, but there was no mistaking the edge underneath. “Saints, girl,” she signed. “You look like a bruised peach.”
Worry pinched my brow. I glanced down, tugging the robe aside—and froze.
Shadows bloomed across my ribs, violet and yellow.
My arm was mottled dark from shoulder to wrist. I caught my reflection in the sideboard mirror and stifled a gasp.
Even my cheek had gone purple at the edge of the bone, reaching up to my temple where I’d been struck.
I supposed Kieran’s blood could only do so much.
Serenya clucked her tongue, already digging in her satchel.
“Of course he didn’t bother to take you to a healer.
Typical.” She tossed me a small vial, the glass clinking against my palm.
“Drink. It’ll kill the ache and make you look less like roadkill.
Not as good as another mouthful of your prince, but unless you’re keen for round two of that”—Her grin went sly—“this’ll have to do. ”
I pulled the cork with my teeth. The tonic was bitter, metallic, searing down my throat like firewater. Warmth unfurled in its wake, dulling the ache, washing shadows from my skin as if they’d never been there.
Serenya leaned back in Kieran’s chair, satisfied. “Better. You’ll need it. There’s a supper tonight—formal, grand, and stuffed with barons who’d chew you up just for sport. Congratulations, you get to be arm candy.”
I signed tersely, “His itinerary is not my problem.”
She only shrugged, eyes gleaming. “It is now.”
I pressed my lips together, fingers curling tight at my side. It is now. The words grated, burrowing deep in my chest like the edge of a razor.
I could leave. The thought rose sudden and vicious. Walk out of this castle, down the long roads, back to the Divide where no one dressed bruises in silk or paraded women like trophies. It would be simple. Quiet. One bag, two steps, and I’d vanish like I’d never been here at all.
The bar would still be there—the cracked countertop, the familiar noise, promises poured cheap into chipped mugs. The only place that had ever been mine. If I went now, maybe it would still feel like home.
Serenya tilted her head, keen eyes narrowing. “You look about two breaths from bolting.”
I signed, slow but firm, “Better that than playing his pet at supper, watching barons bloated on too much bloodwine insult me to my face.”
Her grin flickered, half-amusement, half-sympathy. “Can’t say I blame you. But unless you want the whole Court whispering ‘coward’ behind their wine cups, running’s the worse look.”
The word burned. “Coward.” It would follow me all the way to the Divide. I absolutely loathed that she wasn’t wrong.
If I couldn’t run, and I couldn’t hide, then I would just have to fulfill my duties a hell of a lot faster than originally planned. That meant not staying in this stuffy, gilded cage for one more second than I had to.
My hands stilled, then moved again, sharper this time. “The sooner I find the assholes trying to kill him, the sooner I can leave.”
Serenya considered that, lips quirking. “So. Brooding in here or prowling the halls, pretending you’re not watching everyone too closely? Tough decision.”
The robe pulled heavy on my shoulders, suffocating in its softness. After last night, the thought of facing him again—of being paraded at his side like a bauble—made me want to gargle glass. But walking, listening, searching… that I could do. At least it gave me a sliver of choice.
“I think I’ll take a walk. See the sights,” I signed.
“Fine.” Serenya swept a hand toward the wardrobe. “But at least get dressed first. Unless you plan on scandalizing half the Court clad only in a robe.”
Heat prickled my neck. Once again, she wasn’t wrong.
Sighing, I crossed to the chest, dragging out leather pants and a dark tunic, cut simple and practical: clothes meant for moving, not parading.
I felt halfway back to myself as soon as they slid into place, and even better once the heavy-soled boots were laced up.
A jacket with weight enough to feel like armor settled on my shoulders, and though the clothes were higher quality than anything else I’d ever worn, they were Divide through and through.
“Fine, but if you’re set on roaming, at least don’t make it boring. Come on, I’ll show you where the vultures circle.” She slipped past me into the corridor, skirts brushing the stone, and tipped her head for me to follow.
I fell into step beside her, boots striking steady against the polished floor.
“That way’s kitchens,” she said with a casual flick of her fingers. “If you don’t mind smelling like onions, you’ll catch the best gossip there. Over there—guards’ barracks. They strut like roosters, but half of them can’t keep their mouths shut. Watch their faces when they drink.”
Her gaze slanted to me, mischief sparking. “You’ve got keen eyes. Use them. People will forget a mute little seer is watching, even when they should know better.”
“And here I thought you liked keeping secrets,” I signed, lips twitching despite myself.
She grinned. “Oh, I do. But what’s the point of knowing things if I can’t show off a little?”
Serenya stopped, skirts swishing around her ankles, and leaned close enough that her perfume curled warm at my throat. “Every noble here wears their mask like a second skin,” she murmured. “Learn which cracks are painted on, and which ones bleed when you press.”
We reached a landing where two staircases curved in opposite arcs, shadows pooling thick between them. Serenya slowed, skirts whispering against stone, casting me a sidelong glance.
“This is as far as I’ll walk you,” she said, her grin sharp. “I’ve got other fish to fry before supper. Try not to look too obvious. You’re supposed to be mysterious, remember?”
She winked, then swept down the left-hand stair, perfume trailing like mist in her wake.
I drew a long breath, leather creaking at my shoulders, and let the silence settle.
The castle unfolded before me, endless corridors stacked in stone and secrets.
The air smelled faintly of beeswax and damp stone, threaded with the faint tang of smoke from unseen hearths.
Gilt trim framed high-arched doorways, and windows climbed the walls so tall they seemed meant for giants, each one spilling pale light across polished floors.
The walls carried voices—whispers, laughter, the clink of goblets—and every sound echoed longer than it should, bouncing off marble and velvet.
Servants flitted past like startled birds, heads bent low, their arms piled with linens and trays.
Guards leaned against spears at every other doorway, armor catching the light in quick flashes.
Courtiers drifted in clusters, jeweled and perfumed, their movements choreographed like a dance they’d been practicing all their lives.
It was dazzling, suffocating. Too much silk, too much shine.
Dulled as it was by the elixir, my ability still made itself known. While only fragments bled through—half-formed thoughts, flashes of intent—they still drilled into my skull without warning.
…should’ve been quick. Too many eyes. Should’ve finished it before the Hunt started…
I blinked, gaze sliding toward a guard at the barracks door. He stood like carved stone, eyes forward, but his mind hissed with guilt. I made a note of his face before moving on.
Farther down, near the laundry: …cloak still damp, blood won’t scrub out—better burn it before the steward sees…
My pulse hitched, fighting the urge to round the corner and find who belonged to that whisper.
Out loud, a courtier muttered to another, “Divide trash, bedding the prince.”
But the thought beneath curled darker: …if the baron bought the Hunt, who else is already bought?
The pieces were jagged, scattered, but they were not random.
I moved on, steps steady, breath shallow, waiting for the next shard to cut.
The corridor narrowed, tapestries swallowing the walls in velvet and gold thread. Scenes of hunts, battles, and coronations loomed above me, every woven figure staring with glassy, accusing eyes. My boots sank into a rug so thick it muffled the sound, until the hush of the place pressed too close.
A flash of silk broke the stillness. A noblewoman, jeweled to the throat, swept into my path as though she had been waiting for me all along.
She stopped, gaze raking me from head to boot, her lip curling in practiced disdain. “The prince does collect strays, doesn’t he?”
The words were honeyed poison, but her mind was crueler still: …but she shouldn’t have survived. Someone failed their mark.
The thought sliced deeper than her sneer. My spine stiffened, pulse hammering, but I kept my hands steady as I signed, dry and cutting, “Better than sampling someone’s old, rotten fruit, don’t you think?”
Her painted mouth tightened, a flicker of anger breaking through her mask before she turned with a snap of silk and swept away.
My chest ached with the effort of not grinning.
Small victory, but it warmed me enough to keep moving.
Good to know all of Kieran’s Court understood me, even if they were back-biting dicks about it.
Still, how many vipers were in Kieran’s nest?
Too many to count. Too many for one woman to root out before the next blade found its mark. Was I going to die here digging through other people’s lies?
I kept pushing along, but I didn’t get far. Shadows bled thicker at the next turn, pooling like spilled ink. Before I could react, a hand shot out, catching my sleeve and yanking me into the dark.
Nadia.
She shoved me against the wall just as two courtiers rounded the corner, voices pitched low, their gowns brushing inches from where we stood. Her knife spun lazily between her fingers, glinting like a cat’s eye in the dim.
“Careful, Divide-girl,” she murmured, her grin all teeth. “Keep prowling like this, and someone’s bound to notice you sniffing after their secrets.”
Cursing that stupid elixir, I rolled my eyes, trying not to show just how much she’d surprised me. “And yet you noticed first.”
Her grin stretched across her lips. “Because I’m better at it, obviously. You should try harder.”
I wrenched free, hands snapping quick. “Not your concern.”
Nadia leaned closer, eyes glittering. “Maybe not. But if you’re going to play prophet, at least learn when to get out of the way. This Court chews distractions for breakfast.”
Her knife vanished as swiftly as it appeared. One heartbeat she was there, the next she was gone, the shadows swallowing her whole.
The corridor yawned empty again, but the weight of her warning clung as close as the stone.
By the time I found my way back to Kieran’s chambers, my nerves hummed like bowstrings. The castle was too full of whispers, too many eyes flicking toward me and then away, as if they could smell blood on the air.
The door stood open. Inside, the room had been transformed—candles lit, gowns draped across the bed in shimmering rows like offerings. Serenya lounged in Kieran’s chair as though it were her throne, one leg hooked over the armrest, expression bright with mischief.
“Didn’t think you’d come back,” she said cheerfully, her fingers following the quip, as if she hadn’t just left me to the wolves. “Glad you did. Saves me the trouble of hunting you down.”
I crossed to the bed, fingers brushing the silks. Soft. Fragile. Too much like a noose in disguise.
Serenya tipped her head, studying me. “You found trouble, didn’t you?”
I kept my face smooth, my hands still.
She laughed softly. “Don’t bother denying it. You’ve got that look. Like you’ve just bitten someone and liked it.”
I said nothing, only turned my back to the gowns.
“Well,” she went on, rising with a rustle of skirts, “the supper waits. He’ll want you dressed before then. Better to walk into the wolves polished than dragged.”
Her tone was light, but her eyes lingered on me, piercing beneath the humor.
I touched the nearest gown again, silk slipping between my fingers. Better to walk into the wolves than crawl home like prey.
If I was going to play their game, I’d play it sharp.