Amidst the flickering flames of the braziers, a large, black flier dropped in the center of the sandy arena. Every gnawer in the now thinly populated ranks froze in their tracks—as did the imposing form of Longclaw, who had just sauntered into the center.

All the concerns he and Thanatos had gone over flashed in Henry's mind—about Tonguetwist intervening, about Longclaw not playing along. Yet he refused to let himself be ruled by fear. They would face the demons of their past together, in the very place where they had once been set up to fight each other to the death. And so it would all end . . . It was time for their reckoning.

"I greet you," called Henry as he slid off Thanatos' back and took one step toward Longclaw, who sat on his haunches, watching him keenly. He focused, taking in this place, which he had once known so well, and realized that the number of gnawers around them had increased. They were surrounded, yet . . . A smile played on Henry's lips. This crowd was his; it had always been. "I hear you were looking for me?"

"How very kind of you to reappear and even bring your weapons," snarled Longclaw.

"You hid them not very well."

"Not from one who knows this place as you do." Longclaw gave him a toothy grin. "And now, dear Achilles, would you be so kind as to tell me why you and the Skullface have not escaped together with your slippery friends?"

"We are here because our purpose here is not yet fulfilled."

Longclaw raised a figurative eyebrow.

"Fret not; you shall enjoy what we have returned to do," said Henry, sparking a wave of intrigued murmurs among the filling ranks. "I know very well what it is that you all want." He spread his arms, addressing the entire gathering this time. "You know who I am, and I hear that many of you came here for me!"

The murmur increased, and Longclaw's ear twitched, but Henry was barely looking at him.

"I am Achilles," he declared, and everyone around him stilled.

Henry felt the anticipation in their looming, tense forms. The audience was not a collection of individuals; it was one will, one soul, with the power to command the happenings in the arena. Only those truly worthy of championship knew how to sway this will in a direction that favored them . . . And so Henry did.

"You came to witness me battle," he said. "My companions are uninteresting to you."

"Your companions—"

"They have not my skill and not my infamy," Henry cut Longclaw off. "Is it not so? Am I not the greatest champion to have ever graced the sands of any arena?"

Around him erupted a wave of cheers, widening Henry's self-assured smile. Only Longclaw stared at him with scorn.

"The crowd has declared its will," said Thanatos after most of the noise had died down. "And so we shall battle."

"You will battle?" asked Longclaw sourly. "Hear, hear, my greatest champion of all time wishes to battle for us once more! This time, he has even brought a stunning new weapon. So, whom wish Achilles and Skullface to battle for us today?"

"The only one whom we have yet neglected to battle," said Henry, slipping off his leather gauntlet and raising it above his head for everyone to see. "Achilles' fiftieth victory in this damned arena must be over he who would be Hector. He, who is the only one we would dare challenge on his very own coronation day. He, who is you!" In one deft move, Henry tossed the gauntlet into the white sand before Longclaw.

His challenge was met with a solemn silence. Henry could hear only the hammering of his own heart until it was overtaken by the resounding cheers of the crowd. A swift look around assured him that his impassioned words had swain the crowd in his intended direction, reigniting their lust for bloodshed.

Longclaw regarded Henry with a knowing look, as if he were fully aware of what he had done. There was a brief flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes before he calmly picked up the gauntlet. "Impressive," he said, taking a step forward. "You do not charge into battle recklessly, but instead challenge me on my own terms, where we both adhere to the same rules. No outside interference, no excuses . . . just a duel . . . to the death."

Henry pulled Charos' sheath forward, unclasped the bracket, and unsheathed the Greatsword. "Would you have it any other way?"

"Well . . ." Longclaw twisted Henry's gauntlet between his front paws. "If you put it like that . . ." Then he tore it apart.

Dodging the enormous gnawer's high leap by a hair's breadth, Henry hastily scrambled up to the heed of his piercing echolocation.

Trajectory and speed calculated. Impact imminent. In 2 . . . 1 . . .

But Henry did not brace himself. He watched Thanatos leap over his head and disrupt Longclaw's leap, scrambling all his calculated angles.

Reassessing . . .

Longclaw released an earsplitting howl and swiped at the flier, narrowly missing as he twisted upward.

Henry tightly grasped Charos' handle with both hands and thrust forward, twisting the wide blade to intercept Longclaw's extended claws. The dark blade emitted a harmonious ring, and in a single fluid motion, Henry rotated his hand, gripped the guard, and delivered a powerful swing at his opponent.

A blow like this could have cleanly decapitated the gnawer if he hadn't twisted to the side at the last moment. Charos whizzed past and further than expected, throwing off Henry's balance and nearly causing him to release his grip. The momentum of his swing sent him spinning in a circle, and if Thanatos hadn't dived to sink his teeth into Longclaw's front paw, Henry might not have survived.

Struggling to maintain his hold on the blade, Henry directed the tip into the ground. It forcefully rammed into the sand, and he clung to it for a moment, attempting to calm his head, which spun with calculations and motions. It could not overwhelm him, thought Henry bitterly. He would not be overwhelmed. He would prevail.

Henry breathed in deeply, allowing himself to be filled with the overwhelming cheers from the ranks. He pushed all distractions out of his ears, brushed aside a stray hair from his face, and then shut his eye. He searched . . . for his tempest.

Henry's hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon; his soles dug into the white sand, gleaming in the familiar brazier light. And so Henry was Achilles once more, the master of the howling crowd. He stood center stage . . . yet he was no longer alone in his storm's eye.

He played a role, thought Henry, as his sword came down on his opponent again and again, ringing slightly different from his former blade as it collided with teeth, with claws. He played the role of Achilles, yet he was no longer consumed by it. His every strike belonged to him, not his rage.

Above his head soared the other force that drove their tempest—his course lain out before Henry's inner eye by his echolocation. Briefly, he recalled feeling omnipotent when he had battled here . . . and yet he had also been caught within his own head, his own eternal cycle.

His rage had not granted him omnipotence, thought Henry. He twisted aside and performed a horizontal strike, then weaved past Longclaw's extended talons for the sake of allowing Thanatos to initiate his intended signature coiler. The sole thing that granted Henry omnipotence, he realized at that moment, was his freedom.

His freedom to be here, not alone but together.

Henry breathed in and out, granting himself one moment of respite as he watched Thanatos coil around the massive gnawer.

His freedom to fight or to negotiate, to kill or to spare. To uplift.

He dragged Charos' tip out of the sand and twirled the blade until he could rest it on his shoulder and prepare his reaction to Longclaw's calculated emergence from the confinement of the coiler.

His freedom to celebrate not death but life.

Henry let out a howling battle cry, colliding with Longclaw just as he had managed to dig a claw into Thanatos' leg, almost sending his flier hurtling to the ground. But he had no time to follow up with a deathly strike, as he had to defend against Charos coming for his head.

It was working so much better than anticipated, thought Henry as his blade dug a gash into Longclaw's cheek. To fight separately. His flier had had ample concerns when Henry had first suggested taking on Longclaw in this manner. However, Henry had argued that he would have to divide his focus between them, and Charos, which he could only use on the ground, would be a considerably more effective weapon than his toothpick.

Gripping the Greatsword tightly with both hands, Henry lunged forward, perfectly following his echolocation's lead. But in that instant, Thanatos veered back, and Longclaw whipped around unexpectedly. His front paws extended toward the flier, colliding with Charos at an angle Henry hadn't anticipated.

The massive blade was ripped from Henry's grasp, and he staggered forward, feeling a sharp pain across his left cheek. Longclaw's claws closed around his arm, digging into his skin and leaving a searing trail of blood on the white sand.

In an instant, Henry's mind went blank, and he let out a scream as something forcefully tore him out of Longclaw's grasp and beyond his reach. Clutching onto Thanatos' claw, which held him by his fur collar, he fought against the swelling pain with all his resolve and reached for his other sword.

"How fare you?"

With great effort, Henry yanked his old sword from its sheath and barely managed to reach the lever of the Ignifer dispenser. "I am well," he hissed. "I will use this until I can retrieve Charos."

Scanning the ground below, his eye locked onto his Greatsword on the edge of the arena, far from the enraged Longclaw, who moved in frenzied circles, leaving a trail of blood on the scorching white sand. "Toss me."

Thanatos paused for just a moment, then surged forward. Like a deadly arrow, he descended straight at Longclaw, releasing his hold on Henry as they hovered over him. A harrowing scream ripped out of Henry's mouth as the burning blade struck Longclaw's face directly. The massive rat staggered forward, allowing Henry to leap out of the way of his imminent counterstrike.

He rolled off and spat out bloodied sand, then seized the burning sword that he had momentarily released and scanned the arena for Charos.

Opponent moving away at the calculated speed. Must be this much faster to reach in time to achieve the desired result. Leap in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

Henry surged forward, striking twice, before leaping into the air. Yet Longclaw was quicker to recover than anticipated. He managed to dodge Henry's attacks and dig his talon into his injured arm.

Henry screamed and twisted back around, barely managing to swing his sword sideways, the flames searing Longclaw's whiskers.

The gnawer shrieked and stumbled back, then fell to all fours and Henry readied himself for another onslaught. Yet Thanatos collided with the leaping Longclaw in mid-air. They would have hit the ground together if Henry hadn't intervened, striking Longclaw's paw before it could connect with his flier.

He immediately assumed a defensive stance, his gaze meeting the gnawer's singed paw. In that instant, memories of a different battle flooded his mind—a battle in which he had also fought on foot, during which he had severed his opponent's limb.

Henry tightened his grip on his sword and focused his mind. A faint memory of the fear he had felt when fighting Goldfang flashed through him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to come to terms with how frightened he had been of battling a gnawer on foot then—and how almost habitual it seemed now.

Then, Thanatos lunged forward again, causing Henry to retreat another step. This was his opportunity to reach Charos.

His echolocation calculated the distance and the necessary speed, but Henry's attempt to follow its lead was cut short by a new alarm suddenly blaring in his head. He cried out as a rush of cold water engulfed him and faintly perceived the sizzle of his sword as it extinguished.

At the very last moment, he sidestepped Longclaw's imminent strike. His shoulder connected with the floor, and he groaned, struggling to pull himself up. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a speck of silver fur, yet before he could look closer, he had to focus on raising his blade to yet again block the claws of Longclaw.

Instead of pulling back or evading, the gnawer enclosed his enormous paw around the still-smoking yet dreadfully thin blade. His eyes gleamed with malice as he leaned in, tightening his grip until the worn blade of Henry's sword shattered into pieces.

Fleetingly, Henry stood there, his eye caught by the hilt he still held clutched, with the short, jagged piece of steel sticking out. If Thanatos had not rammed into Longclaw at full speed, tearing him away from Henry, he may have been torn to shreds.

It had been the only thing—Henry stared down at the shattered remains of his blade—all that he'd still had left from his time before exile.

A wave of searing rage swept over him, and his eye found Charos, only a few feet ahead. He prepared to charge at it and tear Longclaw's guts out; showtime was over. Yet before he could move, he suddenly sensed cold steel press into his back. "Oh no, Silverchild. You will leave that sword exactly where it is."

The moment he recognized the name, heard the pleasant, melodious voice, and saw the golden, shimmering dagger she held to his back, he knew that the battle was over. "Does Longclaw lack enough honor to even adhere to the rules of his own arena?" hissed Henry, barely shielding himself from the thunderous roars of the crowd.

"We both know that this is not a matter of honor," snarled Tonguetwist. Henry gritted his teeth as he watched Thanatos land the moment he sensed that his bond was in danger. Tonguetwist looked at the flier with pity and pressed Henry's old blade harder against his back. "If you make any unwise moves, he will die."

Thanatos froze in an instant, only to be pushed aside by Longclaw, who sauntered toward Henry, leaving blood-red footprints in the disturbed and tainted sand, yet wearing a smug grin.

Henry struggled to catch his breath, the pain from his injuries slowly creeping back into his consciousness. The frigid sensation of the blade in his back sharply contrasted with the warmth of the blood trickling from his numerous cuts.

This is not how I die. His gaze shifted from Longclaw to Thanatos. This is not where I die. Not here . . . He took in the arena and suddenly felt all the emotions—his countless attempts to die here, in this very place—except they no longer defined him. I did not die then; he gritted his teeth harder. And so I shall not die now. I have no plans to die. His own words echoed in his mind as he tightened his hold on the hilt of his fractured sword. Not now, and not on your terms.

Yet what was he to do?

When his echolocation assessed Henry's surroundings—the ranks filled with gnawers, Thanatos on the floor, Tonguetwist behind his own back—the last of his determination faltered. Instinctively, his gaze flew toward the path leading to the lake . . . What would Kismet do?

"Oh, Silverchild, what a fine mess you have gotten yourself into," Tonguetwist snarled. "Surrounded, defenseless, at the point of a blade. Were I you, I would surrender."

Were I you, I would surrender! The words stirred an unexpected memory in Henry, transporting him back to a moment when he may have been around thirteen or fourteen and Luxa had managed to corner him during a mock fight. A smile broke out on Henry's face, and he snapped his eye open.

Despite the blade pressing against his back, he turned to glance at Tonguetwist, ignoring her disapproving hiss. It had achieved the desired effect on Luxa, so why not on her?

Henry condescendingly raised an eyebrow and gazed at Tonguetwist with the sincerest expression he could muster. "Were I you," he said, "I would be ugly."

And it did the trick. Briefly, Tonguetwist's face displayed confusion and offense, and the paw holding the blade to his back lowered by a fraction. As soon as he no longer felt the steel, Henry's hand darted up, and, with all his might, he thrust the remains of his sword into her neck.

Her mouth opened for a piercing shriek, which quickly turned into strained gurgling. Henry sidestepped the fountain of blood that erupted when he yanked the shattered blade out. It sullied her silken fur, and for a moment, her unique blue eyes locked on him with utter disbelief . . . then the last bit of life faded from her expression, and she sank forward until sand whirled up where her body hit the floor before his feet.

After staring at her motionless body, he belatedly recognized the deathly silence that hung over the arena. The stillness was violently interrupted by a sudden, piercing cry, and Henry barely managed to evade Longclaw as he leapt at him, eyes filled with naked fury and hatred. "Die!" Longclaw's crooked talons whipped up sand as he lunged forward, emitting a bestial roar.

In a split second, Henry took in the sight of Charos ahead and made a final, flying leap toward the sword, closing his hands around the waisted hilt. Yet before he could make a move, Thanatos had snatched him up by the arm, and Henry hastily tugged up his legs to escape Longclaw's talons.

"I cannot believe you actually did that . . ." mumbled his flier.

Henry managed a crooked grin. "Distractions are as powerful as they are underutilized, so Kismet says."

Thanatos gave a short laugh. "You don't say." A still moment passed as they stared at the livid Longclaw, who ran in frenzied circles beneath them. "I toss you?" asked Thanatos.

"Let us." Henry tightened his grasp on Charos' hilt and let Longclaw not out of his sight. Thanatos put on his wings and surged forward, launching Henry directly at their frenzied opponent, who had no time to react. With a powerful swing, the black blade in Henry's hands tore open Longclaw's chest, forming a nearly perfect "x" with his old scar.

Releasing Charos, Henry rolled off. Yet as he scrambled back up and gripped the blade, it was apparent that he no longer needed to fight—Longclaw was done for. He lurched forward, his wound so deep that a significant portion of his intestines spilled onto the no longer pure white sand when he stumbled.

Thanatos landed behind Henry, who stepped back to avoid the faltering form of the massive gnawer. Longclaw emitted a sickening gurgle and attempted to clutch his chest, but moments later he collapsed to the ground, his crooked claws still extended in their direction. The crown he had firmly shoved over his ear finally slipped off and rolled forward until it came to a stop at Henry's feet.

The expression that Henry observed on Longclaw's face was a mix of disbelief and livid hatred. He resisted the impulse to take a step back and swallowed hard. The hatred had been extinguished with Longclaw's life; it could no longer pose a threat to them . . . or to anyone else.

He stood motionless for a moment, looking down at his fallen opponent, witnessing the gradual reddening of the sand where he lay. To his mind came the tale of Achilles and Hector and what the former, out of sheer rage, had done with the latter's body after his defeat.

"Rest easy," mumbled Henry after a brief pause. "May you find in death the peace you lacked in life."

"May you be reunited with your son," said Thanatos after landing behind him.

"I am certain that he will."

The two exchanged one meaningful look, then Henry's gaze was captured by the trail of blood nearly reaching the tips of his boots and the shocked silence that hung over the audience.

"Let us go." He shouldered the bloodied Charos and mounted Thanatos in one swift move, without sparing Tonguetwist's lifeless form as much as a single look. "Before—"

It was then that the silence was shattered by an ear-splitting cacophony of screams and objections. Henry barely managed to sheath Charos while Thanatos leaped in the air and rapidly ascended toward the ceiling of the massive cave that housed the arena. One gnawer leaped from the top bleacher, missing the flier's leg by a mere inch.

"Where to?" asked Thanatos as he flew in circles right underneath the ceiling, out of the gnawers' reach.

"Toward the lake."

Thanatos hesitated. "What of . . . Dalia?" he eventually asked, veering sideways.

Henry made a face. But as hard as he tried, he could not bring himself to abandon her here. "Toward the prison pit," he said, attempting to wipe his soiled hands on his pants.

"Think you she is in prison?"

"Where else?"

"She may be dead."

"We cannot know until we check." Henry pointed toward the prison, and Thanatos immediately pulled on his wings, surging downward.

Henry leaned forward, preemptively grasping the hilt of his sword, only to remember that it was broken. He made a face, yet Thanatos managed to evade all the claws that the boiling kettle of furious rats below flung at him. Meanwhile, Henry did his best not to ask himself what they would do with Dalia if they indeed found her alive.

The moment they soared into the prison cave, the lone brazier illuminated the pit, revealing the sunken shape of a new prisoner in their former place.

Spotting them, she looked up, and Henry briefly wondered how they would manage to lift her out when Thanatos suddenly twisted and dove. Just then, the first gnawers emerged into the cave; two of them lost their balance and dropped into the pit.

Henry opened his mouth to ask if it was safe to land—the rats who had fallen appeared to not have survived. Yet then he felt a tug, accompanied by a surprised cry, and then they had already ascended. Henry managed to discern that Thanatos had seized Dalia by the arm before he shot directly through the rows of their pursuers toward the exit.

Henry ripped Mys from its sheath to slice at all paws, claws, and teeth that were flung at them before they soared out into open space again. Thanatos gained altitude, and although Henry registered that they had both taken a few hits, nothing seemed severe. He strained to turn his neck but couldn't check on Dalia with his eyes; his echolocation indicated she was still in Thanatos' grip, but he had no idea how injured she might be.

As Henry finally caught a proper glimpse of the gnawers below, he discerned that they were in a state of utter panic. The dozen or so who had been chasing them clustered into a pile in the middle of the cave; their clueless shrieks echoed from the walls and merged into a continuous, sorrowful whimper. "Their leader is dead," Thanatos mumbled.

Henry nodded. "With all that entails."

They bothered not to stick around to find out how Longclaw's followers would arrange themselves. Yet Thanatos didn't fly far either, not with Dalia still hanging from his claw. Upon reaching the cave with the arena, he dove into a high tunnel, one that the gnawers could not pursue. The moment they reached the next larger cave, he dropped Dalia on the floor and then landed.

As he dismounted, Henry was suddenly reminded of his initial meeting with Thanatos, recalling being dropped onto the ground near that river. he took a hesitant step toward where he felt Dalia's presence, causing her to emit an alarmed shriek. "W-Who is there?" she demanded.

Only then did Henry remember that she could not see in the dark. He perceived her miserable trembling and realized that she must be frightened out of her mind. "It is the Death Rider," he replied. "We shall not harm you."

When Dalia did not respond, Henry reached into his backpack for his torch. As the cave was flooded with its warm glow and Dalia came into view, Henry couldn't help but flinch.

She looked more like a walking corpse than ever before, her sunken eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, yet a hint of defiance still lingered. Her skin seemed almost translucent and her clothes soiled and in tatters. It was only upon closer inspection that Henry noticed that her braid had been severed. Her once waist-length hair was now untied and tangled, and shorter than his own.

Her skeletal figure flinched as he drew nearer, and she instinctively backed into the wall. When Henry understood her fear of him, a strange, unclassifiable emotion washed over him. "We shall not harm you," he restated, kneeling before her, keeping the torch away from her face.

After an eternal moment of silence, Dalia shifted her eyes away. "What made you decide to return for me?"

Henry felt he shouldn't have been taken aback by the question, but it still caught him off-guard. His eye shifted to Thanatos before returning to Dalia. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Why did this question catch him off guard? Because . . . he had no response. Henry stared at Dalia, racking his brain for an explanation, but found none.

"You should have left me to die."

"I believe not."

"Why?" hissed Dalia. "Because you care for me so?"

"No, I—" Henry's mouth snapped shut. He glanced at Thanatos again, and then suddenly, he understood. "No," he repeated. "But I . . . we are not done with you yet. Not before you have explained yourself."

Dalia snorted, pulling her legs to her chest. "Why would my explanation interest you?"

"It interests me so much that I deemed it worth saving you."

"And that is what I cannot understand!" cried Dalia, her voice breaking. A silent moment passed, then she looked away again. "I shall not press you for an answer if you press me not for mine. But at least be so considerate as to tell me what you plan to do with me now."

Henry hesitated, realizing he hadn't thought this through that far. "Whatever could we even do with you?" he mumbled. "We may take you back to the Fount to receive your just punishment, or we leave you here."

"So, I die either way."

"Did you not ask me to leave you to death earlier?"

Dalia glared at him with surprising defiance. "And yet you did not leave me," she hissed. "For what? Just so I may die anyway?"

"You may suffer the fate of traitors," retorted Henry coldly. "Execution or exile."

"But Longclaw said—"

"Longclaw is dead." Her head jerked up, but at that point, Henry was devoid of sympathy for her. "And so is your dearest friend, Tonguetwist."

Dalia's already large eyes grew even wider. "What? How—"

"We killed them; that is how."

Henry took a seat across from her and felt Thanatos settle a few feet behind him. "We could do so because you freed us," said the flier. "Although none of us know why."

"What was your objective?" asked Henry. "Your plan? Your trap?"

"There was no trap," mumbled Dalia without looking at him. She clasped her hands so rigidly that her sharp knuckles almost pierced her papery skin.

"You realized they had lied." The way Henry said it, it wasn't a question. "You understood that whatever they had promised, whatever Tonguetwist had drilled into your mind, was a fabrication and that they would kill you anyway. You had traded your loyalty for nothing. And so, you had nothing to lose."

Dalia's silence spoke for itself.

"Why?" Henry burst out, his mind yet again flashing with images of his own desperate need to be heard and understood. He had longed for someone to pose that very question to him. And as he now posed it to Dalia, he couldn't fathom why she would hesitate to respond. "I must know," he urged. "We saved you so that we may know. You must have some reason—something that Tonguetwist may have promised to you—for you to forfeit your loyalty. Speak now, for I am likely the only one who will ever be willing to listen."

"I have a reason," she said in a low voice. "Yet I see not why my reason is any of your concern. Just leave me be." She waved dismissively. "Cease feigning care or loyalty to those who would have me executed."

"I have loyalty!" exclaimed Henry, suddenly all too aware of how true this claim was. "And you should reconsider whether you truly wish to have none."

Dalia's expression turned to one of offense. "What know you about the loyalties I have? You . . ." Suddenly, her eyes narrowed. "Tonguetwist said that you—"

"Tonguetwist is a liar!" Henry spat, and Dalia twitched. "You must not believe a single word she says!"

"You know this because you . . . know her."

Henry made a face. "Let me say that I know what she is capable of."

Dalia shook her head. "I am not to believe a word she said, yet she spoke the truth about you. That you were . . . like me."

"I—" Henry broke off, frozen with fear. If Dalia had spoken to Tonguetwist about him . . .

"What did she say?" Thanatos chimed in, and Henry could do nothing but sit and stare, waiting for the inevitable truth.

Dalia looked back and forth between them. "When we camped at the lake, I went to see her during my watch," she began. "I wanted to assure her that everything was going according to plan. And . . . I grasped the importance of the queen and the warrior, but I couldn't fathom why they were interested in you. So, I inquired about your identity and significance."

"My—"

"And know you what she said?" Dalia cut him off, her face showing unprecedented furious defiance. "She said that you were no other than former Prince Henry of Regalia—the same whom everyone presumed had died alongside Gorger."

Henry froze to solid ice, and Dalia's expression shifted, indicating that she had concluded from his face that Tonguetwist had told the truth in that instance. The next look she gave him was one of seething contempt.

"So, His Highness must not speak to me of trust or lies," she spat. "His Highness, who knows nothing of honesty or loyalty. Who is no hero, like they claimed to us that he was. Who conspired with Gorger behind his own family's back to grapple for power and acknowledgment. So—" She slapped his hand, which he had extended in a feeble attempt to calm her, away. "If His Highness does not mind, I care for neither his judgment nor his advice!"

Henry sat there with his mouth agape for a heartbeat, then he frowned. "Halt." Among all the accusations she had thrown his way, he found himself caring only about one carelessly revealed piece of information: "Who claimed to you that Prince Henry was a hero?"

"They all," replied Dalia in a voice that dripped with spite. All her former timidity had vanished, leaving nothing but dry bitterness. "They proclaimed that Prince Henry had "fallen honorably during the final confrontation with Gorger"." She sized him up with disgust. "Likely, they lied so as not to sully the spotless reputation of the infallible royal family."

But Henry barely listened to her anymore. His head spun; it was . . . over, he thought numbly. It all. He was done for.

"It should not surprise me that this lie is yet another violation of simple decency the high and mighty nobility will get away with," concluded Dalia with a scoff.

"I did not know," mumbled Henry. All his anger had long drained, leaving him with nothing but numb anxiety and . . . disgust. Part of him thought he shouldn't be surprised that they had kept his betrayal a secret from the general public, but the thought still sickened him. Who even knew, besides Luxa and the questers who had been present? Stellovet and Howard seemed to know. Vikus and Solovet? The council? Henry shuddered when he realized that Mareth may not.

Dalia scoffed. "That changes nothing."

"It changes everything," retorted Henry. "You know my identity. This means that I cannot take you back to them."

She assessed him with a raised eyebrow. "As expected," she mumbled. "Does His Highness not disapprove of the lie they tell about him? Wishes he not to tell the truth?"

"At the risk of being seized and executed?" hissed Henry, clenching his hands into fists. "It is quite unwise of you to be so condescending toward one who currently has the power to decide your fate."

"What fate?" said Dalia in a stale voice, giving him a look that said she had stopped caring a long time ago. "Play your game of power and intimidation with me all you like, as your kind always does. For, as you so cleverly deduced earlier, I have nothing to lose."

Henry leaned back and exchanged a glance with Thanatos . . . because as he took her in—her defiant yet also utterly hopeless eyes and her rigidly clenched jaw—he was suddenly no longer so sure what to do.