You have the storm in your veins, and fire in your heart. You are a princess of the Zini court. You can face her.

Árdís took a deep breath, and slammed both hands flat against the golden doors leading from her private chambers into the royal wing, pushing them open. She'd dallied long enough, and her mother wouldn't be pleased to find her summons gone unanswered, but the events in Reykjavik had raised conflict in her heart.

She felt restless. Cagey.

A violent spirit gowned in gold silk.

It didn't help that the queen had called an audience before the entire court, and nobody seemed to know what it was about.

The rough-edged corridor Árdís stalked along looked like it had been carved straight out of basalt. The floor gleamed like a mirror, polished by the Chaos magic that had created the court. Located in the heart of the volcano Hekla, the court was a world outside of the natural one, a bubble in time and space created by Chaos magic, where the dreki of the Zini clan congregated.

Most of them had their own volcanoes and territories in the country. Her own was a small mountain in the south, where heat leaked from fumaroles, and she could lounge and listen to the hypnotic groan of the earth. But the court was where the clan gathered, and where those who had no territories of their own resided. It was enormous, a space that shouldn't have fit within the volcano—and didn't. Chaos bubbles existed in a side world of their own.

But despite the size, it was tradition that dreki would walk these halls in mortal form, and Árdís breathed a sigh of relief, for she didn't know how she'd explain the episode with the bracelet.

It had been all she could do to talk Sirius into allowing her to use the portal the servants used to travel back to Hekla, and even then his blue eyes had narrowed with suspicion.

Árdís strode toward the enormous throne room in the heart of the court, her golden skirts twitching about her ankles. I'll forget you. I swear I will. The words hammered in time to the sound of her racing heart.

Stop it, she told herself. It's over. It's done.

But the flicker of a rebellious flame smoldered in her heart.

She didn't know why she was so angry. For years she'd felt hollow and empty, but it was only now she realized the extent of it. Some sort of survival instinct must have dulled the edges of her pain. Her world had become a landscape of bleak shadows, one she navigated carefully, locking away her innermost hopes and dreams. And she hadn't even noticed. She'd played by the rules of her mother's court. She'd kept her head down, and tried to remain unnoticed by the more dangerous players at court. A slow, painful stifling, where Árdís became a marionette wielded by her mother's whims.

One glimpse of Haakon, and everything changed. Suddenly the world seemed full of color and life again. Dreams exploded to life in her chest. She could taste his kiss still. Her lips fairly burned with the memory of it.

And her heart ached with rage.

A shadow shifted out the corner of her eye as she reached the doors to the throne room.

A dreki in mortal form pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against, his hair black, and his clear, almost colorless eyes locked upon her. "Princess."

Árdís stilled. "Roar."

Her illegitimate cousin prowled the court like a rabid dog seeking scraps. Of all her uncle Stellan's sons, Roar scared her the most. Magnus had been cruel, but disinterested in her; Sirius was frightening in his own unique way, but if she were honest, he'd never lifted a hand against her; and Andri, the youngest, was her favorite.

Somehow her brutal uncle had given birth to one son who knew what the words loyalty and honor meant.

Roar was not that one.

"I heard you led my brother quite a chase in Reykjavik." His smirk revealed how much he enjoyed the thought.

Sirius hadn't been quite as pleased. The second Haakon vanished, so had she, slipping through the window after him, and darting over the rooftops toward the docks, desperate to draw her dreki guards as far away from Haakon as possible.

"Sirius needed the exercise," she said, in the most casual tone she could muster. They expected a spoiled princess here, and so she gave them one.

The hallway was empty.

Every dreki in the court would be gathering in the throne room.

But if Roar thought, for one second, that she was helpless….

Árdís smiled, knowing what he saw when he looked at her. A gilded treasure he wasn't allowed to touch. It ate at him, but she could handle him. He wouldn't dare touch her, not with the threat of her mother's wrath looming over her.

Nobody crossed Queen Amadea if they valued their near-immortal lives.

He circled her slowly, taking her measure with insolent eyes. Árdís swallowed down the choke of rage, and turned her head to track him. His skin was as pale as the snow-capped mountains to the west. Thick black hair brushed against his collar. It always looked a little oily, as though he'd raked his fingers through it. Or perhaps that was just him.

"If you were mine," Roar whispered, his breath stirring across the back of her neck as he came around to her side, "I would keep you on a tighter leash."

She glanced sideways, beneath her lashes. "But I'm not yours. Am I?"

"Not yet."

"Not ever."

Roar angled his head and smiled as if he knew a secret she didn't.

Árdís swallowed. "You're going to make me late for my mother's announcement. If she asks, I'll tell her you waylaid me."

Roar clucked his tongue. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

He knew what it was going to be. Árdís's eyes narrowed. The court had been on edge in the last month, ever since her cousin Andri returned with the news of Magnus's death. Stellan's eldest son had been sent to make a treaty with Rurik, but Rurik had killed him.

Or so they said.

A hand reached out, hovering just above her collarbone. A challenge. He wasn't touching her. He hadn't broken the rules. But she felt that touch as if he had, and he knew it.

"I swear to the gods that if you don't get out of my way...."

Roar's fingertips settled, just lightly, upon her skin.

"Get your hands off her," said a cold voice.

And Árdís sucked in a sharp breath of relief, despite the fact the dreki who appeared was little better.

At least he keeps his hands to himself.

Sirius melted out of the shadows, almost as if he wore a cape of pure darkness.

He towered over the pair of them, his shoulders broad, and his long brown hair tied back with a leather thong. A warrior, dressed from head to toe in strict black. Cool eyes the color of a glacial spring locked on the pair of them, but it was Roar he gave his attention to.

"Of course. Brother." Roar gave a smirk and held his hands up as he backed away. "I know what I'm not allowed to touch."

Sirius paused but an inch from his bastard brother. "And yet, you keep taking risks. Árdís is mine. See you remember that."

"For now." Another faint, mocking smile. Roar took a step back. "Let us see if you can keep her. She has a frightening tendency to bolt when least expected." Sirius watched Roar stalk away, and the cold glitter of his eyes indicated a storm brewing between the pair of them. The very air seemed to chill with his temper, until it burned her lungs. Roar slipped through the doors into the throne room, and Sirius finally looked down at her.

"Sirius," she murmured, tipping her chin up. "As bleak and grim as usual. Killed anyone today?"

"Árdís," he replied, glancing around as he offered her his arm. "As frustratingly stubborn and painful as usual. And no, not yet, though the day's still young."

Neither of them looked in the direction Roar had vanished.

She could keep up this pretense.

But it seemed he was not going to allow her to do so.

"You should be careful not to be alone at the moment," he said, turning his attention toward her. "The bastard's starting to show his teeth."

"Perhaps he'd like to meet my claws?"

Sirius stared down at her. For a second she thought he was going to make some flippant remark. But his lips thinned. "Don't underestimate him. He's grown bold since Magnus died. He's always hungered for power and for father's attention, and without Magnus at my side, Roar sees a chance to take what he wants. And he wants you."

She'd spent most of the year avoiding Sirius. When they met, they traded careless barbs, but he didn't offer her warnings. This wasn't how the game was played. "You're the Blackfrost." Half of the court feared him. The other half dared not look his way. "Surely you—of all dreki—are not frightened of Roar?"

He'd never challenged his brother, but sometimes Árdís had seen even Magnus look at him in a speculative way.

She could rank every single dreki within the court on a scale of how dangerous they were. Except for Sirius. He didn't fight challenges. He didn't make idle threats. He bowed to his father's will. But the other males in the clan didn't challenge him either, and she'd seen unease in their eyes as they skirted around him.

That was almost an un-dreki-like action.

To be dreki meant one was arrogant to the bone. To be a male dreki only emphasized such a trait.

Sirius is a storm of ice and rage, she'd heard the servants whisper. They say he single-handedly destroyed the German clans when they flew north to take what was ours. He turned their own storm against him. Ripped them from the skies.

He'd earned the title of the Blackfrost years before she'd been birthed into this world.

"Frightened?" he mocked. "No. But wary. Roar knows he can't face me. Not one-on-one. If he makes a tilt at me, I know I won't see it coming. You should always watch an ambitious coward with both eyes, Árdís."

"Is that why you turned all snarly and overprotective?"

Hard eyes narrowed. "We're to be mated. Isn't that how I'm supposed to react?"

Ten years ago he'd tried to claim her, before she fled the court and fell into her husband's hands. It had been a power play, she suspected, for he'd never looked at her the way some of the other dreki did.

And he'd shown little interest in her since.

She snorted, resting her hand lightly on his arm as he turned them toward the throne room. "For a dreki male who's supposed to be mating with me, one could be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Or are the rumors true? They say you keep a cold bed."

Thick lashes obscured his eyes. "One could say the same for you."

Yes, but I have a reason. Her hand went to the ring around her throat. It was dangerous to wear it here, but some last hint of defiance within her had seen her slip the chain over her head before she left her rooms.

"And the entire court's been expecting you to set a date for the ceremony."

"The entire court?" he mused. "Or you?"

They paused before the enormous gold doors. Through them she could make out the hush of muted voices. Over a hundred dreki waited, her mother chief among them.

Anticipation stole her breath. She didn't know why she was so nervous. "If we both said we didn't wish to mate, then my mother might—"

"Find an alternative," he said softly. "Would you prefer Roar?"

She shook her head violently. "No. I'd prefer no one. I'll rescind my position before the court. If I step down as my mother's heir, then she'll have no choice but to name you. We wouldn't have to—"

"Árdís."

"We...." She saw his expression, and the words—and the hope within her breast—trailed off.

"Your mother's waiting," he said, "and she's not very happy about it. Something about insisting I should have made you fly back to Hekla."

"I wanted to take the portal," she replied, her teeth bared in what she hoped was a smile. The bracelet remained upon her wrist, despite her best efforts. "I had something to see to in the servants’ quarters."

He shrugged. "Your head. But I do not think this the time to broach the subject of calling off our arrangement."

He isn't saying no.

They could discuss this another time.

Árdís took a deep breath. "Let us go greet Mother then, and find out what this is all about."

* * *

"You're late," the queen whispered the words to her on a thought-thread as Árdís paused before the dais. "Sirius claimed he had to fetch you from the human town."

Hundreds of whispers hushed as Árdís pasted a smile upon her face and knelt before the queen. At least the manacle didn't restrict her psychic abilities. "I wasn't aware you were going to insist upon an audience. There was a necklace I wanted."

Amadea reclined upon her golden throne, her hands curved over the ends of it. Golden waves tumbled down her back, and her face was as smooth and unmarked as Árdís's own. They could have been sisters. Perhaps even twins.

But the glittering green of her mother's eyes held a cruelty she could never match.

"Stellan," the queen murmured, turning her head toward her younger brother.

Árdís lifted her eyes as her uncle strode forward. Wearing the same unadorned black as his son, Stellan was the power behind the throne. With Amadea's magic, and his might, there was no hope in overthrowing them. As he stopped in the center of the dais, the crowd fell silent.

Árdís hastily moved to the right side of the queen.

"Bring forth the prisoner," Stellan boomed.

The line of warriors shifted, and a pair of them dragged someone between them, his knees scrabbling on the floor.

This was the part of court life she hated. Árdís steeled herself. Ever since her father—the rightful king—had been murdered, the court had begun to spiral into dark depths. Her mother and uncle were members of the Zilittu clan from Norway, and ruled not with her father's sense of law and fairness, but with the crushing might of fear.

Heads turned. People strained to see who it was. A woman cried out, clapping a hand to her mouth. "No!"

Then the two warriors—Balder and Ylve—threw a dreki down before the dais.

No, not a dreki. A drekling. Árdís felt ill. Children could be born between dreki and humans, and though the child might bear some of its dreki parent’s powers, the further the bloodline bred, the weaker the blood became. It had become tradition for mortal mothers to make the treacherous trek up the slopes of Hekla and leave their unnatural children upon the doorstep to the court, a tradition started by her father who welcomed all. The court was filled with dreklings—those with dreki blood who were unable to shift forms and soar through the skies. The queen saw some use for them, but Stellan did not.

"Show them the mark," Stellan insisted.

The pair of warriors tore the man's shirt down his arms, baring his back. He kicked and fought, but one of them simply captured him by the throat, and hauled him upright, so everyone in the court could see the tattoo on his back.

A crown encircling a scrolling R.

"For the true prince!" the drekling yelled, his eyes rolling with fear. Ylve turned and slammed a fist into his gut, and he went down on his knees, choking with pain.

Árdís's fingernails bit into her palms. This didn't happen often. Both the queen and Stellan dealt with such matters swiftly and harshly. But sometimes they decided they needed an object lesson.

Stellan stared down at the man on the floor. "This drekling has been found guilty of attempting to break into the prisons and rescue a prisoner—"

"He's your s—"

A hand slammed the drekling's face into the floor, and a gag was produced, cutting sharply into his lips.

Another warrior brought a brazier to the dais. The hiss of burning coals made Árdís flinch. There was a hot iron burning white-hot in the center of the coals.

"Such an act—as well as the tattoo—can only prove where Marek's loyalty lies. And it is not with this court," Stellan said, drawing the end of the brand from the coals. He advanced, taking the steps down from the dais slowly.

Marek's screams were muffled by the edge of the gag as Ylve and Balder flipped him onto his back.

"He is declared a traitor, and will earn a traitor's death. The bonfire is being prepared."

Árdís turned her face away as the hiss of burning flesh and muffled screams echoed. Heels drummed on the floor. The stink filled her nostrils. It was too much. She had turned away, pressing her hands to her lips, when Malin—her drekling handmaid—suddenly appeared, offering her a scented handkerchief.

Árdís curled it in her fist, her eyes meeting the haunted brown depths of her handmaid's. She didn't press the handkerchief to her face, shame flooding through her. She could barely bear the stink and the sound of it. What a jest. Marek was the one feeling the T burn right into the middle of his forehead.

"Take him away and prepare him for the execution tomorrow night," Stellan said, discarding the brand back in the coals.

Marek moaned through a raw throat, as if he simply had no voice left to scream. Or perhaps he'd passed out, there at the end. She hoped.

Árdís turned as the guards dragged him away. Malin's hand squeezed hers. But Árdís's gaze locked on her uncle, and she hated him in that moment, more than she'd ever hated anyone in her life.

But she did not dare speak.

None of them did. Not even Sirius, whose head turned toward her, their eyes locking for one long moment in which she wondered if he even cared.

Silence.

The entire court was rocked with silence.

The only sound was the dying screams that grew weaker the further the poor drekling was dragged from the throne room.

"Does anyone else wish to throw their allegiance to the Traitor Prince?" Stellan asked softly.

Nobody moved.

"We didn't think so," the queen mused, sliding to her feet with graceful elegance. She paused at her brother's side.

"It has been over a month since Magnus, our prince, our hope, was taken from us by the traitor, Rurik," the queen called. "I have heard the unrest at court, and the whispers. As much as Magnus would have wished for us to grieve for him...."

An absolute jest. Magnus had been a monster, and half the court knew it.

"...it is past time we set aside our mourning and looked to the future. To the shining light within our midst." Amadea held her hand out, a sidelong glance shifting to Árdís. "My dear sweet daughter."

Shock slammed through her. She wasn't prepared for this. Marek's punishment had thrown her off-balance.

It was rare she was required to mount the dais. Árdís hesitated a fraction too long, and saw the faint lines around her mother's mouth tighten.

"Get up here," Amadea hissed in her mind.

Gathering her skirts, she somehow made it to her mother's side, sliding her hand into the dreki queen's. Over a hundred faces stared back at her, and not a single one of them smiled. The dreki warriors who served her mother and Stellan simply stared, and the others looked at her with hollow eyes.

The fate of the drekling had broken them.

"And the greatest of us all, the Blackfrost."

Sirius's head turned just as sharply.

Their eyes met for a second before Árdís looked away. He pushed away from the wall, moving with slow, careful steps, his face devoid of all emotion.

Did he support his father in this?

Had he known what was coming?

"It is the dearest hope of myself and my brother to join our two bloodlines and present a unified court." Amadea drew their hands together, and Árdís found her palm resting upon Sirius's.

What was going on here? She hadn't protested the betrothal too hard, knowing whichever way she looked, her back was in a corner. With both of her brother's fleeing the court, she was the only heir, but she'd never hold such a position without a strong male behind her—the way Stellan backed the queen.

But it had been over a year.

Neither the queen nor her uncle Stellan had pushed this, beyond the odd mutter, and Sirius never breathed a word about the betrothal.

It had loomed over her, and yet protected her from the attentions of other dreki. Both threat and savior. Her heart began to pound as she realized what her mother intended.

"Let us bring in the equinox with a celebration." Amadea's voice rang through the enormous cavern. "Tomorrow night, I shall watch as my beloved daughter takes the Blackfrost as a mate, and I can officially announce him as my heir."

Árdís's breath sucked through her. Tomorrow night?

She didn't realize she'd flinched until Sirius's fingers laced through hers, forcing their hands together.

"Don't," he whispered on a thought-thread.

Cheers rang out among her mother's warriors, and hands clapped together. The rest of the hall was silent. Some of her father's remaining coterie of dreki exchanged glances. The drekling didn't move. It all seemed so distant. Árdís's world was narrowing in around her, caging her within their false cheer. The laces on her dress seemed to pull tighter. She couldn't breathe.

"If you'll excuse me," Árdís said, unable to stay there a second longer. Gathering her skirts, she fled the dais.

* * *

"You selfish little bitch." Skirts stalked after her, a menacing swish that told her she couldn't flee. "Do you think this is a game? Do you think you can defy me like that in front of the entire court, and I shall merely turn the other cheek?"

Árdís spun around, her heart beating wildly behind the cage of her ribs as the queen stalked toward her. "How could you do that? Right after.... You could have warned me."

The queen's smile was thin. "You've had a year to grow used to the idea."

"He's not my choice!"

"Do you think your father was my choice?"

Movement flashed. Her ears rang as the slap drove her sideways. Árdís caught herself on the wall, and looked up. Defiance was unwise. Her mother was dangerous, and had long proved she held no sense of loyalty toward her own children.

But Haakon's kiss blazed across her mouth, and Árdís's dreki writhed within her, as if it had woken from a long slumber to find the world burning around it.

Or perhaps the kiss had woken her.

The heart of her. The real her.

How much of herself could she bury? How much of her soul could she cage, before it was too late? No dreki should ever have its wings clipped.

No dreki should live in fear, the way the court did.

Deep inside her lurked a secret fury that boiled up, as if someone had set a match to oil. She rounded on her mother, and it no longer mattered if this was dangerous or unwise, or could possibly get her killed.

A line had been crossed.

A decision made.

"I will not do this," she whispered hoarsely. "You ask too much of me—"

Amadea lashed out, and Árdís went to her knees as a whip of burning Chaos magic lashed around her throat. It choked the breath out of her, searing through her nerves. She screamed, pain obliterating every thought, on and on, until she didn't think she could bear it any longer, and the noose finally vanished.

When she came to, she was on her hands and knees on the floor. Spit dribbled from her lips. Snot bubbled from her nose. She was surprised her head was still attached, for it had felt as though the lash burned right through her spinal cord, but when her palm wrapped around her throat there was not a single mark there.

"I wasn't aware I was asking."

Árdís panted, her rage burned to ash in her throat. How could she ever fight that? How could she ever escape? She smelled again the stink of burning flesh.

She might have little recourse against her mother's powers, but she would not crawl on the floor and beg for forgiveness. Wiping her face with her sleeve, Árdís looked up.

It took her long seconds to gather her weight beneath her, mocked by shaky knees. Árdís's palms scraped the wall, and she hauled herself to her feet, every inch the dreki princess as she stared her mother in the eye.

"Be very careful," Amadea said. "Both of your brothers defied me. I will not have another traitor who shares my own blood. I will not."

Don't be unwise, screamed her sense of self-preservation.

She will kill you.

Or worse.

Árdís forced herself to bow her head, but her fists curled at her side, so tightly her knuckles ached.

"This court is full of rebellious hearts," Amadea warned, and her red skirts swished into the field of Árdís's vision. "Some say your brother is still the rightful heir, despite your father's murder—"

"He didn't do it. I know Rurik would never have—"

A cruel hand caught her chin, forcing her to look up. Fingers dug into the flesh of her jaw.

"You were a kit, Árdís. You know nothing. Do you think Rurik looked back once he left this court?" Amadea's eyes glittered. "I know you think he loved you—I know you think Marduk loved you—but did they ever offer to take you with them? Or did they leave you behind, like the refuse sailors throw overboard their ships? Vanishing without a single goodbye...."

Her heart absorbed the blow. They loved her. Her father had loved her, before someone in this wretched court ripped his heart out.

But that didn't negate the fact she was alone here, with not a single ally.

Or that they had left her behind, knowing what their mother was like.

Claws dug into her skin, and Amadea's glittering green eyes became the center of her vision. "I will crush this rebellion if it is the last thing I do. I will not allow your father's lawless dreki fanatics to bring mutiny to my court. Word swims of Rurik's power and might following Magnus's death, and each whisper is melding together to become a roar that shakes the foundations of this court."

"That's why you did that?" A public punishment to whip the court into line, and a mating ceremony to offer a future.

"We need to look strong in the face of these rumors. We need Sirius named as heir. If there is one thing that can counter the might of their golden prince, then it is the Blackfrost. And you will do your duty to protect this family, this court. You will mate with him, Árdís, so I can name him heir and weld this fractured court together again. I will not allow your selfishness to ruin us."

Amadea held her there for another brutal second, seeming satisfied with what she saw in Árdís's eyes.

Then she let her go and strode away, leaving Árdís gasping behind her.