A knock sounded on Dagen’s door, and he glanced up from his desk with a frown spread across his face. It was late. Far past midnight. Who in the name of the forest would be knocking on his door this time of night? Slowly, he stood, grabbing a poker from beside the fire and striding across the room to the door. He doubted anyone would make a move against him, especially not so blatantly inside of the castle like this.

But he was on guard just the same.

When he opened the door, he found Ethne’s familiar face peering up at him. His brow wrinkled. No, that was wrong. It wasn’t Ethne at all. He had seen her glamor enough times to know when the real thing was standing before him and when she was not.

Dagen lowered his weapon. “I should say I am surprised to see you here, but I do not think I am. I should have expected it.”

“Where were you tonight?” she demanded, making no attempt to lower her voice.

Dagen frowned out at the corridor. No one was there, but that did not mean there were no eyes and ears around. “Come inside.”

Bree let out a little huff and strode into Dagen’s room, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how much of her came through the glamor, even though she was the spitting image of Ethne. It was in her every little movement. The way her narrowed eyes were lit with fire. The way her fists were balled by her sides. And the way she threw her shoulders back, just daring anyone to get in her way.

“Bree,” he said gently. “It is not wise to come here, even if you are glamored. I can tell it is you. Others may be able to as well. I am not the only fae in this castle who knows of Ethne’s gift.”

“I don’t care. I want to know where you were tonight. And I want to know where she was, too.”

Dagen frowned and gestured at his paper-strewn desk. “I have been here doing some work for the realm. Some issues have cropped up with a few of our outposts across the Black Sea. As for Ethne...” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I am not her keeper.”

“She said you two were in cahoots.”

Dagen bit back a smile. “Cahoots? Is that some strange human word?”

Bree narrowed her eyes. “She had me go to the feast ‘dressed’ as her, and then a massive attack on the Court happened. You’re telling me these two things aren’t related?”

“Wait just one moment, Bree. An attack happened? What are you talking about?”

Bree glared at him, flicking her eyes up and down his body as if she were sizing him up. In any other situation, he might like to think she was appreciating the pants that were slung low around his hips and the way his open tunic revealed his skin. Not that he truly wanted Bree to appreciate him while she was glamored as Ethne’s form. That was madness.

Still, a part of him wondered at what she saw when she stared at him so intently.

“You didn’t know?” She frowned, seeming surprised. “At the feast tonight, some masked fae stormed in and took down several members of the Court. The Prince managed to capture some of them, but no one knows who they are.”

Outsiders. Strangers in the Court. Launching attacks during the nightly feast.

Dagen’s frown deepened. This was bad. And it meant that his hunch about the status of relations throughout the realm was worse off than anyone wanted to believe. If their enemies were bold enough to attack the Court inside of their castle? Well, he shuddered to think of what they might do next.

“I am sorry, Bree. You will have to excuse me. There is somewhere I need to be.”

She propped her little fists on her hips and frowned. Such a Bree move, he couldn’t help but think.

“Are you kidding me?” She strode forward and shoved a finger into his chest. “You and Ethne were conspicuously absent tonight, don’t you think? What, did you plan this? Or did you get a heads up that it was going to happen? So, you hid in your room so you wouldn’t be killed?”

“You truly think I am so terrible that I would launch an attack on my own Court.”

“You asked me to spy on the Prince.” She shrugged. “So, you’re obviously not happy with the status quo.”

He paused as he tried to weigh her words in his mind. As much as he hated himself for it, he was taken aback by her willingness to believe he was that kind of monster. But he should have known, and could he really blame her? Most of the Dark Fae in this castle had shown her nothing but the very worst parts of themselves, including the Prince.

The Prince, who liked to think of himself as better than all the rest of them.

But Dagen had shown her more. Why could she not see that?

“There is being unhappy with the status quo, Bree.” A pause. “And then there is murdering a bunch of innocents when I have been tasked with the responsibility of keeping them safe.”

Bree’s eyes widened, and in an instant, the glamor disappeared from her skin. Instead, the wild-haired girl with big blue eyes stared up at him, looking far more human than she ever had. Taveon had said she’d once been a member of the mortals before she’d become a Light Fae through the Redcap virus, but it had been impossible to see. But now it was though all of her masks had fallen away. He could see the humanity in her now. And he couldn’t help but find it breathtaking. What was it about this girl that drew him in so?

“Well, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?” she asked.

“That is what I must find out,” he said. “So that it does not happen again.”

“Could it have been Ethne? She wasn’t there either. She sent me there, like this.”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “Ethne would never do such a thing. No, I fear it is worse than that. This attack sounds as though it has come from outside instead of within.”

“But—”

He held up a hand to stop her. There was only so much she needed to hear. “Bree. You have lost your glamor. Let me take you back to your room.”

“What?” Bree’s face paled as she glanced down at herself. She held out her hands in front of her, gasping when she spotted her own pale skin rather than Ethne’s silvery hands. “Have I been like this the whole time?”

“Not really,” he said. “Though you are not very good at wearing glamor. Everything about you has screamed Bree since the moment you walked through that door.” Despite everything within him urging him not to, he stepped up close to Bree and lifted a strand of wavy hair from her shoulder, sliding the silky material between his fingers. “You may have looked as though your bright yellow hair was pulled up high onto your head, but the way you moved, the way your eyes burned, it all shouted that it was truly long and free and flowing. Fierce.”

Bree seemed to hold her breath as she watched Dagen slide his fingers down the length of her hair, and her entire body was tense. “Are you talking about my hair?”

“Your hair and everything else about you. Your soul. What makes you so very much you.” He lifted his lips into a smile. “You are terrible at wearing a glamor because you burn so very bright.”

Bree sucked in a breath, and her eyes shifted from his hand to his eyes. “I should go. Like you said.”

He dropped her hair and stepped back, trying to hold down the disappointment. Because what did he have to be disappointed about? Absolutely nothing. The two of them had just been having a conversation and nothing more. It was not as if Bree had ever felt anything toward him but disdain.

“Of course.” He gave her a tight smile. “And I have an attack to look into, it seems.