Over the course of two weeks, Frederick gave all his knowledge of Carnelia and its subjects to his father and Thescan's best generals. He'd been severely reprimanded after telling Urnald that he had been gifted a weapon that could morph into anything but left it behind. He didn't hear the end of that scolding for days.

When Frederick said the names of Arabella's generals, the room exchanged glances. Some looked outright sick when he mentioned Tessande. He told them of their unspeakable powers and abilities and relished in the shock on their faces. They would never stand a chance against Carnelia if they went up against them, and he tried to emphasize that with his every breath.

But not once in all that time did he feel Arabella's presence.

Of course, he hadn't expected to. It was just ... he'd broken the Guardian Stone over two weeks ago.

And he might have expected her appearance maybe just a little bit.

He'd acted like a fool, but it was done now. And if she found out that he'd shared everything he knew about Carnelia she'd never forgive him for it. He was almost ashamed to admit that he missed Viscon and Gheorge, though he missed her most of all. But she never showed, and he realized it was well and truly over between them.

Despite the King's Council's best efforts, the attempts to stop the ball from happening failed. Frederick found himself in a gilded ballroom, clutching a goblet and promising a quiet escape at the next opportunity. Which would be a hard feat to achieve tonight since his father wouldn't stop watching him from across the room.

He stood next to Bront in silence as another lady was presented to his cousin. It might have been Bront's seventieth time bowing that evening, his epaulets in a permanent state of swishing.

Up until now he'd refused to see Bront, declining all his meal invitations. Frederick didn't want to see him-didn't want to see anyone. He no longer resembled the man he used to be and seemed to be shrinking. Becoming a wraith of himself. He didn't need his cousin's feigned concern, but he couldn't avoid it now as Bront righted himself and sighed. "You're not bowing with me."

Frederick clenched his jaw. "I don't need to."

"You're still married, then?"

Frederick signed the papers, and they'd been delivered by a messenger to the borders of Carnelia. "The severance papers should be on their way back to me as we speak. So I'm married until I see her signature next to mine on that paper."

"It sounds like you are hoping for a different outcome, perhaps?"

"Don't be stupid."

Another lady was announced, and she curtsied before Bront and left. "Well, I'm glad to finally see you and have this chance to speak. I've wanted to thank you in person. I would not have survived a place like that. So thank you for doing what needed to be done when I couldn't do it, Freddie. I'll never forget it."

I didn't do it for you. "Let's speak of other things. Do any of these women appeal to you?"

Bront sighed. "They seem more interested in you. All of them look to you while you stand next to me. They always do."

Frederick brushed his sleeve. "They are merely fascinated with the monster I married. They wouldn't dare approach me."

"Perhaps you're right," Bront said, "but Lady Lucile doesn't seem to care. You tend to favor her at these things. Will you approach her tonight?"

Indeed, Lucile's eyes never strayed from Frederick across the floor, waiting for him to disassociate from Bront's side. Her powder-blue dress complimented her sky-colored eyes, her brass hair gleaming beneath the chandelier. She appeared to be in good health, even lovelier than the last time he saw her. But he was not tempted by her or any other at this event, becoming increasingly annoyed that no one could compare to Arabella though he would never admit it aloud. "She would be wise to stay away from me."

"Be honest with me, Frederick. Do you miss the Widow Queen?"

Frederick stopped himself from clenching his jaw, choosing to say nothing to that.

"I hear conflicting accounts of her," Bront continued. "Some say she is dark and repulsive, and others say she is a thing of bewitching beauty. Which is it? I am so terribly curious to know."

"She is both," Frederick answered simply. "Completely ineffable."

The herald announced two more names, and the entire ballroom became silent as all heads turned to look at the entrance.

Queen Vellore of Adora, the Queen of Hearts, entered, a starkly familiar woman at her side. Her black hair had been braided in columns around her scalp, the ends left to cloud at her nape and jaw. Her skin was as dark as fertile soil, the rich tone of it rivaling her deep gaze. And those eyes ... they flicked between brown and red.

Vampyre.

She wore a topaz-colored dress buttoned to her neck, her walk slow and sensuous. Her eyes found him almost immediately, the corner of her lip easing into a soft smile. She looked just like Tessande-the exact image-but Frederick already knew her name.

Yessara. Tessande's twin sister it seemed. But both had an aura as opposing as the moon and sun.

The ball bowed as one as Queen Vellore and Yessara passed them, and Frederick lowered with Bront as they stopped before them.

"Your Majesty," Bront said, "this is a most pleasant surprise. We did not expect-"

"You," Queen Vellore said, passing over Bront to address Frederick directly. Yessara stooped to arrange the queen's great pewter-blue skirts around her feet. "You're the one that married the Widow Queen, but the Gentle King wrote to me and said that you were divorcing. Is that true?"

"I hope you did not come all this way to ask me that?" Frederick said dryly. His marriage to the Widow Queen had become carrion that crows loved to hover around, and he was reaching his limit with how much prying he would allow-even from a queen.

"I did not come a long way at all. Yessara brought me here with that magic of hers."

Yessara viewed Frederick, amusement steeped in her expression. "My sister said much about you, vengeful prince."

"Perhaps we don't have to discuss this out here," Bront interjected, glancing at the people surrounding them. "Would you like a tour of the castle, Your Highness? Perhaps we could find a quiet room to-"

Queen Vellore cut him off with a wave. "Young prince, I am far, far too old for you. Don't try that nonsense on me. I came here to speak to Prince Frederick and then I'll be on my way."

She turned from Bront to assess Frederick, leaving his cousin a stammering mess. "Yessara has been helping me hone my power in the event of war. Not that I like using the damned thing. I need to know how serious a possible war with Carnelia is because of the loss of the Guardian Spell that's held for millenniums. Answer me honestly, and I'll tell you something you really should know."

Yes, Queen Vellore's power was said to be awe-inspiring. She could command any being's heart to stop, but when angered, she was known to accidentally kill those around her. If he said the wrong thing tonight ...

His own heart began to gallop, the invisible weight of the room collapsing on him.

How could he think he could do this-be here among these people this soon. He burned with rage and stress, needing to vanish from this place and leave. He needed to be away. He needed to be alone. He needed-

"Frederick?" Bront said. "Are you all right?"

Frederick looked up into Queen Vellore's eyes, shock waving through him. "Perhaps you and I should-"

The words burned away in his throat as he felt something. A big something.

Black smoothed away his anxious thoughts, cold wrapping around his mind and calming him. It was power and wrath. Seduction and gentleness. Blood and ash.

It couldn't be.

By the parting of Yessara's lips, Frederick determined he was right. He excused himself from the conversation and did everything to stop himself from sprinting across the floor.

Cries sounded around the ballroom, and guards gathered at the balcony door. Frederick bypassed them all and pushed through the doors as a glittering horse made from the stars themselves descended from the sky.

Its hooves touched the floor with grace, its wings beating gently. Upon its back sat a woman wrapped in midnight, her black skirts draping off the side. She raised her head and tilted it toward the moon. "That was a long ride."

He didn't believe his eyes as he took a step toward her, refusing to accept she was really there. She swung her leg over the divine-winged horse and dismounted with utmost elegance.

"Arabell-" He stopped himself. "Your Majesty."

She dragged her nails through her hair and sighed. "Your night skies are much brighter here than they are in Carnelia but they aren't quite as divine, Frederick."

He couldn't believe it. His mind refused to accept ... "You came."

"What event is this?" she asked, sneering over his shoulder at the guards gathered beyond the doors. "I feel the energy of thousands of people. A ball, if that's an orchestra I hear. I've read so much about them. Am I invited to this ball?"

"Did you want to be?"

She gave a command to the horse, and it lifted into the air and soared into the night. Her hands clasped behind her back as she sauntered to him. "The Lovers of the Sky, if I'm not mistaken. A holiday where a man finds a wife. A king finds a queen. Were you looking for someone else already, husband?"

They were so close. The gap of days and lands closing between them. He could reach out and touch her, but he didn't know how she'd react ... "Of course not."

She looked up into his face, her expression impossible to discern.

Gods. What did this mean-why was she here? He was desperate to find out.

She leaned on tiptoes, and Frederick wanted to groan with pleasure as her palms flattened over his chest. "The breaking of the Binding Spell-was that you? How did you do it?"

Frederick grinned. "I put my hand against it and shoved. You should have seen the look on everyone-"

"Why? Why would you do such a thing."

He shrugged. "Why not?"

She folded her arms, depriving him of her touch. "You weren't scared that I would leave and terrorize the world at once?"

"I think I know you better than that, Ara."

"Do you?"

Frederick folded his arms, mirroring her. "Now, it's my turn to ask why. Why are you here?"

"I thought I would come and see you. Whether you wanted to see me or not."

He smirked. "Miss me, did you?"

She drew back. "Still an ass, then. I shouldn't have come."

"Wait," he said, taking her wrist and pulling her toward him. "Just wait. I didn't mean to offend you so soon. You're not thinking of leaving, are you?"

She looked over his shoulder again and sighed, as if reaching some great decision. "Why? Do you want me to stay."

He realized it then: this moment was more important than he could possibly comprehend.

The compromise he wanted her to make had been enacted most dramatically. She'd chased after him, flown over the land to reach him in another country.

It was his turn to give her something, no matter how small. It was his turn to be vulnerable, and he leaned close to her face, drawing a strand of her mussed-up hair behind her ear. His fingers feathered over her skin, delighting him to simply touch her. "It would mean a great deal to me if you did, Ara."

Her lips parted, unmasked shock filling her lovely face. "You really expect me to believe that you want me-in there-with your people?" She winced. "No. It would be humiliating. And even though I'm infuriated with you, I wouldn't dare put you through this." She raised a palm to his cheek, holding it for a moment before taking it away. "I saw a forest on the way in. I can hunt for game until the energy subsides. I'll meet you back here at midnight, and we can talk about this in private."

"Arabella, stop," he said.

They remained that way for several heartbeats, and she was the first to break their stare as she lowered her head. "I don't know what the date is. Most times I don't know the day of the week. I didn't know that I would land here in Thescan during a holiday. I didn't mean to approach you at such a significant event. I want you to know that." She looked up to the sky, moonlight highlighting the planes of her face. Haunting. Beautiful. No woman in there could match her. "I sensed your presence here and couldn't stop myself from flying to the nearest balcony to get a glimpse of you. But I wouldn't have disturbed you. I don't really know what I'm doing here."

"I never had to strain for composure more than I did when I felt your presence," Frederick admitted. "I wanted to run to reach you sooner."

"You sensed my arrival?"

He raised a brow. "I think we all did. Your power is unmissable. But I was excited to feel it again after all this time."

She so desperately wanted to believe him but couldn't hide the glimmers of hurt from him. He couldn't blame the doubt in her eyes as he viewed her now. "Stay with me, Ara. Even if it's our last night together-if this is the last night you give me-stay with me for all of it. Please."

Her hands reached for him, pausing before she dropped them at her sides. She seemed to be struggling with herself. But he nearly had her. He knew it. Just a few more words ...

"Please," he said again. "Don't leave me like this. I feel like I've been sleepwalking these last two weeks, and now that you're here, I'm finally awake."

She groaned and channeled a look of utter annoyance. "Freddie, I don't know what I'm doing, but you do not get the satisfaction of hearing anything like that leaving my lips."

He stood back and lowered into a sweeping bow, holding his palm out for her to take. "Might I ask you to honor us with your presence tonight, O fearsome Queen of Widows?"

She snorted and tucked her hand into his, her knuckles freezing to the touch. "How can I resist? I've never been invited to a ball before. So long as my presence here doesn't embarrass you."

The words made his chest ache, and he realized it was her first time leaving Carnelia in thousands of years. This would be her first event with people in a very long while-assuming she hadn't been exploring the Star since he smashed the Guardian Stone. "You could never embarrass me, Ara. Now, allow me to get the door for you."

She grinned. "Don't tell me you intend on being a perfect gentleman to me all evening?"

He pushed the handle, then leaned to speak in her ear. "Nearly all night. Early morning is a different story."

She shivered and tilted her head to his. "Don't make me regret this, Freddie."

"I'll ensure that you do."

Courtiers cried out, stepping as far away from them as possible as tendrils of smoke curled around her crumpled dress. It covered her from hem to head, swirling all over her body. When it cleared-

She was ravishing-ravishing. Frederick had never seen a dress like it.

Her wine-colored gown exposed both her pale shoulders, the material molding to her body to display the lovely shape of her breasts, waist, and hips before pooling to the floor in an alluring waterfall of rose-and-raspberry shaded fabrics. The sleeves reached her elbows where more material dangled to create an alluring effect with every movement of her arms. Sections of the sweeping skirts glittered in the light, matching the unusual crown that now sat upon her head. The golden metal of her headpiece formed a halo around her hair in a dazzling show of deep ruby and diamonds.

And her lips ... such a dark, daring shade of cherry that would have the women in the room gossiping for hours. Her mouth became all Frederick could think about, and he wondered if whatever cosmetic she used would leave a smear on him when he kissed her. The fact that he was even contemplating kissing her was alarming, indeed, but he couldn't help it. And he would be kissing her tonight. Nothing could stop him from doing it.

Arabella exuded raw power and deadly grace. She was vibrant. Exotic. Deadly. A predator walking amongst them. His wife was the most beautiful woman in the world-for however long this marriage lasted.

She stepped ahead of him and looked back over her shoulder, revealing more planes of glittering red fabric that hung beneath her shoulder blades to create a soft cape that trailed to the floor. "What's the matter?"

He almost choked, forcing himself to form any intelligent combination of words. "You look ... lovely. I've never seen you wear color before." Even if that color was crass by Thescan social standards, the red drew him toward her like a slathering fool.

Her suspicious eyes assessed him. She knew that wasn't what he wanted to say, but he would do absolutely anything to prolong his truths from her. Maybe it would make her stay longer. "You waited until I chased you all the way to Thescan to compliment me, Freddie? An uninspired one at that. Is this too much? Should I have changed more subtly."

He shook his head. "No, of course not. The herald is too scared to announce you, but no one doubts who you are. You look like a queen."

"I am a queen, lover."

"That's not what I-" He took a deep breath. "I've never found you so-"

"Attractive?" She tilted her head, her dangling earrings catching the candle flames.

Gods. She was about to bring him to his knees and she didn't even know it. He needed to piece himself together, so he tried to play off the effect she had on him by giving her a careless shrug. "I suppose."

Frederick held out his elbow, and she looped her arm through it. The both of them made their way into a crowd that parted farther and farther with their nearing steps.

"I terrify these people," Arabella said softly.

He nodded. "There is a certain charm about you."

She looked up at him. "You know what I found particularly charming?"

"Do share."

"Your intent to divorce me, Freddie. I didn't think you'd go through with it."

"Didn't you?" he asked casually, but a pit opened in his stomach. "Why wouldn't I have been serious?"

The flicker of hurt on her face took his breath away, replaced with her usual expression of unfeeling coldness. "Well, if you're so serious, I thought I'd come here and sign it in person."

He pretended to consider her words. "That would be helpful. The King's Council doesn't believe our divorce is amicable. They think you plan to retaliate." He jerked his head to the front of the room where a dozen pompous jackasses stood, all their expressions aghast. "There they are over there by-"

"Yessara."

Frederick looked to where he left Queen Vellore. Yessara watched Arabella with nervousness, and Arabella's lips tightened. He changed their direction, leading Arabella to them. His cousin's eyes widened as they approached.

Arabella's arm tensed through his as she addressed Yessara. "Why are you here?"

Unlike her aggressive sister, Yessara seemed quite timid in comparison as she lowered her head. "I ... I didn't know you'd be here."

"Your sister didn't tell you about the last time she launched an attack on my lands?"

Yessara cleared her throat, refusing to meet her eyes. "She did, but-"

"Then you should not be here near my husband or his country."

"Your Majesties," a guard said, bowing deeply as he interrupted their conversation. "The king would like to see the three of you. Without the princes."

Arabella bared her fangs at the intrusion, causing the guard to stumble back.

Queen Vellore looked to Yessara. "Is it safe to be around such an uncouth creature?"

The insult caused Arabella to hiss, and she shivered and shook her head, forcing control over herself.

Queen Vellore raised her brows. Mildly amused. Completely unafraid. Perhaps she would do well to exercise care where Arabella was concerned.

Yessara watched Arabella for several seconds before she gave Queen Vellore a reassuring smile. "She won't hurt you."

"But you are a different story, Yessara," Arabella said.

The soldier cleared his throat. "If it pleases Her Majesties and ... Lady Yessara? His Highness asked to meet with you all in his private quarters."

Queen Vellore stepped ahead of them, allowing the guard to lead the way. Arabella followed behind her, Yessara at her side, and both vampyres didn't remove their sights from one another as they left the ballroom.

Frederick stared at the doorway Arabella disappeared through for a moment too long, and he became startled to find courtiers openly gawking at him.

"Frederick," Bront said, "that's ... her? She's ..."

Frederick turned his attention to Bront, waiting for him to finish whatever half-brained thought his mind worked to finish.

Bront rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't believe that's her. The Widow Queen. She's so beautiful."

"Yes," Frederick droned. "She looks good in her finery."

"She doesn't look good otherwise? She doesn't seem like a fearsome beast to me."

Uncontrollable annoyance surged through his body. "She's still my wife. So watch what you-"

"Frederick," Urnald hissed, grabbing him around the bicep. Frederick hadn't even noticed his father approaching. "What is she doing here?"

He shrugged out of Urnald's hold and straightened his jacket. "She came to see me."

"Why? What does she want with you? Is she still going ahead with the divorce? Will she-"

"Stop," he said through gritted teeth. "We've barely had a chance to speak. She's gone to see the Gentle King at present, so we will discuss those matters once she's done. Now, if you excuse me-"

"You are not excused," Urnald snapped. "You end things with that monster. You hear me? She can't discard you like garbage and decide she wants you back."

Frederick had to remind himself that this was his father speaking to him now. Not someone he should attack. "You don't even know what was said between us. I ended it with her, not the other way around. So I'll be the one to decide what happens between me and the queen."

"Frederick, damn you, think this through," Urnald demanded. "You just came home. You're here for good. You can't possibly be considering-"

"I'm leaving you now," Frederick finished. And with that, he turned his back on both Urnald and Bront and went after his wife.