The prince drew his sword and held the hilt in two hands, head turning as he scanned the now-milling Phaetyn at the party. His voice was low and menacing as he asked again, “Who threw that?”

Who cares? It was a bit of fruit on a little metal skewer. No harm done. I stepped to the side of Kamoi, trying to put distance between us for appearances. Tensions were high; I didn’t want to cause any further problems with the Phaetyn.

Kaelan was storming toward us, and I alerted Kamoi with a fleeting touch on his arm.

“How dare you make a mockery of us,” Kaelan snapped, his eyes flashing more indigo than violet. He marched past the next table, stooped to pick up another fruit stick. “You are a disgrace—”

“Father—”

Was he for real? “Hey,” I said, bringing my hands up as he threw the fruit skewer. My block worked, and the fruit fell to the ground. Yay for Drae-reflexes. “I meant no offense. We were just dancing.”

Kaelan drew his sword, his face twisted and his lips white with fury. I was more than familiar with this look now after my visits with the trees. Odd how hatred looked the same on Druman, Kings, and Phaetyn.

Kamoi stepped in front of me as his father advanced. In a whisper that was heard throughout the clearing and with a dazed expression, he repeated, “Father.”

Kaelen halted his thunderous approach, but his eyes were mere slits as he looked at me. “Move son, or I will move you myself.”

The prince didn’t budge. “No, this isn’t right. She’s not to blame for what’s happening here.”

“Very well,” Kaelen said. Holding his blade in the air, breathing hard, he said, “Round them up!”

The royal guards in purple and silver aketons stepped from behind the trees with swords and spears at the ready. Some of the seated Phaetyn screamed, and they began to scramble from their tables, turning the gathering into a chaotic stampede.

The royal guards in the clearing drew their weapons.

Dyter yelled from the other side of the struggling Phaetyn, “Rynnie!”

My heart froze along with the rest of my body.

There was an odd moment when the air seemed to still as though all of Zivost, trees and Phaetyn alike, held their breath, and then Kaelan yelled, “Now.”

Guards descended on the Phaetyn. Weapons clashed in a blur. Kamoi threw his sword in front of his face, both hands gripping the hilt to parry his father’s strike.

With no weapon, I was very aware I had no chance against fighters of this caliber, but I didn’t feel truly in danger; I couldn’t really be killed by their blades. Did that mean I wanted to cope with a few punches or a cut or two? No. Not at all.

I did the only thing I could think of . . . I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled away through the melee. I aimed for where I remembered the royal table to be, hoping Dyter would still be there.

Above me, the ring of metal overwhelmed everything but the cacophony of men shouting and women screaming. Phaetyn were running, their sprinting legs visible from my crawling position under the table. Why were they fighting? They were Phaetyn. They were going to heal from their wounds and end up being pissed with each other forever.

The end of this table was close, and the legs of the royal table sat ahead. I froze, seeing that only the queen still sat there, surrounded by guards. Dyter had gone.

I looked around and caught sight of the ash tree between the legs of the fighting Phaetyn. The area around the tree was clear. Maybe I’d be able to see Dyter from there.

I shifted direction, crawling between the tables, wincing as a Phaetyn stepped on my hands. I continued my dash until I reached the table closest to the ash tree. Checking for royal guards, I crawled under the railing of the newly constructed barrier and sprinted around to the back of the tree. Breathing hard, placing my hands on the trunk, I peered out from behind the ash.

Flashes of colors sparked behind my eyes, fading into blobs of muted shades before solidifying. Kaelan and Alani huddled outside the Pink House in the dark. The twin moons were at opposite stages, one a sliver just beginning to fill out, the other emptying its remaining light into its sister to reach a crescent phase.

A hooded figure approached through the trees, carrying a squirming wrapped bundle. Kaelan pursed his lips, and Alani nudged him with her elbow before plastering a smile on her face.

Luna’s hood fell back, and the Phaetyn queen beamed as she drew close, running the last few steps. The sisters embraced and Luna chatted excitedly, passing over the squirming bundle, completely missing the unveiled glare from her former mate.

Why was Kaelan glaring when he was clearly in love with Alani and not with Luna? Did he begrudge her for ending things? Surely when he and Alani had Kamoi together, Kaelan couldn’t have expected anything else. Maybe the loss of his status as king bothered him.

Another image emerged. Luna and Alani sitting outside the Pink House while a baby lay on a blanket, playing with a ball of water. A baby in a pink tunic.

Mistress Moons. A sense of dread filled me as the image faded. Because somewhere in my mind, I knew what that meant. Luna had given Alani and Kaelan her child. The images flittered in and out.

Kamini as a toddler running to the Pink House, silver hair streaming behind her. The smile she wore stretched across her face, and she held a bouquet of the pale-green flowers. Kamoi and his parents sat on the porch; a much younger Kamoi glanced back and forth between his parents. Kaelan was frowning and Alani crying. Kamini extended the bouquet toward Alani, and Kaelan pushed her away. Kamoi jumped up and snapped something at his father, wrapping Kamini in a hug as he guided her off the porch.

I pulled back from the tree, chest heaving. Kamini was Luna’s daughter? Which would mean Kamini should have ancestral powers too . . . I lowered my hand and stared out at the clearing where the Phaetyn fought—

A body fell to the ground in the archway, startling me back to the present. The Phaetyn on the ground was one of the rebels I’d seen earlier today, the stocky one who barely spoke during the conversation in the lean-to. I blinked as his chest jerked in time to the gurgles of his labored inhales. I watched as his eyes grew glassy and as his chest stilled. He looked dead.

But, he couldn’t be dead because that was impossible.

A small trickle of green oozed from his mouth. I peered down his body, and my gaze halted on the knife protruding from his side. The silvery fabric of his aketon was torn, and the skin around the wound was visible through the tear. His pale skin had lost its luster, probably typical for death, but that wasn’t what made my heart stop.

The skin surrounding the knife wound wasn’t the same color as everywhere else. The Phaetyn’s blood was silvery iridescent and oozed from the wound, but even that didn’t hide the dark streaks of black. Black.

I swallowed, and my mind whirled. There was only one thing I could think of that would cause that. But it was impossible because that meant this fight was a real fight where Phaetyn were dying. And there was only one way to kill Phaetyn.

My heart pounded to life as rage filled me. I sucked in a deep breath and stood. I’d better be wrong. I’d bloody better be wrong.

I ducked under the railing and shoved a royal Phaetyn guard out of my way, my arms moving in a blur. I charged toward the quartz house. Scales covered my chest and my arms, my talons shifted out, and my vision sharpened as my eyes changed. I was barely holding it together; only the hope that I was wrong kept me from going full Drae.

Phaetyn stepped in my path, but I flung them aside like flies. A sting pricked my back. I whirled and grabbed at the offending guard, my talons shredding his tunic and slicing into his skin. He bellowed in pain as his skin darkened around the wound, and I roared.

I stepped over his writhing body.

I screamed in rage, and several Phaetyn scampered out of my path as I broke into a run.

The fighting idiots blurred, and I charged up the steps and through the door of the Pink House. I sprinted down the hall, fear squeezing my chest. What if I was too late?

One of the guards stood outside the room, shouting when he saw me. With one swipe, I sent him crashing down the hall. The door was ajar, and I pushed through.

No, no, no!

I burst into the room, and horror struck me dumb.

Tyrrik lay on the bed, unconscious, only his lap covered by the blanket Dyter had spread over him before we left.

Five guards surrounded Tyrrik. One guard sat at the head of the bed, pouring crystal clear liquid into Tyrrik’s mouth. Two guards sat on either side of the bed. One sliced deeply into Tyrrik’s thigh and then spat in the open wound. Spitting . . . their Phaetyn juice would poison him, keeping his wound from healing. The other Phaetyn ran a blade through a still oozing wound on the other leg. Judging by the rows of gashes on his legs and arms, they’d been at it for a while. Black blood oozed from many of the wounds, and as my gaze traveled up to Tyrrik’s chest, I saw the basins under his arms, collecting blood from the gashes on the inside of his elbows. Two more guards sat on Dyter’s bed, dipping weapons in Tyrrik’s blood.

Red-streaked darkness filled my chest; pounding with my heart, it filled my being. My shoulders lifted, my mouth contorting, fangs descending as I screamed a heart-ripping roar of rage and pain. Blue scales covered my frame, my talons lengthened, my eyes formed slits, but somehow, somehow as my wings began to stab out through my back, I paused.

If I shifted full Drae, I’d bring the entire Pink House down, and while that would kill the guards, it might also kill Tyrrik.

The guards scrambled upright, brandishing their blood-coated blades at me.

One of the guards lunged forward as another threw a knife. The blade bounced off my blue scales and clattered to the floor as the other guards moved to within striking distance. I snarled, lost to my instincts, and crouched like the predator I was to meet their attack.

I grabbed the outstretched blade of the guard and pulled him close, driving my talons deep into his stomach. He shrieked, and I jerked my hand upward, slicing through his abdominal organs until I hit bone. He opened his mouth, silvery blood gushing out, and I flung him away so his blood wouldn’t further injure my Drae. The Phaetyn’s body crashed against the wall, and he slid to the ground in a heap.

The other guards had halted their advance while they watched my fight with their companion, and now the remaining four Phaetyn converged and advanced as a single unit. Like it matters. I would destroy every one of them. They were prey. I was powerful.

They threw weapons at me, and I batted several of them from the air before catching one of the guards peering over my shoulder toward the door. Were they just stalling until help arrived? My anger boiled, and I bent my knees, catapulting myself toward them. I charged, slashing at the Phaetyn with my talons, roaring. I saw nothing but the monsters that hurt my Tyrrik, for surely he was mine. Wetness splattered me, and I continued to shred until there was nothing but pieces of what had once been life.

I stood afterward in the middle of the blood-splattered room.

My gaze landed on Tyrrik. My ears fixed on his labored breathing. I only smelled his blood. I knelt at his side and picked a blade up from the floor. I sliced through the pads of my fingers, pushing my blood over his wounds to help them heal.

I heard footsteps in the hall and whirled to face the next threat, but Dyter’s scent preceded him, and though my talons didn’t retract, I’d already knelt beside Tyrrik again before he stepped through the door.

“What the hay . . .” Dyter gasped, skidding to a halt. “Holy fecking Drae,” he panted, closing the door behind him.

His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his mouth hung open as he struggled to catch his breath. “What—” He pointed at the gore splattering the walls and severed parts littering the floor and then turned to the side and threw up.

I felt like I should apologize to him, but I wasn’t the least bit sorry. Not at all.

“Watch the door,” I growled through my fangs. “They poisoned Tyrrik.”

“We need to leave now,” Dyter said, wiping his chin.

I listened to Tyrrik’s straining heartbeat. “There will be no later for Tyrrik unless I heal him now. They were spitting on the knife to keep the wounds open and drain him. There are droplets of Phaetyn poison inside him again.”

“As quick as you can then, Rynnie,” Dyter said, as he bent to pick up one of the weapons littering the floor.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, placing my hands on Tyrrik’s chest. His smoky leather-and-steel scent washed over me.

I leaned over the Drae and pressed my lips to his. His soft lips were unmoving, so I pushed my tongue to pry them slightly apart as I brought my hands to either side of his face. He tasted like nectar. I breathed into him. I imagined the darkness of my lord Tyrrik’s Drae, and I shoved as much of my Phaetyn power into him, in a blast, as I could. The energy filled his body, causing him to arch off the bed.

“Ryn, hurry,” Dyter yelled.

I stood as something crashed outside in the hallway, hoping I’d given Tyrrik enough help to stave off death. There wasn’t time to check.

“I’m ready,” I said, glancing around the room for our things, but whatever things we’d once had were now . . . ruined. “Grab whatever you can—”

“You’re blinded,” Kaelan bellowed outside. “The monstrosity must die.”