The betrothal dinner was a grand affair. Extravagant flower garlands hung from every pillar and chandelier of the Great Hall, soft-colored silks and creams decorating every surface. It all looked so lovely now, but Frederick could never forget the cruel amusements these walls housed in Saebane's month of bloodshed. He didn't know if he would ever be able to return to this place without being able to think about it. Of Oron. Of Marcon. Viscon. Gheorge. The Spiderweb. So many had suffered, and the pain of it seemed to still be echoing through the stone.

Saebane's short time here had well and truly left a stain that could never be washed away.

Frederick and his fiancée sat next to each other on the dais and dined, none of them daring to utter a word. Where the days had dragged their feet before, the week to the wedding sprinted by. Between political meetings, decisions for the ceremony, and courting Eviylene, Saebane hardly gave Frederick any chance to think.

But Eviylene must have wondered what his grand plan was, waiting for him to deliver her from this just as he promised he would. The truth of the matter remained that there was no plan. Eviylene's freedom rested on whether he could speak to Tessande alone, and she never came to visit in his room as he'd hoped. He would have to find her in the castle and speak to her tonight or else ... there was nothing else.

He would find her tonight no matter what.

The hall exploded with applause, signaling the end of the next toast before the commencement of the next, and the sudden sound caused Eviylene to startle in her seat.

Frederick reached for her hand and squeezed. "It's going to be all right, you know."

The corners of her lips twitched into an attempted smile. "I know. I believe you."

"You just try to relax tonight. Tomorrow, it will all be over," he said, offering her an expression he hoped was warm and reassuring.

Her shoulders relaxed. "Thank you for everything. You have been so kind to me."

"It's been my pleasure, Princess. It is I who should be thanking you for all our pleasant walks, meals, and conversations. Getting to know you has been a joy."

She blushed, causing her freckles to appear even darker against her skin, and he gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go. He made the mistake then of glancing at Arabella, finding her gaze fixed on the space their hands had been joined.

"Just look at them," Saebane called, elbowing Urnald. "Now that's a handsome pairing. I should be commended on my taste in matchmaking."

"Quite right," Urnald agreed, but there was something strained about his manner. His words. Frederick knew the man too well to believe he was truly all right, but he didn't have the luxury of caring. Urnald had created a huge portion of this calamity. He didn't get the liberty of feeling sick about it now.

"It used to be customary for the men to have a celebration the night before," Rathmore said. "The best nights I've ever had have been at the attendance of the Bachelor's Traditions of the kings gone past."

Frederick almost slammed his cutlery down with disgust. He could only imagine the atrocities Rathmore had committed on evenings such as those.

Saebane grinned. "That's right—don't you Thescanians have some tradition you must honor?"

Urnald cleared his throat. "We do, but we decided not to have such a celebration tonight so soon after the passing of the Gentle King. The people might take it as an insult."

"The man had it coming to him," Saebane said. "The world should be glad to be rid of him."

"And you are right, of course," Frederick injected smoothly, "but in matters of appearances, my father is the absolute best. So there will be no Bachelor's Tradition. And to be honest, I'm still quite exhausted from the last one."

Saebane roared with laughter, and the other men at the table followed suit. Arabella lowered her eyes—the most she'd reveal of insult if she felt it. Eviylene squirmed in her seat at his side.

"Let's not speak of such things in front of my betrothed," Frederick said, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. "I have eyes only for her, so I'd rather not imbibe and engage in a final night of debauchery at her expense. Besides, I have a fitting for the garment I'll wear tomorrow that I have yet to see. Then I'll get a night's rest before the big event."

"Quite right," Urnald said softly, nodding to himself before lifting his fork as if it took great effort to remember to eat.

Frederick couldn't help but stare at the man. What the fuck had gotten into him?

Dinner concluded, and they were finally free to leave. Frederick rose and bowed to Eviylene, holding her gaze. This is the last time I shall ever see you. "Stay safe, Princess. Until we see each other again."

Her eyes flickered with understanding, and she offered her hand for him to kiss once more. "Until tomorrow."

Frederick kissed the back of her hand and searched the room, but Arabella had already gone. Though he had to find Tessande, he had hoped that at some point this evening, he would have the chance to see Arabella also. This might be his last night alive, and he wanted to see her alone one last time.

The guards led him to a room where he would meet the tailor, and he dismissed them at the door and entered the room. In the center of the floor glimmered an armor so bright and brilliant it appeared to be crafted of the very universe itself. Formed from dreams of gods and madmen.

Perfect.

Frederick had never been a man to covet objects. What he needed, he always had—a privilege of the rich and royal. But looking at this armor, he knew a greed for material things his mother had only cautioned him about.

In that moment he thought of all the riches he would pay to possess it. To know Arabella's hands been over every inch. Intended for him. But now it would belong to another. With this armor and the Chalice, Saebane would never be killed again.

"Good evening, Frederick." Arabella held the cuff of a golden jacket, her needle bobbing and surfacing from below the fabric. He hadn't even known she was here, silent and dark like one of the shadows in the room. "Your suit is just about ready for tomorrow's event. Just take a seat."

Frederick swallowed, transfixed by her hands as they continued their pace. Hands that appeared too delicate to have committed such horrible crimes. Hands that were capable of such beautiful things. Hands he would kill any man to hold. To feel against him.

He neared her, entangled in his own restraint. The urge to touch her overwhelmed. He wanted to take her into his arms. Put his lips against hers and lose himself.

I've missed you so.

"All done," she murmured, stepping away from the mannequin. "You should try it on."

She turned away and waited.

"It seems odd that you are giving me privacy now," he said, absorbing her back and every rivulet of glorious ebony hair. "You've seen me in every way there is to see me."

"I could wait outside if you prefer?"

He set about undressing. "That won't be necessary."

The silence that befell them was forced and awkward. There were no jokes either of them could make to lighten the situation. Things had become entirely too serious now. He longed for her quick remarks and innuendo, but he would be getting none this eve.

He felt foolish as he dressed in the gold finery that belonged to a Thescan king on his wedding day, but it wasn't ostentatious like the garments his predecessors wore or similar to the one that had been designed for Bront. Arabella had ensured it wasn't ridiculous. A fine golden jacket with metallic fringing for the epaulets. Simple cream breeches and fine boots finished it all.

It was perfect. Fit precisely. He didn't deserve it. Making him too ashamed to try the King's Crown resting on its solitary pillow a small distance away.

"Are you done?" Arabella asked.

He swallowed. "I am decent."

She snorted, and he longed for her to say something like You are never decent but she refrained, and she turned and viewed him for an uncomfortable amount of time. "I find no flaw in it."

"Only the man beneath it," he said.

She nodded once but said nothing. She would not play with him, and he could not blame her.

"Why were you the one who made this?" Frederick asked, leaning closer to her.

"Because I wanted to, but it's not done. I will make you a mantle that's only semi-ridiculous, and I intend to have that finished before daylight breaks."

"I'd rather you not lose any sleep over it."

"I may as well have something to do because I don't sleep."

He raised a brow. "And if Saebane finds out you're doing this?"

"He might already know. I don't particularly care. He gave me this room for my 'amusements' and left me to do what I wish in it."

"And you wished to make me a garment for my wedding day?"

She grimaced. "I saw the one they made for Bront. We couldn't have you looking like that, now could we?"

Frederick barked a laugh. "No, we could not."

"Oh." She snatched his hand. "You stupid man. How did you manage to pluck a thread already?"

"I don't see which thread you are referring to," he murmured, trying to force his heart into slowing. But with her fingertips skimming over the tender flesh of his wrist, it was near impossible to do.

"Stay still!"

"Stop," he said, covering her knuckles with his hand. "Just stop fiddling for a moment and speak with me."

She snatched her hand from his and crossed both arms over her torso. "I don't have long. So be quick."

"Everything will be fine tomorrow. I want you to know that."

She looked away. "Please be good to her, Frederick. I beg you to be a good husband to her. No schemes or lies or—"

"I love you," he said, taking her shoulders. "I've only ever loved you, and I'll only ever love you. I know that now."

She shook her head as if he'd blasted her with grave insult. "You haven't gotten to know her yet. Give her a chance. You only think you love me, but you don't know what love is. You could have something better with her than with anyone else. And it will be better than what we—" Tears sparkled in her eyes, her composure unraveling fast. "Most marriages are made on less, and I've seen the way you look at her. You're so fond of her already."

"Look at you," Frederick said. "It kills you to even think about, just as much as it kills me. You don't believe what you're saying. I'll never believe that. It will only ever be us for each other. I know that now."

"And what good will thinking like that do?" she asked, angrily wiping at her tears. "You are getting married tomorrow and I am loyal only to my master."

"Stop with the lies," Frederick said, squeezing her. "There's no one else here but us. You'd hear any who approach. I need you to be honest with me because this is the last time we can be."

She bit her lip and glanced at the door.

"Ara, please," he whispered, enfolding her in his arms and holding her tight. "This is the last time you and I will ever speak freely then never again. Don't turn me away."

"He could see it," she hissed, removing herself from his grasp. "He could see it if he asked a vampyre to drink me. All right?"

"And what would he see?" Frederick asked quietly, approaching her back. "What he already knows? I've not exactly tried to hide it."

"Don't come any closer."

"Look at me for the last time, Ara. Because tomorrow, I'll be gone."

He watched her back as she shook, and his hands tightened to the point of pain as they forbade themselves to touch her. Gods, how he wanted to touch her, but he would not force himself upon her in any way.

In fact.

If she asked him to go, he would go. No fight. It wasn't up to him. He'd begged. He'd pleaded. She'd said no.

It was all that could be done.

"I love you," he said once more, and he went to turn from her when her hand shot for his.

"What is it you want from me?" she demanded.

"What I have no right to reach out and take. I want to kiss you one more time, then never again."

He was certain she'd deny his request. She would be right to. He thought she would send him out the door.

Those thoughts were wrong.

Her arms seized about his neck, forcing him to her lips. She kissed him deeply. Richly. Desperately. His mind exploded with colors and stars. So beautiful was the feeling of her lovely mouth on his.

He couldn't help but embrace her, wishing he could pull her body into his own. Though a physical impossibility, it didn't stop him from trying. They pressed against one another so tight it left no space for a soul between them. Mouth met mouth, tongue met tongue, bride met groom.

Mate for mate. She was his mate.

He nearly shivered from the rightness of it.

She was so many things at once. She was wine, syrup, sugar, water. Sweetness and life. Pleasure and possession. Blood—his very blood. Extravagance itself.

And all the things he planned on saying went unspoken between them, and he could only breathe into her mouth with all the things he hoped to leave her.

I'm sorry that I let my pride blind me to who you were. What we had. What we could have been.

I'm sorry that this is the first time I'm imparting love to you. Respecting you. Savoring you. We could have had many moments like this ... yet knowing this will be the only one makes me incredibly sad.

I was so set on destroying you that I didn't see that this would destroy me, too.

I never knew that I would fall in love with you.

I used you as a means to an end—but in the end I see what I've done can never be undone.

I love you entirely too much to see what will become of you or show you what will become of me.

Stay strong, brave girl, stay strong.

He channeled every thought into her body. Every word blasted through his head. The things he could no longer say—the things that were too late to say—but soon she'd know them all.

And she tasted like hope, burning and glimmering. This moment felt like hope itself. As if they couldn't be ripped apart. But they would be ripped apart, and when that happened so, too, would all his last hopes rip apart with it.

They would be finished.

And it came to an end entirely too soon. She pulled away and turned her face, her regret so palpable it became his own. "We must stop this now. It sickens me to think that the princess might learn of this. Frederick, you as good as already belong to another."

He refused to relinquish the feel of her body against his. "I belong only to you."

As your mate.

His mind could almost taste the word, but he didn't dare say it aloud. She moaned but didn't demand for him to release her. Instead, she let him hold her there, and he massaged her scalp, keeping her cheek to his heart.

"I will miss you very much," he said.

"Not as much as I will miss you. Of all my husbands, you have been my favorite."

He allowed himself a chuckle. "Singular creature. Always thinking of husbands. I never did get to ask you why they call you the Widow Queen."

"And I'm glad you'll never know." She raised her head, her emotion-filled eyes taking his breath away. "You won't forget me, will you? You wouldn't try. Unless I was so bad to you?"

The words broke his heart. "You've been better to me than anyone ever has. That is part of why I now find myself in the predicament of being in love with you, Ara. Never doubt that I was a stupid, stupid man, and this was not your fault."

She closed her eyes and nodded, tears trickling down her cheeks.

He tucked his fingers into her mouth, and she moaned as she wrapped her tongue around them. Within seconds, he found a fang and pricked himself, and her eyes widened before she jerked away. "What have you—"

"Take these from me," Frederick said, smearing blood on her jaw as he gripped her. "Have these final memories of us and see for yourself how much I adore you. Feel how much I feel for you. Know how much I love you."

Tears spilled down her face, her blatant hurt paining him to look upon. "Why?"

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "I'm not always good with putting things into words. I'm terrible at showing emotion. I just want you to see yourself the way I see you. There's no other way for you to know what I've come to feel for you. No other way to believe it. So see it for yourself. And always remember that I love you, Arabella."

He drew away from her, his anxiety spiking as he watched the space grow between them. She sank to the floor and rocked, her weeping silent as she gripped her chest.

He couldn't stand to see her like this. Couldn't stand to be the source of such misery. But there was nothing else to be done, so he did the last cowardly thing he could possibly do.

Frederick turned his back and left her there.

He stormed away from her, speeding down the hall, furiously dashing the tears from his face.

At least they'd had this.

At least he'd seen her one last time.

At least she'd taken his blood and could see it for herself one day.

She would feel so much rage and grief and pain when she found out what he'd been planning. But it had to be done. There had to be some of this wrong that he could right. All he had to figure out now was—

It clanged through his senses then. A sense. A call.

Come.

His heart sparked with hope, praying that it was Tessande summoning him as she'd once tried to do in Carnelia.

He followed the pull without question, hurrying through the castle corridors to reach it. When he arrived at the section of the castle that often hosted foreign guests, Frederick stopped. The place was surrounded by guards from the Spiderweb, and all of them were staring at him.

A trap.

He remained still for several breaths, waiting for one of them to say something to him. But none of them said anything, staring at him in a sinister way as if they weren't really seeing him.

As if they were frozen.

He took a step toward the hall, then another, but no one stopped him. All of them had become mystical statues, none of them moving as he made his way past. He braced himself before entering Tessande's room and closed the door behind him. "Tessande?"

She didn't turn to acknowledge him, the ember of her cigar flaring as she raised it to her lips. "I thought you might want to see me tonight."

"The guards—"

"I made sure to enchant them before you arrived. They will be awoken once I'm ready to wake them, and they won't remember a thing. Including the ones lurking in the shadows who might have caught you leaving Arabella. You fools. What on earth were you thinking?"

Frederick took a cautious step toward her. "You really did that for us?"

She shrugged. "I knew you would be stupid enough to seek her tonight. Better make sure whatever you're about to request from me is something you can afford to ask me. My patience at your lack of self-preservation grows thin."

"I do have another request," Frederick said, his voice wavering.

"Of course you do," she said, draping her arm over the back of the settee to look at him. "Let's hear it. I need a good giggle tonight."

Frederick clenched and released his fists over and over. "I want you to take the princess away from the castle."

She said nothing for a long while. "You want me to make the princess disappear a day before your wedding? Where do you want me to take her, exactly."

"Wherever she wants to go. I shouldn't know the location in case he pries it from me."

"Then you came here to ask me to kill you. You don't really think you'll get away with this, do you?"

"I don't plan on getting away with it. So long as the princess is safe, then I don't care what happens to me. So I thought ..." He inhaled for strength. "I thought that because of the friendship that Yessara had with Queen Vellore that maybe you could help. I don't know how to reach Yessara."

She arched her neck from side to side. "That's brave. Very brave to bring up my sister. You haven't dared to do it once. I thought you were smarter than that but apparently you aren't. I don't give a shit about Yessara. That bitch can rot."

"Please," Frederick insisted. "Don't do it for Yessara, then. Do it because it's the right thing to do. You're the only one who can help me."

"Why should I risk my life for you? If he finds out that I got her out of here, then your doom becomes mine." She took a long draw of her cigar. "I can't help you in this. You have nothing of value to offer me. Nothing I should risk myself for. So don't even—" Her back straightened, her shoulders rising.

"Tessande?"

"No," she said hoarsely, gripping her throat. "Not now, you bitch!" Tessande flung herself from the settee onto the floor. She thrashed on the carpet, holding her stomach as if trying to stop something from coming out.

Frederick crossed the room and lowered to her side, uncertain of what to do to help. "What's the matter? Where does it hurt."

"Get lost," she hissed, pushing away from him. "Leave the room—now."

Nervousness pulsed in his throat. "But you—"

She screamed and tore at her hair, her eyes rolling. "Stay put, you bitch, or I will make you sorry!" Frederick took her arms, gripping them tight to stop her from tearing at her skin. But she was too fierce. Too strong to stay confined. And she shoved from him, knocking into tables and chairs as she scrambled to get away. "Stay away! Stay away. Stay—" She shivered and fell into a heap on the floor.

Everything stopped. Even the fire.

"Tessande," Frederick said, rushing to her side. "Tessande?"

She pushed up abruptly, her eyes pulsing with red as she blinked at her surroundings. "Where am I?" she croaked.

"Tessande?" Frederick asked, but he quickly realized this was not Tessande. Not at all. It wasn't the same posture. Nor the same manner. Or aura. "Yessara."

He helped her sit upright, and she groaned and dropped her head in her hands. "I do so hate the atrocities she wears. Vile woman." She sighed and met Frederick's eyes. "I heard your voice, then heard my name. What is the matter?"

Frederick rested on his knees. "I don't understand. What is this?"

She scratched the back of her neck. "This happened to us long ago. An incident resulted in Tessande dying. In an act of desperation I captured her spirit and brought it into my body, so we've been sharing it for over two thousand years and gods, I'm sick of it."

"You—" Frederick wiped his sweating palms on his breeches. "You've been inside Tessande this entire time?"

She gave a self-depreciating smile. "Her soul is bound to my body. It's the same thing that Arabella does to exotic animals when she shoves their souls into her beloved mechanics. Tessande and I have been fighting to dominate this vessel but neither of us can extinguish the other. We are cursed to live like this for the rest of our lives, I'm afraid."

"Let me help you up."

She accepted his assistance, and he brought her to rise unsteadily to her feet. "What is it you've summoned me for?"

"I came to Tessande tonight to ask her for her to help me get Eviylene out of this place. She told me I have nothing worth bargaining with for."

"You want Eviylene to escape?"

"I need Eviylene to escape. She shouldn't be forced to marry me, so I need help to get her somewhere safe."

"And you? If you stay here, you'll be killed."

"So be it," he said softly. "One of us has to stay here to suffer the consequences. And more importantly, I will not be letting Arabella suffer the consequences for me. I will be staying so that he knows I acted alone."

She searched his face. "I'll do it, but it will cost you your secrecy. Swear to me that you will not tell anyone that Tessande and I share the same body. It's a secret that only one other being knows."

His lips curved. "It's Arabella, isn't it? She knows. That's why your presence at Lovers of the Sky infuriated her."

She laughed. "That didn't take you long to figure out. But she and I are old friends—of sorts."

"Until Tessande, right?" She raised a brow. "I've had my suspicions for a while now. But I swear to you, I will say nothing of this to anyone else." He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a thankful kiss to the back of it. "I am so grateful to you, Yessara. Please save Queen Vellore's daughter."

Her eyes sheened with emotion. "Take care, Frederick. May the gods be with you for the next part."

Yessara squeezed his hand, about to let him go when he held on tighter. "Might I ask one more thing?"

She paused. "Of course."

"What would it cost me in exchange for you removing Arabella's collar?"

She drew back. "What makes you think I can remove it?"

"Tessande made it," he said quietly.

Her eyes widened. "Why would you think that?"

He gave a negligent wave. "I already made Tessande confirm it. You don't have to pretend. So can you do it?"

Her sorrowful expression showed him all he needed to know, despair freezing into his heart before she even spoke. "I cannot. I cannot control any of her magical powers, and she can't control any of my vampyric powers. Though we share one body, we have two different souls, and it's our souls that fuel our capabilities. I'm sorry."

"Then who made the Communication Stones?"

She lowered her gaze. "Tessande did. Gheorge requested them on your behalf, and I bargained with her for them."

"But what did you pay her?"

Her lip quirked at the corner. "More time and control over our vessel. That's why I couldn't respond to Arabella before the Battle of Adora, and gods, I'm sorry for it."

He nodded. "It was worth asking anyway."

"I wish there was something I could do to help."

"You already are."

She bit her lip, unconvinced and unmoving.

"Don't look so sorry for me," Frederick said. "I am the cause of all of this. It is only right that I fix some of it. If I take myself out of it, he'll have no leverage over Arabella. She won't have to feign love or affection for the bastard, and he'll never be able to break her. Not with me gone."

"She might not survive losing you, Frederick. Have you considered that?"

A flicker of alarm speared through him, but he quickly dismissed it. "So you know, too?"

"I'm afraid so," she said with an apologetic smile. "Gheorge might have told me. The two of us were convinced that the both of you would make it. Seems as though fate had other plans. For what it's worth, I would have liked to see her happily mated. I would have liked to see you both happy together. I think you softened her greatly, and I do not say that lightly at all."

The task of speaking became impossible to do, his mind furiously working to remember even one word. "Thank you, Yessara. It has been a pleasure."

"Speak of this to no one," she said, backing away from him. "And I'll ensure that she'll be unfindable by the morning." He nodded, and when she reached the door, she paused. "The Widow's Staff—do you happen to know where it is?"

"The Widow's Staff?"

"Yes, the weapon Arabella uses against Tessande."

Staff. "She gifted it to me, but Saebane forced me to relinquish it."

"Oh dear," she murmured. "That's a terrible weapon for Saebane to get his hands on, indeed. I imagine he's found a way to destroy it by now. It's the only thing that can really damage a sorcerer as strong as him because of what it's made from."

"Why? What's it made from." Perhaps he could find a similar weapon.

"It's not really a staff. It's a wand. And it's formed when a witch or sorcerer relinquishes the power from their body. They surrender their magic, and it forms a wand. That wand then becomes a detriment to others of their species."

Frederick's hopes plummeted. He'd figured out that Staff was significant against sorcerers, and now he no longer had it. And there was certainly no way of getting another one. "I see."

She raised a finger to her chin as if contemplating something. "Thankfully he doesn't have all the pieces, though."

Frederick's spine stiffened, his heart hammering in his chest. "All the pieces?"

"It's the damnedest thing. I could have sworn I'd seen another piece of it recently. A piece featured in a royal gallery somewhere. A piece Saebane wouldn't know exists because he has no interest in things like royal galleries ..."

He swore low. "The Shield of Aide."

"It isn't really a shield, is it?"

He wanted to shout with triumph. Weep with relief. Laugh and laugh and laugh. "I could kiss you."

"You don't have time, lover boy. The Spiderweb will come out of their enchantment within an hour without Tessande to control them, and I can't let Tessande return until I get Eviylene to safety. You need to move fast."

She vanished, and Frederick didn't allow himself to waste any time. He sped through the hallways like a creature out of Hell, punishing his body to move faster and faster. The opening of the gallery came into view, and he could hardly breathe by the time he came face-to-face with the shield.

With trembling hands, he reached for it, the metal ice to his touch. He concentrated, thinking of a dagger but it didn't change.

"Come on," he urged. "Please."

Slowly, as if rusty, the fragment of shield shifted into a crooked blade. Imperfect. Ancient. Beautiful. Frederick gripped it within both hands, staring at it until his vision blurred. The Widow's Staff was within his possession again.

The only weapon in all the Star that could fell a sorcerer.