Árdís's hand went instantly to the hilt of the sword. "Creeping around in the dark again, Sirius? It suits you."

He ignored her, and made a small gesture with his hand. The fire in the muted lantern in his hand flared higher, highlighting the stark planes of his face. A villain like him should have showed some outward sign of his black heart, but the face the lamplight lovingly caressed was blessed by the gods.

"Creeping around in the dark doesn't suit you," he said, in that rough-velvet voice. "People might notice."

"What?" she scoffed, turning her entire body to face him so she'd have room to move. "That I was using the back tunnels? Perhaps it's the quickest way to the jousting rooms. I do have a sparring appointment with Master Innick most days, even after that debacle in the throne room. And the main cavern is awash with your father's louts. I was trying to avoid them."

"Avoid them? Or me?"

"Why differentiate?"

He smiled faintly. There had never been any love lost between the pair of them, and they both knew it.

Sirius set the lantern down, his long hair streaming down his back. He'd bound some of it back with a leather thong. "You're running away."

"Why ever would I do such a thing?" She mustered all of the haughtiness she could, and turned away from him. "What I am is late. Master Innick might be waiting for me. I'll leave you to your musty cellars."

A hand grasped her forearm. "You're lying."

Árdís found herself turned and shoved back against the wall. A gasp escaped her. She'd never been manhandled in her life—unless one counted the time her husband tried to kidnap her.

"Princess?" Marek.

"Don't show yourself," she sent back, surprised at the strength of his telepathy. "He doesn't know you're here. Yet."

Sirius glanced around, and then looked down at her. A new fear began to lick through her as she realized how little space existed between them. He didn't know Marek was there, but even if he did, what did it matter? It wouldn't take the Blackfrost long to dispatch an injured drekling. Nobody else would hear her scream, nobody would know to come looking for her.... He could do anything he desired, and though she'd fight, she knew she couldn't overwhelm him. Sirius had been training for battle since birth, and his sheer size dwarfed her, even if she could access her elemental magic. Curse Haakon for weakening her so.

The knife at the small of her back felt like it grew hot. She'd have to take him by surprise.

And make it hurt.

"I swear, if you think to touch me," she hissed, "then I'll do my best to geld you."

It took a second to get the knife, and another to drive it forward, angled down toward his groin. Sirius's eyes flared wide, then he caught her wrist and twisted. The knife scored flesh; she smelled the hot coppery scent of it. And then he brought his other hand down in a sharp chop.

Pain echoed up her arm, but she didn't dare let go of the weapon. It was her only hope. She'd never get the sword free in time, and with her back to the corner, she'd be hampered by both walls. Not enough room to swing it.

His shoulder drove into her chest, and Árdís slammed against the wall, the breath in her chest escaping as though her lungs were a set of fireplace bellows someone had compressed. Strong thumbs drove into the tendon in her hand, and she caught a flash of Sirius's face up close, the meager light turning his irises to hot lumps of coal.

Tiamat's breath, it hurt.

It hurt. She twisted her head, trying to find some space, but he had her pinned. The pressure on her fingers increased, and Árdís felt him take the knife from her. No.

But there was nothing she could do about it.

Sirius tossed the knife behind him with a clatter, and held his hands up, showing her his empty palms. "I don't intend to hurt you," he said in that deep voice.

Árdís's breath caught. She wiped her mouth, and pushed herself upright. In what world did he think she'd believe him? Her gaze flickered to the knife.

"You'd know if I were lying," he told her. "The same way I knew you were. Dreki cannot lie, Princess. Our very words are power, made to shape the world. You should be more careful with them."

"What part of 'I was trying to geld you' sounded like a lie?"

He grunted, and she saw him shift his weight onto his right leg. Blood trickled down his left thigh. "That, at least, was the truth. You came remarkably closer than anyone else."

"A shame I missed. You might have had to forgo the pleasures of our bonding night. Oh, bit it seems you'll have to somehow convince me to agree to the mating bond first, and let me assure you these words are the truth: I would rather rot in Helheim than ever mate with you."

"No offense, Princess," he growled, "but I'm as eager to mate with you as you are to mate with me."

What?

"You expect me to believe that?" She was one of the paths to being named heir of the Zini court. The other was to confront her elder brother, Rurik, and battle him for the right. Many dreki had tried the second route in the past thirty years, and none had returned.

Magnus included, it seemed.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're your father's son, Sirius. What's the motto of the Zilittu clan again? To take and to hold? My mother's about to name you her heir, and I won't believe you're going to allow someone else the chance to use me to get to that throne. Roar would see this move and swoop in before either of us could blink. So what are you really doing here?"

"Let me assure you of this truth: I don't want to mate with you. I don't even like you very much."

Árdís's heart kicked a little faster. There were ways to twist words—to sculpt them so carefully one had to really follow the twist to see what a dreki was truly saying. But I don't want to mate with you left no margin for mistakes.

There has to be a twist.

“You don’t want to be named heir?” she questioned suspiciously. Whether he liked her or not, Sirius wanted the line of succession to be very clear in everyone’s mind.

Sirius rubbed at his knuckles, and when he looked up at her, his blue eyes were searing. “I didn’t say that.”

There was the twist.

If he didn’t want to marry her, and yet he wanted to plant himself in the line of succession....

Árdís scrambled away from him, looking longingly at her sword across the chamber. All it would take would be one dreki princess with her throat cut. The dreki whispered through her veins, alarmed by her fear, but the blasted manacle locked her away from the other half of her nature.

Sirius knelt, picking up the knife he'd taken off her. Despite the handsome cast of his features, his expression was cold. "I told you I wasn't going to hurt you."

"If I recall correctly, the exact words were, 'I don't intend to hurt you.' There's a world of difference in that sentence."

He looked up and held the knife out to her, hilt first. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want you to listen to me."

Árdís stared at the knife. "Mating or murder. They're the only two ways I can see you getting what you want."

"There's another way."

Another way? She couldn't— And then she realized what he meant. "Exile."

"It seems we're of a mind." Sirius unfolded himself slowly, and reached for her hand with exquisite gentleness. He folded her fingers around the hilt, his expression beseeching. "We both saw what happened in that throne room. Let's pretend I'm correct and you're not really heading for your training session with Master Innick. Let's pretend I know what that ring you wear on your chain represents, and that I saw the look on both you and your mortal lover's faces when I chased you from the inn...."

She pressed a hand to her leather bodice. Few dreki moved among mortals. Even fewer paid attention to their customs. "You saw him?"

"I could smell him all over you. And now you're leaving, and that suits both of us," he said. "Go to him. I don't care."

She still couldn't quite fathom it. "You wanted to mate with me eleven years ago. You made that quite clear."

It was one of the reasons she'd first fled the court, yearning for something more. And she'd found it for nearly three glorious years, until her mother finally tracked her down.

A slight sideways sweep of his lashes. "Dreki change."

"Give me one good reason to believe you." She stepped closer to him, putting the tip of the knife to his unprotected breast. Sirius glared at her, but he didn't back away, and Árdís tipped her chin up stubbornly. "Because I never promised not to hurt you. And I find it quite difficult to believe you suddenly changed your mind about wanting to mate with me. I'm not stupid enough to think 'I don't like you' is a strong enough reason."

"You don't want to mate with me."

"I don't have any good reason to do so," she hissed. "I despise you and mating with you earns me nothing but a bond we'd both hate. My motives aren't opaque."

He looked away.

Árdís pressed forward, the tip of the knife finding resistance. Blood welled on his shirt. "You're hiding something."

"You're hiding many things—"

"And I'm not leaving until you tell me what you're hiding. I don't trust you not to immediately turn me over to my mother, or to set my uncle's pack of dreki dregs upon me. Maybe you don't want to get your hands dirty, but you're content to let them do it for you." She looked into his eyes, determined to call his bluff. "So I'm not leaving until I hear the truth, even if I do have to mate with you as a consequence."

Stalemate.

The pair of them glared at each other, until Sirius's gaze dropped to the collar of her gown. She didn't know what he intended as he reached for her, but he tugged the silver chain around her throat free, his fist curling around her marriage ring. "Who is he?"

"If you think I'm going to give you a name, then you're out of your mind. And he's gone from my life."

Sirius slowly opened his fist and examined the plain ring. "And yet your heart still belongs to him. Or you wouldn't be wearing this."

"It's none of your business." She jerked it from his hand and stuffed it back within her bodice. Then she shoved him back against the wall and put the blade directly against his throat. "Enough games, tell me what you're hiding."

"The same thing you are," he spat.

Árdís froze.

"You're married?"

It was impossible.

Sirius traveled occasionally, but there'd been no hint of a human in his life, and he'd never bothered to correct his father's vehement intention to grind all humans beneath his heel.

"Not married."

"Mated."

"Not mated." The fury showed in his eyes.

And suddenly she knew.

There was one very, very good reason he wouldn't wish to bind himself to her. Árdís backed away, lowering the knife. "You found her, didn't you? The other half of your soul; your twin flame."

Her people called it kataru libbu, a bastardized version of Sumerian that at its most basic meant an alliance of the heart, and yet was so much more.

Soul mate. The missing piece. Forever.

One that was undeniably yours, and likewise.

Her heart felt like it clenched into a tight little ball. She'd loved and she'd married, but she'd also hoped to find something more between her and Haakon.

Yet, it was dreki males who first knew.

And without that instinct, Árdís had never been entirely certain.

"Who is she?" she whispered, jealous of him all of a sudden.

Sirius pushed away from the wall, looming over her. "It doesn't matter. She's nobody. And nothing will ever come of it. But just as you would prefer to keep his name to yourself, so would I."

"Ylve?"

"Sweet goddess, no! Who would ever lie with that bitch?"

Whoever it was, she had to have arrived in the court beneath Hekla sometime in the last ten years for him to change his mind about acceding to his father's wishes and taking Árdís as a mate.

Sirius captured her jaw. "I can almost see you thinking. Her identity is none of your concern. Just know she's my reason to want to avoid this mating. Is it a good enough reason to trust me?"

"Good enough. Because if you betray me, I'll tell your father everything you just said. Whoever she is, she's clearly unsuitable or you would have pursued her openly."

"The second you do so, you condemn her to death," he growled fiercely.

"Good. Maybe it will help whittle the ranks of your father's followers."

His grip tightened unconsciously. "She's not... she's not someone my father would care for. And I want power. I cannot have both."

Which left only those who had been born in Árdís's father's court. Her people. Those she'd fought so hard for, until her mother finally found the one thing guaranteed to drive her away.

"You want to tell my father?" He laughed bitterly. "Then go ahead, Árdís. How will you feel when the blood on your hands is that of someone who loves you?"

It struck her deeply.

"I won't say a word." Backing away, she held the knife between them. "I'm going. You get your wish and so do I. Allow me enough time to get as far away as I can before you rouse the alert."

"Judging from the presence of the drekling in the next cellar, I think the alert shouldn't be too far away," he said softly. "Just how did you get past Haldor?"

Árdís froze. "What drekling?"

He sighed. "I can smell the brand on him, Árdís. And you've both been making enough noise to make it easy to track you. You're playing a dangerous game."

"You're not going to stop Marek from escaping?"

"Father will be furious." Sirius's lashes obscured his eyes as he glanced down, fingering his dagger. "And I might be able to smell him, but it appears I didn't see a thing."

Árdís released her held breath. "Why?"

A faint malicious smile kicked at the edges of his mouth. "Because father will be furious. And I don't particularly enjoy seeing drekling burned alive. Just don't get caught. Stellan would like nothing more than to bring you to heel, and he'll most likely insist I do the honor."

"I didn't know you cared."

"I don't." The Blackfrost gave her a dark look. "But if I'm forced to do his bidding, then my mate will never, ever allow me near her."

Who could it be?

For a second she felt an odd sense of kinship with him. Both of them were forced to play a role they despised. But she was taking her chance to escape it.

"All you have to do is defy your father, just once," she whispered. "Then you could have it all. You're strong enough to challenge him. And if you don't like what they're doing to the court—"

"Oh, Árdís." A humorless smile stretched over his mouth. "If only we could all be so naive. My father has never been the threat."

Árdís's blood ran cold.

"And he's not alone." Sirius reached out with his hand, curling his fingers to snuff the flame of the torches. "Go. Before I think myself a fool for letting you escape. Before your enemies rise to tear you down. Go. And don't come back."

She didn't hesitate any longer.

Árdís hurried back to Marek's side, and together they fled.