Nalea knew Roden was there even though he made no sound. Keeping her back to him, she continued to face the wall where she’d been imagining swimming in the Golran Sea. Whenever Lord Homs had granted her a break from her duties, she’d gone there. It was one of the few vacation places not frequented by Draeken, as wings made swimming difficult. Nalea, on the other hand, was an excellent swimmer. The water, fed by hot springs, caressed her skin.

She’d been fortunate. Most Sephians had never enjoyed vacations. Lord Homs had been a kind master, treating all fourteen of his slaves as though they were a part of his family. He had gone so far as to refer to them as his family unit. But, even as a young girl, Nalea had known they could never be a family. Not as long as those born with wings had power over those born without. A fact she proved the night she sliced her master’s throat.

Blood Night.

It was the night that had changed everything. She’d still been a child then, having not yet reached the age of thirteen. War didn’t care; it sucked all ages into its deadly maw. On that night, slaves across Sephia had revolted to take back their freedom. That night started the twenty-year Noble War. Her people far outnumbered the Draeken, which resulted in many more Sephians being slaughtered than Draeken. But enough had survived to drive the winged scourge from their planet for good.

They’d reclaimed Sephia, but the Noble War wasn’t over. The few remaining Draeken had fled, and Nalea had been one of the first to volunteer to join a group of six hundred Sephian soldiers to pursue the scourge—to the ends of the universe, if necessary. The Sephians would never be truly free of their captors until the Draeken were extinct.

“What goes through that mind of yours?” Roden announced from behind her.

Tension climbed her spine. Her nerves were frayed from the endless battles with Roden. She’d broken free from her cell before; she’d do it again. She remained facing the wall. “Can’t get enough of me, Roden?”

A soft chuckle. “I admit I find you… intriguing; however, I’m simply trying to be a good host. I wouldn’t want my guest to grow disenchanted in my care.”

Nalea sighed. If she asked him to leave her alone, he’d be there even more than he already was. At least he hadn’t tortured her… yet; something that made her both relieved and suspicious at the same time. “What do you want, Roden?”

“Always to the point, Lea; I appreciate that. I have brought a proposal for you. How would you like to earn your freedom?”

She forced herself to not turn, to not display interest, to not respond. She shook her head. “If to earn my freedom, you mean for me to betray my people, you may as well kill me now.”

“I would never kill my consort.”

Nalea snorted and folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not your consort. Nor will I ever be.”

“Hm. I disagree. Alas, but that’s not why I’m here. Back to my proposal; I ask nothing from you that would pit you against your own people, I give you my word. In fact, I offer you an opportunity to become a legend in the Noble War.”

The sound of metal on metal caused her to twist around. Roden was stepping into her cell, its door wide open. Even with his pale wings held tight behind him, his presence seemed to fill much of the small cell.

“I know better than to accept the word of a liar, Roden Zyll.”

He shrugged. “I speak the truth now.” He motioned to her. “Come to my room so we can discuss this further.”

She raised her brows. “Never in all twelve hells will you get me to come willingly to your room.”

He gave her a wicked grin. “You came on your own volition last night.”

“To kill you.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“As long as you live, it does.”

His posture stiffened. He wore a loose shirt, black kilt, and boots. For a lord, he dressed plainly, but there was nothing common about his highborn charisma. Where many nobles flouted their station in order to gain respect, Roden needed no adornment. He was a natural leader, making one race follow him in droves and another race try relentlessly to kill him.

He tapped out a few commands on his wrist-comm and glanced up at the camera entrenched in the ceiling. Nalea followed his gaze to see the light on the camera flicker off. She tensed. What didn’t he want his guardsmen to see? Clenching her jaw, she eyed Roden in a silent face-off. He will never break me.

He cocked his head. “I know why Hillas wants you.”

Her heart felt as though her blood had become lead. Of all the things to say, she’d never expected that. “You’re bluffing,” she said, trying to sound haughty.

His eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips curved upward, and he took a step closer. She fought the urge to take a step back. Another step closer. She lifted her chin in defiance, forcing herself to look up to maintain his gaze.

When he came closer still, she found herself backed against the wall. He leaned closer, his heat branding every cell. When he spoke, his words were a whisper, his breath tickling her ear.

“The Grand Lord wants you because you’re his daughter.”

The smallest gasp. Fear and revulsion locked her in place, while the words shook her to her soul. Scrambling, she jutted out her chin. “I’m Sephian, Roden. Try again.”

Roden smiled. That casual, crooked half-smile spoke of a highly intelligent adversary. She hated that smile almost as much as she hated him.

“You’re a good actress, Lea. Even I wouldn’t have suspected if you hadn’t betrayed your feelings when I battled you. You were fortunate to have inherited many of your mother’s traits. But not all.” Then his features turned hard, and he frowned. “I’ve seen the scars.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she threw out, and couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

The next instant he forced her face against the wall, pinning her. His hand slid under her shirt. She struggled in earnest only to freeze the instant his fingers touched her back—the exact spots where phantom pains still haunted her, where fantasies of taking flight prickled at her dreams. The scars were so old that they were no more than two faint hairlines, but they stood as the sickening truth of her life-long secret.

Roden ground out his next words. “Tell me. What kind of mother would carve the wings from her own babe’s back?”

Nalea shoved away from him. He made no move as she put space between them.

“How dare you judge,” she bit out. “My mother saved my life. Exactly what kind of life do you think a hybrid gets to have?”

His brows furrowed. “Hybrids were common on Sephia. There is no sin in that. All children were cherished.”

“Hybrids were cherished by Draeken. To my people, hybrids are brutal reminders of rapists and of slaves with no rights,” Nalea corrected.

Roden growled. “Yes, there are criminals in every race; criminals that deserve to be put down. But don’t forget that I grew up on Sephia too, and I saw for my own eyes many love-matches between Draeken and Sephians—most without a tahren bond to nudge the Sephian partners along—that produced beautiful hybrids.” He lifted a hand. “You cannot deny that Draeken treasure all life, regardless of their ability to take flight. Slavery was a Sephian tradition we continued after the war out of necessity.” He held up a clenched fist. “But never have I seen rape condoned. Punishment has always been swift and harsh for heinous crimes, regardless of race.”

She laughed but bit it back when she saw his glower. “Look me in the eye and tell me you believe that Hillas Puftan—the righteous Grand Lord who promoted life and love while he persisted with slavery—would treasure his own bastard offspring?”

Roden’s lips thinned.

“Tell me this. How many children do you think Hillas fathered by raping Sephian slaves? And yet today the Grand Lord has no heir—legitimate or otherwise—to rule when he’s gone. What do you think happened to his younger brother who disappeared not long before the Noble War? What do you think happened to him?” Years of hating Draeken bubbled up within her. All the years of worrying about the moment her lineage was discovered was too much. She threw out her next desperate words for spite. “You’re Draeken. You only ever care about Draeken.”

Roden’s fists shook as he held himself in place, and she sensed the restraint it was taking him to keep from attacking her. Sudden trepidation built with her. She attempted to stare him down. He lunged forward, grabbing her by the throat, and slammed her back against the wall. She clawed at his forearm, struggling to breathe.

“Your past has poisoned your mind. Get this straight,” he hissed out. “Yes, I’m Draeken. And don’t think I wouldn’t kill you myself if it would help save my people.” His grip loosened slightly, but he still held her in place. “But you’re also wrong. I’m different. You’ll see. That you still live is proof enough.”

“Why?” she asked honestly.

He pulled his face away from hers while still allowing her no movement. His anger had ebbed, but she could see it, simmering just below the surface. “Because I’m going to take you to Hillas.”

She belted out a callous laugh. “If he knows the truth about me, he’ll kill me the first chance he gets.”

His lips twisted upward. “Not if we kill him first.”

She jerked. “What kind of trick is this?”

“No trick.”

She opened her mouth to refute him then shut it and watched him as she tried to fit the pieces together. A moment later, she calmed. “Ah, I see,” she mocked. “You want me there when he dies. Because, if Hillas is killed by a Sephian, no one would suspect it was actually an assassination by one of his own. And, as the most powerful lord next in line for the throne, you’ll graciously step in to lead your people.”

He shrugged. “Naturally, they need a strong leader.” Then he looked at her hard. “Don’t tell me you haven’t dreamed of killing Hillas.”

“Every night,” she muttered.

“Now’s your chance.”

She continued to watch him. Emotion swirled in those silver eyes, but she couldn’t read him. Finally, as though tired of being near her, he turned away. His wings, covered with dark-colored tribal tattoos, showed her exactly how powerful his lineage was. Blue and green markings lined his wings, detailing his royal heritage. Bold symbols proclaimed the godless logic he followed. Images of bloody battles spoke of victories he’d led. This feudal lord was no minor Draeken to be trifled with. He would be a strong leader, perhaps stronger than Hillas, and that could only make her people’s pursuit of the Draeken all the harder.

Her next words were soft. “Even with your power, if your people suspect you were behind his death, you’ll be executed.”

“Leave that to me.” He paused then turned back to her. “Do exactly as I command and you will be set free. I give you my word.”

Nalea stood there as his words sank in. If she could believe his word—and she couldn’t—Roden was giving her a chance at taking down the one Draeken she hated even more than him. Her father.

With one kill, she could free herself of her secret and drive the Noble War to a critical turning point. Only two people knew the truth about Nalea’s heritage. Apolo, she trusted; Roden, never. If she didn’t want the secret to get out, Roden would have to die.

While she still couldn’t determine when Roden spoke truth or lies, she knew he’d lied to her about one thing. If she survived, she was the only remaining legal heir to the Draeken throne. The Draeken, with their traditions, would accept a bastard, wingless child of the Puftan bloodline over a lord from a different bloodline. Roden could never claim the throne as long as she lived. Either way, she had a death sentence.

Her choice was simple. Not help Roden, die now. Help Roden, kill Hillas, hopefully kill Roden, and then die.

She held out a hand. “I accept.”

He looked down at her hand and broke out into a wide grin. “I prefer to seal our agreement with something more apropos.”

Before she could move, he roughly grabbed her shoulders, yanked her to him, and pressed his lips to hers. She responded by shoving at him, which sent her stumbling backward.

He stepped back, and she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “I hate you.”

“I know,” he replied. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you need me.” He tapped his wrist-comm again, and she knew the camera lights would be blinking back on any moment. Roden was done with her for now.

“I own you, Nalea Zyll,” he said in a low voice, his back to her.

She didn’t miss the fact that he’d added his surname. An intentional slight, as her people refused to use last names. Only their masters had used such names.

He paused just before walking away. “Never forget that.”