The only true blessing in the realm was a warm bath.

For the first time in weeks, her body relaxed; even the stinging cuts that littered the side of her face couldn’t stem the blissful relief that washed over her as she dunked her head beneath the heated water. The bath itself was nothing to write home about — it was a far cry from the stone baths in the capital’s bathing houses or the marbled shared bath at the academy. It was simply a well-crafted wooden tub with coals burning beneath, but it was comfortable. More than that, it was familiar; familiarity was in short supply these days.

As all good things, however, the bath ended far too soon. The coals burnt out and not long after the water chilled. Her fingers were raisins and her hair half dry by the time she finally hauled herself out of the tub and swaddled her body in the towel hung on the rack near the door. Foregoing her usual habit of lazing on her bed until she dried completely, she pulled on one of her warmer dresses. The wool was soft on her skin, recently washed and smelling of roses. It was her mother’s favorite flower, and while she hated the smell as a child, it now brought her solace in the way no other scent could.

It was home.

Tossing her towel aside, she stepped into her room. It remained untouched in her absence, all of her keepsakes and trinkets exactly where she’d left them. The painting she’d made with Marea hung above her bed, which was shoved into the far corner of the room. Pallets of face-paints, purchased during her years in the capital, cluttered her vanity. She was never one to fret over her appearance, but there were times she felt the need to sit in front of the mirror and prod at her face with an array of brushes in hand. That need usually accompanied the first signs of the blood moon and often came with an infuriating inability to decide which dress to wear.

Lisette hovered by her bookcase, a dainty finger trailing over the spines as she read the titles. Where she expected a flurry of pointed questions, silence greeted her. The collection of books seemed innocent at first glance, but many of them belonged to her mother; her father would surely faint if he realized what sort of material they contained.

Sighing, she plopped down in front of the vanity and took a moment to examine her reflection as she pulled her brush through her hair. She’d grown accustomed to the length, but with the dirt and grime thoroughly stripped, the vibrancy returned. Most wouldn’t know it, as he had none left to speak of, but she’d inherited the bright copper color and half-coiled waves from her father. When it was longer, her hair waved until it curled at the ends; now, it sat atop her head in a messy, but not unkempt, mop of loose waves.

“Who cut my hair?” she asked.

“Vina. Said it looked so bad it made her physically ill,” Lisette said. She pulled a book off the shelf and squinted at the cover. “Did not think you were the type to read bawdy novels.”

“I’m twenty-three and unmarried,” Everna snorted. “What did you think I’d read? Children’s tales of princesses and knights in shining armor?”

“Most girls do.”

“Most girls also don’t realize that a man in shining armor has accomplished nothing in his life,” Everna countered. “I was never one for fairy tales, anyway. Too dramatic and too unrealistic. I grew up with the people who lived those ‘fairy tails’.”

“Never wanted to be a princess?”

“And live my life bogged down by duties, expectations, and at the behest of others? A life where the sole purpose of my existence is to be bartered off to whomever offers the highest bid? Absolutely not,” Everna said, scrunching her nose. “I am perfectly content being a relatively normal woman, thank you.”

“Not even if a certain someone were to stop pretending he’s not into you?” she prodded.

“I find it very difficult to imagine Wil in a castle, of all places, with a crown on his head,” Everna huffed. “He acts like less of a prince and more of a petulant boy.”

Lisette shoved the book back into its spot and moved onto the shelf below. “Considering how many children King Keeland had, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was a street rat before the castle tracked him down. I’ve heard there’s a couple they still haven’t found yet.”

That seemed more likely. She sincerely doubted anyone raised in the castle would act as he did; the family would never allow it. There were books — rather thick ones at that — dedicated to detailing the proper conduct for the royal family. The academy’s library had copies of them available for the scholars. She tried to read one once, for curiosity’s sake, and put it down not a minute later.

No, he acted very much like some of the older street urchins that tried to con her out of her coin with flimsy charm and mocking flattery.

Despite his attitude, it wasn’t surprising. He admitted to having influence over the courts, limited as it was, and only the High Nobility had that power. She assumed he came from one of the Three Houses — a bastard son perhaps — but she hadn’t expected royalty. Though, with the state of the throne, the royal family may as well be elevated nobility.

“I’m surprised you don’t seem to care that much,” Lisette noted. “I can’t say I wasn’t shocked. Least now I know why Vina’s crazy about him; he’s a prince.”

If not for Windmore’s reaction — the flicker of horrified realization that crossed his features before he fled with his tail between his legs — she might have thought Corden was pulling a fast one on him. The more she thought of it, however, the more obvious it became. Sir Swiftbrook knew who he was. The Inquisitor made several odd remarks about the ordeal as well.

“Because, if I’m honest, I don’t care,” she said, pulling the brush through the last of her hair. “Why should I?”

“Uh, because if you stop tap dancing around him like an empty-headed milkmaid and started being a little more, you know, obvious, you could have a crown on your head too,” Lisette said. “Eventually. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t want that; half the books on your shelf say otherwise. Seems to be the main theme here.”

Everna groaned and tossed her brush onto the vanity. “You and Leah are seeing things that aren’t there.”

Lisette turned to her and promptly snapped one of her books shut. “I’ve known him for a couple of years, now, and let me tell you: while he is an idiot with a flare for helping damsels in distress, that’s usually as far as it goes. He drops them off and moves onto the next.”

“That’s probably what’s going to happen when all of this is over.”

“You’re dense as a rock or willfully ignorant. Gods, no wonder you two get along.”

If she were completely honest with herself, the latter was on the mark. After Leah pointed it out, it became more apparent and many of nuances she’d initially misinterpreted were drawn into perspective. There was an obvious difference between the way he acted when they were alone and when there were others present. That difference started shortly after she arrived at the safe house and only became more pronounced as the days passed. The feeling wasn’t entirely unrequited, but she hadn’t given it much thought. More important matters demanded her attention.

“Now is not the best time,” she said after a moment.

Lisette grinned, her eyes alight with mischievous glee. “Oh? And if it was the time?”

“We’ll have to see if that time comes.”

“How disgustingly mature,” Lisette said, scrunching her nose. “If I were you, I’d take the chance while you have it. Soon as this mess is fixed, he’ll be on his way back to the capital, and who knows when you’ll see him again. Who knows, you convince him to stay. Gods know Osain could use the help.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when, and if, I get to it,” Everna bit out.

“Your loss.”

Pointedly ignoring her last comment, Everna pulled her boots on — her own boots, for once — and stepped into the hall, which separated the bedrooms from the rest of the house. Soft conversation drifted from the kitchen, her mother and Leah’s voices barely audible above the clanging of pots and pans. Corden hovered by the archway, his face flushed with discomfort. Everna raised a brow, and he vaguely motioned to the kitchen.

“I need words, Corden,” Everna said. “I’m not a mind-reader.”

“She’s being Mom,” he grumbled, running a hand through his dark hair.

Their mother leaned through the archway and shot him a significant look. “You’ve been engaged for months and didn’t tell me. You deserve to be embarrassed!”

“Engaged?”

“I know!” her mother cried. “Shocking, isn’t it? The whole world’s gone mad! My bonehead son found himself a woman! And a beauty at that.”

Putting two and two together, Everna glanced past her mother to find Leah standing in the corner of the kitchen, her shoulders shaking as she struggled to stifle her laughter. She should be more shocked, but after the events of the last few hours, Everna could only muster enough of a thought to utter a single, “Oh.”

“Oh? Gods, you are Ronan’s daughter,” her mother huffed, throwing her towel over her shoulder. “You want to know how they met? He was naked-”

“Mom!” Corden groaned.

“Piss drunk and thought trying to ride a wyvern was a good idea,” her mother said with a roguish grin. “Then he stumbled into the lovely Miss Leah’s clergy, still buck naked, mind you, and she had to fix the result of his stupidity.”

Everna snorted. “Sounds exactly like something he’d do.”

Corden flung his hands up in exasperation.

Her mother pinned her with a significant look and said, “Now if we just get you settled down — ”

“You know what? I don’t think I’ve seen Dad since I got back. I’m going downstairs, bye!” Everna said as she hurried towards the door, the sound of her mother’s cackling following her.

She was not having another conversation about her romantic affairs, or lack thereof.

The clean-up of the tavern had made little progress. While the remaining chairs and tables were back in their places, puddles of blood and liquor and piles of glass blanketed the floor. Bree and Melenda scrubbed at the tiled entranceway to the kitchen, the flagstone stained red. Banor stumbled about, picking up glass shards and the odd cork. Everna didn't see Lyra or the rest of the waitresses.

Behind the bar, her father swept the shattered remains of the stock into the dustpan and dumped it into the bin beneath the counter. His axe rested against the wall behind him, just within reach. Wil sat perched on the stool in front of him, turning something over in his hand. A half-empty bottle of brandy sat near his elbow.

Feeling indulgent, she plucked one of the few remaining bottles of whiskey from the shelf and popped the cork. Her father immediately turned to her, a deep frown set into his face. They had the same argument every time she touched a drink that wasn't meant for a customer, but she stared him down as she brought the bottle to her lips.

After what she'd dealt with these past two months, she deserved the drink.

Then, to her surprise, he sighed. "I'm just glad you're alright."

She managed a half smile. She hadn't been "alright" since the night Windmore arrested her. With the Courts and Shroud's baffling indecision (first they wanted her dead, now they wanted her alive?), and all that happened in between, the limits of her patience were fast approaching. A different form of exhaustion took hold; she was tired of the game, tired of people getting hurt because of her, and thoroughly fed up with hiding away in the forest while Shroud ran rampant and destroyed her life piece by piece.

"I'm something," she said at length. "Not quite 'alright' but still alive, for what it's worth."

"It's worth more than you realize. Your mother and I always knew that, one day, something from our past would catch up with us, but we never expected it to be Shroud." Her father flung a broken chair leg into the hearth. "If I had known, I wouldn't have been as lenient with your training."

Everna took another sip from the bottle, the warmth of the cinnamon-flavored whiskey flooding her belly. "It was probably for the best, if I'm honest. I have a feeling I'd be in a worse position if Shroud took me seriously from the start."

"And I wouldn't count on that advantage any longer," Wil said, grabbing his bottle as he pushed off the counter. "Between Windhollow and today, you've made it clear you're not going without a fight — and you're putting up more than they expected. This time there was a witness."

He tossed a pin onto the counter between her and her father. Small and forged of gleaming silver, the pin depicted a venomous snake coiled around a crown of thorns. While she'd never seen the symbol before, there was no question who it belonged to.

Curious, she plucked it from the counter and turned it over in her hands. Something about the way the brier wrapped around the snake's coiled frame struck her as familiar. It bore an eerie resemblance to the woven pattern of the crown of roses that was Inverness's standard.

Her father frowned, his brows drawn. "Where did you find this?"

"In the cellar a few moments ago," Wil said. "Someone's been watching the tavern, I think."

The next mouthful of whiskey hit her stomach hard. Several of the staff, including Lyra, had fled into the cellar when the fighting broke out. It could belong to any of them.

How deep did Shroud's influence go? They had agents and operatives inside the Guard. Wil suspected there were some within the Courts. Now, there was evidence of their presence in the tavern. Next, they'd tell her Shroud had infiltrated Shadowguard.

"It could belong to that agent Mom killed," she said. "He must've been hiding down there. I didn't see him when I came in, and I was near the cellar door when he pulled me off the bar."

It couldn't be Lyra's. It simply couldn't. There was another explanation, she was sure. There was always another explanation.

She hoped.

Her father's gaze remained on the pin. "I think it's time I told you the truth about the town and Windmore's issue with me."

Everna gave a non-committal hum. Had the circumstances been different, she would've asked sooner. Perhaps it was for the best she didn't; her parents clearly hid something from her, and she doubted they'd have told the truth without Shroud forcing their hand. Her mother already admitted to knowing more than she let on. She always had.

"It's about time someone started telling me things," she muttered. "Seeing as how everyone's been keeping me in the dark."

"What good would it have done?" Wil asked. "You couldn't do anything, even if you knew every detail."

"I'm not helpless," she snapped.

Wil raised a brow. “In this particular matter, you are. You don’t have the power or the experience necessary to make use of that information. There was no point in telling you.”

She drew in a breath and forced her irritation aside. "This matter directly involves me, and I've had enough of being pushed around like a pawn on a chessboard. I have every right to know what the hell is going on and why."

The situation was getting too far out of hand for secrecy. Shroud no longer hid in the shadows, but came after her in her own home. They razed the town hall and nearly killed her mother. Yet the ones with the power to stop it dragged their feet and kept her stumbling about in the dark.

"This has gone on long enough," she continued. "And if someone doesn't start talking or doing something, soon I'll take matters into my own hands."

Her father drew in a sigh, his shoulder slumped with resignation.

"You'll have to ask your mother for the details, but as far as I know, Windmore's mother was part of Shroud. She was in the capital, until her postion was exposed and she and fled to Pendel with Windmore and his sister, seeking protection from Mikha, who was in charge then."

"He had a sister?" Wil asked, frowning. "That's the first I've heard of this. It's not on any of his family records. In fact, Pendel's records are a mess. Last I looked, I couldn't make sense of them."

"You can thank your father for that. Pendel was an embarrassment, as far as the Crown and the Courts were concerned. They had no control over a town within their own borders, and they tried to cover it up as much as they could."

Wil muttered something under his breath. Everna learned some elvish from Andryll over the years, but not enough to understand more than the odd curse. She hadn't a clue what Wil said, but from the tone of his voice, she suspected it wasn't kind.

"And why is it he hates you so much?" Everna pressed, pushing the conversation back on track. She had suspicions, but they needed confirmation; a clear motive for Windmore's involvement would solidify her case for the Courts. They may not be cooperating at the moment, but she would have to face them eventually. The more she had, the better.

And, if they still refused to consider her side of it, she'd push Wil until he held them in contempt of their duties and had the High Knights remove them. As far as she was concerned, it should've happened already.

"I killed his sister," her father said at length. "Shroud wouldn't go without a fight. Quite a few people got caught in the crossfire, and she was one of them. He never let it go.”

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