For the second time, Clio sat at the head of the table in the royal council room. Beside her, in Rouvin’s former seat, Petrina held her chin high as though trying to stretch a little taller. The huge table and heavy chair made her diminutive frame seem even more frail.

“After careful consideration,” the oldest of the royal advisors announced in a gravelly voice, “the council has determined that a regent is required to rule in Princess Petrina’s stead until she comes of age in her twenty-first year.”

Clio let her gaze move slowly across the twelve advisors. The four who had gone to Aldrendahar with Rouvin, and who had returned with his body, had the palest faces.

“It is the duty of the council to elect a suitable regent,” the elderly advisor continued. “We will vote based on nominations made by the councilors.”

“I nominate Councilor Philemon,” a nymph said immediately. “He has served on the council for over forty years and loyally supported King Rouvin, may his spirit rest peacefully, and his father before him.”

Several advisors nodded in solemn support. Clio kept her expression neutral as Philemon, the second eldest of the councilors, raised one hand in gracious thanks.

Under the table, small fingers closed around Clio’s, squeezing tightly. Petrina straightened even more, somehow lifting her chin another inch. Her blue eyes were bright despite the dark circles bruising the pale skin underneath them.

“I nominate Princess Clio Nereid as regent,” she declared in a ringing voice.

Clio’s hand tightened convulsively around Petrina’s. Silence pressed down on the room as the advisors glanced at one another, nervousness vibrating between them.

Philemon coughed delicately. “Your Highness, I must advise caution. Lady Clio’s unusual heritage could be used as a claim upon the throne. Assigning her power as a regent—”

“King Rouvin’s will was clear,” another advisor interrupted. “And Princess Clio has accepted his determination that Princess Petrina’s right to the throne takes precedence.”

“Be that as it may—”

“I’m not withdrawing my nomination,” Petrina cut in firmly. “Princess Clio is the best possible regent and the only one I’ll support.”

The eldest nymph cleared his throat. “Princess Petrina, the decision does fall upon the council. However, we will take your preference into consideration.”

Clio’s stomach clenched sickeningly. She and Petrina didn’t look at each other as the advisors discussed Clio’s credentials—which, aside from a tentative rapport with Miysis Ra, were none—versus Philemon’s. No other candidates were suggested.

“Let us vote, then,” the elderly nymph stated. “All those—

“One moment,” Petrina interrupted. “Since Councilor Philemon’s been nominated, he can’t vote, can he?”

“Ah,” the old advisor murmured. “A pertinent observation. Councilor Philemon?”

The nymph glanced around the table. “I will abstain.”

“Very well. The vote, then. All in favor of Princess Clio Nereid assuming regency of the throne?”

A heartbeat passed where no one moved.

In almost perfect unison, all four advisors who’d accompanied Rouvin to Aldrendahar placed their hands, palms down, on the tabletop. The nymph who had defended Clio also placed his hand on the wood. Five votes supporting Clio, while six advisors sat motionless.

Philemon smiled faintly.

Then the elderly councilor stretched out a wrinkled hand and placed it on the table. “Majority vote in favor of Clio Nereid.”

Under the table, Petrina squeezed Clio’s hand so hard her fingers ached. She gripped just as tightly, fighting to stay calm.

“Princess Clio.” The councilor turned to her. “Do you accept the position of regent, ruler of Irida in Princess Petrina’s stead, for the next ten years until she takes the throne upon her twenty-first year?”

Clio looked from face to solemn face: the elderly leader of the council waiting patiently for her answer; Philemon with his expression frozen in a stony stare; the four councilors who’d witnessed the battle in Aldrendahar watching her expectantly.

Finally, she looked at Petrina. The girl’s eyes blazed with triumph above hollow cheeks, her complexion too pale even for an ivory-skinned nymph. But beneath her exhilaration, vulnerability lurked—the shadows of doubt and fear.

Clio took Petrina’s hand in both of hers, holding the girl’s cold fingers tightly.

“Princess Clio,” the elderly councilor prompted, his voice quiet and grave. “Do you accept?”

Whichever choice she made, it would change her life forever. Whichever path she chose, her heart would suffer.

But, deep in her soul, she knew there was only one answer she could give.

* * *

Carefully closing the door to the council room, Clio pressed her back against the wood, eyes squeezed shut. She concentrated on breathing, on controlling the panic bubbling up inside her. It was done. There was no going back.

She pushed away from the door. Her steps grew faster and faster as she sped through the palace halls, her dark brown skirts fluttering around her legs. The council meeting had immediately followed Rouvin’s parting ceremony, and Clio still wore the colors of mourning—deep browns to match the earth that welcomed the deceased back into the cycle of death and rebirth.

The palace guards straightened as she swept past, a reaction she wasn’t used to. No one had paid much attention to her when she’d been a lady-in-waiting.

She passed through courtyards and verandas, heading toward the farthest wing of the palace: the rarely used northeast tower. A familiar pair of nymphs stood in front of the tower door—two of Rouvin’s bodyguards, now without a king to protect. Petrina had her own devoted guardians, so upon Clio’s return to Irida, they had offered their services to her instead.

She nodded to them as she slipped through the door. Her steps echoing on the tiles, she crossed the main hall and out into the courtyard on the far side.

The garden was overgrown, but the wildness was more beautiful to her than manicured squares. She pushed aside the hanging branches of a willow-like tree and walked toward the stone parapet that marked the courtyard’s edge.

Beyond it, the mountainside dropped away. The view of the capital spreading across the slope below was spectacular, but nothing compared to the miles of forested wilderness dotted with towns, villages, and farms. Far to the west, the sprawling peaks of the Kyo Kawa mountains were a shadow against the clear blue sky.

Lyre leaned against the railing, both elbows braced on the stone. After three days of rest, his complexion had returned to its usual bronze tan, the color brought out even more by his dark red garments. He wore a chimera-style outfit—a sleeveless jerkin belted in the front and fitted, leather pants and boots.

At her approach, he turned. She didn’t slow, walking right into his arms and pressing her face into his chest. His arms closed around her.

“Lyre,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

He ran his hand down her hair. “How did it go?”

“The parting ceremony was lovely,” she answered, knowing that wasn’t what he was asking about. “The entire city came to say goodbye.”

“I could see the crowds from up here.”

She glanced toward the open meadow in the valley where thousands of nymphs had gathered to pay their respects to the fallen king. A tear slipped down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.

“What about the council meeting?” Lyre asked.

She pulled herself tighter against him, terrified to let go.

“We were right that they would elect a regent,” she whispered. She and Lyre had discussed every possibility over the last three days. “They voted … and … they chose me.”

She started to shake and he crushed her to his chest. The feeling—being held in his arms, his warmth, his cherry scent—pushed her over the edge and a sob shuddered through her.

“Clio,” he whispered.

“I accepted,” she wept. “I’m so sorry, Lyre. I couldn’t leave Petrina alone. She needs me.”

He slid a hand into her hair, holding her as she cried.

“The only other candidate was Philemon,” she explained desperately, fighting to control her sobbing so she could speak. “He would have controlled everything and never let Petrina make a single decision. He’s extremely traditional and he might have—”

“I know,” Lyre murmured. “Clio, I understand.”

She sucked in a trembling breath. He cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing away a trail of tears.

“I knew if they offered you the regency, you would take it.” He leaned down, his mouth brushing across her lips, then her tear-streaked cheek. “You aren’t the type of woman who could abandon her sister and her kingdom. You would never be happy skulking around Earth with me while Petrina was alone, her entire family lost.”

“Stay here with me, then.”

Pain tightened his face as he looked away. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

He couldn’t stay here, and they both knew it.

Before Aldrendahar and Kokytos, maybe Lyre could have hidden away in a remote corner of Irida. But not anymore. A single rumor could ruin everything. If Hades, and therefore Chrysalis, heard of an incubus connected to the nymph territory, they would jump to one conclusion: the deceased master weaver who’d fled Asphodel with a nymph wasn’t dead after all.

Clio, as Irida’s regent, would have eyes on her constantly—not just nymphs and chimeras, but dignitaries, emissaries, and rulers from across the Overworld. No matter where Lyre was or how far he fled, if she went near him, she would bring all that attention with her. Seeing him at all would mean risking his life.

Lyre rested his cheek against the top of her head, his arms tight around her.

“I can’t stay here,” he murmured. “We knew all along I couldn’t. Incubi stand out wherever we go, and the only way I can disappear for good is to become just like them. Just one more anonymous, skirt-chasing incubus. That means going where there are other incubi.”

She pulled back sharply. “You don’t mean that horrible ladies club in Kokytos, do you?”

He let out a surprised laugh. “No, I don’t plan to go anywhere near Kokytos. I don’t plan to go back to the Underworld at all.”

“I want to be with you.”

“You belong here, Clio. You need to be here.”

Vise-like pain crushed her heart. “But if you leave, we won’t … we’ll never …”

“Never?” He caught her chin, tilting her face up to his. “Never is a very long time.”

His mouth closed over hers, soft but urgent. She kissed him desperately, her arms clamping around his neck.

“You don’t have to go yet, do you?” she asked, her eyes stinging with the threat of more tears.

“No,” he whispered, pulling her lips back to his. “I don’t have to leave yet.”