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To Cheroka, you slut.

Contents

Towerfall Tarot

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Epilogue

Reading Guide

Author Q&A

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Towerfall Tarot

The Towerfall Spread

Building your happily ever after.

Towerfall has beckoned. This spread is not just a tool for divination, but it is a portal to building your happily ever after.

You are setting out on a great journey. Your cards will break down where you’re starting, what your motivation is, your trials, and the ultimate manifestation of your Happily Ever After.

USE THIS SPREAD WHEN:

You know change is needed and are ready to manifest your new reality. It will help provide the building blocks to get you to your end goal.

TIPS AND TRICKS:

You will begin with a foundation built by your Past and Present and will be called to look inward as you reflect on where you’ve been and where you are. How has your past shaped you? Where do you currently find yourself?

Your Catalyst propels you forward and calls you to act. Your journey has begun! Know that trials of the Dark Night of the Soul can appear in many different ways, and a card should not always be taken at face value.

As you connect with your Heroes and Your Happily Ever After, look for nuances in each card to find your connection.

Keep in mind that you may see something new each time you review a card or find that things become clearer when you make it to the end of the spread.

Trust the process.

THE CARDS:

- CARDS 1, 2, 3:

- Past—Your origin story.

- CARDS 4 & 5:

- Present—Your current self.

- CARDS 6 & 7:

- Catalyst—Your hopes, dreams, and expectations for your future.

- CARDS 8 & 9:

- Journey Begins—Turn to your guides for advice to take action on the first steps of your journey.

- CARDS 10 & 11:

- Dark Night of the Soul—Trials you will face along the way.

- CARDS 12 & 13:

- Heroes—The growth you’ve experienced, and the energy that ushered and continues to surround you as you step into your happily ever after.

- CARD 14:

- Your Happily Ever After.

One

I’ve been on this spirituality, self-help journey for a while now. I’m not sure exactly where Luna’s Twilight Tarot and Healing Arts shop falls on that spectrum of spirituality, but I’m here to embark on the unexpected. Plus, I can’t catch another bus for thirty minutes, and it’s literally two degrees outside.

I bite my lip and glance down at the book clutched in my hand. The glossy pale pink cover that promises this self-help book will be the last one you’ll ever need to truly start living your best life reflects the neon crescent moon hanging above the door to Luna’s Twilight Tarot shop. I flip it open to the last page I read. The crumpled napkin I used as a bookmark drifts to the sidewalk as my eyes roam over the phrases I highlighted while on my lunch break.

Do something unexpected…

Don’t let who you think you’re supposed to be stop you from being who you’re meant to be.

Surprise yourself!

“Getting advice about the biggest moment in my career from a deck of tarot cards sure is surprising,” I murmur, adjusting my oversize bag on my arm as I push open the door. The bell above the wood frame chimes as I step into a dimly lit haze of sandalwood and lavender.

I creep into the open space and let the door swing shut behind me. The walls are a rich, deep navy decorated with framed posters of the moon’s phases and partially clothed women.

“Hello?” I call out, slowly walking to the center of the room where a large antique wooden table holds a variety of crystals. Above the table, the flickering Edison bulbs in the beaded chandelier cast a fire-like glow against the faceted peaks and valleys of each crystal.

I round the table, passing by a seventies-era wood-paneled wall. One hand clutches my book while the fingertips of the other glide over rose quartz orbs stacked inside a bronze bowl. There’s an alcove to my left lit with black candles and decorated with dried flowers and framed photos.

This place feels like someone with a mystic-chic Pinterest board went on a caffeinated decorating frenzy.

At the edge of the store, there’s a small room set apart by a beaded curtain.

“Luna?” I whisper, feeling like an intruder even though their website says walk-ins are welcome.

The heater clicks on, and a door, previously camouflaged in the strips of wood paneling, sighs open. Red light pours from the crack in the open door, and warm air blows across my cold cheeks and twirls through the unruly strands of hair that have fallen from my messy bun. Every morning, I promise myself a stylish braided updo from those tutorial videos, yet my disheveled topknot reigns supreme.

A woman’s silky, pleasure-filled moan slips through the parted door as I peer into the red room. My gaze lands on a man’s naked back, every muscled inch sweat-streaked and glistening in the candlelight. The woman moans again, and he moves to the side, revealing her naked body covered by a red silk sheet. She arches her back, her shoulder pressing into the massage table beneath her as the glossy fabric slips down to expose her breasts.

“Yes,” he rumbles, “harness your power.”

I freeze. I should clear my throat or close the door, but I can’t stop staring.

He extends his arm to an area I can’t see through the crack in the door and returns with a single red rose. He brings it to his lips. His voice is low and deep as he breathes against the open petals. “Harness your power.” He murmurs the words against the delicate bud before touching the petals to her forehead.

A cry catches in her throat as he drags the bloom down her nose, over her lips, along the curve of her chin. She arches from the table, her breasts like offerings while he whispers to her. He pulls the rose along the column of her neck before circling each breast and dusting each nipple. With a velvety moan, she jerks and quakes beneath the flower’s touch.

“More,” he breathes, his hand slipping under the silk, between her legs—

My breath is ragged, as ragged and raw as hers, and I must be breathing loudly because he looks up. His gaze meets mine. Candlelight reflects off his light eyes, turning them to fire.

I stumble backward and crash into the table, my giant purse knocking into the crystal-filled bowl.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I curse as the bronze bowl clatters to the ground, and I drop to my hands and knees to crawl after the marble-like orbs.

The man steps out of the room, softly closing the door behind him. “I’m afraid I don’t have any openings this evening.” He stares down at me and combs his fingers through his sweat-damp golden curls.

“Oh, no, thank you.” I shake my head and lean back on my knees, wincing as I pick up the bowl and drop in a handful of clanging crystals. “I’m not here for that.” My gaze slides down his thick chest and sculpted abs to the elastic line of his briefs peeking out above his gray sweatpants.

Oh god.

My mouth goes dry, and my cheeks flame as my attention settles on his massive bulge.

“I—I have a boyfriend,” I say straight to his cock, as if it asked. “I’m sorry.” I giggle the same annoying high-pitched sound I roll my eyes at whenever I watch Netflix’s newest holiday special. This is definitely not the kind of main-character energy I want.

“You certainly seem interested,” he says.

I collect the last few crystals and scramble to my feet to place the bowl back on the table. “I shouldn’t be here. This was all a big mistake. Huge.” I bite my lower lip to keep my nervous laughter from erupting, but it comes out of my nose as a pig snort.

“I think you’re in the perfect place.” He lifts his chin, motioning toward something behind me, and I spin around, the self-help book clutched to my chest.

The woman on the other side of the table is tall, her thick curves draped in layers of fabric that flutter around her like wings. “Thank you, Maverick.” She nods, her tight curls brushing against her deep-umber skin. “I apologize for the interruption.”

“Me too,” I blurt as red light falls across my back, and I whirl around to face him and offer another bumbling apology. But he’s already gone, disappeared behind the wood paneled door, the sound of a lock clicking into place.

“Sorry for barging in like this,” I say to the woman instead. “And for making a mess.”

“You didn’t barge in. All are welcome here.” Her plump smile is so kind and genuine, my shoulders relax down from my ears, and the hot flush of embarrassment cools from my face.

“What goes on in there?” I whisper, pointing to the wood paneling and the door Maverick and his client are behind.

She smiles, her lips as red as the rose, as red as the room and the energy inside. “Sex magick.”

“Oh.” I nod like I know exactly what she’s talking about.

“But you’re not here for that.”

“No,” I say too quickly. “No, I am here to seize the day. Do something unexpected. Surprise myself.” I hold my book up as evidence. “Are you Luna?”

“I’m Eleanor.” She crooks her finger and motions for me to come closer. I round the table, closing the distance between us, and we both lean in. “Luna doesn’t exist.” She laughs, and I join her, although mine is more of a nervous chuckle than anything resembling joy. “But ‘Eleanor’ sounds like someone’s grandma, so I went with ‘Luna’ instead.”

I join in on the laughter now. Hers is so full and rich and real that it’s impossible not to.

“So,” she says, wiping the corners of her eyes with one of her billowing layers, “Hannah, how exactly can I help you?”

I take a step backward, catching my purse as it slides off my shoulder. “Oh my god, you know my name. You’re an actual psychic.”

Her full cheeks lift with an amused grin. “Your badge.” She points to the Posh Pulse Brand Management employee-access ID clipped to the outside of my down-filled coat. “I’m not psychic. I can’t look at you and simply know things, no matter how much I might want to. I’m not that type of seer, but I do connect with the universe. It relays messages through my cards about whatever answers you seek.”

“So, you can tell me my future?”

Her grin returns, sparkling in the depths of her earthy-brown eyes. “Your future is always changing, growing, evolving. Nothing is written in stone.” Eleanor, her feet hidden beneath strips of fabric, seems to float to the beaded curtain. She pulls it aside and gestures to the soft cushions scattered around the low table. “If you want answers about your future as it is now, I can offer them to you.”

I take off my coat and stuff the self-help book into my purse, the top half sticking out like a hot-pink portal to Barbie Land amid the navy and black of the small room. I drape my coat over my bag and sit on a coal-black cushion at the far end of the table while I wait for Eleanor to gather items from the alcove.

Her smile is warm and honest as she drifts back in through the beaded curtain, which washes over her like rain. She places a crystal bowl at the center of the table. In it, two card decks rest on a mound of pink salt. A lighter flicks, and Eleanor sets the end of a stick of palo santo ablaze. The smoke curls around the room, bathing us in its sweet woodsy scent.

“Hannah, what part of your future do you want demystified?” Eleanor asks as she lowers herself onto the cushions across the table from me.

“I’m giving this pitch at work tomorrow. It’s really important.”

She sets the burning wood next to the salt and lifts a deck of silver-rimmed cards from the bowl.

I rub my temples. “Practically everything in my life rests on how I do tomorrow, and I don’t want to mess it up. I can’t mess it up.”

If I do, the last three years of my life will have all been for nothing.

“We’ll start with this deck. One card. A message from the universe specifically for you.”

Salt falls like snow against the deep-blue cloth as she shuffles the cards and spreads them in a smooth arc between us, the metallic pentagram decorating the back of each card glittering in the low light.

She looks up from the cards. “Which one speaks to you?”

My hand hovers over them, drifting back and forth like a metal detector. I don’t know what magick is supposed to feel like, but I know this isn’t it. “I’m sorry. I don’t think this is working—” I start to pull my hand back when Eleanor grabs it.

Her eyes widen, and if she didn’t suck in a breath, I would have missed the flash of fear momentarily knotting her brow. Her grip tightens on me as she pulls my palm closer to the cards.

“What are you doing? You’re hurting me.” Her nails dig into my arm, and I try to shake free, but her hand is a vise. “Let me go!”

She keeps her hand clamped around my wrist, her grip cold and unyielding. Her unblinking dark eyes lock onto mine. The room’s temperature seems to drop, and I shiver as a film of white clouds her gaze.

“This one.” Her voice fractures into a haunting symphony of echoes, and the air vibrates with a chorus of unseen spirits as she takes a card from the spread and holds it out to me. “Take it. It’s yours. Take it, Hannah.”

I stare at her, too frightened and confused to think.

She thrusts the card at me like it’ll burn her if she’s not rid of it soon. “Take it and get out.”

I hesitate, fear twisting in my gut. I don’t want to take the card, but she hurls it against my chest with surprising force. My heart hammers, my fingers trembling as I grab the card and my things. Panic surges through me, and I run. The front door’s bell clangs like a gong when I rip it open and rush out into the frigid night.

The cold air slaps my face, shocking my system as I stumble out onto the dimly lit street. Luna’s neon light flickers above me, eerie shadows thrown across the pavement while I steady myself, my breath coming in puffs of vapor.

Standing in the glow of the store’s sign, I flip over the card. It’s blank. And then, as if stirred by an invisible hand, a cloud of silver swirls across the card’s surface. The air around me hums, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Slowly, words materialize in glittering ink as if whispered into existence: See the door and open it.

I stare at the words, my mind racing.

Behind me, the neon lights of Luna’s Twilight Tarot flicker one last time before they go out.

Two

See the door and open it.

I stare at the polished surface of the conference room’s table. The swirling script that appeared on the tarot card the night before bounces through my brain. Next to me, my senior VP taps her rose-red nails against a branded coffee mug. The reminder of the rose, of the red room, of Eleanor, makes me shiver. I try to focus my attention on Jade as she recounts a story to our clients that sounds hilarious but that I can barely hear over the thundering of my nervous heartbeat.

For three years, I’ve been putting in unpaid overtime and pulling all-nighters, working my ass off to get a chance like this: My first client pitch. My first campaign. The moment I’ve been dreaming about since college.

See the door and open it.

“…and that’s when I realized”—Jade leans back in her Hans Wegner swivel chair, her brown curls bouncing against her shoulders—“renting camels for team building in Illinois was not my brightest idea!”

Laughter erupts, and on the ninety-eight-inch screen hanging on the wall above the conference table, LuminaLuxe’s CEO, Brad Major, cracks up along with his two senior marketing managers.

Just as it dies down, I join the laughter, way too loud and entirely too late, and avert my gaze from the raised eyebrows of LuminaLuxe’s CEO. The floor-to-ceiling windows lining one wall of our pristine conference room are streaked with snow, and even though it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, the Chicago sky is gray and dense. The waters of Lake Michigan reflect the monochrome above, a jarring contrast to the vibrant peacock of jewel tones splashed throughout Posh Pulse’s conference room. From the rich eggplant of the carpet to the mulberry-and-gold-patterned wallpaper, the entire office is painted in royal purple and shiny gold, like drowning us in regal colors will force us to be more successful.

I shuffle my notes, a smile plastered on my face. Across the table, Stephanie swings her long blond hair over her shoulder as she leans in to whisper to our supervisor, James. They exchange hushed words, and she throws her head back, laughing.

Fucking Stephanie.

Both of us have been at Posh Pulse for the past three years, and I’ve never seen her look anything less than perfect. She’s the royal pop of color while I’m nothing but washed-out gray. My waist-length muddy-brown hair hardly ever behaves, and I’m sure my thrift-store designer dress isn’t fooling anyone. How Stephanie affords Louboutins on an entry-level salary is beyond me. Most months I can barely make my rent.

My phone lights up and lets out a Chewbacca-roar Slack notification. My cheeks heat as I snatch it up and silence it before glancing at the message.

Stephanie: Your notes are so cute. I love what you added to the pitch about helping the poor.

Stephanie: Who knew the savior of the working class wore last decade’s Dior.

Stephanie: Btw, rolling out of bed and putting on just anything was daring.

Stephanie: No matter what anyone else says, you look great in pilling couture.

I glance up, and she cuts her green eyes to me, wrinkling her button nose with a smile as fake as her swollen lips.

Fucking Stephanie.

I’m not the savior of the working class and have never tried to be. I want to make a difference—a positive change—and LuminaLuxe will agree to do just that when I tell them what these donations will do for their image and their tax deductions.

“Well, we’re excited to hear what you have for us today!” Brad cheers with an enthusiastic clap that makes me jump. “Madelyn promised this was a cutting-edge idea.”

“That’s what we do here.” With a wink, Madelyn, the president of Posh Pulse, removes her chunky Tom Ford glasses from her silver hair and slides them onto the bridge of her nose.

I swallow, suddenly feeling as open and on display as one of those fetal pigs I petitioned so hard not to dissect in high school.

Madelyn nods to Jade, who glances at me, sending a rush of ice through my veins. Jade chose my idea for the LuminaLuxe campaign and gave me this chance to pitch it directly to the client—an honor usually reserved for VPs. But with Vanessa leaving for London, one of the fancy corner offices will soon be empty, which means Posh Pulse has a senior-level position available for the first time in years. A position with my name on it.

See the door and open it.

I stand and clear my throat, and the room’s attention swings my way. I straighten, smoothing out invisible creases in my dress, the remote faces on the screen watching expectantly.

“Our campaign,” I begin, “is a revolutionary take… Wait, no. Sorry. I’m Hannah. Hello.”

A chorus of uncomfortable chuckles pops through the speakers. “Continue, Hannah,” Brad says, adjusting his red power tie and nodding at the camera.

I glance down at my handwritten notes, my face burning. Shit. Six words in, and I’m already screwing up. “As I was saying, our campaign is a revolutionary take on skin care. It’s edgy, daring, and, well, frankly, unprecedented.”

The CEO narrows his eyes and tilts his head. His office’s overhead lights gleam against his gelled hair, shiny as an oil slick. Was that a flicker of hesitation? Is he already questioning the idea before I’ve started?

My heart leaps. I can’t lose him. Not when I’m so close to getting to the juiciest part of my pitch.

“You’re worried we’ve gone too far,” I offer, the words charging up my throat. “Look, this idea is definitely unconventional, but it’s still accessible…for most age groups. I think for the teens and the twenty-to-forty cohort, there will be great engagement, but older customers might not mesh so well with the messaging we’ve put together. But then, that’s what being cutting-edge is all about, right?” I give a nervous chuckle and meet Jade’s startled gaze.

Brad lifts an eyebrow, and sweat dampens my palms. “That’s not to say the boomers—” I blurt, motioning to Madelyn. “Sorry, the elderly cohort won’t like it. I think there will be a certain number of negative online responses, but nothing trending or messy that we can’t handle.” My throat clenches, and I let out a barking cough as I push back my unruly hair. “And if you’re worried about—”

“What Hannah is trying to say,” a smooth, calm voice cuts in, “is that we’re envisioning a campaign that’s as bold and daring as our clientele, with the added benefit of leaning into the social consciousness of Gen Z consumers. By integrating a corporate responsibility initiative, we’ll ensure shoppers feel great about where their skincare dollars are going. This approach not only strengthens the LuminaLuxe brand, but it also aligns with the values of the campaign’s target demographic.”

I stare across the table, frozen, as Stephanie grins up at the screen, her teeth all white and straight and perfect.

“This campaign doesn’t just whisper—it roars.” Stephanie stands, tugging on the waist of her double-zero-sized dress before grabbing her copy of the pitch book off the table. “Brad, if I can get you and your team to look at page seven, you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

I sink into my chair, my mouth noiselessly opening and closing as Stephanie stalks back and forth, giving my presentation, deadly as a shark.

Jade stares at me, questions pressed into the deep furrow between her green eyes. But I have no answers.

I look down at the table. My vision blurs, and I blink to keep the tears at bay.

I have nothing.

* * *

“What the hell was that about?” Jade shout-whispers as soon as we’ve filed out of the conference room and into the hallway. Through the tears still threatening to absolutely ruin my makeup, she looks like an angel. My watery vision smears her white silk shirt dress into the gold walls, all of it seeming to add an ethereal glow to her dark skin.

I hiccup back my tears and white knuckle my pitch book, the original copy, in one hand. I glance over at Stephanie and James both grabbing their jackets to head out for a celebratory drink. LuminaLuxe loved the campaign. My campaign. Of course they did. But that fancy office and senior-level position won’t be mine—not after Stephanie flawlessly delivered the pitch while I sat there, clutching my water glass, drowning in shame.

“I don’t know.” I shrug, swiping my free hand through my tangled hair. “I just…I thought I scared him off by saying it was edgy, and I knew he’d have some concerns, so I was trying to make it clear that any he did have had already been thought through and worked out.”

Jade sighs and presses her burgundy lips into a thin line, her disappointment palpable. “Babe, were you selling them the dream or the disclaimer?”

“I just thought—”

“You thought wrong.” She squeezes my arm and gently rubs her thumb across the worn fabric of my used dress. “You’re too busy looking at the shadows, Hannah. Focus on the light.”

“I can’t believe I screwed this up,” I choke out, clapping my hand over my mouth to keep in a sob.

“Hey, Hanns?” Stephanie’s warm, velvety voice rings out from across the room as she shoots me a megawatt smile. “You coming for a drink? We’re going to Giovanni’s to celebrate the deal!”

I stifle a groan and silently hope the marble floor will open up and swallow me.

Fucking Stephanie. And she totally took credit for the corporate responsibility angle she’d spent the past week shitting all over.

Madelyn and James stand on either side of her, beaming at the hero who swooped in and saved the campaign. Now they’re going to the most expensive bar in the whole city when I can’t even afford a car home. While I sit on a grimy bus in a puddle of snow slush next to someone shouting their medical history into their phone, they’ll be ordering bottles of Veuve and enough small plates to last me a month. The thought alone makes my wallet hurt.

The three of them stare at me, waiting for my answer. I can’t bring myself to look at Madelyn after calling her elderly in front of Brad and my team members. At this point, I have no idea how I’ll ever look at her again.

“My stomach.” I grimace, flattening my palm against my middle and twisting my expression into one that I hope looks like I’m nauseous and not about to have explosive diarrhea. “I’m not feeling so great,” I lie. “The tuna sandwich from that food cart might not have been a great idea.”

“Too bad, Hanns.” Stephanie tsk-tsks, her mouth sliding into an Oscar-winning frown. “Guess we’ll have to have a drink in your honor.”

“Great,” I say, faking a smile that wouldn’t get me a People’s Choice. “I’m gonna head home.”

Jade takes a deep breath as if about to try to convince me otherwise before she thinks better of it. Instead, she offers me a strained grin and heads to join the group, high-fiving Stephanie as they wait for the elevator.

I stand alone in the hallway, my shoulders slumped.

Fucking corner office. Fucking Stephanie.

Her name will be on it next week—thanks to my campaign. And, no matter how much I want to, I can’t even hate her for it. Yeah, she’s a bitch, but I did this. I stepped all over myself and called the owner of my company a boomer. I crashed and burned.

See the door and open it.

How can I open the door when my own mistakes have locked it?

Three

The zipper on my coat broke two years ago, and every winter since, I’ve said I’ll teach myself to sew and replace it. Yet here I am, trudging through dirty snow along the Columbus Drive Bridge, wind ripping open the quilted down to curl its frosty fingers around my middle. With each step I take, a fresh surge of icy gray water squishes between my toes, soaking my socks and making my boots squeak like a rat.

I need new boots. I need a new coat.

I need a new job.

I adjust the strap of my giant purse on my shoulder and press my phone more firmly against my ear as I wrap myself back into my coat. “What you really need is a new life,” I grumble into the phone.

No one is on the other end of the call, but I read an article once (at least, I read the top half of it before the site required me to pay) that said women are less likely to be kidnapped and sold into human trafficking if they’re on the phone. And, while I would love for there to be a living, breathing human there to respond to me, there’s no one I can actually vent to. I’ve worked too many hours and rain checked too many times to keep up with the few friends I made in college.

“Why not call my sister?” I talk into my phone like someone will answer while completely ignoring the fact that I’m clearly the most embarrassingly desperate person in all of Chicago. “Hi, I’m Charlotte Thomas, attorney-at-law,” I say, absolutely nailing an impression of her whiskey-smooth tone in the opening line to her newest ad. “And your case is my cause. Call me and start your journey to victory.”

Unfortunately for me, the only calls Charlotte will fit into her perfect lawyer life over in Winnetka, the area’s wealthiest suburb, are from her skeezy, extremely guilty clients.

“Maybe if I rob a bank…” I mutter to no one. “I do need another job. I can never go back to Posh Pulse.”

My phone responds by vibrating against my cheek, and I hold it out in front of me as I approach the bus stop, a wave of hope momentarily warming my stiff fingers.

Mom: You have a date!

Mom: His name is Ernest. He’s 5’2” and still lives at home.

Mom: But really, Hannah. You have to start somewhere.

“I have a boyfriend!” I shout. A woman waiting at the same stop turns her back to me as I approach, angrily smashing my thumbs against my phone in a response my mom will interpret as passive-aggressive no matter my actual tone.

The bus arrives right on time, grinding to a stop near a pile of snow, and I wait for everyone to file in and out before trudging up the stairs, scanning my pass, and sagging into the nearest empty window seat.

“How did I screw up my life so badly?” I whisper to my reflection in the fingerprint-smudged glass. This time, I can’t stop the tears, and they wash salty warm down my cheeks.

“No, Hannah, stop it.” I clear my throat and sniff, wiping my nose with my wet coat sleeve. “Don’t talk to yourself like that. Don’t sit here and cry.” I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back, letting my exhale fog the window like cleansing smoke. “You haven’t messed up your life. The pitch was just a small setback,” I say to the dark brown eyes blinking back at me from above freckle-smudged cheeks. “See the door and open it.”

Doubt slides into the silence that stretches between me and my reflection, scratching at the scab that’s barely formed over my wounded pride. “Okay, sure,” I continue, feeling like I need to defend myself against the unasked questions my anxiety threatens to barrage me with. “Maybe that wasn’t the door. There will be another door. A bigger, better door. A door that doesn’t leave you talking to yourself on a bus like you’re possessed.”

The bus slows, maneuvering to its next stop, and my gaze flicks up to the street signs.

Grand and Franklin.

Chad.

Before I talk myself out of it, I scramble to my feet and squeeze out the door before it closes all the way, my far-from-watertight boots landing directly into a slush puddle.

I shiver and my boots squeak as I cross Franklin and jog up two blocks to stand in front of Chad’s apartment building, its twenty stories of glass gleaming in the streetlights like an iceberg. I brush the melting snow from my shoulders, adjust my purse strap, and attempt to shake the street water out of my boots before I walk to the front double doors and press the buzzer. One door opens, the doorman nodding as I enter, his long black coat lint-free and snuggly warm in the heated foyer.

“Hi, Stuart, I’m here to see Chad,” I say, my wet boots sounding like a hungry rodent chasing me through the lounge toward the elevators. “Chad Bartley. Sixteenth floor…”

The doorman grunts his disinterest and lumbers back behind his desk. I would think that coming here at least once a week for eight months would get me some sort of polite response, but Stuart is a hard nut to crack.

“Once I have my own key fob, we’ll stop meeting like this.” My laughter skips across the concrete floor and leather chairs, landing flat at his feet. “Not that I expect Chad to give me a key. I mean, it’s been long enough for everything to start feeling serious, but we haven’t talked about it like that. Keeping it relaxed, you know. No big titles or anything. Don’t want to scare him off.” I hold up my hands like bear paws and claw the air.

With a yawn, the doorman crosses his arms over his barrel chest and leans back in his seat.

“Okay, well, it was nice talking to you, Stuart.” I let out another shrill laugh and escape into the elevator. I press the button for Chad’s floor and pull out my phone to text him that I’m on my way up when a wave of coquettishness stops me. “Make it a surprise.” I smile, pushing my hood back and doing my best to smooth down my hair. “Something to turn this shitty day around.”

The elevator comes to a halt, and the doors open soundlessly as I press my cold fingers to the skin beneath my eyes, willing the post-cry puffiness away. Unlike my shoebox apartment with its paper-thin walls and baseboard heaters that cost a fortune but never get the place above sixty-six degrees, Chad’s building is warm. Warm and…empty. I look up and down the deserted hallway, my stomach flip-flopping with another racy idea.

I bite my lip and shrug out of my coat. If there’s one thing that can take my mind off the disastrous pitch and my complete and total career failure, it’s getting laid. A grab-the-headboard, wake-the-neighbors bang session is exactly what I need to get out of my head. My own kind of sex magick. Again, I check my surroundings, my cheeks already hot with the thought of taking Chad for a ride, and unbutton the row of pearl buttons along the front of my dress to shimmy it down.

Footsteps sound in the distance, and I collect my dress with one hand and drape my coat and bag over my shoulder with the other as I rush to Chad’s door and press the doorbell. My heart races while I wait, looking down at my mismatched bra and panties.

Doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I won’t have them on for much longer.

“Plus, this vibe is so hot. Chad is going to die.” I suck in my belly, stick out my boobs, and tilt my hips in the perfect pose, completely empowered and emboldened by my sudden surge of sex appeal.

Who needs a job when my boyfriend’s making bank and has a gorgeous apartment in the city? I bet he asks me to move in. This will totally push him over the edge. Screw brand management. Screw the expensive degree I’ll never pay off. I can take a break from work. Find something new. Figure out my passion while I play house girlfriend and pretend to clean in nothing but a tiny black apron and heels. God, that would be a nice change of pace.

The door swings open, and a juicy wave of Dior Sauvage wafts through the air, mingling with the subtle scent of sweat and skin as Chad leans shirtless against the doorframe. The sight of his bare chest, hard abs, and the deliciously sharp sex lines that create a perfect V disappearing beneath his jeans sends a tantalizing shiver down my spine.

“Hey, baby,” I purr, holding my dress up in front of me before dropping it on the floor.

His blue eyes flare as he whispers my name. “Oh, Hannah…”

I let my coat and purse drop, the soft thud when they hit the hardwood barely registering as I close the space between us and press my bare skin against his. My hands wander along his waxed chest, his firm muscles rippling under my touch. My fingers trail lower, teasing along the waistband of his denim.

“I need you. I need you so bad, baby,” I murmur and kiss the corner of his lips, my mouth tingling with the anticipation of his tongue brushing against mine.

“Is it Nobu?” a voice calls out, high and bright and distinctly female.

I tense, my blood chilling, my fingers halting around the button of his jeans. The woman tucks herself under his arm, her fiery-red curls falling across his bicep. I snatch my hands away and stumble backward, taking in her flushed cheeks and bare legs like porcelain stems stretching out from under his signed Jay Cutler jersey.

Chad’s eyes find Red, and he gives her a smile before returning his gaze to me. “You should have sent me a text, Hannah.”

“I should have… What? Chad, you—you—” I stutter, taking another step back, my boots squeaking against the floor. “I’m not even allowed to touch that jersey.”

My thoughts spin, a violent tornado of questions and—

“Oh, fuck,” I mumble, a black cloud of realization settling over me. “Oh, fuck!” I step into my discarded dress and try to yank it up and hide myself from Chad and his…his… “You’re cheating on me?”

He tilts his head to the side, his sandy-brown hair falling over his creased brow. “I thought we were on the same page, babe. We’re not together like that.”

Red leans against his shoulder and offers me a pitying smile as I struggle to get my arm into the sleeve, before—

Fuck it!

I bend over and grab my coat and purse in an attempt to cover myself. “I thought…I thought we were serious. It’s been eight months.”

Chad lets out a snort, and Red hides a smile behind her well-manicured hand. “Babe, look, maybe this is a good thing. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.”

No, no, this isn’t happening. Not tonight. Not right now.

My life cannot completely fall apart.

“Things aren’t really working out,” he continues. “You and I…we’re just not compatible. I’m a VP now, and I’m hoping to make partner next year, and I’m looking for someone more…driven.”

“What?” My grip slackens, and my dress slips down to my belly button before I catch it and drag it back up. “I’ve spent the last three years working my ass off, and—” My gaze lands on Red, her plumped lips pinched to keep from outright laughing. “Excuse me, could you give us some privacy, please?”

Red shrugs a thin shoulder and blinks at me through her eyelash extensions.

“Yeah, but that’s not what I mean,” Chad says, adjusting his arm around Red. “You work hard, but you’re just…”

“I’m what?” I ask, anger burning my cheeks. “I’m what, Chad?”

“You’re so desperate and smothering. You can’t take a compliment, and you’re, like, really focused on what you don’t have.” He runs his hand through his hair, and I send up a silent wish that it all falls out. “I’m growing and evolving and shit, and you’re just—”

“Stuck,” Red offers with another shrug. “It’s that scarcity mindset, hon. I see it in my practice all the time.”

I ball my hands into fists in my discarded clothes, tears streaming in hot rivers down my cheeks. “I might not be perfect, but I’m trying,” I choke out around a sob. “And I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed by a woman in her underwear.”

“You’re in your underwear too, hon,” Red says, pressing her palms together and resting her chin on her slender fingers. “We’re both just out here, baring it all, searching for that nurturing abundance.”

“Fuck you.” I’m crying now, ugly crying, and tripping over the dress that slipped down once again and is pooling around my ankles. “Fuck both of you.” I sob. “But mostly you, Chad. You—you—you fuck!”

I storm to the elevator and bash the down arrow. The elevator doors open, and I throw myself inside, my back turned to their pitying gazes. The mirrored walls reflect infinite versions of me, all blubbering, racoon-eyed messes.

“I am not desperate!” I shout, albeit desperately.

The doors close, and I swipe the mascara melting down my cheeks and try to wiggle back into the dress I accidentally pulled up backward in the absolute embarrassment that is currently my life.

I finally get one arm through the correct sleeve when the elevator reopens. A man enters, the hood of his jacket covering everything but his strong jaw and full lips. He clears his throat and politely turns his broad shoulders to face the unmirrored button panel.

“Here you go.” His voice is rich and deep and warm as he extends his muscled arm behind his back.

“Thanks.” My fragile whisper breaks apart between us, and I’m not sure he heard me as I take the handkerchief he offers. I get my other arm through its sleeve and blow my nose into the soft monogrammed linen before we reach the lobby.

“Keep it,” he rumbles with a slight lift of his thick shoulders.

The elevator doors open, and I stuff the handkerchief into my handbag and rush past him, yanking my coat on over my unbuttoned dress.

The doorman stands at the double doors, his thin brows lifted, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Good night, Miss Thomas.”

“Screw you, Stuart!” I shout and hurry out into the cold.

The snow has turned to sleet, and I brace myself against the icy gusts.

“So much for being a house girlfriend,” I mutter, the frozen rain stinging my cheeks. I stare down at the sidewalk and keep my arms out at my sides to steady myself against the layer of ice building on the pavement as I trudge back to the bus stop.

You’re 100 percent going to have to move back to Kankakee, live in your childhood bedroom, date tiny hobbit men, and become another Gen Z statistic.

“I’m a failure. A total failure.”

I really shouldn’t be surprised. Pretty much every one of my relationships has ended in some version of being left for another woman. It’s practically genetic. My dad cheated on my mom and left our family forever to be with a swimsuit model from Orlando.

And isn’t your mom stuck and desperate too?

She has been working the same job since she dropped out of college and married my dad. Plus, she also still gets a perm and hairsprays her fluffy bangs the exact way she did in her high school yearbook photo.

“Oh god,” I groan. “I’m becoming my mother.”

Headlights gleam against the slick sidewalk, and I look up in time to see the bus drift to the stop two blocks ahead.

“Wait!” I raise my hands, flapping like a seagull as I run to meet the bus, wet boots slipping in the ice-covered snow, purse swinging like an anchor around my shoulder.

Through the windshield, I lock eyes with the driver, and I’m almost there, only a block away, when I hear the mechanical squeak of the door.

“No!” A fresh sob grips my throat as the bus pulls away from the curb and lumbers down the street. I slow to a stop and dig through my bag, searching for my phone to check the schedule even though I know there won’t be another bus for twenty minutes.

As I paw through my oversize purse, the delicate handkerchief slips out and is caught by a stiff gust of wind. It flutters away, straight into a pile of dingy snow a few feet in front of me.

“That’s literally the nicest thing I own.” I sigh and shuffle forward to retrieve it.

Just as I’m about to reach it, my boot hits an unsalted patch of sidewalk. My legs fly out from under me, and I crash onto my back. Pain explodes through my body as my head smacks against the unforgiving concrete.

“Ow! Fuck!” For a moment, I just lie there, defeated, the cold seeping into my bones, the sky above a slate-gray blur.

I finally roll onto my stomach, my vision swimming as I push myself up onto my hands and knees. “This night can’t possibly get any worse,” I choke out, snow biting my fingertips.

The edge of the linen handkerchief flutters just in front of me, and I reach for it, pausing as a glint of silver shines amid the gray snow. My hand is red and stiff with cold, but I can’t stop myself from digging for the coin. Hysterical laughter climbs up my throat while I scramble for loose change.

You’re so desperate.

I let out a barking laugh at Chad’s judgment that’s now become my own, adding itself to my arsenal of internal critiques that have always been better at knocking me down than building me up.

I snatch the silver from the snow.

I am desperate.

So very clearly desperate that I need any bit of money I can find. But it’s not a coin.

I tilt my chin and wince at the pain jabbing the back of my head.

“The tarot card.” Foreboding squeezes my chest as my fingers trace the shimmering silver pentagram from the back of the card, glinting in the streetlights.

I rise to my feet, almost in slow motion, my movements weighed down with confusion and a throbbing headache that pulses in sync with my heartbeat. My balance wavers, and I sway on my feet like I’m at sea. I take a breath and steady myself. I know what it’s going to say. I know it’s going to tell me to see the door and open it. I know that it’s all nonsense. Isn’t it?

I smooth down my rumpled dress and bite the inside of my cheek. I can’t shake the apprehension tightening my chest, quaking through my limbs.

This time when I flip the card over, words do not appear. Instead, it’s a clear and vibrant image of a woman on a throne. Her expression is still and serene as she gazes into a mirror. Her flowy dress is a vibrant red that matches the swollen pomegranates framing her, and a delicate tiara rests on top of her braided hair. Surrounding the throne is a lush garden that bursts with yellows, blues, and greens against a deep-cobalt sky speckled with twinkling stars.

I stare, transfixed, warmth seeping into my fingertips in a gentle swell that washes up my arm like the first rays of sun after a snowstorm. It pours into my chest, comforting yet unnerving. My vision starts to blur, and the edges of the world soften, the colors bleeding into one another.

Beneath my feet, the solid concrete shudders, and the mantra—my mantra—the one that didn’t work, the one to which I pinned all my hopes, echoes loudly and insistently in my ears, its words a buoy keeping me afloat as the world around me comes undone.

See the door and open it.

As if bewitched by my thoughts, the snow-covered Chicago sidewalk swings open. The world tilts, and I stumble forward and fall head over heels into endless velvety black. A scream catches in my throat. The card falls through with me, the image of the woman on the throne flashing in and out of focus, her eyes following mine, a Cheshire smile stretched across her lips.

Four

The world spins around me, melting into a chaotic blur of maroon and gold as I tumble down, down, down…

Thwack!

I land on my side, the air forced from my lungs as my bag slides across the…soft carpet? I push myself up on one elbow. Wobbly as a doe, I squint into the low lighting. My vision is black around the edges, dancing and spinning like I’ve had too much to drink. My stomach clenches, and I roll onto all fours, dry heaving over the thick fibers of a lush burgundy rug.

Where am I?

The question tilts inside my mind as my stomach and my vision settle. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the gentle glow of candlelight that casts flickering reflections on the walls, softening the lavish room into a warmly inviting space.

My gaze lifts in a slow curve, taking in the ruby-red velvet covering the walls and the gold-framed paintings of seascapes and garden cottages. A giant armoire dusted with gold leaf stands in the far corner, and I can’t imagine any of my clothes being deserving enough to hang inside. Rain slides down the large window cut into the velvet-coated wall,, the gilded mullions separating the view into small square panes of wavy glass that blur the dark landscape beyond. Beneath me, the deep-crimson rug cushions my knees, spilling in a plush circle against the shiny parquet floor that disappears under the window’s drapes, so thin and silky, they dance like ghosts in an unfelt breeze.

A huge piece of furniture looms in front of me, and I pull myself to my knees. Intricate carvings swirl beneath my fingertips as I move my hand along the large bed’s rich mahogany frame. A line of circle-wrapped stars is stitched in gold along the border of the deep-scarlet silk dressing the bed. Gently, I trace the embroidery. Recognition nudges the corner of my mind, but I can’t place the image through my muddied thoughts and the dull ache in the back of my head.

Oh my god. My hands smooth down the front of my open coat and rumpled dress, searching for any signs that someone did something to my body. The past minutes…hours…are nothing but a blur, and the more I try to remember, the sharper the pain between my temples. My fingertips graze the swollen knot on the back of my head, and I wince. I’ve read about this, another half article, but I got the point. I hit my head hard enough to black out…to lose time.

The card in the snow. I press my clammy palm to my forehead in an attempt to force my thoughts in order. Then the world went sideways. I must have passed out.

“But where am I now?” The question quakes against my lips.

“Currently, you’re on the floor.” A man’s voice hums through the room, each word precise and clear.

I jump to my feet and spin around, anchoring myself against the bed frame. The moment I see him, time stalls, the room around us fading back into a black-edged blur. He’s tall and solid. Night-black hair sweeps across his forehead and falls in shaggy, messy waves against his broad, thick shoulders. His eyes are piercing, dark wells of ink I want to surrender to, drown in. I stare, open-mouthed at his…manliness, the sharp angle of his jaw and the rough stubble that brings goose bumps to my flesh with the simple thought of it brushing against me.

Holy shit he’s gorgeous.

My knees go soft, my legs literally trembling as my gaze moves from his perfect mouth to his chest. And I swear I whimper as he crosses his arms over his torso, the muscles rippling and tensing beneath his linen shirt.

I press my fingers into the carved mahogany as he approaches, bringing with him the scents of woodsmoke and pine. He peers down at me, a question etched into the crease between his brows, but my gaze is back on his mouth, the delicious bow of his lips, which are moving almost in slow motion as he speaks.

“Are you febrile, woman?”

Febrile? I frown. I don’t even know what that means.

Candlelight dances across his tan skin and casts a sculpture-like shadow on the velvet wall behind him. This place is like a palace. Way, way out of my price range.

I bend over and snatch my purse and the fallen card from the edge of the rug. “Which hotel is this?” I ask, shoving the card into my bag. I blink and hug it against me as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock me back to the ground.

He lets out a puff of sarcastic laughter and tilts his head. “As if you don’t know.”

From this angle, he looks so familiar, so…

“You’re the guy from the elevator! The one with the hankie.” My cheeks flame. The scene in the elevator, plus dry heaving over an expensive rug… This is by far the worst first impression I’ve ever given.

Though not completely unlike you, Hannah.

I shove my inner critic aside and dig through my bag for my phone. “I can Venmo you for—”

He holds up his hand, commanding my silence as voices echo outside the room.

“But I—”

“Quiet!” he barks, and I bite my lower lip.

My hand gropes the inside of my bag, coming back with my self-help book, wadded up receipts, gum wrappers, and empty ChapStick tubes. “Where’s my phone?” I ask.

But he’s walking away from me, crossing the room in two silent strides to listen at the closed door.

My pulse speeds up, blood draining into my toes as reality hits.

This guy brought me here…passed out…and now we’re alone…in a bedroom.

“What’d you do with my phone?” The question squeaks against the panic tightening my throat as I frantically search my pockets.

My fingers find cold aluminum, and there’s a moment of relief before I yank out my phone. No service. “How long—”

“Be quiet.” He narrows his onyx gaze on me, his jaw ticking with frustration.

“No!” My voice is strong now, commanding as I march over to him. “Please,” I begin, cringing at how my boldness immediately turns into a request. “Get out of my way.”

He’s guarding the door, and I reach around him for the gold knob. With one fluid motion, he grabs my wrist, spins me around, and covers my mouth with his hand.

“You don’t want to go out there,” he says, his deep voice vibrating along my back.

Heavy footsteps thud in the hallway outside, fading as they pass by.

Sweat beads on my forehead, and my heart climbs up my throat as he presses me to the steel of his body, my breath coming out in quaking bursts against his palm. I keep hold of my phone but drop my purse as I struggle to free myself, my mind spinning, sifting through hundreds of half-read self-defense articles.

Alarm bells sound inside my head, and the phrase stomp his foot forces its way into my limbs.

I lift my leg, and my foot isn’t halfway to the ground when he dodges, sliding his scruffy cheek down my ear to whisper a piercing “shhh!”

I won’t be quiet. Instead, I yell against his hand and unleash another attack, sending my elbow back into his side. My blow glances off his hard core. He’s unflinching, unfazed, a solid block of muscle.

His punishing grip is back on my wrists as he turns me around, pressing my face against his chest. “I can get you out of here if you just stay quiet—”

I lift my knee in a quick and brutal strike that connects with its mark.

He lurches forward, cupping himself, and I break out of his grasp and rip open the door.

“Wait!” he grunts, but I don’t listen.

I charge into the shadowy corridor, death grip on my phone, searching for a way out.

* * *

Shit.

At least ten minutes have passed, and I’m still turning down dimly lit empty hallways. My boots, damp with snow slush, squeak against the marble floor shiny with veins of red as deep as dried blood. Each hallway is billionaire luxurious, and this one is no different. Affixed on the ruby-red silk-lined walls is a swirling swarm of glass dragonflies. Light from crystal chandeliers hanging on the coffered gold ceiling dances along the turquoise glass. I can’t help but reach out and touch one, bracing myself for it to come to life and fly away.

Focus! I internally shout at my unruly thoughts before I glance back down at my phone, the screen incredibly bright in the candlelight. Still no service. I can’t even make an emergency call.

“Hello?” The word echoes down the two-story hallway. I wait for a reply, but no one answers.

If I’m looking for a silver lining, and at this point I have to in order to keep moving one foot in front of the other, this isn’t the worst location I could have been kidnapped and taken to. The vibe is giving me haunted palace, and the insurance must be outrageous with every room lit by fire, but it’s probably the nicest place I’ve ever been. And, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know for sure that I was abducted. I mean, that gorgeous man said he would help me, and all he did was bring me to a really nice room after I passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. And then he wouldn’t let me leave…

You were totally kidnapped.

“Damn this rain.” A gravelly voice sounds from around the corner along with the whiny creak of old hinges. I run down the rest of the dragonfly-decorated hallway and straight toward the noises. I turn the corner, and a cool gust of rain-scented wind greets me. A man dressed like an old-fashioned guard stands at the end of the hall. His imposing figure is silhouetted against the dim light as he props a big wooden door open with his foot. He shakes out his cape, droplets of water splattering onto the floor.

He turns as I approach, the gold buttons on his deep-maroon uniform shining like stars. His hand moves to the long sword at his side, a clear warning. Fear slows my stride, but I push it down, forcing myself to keep moving forward.

“I need help,” I shout, my hands whipping the air like he’s the bus driver and I’m actually going to make it this time.

He tenses, his bushy brows slanting over his eyes as I rush closer. There’s a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty that’s quickly replaced by determination. Without a word, he grabs the front of my jacket. I stumble, my feet slipping on the wet floor, flailing my arms to keep my balance.

With a rough shove, he pushes me out into the night. I barely manage to hang on to my phone as I topple on the wet pavement. Icy rainwater soaks through my dress, and I gasp as I scramble to my feet.

He pulls the door closed. The heavy wooden slab slams shut with a finality that echoes in the empty street. Anger flares, and I yell at the solid slab of wood: “Screw you!”

What is it with these fucking doormen?

Lightning streaks the sky, illuminating the world for a brief, blazing second before a clap of thunder booms. The clouds unleash a torrent of rain. I yank my hood over my wet hair and try my best to smooth out my wrinkled wet dress as I look around, trying to get my bearings.

The rain must have melted the snow because there’s none in sight. The dark alley stretches between the massive stone building I was just shoved out of and its twin, lurking ten feet away. Fog swirls thick and eerie, tendrils of mist curling around my ankles as I shiver in the cold, rain pattering against my hood until it’s all I hear.

The earthy scent of woodsmoke drifts on the frigid gusts blowing in from Lake Michigan. I catch the scent of food cooking, and my stomach growls. I press my hand to my middle, trying to soothe the pangs of hunger, and pull out my phone. I shiver again and try to hunker down in my coat as I dial 911 with stiff, cold fingers.

Ambulances carry saltines, right?

It’s a desperate thought, but some would call me a desperate girl.

The call immediately fails. The screen’s harsh glow shows I still have zero bars. No service.

“Aren’t phones supposed to have some sort of SOS signal even when you have no bars?” I hiss. Searching for a signal, I hold up my phone with one hand and wrap my coat tightly around my middle with the other. I need to get out from between these buildings. All this stone must be blocking—

Baa!

There’s a sharp click clack against the pavement. I fumble with my flashlight, turn it on, and swing it around the dark alley. The fog swallows my flashlight’s beam, reducing my world to a few feet of illuminated mist.

Baa!

A sheep emerges from the fog, its dirty matted fur brushing my leg as it click clacks past me and into the shadows.

“Where the fuck am I?”

Dull amber light glimmers up ahead, and I hear a muted cloud of laughter. I clutch my phone and hurry toward it. Once again, I’m off chasing a noise, this time hoping for someone more helpful than every doorman in Chicago. I should have gone out for drinks with the others. Instead, I’m in some rural-adjacent suburb, running from my abductor as my coworkers sip bespoke cocktails on the heated rooftop of Giovanni’s.

Swallowing my pride and pretending to enjoy myself would have also kept me from finding out the truth about Chad and our completely one-sided relationship. The memory stings, and Chad’s voice echoes in my mind, mocking and dismissive.

You’re so desperate.

I shake my head and ignore the instant headache that follows as I force Chad from my thoughts. I have other things to worry about, like staying alive and finding help.

“Or maybe I hit my head really, really hard,” I say aloud, my breath misting in the cold air. “Maybe this is a dream. Maybe I’m in a coma.” I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch myself through my puffy coat. When I open my eyes, there’s a chicken peering back at me from the middle of the road.

Not a dream, then. So where the hell am I?

Just ahead, past the chicken, lanterns hang outside a small house, its steeply pitched roof covered in ivy. Oil lamps bathe the street in liquid sunlight and illuminate the weathered sign hanging on the door—WILL’S TAVERN.

I walk from between the towering stone buildings and onto a street—a real street. Well, kind of. Cobblestones run beneath my boots like tree roots, and homes emerge from the earth in a patchwork of timber and plaster. The glow of candlelight flickers through their gabled windows, looking down on the hay-littered street, where I stand completely transfixed.

This looks like a medieval village. Is this some kind of film set? Because this is not Chicago; this is not a suburb; this is not even soybean, cornfield middle-of-nowhere Illinois.

I adjust my hood against the rain and cross the street toward the sound of raucous laughter. “Just find people, and they’ll help you. Everything will make sense soon,” I tell myself with more confidence than I feel. “You’ll go home and never come back to this strangely accurate recreation of the past.”

I push open the ancient wood door and step into the tavern, the air warm and thick with the scents of beer and musk. It’s a sticky kind of cozy, with low wooden beams and a crackling fire. Tables of ruddy-faced men in dirty linen tunics are crammed together, filling most of the space as women walk around handing out pitchers and glasses, their boobs spilling out over the tops of their corset dresses.

What kind of Ren Faire nightmare is this?

There’s a burst of laughter from the back of the tavern, but it isn’t jovial. It’s harsh and barbed. The kind of outburst that occurs before a fight.

I scan the room, searching for a friendly face, someone who can explain where I am and what’s happening. But everyone looks strange—different from me in a way that’s hard to put my finger on.

“They’ll help you,” I remind myself. “You’ve just escaped a kidnapping. That’s why everything feels so wrong.”

From behind the bar, a plump, pink-cheeked woman looks up from polishing a glass and catches my eye. She motions to me, her nipples dangerously close to slipping out of their bindings with the movement. “Who’re you?”

I let out my first real exhale since meeting Chad’s new bed buddy and sag with relief against the bar. These might not be my kind of people, but they’re people. And there are a lot of them. Safety in numbers, right? Plus, I have to be one step closer to finding my way out of this—whatever it is—and back to reality.

I pull out my phone and am not completely shocked when I still don’t have a signal. “Do you have Wi-Fi?” I ask, avoiding the narrowed gaze from the man next to me.

The bartender puts her hands on her hips and juts out her round chin. “I asked who you were, girl.”

I blink. “Sorry. I’m Hannah. Hello.”

My throat goes dry, and for a moment, I struggle to breathe. Embarrassment washes over me, fiery hot in my cheeks as I’m suddenly reminded of my failed presentation. The whole reason I’m here to begin with.

“I mean—I need help. I hit my head, and this guy grabbed me, and I think I have some kind of short-term amnesia, because I don’t remember how I got here, but I do know my name, and…” I trail off as more patrons turn to stare, their heavy gazes assessing my rumpled clothes and flat hair. “If I could just use your phone or get on your Wi-Fi…” I hold up my phone as if this is another terrible pitch and they require a visual aid to understand what I’m asking.

“What’s that yer holdin’?” The man in the seat next to me surges up from his barstool so quickly, it wobbles on the sticky floor.

Silence falls across the tavern as stale and thick as the loaves of bread torn apart and crumbling on each table. The air is heavy, the sudden quiet palpable.

“It’s just my phone,” I say around a breathy laugh, trying to diffuse whatever situation I’ve gotten myself into. I give it another little shake, and my thumb slides across the screen, accidentally pressing the flashlight button. It blazes to life, shining directly into the face of the man on his feet in front of me.

His eyes widen, and the bartender shrieks. Men shoot up from their seats and clamber backward, their dirt-streaked faces going pale. The sudden panic is contagious, rippling through the tavern.

I step back, ice in my stomach. They weren’t just acting like they’ve never seen a phone before. They have never. Seen. A. Phone. I punch my thumb against the screen to turn off the flashlight, but my hands won’t stop shaking. Flashlight beaming like the sun, I shuffle backward toward the door.

Two men emerge from the terrified crowd, stalking forward to join the man at the bar.

My back hits the door, knocking the air from my lungs. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts as I fumble with the handle, the flashlight still shining. This has to be a dream. Or a nightmare. So why can’t I wake up?

“She has magick! She’s a witch!” the bartender screams, high and shrill, slicing through the din of the tavern.

“I’m a what?” My heart pounds, panic gripping my lungs like a vise.

“A witch!” The bar erupts into a chorus of voices, one on top of the other, spitting the word at me like a curse.

The three men exchange glances and rush me. Fear explodes in my chest, propelling me forward. I burst through the door and stumble out onto the cobblestone paved street, the cold air biting at my bare legs.

“Help!” The word rips out of me, a puff of vapor against the frigid night. “Someone, help—”

I jam my phone into my dress pocket and try to run, but the toe of my boot catches on an uneven stone, and I smack into the ground.

If I die in this dream, will I die in real life?

A meaty hand grabs my wet hair and yanks me to my feet as a scream tears from my throat. Every person in the bar is now out on the street, watching as these three men surround me, like hyenas closing in on wounded prey. I scream and try to run, but the man jerks me back. Pain slams into my side, white-hot fire that throws sparks across my vision, and I double over. He pushes me forward, ripping my coat from my weak limbs as I slam into his comrade. With an agonizing gasp, I right myself.

My attacker lunges forward—a flash of a knife in his hand, blood dripping from the sharp edge. I let out another scream, my throat raw and dry.

As if brought on by my cry, the earth beneath me shakes. Hoofbeats hammer against the stone street, growing louder, closer. The crowd rushes to part as a dark and mysterious cloaked figure charges through the braying throng, sword held out in front of him, long and deadly.

There’s a shout, a gurgled cry of pain, and one of my aggressors clutches his throat. Blood sprays from his neck, splattering hot against my cheek. Hooves continue to beat the ground, and there’s another flash of steel. The man in front of me drops to his knees, his knife clattering to the stones, sliding off into the shadows.

The crowd scatters, shrieking, but fear cements me to the spot. The horse and cloaked figure barrel toward me. Another cry escapes my lips as the figure reaches down, his rough hand grasping mine with a strength that leaves no room for refusal. In one fluid motion, he pulls me onto the saddle and against the warm iron of his body.

Five

I keep my eyes closed so tightly, my eyelids ache as the world shudders and jolts, each gallop of the horse sending a spike of pain through my side. I cling to the rider’s arm wrapped warm and solid across my chest while the horse charges down the cobbled streets through the pelting rain.

Eventually, the hoofbeats steady and slow, no longer wild, sharp hammers on stone, and I crack open my eyes to a blur of iron-gray skies, rolling hills dotted with shadowed stone cabins, and a distant dense line of massive pines.

I shield my face from the spitting rain and peer around the rider’s broad shoulder. A castle grows like a fang from the center of the small town we’re escaping, its turrets and keep, jagged edges silhouetted in the night sky.

Where am I?

The rider’s heart beats a steady, strong rhythm against my back, strangely calming, strangely safe. His hold tightens around me as the horse jumps over a fallen tree. The pain in my side breathes fire through my core when we land, eviscerating my second of calm. I bite back a scream, my fingers digging into his arm.

She’s a witch!

The knife…the blood…the snarling crowd.

I press my cold fingers to the spray of blood now sticky on my cheek. He killed those men. This rider has a sword and cut them down like they were paper.

But he saved my life…

Another searing jolt of pain rips through me, and I press my hand against my side. Warmth gushes between my fingers, slick and dark. My breath catches, a sharp intake that’s half sob, half gasp. It’s blood. My blood. But this can’t be real.

The rider feels my shift, his hold tightening, his body adjusting to support mine more fully.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, my voice quivering with the layer of freezing rain pelting my bare legs and soaking through my dress, rumpled and torn and bunched up around my waist so my thighs can grip the saddle.

His exhales are even and smooth, his chest a welcome warmth pressed firmly to my back. “Away.” The word is a rumble against my body that joins the vibrations from the steady drum of hooves on the wet dirt road.

An owl cries, and I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere so quiet. I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with air as crisp and clean as fresh snow. There’s a peace out here that people would pay good money for, but each time I close my eyes, I see the glint of a sword and men dropping to the cobblestones like rain.

“Where are you taking me?” I repeat. Pain sparks in my side as I squirm against the steel strap of his arm across my chest to look up at him.

The hood of his cloak half shrouds his face, but the dull filter of moonlight through the clouds reveals the grim line of his mouth, the sharp cut of his jaw, and the dark lashes that frame his onyx eyes. It’s him. The man from the elevator, the man from the bedroom with its velvet walls and gilded furniture. The man who wouldn’t let me go. My abductor. Rescuer. Captor.

“How many of you are there?”

He scoffs, his dark gaze meeting mine. “I am the one and only.”

I blink away the rain dripping into my eyes, my mind reeling as it searches for solid ground amid flashes of this man pulling me from the bloodthirsty mob, saving me, but holding me now, taking me…where?

Holy shit. I’m being kidnapped. Again!

My thoughts comb through my browser history, a million open tabs, a million half-read articles to prepare for a situation just like this, but I can’t fight him here—on a horse charging into the forest.

Think, Hannah! Think.

I shiver, the chill of the night and the panic of my abduction seeping into my bones.

Don’t let them take you to a second location.

But that time has long passed. And there are no taillights to kick out, no 911 calls to make, no first responders to rely on—only the woody scent of wet earth, the swaying boughs of nearby pines, the distant screech of hunting owls, and the captor firm as a rock behind me.

“Listen, you should know that I have people who care about me. I have a family and a boyfriend and a—a cat.” The lies come out in a jumble as I try to humanize myself, each word forming a house of cards that falls before it’s even built. “What I mean is that I’m Hannah, and I really, really want to go home. I wasn’t even supposed to be at Chad’s apartment building tonight. I should have been at Giovanni’s celebrating a deal. My deal. I mean…it was my deal, but fucking Stephanie—”

“Are you ever quiet?” he cuts in with a harsh whisper.

“I’m being kidnapped!”

His chuckle thrums against my back, and his grip around me tightens. “If I wanted a woman, I wouldn’t have to take one.”

Something about his tone and the roughness of his skin against mine makes me want to believe him, but the fear bubbling through me makes that impossible.

“I’m…I’m a good person, okay?” I whisper. “I volunteer on weekends…” Not true. “And—and my mom, she’s waiting for me to…” To call for the first time in six months instead of sending short texts? Wow, this is seriously depressing and definitely not the way I thought I’d reevaluate my life.

A wave of dizziness presses against me. He holds me closer; his arm is an iron band around my chest, the only thing keeping me from tumbling into the shadows. Moonlight catches on my dress, and I peer down at the fabric saturated with a liquid too warm and dark and thick to be rain. Blood, so much blood, trickles down my leg and over the saddle.

“Am I dying?” The words are breathy against my cold lips as I watch the dark river trail down my thigh, my knee, wrapping around my calf like a snake.

Against my back, he softens, barely, only for an instant before he returns to steel. His breath clouds the cold air, the steady beat of his heart the only thing keeping me from shattering.

“Not if I can help it. Now be quiet,” he commands.

And this time, I obey.

* * *

I close my eyes, holding back tears, and focus on the horse’s steady gallop as my head lolls back against his shoulder, and I swim in a sea of dizziness and blood loss. I shiver, my teeth chattering, goose bumps cresting on my skin with cold and fear.

The horse slows, and my eyelids flutter open as we descend into a wooded valley, the trees so thick, they blot out the sky.

I’m cold, so cold, and I don’t want to die, but we are far from a hospital, far from any place I recognize or know.

“I can’t die,” I deliriously mumble. “I haven’t even grown my own sourdough starter.”

The rhythm of the horse’s hooves softens to a slow trot, and the rider shifts behind me. The shape of a house—or what once was one—stands out against the trees, its silhouette sagging and half devoured by the forest; ivy smothers its sides, weeds sprout from the wooden shingle roof, and dead leaves scar the drooping porch steps. It’s an abandoned horror-movie house—the exact kind of place a murderer would take the woman he kidnapped.

He slides down from the horse, his cloak flapping behind him, and I catch a hint of gold thread woven into its lining in intricate symbols I can’t quite make out. He reaches for me, and before I can resist, he pulls me off the saddle to the fern-dotted forest floor. My trembling hands grip his cloak, so dry and warm that I wouldn’t believe he’d ridden through a rainstorm if I hadn’t been there myself.

My teeth chatter uncontrollably, and I’m shaking so violently, it hurts when his arms close around me. I push away from him weakly, but he lets me go.

“I—I c-can walk,” I force out, although my body doesn’t listen. My knees buckle, and he’s there to catch me before I hit the ground. He scoops me up like I’m full of feathers, like this is a fairy tale and he’s every knight in shining armor. He holds me against his chest and steps onto the porch that creaks and groans beneath our weight.

“You’re as sturdy as a newly birthed fawn,” he says, the words a low hum. He kicks the door open like it’s personally offended him, and we plunge into darkness.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the streaks of moonlight struggling to break in through the cobweb-covered windows. He sets me in a chair that protests as much as I want to and strides to a fireplace so large, it swallows half the wall. I watch his shadowed movements as he takes logs from a stacked pile of split wood and tosses them into the hearth. The fireplace coughs a plume of ash that hangs in dancing motes around his kneeling silhouette. He lights a match and mutters words I’m too tired and cold to decipher and tosses the small flame onto the wood. It flares to life in a hungry, crackling blaze that spills amber light throughout the long-forgotten small home.

Warmth brushes my exposed skin as I dazedly take in the dusty wooden furniture. A hand-carved chair like the one I’m on sits across from me, a tattered and dried-out animal pelt thrown across the seat. There’s a small table in one corner of the room and a twin-size bed in the other, its covers rumpled but dust-free, recently slept in.

My dress feels like ice against my skin, and I ball my slowly warming fingers into fists in my lap. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I told you in the palace,” he says, removing his cloak. “I can help you.”

The palace. My head spins. “But why—Where are—”

He whips off his cape and throws it across the empty chair. The front of his gray linen shirt is wet from holding me against him and as dark as soaked stone. He peels off his shirt, and no matter how much I want to keep gawking, my lids drift closed for a moment too long. When I reopen them, he’s dressed in a dirty white shirt and warming himself in front of the fire.

“Get out of those wet clothes,” he commands with a nod to my sodden dress.

“No!” I wrap my arms around my middle, defiance narrowing my brows. “I don’t want to.” It’s a hollow rebellion. I’m freezing, and the thought of shedding my wet dress and pulling this chair closer to the fire is so delicious, my vision swims.

His lips tip into a sly smile that makes my heart skip. “Modest, are you, Little Fawn?” The moniker brings a chill to my already-frozen limbs, as if he can see right through me.

With a chuckle, he scrapes his long fingers across his stubbled cheek. “Then you’ll be a modest corpse. My saving you will have been for nothing.”

He’s right, and I know it.

I swallow and grit my teeth against the pain in my side as I lean over to untie my boots. “Are…are you going to kill me?” I tug on the laces and slide my feet free, my hands trembling.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why save you from those men only to end you myself?”

I use my last ounce of strength and push myself up from the chair, my legs shaking beneath me. “Enough of this bullshit, answering my questions with questions. Who the hell are you?” My voice is stronger than I feel, each word a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control.

He walks to me and pushes my wet hair from my shoulders, surprisingly gentle. His fingers brush the buttons on the front of my dress. He takes one small pearl between his fingers to pop it free, but I grab his wrist.

Thick cords of muscle flex beneath my fingers as his dark eyes catch mine, holding them with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “I am Kane, protector of the Kingdom of Pentacles and every body within its lands.” He removes his hand from my dress and brushes his gaze over me.

I try to stand taller, to match his strength and certainty, but I’m so small compared to him.

The firelight dances across his face, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw as he reaches for his sword. He draws it, the silver blade beaded with blood, and I take a step back, my calves bumping into the heavy wooden chair behind me.

“If I wanted you dead, Little Fawn, I wouldn’t have risked my life to save yours.” He points to the symbols etched into the steel like they’ll explain everything. The engravings match the markings stitched into his cloak, but they’re nothing I can read or have even seen before. “I am of the king’s guard.”

“The king’s guard? What is this, England?” Wild laughter itches the back of my throat, and if I weren’t so dizzy and cold, I’d erupt into hysterics. “And what year is it, 1810?”

“Why would a year have a number and not a name?” He shakes his head, his dark hair brushing his shoulders. “Ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “The Kingdom of Pentacles. Ridiculous.”

Pentacles… The star inside the circle—like the back of the card in the snow and the gold embroidery along the border of the deep-red silk in the bedroom…

My pulse beats between my ears, a frantic drummer midbattle, as I whirl to look at the room around me. And, for the first time, I see it, really see it.

The stone walls have no outlets. There are no wires coiling in the corners. There were none hanging along the road we came down. There isn’t even a sink. There’s no bathroom at all. I turn, my mind skipping, unable to see a single modern thing in the cabin. Not one.

“No. No, no, no,” I breathe, rounding the chair, putting it between him and me and the rapidly unfolding truth. “Where were the streetlights? There were no streetlights! And the cobblestones. The sheep! There was a sheep in the middle of the city, and you—you—you—where are all the outlets?”

His ground-eating strides bring him to me in an instant. “Sit down, Fawn.” He takes my arm and tries to guide me back to the chair.

“I told you, I’m Hannah!”

I wrench my arm free, stumbling back. My heel catches on the uneven floor, and I almost fall, but I clutch the edge of a rough-hewn table. My fingers brush over its surface, feeling the grooves of the wood, the splinters. The room is dimly lit by candles—actual candles—not a single electric bulb in sight. My mind races, trying to latch onto something familiar, something that makes sense. But there’s nothing.

“Those people in the bar had never seen a phone,” I whisper. “They didn’t know what Wi-Fi was.”

Kane is tense, but there’s a softness in his eyes, as though he can see that I’m falling apart. That everything is falling…falling into place too fast and too real.

“This is actually happening, isn’t it?”

He simply stands there, his silence an answer in itself.

“And I just fell. I just…appeared.”

See the door and open it.

I saw the door, and I fell through. This is not in Chicago. Not even Illinois.

I’m in another world.

Panic sends my heart into my throat and my arms beating against him.

He grabs my shoulders, those dark eyes taking in mine. He has to see it—see that my mind is cracking in half with the truth. Because it is the truth, and I’ve known it on some level since the sidewalk swung open and I landed in the palace.

“How…how do I get home?” I whisper, my voice shaking.

Heavy drops of rain splatter onto the stone floor, and I look down. No, not rain…blood. My blood paints the floor in crimson splotches, and he tightens his grip on my arms.

“How do I get home?” I repeat, the world going dark around the edges. “How do I get home?”

“You must find the Empress, Hannah,” he whispers, his words warm against my cheek. The last thing I feel as I surrender to the dark.

Six

I was dreaming of Posh Pulse. Of Stephanie and Jade. Of failing and falling…falling…falling… The fragmented images slip through my mind like sand between my fingers as my eyes flutter open and I’m greeted with swirling darkness.

The world drifts into focus, hazy and unsteady. For a moment, I’m back in Chicago, in my bed, in my predictable life. And then the room around me becomes a bit clearer. The stone walls are lit with the barely there glow of a dying fire. Spiderwebs sway from the wooden rafters, and the earthy scent of smoke fills my nostrils.

It all comes crashing in—sheep hooves on old cobblestones, firelight glowing against angry faces, the mob’s cry of witch, their fear of my phone and belief it was magick, the men’s blood, and my own.

I was bleeding. I was stabbed!

This would be a headline if I were back in my city, back in my state, closer to home.

My heart beats like a gong, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. I try to sit up and whimper as pain sears my stomach and crashes against my consciousness. I try to move again, but the agony only grows. My body won’t obey. There’s something around my stomach—thick, heavy bandages—but there’s no way I can heal from a stab wound without going to a hospital.

Panic twists my lungs, and I draw in a strangled breath. This hurts more than the time I had appendicitis and was convinced I was dying. My palms sweat, my hands shaking with each weak attempt to get up, get away. But I’m helpless. Utterly helpless.

A shadow moves in the dark, drawing closer. Kane is tall and imposing, barely illuminated by the dim glow of the fire. He kneels beside me, and I flinch. A cry of pain batters the back of my gritted teeth. Kane reaches out, surprisingly gentle as he presses a cool, damp cloth to my forehead.

“Drink this,” he says, holding a cup to my lips.

I turn my head, the thought of consuming anything making my stomach churn.

“It’ll help,” he insists, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Not that I’d be able to argue if I wanted to. That part of my brain is in full hibernation mode.

I can’t stop the tears now, and they blur my vision as I let the bitter liquid slide down my throat. It tastes like grass clippings steeped in flat beer.

“How can it hurt more now than it did when it happened?” I choke out between sobs.

“Healing is more difficult than dying.” He sets down the mug and turns the washcloth to the cooler side. “Close your eyes. Go back to sleep. You’re safe here.”

His words are meant to comfort, but the fear doesn’t dissipate. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want the darkness, the unknown, the fear of never waking up. I close my eyes, try to steady my breathing, but the pain and fear sink their teeth in and refuse to let go.

“I would love a morphine drip right now.”

The sharp taste of herbs lingers in my mouth, its effects slowly spreading through my body. The edges of the pain dull, the sharpest points blunted, but it’s still there. I feel so delicate, so broken, so far from home.

“Talk to me,” I beg. “Distract me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Groaning, I close my eyes. “I don’t know,” I mumble. “I’m just desperate. Please, help.”

“I am helping,” he says. “I’ve been helping you all this time.”

I crack my eyelids and peer up at him. “Tell me what you were doing in the elevator.”

He tilts his chin, the corners of his eyes creasing as he narrows his gaze.

“I saw you in the elevator,” I explain. “Back in…my world.”

The firelight dances in his eyes, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something softer, something almost tender. It’s enough to keep the darkness at bay for a little while longer. “That wasn’t me. It was a mirror version.”

“A mirror version,” I repeat, gritting my teeth against another wave of pain.

The thought of duplicates—copies of people living their own unique lives in different worlds—is hard to wrap my sluggish thoughts around, much less figure out how it would work. Are the mirror versions identical in every way, or do they have different personalities? Different lives? Different fates?

And if Kane has a mirror version, then that must mean I have one too. The realization hits me with a force that makes me gasp.

“The mirror version of me, is she here?”

Kane shakes his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. I want to brush it back or trim it or tell him that headbands exist. “The Empress would not have brought you here if you already existed. Besides, if there were a version of you within Towerfall, I’d remember her.”

My eyelids grow heavy, the combination of exhaustion and the herbal tea pulling me toward sleep. I fight against it, the fear of the unknown keeping me alert. “If you know about things like mirror copies, then you know about other worlds. About…portals,” I say, my mouth dry, my voice barely above a whisper. “I went through a portal. I went through a portal. Shit. It sounds unreal.”

“And yet it is real. Although not many know portals exist,” Kane says, his words carrying the weight of something I can’t quite place. “The Tower called you here, and the Empress sought you out for a reason.”

“What reason?” My mind swirls, spinning with portals and palaces and the fact that a tarot card reached from one world into another.

“I do not know for sure, but the Tower is never wrong.”

I would laugh if I didn’t feel like falling apart. “It is. It’s wrong. I want to go home. How do I get home?” I ask, voice splintering under the weight of it all.

“When there’s a way in, there’s a way out.”

“Can’t you answer a single fucking question directly?” I snap.

He holds the mug to my lips, and I take another acrid sip. “Let the magick do its work.”

Magick. The word sends a shiver through me, and an image of the card that seems to have started all this flashes behind my eyes. “Magick isn’t real,” I mumble, more to myself than to him. “Why is this happening? What is this place?”

“You’re no longer in your homeland, Fawn. This is Towerfall, and in this realm, a select few wield its true power.” His crow-black gaze meets mine. “Our worlds—yours and mine—exist together in layers. Most live and die without ever knowing these layers exist. But sometimes, things can pass through from one to the other.”

“I don’t understand,” I admit, my voice thin and faraway as the tea continues to take hold.

Kane’s dark hair falls in front of his shoulders, and he brushes it back. “In time, you will. For now, rest. You must regain your strength.”

“Kane.” I blink up at him, and my vision swims, my body yearning for rest and the oblivion of sleep. “Am I dying?”

“Not while I’m in control.”

Exhaustion finally overwhelms me, and I give in to the weight of my eyelids and the promise of darkness.

Seven

I slowly drift back to consciousness, and while the pain in my side is still there, it’s more bearable. The room is bathed in soft golden light streaming in through a grimy window above the bed. Dust motes float in the shafts of sun that cast a warm glow over the stone walls and wooden beams darkened with age and soot. Beyond the pane of dingy glass are puddles of sunlight caught between tree trunks and branches, illuminating their leaves neon green.

A blanket, rough but strangely comforting, is tucked beneath my bare arms and snugly around my body. I’m sticky with sweat, and I shift slightly, wincing at the burning ache in my side.

You’re still alive, Hannah. The pain is proof of that.

I lift the blanket and peek under. My fingers find the bandage neatly wrapped around my waist and tinged with traces of dried blood.

Kane helped me. He saved me.

But why?

The door creaks open, and Kane’s strong figure is silhouetted against the afternoon light. He carries an armful of firewood and a bunch of onions pulled right from the ground, dirt still clinging to their roots. The sunlight catches the edges of his broad shoulders, casting deep shadows that stretch across the room. His steps are long and easy as he makes his way to the hearth, the weight of the firewood barely registering.

He sets the logs down with a muted thud. Then he picks up a knife and turns back to the onions. The blade glints in the light, and he looks over his shoulder at me, his expression inscrutable.

“You should rest,” he says firmly but not unkindly.

“I’d rather sit up. It’s weird staring at the ceiling while you’re over there with a knife.” I push against the bed, but the action is too quick. Pain slices my side, and I suck in a breath as the room tilts and spins, unconsciousness threatening to pull me under.

The wooden floor creaks beneath his weight as he swiftly approaches. His strong hand catches my shoulder and props me up as he arranges crunchy, hay-filled pillows behind my back. Without a word, he gently settles me against the pillows and returns to his task.

My bra strap slips down over my shoulder, and I realize I’m only dressed in my underwear. I grimace and tighten the blanket over my chest. “Why are you helping me? Why did you save me in the first place?”

Kane doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turns to the hearth, his back to me as he stokes the fire and settles a cast-iron pot over the flames.

Fueled by his silence, my mind races.

He knows about portals, knows I’m from another world. He has to know there’s no one around here to miss me or come looking. Which means…

My jaw slackens, and my heart gallops. Kane’s taken me back to his cabin as his bride. He’s going to keep me here, barefoot and pregnant, making onion stew and following his every command. I’ll have a string of dark-eyed children named Jed or Rufus or Buck, be his bed wench, and watch him make fires and hunt.

That doesn’t actually sound so bad, Hannah.

Another indictment of my shitty life.

“I’m not good at cooking,” I say, breaking the silence.

He raises a brow, his expression unreadable as he brushes his hands off on his pants. “Noted.” He collects an onion and uses the bottom of his linen shirt to wipe away the dirt before removing the dagger from the sheath on his hip.

“And I’m terrible in bed.”

Kane pauses, the knife hovering over the fresh onion, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the handle.

“My boyfr—ex-boyfriend always said that I need to do more yoga—increase my hip flexibility.” Embarrassment creeps up my neck. “Never mind. I should stop talking.”

He sets the onion down, his gaze never leaving mine. “Please, continue.”

My cheeks burn. “I’d be a terrible wife.”

He smiles now, a genuine, if small, expression that softens the sharp lines of his face. “All interesting facts, Fawn.”

“So you can take me back.”

“You think I’ve brought you here to serve me?” He leans back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the movements stretching the thin white linen across his muscles.

My face is so hot, I wouldn’t be surprised if I spontaneously combusted. “Why else would you bring me here?”

“You have a job to do,” he says, turning back to the onion. “I knew that, and I want to help you. You may be able to help me too.”

“Help you?” My side aches, but I fight the pain and hug my arms against my chest. “If you mean what I think you mean—”

“No, not that kind of help. Unless that is what you want,” he adds, his voice dropping lower. “Is it, Fawn—what you want?” His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, the room feels charged with a different kind of tension. The kind that makes my pulse quicken and my breath hitch.

“N-no.” I swallow hard, regaining my composure. “I want to know why and how I got here.”

“Mine is not the only world. Neither is yours. There are many.” He holds the onion up as he speaks, its skin glinting dully in the firelight. “You and I live in separate layers and never see the others. But sometimes there’s rot within a layer.” He pinches the skin of the onion and pulls it back, revealing a dark, decayed spot beneath the surface. The rot is a sickly gray, speckled with mold. Its pungent smell wafts through the room. “It can spread through the layers, weakening them, and allows things and people to pass through.”

The tip of his knife digs into the flesh, and he cuts the onion in half. The rot’s dark tendrils have crept through the white rings, poisoning everything in its path.

“So, something between my world and yours has rotted?”

“Not between worlds. In this world. There is rot within the Kingdom of Pentacles, within Towerfall.”

“And I’m connected to this how?”

“You’re the cure, Little Fawn. The thing that will stop the whole onion from rotting.”

“No.” I wrinkle my nose at the onion, at Kane, at whoever thought I could cure anything. “I can’t be.”

Kane sets the onion aside and moves with a purposeful grace, picking up a mug and dipping it into the pot resting within the hearth. He brings the tea to me, the aroma of herbs a nice change from rotted onion. I take the tea, my fingers brushing against his, and drink deeply. It’s still sharp and bitter like beer left out in the sun, but it will dull my pain and bring me peace. It’s harsh yet soothing—a bit like Kane.

He kneels beside the bed, and I’m acutely aware of his presence and the heat emanating from his body.

“May I?” Kane lifts the side of the blanket, only uncovering enough of my waist to examine the wound. “Does it still hurt?” His palm ghosts over the bandage, and his brow furrows with a concern at odds with the man who thundered through town on horseback and filleted two people.

“It’s better now. With the tea,” I say, watching him study my bandage. There’s a strange mix of vulnerability and safety under his scrutiny.

I take another drink, savoring the warmth that spreads through me and wraps around the ache in my side with soft fingers.

“The wound is healing well,” he says. “What you need now is rest.”

“What I need now is to get out of here. To get back to civilization and antibiotics.” I wedge the blanket more firmly under my arms and clench my teeth against the pain searing my side as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand up.

For a moment, I’m fine. The ground is firmly beneath my feet, and my vision is just slightly wonky. The room around me has only blurred softly, like a photo filter, the golden sunlight mingling with the fire’s dancing shadows. But before I have a chance to take a step, the edges constrict like I’m looking through a paper telescope. A drunken heaviness spreads through my limbs, and I lose my grip on the blanket. It falls, and once again, I’m standing in front of a beautiful man in nothing but mismatched Target underwear.

“Whoops.” I tip forward, and Kane catches me against the hard muscle of his chest.

“Must you fight me on everything, Fawn?”

“You know, you’re not so scary,” I slur and let him lower me back to the bed. “I bet you’re just a big squishy daddy bear on the inside.”

“Rest,” he says, drawing the thick woolen blanket around me.

“Yes, Daddy.” I snicker, drunk on steeped herbs and something hot and fizzy within my veins.

A smile slips onto his lips as he tucks the blanket beneath my sides.

The room feels warmer, cozier. The tea is working, dulling the pain, blending my thoughts into soup.

Yum, soup. Whatever he’s making smells so good.

Maybe it’s magickal soup that will open a portal and take me back to my real job.

I’m not the cure. I can’t even present a thoughtfully planned, winning idea to a client. I snort, and Kane looks at me like he did when I asked about outlets.

“This is all a mistake,” I mumble, the words thick on my tongue.

“Magick doesn’t make mistakes. The Tower doesn’t make mistakes. You were chosen,” Kane says with unwavering certainty, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of my thoughts.

“How? Why?” I manage to ask through the confusion and fatigue.

“Things fall through the realms. Talismans. They find the help they need and bring it back.”

“Talismans?” The word triggers a memory, razor-sharp and sudden.

The card!

I should have never followed the advice of a self-help book and done something unexpected. Then I wouldn’t have ended up in Luna’s Twilight Tarot and Healing Arts with a dick in my face and an enchanted tarot card shoved into my hands.

“The woman on the tarot card. She’s the—the—”

“The Empress.”

“Did you see her too?” My head lulls back against the stiff pillows. I’m melting, drifting back under, the warmth of the fire and the soothing rhythm of his voice lulling me to sleep. “I don’t want to have six children.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

“Don’t leave.” The words sound distant and borrowed as sleep curls its petals around me like a closing bud.

“I won’t.”

Even as exhaustion pulls me into its black embrace, my thoughts spin chaotically. I plot and plan in the hazy space between wakefulness and sleep, combing through every partially read article and clickbait headline filed away in my memory for a way out of this mess and back home.

Eight

When I wake up again, the fire is nothing but smoldering embers as daylight filters through the windows. This time, when I sit up, I’m pain-free. More than that, I feel so great that I wouldn’t hesitate to be front row in a spin class.

The chair in front of the hearth is empty, and Kane’s nowhere to be seen. Confident I’m alone, I shuck off the coarse woolen blanket and tentatively reach for the dressing wrapped tightly around my waist. Dried blood flakes off the fabric and scatters onto the lumpy mattress as I unwrap layer after layer. Finally, the bandage falls away. I suck in an astonished breath and trace my fingers along the delicate shimmering-gold line where the brutal knife wound used to be. The tip of my finger skates against the soft, smooth scar. Like a velvet brushstroke, the gold glints in the sunlight, beautiful and surreal.

The door to the cottage creaks open, and Kane steps over the threshold carrying a leather pouch weighted down in the center. A warm breeze blows in around him, bringing with it the earthy scent of rain-soaked dirt and a faint hint of pine. Light and shadows fall across his face, enhancing the sharp line of his nose, the fullness of his mouth.

Shit, he’s gorgeous.

Like I haven’t been almost completely naked in front of him for the past however many days, I rush to wrap the scratchy wool blanket around me, fashioning it into a lumpy, unflattering dress.

He lifts a single black brow, and the corner of his mouth twitches before settling back into an unreadable mask. “As I said, you needed rest and magick. Perhaps next time, you won’t fight me.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“No?” Kane smirks as if keeping a secret and kicks the door closed to stride toward the fireplace. He sets the bag on the mantel before grabbing an armful of split logs and tossing them onto the spent timber like they’re hollow sticks. He strikes a match, and just like before, he whispers to the flame and throws it onto the wood. The fire instantly crackles and pops, roaring to life.

“That’s magick, isn’t it?” With one hand, I point to the flames, while I dip the fingers of the other inside the layers of blanket to find my gilded scar.

“You’re a quick study, Fawn.” Kane’s lips tilt into a half smile as sweet and volatile as ether. “Tell me, do you learn everything so quickly?”

I swear I’m in an utterly embarrassing near-constant state of blushing around this man. “I did graduate with honors from the University of Illinois. Go Fighting Illini,” I cheer and give a lackluster fist pump.

Even from the other side of the room, Kane’s deep, rumbling chuckle brushes over my bare arms and makes me shiver.

He grabs the leather satchel off the mantel and lifts the cast-iron pan from its resting place on a hook above the hearth. He sets it down, and it clunks into place on the sturdy wrought iron cooking stand. Next, he empties the pouch and handles the eggs. They’re of average size but look almost like pebbles in his large hands. Kane cracks them with a skilled flick of his wrist, and they sizzle when they hit the hot skillet. Casually, he tosses the spent shells into the flames while he fists his hand into the bottom of his tunic and uses it as a makeshift oven mitt to move the pan back and forth over the fire.

The aroma of scrambled eggs mingling with the woodsy scent of the fire makes my mouth water. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I last ate, but I’m starving. “You have chickens out here in the forest?”

“I borrowed a cage of hens when I left the city.”

I glance around the neglected cabin with its weathered furniture and the bundles of dried herbs hanging from the walls. “Did you borrow them in the same way you borrowed this house?”

Kane’s gaze meets mine, that delicious half smile lifting his lips. “I intend to give them back. I won’t stay banished from the palace forever.”

“You were banished? What exactly do you have to do to get thrown out of a castle? Use the wrong fork at dinner?”

His expression hardens, the firelight casting blunt shadows on his chiseled features. “You would not be so quick to jest if you knew the toll my absence has had on our kingdom.”

“Because you’re the one guy who holds everything together. You’re the glue.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve heard that before.”

“I am the one man who sees the truth of what is happening within the palace walls,” he booms, and I suddenly feel like I’m in trouble. Like he’s going to ground me and take away my phone.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“You should not speak of things you do not understand.”

“You shouldn’t yell at partially dressed stabbing victims who fell through a portal into another world.”

He narrows his eyes, ready to make another scathing retort before pausing. “Fair enough.” He turns back to the fire to shift the pan, and the golden-yellow eggs bubble and pop. “I was banished from the palace and the city of Pentacles because its power and influence are being twisted, used, and changed to benefit only one—Four,” he explains, back to being calm and measured.

Confusion knits my brow. “But you said the power and influence would only benefit one person.”

“Correct: Four.”

“No, one. One person. Four is three more people.”

“‘Four’ is the corrupt wretch’s name.”

“Oh.” I click my tongue. “Got it.”

“Four sought to kill me before I could do the same to him. Alderic, our king, is the only reason I still have my head. But Four is in command of Pentacles and speaks for Alderic. Those within the palace either cannot see or choose not to see the curse Four has woven.”

“That’s the rot,” I say, continuing to piece together the how and why I’m here.

“That’s the rot,” he agrees. “At least, that is part of it.”

“And the other part?”

“That’s where you come in.”

“Right.” I grimace and shake my head. “I was hoping I’d hallucinated the whole thing about being the cure and having a job to do.”

“You are the cure, Fawn. Pentacles is on the edge of collapse no matter how much those in charge refuse to acknowledge it. Prosperity is never ensured and does not continue on its own. It has to be worked for. The townspeople and those who rule over them must be united to keep the kingdom from ruin. When they are not, as they are not united now, the tide turns, and it happens quickly. In order to go back to your home, you must finish your job, and your job is to rid our kingdom of rot and heal the—”

I cut him off, my exasperation bubbling over. “Yes, I know. The layers. The gross onion. I got it. I mean, I understand the words you’re saying, but I don’t think you’ve understood anything I’ve said.”

“That you’re a less-than-desirable bedmate who refuses to bear six children?” he replies, infuriatingly calm.

My cheeks flush, and I tighten the blanket around my chest. “That there’s been some sort of mistake,” I correct, voice tight.

He opens his mouth, and I hold up my hand before he can launch into another speech about the Tower not making mistakes and the Empress blah, blah, blah.

“Look,” I begin, forcing myself to stay calm even as the absurdity of it all threatens to push me over the edge. “You want a hero, and you seem very much suited to that role with your muscles and your—your roguishness.” I swear he flexes because biceps don’t just bulge like that on their own, do they? “But here’s the thing: I just need to get home to Wi-Fi and barely earning enough money to pay rent. Then your magickal Tower can send its tarot-card talisman back through the rotted-portal thing and find a hero who actually has her life together.”

I stand, the rough fabric scratching my skin, and confidently walk to the center of the shack. “I mean, sure, what you’re talking about sounds pretty intense—save the kingdom, stop the rot, and so on. But, honestly, it also sounds completely unbelievable.” His eyes narrow, but I plow on. “Even if it’s all real, this is your world—your problem—not mine. I just want to go home and pretend this never happened. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now.”

“And where do you think you’ll go?” Kane lifts the pan and shifts the eggs, their edges crisp and golden.

I square my shoulders. “Back to the palace.”

“Back to the palace?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no going back to the palace. This is Towerfall, the Kingdom of Pentacles—you cannot simply do as you please.”

“It’s not doing as I please. This isn’t some whim. I left my purse inside the palace when I, understandably, thought you were kidnapping me the first time. The card was in my purse. Or I guess it spilled out of my purse, since you saw it too. It doesn’t matter. My purse and the card are both inside the palace, which means I need to get inside the palace.”

I paw through my clothes, bloodstained and damp, draped over a stool next to the table. My phone is tucked inside a pocket. The screen is black. It’s dead or waterlogged and broken. Either way, it’s completely useless here.

“If the Tower sent that tarot card—”

“The Empress,” he interjects.

“If the Empress brought me here, the Empress can send me back.”

“The Empress brought you here because you are the one who can heal this kingdom. Running away won’t change that. Furthermore, it won’t work. You have to finish your job, heal the rot, in order to go home.”

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine and meet his gaze with as much determination as I can muster. “Look, Kane, I’m not the only one who knows I was pulled into this world by mistake. I’m sure the Tower and the Empress have had some magickal meeting and are just waiting for me to find the card and undo this whole mess.”

“Is it always a fight with you?” Kane sets the pan next to me on the table and motions for me to sit.

I might be starving, but the way my nerves have my gut churning tells me that I’ll regret taking even one bite of eggs. “While I admit you have a lot of useful information and have helped me—”

“I saved your life.”

“You’re not exactly familiar with my current situation,” I say, continuing on as if he didn’t just interrupt me with pertinent information. “I need to get back into the palace to find the Empress card, and you just got done telling me about how you were nearly beheaded and one hundred percent banished.”

“Fawn, there’s no denying I have helped you. Let me continue to do so.”

“How?”

His brow arches.

Before that seductive smile slips onto his lips, I interject, “If you say ‘magick,’ I’m going to scream.”

“It’s more detailed than that, and it will involve the next few months—”

“No.” I shake my head, and my tangled hair sweeps over my bare shoulders. “I’ve already been here for… How long have I been here?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?” It’s felt like both a lifetime and a moment. “I’m not waiting any longer to get out of here and back to Pepto-Bismol and cell service. I’m also not waiting around for another man to decide when and where I’m useful, Chad.”

I bite my lower lip and take a step back, trying to distance myself from the roiling anger I have for my most recent ex.

“What’s a chad?” Kane asks, a line forming between his furrowed brows.

“A miserable, festering asshole,” I mutter.

“Sounds painful.” Kane frowns further and ducks into the Days Inn–style kitchenette, sans plumbing. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a corked bottle and bundle wrapped in cloth.

“Yeah…” I adjust the blanket and glance down at the hot pan of eggs before clearing my throat.

He unwraps the loaf of bread, tears off a piece, and takes a large bite before offering me the rest of the chunk. “Eat. You must keep up your strength.”

“No, thank you.” I cringe even as my traitorous stomach growls in protest.

His brow arches again, and his gaze dips to my stomach before lifting back to meet mine.

“Fine, but I’d love a piece you didn’t slobber all over.”

He mumbles a curse I can’t quite make out before tearing off another chunk and handing it to me. It’s dry and stale, but I’m hungry enough that I’d eat the leftover Taco Bell that’s been sitting in the back of my fridge for two weeks.

“Besides,” I say, choking down a mouthful of bread, “I can’t imagine you knocked on the palace door and asked to get in when I saw you skulking around.”

“I wasn’t skulking.”

“You most definitely were. Skulky Skulkerton.”

His jaw tightens, and his fingers dig into the bread. “I was—” He pauses and takes a deep breath as he sets the loaf and bottle on the table, then pulls out a stool. The chair creaks under his weight, and he looks like a giant in a clown car on the four rickety legs.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

“It doesn’t matter what I was doing. What matters is that you cannot simply enter the palace.” He tears off another piece of bread and shovels eggs between the two hunks. “Four has made certain only those he’s approved can gain entry. It’s a wonder I had to rescue you from a mob and not the guillotine.”

“Oh, you literally mean ‘beheaded.’ Like, head chopped off and everything.”

“What did you think I meant?”

The fire crackles in the silence that follows, and Kane takes a bite of his improvised breakfast sandwich.

“The palace is open only once every six months for the king to hear the townspeople’s grievances,” he continues. “We shall wait until then.”

“But I don’t have a grievance,” I say. “I left my purse behind and, with it, the tarot card. You said the Empress got me here, and I need to find the Empress to get back home. Well, the Empress is inside the palace. I just need to get it.”

“It’s impossible.”

“You’re impossible.”

The idea that I could be stuck here for up to six months is unbearable. Between now and the next time the palace gates open, someone will have gone into that room and found my purse and the card. I’ll be fucked for sure.

I drop the crust of bread, burying my face in my palms, and I feel Kane’s heavy footsteps thud against the wooden planks.

“Relax, Fawn. I know many ways we can fill our time while we wait for our next opportunity.”

I peek out from my hiding spot behind my hands and look up at him. That sexy smile is back, topped off with a suggestive wink as he wiggles the bottle in front of my face.

I cautiously peer into the bottle’s wide mouth. Herbs bob gently on top of the liquid, their forms obscured by the deep-brown tint of the glass. The brew gives off a rich honeyed scent, tinged with the unmistakable sharpness of alcohol.

“Has anyone ever told you that making a sexual innuendo and then trying to get a woman drunk is really off-putting?”

“I don’t put off women.” With a smirk, he tips the bottle back, nearly draining it in one gulp as he strides to the table. The glass hits the tabletop with a hollow thump, and Kane scoops up another handful of bread and eggs before offering me the rest of what’s in the pan.

I shake my head and offer an automatic “no thank you.” He shrugs, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut over his broad shoulders.

Even though my life back home might leave a lot to be desired, it’s still my life. I can’t just give up and abandon it.

“Well, Kane—whatever your last name is—”

“Blackthorne,” he says, wiping a bit of egg from his chin.

“Mister protector of this realm and its people, if some rando dropped out of the sky and was shouting about—I don’t know—dragons or some other nonsense, I’d be so ready for them to leave.”

“Don’t let a dragon hear you call her ‘nonsense.’” He winks at me again.

I open my mouth to object, but with everything I’ve experienced since I fell through the portal, the idea of seeing a dragon doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

Kane takes another swig of ale and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“And I don’t have time to sit around and wait. Someone could walk in that bedroom at any time and take my stuff and my only way out of here.”

“Fawn—”

“You’re not my dad. I don’t have to listen to you.” And, if my dad ever decided to reach out, I wouldn’t have to listen to him either.

“I did save you, heal you, keep you safe, but of course, why listen to me?”

“Exactly,” I say, blatantly ignoring his sarcasm. “I’m going back to the palace, I’m getting the Empress, and I’m going home.”

I spin around, looking for anything to put on other than this blanket or my ruined Dior. “I need something to wear.”

“There are tunics in there.” He motions to the trunk in the far corner of the room.

I kneel in front of it. The same symbols etched into his sword and stitched into his cloak are carved into the wood and filled with molten gold. This close up, and fully myself, I can finally make out the symbols: the craggy peaks of a mountain, a lantern, a six-pointed star, and the weathered face of an old man. They flow together, each symbol pouring into the next, a single line connecting them all.

“The symbols tell a story, if you know how to read them.” He unties the cloth bundle on the table and smooths the fabric down around a fat loaf of bread.

“And what story does this one tell?” I open the chest, and I’m not sure if he answers because my attention is fixed on the jewels and gold coins resting on the top shelf.

“Spoils of war?” I laugh and look over at him.

“Payment.” The look in his eyes takes away my grin.

I turn my attention back to the trunk and sift through the half-folded shirts and strange leather pants that look way too tight and have laces crisscrossed up the crotch.

“This”—I hold up the pants, the laces dangling like limp noodles—“isn’t going to cut it. I need to fit in and look like everyone else. That was my problem before. That and the fact I had no idea what was going on. But I’m smarter now, and I’m not going to give anyone a reason to call me a witch.”

“And you believe that once you’re dressed more appropriately, you’ll simply walk back to the palace and demand entry? Do you not remember what happened last time you found yourself within the town?”

“Why do I feel like you’re only half listening?” I ask, but I continue without waiting for his response. “Like I said, I looked out of place. It’s not about asking why they threw me out. It’s about asking why they shouldn’t,” I say and return my focus to the trunk of jewels and clothes. “There has to be something in here that will work and isn’t so…big.”

I dig deeper into the collection of worn leather and stiff cotton. My fingers brush against luxuriously soft fabric. Gently, I pull out the garment. The velvet dress is creamy white. Its bodice is stitched with intricate embroidery, the patterns swirling and looping in a dance of golden threads that catch the light with every movement. I trace the lines of delicate forest-green silk laces that crisscross their way up from the small of the back to the nape of the neck. The same silk borders the neckline that dips in a modest curve, framed by soft off-shoulder sleeves that billow slightly before tapering into snug cuffs.

I stand and hold it up in front of me, the skirt cascading in a full graceful fall of the same lush velvet. “This is perfect.”

At the sight, Kane nearly chokes on his eggs. “Not that one. It doesn’t belong to you.”

“It doesn’t belong to you either,” I counter. “Turn around.”

“Modesty now? I’ve seen—”

“Turn around. I thought ye olden times were filled with dashing knights and gentlemen who threw their coats over puddles.”

“You don’t find me dashing?”

“Turn.” I motion, unwilling to give him an inch. Of course he’s dashing. And sexy. With a delicious come-hither smile that makes me hot in all the right places. And, clearly, he knows it. I’ll eat my own mismatched underwear before I add to that ego.

Reluctantly, Kane sighs and turns his back to me.

Quickly, I shed the scratchy blanket and slip into the dress, the fabric even softer than I expected. “Could you?” I ask hesitantly as I gather my hair and sweep it over my shoulder, revealing the intricate line of laces down the back of the dress.

Kane pauses for a moment, as if weighing the request, then closes the distance between us in just two strides. His presence behind me is an electric current, the fire’s warmth mixing with the heat sparking through my body. He stands behind me, our shared silence punctuated only by our breathing and the soft rhythmic susurrus of the laces as he weaves them through the eyelets.

Each brush of his rough fingertips against my bare skin sends a cascade of goose bumps down my arms and across my chest. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I’m relieved he can’t see the way they flame when he touches me.

Craning my neck slightly, I glance over my shoulder. Our eyes meet in a loaded exchange. “It fits in, right? I look like I belong here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Kane’s dark eyes hold mine, something unspoken flickering in their depths. The intensity of his gaze makes it hard to swallow. Then, clearing his throat, he swiftly ties a final knot and steps back. “It’ll do.”

I frown. Not the most flattering compliment, but certainly not the worst I’ve heard.

“Thanks,” I say, a small part of me missing the warmth of him as he retreats to the table.

Sometime while I was in and out of sleep, letting the magick do its work, Kane placed my sodden boots in front of the hearth to dry. When I slip into them, they’re soothingly warm and coax out a contented sigh.

No more desperate-and-stuck Hannah. I begin my internal pep talk, wiggling my toes in the warm cloud of my boots. No, ma’am. She died when I fell into this world, and now I’m beginning a new era. I’m evolving and independent. I don’t need a man. More than that, I don’t even want a man. I want expansion and autonomy.

I breathe in a new sense of determination and mentally rehearse my plan once again.

I’ll go to the palace, tell them I left my purse inside, and they’ll retrieve it from that massive bedroom. Then I’ll pull out the Empress card, and it’ll open a new portal. I’ll be back at home before anyone even realizes I left.

Expansion and autonomy…evolution and independence… Expansion and autonomy…evolution and independence.

I march over to Kane, the mantra cycling through my thoughts and adding a little extra pep to my step. “I’m leaving.”

Kane glances up, pausing midbite. “Stay, Fawn. Wait until the palace reopens its gates.”

I pull the pan over and use a hunk of bread to scoop up a pile of eggs. I take one bite and then another and another, not caring that I’m scarfing down food like a barbarian.

“It’s not long,” he continues. “Only six months. That’s how I gained access before, undetected.”

“Did you sneak in to save the king and stop the rot?” I wave my hand in the air to keep him from re-explaining. I cannot get distracted. “I’m not waiting.” I grab the bottle and take a bold swig of the remaining ale, keeping my expression stoic despite its sweetness and the random herbs that stick between my teeth. “I’m going now. I’d love a ride, but I don’t need your horse. I can walk there. It can’t be that far.”

“Fawn—” Kane starts another protest, but I cut him off.

“Nooope.” I draw out the word and add an extra sway to my hips as I head for the door. Before I make my exit, I pause next to the open chest and dip down to grab a handful of gold coins. “And I’m taking these with me.”

Nine

I’m not far from Kane’s cabin when I emerge from the cover of the forest and onto a path bordered on one side by the dense tree line and the other by a deep and marshy ditch. My boots sink into the soft earth, the road’s surface churned into mud by countless horse hooves and the carved ruts of nonmotorized wheels.

“Figures,” I mumble, unfazed by the complete lack of cars as my gaze follows the path and lands on the distant city nestled around the majestic palace that dominates the horizon. Its spires reach skyward, each one crowned with shimmering golden finials that catch the light and twinkle like stars. Next to it is another tall, wide building, and this far out, it looks like the perfect sandcastle tower. “I knew it wasn’t that far.”

From behind me, Kane’s voice breaks through my grumblings. “Did you say something?”

I let out a frustrated sigh and clench my hands into fists as I pick my way around muddy puddles and jutting rocks. “Not to you.”

“Hear that, Shadow?” The horse lets out a soft blow of air. “Seems the lady isn’t talking to us.”

Shadow nickers, and I can’t help but glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of him affectionately patting the mare’s glossy black coat.

“Have you changed your mind? Decided to do the gentlemanly thing and give me a ride?” I toss back at him as I resume watching my footing. The tips of my boots flash from beneath the velvet hem of my dress, making only a fleeting appearance before they disappear back under the long fabric.

He shifts his weight, and the saddle creaks beneath him. “Have you changed your mind and decided to do the reasonable thing and wait for a more suitable time to storm the palace?”

“I’m not being unreasonable or storming the palace.”

“And I’m not making it easier for you to go along with this reckless scheme.”

I glance back over my shoulder at his smug grin. No longer watching where I’m going, I step in a puddle, muddy water and tiny pebbles seeping into my broken boot. “Frustrating, absolutely miserable man,” I grumble, returning to my mutterings.

“We can hear you, you know?”

Shadow snorts her agreement.

“Besides.” Kane lowers his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “I am being a gentleman, aren’t I, Shadow? Only a gentleman would protect this little fawn on her journey to the palace, knowing full well that she’ll fail and have to enact my much better strategy in the end anyway.”

“I’m ignoring you,” I singsong as I jump from one dry patch to another, awkwardly navigating the trickier sections of mud puddles and protruding rocks.

“It’s unfortunate we’re being ignored,” Kane says. “Shadow here could teach you a thing or two about traversing the terrain.”

I stop and turn to face him. “I wouldn’t need Shadow to teach me if I were up in the saddle with you,” I snap, holding my hand above my brow to shield my eyes from the sun.

He guides the mare closer. The hulking mass of rider on horseback washes over me in a cool cloud that blocks out the light. Kane leans forward and whispers into Shadow’s ear. This time, it’s something I don’t overhear. The mare tosses her head in reply, her black mane shimmering in the sunlight.

“What did you tell her?” I ask despite myself.

The corners of Kane’s mouth quirk up in a boyish smile. “Just discussing the finer points of mud walking. But don’t worry. Shadow thinks you’re doing admirably for a novice.”

“Well, thank you, Shadow. I’m glad I have your approval.” I can’t help but smile too, even though his stubbornness resulted in my shoe filling with mud. “It’s too bad I can’t get your passenger to surrender and let me ride for a little while.”

With a fluid and controlled motion that speaks of long practice, Kane smoothly swings his right leg over Shadow’s back. He lands on the ground with a soft thud, the movement as agile and effortless as a cat’s. His hand remains on the reins, although, from the looks of it, it would take a lot more than a dropped lead to tear these two apart.

“And would you like that…” he asks, closing the distance between us, “if I let you ride?”

I wheeze and stand there, lost in his dark gaze, my mouth moving but words as out of reach as my home. And, for a moment, I forget he has a blood-streaked sword on his hip.

“Although, if I were to take you for a ride, I guarantee it would be longer than a little while.”

My cheeks burn, and I want to say that I only said I was bad at sex when I thought he’d kidnapped me, but it’s no use. I’ll start drooling before I form a coherent sentence.

“Speechless?” He scrapes his calloused finger up my throat, closing my jaw. “That’s my girl.”

I hate that he has this effect on me, that he can say things that make my insides melt into gooey marshmallow. That I want him to say more. That I want him to talk to me like this with his hands on more places than my neck.

I shake my head, and with it the thoughts that make my skin hum with sweet anticipation. “Try ‘annoyed.’ And I’m not your girl. I’m nobody’s girl,” I say, reminding my rebellious body that we don’t want Kane.

Shadow grunts and nuzzles his shoulder, lipping his long hair. I shiver when he leans into her and cool air rushes through the widened gap between us.

“I think Shadow felt a bit left out.” He reaches into the saddlebag and removes a sweet-smelling hard biscuit. It’s gobbled up the second he holds it out to her, bits of oats dropping to the ground as she chomps on the treat. “She doesn’t like to share me.”

“Well, she’s in luck. I don’t plan on taking you away.” I cross my arms over my chest, strengthening the physical barrier between us. “I’ve just come out of my worst relationship in a string of terrible relationships, and I’m absolutely not going to put my heart on the line again anytime soon.” I was wrong about Chad—so wrong—and I’ve been wrong about so many others. When it comes to choosing men, I’ve got my mom’s shitty taste, and I don’t want to be wrong again. Honestly, my mental health can’t handle my being wrong again.

“We have an understanding, then,” Kane says. “No hearts are on the table available for the taking. However, I am always up for a bit of fun.”

“Fun? What happened to the risk of us being beheaded?”

“Oh,” he says, leaning closer, grinning. “I think you’ll find there’s always time for fun.”

I clear my throat in preparation for a retort that will inform him I want zero part of any fun with him, heart or otherwise, when Shadow lets out a sharp snort that makes me flinch. She stiffens on alert, her ears pricking up.

“What is it, girl? What do you see?” Kane whispers. His gaze cuts through the trees, as sharp and focused as Shadow’s.

He must see what she does because, in an instant, Kane’s demeanor shifts. He grabs my arm and pulls me and Shadow off the road and into the safety of the tree line. His hand is firm against the back of my neck as he directs me beneath the drooping boughs of a massive pine. In the other, he has hold of Shadow’s reins as she stands stiff and alert outside the cover of the branches.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, trying to peer around the tree trunk to the path.

“Stay quiet.”

My irritation builds, buzzing around me like a cloud of gnats. “Why? What are we—”

“Quiet.”

I roll my eyes and let out a grunt of frustration. I’ve been through this before with him, and it’s not a road I’m interested in going back down.

The fevered clopping of horse hooves racing closer creates a steady backdrop to the squelch of creaking wheels on wet earth. Shadow whinnies and rears up, and Kane’s hold on me loosens just enough. This is my chance. I jerk away from him and the camouflage of the tree, then dart toward the path.

Kane scrambles, reaching out in an attempt to pull me back, but I’m already in the open, struck by a new plan, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation.

“It’s a carriage,” I say as it rolls into view, curved and round as Cinderella’s fairy-tale coach and as ornately decorated. The body of the carriage glimmers a dusty silver that sparkles in the sunlight like freshly poured seltzer. The coins I took from Kane and slipped into my pocket thud against my hip as excitement lifts me onto my tiptoes. This carriage could be my own old-timey Uber ride back to the palace.

Before I can even gesture for the carriage driver to stop, two shadows blur past my periphery. I whirl around, cornered—the speeding carriage in front, the dense forest to my right, the muddy ditch at my left, and now these two ominous figures on horseback blocking my escape down the path.

The carriage driver shouts a flurry of commands I can barely make out over the horses’ frantic hoofbeats as he attempts to rein them in. But it’s too late. Terror flashes in their wide eyes, and they rear up in panic. The carriage lurches, its wheels skidding and sliding in the mud, throwing the driver from his bench. He lands hard, bouncing against the road. He’s only down for a second before he scrambles to his feet. Mud cakes his back and side as he desperately gropes for the reins, trying to calm the frenzied horses as the carriage careens off the path and crashes into the ditch.

Kane is a blur of power and speed as he sprints to my side, hooks his arm around my waist, and pulls me back into the safety of the forest. “Stay behind me.”

Through the trees, I watch as one of the men dismounts. His sandy-yellow beard matches the dark rings of sweat staining his shirt around his neck and beneath his arms. He draws a sword from the sheath on his back while his partner readies his crossbow and aims it at the two passengers spilling out of the overturned carriage and onto the road in a tangle of limbs and finery.

Kane charges out of the trees, his sword drawn in a swift motion that points to years of practice in countless battles. The bearded man rushes toward him, meeting him head-on. Their swords clash. Metal rings against metal, echoing through the forest with each furious exchange.

I move to the edge of the trees, closer to the fray, as the passengers right themselves. “Run!” I shout, beckoning them toward the safety of the tree line.

The woman clings to her partner’s arm. Her dress, a vibrant tapestry of deep blues embroidered with wavelike designs, billows around her as she rushes to gather the thick skirts. Silver bangles encircle her wrists, and a layer of necklaces cascades in a glittering waterfall down her chest. With each hurried step, her jewels jingle like sleigh bells.

Next to her, her partner grips her arm as tightly as she clings to his. He’s tall and sturdy with a chest like a barrel that jiggles beneath his tailored cobalt-blue coat. Its buttons gleam silver under the sun, and a crisp white shirt peeks out from beneath, a match to the pearlescent eye patch covering his right eye.

An arrow cuts through the air with a sharp hum. It misses its target, whizzing just behind the couple, the sharp steel biting into a tree trunk. The woman screams. She trips forward, her arms windmilling as she crashes in a heap of silk and velvet at her partner’s feet.

Startled by her scream, a highwayman’s horse bolts, and the carriage driver digs his heels into the mud to keep his horses from doing the same.

“Hurry!” I yell, my gaze darting from the couple to the man still on his horse, reloading his crossbow, and finally to Kane. He moves with a lethal grace, each strike deliberate and devastatingly effective against the aggressive, reckless swings of the highwayman’s blade.

Another arrow slices the air. This time, it hits its mark. The man with the eye patch lets out a pained cry as a violent gush of blood spurts from his chest. He sinks to his knees, and his partner wails. He reaches out. His bloodstained fingers find her, and he drags his palm down her arm, leaving behind a shining smear of scarlet against her doe-brown skin as he falls face-first into the mud.

She’s frozen, a soundless scream pulling at her face, stretching her flesh taut over sharp cheekbones.

“Get up!” The command tears from my throat, raw and desperate. I clench my fists, my nails carving crescents into my palms. Every fiber of my being screams to dash forward, to drag her to the safety of the trees, but I’m rooted to the spot, frozen in fear.

My gaze snaps to Kane as he dodges another of his opponent’s wild swings. He retaliates with a swift upward jab of his sword, striking him in the gut. Kane thrusts the blade deeper, and the bearded man lets out a final wet groan before going slack.

I take a breath to call for his help when a third arrow is loosed. It zips by, loud as a thousand angry hornets and just as deadly. The sharp point finds a home in the woman’s neck, burrowing straight through and emerging in a spray of blood out the other side. With a sickening thwack, she joins her partner in the mud.

I clamp my hand over my mouth and swallow my scream. There’s no time for terror. Not yet. I’m not safe.

Seizing his chance, the carriage driver makes a desperate dash toward me. He slips and slides in the mud. This time, I don’t stand by and watch the worst happen. I dart from the cover of the trees and grab him when he stumbles. He grasps my arm, using my body as a rope to scramble to his feet. Together, we rush back into the forest.

Kane’s determined stride eats up the earth, his heavy footsteps splattering mud as he targets the mounted archer. With a warrior’s cry, he lunges at the man on horseback. Kane grabs the archer’s leg and rips him from the saddle. His horse rears up, and its hooves beat the air as it whinnies and bolts off down the path. The archer smacks into the ground, a discarded puppet cut from its strings. Kane wastes no time. With one decisive motion, he plunges his sword into the man’s chest, ending the threat once and for all.

The aftermath is a surreal quiet. The forest seems to hold its breath as blood drips from the deadly point of Kane’s sword. Each splatter is a crimson reminder that this world is not my own.

Kane’s broad shoulders lift and fall with measured breaths as he turns to the trees. Finding me within the cover of the pines, his eyes lock onto mine, his gaze black and endless and lost as stars behind the clouds.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice the eye of the storm.

I flick my gaze from his, unable to hold the intensity of his concern, of what he’s just done. I take a few steps out of the tree line. “Nothing a few years of therapy won’t fix,” I deflect, my attempt at humor sounding brittle and forced even to my own ears.

Kane sheaths his sword, and his attention shifts to the carriage resting on its side in the ditch. One wheel creaks in a lazy spin. Its gilded spokes and iron rims are coated in a spray of mud.

My eyes can’t help but drift to the lifeless bodies of the couple in the road. Before Towerfall, before Kane, the only dead bodies I’d seen were on TV. Sorrow hardens in the back of my throat.

“Who were they?” I ask as I approach Kane, my voice barely rising above the whisper of the wind through the trees.

A twig snaps and the trees rustle. On edge, I spin around. The driver emerges from hiding, Shadow’s reins in hand. “That would be the newly appointed ambassador from the Kingdom of Cups and his wife.” He clears his throat and lowers his head. “May they rest in peace.”

“They must have traveled for at least two days to get here,” Kane says. “Although I don’t know why an ambassador from Cups would want to make such a trip.”

“Trade.” The driver lifts a thin shoulder. “That’s what I overheard. Lord Ashwood was to arrange trade between the kingdoms. And now he’s dead…they’re dead…murdered.”

“If handled poorly, this could start a war.” Kane’s expression hardens, and the sharp line of his jaw pulses with each clench of his teeth. “There is no one else in your party?”

The driver shakes his head, twisting Shadow’s reins around his fingers.

“What’s your name?” I ask, placing my hand on his.

“Briggs, miss.” He sweeps his copper curls from his forehead.

“It’s nice to meet you, Briggs.” I smile. “Although I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Agreed, miss.” His warm brown eyes find mine, and he smiles the wobbly smile of a timid teen. “What’s to be done now? I can’t arrive at the palace alone. I can’t leave the horses… the carriage… And you said this could start a war between the kingdoms.” The color drains from his pale cheeks, and he takes a dazed and shaky step back.

Kane is there to take Shadow’s reins and steady Briggs before he falters. “We will deal with the issues one by one. First, we must right the carriage and get it hidden in the trees. We can’t run the risk of being seen. Not without the proper story.” He steps away from the young driver, his arm still extended to catch him if he falls. “Can I count on your help with whatever may come of this?”

Briggs nods. “Of course. If you hadn’t been here…” He rubs his still-trembling hands together, his gaze wandering to the bodies in the mud.

“We will make this right.” Kane claps him on the back.

I take Shadow’s reins before he moves to the vehicle, Briggs on his heels. The mare rambles up next to me. She nudges my shoulder and blows an exasperated sigh through my tangled hair.

“I know, Shadow,” I say and sweep the frizzy mass over my shoulder. “The past few days have been a lot.”

Mud splatters as Kane jumps into the ditch. “Control the horses. On my signal, have them pull the carriage forward,” he instructs, motioning up at Briggs while positioning himself at the rear of the carriage.

Briggs jogs to the horses. He smooths his hand along each of their sides and collects the reins. “Ready,” he calls once he’s in position.

Kane braces himself against the carriage. His sweat-dampened tunic clings to his body, outlining the swell of thick muscle beneath. I bite my lower lip as he pushes against the carriage and his muscles tense, flexing under the strain. Beads of sweat gloss down his face and arms, and he wipes his brow before adjusting his hold on the carriage.

Next to me, Shadow snorts, and I startle.

“What?” I clear my throat, getting control of my steadily increasing pulse. “Like I said, you won’t have to share him. It’s just hot out here.” I fan myself with my free hand to keep up the lie.

Kane pushes against the carriage, a grunt of exertion rumbling through his bared teeth. Bit by bit, it begins to shift, creaking and groaning under its own weight.

“Move!” he shouts up to Briggs, who guides the horses forward.

With a final push from Kane and pull from the horses, the carriage emerges from the ditch and crashes back onto all four wheels.

Up close, it’s even more beautiful. Adorning its sides are chalices carved into the gleaming silver-painted wood. Splashes of glittering cerulean pour from each cup, encircling the door, and combining into a frothy white-tipped wave above it.

Shadow follows me as I move closer and run my fingers along the deep-blue sapphires and crystal clear diamonds inlaid within the carved waves. The carriage’s windows are framed with ornate turquoise trim, and the curtains snagged on shards of broken glass are the same shimmering silver as the exterior.

As I round the carriage and Kane climbs out of the ditch, making his way over to Shadow, my gaze is snared by a glint of glimmering slate a few yards away in the muddy trench, detached from the carriage during the attack.

I pass the reins to Kane, and he murmurs to the mare and rubs her soft nose. Hiking up the end of my dress, I walk to the ditch. The trunk’s silver handle catches the light, sparkling up from the mud. I squat near the edge of the ditch and reach for it. I strain as I grab the handle and pull. The trunk is heavier than it looks, and I struggle to keep my balance while trying not to muddy my dress any more than I already have.

“Allow me, miss.” Briggs rushes over and, with a polite nod, exchanges places with me.

“Hannah,” I offer as he drags the trunk up the embankment and onto the road. “Call me ‘Hannah.’”

His freckled cheeks pinken as he turns to face me, his gaze quickly dropping to his feet. “Anything else, miss?”

“Hannah,” I say again. “And no, you’ve helped so much already. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I owe you my life. Both of you.” He nods toward Kane, who’s busy with Shadow as I bend to examine the trunk.

I wipe away the layer of mud around the latch, broken from the wreck. The wood matches the carriage—gleaming silver and encrusted in a glittering powder of sapphires and diamonds. The same cresting, white-tipped waves trace its edges, the water pouring from a single cup carved into the lid.

“If you don’t mind me asking, miss,” Briggs continues, “which kingdom have you traveled from? I haven’t heard an accent like yours before.”

“I’m from the, um, north?” I cough to get Kane’s attention and hope that lifting my brows nearly to my hairline is enough for him to come rescue me…again.

“Whereabout north?” Briggs asks. “The Kingdom of Wands…or…or Swords?”

With a creak of its hinges, I throw open the lid to the unlatched trunk, hoping to distract Briggs from asking any more questions. “Would you look at that?”

His attention drifts to the pristinely folded velvets, silks, and lace within, all hues of rich blues and moonlit silvers.

Briggs stuffs his mud-caked hands into his pockets as if controlling his compulsion to reach out and touch. “I’ve never seen so many fine garments all in one place.”

I should follow Briggs’s lead and keep my hands to myself, but I don’t. Instead, I wipe them on my dress, because it’s honestly already destroyed and absolutely pales in comparison to what’s inside the trunk, and dig my hands into the cool silk.

My fingers brush against a folded piece of parchment nestled among the luxurious attire. The golden pentacle pressed into the wax seal is already broken, bits of it crumbling away as I carefully unfold the cream-colored paper.

“It’s an invitation,” I say to Kane as he strides over, Shadow not far behind, before I read the elegant script aloud.

The Kingdom of Pentacles cordially invites Lord and Lady Ashwood, the Esteemed Ambassadors of Cups, to a Grand Feast in honor of our great Kingdoms. To take place on the evening of the Full Moon as the Second Star appears.

May the bonds between our lands grow ever stronger,

King Alderic Lockhart III of Pentacles

My heart races as a shiny, brand-new plan forms in my mind. It’s bold and reckless, but brand management has taught me the importance of pulling out all the stops and getting ahead of trends for maximum impact.

“This is it.” I turn to Kane, holding the invitation up like a prize. “This is our way into the palace.”

The carriage creaks as the restless horses stomp and grunt. Briggs casts a worried glance in their direction and jogs to their side. He calms the horses, his soothing murmurs floating to us.

“Your plan is to impersonate nobility?” Kane cocks his chin, and Shadow snorts her disagreement.

“You said yourself that Four speaks for the king and has made sure only those he’s approved can gain entry. He approved the ambassador and his wife. What better way to get inside than to pretend we were invited?”

“This risk doesn’t come without consequences.”

“There are consequences to being left in a world that’s not mine. Kane, I’ve almost died more times in the past few days than the rest of my life combined. And you—you’ve been great. For the most part. Well, kind of.”

Kane frowns, and the line between his brows deepens as he clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“And this has been…different from what I normally do and definitely isn’t something I want to repeat.” I pause, gaining control of my thoughts before I blurt out more irrelevant information. “I need to get the Empress, and you need to stop Four. Think about it. We’ll crash the feast. I’ll get my purse and my way back home. You’ll…I don’t know…do whatever it is you’re going to do. In and out. It’ll be simple.” I draw in a deep breath to steady my racing heart. “But I can’t do it without you. I need a Lord Ashwood.”

Shadow nickers and rubs her whiskered muzzle against Kane, her breath stirring his hair.

“See? Even Shadow knows it’ll work. And Briggs will help us. Won’t you, Briggs?” I call to the redhead who’s done a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Of course, miss. I owe you and Sir Kane a life debt.” He frowns. “But you must look the part.”

I glance down at the splatters of mud painting my dress like a Jackson Pollock. I 100 percent get what Briggs means.

With the toe of my boot, I nudge the trunk overflowing with garments fit for nobility. “Dressing the part won’t be an issue.” My gaze lifts to meet Kane and his shoulder-length black waves that make him look as dark and disheveled as Loki.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He stiffens and takes a step back. “I don’t like it.”

A playful smile tugs at my lips. “Let the makeover montage begin.”

Ten

Kane and Briggs move Lord and Lady Ashwood’s bodies, gently lowering them against the base of a pine tree. The breeze softens around us, and with the light trill of birdsong and dappled sunlight filtering down through the canopy, the ambassador of Cups and his wife seem almost at peace.

Kane and Briggs take turns placing pine boughs over the bodies. My eyes burn, and I look up at the swaying branches and blink back my tears. I didn’t know them, but my lungs constrict, tightening with a sorrow I’m only now acknowledging.

The three of us stand together, still as statues around the makeshift memorial, the silence between us heavy with shared sadness. Briggs steps forward, his voice breaking the quiet. “I’ve worked in Lord Ashwood’s stables since I was a boy. He was always kind to me. It was an honor to serve them.”

Next to me, Kane’s words of acknowledgment vibrate through the air, and I feel my lips move, though I’m too lost in my thoughts to know exactly what I say.

While Briggs returns to the carriage, tends to the horses, and reattaches the trunk of belongings, Shadow, Kane, and I pick our way through the forest back to the stone cottage. Shadow clomps along the carpet of ferns and pine cones, twigs snapping beneath her hooves, and Kane guides the mare with an expert hand, ensuring the garments and jewels we took from Lord and Lady Ashwood’s trunk remain secure on top of her saddle.

We don’t have far to go to get back to the cottage. With every step from the grave site, a bit of the weight anchored to my chest and shoulders falls away until I feel almost like myself again.

“Thank you. For what you did back there.”

“It’s my duty to protect the people of Towerfall, no matter which kingdom they call home,” Kane says, matter-of-fact.

“I do appreciate that you keep saving me, but I mean what you did for Briggs. What you did for Lord and Lady Ashwood. It was nice.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“You really are like a knight in shining armor. You seem all broody and bad on the outside, but that’s just to hide your gooey center. I bet your friends would say that you’re the nicest, most dependable of all the warriors.”

“I don’t have friends. Not anymore.” Shadow nickers and shakes her head, her silky black mane swatting him in the cheek. “Except for Shadow here.”

“That can’t be true. I feel like you’re totally—”

“Fawn, do not make the mistake of thinking you can trust anyone within the kingdom.”

His abruptness stings, and I fall silent, the words hanging heavily between us. I can’t help but wonder what’s behind those walls, what keeps him so guarded.

No, Hannah, you don’t care. He’s off-limits for anything more than a good time. Remember that.

“You have to admit,” I say, distracting myself from wanting to rescue a man who is no doubt another terrible mistake, “not listening to you was a really good idea.”

“I suppose Fate does work in mysterious ways.”

“Fate? I don’t think Fate would like being looped in with highwaymen and murder.” I scoff. “But, if Fate does have anything to do with our current situation, it’s about time she did something. To say she owes me considering the absolute bullshit I’ve had to deal with on the relationship front is an understatement.”

“Ah, it seems our Hannah is unlucky in love,” he says, smoothing his hand down Shadow’s sleek black neck.

“Is it that obvious?” I grumble. At this point, my heart has been bruised too many times to count, and I can only blame myself for the choices I keep making.

“When it comes to matters of the heart, not everyone is as skilled as I am.”

“Matters of the heart? Okay, Casanova.” I snort, rolling my eyes. “Saying you don’t want to catch feelings isn’t a skill. It’s typical.”

“Casanova…” He nods, clearly glossing over the fact that being a guy more interested in sex than a relationship makes him just like everyone else. “Another weeping asshole like your Chad.”

The mention of Chad makes my stomach clench. “Two things.” I hold up my hand to tick each point off on my fingers. “One: I do not need or want a man. I’m in my independent expansion era, thank you very much. And two: Chad isn’t mine. Turns out, he never was. And it’s not the first time I’ve had to face those facts.” The last part slips out, and I try to cover the admission with a change of subject. “On a different note, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to quit my job.” I bite the inside of my cheek. Of course, I would choose the second-worst thing to talk about. “Or maybe the silver lining of being magickally dropped into a different realm is the fact that I’ll get fired for randomly disappearing. I’m sure it’ll make Stephanie’s job a lot easier.”

“Stephanie?” Kane’s brow lifts with a question.

“Think of her as another flavor of Chad.”

Snot speckles the ground as Shadow sneezes, punctuating my point.

“I see.” Kane scratches the round tip of the mare’s soft muzzle. “You know, there are ways to ensure you arrive back in your realm at the exact time you left it.”

“How would that work?” I cock my head, mentally sorting through all the pros and cons cycling through my thoughts at once.

Pro: My mother won’t send out a search party when I don’t answer her about the date with the hobbit.

Con: I’ll be back in my life.

Pro: My landlord won’t let my mom, sister, and the police into my apartment to see the abysmal state of things when I’m officially declared a missing person.

Con: I’ll be back in my life…

Shit.

“She won’t like the answer,” Kane says to Shadow.

“Oh, wait. Don’t tell me. It’s magick.” I hold up my hands and wiggle my fingers to add a bit of flair. “So I won’t get fired. At least not because I skipped out on work. Guess I’ll have to face that nightmare of a problem head-on.”

“Shadow and I find it best to face all problems directly.”

We enter the small clearing where the stone cottage sits, as rickety and run-down as when we left.

“Oh yeah? Is that why you’re hiding out in the woods?” I motion to the derelict home up ahead. “I didn’t realize that was the most direct way to solve being banished.”

Shadow snorts, and Kane grumbles a curse. “I have a duty, and banishment won’t keep me from it.”

We reach the ramshackle cottage, its weathered exterior blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest. Kane loops Shadow’s reins around a post and smooths his palm along her neck, his whispers soft and soothing. He unties one of the leather bags attached to either side of the saddle, removes her bridle, and slips the bag of grain over her head. Shadow eagerly dips her muzzle into the bag and starts to munch.

“How long have you had her?” I ask, reaching up to take Lord Ashwood’s clothes from where they’re draped over the saddle.

“I found her.” Kane pauses as if choosing his words carefully. “About five years ago. She was just a foal then, abandoned and injured. We were returning from a hunt near the border of the kingdom when I heard her cries.

“It took a while to gain her trust, but eventually, I managed to free her. She was weak, starving. I took her to the palace stables and nursed her back to health. We’ve been together ever since.”

“She’s lucky to have you.” I try to block out the starry-eyed pang of admiration I have for Kane and run my fingers along the jacket thrown over the saddle, silver threads stitched in a pattern of cresting waves.

Kane shrugs, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches the mare. “I’m the lucky one. She’s saved my life more times than I can count. There’s a loyalty in animals not found in people.”

A comfortable silence drifts between us—a little too comfortable—and I rush to fill it. “Even with this on, you won’t look anything like a lord,” I tease and motion to the jacket, the corners of my mouth twitching with a grin.

“Thank you,” Kane says, patting Shadow while she munches on her snack.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Those born with royal blood don’t work with their hands. They don’t defend nor protect.” Kane’s dark gaze meets mine, intense and unflinching. “They don’t know how to do a great many things that I know.”

“Like what?” I ask, my fingers clutching the velvet.

A shriek pierces through the forest. I flinch as an owl’s mottled gray-brown wings slice the air above me. Kane reacts swiftly and sweeps his arm around my waist. Before I fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s pushed me under the safety of the sagging porch roof. My back meets the cottage door’s rough wood, and I clutch the jacket against my chest as his body shields mine from whatever dangers lurk within the trees. The sudden closeness, the warmth of him, the subtle scent of woodsmoke and pine that clings to him merge and send a rush of heat through my limbs.

“I can show you what I know.” His words caress my hair.

My heart skips, then races, pounding rapidly against my ribs. “I’m always up for learning something new.”

“That’s right.” That delicious grin returns, and I want to trace my tongue across its arch. “How could I forget what a quick study you are, Little Fawn?”

A pet name has never sounded so good as it does on his lips. I feel myself rise, lifting onto my tiptoes, drawn to him like a magnet to steel.

“Fawn…” His voice is a warm caress against my mouth.

“Yes…” I reply, barely a whisper, anticipation pulsing through me.

“We don’t have much time.”

I blink and ground my feet firmly back onto the creaky wooden decking. Thankfully the laces of my dress aren’t that tight. If they were, I would have swooned.

You’re independent and autonomous, Hannah. Not hoping some guy who’s made it clear he’s emotionally unavailable will kiss you. The reminder hits like a splash of cold water, and Kane’s warning runs through my thoughts.

Do not make the mistake of thinking you can trust anyone within the kingdom.

But why do I feel like I can trust him?

He opens the creaking door and steps inside, completely unaware of the battle that wages within me between the desperate and stuck past version of myself I’m trying to get away from and the new and much improved woman I am running toward headlong. Unfortunately, it’s starting to feel like one of them would be having much more fun than the other.

We haven’t been gone long, but as I step inside the snug hideout, I already feel like a different person than who I was when I first arrived. I know what’s happening and what I need to get home. More than that, I know falling into bed with Kane Blackthorne won’t solve any of my problems.

I trail my fingers along my waist and the soft gold scar that rests beneath the fabric of my dress. Kane has saved me more times than I’d like to admit, but I’m not helpless.

Okay, maybe when I first landed in Towerfall and was attacked by that mob, I was helpless, but I’m not anymore. I can contribute to this journey as much as he can. More even. Like at Posh Pulse, I bring the ideas and the clarity of action. I know how to create a brand. I can dream up a campaign that would sell rocks to a quarry, sunglasses during winter to that town in Alaska where the sun literally does not shine. I turn hot garbage into the garbage people think they need. And Kane is way more appealing than hot garbage.

He heads out of the cottage to gather the rest of the clothes from Shadow’s saddle, and I say to his back, “I can help you too, you know.”

Arms overflowing with lace and powder-blue velvet, he tilts his chin. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Okay, so…” I begin, pacing around the small living room area like I’m back home in my studio apartment coming up with a new marketing strategy. “Sure, there are a lot of things in Towerfall that I’m not familiar with, but there is one thing I do know. And that’s branding.”

“Branding?” he asks, dumping the clothes and bag of jewels onto the chair in front of the fireplace.

“It’s like a vibe or signature style.”

He blinks down at me, confusion furrowing his brow.

“I really wish you would stop looking at me like that.” I hand him Lord Ashwood’s jacket and tap my nail against my chin. Coming up with a way to define branding without mentioning marketing, ads, or tech is more difficult than I realized. “Branding is basically about creating a unique picture that sticks with people. When you think of the Kingdom of Pentacles, what comes to mind?”

“I am its protector and—”

“No, no, no. I mean, yes, but that’s not what I’m looking for. So, when I think of my favorite coffee shop, I picture their cozy leather chairs, the warmth of their chunky, oversize mugs, the books that line the walls…” I close my eyes, lost in the memory of braving the windy Chicago winter to use their Wi-Fi to finish my term papers. “The smell of the from-scratch zucchini muffins they’re always baking, the jazzy music that’s just loud enough to drown out all the chatter…”

I take a deep breath, practically able to fill my lungs with the nutty caramel scents of my favorite latte. “Branding is about evoking a feeling. It’s about making whatever you’re selling unforgettable. About making people want to keep coming back for more. Does that make sense?”

Kane stares at me, his gaze so deep and black that I feel like I’m falling.

He remains silent, glancing down at the jacket in his hands. With an exasperated sigh, I pluck the dress from the chair and turn to search for some modicum of privacy.

“When I think of Pentacles, I think of honor and duty. The vast forests that stretch beyond the horizon. I think of the clear, cold rivers that wind through the land. Rolling hills and fields of grain. The Tower that has stood guard for centuries over its people—the families who have lived and loved and fought for this land for generations.” His gaze lifts to meet mine, and I see something there that wasn’t before. It’s as if a wall has cracked, letting a sliver of light through.

I swallow, my throat tight. “I understand why you want to protect it.”

He nods. “And I will do anything, hurt anyone, in order to keep it safe.”

“Then let’s make you look like a lord.” I motion to the tangled black waves resting on his shoulders. “Starting with your hair.”

He rubs his thumb against the rough pad of his forefinger. “I don’t suppose arguing will get me anywhere.”

“Admit it. You know this is an argument you wouldn’t win.” I step into the tiny kitchen and rifle through the cabinets. Amid the clutter, I find a rusted pair of shears. They’re not great, but they’ll do the trick.

My years at Posh Pulse haven’t just been about navigating the intricacies of brand management; it’s also about understanding the power of presentation. And countless evenings lost in the worlds of Bridgerton, The Tudors, Outlander, and every other ye-olden-days shows I can stream through my sister’s accounts have given me a clear blueprint of exactly how to transform Kane into the epitome of nobility.

I remove the stool from under the wooden table still covered in the breadcrumbs and egg-crusted pan from our earlier meal and motion for him to sit.

“I never admit defeat.” He tosses the jacket over the back of the chair and strides over.

Kane stiffens as I comb my fingers through his thick hair. It falls loosely around his face, rugged and untamed. It looks windblown and wild, and I wonder what it would feel like damp with sweat.

“Relax,” I murmur, more to soothe myself than him.

My fingers work through the tangles, and the tension in his shoulders starts to melt away.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little,” I admit, my lips quirking into a grin. “Only because I used to cut the neighborhood kids’ hair to make extra money to go on the high school senior trip to Venice. It’s this city built on water.”

“Why would anyone build a city on water?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, snipping away at the tangled waves. “I never got enough money together to make the trip.”

Black tendrils drift to the floor, revealing more of his striking features—his sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and his intense eyes that seem to swallow the light. As I work, it’s like a mood board comes together in my mind, and I take inspiration pictures pasted behind my eyes to craft Kane into Lord Ashwood, the ambassador of Cups.

As I finish the last few cuts, I step back to admire my work. His hair is shorter now, more structured, slightly longer on the top and with neatly tapered sides. He looks every bit the lord, regal and commanding.

“It’s amazing what a simple haircut can accomplish,” I say, in near disbelief with the change I’ve managed to create.

Kane rises from the stool, running a hand through his newly cut hair. “Not bad.”

“I know.” I grin with a rush of pride. “It’ll all come together once you’ve changed and put the eye patch on.”

“Would you like me to do so outside to protect your modesty?” he asks, a wicked smile creasing the corners of his eyes.

I shake my head and toss the velvet jacket to him. “Just turn around.”

“First…”

My cheeks betray me, flashing pink as he approaches and encircles me with his strong arms. Like he’s done it a hundred times, his fingers easily find the laces tied behind my back. With one motion, he unties the dress, and it loosens around my shoulders.

“Seems like you have a lot of practice.”

The fabric slides down my chest, and Kane catches it before it reveals my breasts. “I’m good with my hands.”

I’m captured in the pull of his gaze, my fingers thoughtlessly skipping over the rough ridges of his knuckles as I take hold of the dress.

“Remember, Fawn,” he begins, “a lady of Ashwood’s status will hold herself with poise and grace. Shoulders back…” With gentle pressure, he guides me to stand taller, his hands warm against my shoulders. “Chin slightly lifted.” His fingertips whisper against my neck. He presses into my jaw, and I tilt my head.

“Anything else?” I murmur, clutching the dress close as goose bumps rise along my skin.

He steps back, breaking the spell that wove itself around me and held me close. “Be a good girl and get dressed. More lessons will come.”

“Right,” I manage to respond, my heart racing as I reel myself in from making a mistake I couldn’t take back. “We’re running out of time.”

Eleven

The carriage creaks and bounces, jostling along the uneven path. Kane sits across from me dressed in the former Lord Ashwood’s attire—a midnight-blue jacket and a pair of black breeches that cling to him in all the right places, complete with polished leather boots and a silver-threaded cape. With his hair cut and combed back and Lord Ashwood’s navy eye patch at the ready, those within the palace won’t suspect he’s anyone else. I finally get how Clark Kent tricked all those people into believing he wasn’t Superman.

Kane adjusts his cloak, fastened with the same diamond-encrusted goblet-shaped buttons as his jacket. “We must talk about what happens once we’re inside the palace.”

I nod, fixing my own silk cloak as it slides down one shoulder. “I’ll make some excuse to slip away, find the room I was in, and search for my purse. If I don’t find it—”

“I am far less concerned with you finding your belongings and more concerned with your…personality getting us found out the moment we step foot inside the palace.”

“Oh.” I deflate. “I didn’t realize my personality was such shit. Although I suppose it would explain a lot.”

“It’s not. I assure you.” A soft smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “You’re unconventional. It’s intriguing.”

I brace myself as another ridiculous blush spreads up my neck and across my cheeks.

“As well as maddening.”

I frown.

“However, a lady of Ashwood’s station would never be so brazen. And your speech—”

“What’s wrong with the way I talk?” I’m instantly defensive, although I already know, and Briggs even called out that I don’t sound like I’m from around here. “Never mind,” I grumble. “Go on.”

“As Lady Ashwood, you don’t speak only for yourself. You’re an extension of your husband and the Kingdom of Cups. Choose your words carefully, and listen more than you speak.”

I fold my hands in my lap. “I’m assuming you can say whatever you want, whenever you want, and however you want.”

“I’m a man.” Kane leans back against the padded wall. He takes up more space than I thought possible, his presence even more commanding in the carriage.

“You definitely are.” The words slip out. “But don’t worry. I’ve binged a lot of period dramas.” I correct my posture and hold up my hand, pinky out, as if I’m sipping tea. “My dear Lord Ashwood, I do understand how to conduct myself as a lady of the court.”

A smirk twitches across his lips. “Start with staying upright, Fawn. I’ll do the rest.”

I settle back against the bench, dropping my princess-like posture for the twenty-first century slump and twirl my thumbs one over the other.

You’re literally twiddling your thumbs, Hannah.

I flatten my palms against my velvet skirts. I haven’t ever gone this long without my phone.

What do people do with all this free time? And what am I supposed to do with my hands?

Kane shifts along the bench, and his long legs brush against mine, sending a pulse of unexpected warmth through me. I steal a glance at him, taking in the broad line of his shoulders and the depth of his dark eyes while he stares out the window. I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind right now, what secrets lie beneath that stoic facade.

His attention falls to my hands, and it takes me a minute to realize that I’m tapping my fingers against my thighs like I’m keeping time with the clip-clop of horse hooves.

He draws in a breath and releases it before asking, “Do you not know how to hold your hands still?”

“I’m used to having a phone,” I say, tugging at the collar of my cloak. “I’ve had one since fifth grade.”

He rubs his stubbled jaw. “And what is this phone you seem so anxious without?”

“It makes calls, connects people, entertains them, but it’s more than that. My whole life is in my phone. Everyone’s, really. We’re all dependent on them.”

He looks at me for so long, I’m afraid there’s snot hanging from my nose.

“You do understand your life is here?” He gestures to the carriage, to the fields outside the broken window. “It’s happening now.”

“Yeah, of course.” My gaze drifts to the landscape, the rolling hills and distant forests, the vastness of the world I’ve fallen into. This isn’t just some weird parallel universe I can escape from. This is my life now.

The realization is slow, creeping in around the edges of my thoughts. My phone, my world back home, all the things I’ve clung to—they don’t matter here. They can’t save me from whatever comes next.

I fist my skirts in my hands. “I’m just used to doing something with my hands.”

He shifts closer, the warmth of his body radiating between us. “I’m sure I could think of something for you to do with your hands, Little Fawn.”

My chest tightens, and my toes curl inside my soft satin slippers. “Are you sure that’s befitting a lady of the court?”

“It seems you don’t know much about ladies of the court.” His voice is low and teasing, and I decide to play along.

“Will that be part of my expected duty in the palace? Using my hands?”

“If you’d like it to be,” he says, his gaze dipping to my fingers, “I won’t say no.”

“You know, you really are the worst.” I try to sound annoyed but fail to hide the smile tugging at my lips.

“You’re the one who continues to bring up such topics. It is not my fault you are so drawn to me.”

“Drawn to you? Seriously? I’m not drawn to you.” Like I’m proving a point, I close the open cloak, hiding any bit of skin. “And I do not keep bringing anything up!”

He tilts his chin, his mouth moving in a sly half smile. “Are you sure there is not one thing you’ve brought to attention?”

Kane is good at this sexy, roguish game, I’ll give him that. Maybe I could even be the one to change his ways—make him fall for me, make him think with his heart and not with his cock—but I should know by now that there’s no changing a man like him. If I want to play this game, I have to remember the rules: it’s only our bodies, never our hearts. Knowing me, I’ll fuck it up and end up actually falling for this literal battle-scarred warrior.

I make a point to look everywhere within the carriage except at him. The walls are lined with light-gray velvet padding, and small silver sconces are positioned on each side of the curved interior. My fingers start to fidget with my dress again, and I clench and unclench them, unable to find a comfortable position.

“Enough fidgeting or I really will tell you what to do with your idle hands.” His tone is firm, dominant, and makes my heart skip. A shiver races along my spine, and a flush of heat blooms in my cheeks. I bite my lip, trying to hide the rush of unexpected anticipation coursing through me, but the way my body responds is all too clear.

Kane watches me, and a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. “Would you like that, Fawn?”

He covers both my hands with one of his, and my stomach flutters.

I can’t force myself to say no, and I won’t let myself say yes. The air between us thickens with the unspoken words resting on my tongue.

Say it, Hannah. Tell him what you want.

My lips part, but no words come out.

I need him to do it, to take control.

He tilts his chin, his eyes narrowing, assessing. “Oh, I see now, Fawn. I know what you need from me.”

I swallow, my pulse racing. Every fiber of my being screams for me to close the gap between us, but I can’t move.

I clear my throat. “You couldn’t possibly.”

“Couldn’t I?” His thumb strokes the back of my hand, sending tingles thrumming up my arm. “You need me to hold the reins, Little Fawn. You cannot speak your desires,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “You cannot ask to have them filled.”

I’m tense, every muscle in my body coiled tight as Kane lifts my hand from my lap.

“But I am a consummate instructor. The only thing I need from you is to be willing.”

My fingers ache with the desire to feel him, explore, and I’m nearly breathless fantasizing about all the places he might want to touch me too. “Like you, I won’t say no.”

That sinful smile is back. “You’ll be a good girl and listen to my every command?”

I keep my nod small and nonchalant, but who am I kidding? Kane can see right through my armor of indifference cracking at the seams.

“Shall we test your listening skills?” He guides my hand closer to him, toward his lap, toward his cock.

My teeth dig into my lower lip, and I lean closer, my breath quickening. This is one test I desperately want to pass.

But instead of pressing my palm to the thick, hard heat of him, he gently places my hand in the crook of his arm. The unexpected tenderness catches me off guard, and I gulp. We sit like that while we ride, the rhythmic motion of the carriage lulling us into charged silence.

Warmth ripples from him, his scent of pine and woodsmoke curling around me, and I find myself leaning into him, seeking more of that warmth, more of him. But there’s a twinge of disappointment that lingers, a yearning for something more, something I shouldn’t want but do despite the warning bells.

“Kane,” I start, cutting through the quiet, “why do you need to get back into the palace? What exactly are you going to do to Four once you find him?”

He averts his gaze once more, his attention drawn to the broken panes of glass and the rolling hills beyond blanketed in a patchwork of vibrant green meadows and deep-purple coneflowers that sway in the gentle breeze.

“You can’t ignore me,” I say, my voice firm. “We’re trapped in this carriage together, and you’re partly responsible for that.” I move my hand from the crook of his arm and grab his knee to get his attention.

My heart skips as the charcoal depths of his black eyes settle on mine.

“Kane, I can’t help you—we can’t help each other—if you don’t tell me your whole plan. I’ve shown mine. It’s your turn to show yours.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. His gaze slides down and fixes where my palm rests on his knee. Then, with a gentle touch, he lifts my hand, turning it over to trace the faint lines and creases of my palm with his fingertips. I should pull away, but his touch sends a wave of electricity coursing through me that keeps my brain from sending my body the right signals.

“It is best if you don’t know all the details of my plan. I wouldn’t want to bring you down with me.”

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

His fingers trail up my wrist, ghosting over the delicate pattern of veins beneath my pale skin, igniting a fire deep within me that burns hotter with each passing second. “I’m going to recover what’s mine.”

“And what’s yours?” I breathe.

“We all have our secrets, Fawn.”

True, but why do I feel like I have way fewer than he does?

His touch lingers on me, his fingers tracing slow hypnotic circles against the crease of my elbow, and a shiver of pleasure ripples through my core.

“It’s nice to know we’re both using each other. That way, no one gets hurt.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m using you,” he counters. “I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial partnership.”

“We’re partners now?”

He continues to caress my skin as he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Actually, Lady Ashwood,” he murmurs, “I do believe we’re married.”

The tension between us is palpable, a fog-inducing pull that I can’t ignore and, right now, don’t want to.

He glides his hand up the bare expanse of my shoulder. His fingers trail along the delicate curve of my collarbone, and my heart beats heavy in my chest, fire burning along the pathway of his touch. Along the column of my throat, he lingers, and another wave of heat flushes my cheeks.

“You can’t distract me,” I manage to say, though the words come out a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “There’s something more you’re not telling me. I’ll find out what you’re hiding.”

“Will you?” His lips curve into a smile, a hint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes as he leans even closer, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “How long do you think we’ll have to pretend to be married before we both recover what’s ours?”

I swallow hard, unable to tear myself away. “Not long.”

“But one night for sure,” he continues, his gaze locked with mine in silent challenge.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s possible.” My cheeks flush crimson under his dark gaze, and I have to remind myself of my mantra.

Expansion and autonomy…evolution and independence… Expansion and autonomy…evolution and independence.

Do not think you can change him and get him to care about you. It’s a waste of the little time you’ll be here.

His thumb grazes over my bottom lip. My willpower dissolves like sugar in the rain as my lips part, and I draw in a shaky breath, the air heavy with the intoxicating scent of forest and smoke.

My tongue flicks out instinctively, catching the tip of his thumb, and I can’t help but marvel at the way his smile deepens, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Do you like the way I taste?” His voice vibrates throughout the tight interior, and I shiver. “Taste me again, Little Fawn.” He slides his thumb into my mouth. I wrap my tongue around him like he’s made of salted honey. “There’s my good girl,” he says, and I don’t realize my eyes are closed until his lips are on my neck, his mouth having a taste of its own.

“You like it.” His breath sears my neck. “Tell me you like it.”

A breathy moan escapes me, and my hand once again finds his knee, slides up his thigh.

Kane grabs my wrist. “Good girls listen and are patient.” He forces my hand down by my side. “And you’re my good girl, aren’t you, Fawn?”

Yes. The word is there on my tongue as it slides around his thumb. Make me your good girl.

The carriage stops so abruptly, I slam back against the padded wall. Eyes open and wide, I press my palms to my flaming cheeks. All at once, the reasonable and sensible parts of my brain are shaken loose. My good sense tumbles through my limbs, and I close up like a clam.

Expansion and autonomy…evolution and independence… Expansion and autonomy…evolution and independence, I remind myself. Although I really should have taken the hint a few minutes ago.

Kane ties Lord Ashwood’s eye patch around his head and glances out the window, unaffected, as if our interaction never happened.

We can’t get to the palace and out of this carriage soon enough. My cheeks won’t stop burning, now out of embarrassment instead of desire.

Commotion filters in through the broken glass, a crash of shouts and angry voices.

We’re in front of the palace. Its towering stone walls and spires capped with gleaming golden finials reach for the clouds. The front courtyard is paved with cobblestones worn smooth by years of footsteps and sealed off by wrought gates too tall and spiked to climb. Beyond the fence teems a mob of villagers, some with literal pitchforks in hand.

“How dare you feast while we starve!” shouts someone from the crowd.

I peek out through the curtains and brace myself. The townspeople cry out in agreement, their clothes tattered and dirty. Children with dirt-smudged cheeks cling to their parents, their eyes wide and searching with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

My palms are sweaty, and I have to press my hands into my knees to keep them from shaking. The last time I was here, these people branded me a witch and tried to kill me. But today, their gazes meet mine with a different kind of scrutiny. I’m no longer an outsider threatening them with evil magicks. I bring a different kind of pain—entitlement and wealth. The 1 percent who are clean and well-fed and wanting for nothing while having the means to help but not the willingness.

The jewels and velvets and silks will help me get into the palace, but it’s not where I belong. I don’t belong out here with them either. I’m from another realm entirely, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed out of college, I wanted to use my degree to benefit others, work for a nonprofit, make a real difference in the world. Then real life intervened and burst my bubble.

Kane draws the curtains together, leaving only a slender beam of light that stains the air between us. I shift, suddenly uncomfortable and all too aware of the fact that we’re in this dark and shadowed space alone together.

“Fawn—”

I interrupt him before he can continue, the words tumbling out in a rush. “That was a mistake. What happened before. Between us.”

“You don’t believe that.” His voice is a low hum that threatens to pull me back in.

“Kane, you have no idea what I believe or what I want. Or rather, don’t want,” I bite out, choosing anger instead of desire. “The only thing you can give me is a way into the palace.”

He doesn’t have a chance to retort, our exchange cut short by Briggs’s commanding shout from his seat outside on the elevated perch: “Let us through!”

There’s a surge of voices and a thundering of fists on the outside of the carriage. I wrap my arms around my middle as it buoys back and forth, creaking and swaying under the pressure of the crowd.

“What do they want?” I shout to Kane.

“To survive.”

Before I can ask more questions, the carriage lurches to one side. I grab onto the seat, my fingers digging into the leather. The carriage tips farther, and I close my eyes, feeling myself lose my grip and the ground slip away from beneath the wheels. Panic squeezes my stomach, and the sharp sting of bile claws up my throat.

“Hold on!” Kane wraps his strong arm around me. He pulls me close and braces himself against the shifting weight. The carriage shudders, the crowd growing louder, more frenzied. Fighting against the lurching carriage and the relentless push of the mob, Kane maneuvers us away from the shattered window and back toward the center of the seat.

The carriage finally breaks through the crowd. It slams back down onto four wheels and rolls unsteadily toward the palace. The noise fades, replaced by hooves on cobblestone as we pass through the wrought iron gates.

“The ambassador of Cups and his wife. The esteemed Lord and Lady Ashwood,” Briggs shouts over the diminishing roar of the townspeople.

“Are you ready, Lady Ashwood?” Kane asks, adjusting his eye patch.

A storm of doubt thunders between my ears along with the frenetic beat of my heart.

“Of course,” I say, summoning my polished and confident brand-management persona who won over the senior VP of Posh Pulse while shoving from my mind the fact that when it mattered, I completely caved. This time will be different. This time, my performance will be flawless. After all, I’ve come this far. I’ve survived being stabbed and an attempted carriage jacking. If I have any hope of getting back home, I have to get inside the palace walls, be the perfect Lady Ashwood, and find the Empress tarot card.

As I mentally prepare myself, my gaze betrays me and wanders over Kane—along the bow of his lips, down his chiseled jaw, thick shoulders, and muscular arms. My body remembers his touch and aches to be molded beneath his strong hands. I wet my lips and swallow the last taste of him.

Shit, I groan inwardly. Hannah, there’s no way you’re getting out of this in one piece.

Twelve

The warm glow of candlelight envelops us as Kane and I step through the palace’s towering wooden doors, my stomach churning like I just downed a can of whipped cream. My satin slippers whisper against the polished marble inlaid with a golden pentagram as wide as the grand entryway.

“Lord and Lady Ashwood,” the steward greets us, smooth and practiced. “Welcome to the Kingdom of Pentacles.” He folds his tall thin frame into a deep bow, his fluff of white hair lifting like feathers with the sweeping motion.

Kane’s gaze doesn’t falter. He glares straight ahead, over the top of the steward and the flurry of maids who rush to remove our cloaks and whisk them away before disappearing as quickly as they arrived.

I have to remember who I’m supposed to be. Lady Ashwood wouldn’t gape at the candelabra standing tall on ornately carved golden pedestals or the flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the rich golds and deep jewel tones that make up the luxurious tapestries lining the smooth stone walls. No, to Lady Ashwood, this would all be normal. To Lady Ashwood, this would be expected and not the most opulent, richly decorated place she’s ever been inside.

“His Majesty, King Alderic Lockhart the Third, is honored by your presence at this evening’s feast.” The steward’s posture is impeccable as his gloved hands tug on the maroon waistcoat beneath his jacket. “Please, allow me to escort you to your quarters, where you may refresh yourselves after your long”—he pauses, taking in my frizzy mane and crooked smile—“and no doubt trying journey.”

Fucking doormen.

“You’ll excuse the intrusion, my lord, but have we met before?” The steward’s wrinkled face crinkles like tissue as he peers up at Kane. “You look incredibly familiar.”

“No,” Kane replies without looking at the man.

“Hmm,” the steward murmurs, his lips pursed. “Forgive the imposition.” With a graceful bow and gesture that beckons we follow, he turns and leads us deeper into the palace.

Kane crooks his arm and holds out his elbow. I grasp it, and this time I don’t notice the solid iron heat beneath my fingers, the sudden ripple of awareness that whispers through me with the simple nearness of him, or the way my body wants to pull him closer. I don’t notice any of those things at all.

I am a strong, independent woman. I don’t want a man. Especially this emotionally unavailable, dangerous…dark…brooding…muscular…

“Shit,” I breathe, heat climbing up my cheeks.

The steward whips around, his thinning hair waving with the turn. “Pardon, my lady?”

“Nothing, I’m sor—” Before the automatic apology fully escapes me, I clamp my mouth shut. “I have been told of a grand hallway within the palace that boasts the most extraordinary glass dragonflies.”

I let the unasked question linger as if I truly am Lady Ashwood, deserving of information whether I explicitly request it or not.

“Ah, yes, my lady has been informed correctly. I must say, I am proud the beauty of our palace has reached your kingdom. The Palace of Pentacles boasts several grand hallways. The Hall of Crystal Wings, which my lady speaks of, the Hall of Mirrors, the great Gallery Hall, and a newly constructed hall reserved specifically for His Royal Majesty, King Lockhart the Third.”

Without another word, he spins on his heels, his wisps of hair flouncing with every purposeful step.

Kane is as cool and calm as always, his heavy footsteps echoing off the floor as the steward leads us deeper into the palace, but I’ve clasped my free hand into a fist so tight, my knuckles blanch white.

Sensing my tension, Kane smooths his fingers over mine. “You’re doing well.”

It’s obvious I didn’t make it through much of the palace when I frantically escaped Kane as we follow the steward through never-ending corridors and past dark wood tables covered in floral bouquets that line the tapestry-draped walls.

This place is a maze. Each turn makes me feel like we’re venturing deeper into a trap with no escape.

You’ll never find your way back to that bedroom. You’ll never find your way out of here.

“Fawn, you’re trembling.”

“Am I?” My mind races, trying to recall a mental marker that will lead me back to the room I first landed in. “I just need to find the Crystal Wings Hall. I’ll be able to retrace my steps from there.”

Kane slows his pace, increasing the distance between us and the steward. “We will find your way home,” he whispers. “Our task now is to fit in, make them believe we are who we pretend to be.”

“You’re right.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweetness of fresh flowers and beeswax candles. I tilt my head back and exhale, trying to surface from the depths of my racing thoughts.

Gilded moldings soar above, framing the velvety deep-maroon ceiling crowned with chandeliers that scatter the candlelight like a thousand sunrises against the crimson backdrop.

Up ahead, the steward notices how far we’re trailing behind and stops. “Is something the matter, my lord?”

“Do not dawdle, Lady Ashwood,” Kane says, morphing into my noble husband. “They’ll think us impolite.”

I quicken my pace, taking two steps for every one of Kane’s as his broad strides bring us to the steward’s back. There’s a flash of something familiar, a fleeting image in my periphery that tugs at my memory.

I stop, dropping Kane’s arm. “What’s down that hall?” I ask, trying to place the tall gold statue in my scattered panicked memories of first arriving in the palace. Then again, what portion of the palace isn’t filled with gold?

“The ballroom, my lady,” the steward replies without missing a step.

“Anything else?” I ask, desperation raising my voice.

“Would my lady be interested in a tour of the palace?”

“That would be amazing,” I say, a little too eagerly. But this could be my chance. If I can get back to the hall with the dragonflies, I’m sure I can find my way from there.

Kane clears his throat, his gaze narrowing with a silent warning.

Fawn…

I hear the nickname he gave me stretched into a reprimand, a curse, as though we’ve known each other for months instead of days.

I clear my throat, adopting a more Ambassador-ess of Cups-like demeanor. “That is to say, I would very much like to explore the palace further.”

The steward nods, his hair following a moment later as if he’s glitching in real life. “I shall arrange a tour for my lady to take place before it is time to dress for dinner.”

I glide my fingers along the thick banister draped in flowing waterfalls of carmine and cream silk while we follow him up a grand staircase. Each step is coated in plush crimson fibers that swallow all sound and evidence we were ever there. This place is so big, but so quiet, so empty. The tick of a distant clock echoes throughout the second floor, a steady reminder that every moment that passes is another away from home.

We turn down a hallway as opulent as the videos my favorite travelers post of their lavish stays in five-star hotels. I force myself to take a deep inhale of the floral-perfumed hall as my hands stir restlessly by my side, itching for the weight of my phone. I want to take pictures, capture this moment forever, and use it as inspiration when I’m back home fighting for my job.

I blink, caught off guard by my own thoughts. Maybe I won’t slink off into the shadows of unemployment like a dying cat. Maybe there’s a chance I can go back to Posh Pulse. Although I’d rather have my period every day for a year than face the embarrassment of working for Stephanie.

It was bad enough when we were supposed to be equals. Now that she nailed the pitch and landed the office, she’ll be insufferable. With a flick of her perfectly manicured nails, she’ll dismiss my ideas with a condescending smile and add a passive-aggressive jab that I won’t be able to address outright without looking overly emotional.

Fucking Stephanie.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound of the clock is relentless, our steps noiseless against the thick carpeting. I miss the buzz of notifications, the comfort of scrolling through socials, matching colorful boxes to win meaningless trophies, or reading just enough of an article to send me into a spiral before being locked out by a paywall. Without it, I’m alone with just me, myself, and I. And we are easily anxious and not always nice to one another.

I need my fucking phone.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Instead of a comforting, predictable metronome, the repetitive ticking puts me on edge as we pass one ornately carved wooden door after another. Doors I don’t need to see the other side of. I wasn’t upstairs before. I was downstairs. Somewhere near the crystal wings.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The incessant ticking adds a thundering beat to the storm of thoughts crashing between my ears. My palms are clammy, the air around us suddenly turning to soup. I can’t tell if it’s smothering me or I’m smothering myself, but with no escaping my own thoughts, I’m on the edge of a panic attack.

“I have figured it out!” The steward halts so abruptly, I nearly smack into his back. “Lord Ashwood, your parents came many years ago to visit King Alderic Lockhart the Second. You were only a boy, but that must be why you appear so familiar.”

Every muscle in Kane’s body tightens. “No, I don’t believe I made the journey to Pentacles until now.”

“Yes, I remember it clearly. I have a way with faces, you see.” The steward beams, his chest puffed like he’s just solved the crime of the century.

“No, I’m sure you’re mistaken.” Kane shakes his head and readjusts his eye patch.

My stomach clenches, and I plaster on a smile so fake, even I know it’s a grimace as the steward’s eyes narrow, his memory working overtime to place Kane’s face.

Desperate for any distraction, I suck in a breath like it’s my last and rush to fill the empty space with the first thing that pops into my head. “We ran into highwaymen on our journey here.”

The steward presses his hand to his chest and takes a step away, concern deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. “Please do not say my lady’s harrowing misadventure occurred within our great kingdom.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Kane presses his palm to the small of my back. His wordless reprimand is palpable, his dark eyes seeming to cover my mouth before I can say more. “I’m sure Lady Ashwood would not enjoy reliving our experience.”

“Yes, it really wasn’t that big of a deal,” I add, hurrying to downplay the encounter. “Lord Ashwood and I got a little muddy. My hair sort of…” I lift a limp, frizzy section off my shoulder and waggle it in front of my face. “Well, it’s doing what it’s doing.” I chuckle, my attempt at a joke falling flatter than Stephanie’s ass. “Nothing a quick wash won’t fix.”

The words keep tumbling out of my mouth like Legos, and each time I try to pick them up, I step on them instead.

“A nice scrub-a-dub-dub.” I wince and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from rambling on.

The steward’s gauzy hair fans the air as he tilts his head. “I will inform the king immediately of the ne’er-do-wells. They will be apprehended and punished immediately.”

Kane takes a step forward. “That isn’t necessary.”

“It really isn’t,” I chime in. “Lord Ashwood dealt with them quite thoroughly.” I chew my bottom lip, the stress of what I might have put into motion tumbling around in my stomach.

In my line of work, I’ve learned that nothing distracts like gossip. And, sure, I may not have any, but I know how to sound like I do.

“Actually…” With an exaggerated lean, I whisper to the steward, hoping to distract him from my previous attempt at distraction. “My husband is very good with a sword. If you know what I mean.”

Kane coughs a warning I ignore. “I believe our young driver, Briggs, had more to do with our escape than I.”

“Don’t be modest.” I pat the warm steel of Kane’s bicep and turn my attention back to the steward. “You should have seen Lord Ashwood wield his weapon and take down the assailants. It was terrifying.”

Kane’s onyx gaze presses down on me, pinning me to the spot, until all I see is him. A shadow falls across his sharp features, one that looks a bit like regret, and I have to stop myself from touching his stubbled cheek, from telling him everything will be okay.

“And when I say ‘terrifying,’” I begin, my mouth going dry as a bit of softness shines within the inky spill of Kane’s eyes, “I mean in a strong and…and virile sort of way.”

The softness is gone, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

I clear my throat and brush my hair from my shoulders, turning back to the steward. “Point being that Lord Ashwood is the reason we are still alive.”

“Unfortunately, my lady, I am not extremely surprised by the incident.” The steward shakes his head, and we continue walking. This time, he leans in conspiratorially, returning my silent offer to talk just between friends. “There has been an uptick in crime as of late. The people have grown increasingly restless since the king’s death.”

“But Pentacles has a king, doesn’t it?” I ask.

“Yes, His Majesty King Alderic Lockhart the Third now holds the throne, but has only done so since the last harvest not but six months ago. His Majesty’s father, King Alderic Lockhart the Second, ruled for twenty-five years. Our new king, long may he reign, has made many changes within the kingdom since his father’s death, changes the villagers and those within the surrounding fiefdoms do not agree with. Although they are a simple people.”

“What kinds of changes?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Well, my lady, it all began with—”

“Must we discuss politics?” Kane interjects, and I can’t tell whether he’s being himself or Lord Ashwood.

Either way, he startles the steward, and knowing he revealed too much, the older man stiffens and gives a quick shake of his head. “I beg your forgiveness, my lady. It is not my place to make such statements nor have such opinions. Besides, I should not wish to take up my lady’s time with these trivial matters.”

“You think the villagers starving to be a trivial matter?” Kane asks.

The steward takes a deep breath, his only tell the slight flare of his nostrils. “I’m sure I do not have an opinion on the matter, my lord.”

“I see.” Kane’s mouth tightens.

“Well.” The steward claps, changing the subject. “I am relieved to know my lord and lady made it through the ordeal unscathed. As for His Majesty, he knows of everything that occurs within his kingdom. Were I to do as you request, Lord Ashwood, and not inform him, he would discover the event regardless.”

I fall back into step next to the steward as he continues to lead us toward our room, his hair fluttering with each glance at me over his stiff squared shoulders. “How does King Lockhart find out about everything within the kingdom? Does it have to do with palace intrigue and a network of spies?”

After winding through the palace’s sumptuous hallways, the steward stops before a grand set of double doors. A pentacle is carved into the wood, stretching from the floor to meet the top of the arched doorway.

“Nothing so scandalous, my lady. Although it is rather beguiling.” The steward removes an ornate gold key from his pocket and waves it in the air, adding a flourish to his statement. A smile lights his face, softening the years worn into his features, and he leans closer, his whisper meant to be a secret shared only between us. “King Lockhart has a gift. The gift of sight.”

“The gift of sight?” I repeat, my fingers gliding over the silken scar beneath my layers of clothing. “Sight, like fortune-telling? Can King Lockhart use his magick to see the future?”

Behind me, Kane stiffens, tension shooting off him like porcupine quills. “Fawn…” he warns, this time aloud, his voice a sharp bark that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

The steward’s hand stills on the key as he slides it into the lock. He’s as tense as Kane, his brown eyes big and round as he processes my words. “Magick has been outlawed for nearly half a century,” he responds, alarm tightening his tone. “To accuse the king of such a thing would be treason.”

My heart lurches. I don’t know what’s wrong with what I said, but it’s something big. Scary big. “I didn’t mean any offense.” I backtrack. “What I meant to say was—”

Luckily, I’m not forced to complete my thought. The steward holds up his hands, brushing away my apology. “Not at all, my lady. I was not referring to her ladyship in any manner. Simply stating that if someone were to say something about M-A-G-I-C-K, it would not turn out in that citizen’s favor.”

The tension in the air dissipates, and it’s only when I feel Kane relax that I release my pent-up breath. I steal a quick glance up at him, glaring with a look that is supposed to say, You should have told me the rules about magick instead of how a lady is supposed to talk. But with my hair falling in my face, I probably look like some sort of sheepdog.

The lock clicks, and with a dramatic, sweeping gesture, the steward pushes the doors wide. I take a moment to drink it all in. The air is rich with the subtle scents of lemon and beeswax. Magnificent candelabra drip with crystals and cast a warm golden glow over the intricate moldings, rich furnishings, and cream walls.

He sweeps past us to the sumptuous velvet drapes that frame the windows opposite the coffee table and chairs set up near the far corner of the room. He picks a piece of lint off the deep-maroon fabric pulled back with tasseled gold cords to reveal the lush greenery and vibrant flowers within the palace gardens beyond.

But one piece of furniture commands my attention. A massive four-poster bed carved from polished dark wood gleams under the soft fire of candlelight. It’s dressed with silken sheets, cloudlike blankets, and a mountain of plush pillows in varying shades of crimson and ruby.

My lungs constrict, and I can’t quite swallow or take a full breath. There’s only one bed, and somehow I don’t see Kane sleeping on the floor.

Sensing my distress, my fake husband leans against a thick column of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. I swear he’s flexing again because his shirt clings to his muscles like it’s about to rip apart.

The steward opens another ornately carved door that leads into the dressing rooms and bathing chamber, but his voice hums in the background like an old AC unit as I study Kane. He’s not arrogant. At least, not in the same way as Chad or the numbers I have to delete to keep from calling when Trader Joe’s has a sale on rosé. Kane is confident in a way that comes from knowing how strong he is, how capable, how very, very good.

His dark eye settles on me, and his lips slide into a smile I want to taste. I’m breathless, caught between the desire to run before we’re left alone with only the bed and empty time to fill and the pull of something too delicious and potent to ignore.

“Fawn.” He utters my nickname, and even from across the room his voice leaves my skin tingling and my heart racing. “You’re needed.”

“Whatever for?” I whisper, butterfly soft.

Kane’s smile deepens, and I catch the barely perceptible tightening of the thick muscles of his legs and shift in his stance, a lion ready to pounce.

The steward clears his throat, and I’m suddenly reminded that Kane and I aren’t alone with the bed, our bodies, and the perfect soft lighting. “I thought it would please my lady to know this suite has been prepared with the utmost care by none other than King Lockhart’s personal staff to ensure your comfort during your visit to the kingdom,” he explains, his voice light and airy with pride as he dusts more invisible lint from the heavy curtains.

“Attendants will be at your service to assist in preparing for tonight’s feast, where His Majesty anticipates the pleasure of your company, at which point I shall have the honor of escorting my lady and my lord to the Great Hall.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to hide the fact that I was caught full-on fantasizing about a man I know better than to fall for. “This is…wonderful.”

“King Lockhart will be pleased to hear how my lady has found the rooms.” As he heads back to the door, the steward pauses at my side. He leans in, his eyes gleaming like polished acorns. “Please, Lady Ashwood, if there is anything you need, anything at all, do call upon me personally.”

“Thank you… I’m sorry, what should I call you?”

“McDougall, my lady. At your service.” He folds into another deep bow that’s accentuated by the puff of hair dancing like a ghost on his head.

“I appreciate your help, McDougall. Everything is more than we could have hoped for. Thank you again.”

His posture softens as he returns my grin and nods his thanks. “It is my pleasure to serve, my lady.” He turns to Kane and bows, setting the key on a vase-covered stand on his way out.

The doors close behind him with a discreet click, and the moment I’ve been waiting for, hoping for, dreading arrives. Kane remains next to the bed, candlelight flickering against his sun-toasted skin.

His eyes follow me as I move to the windows, and my cheeks warm with a blush I hope he doesn’t notice. Under his gaze, every move I make is amplified, every rustle of fabric a scratch against the silence.

“It looks like we’ll be…quite comfortable here,” I say, trying to look everywhere except at the bed, at him.

“Yes, quite comfortable.” The weight of Kane’s attention is a caress that trails over my skin and ignites a warmth that, if I’m not careful, will light a fire of need.

I shake my head, anchoring myself to something, anything, resembling rational thought and remind myself that I have a perfectly good, albeit not charged, vibrator waiting for me in my apartment.

“There are enough pillows that you’ll be comfortable when you sleep over there.” I point to the chairs situated across the room.

“Oh no, my dear lady wife, I would never desecrate my marriage vows by leaving your bed empty.” He closes the distance between us with languid strides. “Besides, Little Fawn, you don’t want me there. You want me here,” he says, dragging his salty-sweet thumb along my lips. The air thickens, each second stretching long and firm as my thoughts spin and my boundaries start to melt under the warmth of his touch.

“No, I don’t,” I say, fighting everything within me screaming to submit.

His tongue traces his bottom lip, a sinful smirk playing on his mouth. “That’s nearly the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since we arrived.”

“Nearly?” I blink, the lava flowing through my veins starting to cool. “I haven’t said anything close to ridiculous.”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Fawn—”

“Don’t ‘Fawn’ me,” I snap, swatting his hand away before his touch can reel me back in. “What ridiculous things have I said since we got here? If it’s about magick, you didn’t tell me it was forbidden. And why are you even using magick that’s been outlawed?”

He tilts his head back and forth as if weighing what I’ve said. “Perhaps ‘ridiculous’ was too strong a word. ‘Unnecessary’ is more fitting.”

“Unnecessary?” I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s fucking harsh. I was nervous. Excuse me for having feelings and for talking instead of brooding and marching around stoically.”

“You are but a woman.”

“And you are but a douche.”

The smirk dies on his lips as I glower up at him. “While acting as Lady Ashwood, you must keep quiet. Within this kingdom, women do not speak for their husbands.”

“I wasn’t speaking for you. I was just talking,” I fire back without an inkling of apology. “I’m not going to be a good girl and walk around silently, letting you be in control of everything. If I have something to say, I’m going to say it.”

“If you have something to say, you’ll get us killed.”

I snap my mouth shut, my scalding comeback dissolving into silence as the weight of his words settle over me.

“What do you think will happen if Alderic, or someone far worse—someone like Four—learns the truth? Fawn, we are committing treason. The moment they find out, our death warrants will be signed, and that will be the end.”

Fear flutters in my chest, reminding me that this is a different world and I do not belong.

“You want to be burned at the stake or beheaded? Then continue as you are. Within the Palace of Pentacles, we are Lord and Lady Ashwood. You are not Hannah, and I am not Kane. Here, I am skilled at swordsmanship, but not in battle. And you”—his voice softens as he caresses my cheek—“are quiet and meek as a mouse. To be seen and not heard. You are my jewel, my—”

“Trophy,” I whisper, my resistance thawing beneath his fingers.

He leans in closer, dipping down and drawing my chin up to meet him. His eye is a dark promise, an invitation to succumb to the heat licking through me. “And what a beautiful trophy you are.”

The moment stretches, taut and trembling, as if the world has narrowed down to the space between our lips.

The spell is shattered by a knock on the door so abrupt and jarring, I take a step back. Kane curses and strides to the door, his fists clenched so tightly, I hope the person on the other side knows how to fight. It’s only a matter of time before I won’t be able to anymore.

Thirteen

Kane throws open the door and fills the threshold with a force that sends a current of air rushing over me. “Go away,” he growls out into the hall, his voice the deep, resonant snarl of a hunter distracted from his kill.

Trailing my fingers along the solid barrier of his bicep, I duck beneath his arm. “Don’t be rude.” I tsk, brushing my hair back to greet our visitor. “How can we—”

The greeting dies on my lips as I take in our guest’s rounded nose, full lips, high cheekbones, and large almond-shaped eyes that sparkle like—

“Jade?” I whisper without thinking, my mind tumbling, struck by the fact that this woman looks so similar. No, not similar—the same. This woman looks exactly like the SVP of Posh Pulse. The woman who said I should make the pitch. The woman who gave me an incredible opportunity. The woman I completely and utterly embarrassed myself in front of. A lot like I’m doing right now.

Mirror versions…

Like Kane’s lookalike in the elevator. Like this woman now.

She’s Jade’s mirror version.

I close my mouth. “I’m sorry. You just look so familiar.”

“Lady Marion Highgate. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Her curtsy is slight, the skirts of her silk dress blooming around her feet. “I wish I could say we might have met before, but I have not yet had the good fortune to go outside of this kingdom and make the long journey to Cups.” A rose-tinted blush deepens her russet-brown cheeks.

“What do you want?” Kane’s impatience cuts through the questions swelling within me.

She tilts her chin, and the deep-brown curls framing her face slide back as she looks up at him. She’s elegant and poised and not at all bothered by his swell of anger as she says, “The steward informed me that Lady Ashwood would enjoy a tour of the palace. Is that correct?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Kane and I answer at the same time, my excited cooperation smothering his surly retort. I swing my gaze up to him. “That would be lovely.” I smile at him but speak directly to Marion.

Decision made and battle won, I step away from Kane’s looming presence and out into the hall.

“Hannah…” Kane’s voice is a command, a plea. His hand closes around my wrist with a firmness laced with something darker, something desperate.

I ignore the way his touch makes me shiver and the way my name on his tongue makes me hunger to feel it lick every inch of my skin. It feels like a drug, like power to know I’m the one wanted and not the only one wanting.

“Lord Ashwood,” I murmur, wide-eyed and innocent, my mouth curving into a sinful smile as I bite my lower lip. “You wouldn’t wish me to keep Lady Highgate waiting, now, would you?”

His gaze meets mine, intense and molten, and I half expect it to burn a hole right through his eye patch.

“Do not worry, Lord Ashwood.” A grin plumps the apples of Marion’s cheeks. “I shall have your wife back to you in time to ready yourselves for dinner.”

Kane doesn’t look at her. Instead, his single-eyed gaze wraps itself around me as he lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my palm. “I will be here. Waiting.” His words are a promise, a threat, heavy with an anticipation that sends a trail of fire down my spine.

It takes everything in me to not lift my hands to my lips, consume his kiss, and forget who I am and what I want in favor of losing myself beneath him.

“Until then, Lord Ashwood.” I curtsy, my knees so weak and soft that I nearly fold like a beach chair.

Marion speaks, but I can’t make out what she’s saying through the thrum of my pulse between my ears. I follow her down the hall, retracing the steps Kane and I made when McDougall first took us to our room. Kane’s gaze presses hot against my back, and I’m only able to sip shallow breaths to calm my racing heart until I hear the door close behind me and the lock click.

As if Marion was waiting for the same, the moment he disappears back inside the room and we’re left in the silence of the corridor, she turns to me. “I don’t believe anyone has ever looked at me that way.”

No one has ever looked at me the way Kane does either. I shrug away the shiver that rolls down the back of my neck. “Lord Ashwood is quite…intense.”

“I can see that.” Marion’s laughter bursts through the hall, brushing away the poorly constructed armor I put on to protect myself from all things Kane. “So, Lady Ashwood, where would you like to go first?”

“First, please call me Hannah. I’ve barely been here an hour, and I’m already over being ‘my lady-ed.’”

“They’re less formal in your kingdom?” My ridiculous mistake sends ice water surging through my veins. Luckily, before I have a chance to put my foot further into my mouth, Marion continues. “I should like that, I think. However, I will only call you ‘Hannah’ if you call me ‘Marion.’”

“Done,” I say and let out a relieved exhale. “As far as what I’d like to see first, I’ve heard about the Hall of Crystal Wings and that it has the most beautiful dragonflies. Is it far from here?”

“A bit. It’s on the other side of the palace, but I know just the path to take.”

I follow Marion, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as we head downstairs, that haunting clock still ticking in the background.

“I know you haven’t been here long, but I hope you’ve found our palace to your liking,” Marion says.

“It’s really nice,” I reply, my gaze brushing over the vaulted ceiling, fresh flowers, and sumptuous fabrics. If this is how Pentacles decorates a hallway, I can only imagine what’s behind some of these doors. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” I clear my throat, catching my mistake before it can spawn questions. “I mean, the palace in Cups is different. Grand and beautiful, but different.”

“And you’ve only seen a small piece of Pentacles. You’ve yet to see my favorite space, which, of course, will be the highlight of our tour.” Marion’s smile is so much like Jade’s that I want to hug her.

We turn an unfamiliar corner, and light pours in through arched windows. I catch a glimpse of the rolling hills beyond, green and bright against the gold, dark wood and scarlet of the palace’s interior.

“Have you lived here long?” I ask, trying to make small talk that won’t give away any of the secrets I have to keep.

“Since I was a girl, really.” Her lips thin, and she hikes her shoulders. Somehow, she makes a simple shrug look elegant and endearing. “I’ve been here since my debut, when the queen chose me to join her ladies-in-waiting. Lord Highgate has an estate in the country, but we haven’t left to visit it for some time. The queen has needed me, while her son, the king, has needed my husband. It’s a great honor, and as you’ve seen, the palace is magnificent. Spending most of my life here, I know its every corner—every hidden corridor.”

“Hidden corridors? That sounds exciting.”

“Oh yes. They come in quite handy when meeting with a lover.” Marion’s eyes crease with a mischievous grin. “Or avoiding one.”

“I feel like there’s a story in there somewhere, Marion.”

She shrugs again, fanning herself with her hand. “There are only a certain number of things to do within the palace walls, and I do not like to be bored.”

Our conversation falls to a comfortable lull as we approach a set of massive double doors. As Marion pushes them open, the air changes, scented with a hint of floor polish and something sweet.

“In here is our first stop,” she announces, her voice echoing slightly in the expansive space. “The Grand Ballroom.”

My breath halts as I take in the ballroom. Sunshine pours in from the tall arched windows, glimmering off the floor, polished to a shine that looks like ice. Rubies drip from unlit chandeliers, painting the gilded walls with spots of cherry red. Through the windows I catch a glimpse of the sunny yellows and verdant greens of the gardens beyond. “It’s incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it.” Marion beams. “I had a sense that you and I share the same sort of taste, and I’m not usually wrong about these things.”

As we walk deeper into the Grand Ballroom, my worries seem to fade, leaving only the shimmering sunlight soaking into the silk-lined walls and the cool air perfumed with the scent of fresh flowers.

There’s no Kane, no getting home, no anxiety about what I’ll do if I can’t find the Empress, who I’ll be if not Lady Ashwood, or if I’ll spend the rest of my days trapped in Towerfall, running from being killed for committing treason or being labeled a witch.

Right now I’m just Hannah, drifting through a ballroom, living out a dream I didn’t know I had.

Marion spins, all grace and poise, her dark curls dancing behind her. My laughter echoes around us as I do the same. Elaborate arrangements of roses, peonies, and lilies sit on the wide marble windowsills as I twirl past. I reach out, my fingertips brushing soft petals.

Breathless, I steady myself against a window, the room still spinning around me.

“It’s been far too long since our last ball.” With a sigh, Marion collapses onto the sill next to me. “If you and Lord Ashwood are willing to make a second journey to Pentacles, I shall invite you to our next one.”

“That would be great.” My smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

By that time, I’ll be gone.

Worry catches up to me, squeezing my stomach, and I place my palm over my churning middle.

“Oh, you must be famished since your journey.” She bolts to her feet, literally clutching the string of pearls that rests against her collarbones. “My apologies for not offering to take you to the dining room straightaway.” Her skirts brush mine as she rushes to the double doors. “Before any great feast, McDougall sends trays in and out for tastings. He says he doesn’t have time to visit the kitchens, but I think he secretly likes being waited on and simply takes advantage of the opportunity.”

Now that she’s mentioned it, I am actually hungry. It’s not even dinnertime, but the eggs, stale bread, and awful mead feel like they happened on a different morning. “Will he mind if we taste along with him?”

Marion leads me out of the Grand Ballroom and closes the doors behind us. “It’ll drive him mad,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

I’ve only seen flashes of this type of vibrant, happy energy from Jade, but I’ve always thought the two of us could be friends. That is, if I had time for friends. And if I could afford to go out with them if I did have the time. And if I were ever ballsy enough to be friends with the company’s SVP.

The dining room is easy to spot. It’s a hive of activity, with attendants buzzing back and forth, their arms loaded with firewood and flowers, gold cutlery and gleaming porcelain dishes in preparation for the evening’s feast.

We slip into the room between two women, each carrying a crate of beeswax candles. It’s bathed in the rich warm hues of cream and gold with splashes of crimson buried in the grandeur like sweet ripe strawberries. Candlelight from numerous candelabra, their arms crafted from gold and crystals, casts a sunset-orange glow across the tables being set for the feast.

Intricately carved from dark wood, the trestle tables are laid out in a U shape. The rustle of gold-threaded tablecloths being shaken out and smoothed into place fills the air along with the clinking of cutlery and crystal. The walls are lined with tapestries that depict battles and crownings. They’re rich and alive with color, wallpapering the room in a gallery of stories. Carnelian banners, each emblazoned with a single gold pentacle, hang from the high ceilings, fluttering gently in the steady breeze sneaking in through open windows.

“It looks a bit of a mess now.” Marion points to the space in the center of the room filled with open crates and stacks of plates and linens. “However, the middle area will be cleared, and entertainers will come to delight us with music and dance.”

“Do you have entertainment with every meal?” I ask as if I don’t stream Love Island or some other problematic reality show just to eat a Cup Noodles.

“We used to. As of late, Lord Highgate and I have been taking our meals in our private rooms. When King Lockhart the Second was still alive, we had great formal dinners with entertainers and musicians, and on every full moon, there was a play. Perhaps there will even be one tonight.” Marion’s eyes widen, and she lifts onto her toes. “I adore a play. Any entertainment, really. It’s not often I get to leave the confines of the palace.” Her steps slow, the playful swish of her gown settling into a dreary sort of stillness as her brow furrows and her smile fades into a somber line. “At least, not anymore.”

“They don’t let you leave? I mean, the palace is giant and absolutely gorgeous, but you should be allowed to come and go wherever you want. This isn’t a jail.” My attempt at lightheartedness sours, the laughter bubbling up in my throat turning into a cough as I take in Marion’s expression. She seems to have shrunk, collapsing in on herself like a wilting flower. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s not you,” she whispers, breathy and faint as if afraid of being overheard. She chews her lower lip, her gaze darting around the room.

“Are we being watched?” I ask, the back of my neck prickling with awareness.

Two attendants glide by, carrying trays heavy with swan-necked bottles of decanted wine, fresh figs, grapes, pears, and cheeses. Seizing the opportunity, Marion deftly plucks a handful of swollen grapes, slices of ripe pear and cheese, and a bottle of wine from the tray. She’s back to her former vibrant self, cradling stolen treats.

“The pears are grown year-round in our very own arboretum.” She takes a delicate bite of a thick slice of pear.

I follow her lead, the sweet fruit bursting against my tongue. “Oh my god, this is delicious.”

“The palace’s master gardener has a green thumb unlike any before him.” Marion pauses to pop a grape into her mouth. “The gardens and conservatory are on our tour. You’ll just die when you see—”

“Lady Highgate, Lady Ashwood.” McDougall’s voice rings out over the din of preparations. “The dining room is not yet prepared for guests, as I’m sure my lady understands,” he scolds, his sternness not quite reaching the amused twinkle in his eyes.

“McDougall, you yourself said Lady Ashwood desired a tour. What kind of tour guide would I be if I left out our palace’s beautiful dining room? Besides, watching you conduct the preparations for the feast is a sport all on its own. You should charge admission.” Marion hides her mischievous smile behind another bite of pear.

“Lady Highgate, you never fail to lift my spirits.” With a gentle though firm shooing motion that stirs the white wisps on top of his head, McDougall ushers us back toward the entrance. “I am sure Lady Ashwood would much rather gaze upon King Lockhart’s most recent portrait or the lovely tulip garden than my rushing around like a startled hen.” His mock scowl melts into a smile as we pass through the threshold of the doors.

Marion’s laughter is infectious as we rush down the hall, passing the crystal bottle between us. “I would say he’s more like a chick than a hen with that fluff on top of his head.” She chuckles when we’re far enough away not to be overheard.

“Or a dandelion,” I add, giggling uncontrollably as I take a long pull of velvety-rich blackberry wine.

We round a corner and jerk to a stop at the sight of an imposing man. Luckily, most of the wine is gone and none sloshes on the floor. Our laughter fades, and I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, trying to compose myself as Marion stiffens beside me.

“My lord.” Her voice is tight, her curtsy brittle and tense under his cold gaze.

“Lady Highgate.” He scowls, his voice heavy with disapproval. “I heard you making your way down the hall long before I saw you.” The light seems to dim around him, his long, thin shadow merging with his dark expression.

“I shall endeavor to be better and control my volume,” Marion says, her bold, strong tone twisted into a submissive whisper.

His small, hooded eyes pierce Marion as he glares down at her. “I expect you to resist your inner feminine urges and not conduct yourself in such a hoydenish manner. You are but a woman, and thus you are susceptible to trivial pursuits and fanciful notions. However, play is for the schoolyard, not for a female of your station.”

Fueled by a sudden rush of protective anger I’m obviously better at accessing for others than I am for myself, I step squarely between Marion and this man who feels like he should dim her glow. “Laughter and joy aren’t dictated by age or sex, my lord. You should really try smiling. It’ll do wonders and make you so much more attractive.”

He stares down at me, and I glower right back up at him. I don’t normally look for a fight, and maybe it’s because my world has been tossed upside down, or maybe I’m searching for any kind of release, but there’s a small part of me that wishes this man would give me a reason to let go.

For a heartbeat, the corridor is utterly silent. Every inch of me tenses, coils, waits. And then his brows lift, a hairline crack in his mask of perpetual disapproval. From the corner of my eye, I spot Marion’s shoulders shake, her mouth tight and pursed.

His gaze begins to shift over to her, and I clear my throat. “If that is all, my lord.” My smile is warm honey on soft baked biscuits, fluid and treacly, and I hope he feels every bit of my insincerity as I dip into my most graceful curtsy.

His bow is slight, practically nonexistent, before he steps around me and thunders down the hall like a storm cloud.

Marion lifts onto her toes and lets out a gasp. “You’re the first I’ve ever heard speak that way to Highgate.”

Her words sink in, and I’m momentarily frozen, realization slackening my jaw and making me blink like I’m buffering. “Highgate…as in Lord Highgate…your husband?”

Curls bounce lightly against her forehead as she nods.

I clap my hand over my mouth. I should have known that I would immediately screw up the first friendship that I’ve made since college. “I am so sorry.”

“You have no reason to be.” She loops her arm around mine, pulling me closer and handing me the bottle of decanted wine as we head down the hall. “My dear husband is an ass. He’s all bark and little-to-no bite. Honestly, I think putting me in my place during the day makes him feel that much better about being completely dominated at night. If you know what I mean.”

A snort of laughter escapes me. “Not firsthand, but I get it.”

Marion’s giggle blends in with the rustling of our skirts as she guides me through a set of doors to our next destination.

This is my first trip to a palace, but I visit the Art Institute of Chicago when they offer free admission, so I know a portrait gallery when I see one. Unlike the bold, rich wall colors within the museum, these walls are painted a muted gold. Soft natural light filters in through tall windows, bathing the ornately gilded frames encasing portraits of stern monarchs and radiant queens that line the long, expansive corridor.

“This will sound strange, but I feel as though we’ve met before. As if we’re picking up where we left off,” Marion says, her gaze drifting along the portraits.

Our new friendship feels as if it’s been years in the making rather than hours, and I wish I could tell her that I do know her, or at least someone very much like her, in another life. My life.

But, no matter how kind Marion is and how much I’m drawn to her, I won’t make the mistake of thinking I can trust her. According to Kane, I can’t trust anyone within the kingdom. This is one time I will listen to him without question.

“In another life, perhaps.” She sighs a soft echo that brushes down the hallway.

“Or another realm.” I’m not joking, but I disguise the admission with a chuckle.

“Another realm?” She laughs. “My gods, I haven’t heard mention of other realms since I was a child and my governess would tell me fantastical tales of the great Tower.” Her cheeks plump, and her brows lift in a way that I’m learning means she has more to say. “Come, let me show you something.”

I take a final sip of wine and set the crystal down as Marion leads me across the room to a painting that dominates the far wall.

I lean in, absorbed by the glittering golden tower stretching up into cotton candy clouds. It stands tall and mighty, crafted from thousands of intricate pieces of gold leaf that catch the light. It’s warm and inviting, glowing from within. My breath catches as the golden tower pulses, alive with a rippling beat that matches each surge of my heart.

“I’ve only seen the Tower from a distance. I didn’t realize it was so beautiful.” My words are muffled and faraway as the golden light from the Tower intensifies, pulling at the center of my chest to something deep within me. I step closer, my slippered feet sinking into the plush carpet blanketing the floor. The painting feels bigger than me, bigger than life, growing as I inch toward it, my senses honing, my skin tingling.

“It most definitely is not so glorious up close. However, according to the stories old attendants and governesses tell their young charges, this is exactly what it looked like decades upon decades ago.” Oblivious to the hold the painting has on me, Marion continues, her words a distant dull hum. “My governess used to say that long ago, before the ways were lost and magick was banished, people traveled between the kingdoms and between realms using the Tower.”

My fingers tingle, and I lift my hand to touch the painting, feel the gold pulse against my fingertips.

“But that’s just a children’s fairy tale.” Marion sighs, gently tearing me away from the portrait of the Tower and from the edge of something that might swallow me whole. “As you well know, there’s no shortcut between kingdoms. And there most definitely aren’t other realms.”

“Yeah, of course,” I say, my gaze lingering on the Tower, my heart aching to get closer.

The Tower made a mistake sending the Empress card to bring me here, but I can’t ignore the way just seeing its gold stones pulls at something deep inside me.

It’s like it knows me, like it’s waiting for me.

But that’s not possible. I’m not a hero. There’s no way the Tower called me here to save the kingdom.

Fourteen

Stepping into the Hall of Mirrors is like walking into a living kaleidoscope. Light floods the room, refracted by hundreds of crystal-framed mirrors that throw clouds of rainbow-stained light like I’m in a Color Run. The mirrors are beautiful but unforgiving. Each of my multiple reflections practically shouts about the unwashed, un-makeuped, uncombed state of my disheveled appearance next to Marion’s stunning posture, shining curls, and the elegance and poise that practically beam from her pores.

We’re wearing similar dresses with high empire waists and flowing silk skirts. Marion’s delicate lavender enhances her silky brown skin, while mine casts a slight green glow against my pale white arms and looks like I was caught up in a turquoise wave that I haven’t quite been able to fight my way out of. I smooth down the square neckline that’s doing absolutely nothing for my barely there boobs and try to comb my fingers through my tousled hair.

I bite my lower lip and scan my reflection in the mirror, trying not to pick apart every inch of my appearance in the process. Surely I can give myself a break for looking like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed when I, in fact, woke up in someone else’s bed entirely.

This is what people mean when they say rode hard and put away wet.

Catching my rueful look in one of my countless reflections, Marion offers a gentle smile. “I must say, you look much better than I would if Highgate and I had an encounter with dangerous highwaymen,” she says as we move through the bands of color that dapple the hall.

I meet her gaze in the mirror, her reflection somehow even more composed and graceful than she is in person.

“McDougall is not one to keep secrets,” she adds with a wry tilt of her lips. “But don’t worry, we’ll have you polished and perfect before the feast. After I’m done, Lord Ashwood won’t be able to keep his hands off you. Not that he seems to show much restraint on that front.”

“Ashwood and I are here for business, not pleasure.” I turn away from the image of my tomato-red cheeks and clasp my hands in front of me as we near the middle of the shimmering corridor. “I’ll have to make sure he gets the memo.”

“Hannah,” Marion continues, her tone shifting as she once again links her arm through mine and draws us to a stop in the center of the hall. “Now that we’re closer, I do have a question for you.” Her brow furrows slightly. “Your accent is…unusual. I assume both by that and your way with phrases that there are considerable differences between this kingdom and yours. But I would never forgive myself if you were unwell, and I didn’t ask how you’re feeling after your encounter on the road.”

“Oh.” My mind scrambles for the right response, not at all wanting to admit that Kane may have had a point in schooling me about my speech. “Well, it has been a challenging day.” I swallow and let the understatement hang between us in hopes of not digging myself a hole too deep to get out of.

After all, no matter how much I want to hope my secrets will be safe with Marion, I can’t trust her. I can’t trust anyone.

“I know just the thing to restore your spirits,” she promises, squeezing my arm. “But first, we must finish our tour. We’ve almost made it to the Hall of Crystal Wings you’ve been so eager to see.”

And, hopefully, to correcting the mistake the Tower made and getting the Empress to take me back home. Maybe there’s even a chance that, before I leave, Kane will fill me in on the details and I’ll find out exactly what his plans are.

I’d really love it if he’d fill me in.

My eyes widen with the sudden flash of heat the double entendre sends through my limbs. I hide the desperate need pulsing beneath my skin behind a cough as I let Marion lead me away from the Hall of Mirrors and toward a set of tall glass doors.

She pushes them open, and a sweet, floral-scented breeze twirls through my hair.

The gardens spread out before us in a beautiful mesh of flower beds and manicured lawns. It’s alive with the vibrant green of new leaves, purple-tipped lavender bushes, cream-colored lilies, and deep-red tulips fringed in blazing orange that dance like flames in the gentle gusts. I lean down and glide my fingers along the bright yellow daffodil blooms that line the pathway with bursts of sunshine.

“This is my favorite place within the palace,” Marion says, her gaze sweeping over the clusters of pastel blue and purple hydrangea blooms, their pom-pom heads bobbing in the breeze. “Not even the rain can keep me away.”

“I would also stand out in the rain if it meant being surrounded by this.”

Hannah, you’ve stood outside Chad’s apartment in a blizzard in two feet of snow waiting for him to find the right tie clip.

I breathe in the heady scents of lilac, jasmine, and lavender as I follow Marion down a winding path, the cobblestones clicking softly under our feet. We round a large marble fountain shaped like a pentacle. Water cascades from the points of the star, the soothing sound mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of birds. Around the fountain, wood and wrought iron benches offer a place to sit and absorb the relaxation that comes from being in some place so tranquil and beautiful.

In the distance, the Tower rises from the landscape like a dream. It’s separate from the palace, standing tall and proud against the horizon, yet it feels more worthy of devotion, more important than this seat of power ever could.

It has its own magick. I know that from what Kane has told me about its ability to send the tarot to seek out help from other worlds, but I can also sense it, even from here.

I think I actually like Towerfall. The uninvited thought pops into my head.

Yes, this place is gorgeous and fancy and absolutely surreal, but I remind myself I can’t stay. I need to go home. I mean, people don’t just stay on vacation. Not that this is a vacation. Regardless, the point is valid. This isn’t my world.

There is also the fact I was stabbed for being a “witch.” If anyone finds out I’m not actually Lady Ashwood, they’ll do more than just bury a knife in my side. I have zero marketable ye-olden-times skills and wouldn’t know the first thing about surviving without the internet. Plus, there was a lot of truth to not wanting to squish out six kids, and I have yet to see a pharmacy or doctor’s office where I can get my IUD replaced or pick up antibiotics.

Before we stop and I ignore my very realistic concerns and allow myself to feel even more like this is someplace I want to be—or worse, someplace I could belong—I push past the benches and make my way toward the other end of the palace that embraces the far side of the gardens.

The Hall of Crystal Wings is in that arm of the palace, and we’re so close to it—to the marker I can use to find the tarot card and my way back home. My steps quicken, and the sound of rushing water fades into the distance as we weave through rows of colorful blooms into the heart of the garden.

I slow to a stop, my gaze trailing up the vines climbing along the high walls of a maze. The verdant tendrils are punctuated by bursts of pink jasmine flowers, their scent spilling into the garden’s warm air. Sunlight filters through the leaves, painting the stone entryway with ripples of light and shadow. My imagination takes over, and I picture slipping into the hidden alcoves of the maze’s lush foliage, Kane’s arms around me, his mouth on mine.

“Wishing you could escape your wifely political duties in favor of getting lost in the maze?” Marion glances at me, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“Just thinking…” I press my hand over my beating heart, afraid it will betray my secrets.

“We can take a moment, go back and sit awhile before we make our way into the Hall of Crystal Wings.”

“No!” My shout startles us both, and I clear my throat. “I mean, we’re so close. We might as well finish up.”

Gaze fixed on the glass doors leading into the other wing of the palace, my stomach flips, and I have to force my legs to take languid, easy strides and not break out into a run. The possibility of returning to my world, of reclaiming my life, or what’s left of it, is on the other side of those doors.

I make myself wait for Marion to pull them open, revealing a corridor like the others we’ve explored, one that stretches deep into the palace. Its high ceilings and polished floors glisten under the soft glow of chandeliers, the faint echo of our footsteps sounding down its length as Marion ushers me forward.

Worry gnaws at me, its sharp teeth piercing the placid calm I’m struggling to adopt from Marion and make my own.

What if you can’t find the room or your purse or the card? What if you get stuck here forever? What if they find out your secrets and burn you at the stake?

I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms as I force down my doubts and focus instead on the shimmering turquoise and red spilling from the Hall of Crystal Wings.

“Here we are.” Marion’s gesture takes in the glistening dragonflies lining the walls, their iridescent wings catching the light and refracting it in dazzling patterns. “Each dragonfly was painstakingly crafted by artisans over several months. The scales along their wings were individually carved and polished and inspected by the queen herself before being added to the bodies.”

It’s impressive, but I don’t care about the craftsmanship or the beauty. My gaze sweeps the hall, searching for a sign, a clue, anything that might lead me back to the room I arrived in and the life I left behind.

“Are there any bedrooms near this hall?” I ask.

“Yes, but yours and Ashwood’s is much grander.”

A clock sounds in the distance, tolling like a church bell, and I flinch with each strike of the gong. The sound reverberates through the grand corridor and off the high ceilings and ornate walls.

Marion turns to me, her eyes wide, urgency lifting her thick brows. “We must get you back to your rooms to prepare. There’s not much time before the feast.”

She grabs my hand, but I resist, planting my feet firmly on the polished marble floor. “Wait, Marion. There’s something I need to see first.”

“Hannah, please.” She tugs gently. “We don’t have time. You must get ready. I must get ready.”

“Just a few more minutes. There’s something important I need to find.” I stand on my tiptoes and squint like it’ll help me see around the twists and turns of the palace halls and into the bedroom where my purse should be.

“There will be time for that later. Right now, we must hurry.”

“But you don’t understand,” I protest, my voice rising with desperation. “We’ve made it all this way, and this could be my only chance to find it.”

Marion stops, her eyes narrowing. “Find what?”

“I just…” I shake my head. I can’t explain the real reason. I don’t know what she’d do if she found out I’m from another world and that I’m so close to my one chance to get back home. “I have a feeling. Please, Marion, just a little more time.”

She studies me for a moment and offers a small soft smile. “Your feeling can wait. Your responsibilities cannot.”

She tightens her grip on my hand and gently pulls, but I don’t budge. “Marion, please. If you could just—”

“Hannah, you are new to Pentacles, and while Cups may have its own set of expectations in which you are well-versed, I am the expert on Pentacles’s decorum and its particular rules. Your attendance at the feast is important to the negotiations you and Ashwood have come all this way to conduct. If you are late or arrive with a stitch out of place, it will be seen as blatant disrespect. The feast is important, and we must both be there on time.”

“I understand, but this is important too.”

“Then I promise we can explore more at a later date. But for now, we must get you back to your rooms.”

There’s sincerity in her eyes, genuine concern, and I know she’s not going to budge. With a heavy sigh, I nod. “Fine. After the feast, then.”

“After the feast,” she agrees, then pulls me forward.

I feel like Cinderella, dashing down wide hallways and up grand staircases to my room before the clock strikes twelve and my carriage turns back into a pumpkin.

We burst into my room, the door swinging shut behind us. Inside is quiet and empty, the air crisp and chilly in Kane’s absence.

“I thought Ashwood would be here,” I say more to myself than to Marion.

“I’m sure he’s with Highgate discussing their schedules and agendas for the talks with the king,” she says, rushing to the side of the bed to tug on the bellpull. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if our husbands also became friends? Perhaps we could holiday at each other’s country estates.”

I force a smile, trying to match Marion’s enthusiasm as she continues on about parties in the countryside, but it’s impossible when my problems are so different from hers. My mind is elsewhere, and I collapse onto the edge of the bed, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“What if I never make it back?” I mutter, the thought twisting my stomach into knots.

“Don’t worry, Hannah,” Marion says, settling onto the maroon-and-gold settee near the foot of the bed. “If we must, we’ll summon an army to prepare you in time for the feast.”

I nod, trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears that threatens to spill over.

If only that were my real concern.

Fifteen

According to Marion, she hasn’t summoned an army, but it sure does seem like it as attendants scurry in and out of the bedroom with trays of brushes and combs, buckets of steaming water for the bath, dried flowers and soaps, and delicious treats that make my stomach growl.

A petite maid nods, her delicate features pinched in concentration as she sets down a golden tray laden with warm scones, tiny cakes covered in delicate icing, and a bowl of fresh fruit. She looks familiar, like I’ve seen her on the bus or coming in and out of the high-rise where Posh Pulse’s offices are, but I can’t quite place her. Although this isn’t the first time, and most likely won’t be the last time, I recognize someone from my world.

The sugary-sweet scent of fresh pastries wafts through the air, and I take a mouthwatering inhale before reaching for a cake the size of a shot glass. Before I can begin to nibble away at it, because I’m sure shoving the whole thing in my mouth would be extremely unladylike, another attendant sets a different sparkling gold platter on the table in front of the settee. Tall, narrow porcelain cups with gilded rims and accompanying saucers decorated with hand-painted pentacles rest on the tray next to an elongated, slender kettle with a fluted spout and an ornate golden pentacle on its lid. Marion picks up the kettle, her movements graceful and measured, and pours the rich drinking chocolate into the cups.

“Thank you.” I manage a smile, my heart twisting with the anxiety of being trapped in this room while I’d rather be digging through others, as I accept the cup from Marion’s outstretched hand. I take a delicate sip of chocolate, the rich, velvety liquid sliding down my throat. For now, I’ll push down my worries and do my best to embody a lady from the Kingdom of Cups.

“Which gown do you think you’ll wear tonight?” she asks, her fingers plucking the air over the array of pastries as she makes a choice.

I blink, my gaze sweeping over the room. The trunk is nowhere to be found, and I didn’t have enough time to explore all of Lady Ashwood’s dresses anyway. “I’m not sure.”

“There are so many options. It’s always such a difficult choice.” Marion sighs. “I remember when choosing the queen’s gown for such an event would take all day. The attendants would parade them in and out, each gown more beautiful than the last. And the jewels!” With a flourish, she bites into a scone and collapses back against the settee’s plush cushions. “But, for tonight, we can pretend everything is back to the way it was and indulge ourselves. And I do love to indulge…” A mischievous smile plumps her cheeks before she takes another bite of pillowy pastry.

“What was it like before?” I ask, not sure exactly how much prying is too much when it comes to being the perfect lady.

“Before King Lockhart died and the queen took to her rooms to nurse her broken heart and make threats about leaving noble life?” Wistful, Marion gazes up at the ceiling. “I suppose the only constant is that things change. Sometimes for the better and others for the worse.” She seems to shake herself free of her reverie and reaches for the bowl of fruit. Her slender fingers curl around a pomegranate half, its ruby-red seeds glistening like jewels.

“At least some things stay the same,” she says, holding the fruit out to me. “The palace has prize-winning pomegranates. Or, at least, they would be prize winning if there were ever a contest for Pentacles’s best pomegranates. They’re grown in the same arboretum as the pears. Juicy, delectable, and a favorite of Lady Whitmore, the court’s resident pomegranate glutton.”

“Pomegranate glutton?” A laugh bubbles from me as I take the fruit and glide my finger over the swollen seeds.

“She’s like a locust, plucking them right from the branches. Everyone knows the season is upon us when Lady Whitmore’s fingers are perpetually stained crimson.” She lifts another half of the scarlet fruit and plucks a seed from the flesh before slipping it between her lips.

“As far as addictions go, that one’s not too bad,” I say, biting into the juicy seeds.

“Nothing like Alice with her laudanum.” Marion’s shrug is dainty and demure. “But that, my dear Hannah, is a conversation best left for another time.”

With a swish of her wrist, Marion calls to the nearest attendant. “The jewels, please.” Her voice is tinged with an air of regality I don’t think I’ll ever be able to emulate.

The attendant curtsies and disappears into the dressing room.

Marion sets down the pomegranate, delicately dabbing her fingers on a linen napkin. She rises from the settee and glides over to the gilded dresser. “The queen always says to choose one’s jewelry before choosing one’s dress since the jewels are the most important part of one’s outfit and should not be overshadowed by mere fabrics,” she explains as the attendant returns with a large velvet-lined tray heavy with jewelry and hairpins.

My head spins from too much wine, sugar, and now this. I meet Marion at the dresser, and my fingers curl into my skirts as I take in the delicate necklaces. Sapphire and diamond accents wink like stars against the black velvet, their silver chains shimmering like the tail of a comet. Bracelets lie in neat rows, their metallic bands encrusted with aquamarine, lapis, and moonstone. Gold bangles gleam alongside them, their smooth surfaces etched with delicate patterns that swirl and loop like waves breaking against the shore. Hairpins studded with pearls and sapphires are scattered among the jewelry next to earrings dangling from small silver hooks and ranging from teardrop-shaped sapphires to clusters of delicate pearls.

My breath hitches as I force my face into a neutral mask.

These are supposed to be yours, Hannah. This is supposed to be normal.

I have to keep my composure and reel in the fact that I’m completely gobsmacked and speechless by this spread of jewelry worth more than my entire life. Because, in my life, or rather Lady Ashwood’s life, this is only a fraction of what I would actually have in my fancy armoire back in the Palace of Cups.

I glance at Marion, whose hand drifts over the collection of jewels with the same subtle plucking motion she used before choosing a pastry. “This is beautiful, Hannah.” She beams, selecting a necklace. The chain dangles from her fingers, its diamonds catching the light.

“Yes, it’s super pretty.” I nod, my heart pounding. “But maybe I should go with something a little more subtle.” I point to a silver necklace with a single glimmering sapphire pendant. “Like this one.”

“Nonsense!” She clucks. “Do something unexpected, Hannah. Surprise yourself.” Marion lifts another statement necklace, jewels dripping between her fingers. “‘Let not the shadow of duty eclipse the sun of yourself.’ The queen taught me that when I first arrived at court. It completely changed my life.”

A pang of recognition twists in my chest, the words resonating with the glossy pale pink cover of the self-help book I had outside Luna’s Twilight Tarot and Healing Arts. The realization settles over me like a blanket, heavy and warm and familiar.

Is there a chance the Tower didn’t make a mistake? That the Empress found the right person and I’m actually where I’m supposed to be? That falling into Towerfall wasn’t an accident?

No, Hannah, it had to be a mistake. What could you possibly offer Pentacles that it doesn’t already have?

Marion chooses classic pearl hairpins to go with the more subdued necklace I insist on choosing and hands them to the attendant before clapping, her elation lifting her onto her tiptoes. “Now for the dress.”

Five attendants bring out five separate gowns, lined up and shimmering in a dazzling ombré from lightest to darkest shade of blue. My gaze settles on the second to last. A berry-blue gown, its bodice richly embroidered with silver thread that swirls across the fabric like constellations. I move closer, running my hand over the delicate threads, smooth and cool beneath my fingers.

“You don’t have to say a word.” Marion makes a shooing motion, and the other attendants retreat, gowns in hand, back into the dressing room. “That look says enough.”

“I feel like a fairy-tale princess.” A rush of excitement surges through me, and I spin around, my arms spread wide, before collapsing against the layers of fluffy down that cover the bed. The room spins around me for a bit too long. I need to take a break from the wine and find some water.

As I steady myself and gaze up at the canopy overhead, Marion perches on the edge of the bed beside me. “We are quite fortunate here within the palace. Even if it is a bit rigid.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Why don’t you go to your country house, get away for a while? Sure, your husband will have to stay here and do his job, but it doesn’t seem like the queen needs you as much as she used to.”

“I would love that, but Highgate…” Marion’s smile falters, and she looks down at her hands neatly folded in her lap. “My husband is a complex man. He’s rather traditional and very…particular about certain things.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Particular?”

“He believes in specific roles and responsibilities. Men and women, each with their own place. He can be…firm in his beliefs. He means well, truly. He simply has a way of seeing the world that can be quite structured. He believes he’s protecting me and making sure I’m cared for, and he is. I am. It’s just that his way of caring can feel a bit…stifling.”

I want to hug her and tell her we’ll run away to the country together and that no man will ever be able to tell us what to do ever again, but I don’t. I can’t.

“I understand,” I say gently, feeling a pang of sadness.

Marion forces a brighter smile and blows out a puff of air. “But Highgate is a good man. He’s loyal and dependable, and marriage does not come without its challenges.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “No one is perfect.”

“Well, your Ashwood seems to be nearly there. At least from the outside.” Marion titters and playfully brushes me with her elbow.

My cheeks betray me, heating with the mere mention of Kane. “It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” Marion arches her brow. “Or perhaps a love match?”

“I don’t love him!” I sputter, my words tumbling out in a flurry. “I mean, there’s definitely an attraction, but it has nothing to do with love.”

“Love or not, you must be happy to have Ashwood to warm the other side of your bed.”

My embarrassment spreads down my neck. “I suppose he is nice to look at.”

“Nice to look at? Hannah, the man is practically a god. He puts Highgate to shame. Although our golden-haired King Lockhart could compete with Ashwood as far as looks are concerned. That is, if blonds are your thing. I can’t say they do much for me.”

The young attendant noiselessly appears from the dressing room and clears her throat. “If you’re ready, my lady…”

“And this is where I take my leave.” Marion sighs. “If McDougall hasn’t done so already, I’ll be sure we’re seated next to each other at dinner. I should hate for you to go all evening without knowing absolutely everything there is to know about absolutely everyone.”

“Thanks, Marion. I would have been completely lost without you.” Since arriving at the palace, nothing has gone according to plan, but meeting Marion is the one thing I wouldn’t change.

“I should be thanking you, Hannah. It’s been years since I’ve had so much fun.” Marion smiles, her curls bouncing as she heads to the door. “And I’m serious about the pomegranates.” She pauses, a playful smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. “Eat them while you still have a chance. As soon as Lady Whitmore discovers they’ve ripened, they’ll be gone.”

As the door closes behind the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in this strange new realm—honestly, the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in any realm recently—I swallow, anticipation knotting in my chest. I nod and take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next in preparing for a royal feast.

* * *

The attendant and her assistant escort me to the dressing room that serves as an antechamber from the expansive bedroom to the massive bathroom. They undress me, and cool air brushes against my bare skin, bringing goose bumps to my arms as I try to disguise my discomfort and pretend that I’m 100 percent used to and okay with requiring help to get out of my clothes.

“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice tight while I hide my gold scar and the evidence of Kane’s magick as the young assistant helps me into a soft robe.

“Think nothing of it, my lady,” the maid replies as she leads me to sit down in front of a mirror and dressing table.

I glance at my reflection, my attention drawn to the dark circles beneath my eyes and the frizzy strands of hair framing my face. “I’m a mess,” I mumble, my shoulders slumping.

“Not true, my lady,” the maid offers. “Perhaps this isn’t my lady’s most sparkling or glamorous season, but that doesn’t mean my lady is a mess. This is different from what my lady is used to, and in its own way, change is beautiful.”

“That’s really nice.” A genuine smile tilts my lips.

Her hand brushes my shoulder, light and reassuring. “You’ll be ready for the feast soon, my lady. One step at a time.”

I nod, my hands clasped tight in my lap. “One step at a time,” I echo. I take another breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders. This realm is different, odd, but in its own way, it’s beautiful too.

“Now, this might be a bit uncomfortable.” She wields the brush like a weapon and attacks my locks. The tug and pull sends tingles across my scalp as she detangles and smooths my tresses.

She opens a few vials and waves each under her nose. The scent of lavender fills the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of jasmine, each note a whisper of the splendor of the palace gardens. She dabs a few drops of oil into her palm and combs her fingers through my hair.

The brush glides through my soft, shiny strands as her deft hands gather them into three sections. I sit as still as possible while she weaves an intricate braid down my back that brushes between my shoulder blades like a silk rope. When she’s finished, the maid gathers the remaining length and wraps it into a tight bun that looks like a rosebud secured with pearl hairpins at the nape of my neck.

The maid retreats into the bedroom, leaving me in the quiet luxury of the space. Tendrils of warmth seep in from the bathroom, and fog streaks the mirror. I glance over my shoulder into the bathroom at the steaming copper tub, its sides glistening in the candlelight. The assistant tends to the bath, emptying a final bucket of hot water before scattering lavender flowers across the surface.

“My lady, your bath is ready.” She approaches with a respectful nod, and I stand while she helps me out of my robe.

My hand in hers, she guides me to the steaming water and steadies me as I step into the tub. I let out a sigh as the warmth envelops me, and the steam curls, misting my face as I sink into the bath.

The lead maid returns with the bowl of sliced pomegranates and a goblet of red wine. She places the scarlet fruit and the crystal glass on the stand beside the bath as her assistant flits across the room to hang my robe and stack a pile of fluffy towels on the bench against the far wall.

“If my lady does not require anything else…” The attendant collects the empty bucket and tucks a strand of steam-dampened hair behind her ear.

“I am the most relaxed I’ve ever been,” I say, leaning against the tub’s high back.

“Very good,” the lead maid says with a slight curtsy. “I shall return before the bath has cooled to help my lady dress for dinner.”

The two attendants melt into the fog, retreating from the room like apparitions and quietly close the bathroom door behind them.

The water laps against my skin, the steam rising around me, and for a moment, I allow myself to soften into the decadence of it all as I reach for the goblet of wine. I take a long sip and let out another contented sigh while I sink deeper into the bath, the warmth seeping into my bones.

I grab the closest pomegranate, dried lavender buds tickling my skin and clinging to my arm as I pluck out a ruby-red seed and toss it into my mouth. The tart juice bursts on my tongue, and I’m already peeling back the scored flesh and gathering a handful of seeds before I’ve swallowed my first.

You don’t belong here, Hannah.

The thought slams into me, and I drop the plump seeds into the bathwater as tension coils in my chest.

This realm may be beautiful and luxurious, but it’s not mine. I swallow the lingering tang of pomegranate. This isn’t my world. And this definitely is not my life.

I take another long pull of wine, drowning the thought. I have to play a part—the role of Lady Ashwood—if I have any hope of getting back home.

One step at a time, I remind myself, curling my fingers around the goblet. One step at a time.

Sixteen

It could be the wine talking, or it could be the fact that I’m actually relaxed for the first time in, well, maybe ever, but this is the best pomegranate I’ve ever eaten. I wiggle my toes, relishing the tangy sweetness of the fruit while blissfully unaware of the world beyond the copper confines of the tub. Juice cascades down my chest, creating a sticky scarlet mess that mingles with the lavender buds that scent the air and float languidly on the surface of the bath, but I’m too relaxed to care.

The door to the bathroom opens noiselessly, the steam shifting, sending a rush of cool air through the haze. It feels like I’ve only been in the bath for a few minutes, but I don’t have my phone or a clock, so it’s hard to know for sure. Regardless, getting out of this tub is the last thing I want to do.

“I guess this is what they mean when they say ‘time flies when you’re having fun,’” I toss over my shoulder to the attendant who’s come back to make sure I don’t shrivel into a waterlogged prune. “Actually, I’m not sure you have that saying here. Within this kingdom, I mean. It’s definitely a thing we say in Cups.”

Keeping hold of my fresh pomegranate in one hand, I grip the side of the tub with the other and push myself to my feet, my back to the maid. Water slides down my slight curves, splashing silently into the bath. “I do understand Lady Whitmore’s obsession with these, though,” I say, popping another seed into my mouth before glancing down at the scarlet rivulets painting my chest. “Although eating in the bath was a terrible idea.”

I turn to face the maid and gasp. A flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the bathwater spreads through me.

Kane stands there, the thick lines of his body outlined by the dim candlelight. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, his gaze capturing mine. Then that sinfully sweet smile curls his lips, and his dark eye sweeps over me. His gaze is a caress that lingers on each inch of my exposed skin. My heart skips a beat, then races, pounding against my chest. Every inch of me is hot and thrumming as he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, his stare smoldering with raw desire.

“Sweet enough to eat,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that rolls down my spine.

My grip goes slack, and the pomegranate slips from my hand before landing in the tub with a splash that bathes my naked thighs. “Fuck,” I mumble, my cheeks burning.

“Is that a request?”

My chest squeezes, the heat of his words searing through me. “I—I dropped my pomegranate.”

He laughs, dark and predatory, his gaze drifting down my chest, lingering on my bare breasts. “You seem to have two very perky, luscious pomegranates right there.”

A deeper flush spreads across my naked body, burning a vivid rose as I plunge back into the water. He stalks closer. The scents of pine and woodsmoke drifting from him make my mouth water.

“Kane, you should—” I start, but when I glance up, I gulp and my protests evaporate as he glides his hand along the swollen erection pressing against his tight breeches.

I keep ending up with a dick in my face.

Although Kane’s looks much bigger than the last one…

My heart hammers in my chest, each beat pulsing beneath my skin. Heat coils in my belly, deep and low, and I have to press my teeth against my bottom lip to keep from moaning as I imagine that same hand tracing the curves of my body, his lips against mine, his mouth hot and hungry, tasting me, claiming me.

Don’t be desperate, Hannah.

The thought is a sharp, sudden intrusion that rips through the heat twisting in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my fingers around the copper rim of the tub, forcing down the need licking through me in feverish waves.

Don’t want him more than he wants you. You always confuse hormones and pleasure and sex with real feelings, and you always get hurt.

With a shaky breath, I force my lids open, my gaze darting to Kane’s face and the eye patch shielding one of his wicked eyes, the other gleaming with hunger. The room feels smaller somehow, his presence pressing in on me from all sides as if the space between us has condensed into a tangible, living thing, thick with heat and steam and the heady scents of lavender and wine and pomegranates.

The gleam in Kane’s eye makes me tremble as he claims the distance between us and kneels beside the tub. His large hand dips into the water, the muscles in his forearm flexing as his fingers wrap around the pomegranate bobbing at the surface. He captures the fruit and lifts it from the bath. Water beads along its scarlet skin, droplets cascading down its sides as he holds the pomegranate just above the water’s surface. He pauses, his stare never leaving mine, and the room seems to hold its breath.

With a slow, purposeful motion, Kane presses two thick fingers into the pomegranate’s soft pulp. Juice begins to flow, spilling over his fingers, staining them with its rich, vibrant crimson as he delves deeper, the pomegranate yielding to his touch, the seeds exposed and glistening.

He turns his hand, letting the juice drip in a tantalizing slow stream back into the bath, while the air around us thickens with the syrupy sweetness.

“Tell me, Fawn, is your fruit always so wet?” Kane’s gaze, dark and unyielding, remains fixed on mine.

Heat creeps up my neck, but I refuse to look away. “Only when it’s ripe.”

His lips part slightly, a hint of a smile playing at the edges. “You should have stayed before—with me.” He lifts his fingers, slick with pomegranate juice. I watch, transfixed, warmth humming through me, as he slowly, deliberately, licks the seeds from his fingers.

I lean forward, drawn in by the tortuous glide of his tongue over each scarlet pearl.

“Tell me you should have been a good girl and stayed here with me.” Every word he utters tightens the threads of lust that keep us tangled together, pulling me closer to the edge of surrender.

Kane dips his fingers back into the flesh for another scoop and holds the seeds to my lips. “Tell me, Fawn.” The demand thrums through me, pouring into my limbs.

“I—I should have stayed.” The words are a breathless whisper, catching in my throat.

“That’s my good girl.” Kane presses the fruit against my lips. I tilt my head back as he dips his fingers into my mouth.

My tongue grazes over the rough tips of his fingers, the salty tang of his skin intoxicating as it swirls with the sweet tartness of the pomegranate. Juice trickles from my lips, trailing down my neck, pooling against my collarbones.

“You know where you belong.” His words caress my cheek, heavy with a possessiveness that makes me ache. He traces a path down my neck with two scarlet-tinged fingers, leaving a sticky crimson trail that feels almost scalding against my sensitive skin. “Baths are supposed to be cleansing,” he says, tracing the dip of my collarbone. “But, my dear Little Fawn, you seem to have only gotten dirtier.”

My breath comes out in shallow pants as his touch slides farther down my chest, and his rough fingertips encircle my nipple in a slow, seductive loop that sends a pulse of heat between my thighs.

I gasp and arch forward, my body craving more of his touch, more of him.

His fingers fall away from my skin, leaving behind a tingling sticky-sweet trail as he plunges his hand into the bathwater. The warm liquid swirls, sending ripples cascading against me, their gentle waves brushing my aching breasts. “You’ve made a mess, haven’t you?”

My gaze finds his, dark and intense, and I nod, my lips parting as I draw in a trembling breath.

“And you need to be cleaned.” His fingers resume their tantalizing movements in the water, gently stirring the surface, creating soft swells that fan out and wash over my skin in warm waves.

The heat in my belly twists tighter, coiling into a knot of desire. I nod again, a whimper catching in my throat.

“Tell me, Fawn,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with temptation. “Be a good girl and tell me you need to be licked clean.”

“Kane, I—”

The door to the room swings open, the sudden intrusion slicing the raw need that hangs hot and sweet within the room.

“My lady—” The attendant’s voice flutters through the steam like a startled bird as she clutches the freshly pressed gown to her chest, her gaze darting between Kane and me.

The maid’s entrance is a cold splash, an abrupt reminder of where we are and who we’re pretending to be.

“Pardon me. I—I didn’t mean to intrude,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing a vivid pink. “I’ll—I’ll busy myself elsewhere.” She turns on her heel, ready to escape, but I can’t let her leave—not when her interruption has stopped me from acting out the mistake I’m both drawn to and terrified of making.

“No, wait, please stay,” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel. “Ashwood and his erection were just leaving.”

She freezes, her body rigid, her eyes wide as she glances back at me.

“Actually”—Kane’s voice cuts through the steam-thickened air, his devilish smirk widening—“I was hoping to come, not go.”

The maid lets out a mortified squeak.

“My lord,” I scold, “I believe you speak out of turn.”

“Next time, there will be no speaking.” As he rises to his full height, he trails his hand out of the water. His wet fingertips graze my tight nipple with a featherlight touch. “Only doing.”

I lift my chin in defiance despite the desire that throbs in my core. “Are you threatening me, Lord Ashwood?”

Kane’s lips curl, part smirk, part seduction. “Think of it as a promise I’m only too happy to keep.”

The attendant, her presence nearly forgotten, flinches at the exchange and keeps her eyes fixed on the tiled floor as she mumbles a flustered apology and quickly makes room for him to pass.

Kane lingers in the doorway, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that might burn me to the ground. “Lady Ashwood will dress in the bedroom.”

“Yes, my lord,” the maid responds mechanically before hastily retreating into the dressing room to lay out the gown.

I can barely make sense of my scattered thoughts over the rapid beat of my heart and the heat of unresolved tension that thrums against my skin. I take a deep breath, hide my gold scar, and steady myself as the attendant returns to assist me out of the bath and wrap a warm towel around me.

My knees are softened butter as I walk through the dressing room, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps. Kane stands by the window, his silhouette framed against the fiery-orange sunset that filters through the heavy drapes, their deep-maroon fabric glowing like flames around the edges. He turns as I enter, and his dark eye meets mine, its heat burning into me.

After the warmth of the bath, the cool air of the bedroom is brisk against my damp skin, its chill prickling my arms. The maid begins her work, gently patting my body dry with the soft, fluffy towel, absorbing the leftover moisture from the bath in swift dabs.

Kane’s presence is commanding, his gaze lingering, heavy and intent, its weight pressing into my bones. I try to ignore the way it scorches my skin, the way it sets my veins ablaze and spreads through my belly, but right now, he holds me captive.

Once I’m dry, the maid sinks to the floor and guides black silk stockings up each of my legs before sliding a woven band to the top of the stockings at my midthigh, where she buckles them into place.

I can’t tell if Kane is murmuring his approval or if I’m hearing my pulse between my ears as the maid steps away and returns with a cotton chemise. She holds it up, its fabric gossamer thin and translucent in the soft light. I slip my arms through the sleeves, the cotton brushing against my skin like a light breeze.

“Lady Ashwood will go without a chemise or undergarments.” Kane’s instruction cuts through the air, and the attendant and I pause, chemise not yet over my head.

The maid’s hands tremble slightly as she grips the cotton. She glances between Kane and me, then slowly removes the chemise and sets it aside.

“Your corset, my lady.” Recovering her composure, she retrieves the garment and wraps the silk and bone around my waist.

My breath catches as the cool fabric encircles me. Her fingers move swiftly as she fastens the front and moves to lace the back. She pulls the laces snugly, the corset molding to my body, accentuating the gentle curve of my hips and rise of my chest and giving me the posture of a prima ballerina.

Kane’s attention doesn’t waver, and goose bumps crest against my skin as he looks at me through dark lashes.

“Tighter.” Kane’s demand interrupts the soft whisper of laces.

The maid pauses, her hands faltering. “We do not lace down so tightly, my lord.”

I clear my throat and find my voice, the words leaving my mouth automatically. “Do as he says.”

Across the room, Kane’s lips curve in an appreciative smile.

I let out a long breath as the maid returns to work. With each tug, the corset tightens. The stiff boning presses into my back and sides, straddling the line between pleasure and pain.

With every cinch of the laces, Kane’s desire winds around me just as tightly, his gaze never leaving the contours of my body. The room grows hotter, the air thicker with an unspoken need that clings as closely as the corset.

“Now the gown,” he commands, his voice low and rough.

With a quick nod, the maid retreats into the dressing room, leaving me cinched and sculpted and on display.

“You look…” Kane begins as he slowly circles me.

My breasts heave, billowing out of the corset as my heart thumps and I take small gulps of air. I want to please him more than I realized. I want him to want me. “I look…”

“Almost perfect,” he concludes.

I shiver involuntarily as he trails a finger down the small of my back, where the corset laces tighten into a knot.

The maid reenters, and Kane steps away, leaning against the bedpost, his muscles straining against his shirt as he crosses his arms over his broad chest. She lifts the beautiful gown and fits it over my newly molded curves. It settles over me in a cascade of deep-blue velvet, and Kane watches as every ripple of fabric spills over my figure.

“Leave the jewels,” he says as the attendant moves to the dresser and lifts the chosen necklace from the tray. “She outshines them all on her own.”

A shudder weaves into my spine, every inch of my skin tingling under his gaze. Though I’m fully dressed, he makes me feel utterly bare, more exposed than when I was submerged in the bath. There’s no hiding the flush of my cheeks or the quickening of my breath. There’s no hiding the effect this man has on me.

As the attendant makes her exit, leaving a trail of soft steps behind her, Kane moves closer, his whisper just for me, “A stunning trophy, indeed.”

He turns to offer his arm, and I settle my hand in the crook of his elbow. Chills chase through me with just the subtle brush of his sleeve against my skin.

“Are you ready, Fawn?” Kane asks as he guides me through the doorway toward where McDougall awaits us at the bottom of the staircase.

I take a deep breath, aware of every stitch of my corset biting softly into my waist, every glance of his dark eye. “I’m ready for everything.”

Kane’s forearm tightens under my palm. “Good,” he murmurs, “because everything is precisely what you need to be prepared for.”

Seventeen

My pulse beats a frenzied rhythm as McDougall announces our arrival to the feast, and Kane and I stride into the grand dining hall like we belong there. According to the lords, ladies, and staff in attendance, we do. We follow a young man, his glossy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, which reminds me of Kane before his transformation into the lord who receives respectful looks and nods of approval as we make our way to our assigned seats.

Kane rubs his thumb over the back of my hand, and I relax my grip on his arm, if only a little. My corset is tight, my breath coming in small hiccups, and I focus on inhaling deeply and slowly, taking in the air thick with the scents of roasted meats and spices.

Candlelit crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the dining hall, illuminating the space in liquid honey. Rich tapestries cover every inch of the twenty-foot-high walls, fresh flowers cascade from sculpturesque vases in waterfalls of blooms, and gold-threaded cloth drapes each table, the fabric washing down the sides, gathering in glimmering pools on the polished floor as nobility buzzes around us. I feel like I’ve stepped into a million-dollar scene from a show on HBO.

“Ashwoods!” Marion calls with a wave. Beside her, Lord Highgate downs the rest of his wine and motions for another.

Kane and I find our seats beside my new friend and her husband near the curve of the U-shaped arrangement of tables, giving us a clear view of the central space reserved for entertainment.

“Just as I suspected,” Marion says, lifting her wineglass, “McDougall had already seated us next to each other.”

I return Marion’s smile with a wobbly one of my own, wincing when the corset’s bones dig into my waist as I adjust my seat. Kane must have noticed, because his hand is on my back, his fingers tracing over the laces just beneath the velvet. My skin tingles and heats, the pain melting beneath his touch.

I clear my throat and reach for my own crystal goblet, distracting myself with a long pull of the deep-burgundy wine.

Relax, Hannah. You can’t stay in this realm, so give yourself permission to have a little emotion-free fun. You’re not necessarily good at omitting your feelings, but look at him.

My attention sneaks in his direction. The silver chalice embroidered in his eye patch catches the candlelight as he turns, his gaze finding mine.

He is a gorgeous, demanding, delicious sculpture of a man who I’m sure can do the most amazing things with those fingers.

Kane’s lips slide into a dark, lascivious grin, and he doesn’t have to say a word for me to know his thoughts align perfectly with mine. I cross my legs, squeezing my thighs together, thankful for the layer of fabric to soak up the mess.

Marion’s laughter chimes like bells, and I force my thoughts from Kane’s thick, rough hands and the way he looked at me as he watched each lace squeeze tighter.

“Although it is a pity the queen won’t be in attendance,” Marion says, and I get the distinct impression that I missed the first half of the conversation. “It’s impossible to get her to dine with a small party, much less a feast as grand as this.”

“The queen,” I mutter, my brain needing time to switch from fantasy to my new reality.

“But don’t worry. I’ve made arrangements for you and Lord Ashwood to meet with her tomorrow. An intimate gathering. At least that’s how it started.” She sets down her glass to glare across the table as a graceful brunette takes her seat opposite Kane, a plume of ostrich feathers sticking out of her upswept hair like a half-plucked chicken.

Before I can decide whether I want to get Marion started on the drama that’s sure to involve the brunette, McDougall’s voice echoes through the hall, immediately followed by a heavy blanket of silence.

The attendants pause in refilling wine goblets and pulling out chairs, their backs stiff and chins lifted as all heads turn toward the newcomers stepping into the glow of the candlelight. I missed McDougall’s introduction, not that anyone’s name would be familiar here, but it’s impossible not to notice the importance of whoever has entered. I crane my neck to get a better look around the dyed ostrich feathers quivering on top of our tablemate’s head.

“Who is it?” My whisper sounds like the crash of ocean waves against the quiet, but I don’t have time to be embarrassed.

Kane’s hand stiffens around his crystal goblet, his knuckles whitening, anger coiling around him as tightly as the laces of my corset as he glares at the figures crossing the threshold. The glass breaks with a sharp, resounding crack. Shards tumble onto the linen tablecloth, glistening like stars against a wine-stained sky. Across from me, Ostrich Feather squeals. Heads turn, gazes flicking to us only long enough to assess that our excitement pales in comparison to whatever, whoever, has arrived.

My hand flies to Kane’s clenched fist. Blood beads from between his fingers. He remains silent, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the entryway.

“Is everything okay?” I tighten my grip, drawing his attention to me. “Kane, are you okay?”

His attention flicks down to my hand on his. “I will be,” he murmurs, the words nearly drowned out by the rising swell of conversation as the room resets.

I unfold my napkin and guide his hand to my lap, wrapping the cream-colored cloth around his sliced palm.

“Are you quite well, Lord Ashwood?” Marion pipes up from over my shoulder. “The crystal in the Kingdom of Cups is made from stronger stuff, no doubt.”

“Yes.” His arm is rigid against my skirts as I tie the ends of the fabric into a knot. “Seems that way.”

He snatches his hand back, not meeting my eyes as he leans to make room for the attendants rushing to clean up the glass and erase all evidence of his error.

“He has arrived.” Marion leans into me, motioning around Ostrich Feather. “Our golden-haired king. He’s the one causing all the fuss.”

I shift in my seat, leaning over the decorative charger plate to get a glimpse. I’ve only ever seen photos of a king, and Alderic is nothing like the round and wrinkly old men pictured in textbooks. The King of Pentacles looks like the tall, muscley, lean quarterback heroes of the smutty football romances that fill my Kindle. His nearly neon-blue eyes cut through the crowd like shards of ice, and his hair is as close to gold as blond can get. A crown rests against his sunlit hair, catching the flicker of the chandeliers, its delicate design forming a circle of pentacles around his brow that matches the embroidered golden pentacles running down the lapels and cuffs of his long maroon velvet coat.

“That’s the king?”

“And the man he’s never without,” Marion continues, lowering her voice to a hush. “The one and only Four.”

King Lockhart’s counterpart emerges from the shelter of the ostrich feathers, deep-set eyes scanning the room. Four is stocky, with the thick build and square jaw of an undefeated fighter.

I clench my teeth, all senses on alert, ready for Kane to abandon the strict rules we’ve gone over about maintaining our cover in favor of launching himself at his enemy.

“Then there’s Ivy.” Marion’s glossed lips harden into a line as she nods to the woman who slips her arm around Four’s as they head to their seats at the head of the table next to the king.

Ivy’s hair falls in a silken blond sheet across her face as she gracefully settles into her chair, her creamy, pearlescent gown shimmering like moonlight on water.

Alderic lifts his glass, and I join in the toast with those around me. My gaze flicks to Ivy as she tucks her hair behind her ear. The king’s welcome speech clatters around me like bricks as my heart stutters and my lungs tighten.

Stephanie.

She’s here. With Four. At the head of the table, a seat away from the king.

Of course she is. Fucking Stephanie.

I manage to bring my glass to my lips and drain the contents in one gulp as cheers of “huzzah!” and “to Pentacles!” reverberate around me.

A single bell sounds, and two lines of attendants file into the dining hall, glittering gold plates in hand. They reach Ostrich Feather’s side of the table first, and she squeals, applauding the course the moment the plate hits the charger.

“Oh, pomegranates!”

I nearly choke on my wine, forcing down a sputtering swallow as Kane chuckles into his bandaged hand.

“Yes, Lady Whitmore,” Marion chimes, oblivious to my distress, “I do believe we’re all surprised that you weren’t the first to know the pomegranates had ripened.”

The two women share another heated glance I choose to ignore in the hopes I can make it through the rest of this meal without being reminded of the way Kane slid his fingers into that fruit.

An attendant rounds my left, setting down a plate topped with sliced figs, a dollop of goat cheese resting in a moat of honey, and a sprinkling of plump, glistening pomegranate seeds.

“Lady Ashwood and I seem to have gotten to them before you, Lady Whitmore. In fact, how were your pomegranates?” Marion asks me, cutting off a tiny triangle of honey-soaked cheese. “Were they as delicious as I made them out to be?”

I feel myself turn fire hydrant–red, and I stifle another cough, my mind still half-submerged in the warmth of the bathwater and Kane’s deliciously sweet fingers. “Yes, very delicious.”

“A flush like that over a fruit?” Marion watches me for a moment, a smile slowly curving her lips. “Lord Ashwood, were you able to taste any of your wife’s delicious pomegranates?”

Thankfully, the clink of silverware on crystal saves me from having to stumble through any more veiled conversations about the lurid details of my not-quite-sex life. The king clears his throat and slowly stands. He wobbles a bit as he reaches his full height, and Kane tenses, half rising from his seat as if to leap across the table to catch Alderic if he falls.

But Four is there instead, holding out a steadying hand the king clings to like a cane.

“You know,” King Lockhart begins, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over his gathered guests, “just these few moments at this table remind me of times past, when my father was still with us and the palace was filled with laughter and cheer.”

The room softens at the king’s words, and once again, my hand finds Kane’s.

“I think enough time has gone by. We must come out of mourning and open the palace once again. Bring back the festivals, the open courts, the balls… Let us breathe some life back into these old stones!”

A murmur of approval rises, and I can practically feel the excitement sparking off Marion with the mere mention of a ball.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Four interjects, his voice cutting through the warm buzz of enthusiasm, “I must advise against such actions at this time. The palace has not remained closed simply because of mourning. There is unrest within the kingdom, tensions among the townspeople. There is potential for them to see your vigor as an opportunity to attack.”

Kane tenses as if bracing against a blow, his jaw set, his bandaged hand squeezing mine, a silent storm brewing.

King Lockhart chuckles and points his dazzling smile to his most trusted aide. “Have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you, Four? Perhaps we should have hired you to be our entertainment.”

Laughter washes through the dining hall, but Kane remains silent and rigid. I follow his gaze, fixed firmly on Four. The stocky man’s lips twitch. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, and I swear a blue spark flashes from his fingertips.

Alderic’s knees buckle, and he collapses into his seat. The laughter dies abruptly, the king’s sudden fall sucking the air from the room.

This time, Kane stands along with Four and every other man seated at the tables.

“Your king is well,” Four announces with a dismissive wave, his other hand gripping Alderic’s shoulder. “Aren’t you, Your Majesty?”

Alderic bobs his head in a drunken nod. His crown of pentacles lists to one side, and Four catches it as it tumbles from the king’s brow.

“As the king said, it’s been quite some time since we’ve had a feast. The wine must not have been watered down as Your Majesty expected.” Four’s voice carries an edge that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

From the other side of Marion, Lord Highgate shifts uncomfortably. “Speaking of reopening the palace,” he ventures cautiously, “perhaps a measured approach could be considered. Invitations could be selective, security tightened—just until we are certain of the people’s sentiments.”

Four’s lips thin into a semblance of a smile that sends a chill racing through me. “Precisely, Lord Highgate. Caution is our best ally in these uncertain times.”

Kane laughs, harsh and bitter.

“You have something to say, Lord Ashwood?” Four asks, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto Kane.

“Only if King Lockhart wishes to hear it.” The muscles in his jaw twitch as he glares at Four, a silent challenge sparking in his eye.

“And if he does not?” Four’s knuckles flash white as he tightens his fist around Alderic’s crown.

Chairs scrape the floor as the other men sit back down, their attention swinging between Kane and Four.

Alderic pitches forward, his irises blazing blue. “You remind me of someone…someone I lost…”

Kane’s gaze shifts to the king. “Greed should not dictate the future of this great kingdom, Your Majesty. Pentacles once outshined all others, and now…”

“Now?” Four probes.

“Have you gone beyond the palace gates? Pentacles’s only bounty is behind these walls. This palace has become a dragon nesting on its gold.” Kane motions to the honey-dipped room around us. “I have been out with the people. I have seen that your kingdom is in decline. Is that not why these trade negotiations have come about—to strengthen the ailing alliance between Pentacles and Cups before everything crumbles?”

Four bristles, sweat beading on his forehead. “You know nothing about our great kingdom, Lord Ashwood, and I would ask that you do not speak against Pentacles, lest we begin to suspect you are our enemy and have come to do us harm.”

“Some would say Pentacles’s enemy was in its midst long before I arrived.”

Four’s eyes darken, his smile twisting into something sinister. “We have not yet begun our trade talks with you, Lord Ashwood, and after a display such as this, I cannot be certain we will.”

“Those talks, like this one, do not concern you. Or have I made a mistake? Are you the king?”

Blood drips ruby red from Four’s punishingly tight grip around the points of the pentacle-laced crown. “When you address the king, you address me.”

Kane laughs again, the sharp edge of his tone meant to cut. “When I address you, Four, you will know it.”

I hold my breath along with everyone else in the room, our eyes locked on the two men. The tension is a live wire, crackling, spitting currents of heat across the dining hall.

Just as sweat begins to bead on my brow, Ivy claps her hands. Marion and I flinch, knocking into each other. The room takes a collective exhale as Ivy calls out, “Gentlemen, enough!” She rests her thin hand on Four’s arm and smiles like the winner of a beauty pageant. “Let us not ruin a perfectly good evening with petty squabbles. I believe it’s time for entertainment, don’t you agree?” She motions to McDougall, who rushes from the room without a second glance.

Moments later, the doors at the far end of the hall swing open, and a troupe of performers enters. Jugglers toss gleaming knives through the air, sending flashes of silver whirling above their heads in mesmerizing arcs. Musicians strike up a light and airy tune as dancers twist into the hall.

The nobles reluctantly shift their attention to the performers, the tension easing but not disappearing entirely. Kane remains standing, his gaze still locked on Four. I reach for his hand and pull him down into his seat.

“What was that?” I whisper.

“Nothing,” he mutters, his brow creased with barely contained anger.

“Fine, don’t tell me. I get that this isn’t the time or the place, but remember that I need to be inside the palace. Don’t get us kicked out by getting into some political pissing contest.”

King Lockhart claps with childlike delight as the dancers and jugglers conclude their first piece and take a bow. The room joins in on the applause, and as it begins to fade, the entertainers part to form a wide aisle down the center of the hall. A violin plays, quick and dramatic, filling the hall with a new rush of anticipation.

Torches crackle, and flames throw shadows across the ceiling as two fire-breathers emerge. The men stride down the aisle, torches in hand, their bare chests slick with sweat, their blue eyes beaming.

I read an article once that said everyone with blue eyes shares a common ancestor. I’m not sure if that’s completely true, but I study King Lockhart’s profile and the fire-breathers’ as they settle into position and the dancers and jugglers file out.

The first fire-breather tilts his head back, the torch at his lips. He waits a beat of suspenseful silence, then exhales, sending a plume of fire into the air that glints off every polished surface. The nobles take in a collective gasp and lean back as heat fans out through the hall. The next entertainer follows suit, his flame even larger, the smell of burning oil tinging the air. They move with the grace of dancers, their bodies undulating in rhythm with the flickers and leaps of the flames they command.

The fire-breathers circle each other, the control in their movements precise and practiced. Just as their dance seems to reach its peak, the room echoing with the roar of flames, one of the fire-breathers breaks the choreography. He turns to the walls, releasing a torrent of fire onto the heavy tapestries lining the room.

“For the people!”

His partner’s voice is the crack of a whip. His bright blue eyes dance with flames as he removes a dagger from his waistband and hurls it at the king.

Eighteen

King Lockhart’s guttural cry bruises my ears, and I’m on my feet in an instant. Around me, nobles run screaming, their faces twisted in terror as the grand dining hall morphs into a nightmare of smoke and flames and the wails of an injured king.

“Secure the king!” Four’s shout barely pierces the chaos, but it’s enough to mobilize the guards. They burst through the haze, their burnished armor reflecting the frantic dance of the flames. “This is what happens when we let our guard down! Search the palace. Search the city. Bring any to me who are found conspiring against the crown.”

The air fills with shouts, the roar of fire, the crash of furniture as the guards move. They shove through the panicked crowd with ruthless efficiency, trampling anyone in their path as they surround the king and move him to safety.

Flames lick up the rich tapestries, their orange and yellow tongues greedily tasting before devouring them whole. They gorge on the walls and consume the silken tablecloths, dining on the feast laid out for a king.

Screams scorch the air, the feast forgotten, abandoned as lords, ladies, and attendants rush to exit. The room is a chaotic swirl of fire and smoke, bodies, and screams. Heat presses against my sweat-slick skin, yet I’m frozen in place. Kane squeezes my hand, and I don’t know how long he’s been holding it, but the connection jolts me into action.

I trip over upturned chairs and broken plates as he pulls me behind him. My eyes sting and tear, and I continue to race after him, trusting his firm grip, trusting him to lead me to safety. Bodies slam against me from all sides, and my hold on him weakens as the crowd surges like a wave breaking over rocks.

“Kane!” I shout, but my voice is lost in the cacophony.

My hand is torn from his, and I lose him in the swell of bodies crashing between us.

“Kane!” I scream his name again, my voice strangled beneath a blanket of smoke as panic flares in my chest.

I’m jostled from side to side, a buoy in a stormy sea of panic and chaos. The crush of bodies presses against me, and I lose my balance and stumble backward. My arms flail, my fingers glancing off rushing limbs. Finally, I collide with something solid. My eyes meet Four’s, ablaze with a vicious blue light that makes me wish I’d fallen to the floor.

He snarls at me, low and guttural, and with a violent shove, my wish is granted. Four sends me careening into the flames, my back slamming into the wall. Searing heat scorches the hem of my gown. In a horrifying whoosh, my skirts ignite.

A scream lodges in my throat as I frantically swat at the flames crawling up my dress. I only seem to fan them, the heat unbearable as I struggle to put out the fire.

The world tilts and spins. Tears stream down my face, smoke clouding my vision. The exit may as well be miles away. Desperation claws at me as fire turns my skirts into ashes and embers. Smoke fills my lungs, choking off the sounds of my screams as my vision blurs and dark spots dance at the edges of my sight.

A shadow moves through the haze. It reaches me just as my legs buckle, heat and smoke siphoning away the last of my strength. I sway, about to collapse, when strong hands grip my shoulders.

“Hannah!” Kane strips off his jacket and smothers the flames burning through my gown. The fabric smolders, and Kane doesn’t hesitate. He tears the charred fabric from my dress and scoops me into his arms. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shirt as he pushes through the crowded hall, his body shielding mine from the worst of the heat.

Around us, attendants and guards fight to control the fire, their faces streaked with sweat and soot. Armed with buckets of sand and water, they shout orders, their voices sharp above the hiss and sputter of dying flames.

With a grunt, Kane removes one arm from around me, and his skin grows incredibly hot beneath the layers of his clothes. I move to jump from him, to put out the flames that have claimed him, but he presses me closer.

“I am well, Little Fawn. All will be well.”

Through my tear-swirled vision, I spot a light pouring from Kane’s hand. It’s golden yellow, nearly indistinguishable from the chaos of the fire, but I’ve seen this kind of magick before. “You’re putting out the flames.”

“I have helped as best I can,” he says, not slowing down as we reach the grand staircase.

“You have to go back. Put it out completely.”

“They would kill me for practicing magick, for having it at all. And I have done more than what you saw. It will not spread farther, but we must escape this smoke.”

I cling to him, my arms tight around his neck, my face buried against his chest. His muscles flex with each powerful step, his breath steady despite the strain. The stairs blur beneath us as he climbs. The higher we go, the cooler the air, the heavy smoke unable to follow us into the sanctuary of the upper floors.

We reach our room, and Kane kicks the door open without breaking his stride. He gently sets me down on the plush edge of the bed, the silk duvet cool against my tender skin. He turns back, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.

My body trembles, my heart still pounding in my chest as the quiet of the room unfurls around me, and I breathe in lungfuls of crisp, clean air.

“Are you hurt?” Kane tears off his eye patch and crouches in front of me, his dark gaze searching mine for any signs of pain. He caresses my arms, gentle and careful, as if I might shatter under his touch, before moving his hands to my legs. He rips away my stockings and cautiously examines my skin beneath, pink with heat.

I shake my head and blow out a long, slow breath. “I’m not hurt.”

The intensity in his gaze never wavers, his eyes dark and full of a fierce protectiveness as his fingers trail up my calves. The warmth of his touch spills into my skin, easing the lingering tension, and I lean against him, catching my breath in the safety of his arms.

“You saved me. Again.” My voice wavers, the adrenaline ebbing, leaving a tremble in its wake.

He lifts his hand, then hesitates a moment before brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. His touch is light, but it brings a new wave of heat rolling against my skin as his fingers trail down my cheek.

“Fawn…”

The room seems to close in around us, the sounds of the ongoing rush to extinguish the withering flames a distant rumble beneath the pulse throbbing in my ears.

His fingers graze my chin, lifting it slightly, his face inching closer to mine. He smells like smoke and pine and something distinctly Kane.

“I will always save you.”

His other hand wraps around my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. His gaze slides to my lips, lingering, questioning. Our eyes meet, and without another word, his mouth crashes over mine in a desperate, fiery claim.

I reach up, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, needing the connection, needing him.

He wraps his arms around me, pressing me to him. Hungry to feel his naked skin, I tear at the collar of his shirt. He stops me, grabbing my wrists, and I moan as he breaks the kiss, our foreheads resting against each other, our breaths mingling.

“Patience, Little Fawn.” His hand strokes down the column of my neck, my shoulders, my collarbones, over the plump rise of my breasts pushing against the strict confines of my corset. “I like to take my time.”

He stands and pulls me to my feet before hooking his fingers over the back of my dress. With a sharp tug, he rips away what’s left of the soot-streaked fabric. It falls around my feet like a tattered rag. And, once again, I’m in front of him in nothing but laces and silk.

“I nearly lost you.” His voice is a rough whisper as he undoes the pins from my hair with deliberate slowness. “And without tasting you first.” He fists my long braid in his hand and pulls it down until my face tilts up. “A mistake I will not make again.”

He claims my mouth with a ferocity that makes me moan. My fingers fly to his waistband, desperate to free his cock, to feel him against me.

Using my braid for leverage, he jerks my head back, breaking our kiss once again. “What did I say about patience?”

It’s a question that doesn’t require an answer, but I offer one anyway. “I’ve been good.”

He releases my braid and slides his rough palm over the swell of my breasts. “Have you?”

His touch ignites a fire, and I can only nod, desire surging through me, slick heat trailing down my inner thighs. He backs away and begins a slow circle around me, his dark eyes trailing over every inch of my body.

He stops behind me, and his words vibrate against my back. “Should we see how good of a girl you can be?” He pulls my corset laces, and I suck in a breath as it tightens around me. “These laces are designed to constrain and define, but I wonder how well they hold when pushed to their limits.”

I swallow. “Should we find out?” I ask, my voice a breathy plea.

He unknots the laces, pulling them free from their loops with tortuous slowness. The corset loosens, and I fill my lungs, the cool air rushing in. I want to rip the rest of it off, to turn and wrap myself around him, to feel every inch of this man against me, inside me.

Instead, Kane takes his time peeling the corset from my waist. The wide boning stamped a pattern against my skin, marking me as his. Corset discarded, he guides me to face him, scarlet laces gathered in his fist, his dark gaze trailing over me, searing my skin.

My heart pounds in anticipation, every nerve ending alive, as he lays me back onto the soft cocoon of the bed.

He holds the laces above me like a weapon, a tool of restraint and release as he guides my hands above my head. He ties one end of the laces around my right wrist, then my left, like silken cuffs. His rough fingers graze my skin, and I twist against the bed, desperate for him.

He smiles that sinful smile that’s made promises I know he intends to keep as he stretches my arms above my head and secures the other end of the silk laces to the bedpost. Kane licks his lips and leans back, taking in the sight of me spread out before him, my wrists bound, my naked body completely at his mercy.

“Gods, you’re exquisite,” he murmurs, desire burning in his eyes, a barely restrained need that matches my own.

He leans down, his lips capturing mine in a searing kiss that steals my breath and leaves me gasping and dizzy, my heart pounding in my chest.

Kane slides down my body. The fabric of his clothed skin brushes against me, making me shiver as his lips leave a trail of fire along my neck. When he reaches my breasts, he pauses, looking up at me with a wicked glint in his eyes before taking one nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the tight peak before sucking gently. His hand moves to my other breast. His fingers pinch and roll my nipple, matching the rhythm of his mouth.

I arch my back, pressing myself closer to him. He responds by sucking harder, his teeth grazing my sensitive skin in a way that makes me gasp and pull at my restraints. His mouth leaves my breast, only to move to the other, giving it the same attentive, excruciating pleasure. He nibbles lightly, then soothes with his tongue, flicking over the pebbled bud.

He releases my nipple, his breath hot against my wet skin. He looks up at me, his dark eyes endless. Then he shifts lower, resuming his descent. His fingers brush teasing trails along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs as he spreads my legs wide. Kane’s mouth follows the path of his fingers, and I bite my lower lip, my breath fluttering as the cool air brushes against the wetness that awaits him.

“Kane, please,” I whisper, voice trembling.

His tongue flicks out, tasting me, and I gasp, my hips bucking involuntarily. My nails dig into the silk corset laces while he holds my thighs apart, keeping me open for him as he licks and teases.

A moan escapes me, and my hands strain against the bindings. The tension adds an edge to the pleasure that heightens every sensation. Kane continues his torture, and his name falls from my lips in a breathless chant, a plea for more, for everything.

His eyes lock on mine, his expression dark and hungry as he parts my thighs farther, opening me further. “You taste so good, Fawn. So sweet. So wet.” The vibration of his voice sends a shiver through my body as he licks into me, his tongue delving deeper. “I’m going to drink you up. Every last drop.”

He continues his exquisite torment, sucking gently, drawing out my pleasure in long, lingering pulls.

“Kane,” I gasp, my voice breaking on his name.

He pulls back, his lips tilted in a wicked smirk that glistens with my arousal.

“Please,” I whimper, “don’t stop.”

His grin widens, eyes blazing as he slides his finger inside me before curling in a rhythm that leaves me gasping. “Promise to be my good girl, Fawn.”

“I promise,” I cry. “I promise to be your good girl.”

His free hand grips my hip, and he pulls me closer. “Then come for me, Fawn.” He brings his mouth back to my clit, humming against me, sending vibrations through my core. “Come on my tongue.”

The pressure builds, unstoppable. His command and his touch tie around me, forcing my surrender. My moans grow louder, more desperate and wilder, as I strain against the silk bindings. My body responds to his words, and my mind fills with the need to obey, to show him just how good I can be.

Kane’s tongue moves faster. Each increasingly insistent flick sends me higher. The pleasure builds, a tidal wave that crashes over me. I come undone. My body quakes with the force of my release.

I shudder and cry out as Kane’s mouth continues its worship, drinking down every pulse of my release. His tongue strokes me through the aftershocks until I’m a trembling, spent mess beneath him.

He moves up my body, his kisses trailing a burning path along my stomach. He pauses to lavish attention on my breasts, sucking and teasing until I’m arching into him, craving more. Then he captures my lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue explores mine, and I can taste myself on him. The sweetness sends another wave of heat pooling between my legs.

“You’ve been such a good girl. Would you like your reward?”

“That wasn’t it?”

“Not even close,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear.

I smile and buck into him, my body already begging for it.

“Take off your clothes.” I pant, my hands straining to break free from their binds and strip him. “Take them off.” My fingers ache to pull him closer, to feel him against me without any barriers.

Kane shifts onto one arm. Slowly, he undoes the laces of his breeches. The anticipation coils tighter within me, my body throbbing with need, as he frees his thick cock.

“It’s this or it’s nothing.”

“This,” I whisper against his lips. “I need you. I want you.”

“You have me,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine in a tantalizing tease.

He positions himself at my entrance. The tip of his cock teases me, making me gasp, and my body responds instinctively, my hips lifting to meet him.

“Do you want to be mine, Little Fawn?” He inches forward, pushing inside me just enough to make me moan, then pulls back.

I whimper, my wrists straining against the silk bonds. “Please, Kane…”

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps. His cock teases me again as he pulls on my bindings, and the silk digs into my wrists.

“I want to be yours,” I moan, trembling. “Only yours.”

His grip on my wrists tightens, possessive and unyielding, his body dominating mine. “Good girl.”

With one powerful thrust, he fills me completely. I cry out in pleasure, stretching around every inch of him, satisfyingly full.

He cuts off my cries with a fierce kiss. His tongue explores my mouth with a hunger that matches the intensity of his thrusts. It’s all-consuming, every inch of my body flaming, on fire, beneath him.

When he pulls back, his eyes lock onto mine. His breath is hot against my skin as he leans in, and his lips brush my cheek. “You look so good tied up. So beautiful. Mine for the taking.”

The praise sends a thrill through me. I arch my back, lifting my hips, begging for more. And he gives it to me, each powerful thrust driving deeper.

My pleasure builds into a tightening coil ready to snap. Every movement, every touch, drives me closer to the edge.

With a moan of his name, I tumble over, my body convulsing around him. My cries fill the room, mingling with his groans of satisfaction as he continues to drive into me, riding out my climax until I feel him tense. His grip on my cuffs tightens, and I’m even more full than before as his body shudders against mine.

For a moment, we stay like that, breaths mingling, bodies entwined. After seconds…minutes…hours…Kane reaches up. He unties the knot and gently untangles the silk laces from around my hands. Pulling me close, he kisses each wrist, soothing the marks left by the restraints.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, tracing the indentations.

I shake my head, a lazy smile spreading across my lips as I rest my head against his chest. “You could never hurt me.”

And the words feel so true, my heart aches. Even though I know they’re a lie. Because he can hurt me. Because he will if I don’t protect my heart. My pleasure is the only thing that can truly be his. But for the first time in a long time, I feel at home in my own skin. I’m afraid the barriers I purposefully constructed, the new mantras I know I should live by, are now in pieces around us.

“It’s good we were there when the fire broke out,” Kane says, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I don’t want to think what would have happened to the palace if I hadn’t been able to help stop it.”

I stiffen and take in a lungful of air, searching it for smoke. We were so busy creating heat of our own that I forgot all about the flames and the feast, the way Four’s eyes blazed blue, how he left me for dead.

“Why did they do it?” I ask, blinking back images of the men attacking the king, spitting fire, knowing it could end us all.

“It is…complicated.”

I lift my head and look up at him, into those eyes that have seen through me since the second I landed in Towerfall.

Kane’s hold on me tightens, his muscles rigid as if he’s fighting himself, before he says, “Power has shifted since Alderic’s father died. The former king was a strong and giving leader who distributed the kingdom’s wealth, kept his people fed, made the land fertile. Now…”

“His son wants it all for himself.”

“No.” Kane shakes his head. “Alderic is a great man, as good as his father—better even.”

“Then why set the fire? Why attempt to assassinate him? Why form a pitchfork-wielding mob outside the palace gates?”

Kane pushes himself up, his back resting against the wooden headboard. “Alderic is not himself, and I will see to him as soon as I can without drawing attention and make sure his injury is not deadly.”

“That’s nice of you. He shouldn’t die, no one should, but this wouldn’t be the first time someone seemingly great has ascended to power just to become a disgusting, greedy ass.” I try to keep my tone light, but life back in Chicago has taught me that, given the chance, many people will take power and money over kindness and decency any day.

“I grew up with Alderic. He is like a brother to me. This is not who he is. This is the curse. This is Four.”

“I think I saw Four’s magick. It was blue, bright blue, like Alderic’s eyes. Like the fire-breathers’.”

“He wishes to instill fear, keep the nobles frightened and compliant and Alderic weak and injured so he can strengthen his own rule.” Kane’s hand balls into a fist, his knuckles white with the force of his anger.

I grab his fist and hold it between my hands. I lower my face to his knuckles, and slowly, carefully, as if he might retreat back into himself and put up the smirking warrior mask, I feather a kiss against the back of his hand.

He lets out a sigh, his breath stirring my hair as his grip relaxes. Gold glimmers from the space between his fingers, and I turn over his hand. A thin gold line carves a path in his flesh where once there was glass and blood.

“The wine goblet,” I whisper, dragging my finger along the scar that mirrors mine.

He stiffens once more and yanks his hand away.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s not your fault.” He stares down at the gold line glinting up from his palm. “It’s my magick. There are parts of it I cannot control.”

“Is that how Four made sure you were banished? He told the king about your magick?”

No amount of strength and power could hide that gleaming gold. Not forever anyway.

“Yes, I had managed to keep it hidden. I knew that if Alderic found out, it would put him in an impossible position.” Kane’s gaze meets mine, and there’s a raw honesty in his eyes that takes my breath away. “Four used that to get me out of his way. Although not forever. Not like he planned.”

“But he has magick too.” I sit up, wrapping the soft sheet around myself, my questions tumbling out. “How does no one else know he’s using his magick for evil? Why hasn’t he been banished or beheaded? And why wouldn’t the kingdom want someone with your abilities on their side?”

“Magick is passed down through the mother’s line. But not all women have magick. The Tower is fickle, selective. It gave its power not to the rulers, but to the people of Towerfall.”

“The ruling families didn’t have magick—have never had magick,” I say, realization dawning. “So they saw it as a threat, not a gift.”

“And they did what those in power do when faced with something they fear, something they can’t control. They made it punishable by death. Simply being born of a woman with magick in her blood is a crime.” He sets his jaw, the angle sharp and hard. I know there’s a story there, about his people, his mother, but that story’s for a different day.

“There aren’t many of us left,” Kane continues, “but for those of us who do have magick, we hide it, suppress it. In Four’s case, he uses distraction and fear and the fact the nobility would rather keep their bellies and coffers full and their heads cradled by silk sheets than ever challenge him. But magick can’t simply be turned off. It’s a part of each one who wields it. It is a part of my flesh, my blood, my very soul.” He stares down at the scar before closing his fingers, smothering the line of gold.

I can’t help but feel like, if given the choice, he would gladly give his gift away.

“How magick is wielded is not as simple as an issue of good versus evil. It is controlled by the core of who you are, by your heart.”

“I thought your heart wasn’t available,” I say, my smile soft. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. All of them, Lord Ashwood.”

I settle my hand against his thigh, the thick muscles bunched under the soft leather breeches, the faint smell of smoke still clinging to them.

The corner of his mouth ticks with a grin as he smooths his fingers along my braid. “And yours with me, my lady wife.”

“I do have one more question.”

Wrapping my braid around his hand, he tugs slightly and murmurs a low growl of acknowledgment that makes my nipples tighten beneath the sheet. “Yes, Little Fawn.”

“How do you plan to get rid of Four without bringing the kingdom down with him?” I ask, following his direction as he pulls me up his body, leading me by my braid.

“You don’t think I can rally supporters?” he whispers, his lips a breath away from mine.

“Should I be jealous?” My body hums, warm, wet, and aching for him. I close my eyes and lean forward, desperate for his touch, his kiss. “I’ve experienced the way you rally support.”

Kane retreats, and I fall face-first into a mound of pillows, a muffled squeak flying from my lips when I crash into the goose down.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” He stands, dragging his hands through his hair, tension etched into the hard line of his shoulders.

The weight on the bed shifts as I push myself up and secure the blanket around my shoulders, as if anything short of disappearing completely could hide my confusion and embarrassment.

“You’re very forward, sexually, and I don’t know.” I shrug. “We’re not in a relationship or anything. That’s off the table, you made that clear from the very beginning, but if you wanted to get another woman’s…support, it would be easy for you to do so.” I clear my throat. “I was just trying to be bantery, but it clearly failed.”

“I’m not with another woman,” he blurts. “That’s not what I want. That’s not why I came back to the palace.”

“I didn’t say it was.” I shake my head and tuck escaped strands of hair behind my ears. “I think my attempt to be cute got lost in translation. You’re not here to get a wife. You have to—to—”

“Unseat Four before it’s too late.”

“Yes, right, and I still have to find my purse and the Empress card. Knowing Stephanie, she took it,” I grumble.

Kane’s brow furrows. “Stephanie?”

“Here, Stephanie is Ivy, Four’s hell spawn girlfriend.” I wince. “I don’t know that she’s actually a terrible person. I’ll admit that I might be a tad biased. In my realm, Stephanie is perfect. She’s Successful Barbie: well prepared, well-spoken, and well-dressed. I’m sure she’s never been cheated on or accused of being desperate, and every bra and panty set she owns matches.” I take a deep breath and exhale. “She’s basically everything I’m not.”

“You’re not wrong about Ivy, although she does have her uses.”

“She’s terrible here too?”

He hesitates for long enough to make my heart stumble, the phrase she does have her uses playing over and over again in my mind. Would Kane say I have my uses too?

It doesn’t matter, Hannah. This is all for fun. Nothing more. He doesn’t owe you an explanation.

“I don’t truly know her. Although, how well can you truly know anyone?” He combs his fingers through his hair again, smoothing his palm down the nape of his neck. “But if she’s with Four, she must be.”

I study his face, searching for any hint of deception. This might be all about pleasure, and he might not owe me a rundown of his past exploits, but it won’t be okay if he lies to me.

Kane stares back at me, calm, cool, and collected—a combination I seem to fall for every time. Doubt curls around my stomach, and I’m back in the cottage, back with the man who told me not to trust anyone, back with every liar I’ve ever been with and every red flag I’ve ever ignored.

His gaze shifts to a playful glint, and a cheeky grin spreads across his face. “You know, there’s a different kind of magick I could teach you.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his sly grin and more than happy to set my doubts aside for Future Hannah to deal with. “But I don’t have any magick.”

“I have enough for the both of us,” he says, his tone light and heavy all at once. “And this, Little Fawn, is a spell you won’t cast alone.”

I swallow as he approaches, his palms hot and hard as he pushes me back onto the bed.

“It’s very powerful magick.” He grabs the discarded scarlet laces, and I bite my lower lip. “All about channeling energy and pleasure to manifest desires and intentions, weave spells, break curses.”

He pulls the sheet down my chest, exposing my breasts.

“You’re talking about sex magick.” My breath hitches as he drags the tips of the laces across my bare chest.

“I am,” he says, smiling down at me with that wicked grin I can’t seem to get enough of. “And I think we could be very good at it.”

“Oh, really?” I try to play coy even while a fresh rush of desire drips between my legs.

“Really,” he murmurs. “In fact, I think we should give it a try. What do you say?” His expression is pure mischief as he pulls the sheet lower, his hands already starting to work their magick on my body.

“Yes,” I whisper, my body humming as he loops the laces around my thigh.

“Now be a good girl, Little Fawn, and tell me what you wish for.”

Nineteen

Marion’s sitting room is a cozy nest filled with plush chairs, pillows, and throws in different shades of pastel pink. Delicate porcelain teacups and a matching tea set sit on the small round table between us, next to a golden tray covered with soft doughy pastries.

Warm midmorning sunlight filters in through blush-pink lace curtains, casting swirling patterns on the carpeting Lord Highgate seems determined to wear down to nothing with his heavy, insistent pacing.

“As I was saying, before my dear husband thought to join us”—he continues his marching, unaware of the barbed gaze Marion shoots in his direction—“I am so happy to know that both you and Ashwood escaped last night’s inferno unharmed.”

“Not much of an inferno if they were able to contain it so quickly with just buckets of sand and water,” Highgate grumbles, although neither of us asked for his opinion.

With a sigh, Marion sets down her teacup. “Tell me, husband, how would you have preferred they extinguish the blaze?”

“As women, I do not expect you to know the difference and that an inferno is not simply a large fire. It is raging, uncontrolled flames that burn with such ferocity and intensity that they can and will consume everything in their path. You see, the term ‘inferno’ denotes a fire that has grown beyond the manageable confines of an ordinary flame, becoming a destructive force of nature.”

He pauses his pacing, drawing out the explanation for dramatic effect. “An inferno generates an amount of heat so immense that it can cause materials nearby to ignite spontaneously, even those that would not normally burn. It can engulf forests, towns—”

“Give it a rest,” I groan. “We don’t need you to explain fire to us. We get it. We were literally there.” I exchange a glance with Marion, my patience completely gone. I came here to talk about last night, to talk about Kane (in and out of bed), and to figure out when would be the best time to go snooping for my purse without arousing suspicion, not to hold court for a distracted man who doesn’t want to be alone. “Speaking of being anywhere else, don’t you have somewhere to be, or are you just going to pace around us the whole morning?”

Marion swallows a laugh and, ever the diplomat, offers him a polite smile. “Yes, Highgate, do sit if you’d like to join us. You’re making our guest uncomfortable.”

Highgate’s lips press into a thin line, and he pulls out his pocket watch, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. “I do have an important meeting to sit in on with Four and Ashwood while the king continues to recover from his minor injury. Trade negotiations and what have you.”

“Don’t let us keep you,” Marion coos, blinking up at him over the rim of her teacup.

“Yes, well, then, I must be off.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides away, the door clicking shut behind him.

I let out a frustrated sigh, shaking my head. “Doesn’t it bother you that he thinks we’re brainless because we’re women and that we’re expected to just sit here and drink tea while the men go make all the rules?”

Marion’s smile fades, and she sets her teacup down with a soft clink. “Of course it does. Especially when Highgate enters one of these spells when he can’t seem to sit still. I wonder how clearheaded he is when there’s obviously something bothering him, but this is the way it has always been. A huge disruption would have to happen to cause change. And, even if change were to occur, it wouldn’t be overnight.”

“It’s ridiculous that we’re not even allowed in the same room as the discussions.”

“Hannah, I had no idea how much you valued the trade deal between our two kingdoms.” Marion’s brow arches as she suppresses another laugh.

“Okay, so I might not care about trade deals, but there’s clearly something going on within the kingdom. There was a mob outside the gates when Ashwood and I arrived. Yesterday two men tried to kill the king and burn down the palace along with all the nobility, and with what Ashwood has said about the state of the kingdom—how it’s near collapse and its people are starving…? So, no, trade deals don’t matter to me. What I care about is sitting back and doing nothing when so much needs to change.” I bite my lower lip and clasp my hands in my lap before I climb further onto the soapbox I haven’t shouted from since college.

It’s not that I’ve never cared about my future as a whole. I have. I do. But it’s always been structured and confined. What will the next year look like at Posh Pulse? The next three months with Chad or Brian or James? Should I commit and save up for the stick-on wallpaper I keep seeing ads for? None of my thoughts about the future have ever been big or grand or even detailed enough to require a dot planner. I thought that was a strength, or if I’m being honest, I never really thought much of it at all. Maybe I should. Maybe the Hannah in Towerfall is closer to who I really am. Or at least who I want to be.

“It is true, since the death of the former king, Pentacles has quickly declined. As you know, there is a certain amount of insulation that comes with being a member of the nobility. We can choose to be oblivious to the true extent of the suffering outside these walls.”

She pauses, glancing around as if the stones might have ears.

My skin prickles, and I look around the room, paranoid that we’re being bugged even though this world doesn’t have electricity, much less spyware. This isn’t the first time Marion has been cautious about what she’s saying.

Even more of a reason for you to find that card and get out of Towerfall, Hannah.

“The people are desperate. They’re starving, and they’ve lost faith. They are furious with the palace, the nobles, and the new king. Anger and resentment are growing, and it’s only a matter of time before that hatred boils over into something more dangerous. I am afraid I agree with Ashwood’s statements last night. If something isn’t done soon, there will be nothing left to save.”

“Why is there no urgency within the palace?” I ask. “Why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

Marion takes a deep breath, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. “My father died some time ago. He was well, and then he was slightly ill but not too ill to do the things he loved. And then he died. People who knew him said it was sudden and could not have been prevented. My mother, however, says that when she looks back, she can see that he was disappearing right before her eyes. At the time, they were still living life, fulfilling their duties, having fun. But when he died suddenly, it was all too apparent to her that they had squandered their chance to save him.”

“Marion,” I say, covering her hand with mine, “I am so sorry.”

Shaking her head, she blinks the tears from her eyes. “It was years ago, and I only speak about my father to say that the nobility is the same. They are living life, fulfilling their duties, having fun with all their comforts and power. They don’t see the urgency because they don’t feel the consequences. It’s easy to ignore the cries of the hungry when you’re feasting on delicacies every night. And those who speak out against the problems have a way of disappearing.”

Like Kane. Like you if you continue to stay in this world.

“But that doesn’t mean we are powerless,” Marion continues, setting down her teacup. “We may be surrounded by those who refuse to acknowledge the suffering taking place, but we don’t have to. There is something we can do.” She nibbles on a small cake and dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

“What is it?” I prod. “And please don’t say it ends with us mysteriously disappearing.”

“Only if we don’t get caught.” She smiles, but I don’t match her mirth.

I want to help—I do. It’s why I care so much about the corporate-responsibility side of marketing. I can see how much Pentacles needs people who care. But I also want to go home. And I can’t go home if I’m dead.

Marion places her cloth napkin on the table and folds her hands in her lap. “While it’s true that we aren’t included in the meetings, we do have our husbands’ ears. I don’t know about Ashwood, but it’s not terribly difficult to get Highgate to change his mind. You simply have to know which levers to pull,” she says with a flirtatious wiggle of her brow. “But first things first.” She wipes an invisible speck of lint from her dress and pushes away from the table. She pulls the bell in the corner of the room, and a few moments later, her attendant arrives.

“Lady Ashwood and I would like to go walking. In town.”

“Oh!” Her maid’s eyes widen, and she curtsys before locking the main door behind her and disappearing into an adjoining room.

“In town?” I ask. “I thought you couldn’t leave the palace.”

“I can’t.”

The attendant returns with two sets of plain maid’s uniforms neatly folded and stacked. “I hid them so well, I nearly couldn’t find them.” She chuckles, offering one first to Marion and then to me.

“We have to hurry,” Marion says and quickly begins to unfasten her gown. “Four can be long-winded, but on the off chance he’s quick and to the point, I don’t want to be gone long enough for Highgate to have questions. Plus, I’ve arranged a meeting between you, Ashwood, and the queen…and the rest of the court, but that’s only because Lady Whitmore—”

“Wait.” I shake my head, the dress limp in my hand. “We’re sneaking out?”

“You said you want to inspire change. Well, how else do you plan to discover what is truly plaguing the people of Pentacles if not by going out to witness it firsthand? There is a difference between being told the kingdom is suffering and seeing it for yourself.” Marion is the perfect mannequin, still and poised as her attendant tugs her fancy dress off her body. “Perhaps this will be the beginning of the change we so badly need. And how perfect that it will be right before tea with the queen where you will be able to discuss your concerns.”

Shit.

I should be stealthily extracting information from Marion about when to best resume my own private tour of the palace so I can locate the Empress card and leave this world before I’m found out, but instead I’m shedding my clothes and slipping into the attendant’s plain cotton dress.

Why can’t you just keep your mouth shut, Hannah?

I stand in front of Marion’s full-length, gold-framed mirror and tie the apron around my waist.

“How do I look?” I ask, brushing my braid from my shoulder and straightening the apron’s white sash.

Marion turns and gives me an approving nod. “Convincing,” she says with a grin as she piles her napkin full of leftover sweets and shoves the swollen parcel into her pocket.

Together, we venture into the hallway behind Marion’s maid. Keeping our heads down and our eyes averted, we weave through the bustling corridors below the palace’s main floor. We hug the wall as attendants hurry past with trays of food, linens, and other necessities and make our way to a narrow, dimly lit staircase that leads to the attendants’ entrance.

The steps creak beneath us, and I tense with every groan of the old wood like I’m suddenly sixteen again, sneaking out of my house. The staircase opens onto a sunlit courtyard busy with deliveries and conversation.

Marion nudges me forward to follow as her maid falls into step with the others heading toward the gates at the front of the palace. There’s a lump in the back of my throat as we approach the guards standing watch, their spears resting at their sides.

We near the gate, and a guard’s neon-blue gaze lingers on us for a moment too long. Panic flares in my chest, and I feel Marion tense beside me as he steps forward, suspicion etched across his face, Four’s magick burning in his eyes.

He knows, Hannah. He’s going to catch you—find out you’re not a maid or Lady Ashwood. They’re going to chop off your head or throw you in a dungeon. Either way, you’re never getting back home.

Marion’s maid takes a ragged breath and presses her hand to her chest. She stumbles and falls directly in front of the approaching guard.

A nearby attendant cries out and rushes to the fainted woman. She presses her hand to her cheek, and Marion’s maid lets out a whimper of feigned distress.

“Call the apothecary!” the attendant shouts, cradling the maid’s head in her lap.

The guard hesitates, then rushes back to the servants’ entrance.

Marion mouths a silent thank you as we hurry to the gates.

Once we’re out of view of the guards, Marion tugs at my sleeve, and we drift away from the group, taking a sharp left down a quieter alley.

“I didn’t think we’d make it,” I whisper, my heart still racing from the close call.

“Best not to celebrate just yet.” She casts a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure we’re not being followed. “We haven’t yet entered the heart of the city. Brace yourself, Hannah. The Kingdom of Pentacles is a far cry from the shining gem I’m sure you’re used to in Cups.”

The sounds of the city grow louder around us as we step out into the crowded marketplace. Merchants call out, their voices shrill over the clamor of horses’ hooves on stone and the distant drone of street musicians. The air is thick with smoke, refuse, and the sharp tang of sweat. Marion pulls me through the throng, dodging vendors and weaving around shoppers as we make our way deeper into the city, where the streets narrow and twist into dark alleyways. The buildings here are older, their facades worn and crumbling, and the shouts and music of the market are replaced by muted voices and the shuffle of weary feet.

Marion stops at the mouth of an alley and turns to me. “Keep your eyes on the ground,” she whispers. “If we’re found out, we’ll have more than an angry mob to deal with.”

I nod and follow her into the dim passageway, where even the midday sun struggles to reach the hunched figures and tired faces. We pass makeshift shelters pieced together with tattered fabric and old crates. Marion leads me toward a small square, sunlight illuminating the skeletal outlines of children huddled together near a crumbling stone fountain and a ramshackle blacksmith’s barn. Their faces are gaunt, their cheeks hollowed, eyes large and sunken with hunger. The eldest wraps a tattered blanket around a younger child who can’t be more than three. They sit silently with their gazes fixed on the cobblestones. Their thin fingers dig into their ragged clothes. A few others linger nearby, hands outstretched, muttering softly.

“Please, miss,” the older girl says, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you have any food?”

My heart aches as I glance at Marion, who takes out the napkin she stuffed into her pocket.

They gobble up the cakes, the bright frosting like Technicolor against their sallow skin. My gaze falls to the elder sister as she rocks her brother back and forth. I kneel beside her, and she glances up, her expression guarded and cautious.

“What’s your name?” I ask gently.

“Lila,” she replies, her voice hoarse. She’s thinner, her skin an ashen gray, and her hair isn’t as bouncy and shiny, but she’s the mirror image of the president of Posh Pulse’s granddaughter.

“Lila,” I repeat, a weak smile tugging at my lips. “Lila, I promise to do something about this. I promise to help.”

“They’ve made promises before. No one helps us.”

I swallow, my throat thick. For the first time, I wish Kane was right. I wish the Tower did send the Empress to find me and that this whole thing wasn’t a big mistake. I wish there was something I could do. But there’s not. I’m not special. I wasn’t chosen. There’s nothing I can say, nothing I can do in this realm that isn’t mine, where I’m masquerading as a lady who’s dead and buried under branches in the forest.

Marion touches my back, and I stand. “We must go.”

I follow Marion back toward the bustling market streets, casting a glance over my shoulder to Lila. My heart squeezes as my eyes settle on a black horse and a man I could never mistake.

The sun glints off Kane’s dark hair and the silver chalice embroidered on his eye patch as he approaches on horseback. My heart quickens as Shadow brings him closer, his strong frame silhouetted against the bright daylight.

He slows near the forgotten fountain and cluster of children, then dismounts, his boots crunching against the cobblestones as he leads Shadow to a sun-bleached wooden post outside the weathered blacksmith’s barn and loops her reins around it.

Kane opens one of the saddlebags slung over Shadow’s back, reaching inside to pull out a bundle wrapped in cloth. My heart skips a beat as he kneels before the children and unwraps the offering: several loaves of freshly baked bread still steaming from the oven. Lila leans forward, and the other children follow as she pulls her brother with her.

“Go ahead, take it all.” Kane’s deep voice is soft as he speaks. “It’s left over from a boring meeting I had at the palace with the dullest men you could be left in a room with.”

Lila giggles and reaches out. She snatches a loaf and holds it close to her chest. Seeing her boldness, the others follow, taking pieces and tearing into the bread with hungry eagerness. A flicker of relief passes over Kane’s features, but his eye remains shadowed as he watches the children devour their meal.

He hands out more food from his saddlebags: dried fruits, nuts, and jerky. Lila steps forward with her mouth full, offering a mumbled thank-you before gathering her spoils and leading her brother back to their makeshift shelter.

“It appears we’re not alone in our efforts,” Marion says. “I had no idea Ashwood was so gallant.”

Neither did I.

It’s best like this, when he’s not looking at me, when he’s unaware of my gaze and I can admire the sheer physicality of him—the way his jaw cuts the backdrop of the city, the way the light plays across the planes of his chest and the peaks and valleys of his muscles.

To say I’m attracted to him is an understatement. It’s more than just the way he looks. It’s a pull to the very essence of him, to the vulnerability, the resilience, the hidden depths that his body merely protects. I’m acutely aware of his presence, of the space he occupies, of how he makes me feel, and of the undeniable passion that sparks like fireworks between us.

Kane musses a child’s hair and stands, and the realization hits me like a wave, unexpected and powerful. My heart seems to cease beating as I see him, truly see him for the first time.

Something shifts inside me, and before I can stop myself, the thought comes rushing in.

“Shit,” I murmur. “I’m falling for Kane.”

Twenty

As the last of the children scamper off, small arms overloaded with food, a townsperson approaches and offers a small curtsy. I stiffen, aware that in the wrong hands, recognition could get us killed.

Marion stretches out her arms and envelops the young woman in a hug. “Clara, how are you? How is your sister?”

“She had the baby not two days ago, Lady Marion. A healthy little girl,” she reports, pride swelling in her chest.

“A baby girl!” Marion lifts onto her toes. “May I visit? I don’t want to intrude.”

“Of course, Lady Marion. She would love to see you.”

Eyes lit with joy, Marion turns to me. “Hannah, I’m going to see the new baby! I won’t be long, and you’ll be safe with Ashwood.” She glances over at Kane, who’s busy tightening the straps of Shadow’s saddlebags. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She winks before turning to follow the woman, leaving me with a fluttering heart and a stomach full of nerves.

I step out of the shadows and approach him. I’m drawn to Kane in a way I don’t quite understand and am not interested in fighting.

His back is to me, and everything in me wants to shout his name, run to him, throw myself into his arms, and wrap my body around his—to kiss him and tell him that I see him, I know him, I’m falling for him. But this isn’t the end of a holiday rom-com, and I don’t feel like much of a main character.

Instead, I walk to him on wobbly legs. My heart is a trapped bird flapping in my chest like I’m back in sixth grade and Johnny Bellows has just moved in next door.

Kane glides his palm along Shadow’s back as he rounds the mare and secures the last few buckles on the saddlebags, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Leaving so soon, Lord Ashwood?” I call out, much braver than I feel.

He looks up, and I catch the flicker of a smile before his gaze darts around the near-empty square. “The middle of town is no place for a lady such as yourself. No matter how well disguised.”

“Afraid you’ll have to save me again?” A coy smile pulls at my lips.

“Afraid?” He runs his hand through his jet-black hair. “Never.”

Shadow knickers in agreement.

“You know, I almost like the way you play the hero.”

His brow arches, and he stares down at me. “Is that what’s keeping you here?”

I stiffen slightly, but it’s enough. I can tell he noticed by the smirk that lifts the corner of his mouth. “You know what’s keeping me here. I haven’t found my purse, the card…”

Kane takes a step closer, his presence as overwhelming as ever. “And once you do?”

“The Tower will heave a sigh of relief that I recognized its error, and the Empress will take me home. Back to my life. Away from being afraid of getting murdered because I don’t belong, and back to being afraid of getting murdered if I go for a run at night.” I shrug, hoping he sees nonchalance and not the way I have to ball my fists at my sides to keep from touching him. “I can’t wait to get back to my realm.”

“Liar.” He moves even closer, invading my space, his dark eye boring into me. “You don’t want to leave.”

I scoff and take a deep breath, buying myself time to sort through my whirling thoughts. That breath was a mistake. All I can smell is him—pine and smoke—and I’m suddenly dizzy with need.

“I know more about you than you think, Fawn.” The air between us crackles as he slides his rough hand down my arm and grabs my wrist. He pulls me against him, our bodies pressed together, my heart clamoring in my chest. “You say you want to leave? Fine. But we both know you have a job to do before you can. And, if you did leave, you would miss me.”

I tilt my chin defiantly, even as my heart races and my knees threaten to buckle. “Careful, Kane, you’re starting to sound like you want me to stay.”

His eye narrows, and his mouth opens, but there’s no witty retort or double entendre.

For a swollen second, I think he might agree with me—that he might ignore his own rule and give me his heart.

Could it be possible?

My own heart beats dizzyingly fast.

There’s a chance Kane might feel the way I do—like there’s something more between us than the physical, something real.

Calm down, Hannah. Don’t get all clingy and scare him away.

He clears his throat and glances at Shadow before returning his attention to me. “It’s simply that your former lover was wrong about you being bad in bed.”

“Lucky for me, there are plenty of men back in Chicago just as arrogant as you.” I force myself to think about them, about the array of Chads in the city far from this dangerous, captivating man.

But instead of faceless strangers, all I see is Kane, all I feel is his touch, his strength, the way his body fits against mine.

I swallow.

I don’t want to fall in love. Not with Kane. Not unless I know he could one day feel the same.

“Besides, I can’t trust anyone within this kingdom. Doesn’t that include you?”

He smirks, his lips just inches from mine. My breathing quickens, my bravado wavering as his grip tightens on my wrist. The warmth of his touch spreads through me, and my traitorous heart flutters as he leans in.

“Admit it,” he murmurs. “You don’t want to leave.”

A shiver hums down my spine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. His mouth brushes my earlobe, and I bite my lip, the truth teetering on the edge of my tongue. My mind screams at me to push him away, to hold on to my defenses, rebuild my armor, but my body betrays me, and I lean into his touch with a moan of surrender.

“Show me why I should stay.”

He pulls me into the run-down barn. The door closes with a creak, and we’re plunged into shadows. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the bands of light filtering in through the cracked roof and planks.

The barn is old, the scent of coal and earth mingling with the faint aroma of wood and leather. Dust motes float in the beams of light dancing across rusted anvils, tools, and the solid wall of Kane’s body.

“And what was last night?” His hands never leave me as he guides me farther into the dimly lit space. His touch is possessive yet tender, and I lean into him, craving more of his warmth, more of the connection that seems to bind us together despite my protests.

“A good start.”

His laugh is a rumble that brings goose bumps to my arms as he pins me to the nearest post. “If I remember correctly, Fawn,” he murmurs, his hand brushing my cheek before finding my loose braid, “it was a loud, wet finish.” He pulls my hair, and I don’t stop the begging moan that falls from my lips. “Does my good girl want another?”

I do. I want this. I want him. I want those dark eyes to look at me forever.

“Please,” I whimper.

Our mouths collide in a fierce kiss, all teeth and tongues and raw, unrestrained passion. He presses me more firmly against the post, the wood scraping my back as he pulls down the neck of my dress, exposing my breasts.

Kane’s grip tightens on my braid, and he pulls my head back. His lips trail down my neck, hot and demanding, leaving a burning path that makes my pulse pound. He sucks my nipple into the heat of his mouth. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure straight through me, making my legs part for him instinctively.

My dress rustles as he hikes it up and dips down to hook my thigh over his arm. I press closer, a soft moan escaping me as his fingers brush the wet heat between my thighs.

“You like this, Little Fawn.” His thumb finds my swollen clit, rubbing in slow, maddening circles that make me gasp and writhe against him. “No choice but to be spread open for me.”

He slides his finger in, and I react with a sharp intake of breath, rocking my hips against his hand.

“At my mercy,” he continues, sliding another finger inside, the stretch making me moan.

My fingers fumble to unbutton his breeches, and when I finally free his thick cock, a rush of heat courses through me. His fingers slip out of me, and he releases my leg. Cupping my ass with one hand, he lifts me, and my legs wrap around him.

He impales me with his cock, and I let out a wild cry, arching my back against the wood.

“But you like being tied up more.” He takes both of my wrists in one strong hand. With a jerk, he pins them over my head against the rough wood.

“Yes,” I whimper.

“You like being my good little girl,” he rasps, plowing into me, the rough wood biting my back.

“Yes,” I gasp, barely able to find the word.

My world narrows to the feel of him inside me, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the commanding intensity of his voice. He thrusts deeper, powerful and unrelenting. I’m teetering on the edge, every nerve in my body sizzling with pleasure.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against my mouth.

“Yes.” I arch against him, my body hurtling toward release. “I’m yours.” My body convulses around his, waves of ecstasy crashing over me as I surrender.

Kane doesn’t let up. My wrists are still pinned above my head, my legs spread wide around him. His thrusts grow more urgent, more frantic, and I feel the heat of his climax as he spills into me.

Kane releases my wrists, brushing his fingers lightly against my skin before he kisses my chest and gently re-covers my breasts with my dress. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my body trembling as the high fades, replaced by a profound realization: I don’t want to leave Towerfall. I don’t want to leave him.

“Kane,” I start, vulnerability making my voice wobble, “what if you were right? What if I wanted to stay?”

He lowers me to my feet, his hands steadying me as I adjust my clothing. Although his touch is warm and reassuring, there’s a guarded look on his face that washes over me like ice. It’s subtle, but it’s there—a slight tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze doesn’t quite meet mine as it usually does. My stomach knots with the sudden, painful understanding that something has shifted between us.

Panic creeps in, twisting my thoughts.

He’s pulling away, Hannah. He knows you’re desperate and needy. You should have kept your thoughts to yourself.

No matter what my inner critic believes, I can’t leave it like this—silent and awkward.

“We should talk,” I blurt.

“Yes.” He continues to avert his gaze from mine and looks down at his feet. “There’s something I must tell you.”

I open my mouth to tell him I wasn’t serious, to tell him any one of a hundred lies that will undo the past few minutes and take us back to where we were, but before I can, a distant voice cuts through the stillness of the barn.

“Hannah, it’s time to go!” Marion calls from outside.

Kane stiffens, and his expression flickers with a hint of something I can’t quite place. “We’ll talk in our rooms. After we meet with the queen.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. It’s hard to shake the sense that I’ve ruined things, that the wavering edge to my voice and my eagerness to talk have scared him off.

I’ve been here before, opening up just to have the person pull away. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Kane was desperate for me a moment ago, and now he’s distant and closed. I knew feelings were off the table from the beginning, and I caught them anyway. My biggest mistake was thinking it was possible he could feel the same for me.

Even though he doesn’t, I can’t go on pretending our relationship is just about convenience and sex. My heart can’t take it.

“Yeah, sounds good.” I stare up at him, waiting for a kiss, a hug, handshake—something to bridge the gap I feel growing between us—but Kane won’t meet my gaze. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you back at the palace.”

I hesitate for a moment, but the silence between us only grows, the weight of this unspoken thing between us like a physical ache. I suck in a breath and stare up at him, my eyes silently pleading for a response. “Kane—”

“Go.”

His rejection is a sharp pain that takes my breath away. My heart constricts and tears well up, threatening to spill over.

I get it. It’s not that Kane can’t give me his heart—it’s that he won’t.

I’m a passing amusement, something to do while he plays the hero and rescues the kingdom.

It was cute, Hannah, thinking you had a chance with him.

Swallowing hard, I nod and rush out of the barn toward Marion.

“I’m here, Marion!” I call out, my voice shaking.

“Oh, good! I hope I gave you enough time.” She smiles, taking in my flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. I must have become a very good actress, because there’s not a hint of concern on Marion’s face. “We must be getting back before Highgate becomes restless and thinks it a good idea to search for me.”

As we walk back to the palace, my mind remains with Kane and the heart I made the mistake of leaving behind.

I struggle to hold myself together, to keep from sinking onto the dirty cobblestones in a puddle of tears. What I had with Kane wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He is gorgeous, and it was earth-shattering, and I felt like magick when I was with him.

The ache in my chest grows, and I bite my lip to keep from crying.

I should have known better than to think something real could come out of what he’d called a bit of fun.

But, like every good thing in my life, I had to get in my own way.

Twenty-One

“Why do I feel like you’re stepping all over my dress on purpose?” I hiss, maneuvering my skirts out from under Lord Highgate’s clumsy feet. “Haven’t you had etiquette lessons?”

“Why do I feel like you are influencing my Marion and up to no good?” he snaps back, a sneer curling his lips. “My wife wasn’t where I expected her to be when I returned from my duties. Before your arrival, she was always where I expected her to be, performing one of the three tasks I allow her when I am unable to keep an eye on her.”

I roll my eyes, exasperation boiling over. Marion hit the jackass trifecta with Highgate. He’s the ultimate mansplainer, a bossy control freak, and a complete chauvinist. “And what three tasks is she allowed to do when not under your thumb?”

“Embroidery, aiding Her Majesty, and sitting among the various garden plants.”

You forgot screwing random guys so you can drool over it later.

But I don’t say that part out loud.

“You should really get a less fucked-up hobby than making your wife feel inferior just so you can be the big, strong boy.”

His pale face contorts, a strange mixture of surprise and anger flickering across his features. His hooded eyes narrow, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to retaliate, but instead, he laughs and drags his long fingers across his smooth chin. “You have quite the tongue, Lady Ashwood. I wonder how long it will be before it gets you into trouble.”

My brow puckers, and I inhale, ready to gather up the confusion and anger Kane left me with and hurl them at Highgate, when Marion approaches.

Her eyes flick between us. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, now that you’re here.” I turn away from Highgate, dismissing him as I link my arm through Marion’s.

We glide into the queen’s grand sitting room, a serene smile on my face despite the tension still thrumming through my veins. Crimson drapes cascade from high windows that look out onto the palace’s front gates. Overhead, the crystal chandeliers catch rays of sunlight and cast dappled rainbow droplets over the assembled guests and the elegant high-backed throne inlaid with golden pentacles that waits in front of the window for the arrival of the queen.

Kane stands behind one of the many plush loveseats, his hand resting on the carved wood. As Marion and I enter, he looks up from his conversation with a man I know I’ve seen somewhere in my world but can’t place.

Kane’s gaze finds mine instantly. I didn’t realize how much I crave his eyes on me, warm and dark and endless. But now he looks different, harder, colder.

I suppress a chill as I smooth my skirts and settle into the seat in front of him.

The meeting Marion tried to make an intimate affair is anything but. The room is crowded with many of the same nobles present at the feast, their jewels and silks glinting in the soft afternoon light.

Nervous cold sweat rolls down my back as I sit, my spine straight, every inch rigid with forced poise. I’ve never met a queen, and from what Marion has told me about this one, seeing her at all is substantial.

Once again, I’m flanked by Marion on one side and Kane on the other, although being this close to Kane doesn’t give me the same warm fuzzies it has before.

I suppose mentioning that I might want to stay in Towerfall and saying that we need to talk is up there with it isn’t you, it’s me. But blurting out I think I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t know what that means for us or if you even want there to be an us, but I don’t want to leave you didn’t feel like a better option.

I want to take it back, tell him we don’t need to talk, and force my body and mind to play it cool, but the last time I played it cool, I ended up half naked in the hall of a Chicago high-rise. I won’t fall victim to playing it cool, and my feelings can’t handle pretending sex is all I want.

There was probably a better way to approach the subject, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t screw it up somehow.

I’ve lost any chance of anything that maybe, possibly, could have been. It slipped through my fingers like every other good thing in my life.

I turn to him and open my mouth, but the words are stuck in my throat.

“Lord and Lady Ashwood, so nice to see you again.” A purple plume of fowl feathers quivers on top of Lady Whitmore’s head as she smiles down on me and Kane. “May I present Miss Ivy Church.”

Kane stands and bows as Lady Whitmore steps to the side. Ivy strides forward, graceful and confident and even more beautiful close up than she was from across the dining hall.

“Lord Ashwood.” Ivy extends her hand to Kane and slides into a slow curtsy as she bats her lashes, a flirtatious smile playing on her lips. “I wish we would have had the chance to be formally introduced at last night’s feast, but we all know too well how that ended. It’s a shame, though—I would have enjoyed getting to know you better.”

“Perhaps another time,” Kane says.

“Please, Lord Ashwood, don’t tempt me with promises you can’t keep.”

Kane lowers his lips to Ivy’s hand with a murmured reply, and my fingers dig into my legs, my nails biting into my dress as my stomach twists into knots. I don’t want to be, I shouldn’t be, but I’m back in the conference room at Posh Pulse, trying again to prove my worth and claim what could be mine.

“I’m Hannah,” I say, springing to my feet. “Lady Ashwood. His wife.” My smile is brittle and forced, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

“So you are.” Ivy frowns. “Well, we should get comfortable. I wouldn’t want to be on my feet in the middle of the room, waiting for the queen like a lapdog.” Her gaze flicks to Kane. “Lord Ashwood, I hope you don’t keep me waiting.”

Kane nods politely, but his hand tightens around the back of the loveseat, his knuckles white.

Ivy and Lady Whitmore settle into the two empty chairs across from us on the other side of the small table, their presence one more thing I have to be nervous about.

“Ignore her,” Marion whispers as soon as I sit back down. “She’s just trying to get under your skin.”

Mission accomplished.

I nod, trying to steady my breathing and think about something else. Anything else.

Marion motions to a cluster of women seated at the far end of the room near the fireplace. I try to focus on the gossip she spills between bubbles of laughter, but Ivy’s presence is too big, too much like Stephanie’s. Every time she laughs, every time she glances our way, I feel like a little girl playing dress-up in a world I don’t deserve to be in.

Attendants fan out with trays of sweets, and McDougall approaches, a platter of delicate pastries balanced in his hands. He pauses between Marion and me, and we whisper hellos as he brings the plate to the small table in front of us.

A delicate pastry topped with glazed strawberries wobbles on the edge of the tray. McDougall moves to catch it, but it lands in my lap with a soft thud, splattering cream and strawberries onto my dress.

The room goes silent for a heartbeat, all eyes turning to me.

McDougall’s cheeks are beet red, his fluff of hair quivering on his head as he rushes to pick up the sweet with a pair of gold tongs. “I beg your apologies, Lady Ashwood.” The glaze sticks to my velvet skirt, and the fabric lifts as he tries to gently peel away the pastry without causing further damage.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I force a hollow laugh as I unstick the food from my dress. “Looks like I’m the dessert now.”

Across the table, Lady Whitmore gasps, her jeweled fingers flying to her mouth, and Ivy flicks open her fan to shield her catty snicker. My heart skips a beat, embarrassment stretching the moment into an eternity as I sit there, pastry outstretched to McDougall, milk and sugar staining my dress. Ivy watches, waiting like a spider in her web for me to make the smallest mistake.

The weight of her gaze, of my past with Stephanie, of the pressure to be Lady Ashwood—it all presses down on me like an anvil.

Without thinking, I clear my throat, my voice cutting through the nobles’ hushed whispers. “Mr. McDougall, must I remind you to be more careful? We cannot afford any more mistakes.”

There’s a slight, almost-imperceptible crease between McDougall’s brow, his eyes flashing with hurt. He quickly masks it, his back rigid as he takes the pastry and bows with painstaking care. “Of course, Lady Ashwood. My sincerest apologies.”

A pang of regret twists in my gut, but I keep my chin lifted, my expression neutral, embodying Lady Ashwood the same way I should have embodied a killer marketing maven while at Posh Pulse.

My gaze flicks to Ivy. She continues to sneer, whispering to Lady Whitmore behind her fan, and I nearly wince as the two women laugh, no doubt at my expense.

McDougall retreats, the tray of pastries still in hand, his shoulders slightly hunched as if to protect himself from further humiliation. Regret squeezes my heart, but I can’t afford to show any weakness.

I glance back at Kane for reassurance, for anything more than the emotionless stare he’s leveled at me since the barn.

“Unnecessary, don’t you think, Fawn?” His jaw is tight, voice low, but his disapproval is loud enough to make my lungs squeeze.

I clear my throat, my heart sinking. “I thought…I thought that’s what they wanted. What I was supposed to do.”

“And for their approval, you would compromise who you are?”

Before I can respond, the double doors at the far end swing open. There’s no time for apologies or explanations. The moment has passed, leaving the bitter taste of guilt in my mouth.

The herald steps forward, his voice ringing out. “Her Majesty, Queen Lockhart!”

Every head turns as the queen enters. Long white hair cascades around her sunken cheeks and sharp shoulders. Deep lines draw a map of grief around her thin lips and pale blue eyes. Her presence commands the room, a ghost of former grandeur wrapped in a scarlet gown that flows like liquid fire with intricate gold embroidery along the hem.

The room remains silent as we rise from our seats in unison. We bow and curtsy while the queen moves with a grace born of habit, her back straight, her steps slow and measured. Her crystal-blue eyes are unfocused and tired, scanning the room without truly seeing it.

As the Queen Mother nears, Kane bumps me with his elbow. I follow his direction, dipping my head and deepening my curtsy as she passes and practically floats to the high-backed mahogany throne in front of the window.

She takes her seat next to her own personal tea table complete with a porcelain tea set and a spread of delicate pastries and fruits. Her nod is slight, and I rise from my curtsy along with Marion and the others.

“Be seated,” Queen Lockhart says, her voice melodic yet commanding.

We comply, the rustle of fabric and the soft scrape of chairs the only sounds as we resume our places.

McDougall rushes to her side. He pours the queen a cup of tea, the liquid steaming as it cascades into the porcelain cup. With meticulous care, he adds a single lump of sugar, then finishes with a splash of milk before retreating to join the other attendants lining the wall.

Queen Lockhart lifts her teacup, her thin pale fingers wrapped elegantly around the handle. She takes a noiseless sip and briefly closes her eyes as if savoring the moment. Only when her cup is back in its saucer, the gentle clink echoing in the silent room, do the other nobles resume their movements and quiet conversations.

I steal a glance at the queen. Her deep-crimson dress pools around her pale form like blood around a corpse. Her weary blue eyes meet mine, and I offer a small respectful nod.

“Lady Ashwood.” She calls on me, cutting through the hushed chatter, and I feel like I’ve walked into the office without pants. “It has been quite some time since our kingdom has welcomed any visitors. Tell me, what do you think of Pentacles?”

A lump forms in my throat. My thoughts drift to the crumbling fountain, rickety shelters, and starving children in the heart of the city and the men with bright blue eyes who were used as pawns by the snake in their very own garden.

I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to tell the truth.

Spin it, Hannah.

I take a deep breath and summon the skills I’ve spent my entire adult life honing.

“Your Majesty,” I begin, my voice steadying as I find my footing, “Pentacles is undeniably beautiful, and the people I’ve met have been nothing short of welcoming.”

I pause, glancing around the room at the assembled nobles. My gaze lands on Ivy, who’s waiting, judging. “The kingdom has immense potential. The history is rich. The culture is vibrant. But every place, even one as great as Pentacles, has areas that need attention to truly shine.”

“You speak like someone well-versed in the art of persuasion, Lady Ashwood.” Queen Lockhart’s eyes narrow, and she tilts her head from one side to the other as if weighing my words. “Tell us, what areas within the kingdom would you polish to make shine?”

Behind me, Kane grips the loveseat, the wood creaking.

“Well, I don’t really mean that—”

A shriek pierces the air, shattering the fragile calm.

Gasps ripple through the room as the queen surges to her feet, her pale eyes wide. She whips around and strides to the window, her gown sweeping behind her.

Kane is next, surging forward without a word. I chase after him, fear gripping my chest. One by one, everyone in the room crowds to the windows that line the grand chamber.

Outside, the townspeople surge against the gates. Their voices rise in a roar of shouts and cries that crash against the palace’s cold, unyielding stone. Armor-clad guards struggle to hold the line blocking the main gate, their spears raised in a futile attempt to maintain order.

My breath is quick and shallow as I fill the space between the queen and Kane. Fingers gripping the windowsill, I scan the throng below. My eyes lock onto Lila, the young girl from my trip to the center of town, the mirror version of my boss’s granddaughter. Her brother breaks away from her and chases after a startled chicken, completely unaware of the chaos around him. Lila leaps forward after him, but the crowd cuts her off.

The little boy continues his chase, racing straight toward the line of guards. He trips and lands at the feet of a guard, the chicken squeezing through the gate’s iron posts to safety.

With a shout, the guard lifts his spear. Lila breaks through the crowd and rushes forward, panic flashing across her face as she shields her brother from the approaching guard. His face turns red as his yelling intensifies, his words lost in the roar of the mob.

A man breaks away from the mass of people, pushing the guard back and placing himself between the children and the threat. The guard levels his spear, the pointed tip glinting in the sunlight. Their rescuer continues to shout, shielding Lila as she grabs hold of her brother and stumbles back into the crowd.

My breath stills as the guard’s expression hardens. In one swift brutal motion, he plunges the spear into the protester’s side.

The man’s scream of pain is cut short as blood pours from his mouth and down his side. The scarlet stain spreads across his shirt, running in thick dark lines down his dirt-streaked skin. Eyes wide, he grasps at the spear embedded in his flesh, his weak hands trying to pull it free.

With a merciless yank, the guard tears the spear loose. The man crumples to the ground, his body twitching in a final desperate struggle to hold on. Blood pools beneath him, soaking the earth as life drains from his body.

The crowd surges forward in a stampede of outrage. The guards tighten their formation in silent warning that any further disobedience will be met with the same fate.

Without thinking, I reach for Kane’s hand, for reassurance and strength. His gaze is fixed on the scene outside. His grip is steely and tense beneath mine, but he doesn’t pull away.

The room around me buzzes with hushed conversations. The nobles whisper among themselves, their faces drawn, their eyes bright with worry. The kingdom is on the edge of collapse, and they will do nothing but gawk from their ivory tower.

The queen mother straightens, her serene mask slipping to reveal a flicker of unease. Her lips press into a thin line as she turns from the window, her eyes briefly meeting mine before she looks away.

“My son is resting from the minor injury he sustained, but we must call for him and for more guards,” Queen Lockhart snaps at McDougall. “The kingdom needs its king. Alderic must address this unrest immediately. Pentacles cannot afford to descend into chaos.”

“Maybe aggression isn’t the answer,” I blurt. Kane’s hand tightens around mine, and I shake loose of his grip. “Your Majesty, the people are starving. I’ve seen it firsthand. If you were to—”

Ivy interrupts, her brow pinched, voice dripping with disdain. “Who are you to say such things to our queen? You’re not even from this kingdom.”

She doesn’t know how right she is.

“I don’t have to be from here to know when something is wrong or that your people are fighting to meet their basic needs—food and shelter—things that should be given freely. Things that were until—”

“My husband is gone,” Queen Lockhart thunders. “Those people you speak of tried to do the same to my son. Luckily, he only requires a bit of rest to regain his strength.” She takes a deep breath, her thin nostrils flaring. “Regardless of the leader the king has chosen to be, I have no more fight left in me. I do not want to fix this. I simply want it to be fixed. I do not care how. I do not care if it means the end of the Lockhart rule as long as Pentacles still stands. I am through—with all of it.”

Her declaration hangs heavy in the room, a shocking admission that ripples through the assembled nobles like a stone in a still pond.

The queen takes another breath and closes her eyes as if gathering the last of her strength. With a flick of her wrist, she dismisses us all and strides from the room, her dress billowing behind her like a blood-soaked cloud.

Ivy tears away from the window after the queen, stopping next to me to hiss, “You are nobody, a plaything, temporary. I suggest you leave. Go back where you belong before I force you from my kingdom myself.”

The words are daggers meant to slice, and I can’t help but hear Stephanie deal the cutting blows. Ivy marches after the queen, a trail of nobles in her wake.

“I was trying to help,” I say, my voice breaking.

I turn to Kane to rescue me once again, but he doesn’t look at me as he strides from the room, his departure twisting the knife in my chest. Marion stands next to her husband, her face a mask of courtly composure. I catch her eye, hoping for a glimmer of solidarity, but Highgate presses his palm to her back and ushers her from the room. Her gaze flickers with a moment of regret, but she follows her husband without a word.

Ivy is right. This isn’t my kingdom. This isn’t my realm. These aren’t even my clothes. Thinking I could blend in, thinking I could help, is a joke.

It’s difficult to swallow, and my inhales come in panicked gasps.

I can’t find a balance between who I am and who I’m supposed to be. Honestly, I’ve never gotten the balance right. I’m always too much of myself or too much of someone else. The only time I’ve felt like me is when I’m alone with Kane. But I’ve messed that up too.

The urge to flee is overwhelming, and I bolt from the room. The ornate corridors blur as I run, tears streaming down my face. Desperation fuels my flight as my footsteps echo in the empty hallways. I’ve tried so hard to fit in, and I want to make a difference, but now I’m losing it all.

I burst through a side door and stumble out into the garden. The cool air hits my face like a slap, and I choke back a fresh round of tears. One thought crystallizes in my mind: I know how to fix this.

Find my purse, find the card, and find my way back home.

Twenty-Two

My heart hammers against my ribs as I bolt through the gardens, the meticulously manicured lawns and blossoms a blur of greens and pastels. I don’t care that I look nothing like the highborn lady I’m pretending to be as I sprint to the other side of the palace, my skirts hitched up, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I run through a set of open doors and plunge into shadows. My eyes adjust to the candlelight, and my pace quickens with each stride as I retrace my steps down the hall from that first night and my tour with Marion.

Glass dragonflies dot the corridor ahead, affixed to the wall like they’re frozen in amber. I don’t have time to linger, to revel in their beauty. Every muscle in my body propels me forward, my mind racing with the same frantic energy, every doubt and insecurity bubbling to the surface.

Who are you kidding, Hannah? You’ll never find your purse, much less that tarot card.

I move through the Hall of Crystal Wings and into another wide corridor. Fresh flowers spill from vases, and maroon-and-gold-embellished tapestries hang against the stone walls in the spitting image of the castle’s opposite wing. I peek into bedrooms that line the corridor. This hallway is it. It has to be. If not…

I push open the door to the first room. It’s richly furnished with a grand four-poster bed and velvet drapes that brush the floor, but the rug in the center is cream, not the ruby-red one I almost puked all over when I first arrived. After closing the door behind me, I bolt across the hall to the next room. It’s equally grand, with a wall-sized tapestry of King Alderic’s crown of pentacles, but there’s a wardrobe where the window is supposed to be and no rug on the floor.

Highgate’s voice echoes through the hall, followed by another deep baritone I don’t recognize. I freeze, my hand trembling on the knob to the third bedroom. My palms are slick, my panic mounting, my anxiety roiling, bouts of negativity spearing my thoughts.

You’re never getting home. You’ll never nail a promotion. You’ll never fit in or be enough to keep a man. You’re going to die here. You’re going to—

“Shut up!” I whisper-yell at the voice in my head that’s always been better at breaking me down than building me up. Highgate can get fucked and so can his friend.

Not caring about being caught, about having to concoct another lie, I throw open the door to the room with a force that rattles its hinges. The moment I step inside, I know it’s the one. Everything is just as I remember—the scarlet velvet covering the walls, the gold-framed paintings of seascapes and garden cottages, the giant armoire dusted with gold leaf, and the matching four-poster bed. Relief crashes over me as I close the door and sag against it.

Relief isn’t the only feeling I have as my eyes scan the room where I first landed in Towerfall. Where I first met Kane. Where he first tried to save me from myself.

“No.” I shake my head, scolding myself again. This isn’t about Kane or Stephanie or anyone else. This is about me. I want to go home. I want to leave Towerfall and never look back.

Because of Kane. And Stephanie’s doppelgänger.

I feverishly search the room, rounding the bed and lifting the drapes to find my purse. Finally, I drop onto my hands and knees and crawl back to where this strange yet similar realm came into focus around me. I crush the soft ruby-red rug beneath my hands and knees as I shift forward. Resting my palm on the carpeting, I grab the silk bed skirt, my heart practically tied in a knot from wishing, hoping, praying to anyone who will listen that my way home is really, truly here. I hold my breath and lift the fabric. There, hiding in the dark, curled up and waiting for me like a cat, is my purse.

I scramble forward, my hands trembling as I grasp the strap and pull it into the light. Finding this purse, the just-got-hired-at-a-huge-marketing-firm gift I bought for myself, is overwhelming. Tears blur my vision as I clutch my way out of this nightmare against my chest. I quickly swipe them away and sink back onto my heels.

I did it. I found exactly what I was looking for all on my own. Turns out, I just needed the right motivation.

Adrenaline brought me here, but now that I have what I came for, the fear of getting caught takes hold. I could explain getting lost in a palace the size of North Bridge, but how do I explain this? I frown down at the bag that’s been practically carrying my whole life for the past three years. Sure, Ivy said I don’t belong, but no one knows how many lies I’ve told to get here. No one except Kane.

And he deserves to know I’m leaving. More than that, I want to tell him. To see the look on his face when I say I’m going to disappear as quickly as I arrived. That he can deal with being Lord Ashwood, with banishment, with Four and the king and whatever else he’s not telling me. I could have helped him, returned the favor for him saving me all those times, but no matter how much I want to, I won’t. This time, I’ll be the one to leave first.

The Tower, the Empress, they know my being here is a mistake as much as I do. They have to be as desperate as I am to put both worlds back the way they should be and send me home.

With a deep breath, I square my shoulders and make my way toward the door. I ignore the part of me that’s relieved to see Kane one more time before I go—hopeful that this last meeting will change everything.

I open the door and peek out. My pulse whooshes in my ears as I wait for a team of guards to descend or lightning to strike. When nothing happens, I stride into the hall, fueled by fake confidence. I read an article once—partially read an article once—that said women who walk with confidence are less likely to be assaulted. Hopefully that means they’re also less likely to be stopped and questioned about having a bag full of items that don’t exist in this realm.

Chin up and superior smirk firmly in place, I march back through the palace the way I came and out into the gardens. The evening air is cooler now, the garden bathed in the soft glow of twilight. Gravel crunches under my slippered feet, mingling with the distant hum of crickets as I loop around the boundary of the verdant maze and cut through a narrow path of evergreen shrubs taller and wider than I am.

Both pretending to be Cups nobility to access the palace and walking around the grounds with what is best described as contraband are against the rules, but something else is off. Something that frosts my spine and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.

I pause, but the crunch of gravel doesn’t stop. I whip around, heart slamming against my ribs, purse clutched to my chest.

Lord Highgate smiles, his eyes gleaming in the sun’s dusky glow. “Lady Ashwood,” he says, smooth and low, his languid steps bringing him closer. “What a pleasant surprise to find you here.”

“Following women who are out alone at night isn’t a good look.”

“The sun has only just started to set.” He looks up, and my gaze automatically follows. “It’s not quite night. Not yet.”

The crunch of gravel brings him closer, and I shift back, evergreen needles scratching my dress. “Do you need something, or—”

“What do you have there, Lady Ashwood?” He peers down at the leather bundle in my arms, and I hold it closer, sinking in on myself to hide the evidence that Ivy was right—that I don’t belong.

“It’s not really any of your business,” I say, trying to edge past him, but he blocks my path, his smirk widening.

“No need to rush off on my account,” he purrs, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about our previous encounters and how much of a spirited, passionate woman you are.”

“Do me a favor, Highgate. Stop thinking about me.” I glare at him, my patience wearing thin.

“Oh”—he tosses his head back with a laugh—“the gods themselves couldn’t get me to stop thinking about you, Lady Ashwood.”

My stomach tightens. “Go away, Highgate.”

“Yes,” he breathes, his eyes darkening with a twisted kind of excitement. “Tell me again.”

“What?” I blink, sinking farther back into the greenery.

“Tell me how much you despise me. No woman has ever talked to me the way you do. I can’t stop thinking about it. Gods, the way you speak to me. Incredible.”

I shake my head, a panicked chuckle clawing at my throat. “I don’t have time for this. Go bother someone else.”

His expression morphs, and he shifts closer, his breath hot on my face. “Yes, Lady Ashwood, more,” he whispers, his long fingers trailing over the lip of my purse. “Tell me to leave, that you hate me.”

“Are you serious?” I spit out, my skin crawling as I jerk my purse away. “I actually want you to leave. Seriously. Not in a kinky way.”

His eyes gleam, and he leans in, pushing me farther into the shrubbery. “Oh, Lady Ashwood, your words cut me deeply,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with excitement. “But it only fuels my desire. I revel in your disdain. What is happening to me? What have you done to affect me so? And why does it feel as if I am only now awakening to life?”

“Get away from me.” My voice is cold as I slip my hand into the outer pocket of my purse.

“Such fire. I do enjoy a challenge—a hunt. And you, my foulmouthed vixen, are the perfect prey.” He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my face, but I swat his hand away.

I stand tall and glare up at him, my fingers curling around the canister nestled in a bed of bodega receipts. “Leave, Highgate, before you regret it.”

“I could never regret being in your presence, having you lash me with your words.” He leans forward and drags his nose through my hair, taking a deep quaking breath.

“How about this?” I blurt, changing tack as I shuffle to the side, trying to put as much distance between us as possible so I don’t also poison myself with a cloud of pepper spray. “I’m going to go inside, and you’re not going to follow me. You’re going to wait right here. Still as a statue.”

“And what if I can’t resist finding you again?” His voice trembles with sick anticipation.

“You’ll be punished, severely punished.”

“Ah, yes.” He shudders. “And will you be administering the punishment, Lady Ashwood?”

“I think I got that backward.” I force a smile and continue to skirt around him. “What I meant to say is that you won’t be punished if you follow me. More than that, if you move from this spot, I’ll never say another mean word to you again.”

He stiffens. “I shall wait here and not move a muscle until you command me to do so. Although I do not know how long I can control my inner hunter.”

I squeeze past him, nearly gagging as he pulls in another lungful of my air. No longer blocked by a thick row of greenery and a man who takes no as an emphatic yes, I scramble away from him. My heart pounds in my chest as I put distance between us and pull out the canister of pepper spray. True to his word, he doesn’t move, his only flicker of confusion a slight crease between his brows.

“This is why women choose the bear.”

With a swift motion, I slip my thumb under the cap’s flip top and jam it down onto the release button. Pepper spray squirts from the nozzle and douses his face. He screams and drops to his knees, clawing at his eyes and erupting into hacking coughs that fill the garden.

Canister still in my fist, I stride into the Hall of Mirrors with the confidence of a man following a woman in the dark.

Twenty-Three

I return to the room I share with Kane, feeling more in control of my future than I have in a long time. Once the pepper spray is tucked safely back into the purse clutched against my chest, I push open the door and stop dead in my tracks.

The warm flicker of candlelight casts an intimate glow, throwing soft shadows across Kane’s robe-clad form. His eye patch glimmers between drops of water that slide from his wet hair down the hard planes of his face. He’s hard to look away from, but she makes it possible.

“Ivy?” I whisper, barely able to hear my voice over the rush of blood in my ears.

She slinks out from behind him, her hands smoothing over his robed chest. Her smirk is as sharp as broken glass, her green eyes gleaming as she looks me up and down. My heart lurches, and my stomach twists with a sickening mix of envy and betrayal.

“Oh, Lady Ashwood. We weren’t expecting you.” She pouts, her voice soft with faux innocence.

“Fawn, this isn’t what it looks like.” Kane steps forward, water sliding down the bare triangle of his exposed chest.

“Or perhaps it is.” Ivy shrugs closer to Kane and trails her hand down his arm. “I do seem to have gotten to know you better, wouldn’t you agree, Ashwood?”

My mind reels, and bile rises in my throat. Time slows as every moment is etched into my memory, every detail clear and sharp, ready to draw blood when I relive this scene.

It’s Chad all over again. It’s my dad walking out on my mom. It’s every relationship with every man I’ve ever been with.

“Poor Lady Ashwood. So trusting. So easy to fool.” Ivy’s smirk grows as her hand slides down Kane’s chest, lingering near the tie of his robe. “Isn’t that right, Ashwood?”

He rips away from her. “I had just finished bathing. She came in uninvited. I tried to get her to leave. I would never—”

“Yes, I do hope you can forgive us our indiscretions.” Ivy’s smile doesn’t falter as she makes a show of smoothing down her dress and adjusting her long blond waves.

“Get out, Ivy.” Kane’s jaw tightens, his eye burning with anger. “Now.”

But the damage is done, the image of them together seared into my mind. I force myself to speak, my voice barely more than a whisper. “No, Ivy, don’t go. I’ll leave.” My chest heaves, tears threatening to spill over. Kane takes a step toward me, and I clutch the purse tighter, my palms clammy, my nails digging into the leather.

“Fawn, please,” he implores. His robe parts slightly as he moves, revealing more of his muscular chest, wet and glistening in the candlelight. “You have to believe me. I would never betray you like this.”

“It was just a bit of fun, remember? It’s my fault for letting my heart get involved.” I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. The room feels unbearably small, the air thick with Ivy’s too-sweet perfume. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I found what I need to get home.” I hold up the purse, my fingers trembling. “I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving.”

I turn and rush back to the door, my heart breaking with each step. I can’t bear the sight of him, of her, of the situation I knew better than to end up in again.

“Hannah, wait.” He grabs my wrist as I try to leave. His urgency parts his robe over his thigh, exposing the hard lines of his leg and the flash of a gold scar.

I want to believe him. I want to throw myself into his arms and let him explain everything, but I’ve done that before, too many times. And I’m tired of making the same mistakes.

“You said not to trust anyone within the kingdom,” I whisper, my voice trembling. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “I should have listened.”

His grip tightens, his thumb brushing against my wrist as he tries to reel me back in. “Hannah, you have to let me explain—”

“Let me go, Kane! I don’t need you to save me anymore.”

Kane’s gaze snaps to mine, panic flashing in his eye. We both freeze as my outburst hits us like a thunderbolt. I didn’t mean to say his name outside of the privacy of just us, to blurt out the truth of who he is. But I can’t take it back. I can only hope Ivy didn’t notice.

“Goodbye, Ashwood.” My hand is on the door. I’m almost free, away from them and my growing list of mistakes.

“What did you call him?” Ivy’s voice is a chill against my back, and I turn to face her.

“Lord Ashwood. His name. What else?” I smash my purse against my stomach, trying to make both of us smaller. I know Kane needs me, but I don’t know how to help him. Or even if I should.

Ivy’s smile returns, deadly and gleaming as a shark’s. She moves with a predatory grace, her hips swaying as she drifts closer to Kane. Her gaze rakes over him, taking in his tall frame wrapped in taut, sculpted muscles, broad shoulders, and sun-bronzed skin. She lifts his eye patch and lets out a gentle gasp.

“I thought I recognized that jawline…that thick body.” She runs her hand along his cheek, her fingers trailing down to the exposed slice of his chest. “I even told Four I suspected something was amiss, but leave it to a man to be outsmarted by a clever eye patch and bad haircut.”

Kane’s hands tighten into fists at his side, the tension in his body heating the air. “Ivy, this doesn’t need to leave this room.”

Ivy laughs as sharp and crisp as breaking glass. “Oh, this is too good to keep between us.” She tilts her head. Blond hair falls across her shoulder in silken waves. “Especially since this ruse was no doubt about me.”

Kane glares at her, his jaw clenched so tightly it might crack. The air between them is electric and sparking with history.

They were together. They have a past.

The realization thunders over me, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

I let myself trust him, get caught up in hopes and dreams. I ignored the red flags and warning signs and how guarded and oafish he became when I mentioned her name. I pushed aside my intuition and blamed myself for being jealous when I thought they were formally introduced for the first time at tea with the queen.

Deep down, I knew.

I knew there was something between them.

I knew he wouldn’t give me his heart because he’d rather save it for someone else—for Ivy.

“No denying it, then?” Ivy purrs, her smug satisfaction making me shudder.

My breaths are shallow, my mind racing, grasping for fragments of their shared history.

She was his secret weapon, the person he knew he could get to ally against Four and bring with her allegiance members of the court.

He knew I wouldn’t understand. Or worse, I would fuck it up and wouldn’t let him have fun with me if I knew the truth.

Kane was protecting her.

“If you breathe a word of this to Four, I will make sure you live to regret it.” His words are a deadly promise, and for a moment, Ivy’s smirk falters.

“Oh, Kane, I already lived a life of regret.” Her smile returns, eyes glinting with malice. “When I was with you.”

I take a deep breath, my heart clenching as my gaze swings to Kane. “Ivy was your plan all along—the one you knew could turn the tide against Four with her connections. You said she had her uses. I just didn’t know how thoroughly you had explored them.” My voice wavers, tears swirling my vision.

“The worst part isn’t that you two clearly have some complicated relationship you didn’t think I deserved to know. It’s that, even knowing my past with her mirror version, you chose to lie to me when I asked you about her. You still wanted to sleep with me, and you didn’t think I was smart enough or capable enough to know your real plan without messing it up or closing my legs.”

Kane steps toward me, trying to bridge the chasm the truth has cracked open between us.

“No, Kane, don’t. I let myself feel things for you. I let myself think you could possibly feel something for me too. I overlooked every instinct and moment of common sense I had.

“You have saved me, a lot, and I made the mistake of thinking you would always protect me. When really, this entire time, you were protecting her, and I was just your bit of fun.”

He shakes his head and brushes his hand through his hair. “It started that way, and I thought being with you—taking your body as mine—would satisfy the hunger I have for you. But it only grew stronger. And after the fire. After I almost lost you…”

The words hang in the air like the smoke on that night, and my heart breaks all over again.

“When you asked me about staying here, when you said we had to talk, I felt it—the damage my lies could do to what we have. I needed time to think. Time to act, to put things right before I told you. Fawn, it’s not about my plan anymore. It’s not about Ivy, or Four, or the politics of this kingdom. It’s about you. You are not just my bit of fun, Fawn.”

I shake my head and back away. “I’m so naive. So desperate. So…so stuck in this fucking pattern.” My tears spill over despite my efforts to hold them at bay. “You may not have lost me in the fire, but you’ve lost me now.”

I turn and flee the room. My footsteps echo through the empty hall as I race to the stairs, the corridor a smear of gold and crimson through my tears. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to get away.

I reach the grand staircase, my heart pounding in my chest, and my foot catches on the hem of my dress. I trip and lurch forward. My purse slips from my grasp, and I catch myself on the banister. Its contents spill onto the carpeted steps. Pens, ChapStick, and lip gloss roll down the stairs, tiny reminders of a world that feels so far away.

You’re such a mess, Hannah.

Sobs wrack my body as I drop to my knees. Fingers quaking, I gather the contents of my purse and shove them back inside like I’m collecting pieces of my broken heart. My ChapStick tube rolls down the final step and onto the floor, and I snatch it up, hiccupping with every sob. I spin around and swipe at my eyes, trying to clear my vision as I frantically search for the one thing that truly matters.

Panic flares in my chest, a fresh wave of despair crashing over me as I drop onto the floor and dump out my purse. Lip glosses, a compact mirror, my wallet, crumpled receipts, pepper spray, tampons, and keys tumble out, but no tarot card.

My chest tightens, and I can barely breathe. I push aside the empty purse and paw through the pile again. My movements are erratic, my fingers slipping on the smooth marble as I shove aside everything that isn’t the Empress—the card that will take me home.

I let out a choked sob. “It has to be here! It has to be.”

My heart races with the weight of my desperation, my ignorance, my only way back lost within a stone palace.

Where’s the card? Where is it?

“Where is it?” I shout at my past self, my present, all the versions of me too clingy and afraid to make better choices.

The palace mocks me with silence as the reality settles in. The Empress isn’t here.

“I’ve lost it,” I whisper, burying my face in my hands. “I’ve lost my only way home.”

Just as I feel like I’m about to be swept away by the tide of my emotions, a familiar voice chimes, and Marion rushes to my side. “Hannah! What happened? What is all this?”

“Marion, please,” I choke out past my tears, “get me away from here.”

Concern bunches her brow, but she nods and doesn’t ask questions as she gathers my things back into my purse and helps me to my feet. She wraps her arm around my shoulders, and I cling to her as we rush out of the palace.

Even as my steps lead me farther from Kane and his lies, I can’t escape the feeling that I’m running from more than just him. I’m running from the truth, the pain, the understanding that my shitty choices have led me to this moment.

Twenty-Four

The last rays of the setting sun paint the palace grounds honeysuckle pink as Marion and I ride across the lush lawns. I glance down at my horse, who follows Marion’s with slow, measured steps, her ears twitching at the sound of birdsong. The gentle sway of the animal beneath me is almost comforting, but it’s impossible not to think about Shadow. And thinking of Shadow will always lead to thoughts of Kane.

My bottom lip quivers, and I let out a shaky breath as I squeeze the leather reins, determined not to cry again.

Marion slows her horse and glances over her shoulder, a soft half smile tilting her lips. “Are you ready to speak of it?”

I hesitate, the words stuck in my throat. Finally, I nod. “I caught Ashwood and Ivy together.”

Marion’s eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t expect this, but I can’t say that I’m shocked.” She clicks her tongue and turns back to face the path ahead.

We’re quiet for a while. The rhythmic clomp of the horses’ hooves on the grassy path fills the space between us.

“I am sorry, Hannah. I wish there were more I could say, something I could do.”

“Calling for the horses, this ride…” I breathe in the last bits of sunlight and look out on the rolling hills that stretch into a horizon of mossy-green trees. Up ahead, the Tower pulls me, calms me. I can’t explain its magnetic allure, but right now, I don’t want to. Right now, I’m okay. “I feel a little bit better.”

“Good. I’m more skilled at fun than I am with grief.” She smiles, the breeze lifting her curls. “However, if you go to battle against Ivy, count me firmly on your side. I’ve never much cared for her. And, contrary to popular belief, it’s not because she was a lowly maid who caught the eye of our kingdom’s most dedicated warrior.”

“Four is the kingdom’s most dedicated warrior?” I ask, trying to untangle the web of relationships and politics within Pentacles. Once again, my thoughts drift to Kane—protector of the Kingdom of Pentacles and every body within its lands.

The possibility that she’s talking about him drops my stomach into my toes.

Marion snorts. “Before Four’s sudden rise, he was hardly worth discussing, much less calling out by name. A middle-tier advisor at best, and I do think that’s giving him too much credit. And then, seemingly overnight, he’s arm in arm with the king, whispering in his ear like some long-lost brother found at sea.

“And it’s not just simple advice he’s giving. Rumors swirl that Four pushes for war to boost the palace’s riches. Of course, if you take him at his word, he’ll say it’s all to do with strategy and kingdom politics. Although, you will never convince me that sending young men off to die will help with strategy or politics.”

She sighs. “No matter what anyone says, I will never believe he earned the king’s ear through merit alone. I’ve always thought King Lockhart was desperate for friendship after losing Kane and simply chose the first person he came across.”

Kane. His name is a promise and a question all at once.

No matter how I feel, no matter how painful it might be, I need to know the truth.

“And who’s Kane?”

“Kane Blackthorne, the very warrior whose eye Ivy caught and used to elevate her status.”

My heart skips a beat as Marion continues, her words sinking in like lead weights.

“It’s said that Four and Ivy convinced King Lockhart that Kane was dabbling in magick, which ultimately led to his banishment. A cruel fate for such a beautiful man. It is, however, much improved over the standard beheading. Can you imagine plotting against your very own fiancé knowing it could end with his death?”

The pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place with cruel clarity.

A cold wave of nausea surges in my stomach, and I grip the reins, struggling to keep my balance.

Fiancé. Kane and Ivy were…engaged.

Marion’s voice fades into the background as my thoughts spiral. All I see are Kane and Ivy together in our room, the memory of her hands on him searing my mind like a brand.

I was right. Kane was protecting her—protecting the relationship they used to share.

He wanted to defeat Four, save his friend, and regain his position in the palace. He wanted his old life back. He wanted Ivy.

My chest tightens, and I struggle to draw in a full breath. How could I have been so naive? How could I have let myself fall for him, believe in him, when all along he told me not to trust him?

My eyes sting with unshed tears, and I swallow hard, trying to maintain my composure.

Every shared moment, every whispered confession, every heated touch—they could never mean as much to him as they did to me. Kane kept secrets and played games while what I felt—what I still feel—was real and deep and more than a passing fling or whirlwind crush.

It was more than falling for him.

It was love.

I’m in love with Kane.

I blink away my tears and force myself to meet Marion’s gaze. She continues on, and I nod as if learning the truth about the man I love hasn’t broken me apart.

“And after Kane was banished, Ivy was with Four immediately. Didn’t even wait for her bed to get cold. Although, with Ivy, I don’t think it ever is. Not that I’m one to judge. But I am certain Kane knew nothing of her duplicity.”

The landscape changes as we near the Tower, the clipped grass giving way to wildflowers, blackberry brambles, and a copse of trees with branches like gnarled fingers reaching toward the sky.

The Tower stretches tall, a bleached stone sentinel against the setting sun. Vines snake up the cracked and worn facade, wrapping around the crumbling stonework like a living bandage. It’s a far cry from the polished image hanging in the palace’s gallery, but its rugged beauty tugs at something deep within me.

Charged air tingles against my skin, bringing with it a sense of calm I hadn’t expected. I can’t help but feel drawn to the Tower, as if an invisible thread pulls at my heart, reeling me in toward the answers to questions I haven’t yet asked.

Marion dismounts first, looping her horse’s reins over a low branch. “It’s not much to look at, but you so enjoyed the painting. I thought it might lift your spirits to visit it in person.”

“Why?” I ask, dismounting and stepping closer to the tower.

“Because we’re friends. I want you to be happy and—”

“No, not ‘why did you bring me?’ Why is it in such bad shape?”

She shrugs, peering up at it as if it’s just another pile of rock. “It hasn’t been tended to in generations. Most have forgotten it stands.”

“Why let something so important fall to ruin?”

I gaze up at the Tower, the faint outline of windows just visible against the orange wisps of fading light. As I approach, it swallows me in a cocoon of cool shadow and the scents of moss, damp stone, and earth after the rain. I trace my hand along its cracks and pits, the faults rough beneath my fingertips. A spark of electricity bites me, and I snatch my hand back.

“It is only important if you’re to believe the legend—that it was once a beacon of knowledge and power and magick. Even if you were to truly believe such folly, any magicks it had are now long gone, banished and forgotten with the rest.”

Marion tilts her chin, her gaze following me. “Hannah,” she starts, her voice soft and cautious, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your bag of things—”

“Can we go inside?” I ask, not ready to talk about the secrets I’ve been keeping and the purse I hid behind a bale of hay when the stable hands weren’t looking.

“Inside?” She shakes her head, her curls brushing against her cheeks. “There’s no going inside. That was all part of the legend, in which people could enter the Tower in one kingdom and pass through one of its doors into another kingdom or realm entirely. Such a silly, fanciful story.” She clucks.

“Yeah, silly,” I repeat, feeling a connection to the legend I know is more fact than fiction. There’s a sense of familiarity here I can’t quite place. Like falling asleep on a long car ride and waking up, recognizing the moment the car turns into the driveway.

The breeze rustles through the grove of trees, carrying the soft whispers of leaves and the distant call of a bird as our horses graze.

Here, in this forgotten place, I feel so close to being found.

Marion’s voice pulls me from my trance. “Back to your items—”

“Do you and Highgate have an open relationship?” I blurt out, needing to shift the conversation away from myself, away from the things I don’t want to face and the possibility that I did not land in this kingdom by mistake.

“Open?” She tilts her head, her brow furrowing.

“You’ve mentioned having lovers. Does your husband…do the same?” I bite my bottom lip, nerves twisting my stomach into knots. I wanted a distraction, but this is not the one I should have chosen.

“Absolutely not,” Marion says, emphatically swatting the air with both hands. “I could not abide him bedding another person. He is well aware of my moonlighting, shall we say, but only if I recount the experience in explicit detail afterward.”

“Oh…”

“‘Oh’?”

“Yeah.” I grimace. “Oh.”

“Oh? Honestly, Hannah, you have me sounding like one of those talking birds. Out with it.”

I tuck loose strands of hair behind my ears and fidget with the collar of my dress. “I don’t think he’s exactly following the rules you two put in place.”

“What do you mean?”

I stumble over my response, the words coming out in a rush. “He hit on me, sniffed my hair, told me he wanted me to punish him and that he revels in my disdain. At one point, I didn’t think I was going to get back inside without him following me. I ended up pepper—”

“Did you offer yourself to my husband?” Marion bites out.

“What? No! He wanted me to…to…” I stammer, trying to find the words. “Well, I’m not exactly sure, but—”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend,” I say, confusion squeezing my lungs. “That’s why I’m telling you—”

“With how easily Ashwood fell for Ivy, gods know I could have had him in my bed, but I wouldn’t dare.”

Her piercing words hit me like an arrow. The burn of tears pricks the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “I don’t want your gross stalker husband. I thought you’d be happy—”

“Happy? Happy?” she squawks, her voice going up an octave. Her cheeks flush, and her hands clench into fists. “Why would I be happy that you wish to destroy my marriage?”

“I must really be in a different realm, because it’s super fucked that you’re mad at me for telling you that your husband is going around practically mauling any woman who puts him in his place.”

“Not any woman, Hannah. Just you,” she says through gritted teeth.

The sound of hooves beating the ground breaks the tension, and we both turn as a figure rides up. For a moment I’m pulled from time, and my heart leaps at the thought that it might be Kane.

The figure grows closer, clearer, and the illusion shatters.

Highgate dismounts smoothly, pausing as he takes in the scene. “Is there a problem, my love?”

Marion’s eyes narrow. “Hannah has informed me of your…advances,” she says, her voice quaking with barely contained anger. “Is it true?”

Highgate won’t meet my gaze as he frowns and scrubs his hand over his face. “Yes, however—”

“How could you? How could either of you?” Marion’s voice rises to a shout, her hands trembling at her sides. “And I suppose you’re here now to what? Finish what you started?”

“I’m here to get you, Lady Ashwood.” He rubs his chest, his eyes finally meeting mine. “Four has apprehended your husband.”

I go completely still, my heart plummeting into my stomach.

“You’re here to be her knight in shining armor?” Marion snaps, her voice cutting through my shock.

“As a favor to Ashwood,” he says, shaking his head. “I suspect I encouraged him a bit too much in his words against Four, and I know you are but a woman, Lady Ashwood, here for the pleasure of man, and I am not that man. I cannot help but feel I have overstepped. This is my way of trying to make amends.”

Marion scoffs and inhales for another biting retort, but I don’t give her the chance.

“He knows the truth,” I say, my voice wavering. “Four knows.”

Marion snaps her mouth shut and trades a frowning, befuddled look with her husband.

They may not know the secret, but this is one Ivy didn’t keep from Four.

“Take me to him!” I shout.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the lawns as Highgate mounts his horse and pulls me up into the saddle. I don’t want to be this close to him, but I know it’s the fastest and safest way to return to the palace.

I clutch the saddle with a white-knuckle grip as the horse lunges into motion. Marion follows, and we gallop away from the Tower in a cloud of dust, the golden light fading, and the world plunging into darkness.

Twenty-Five

I run after Highgate as we silently slip through puddles of moonlight, his figure a thin shadowy silhouette against the imposing stone walls of the rear of the palace. Tears streak my cheeks, and I can’t tell if they’re from the biting wind or the despair that no matter where I go, I can’t keep my life from falling apart.

We reach a dimly lit doorway where a lone guard stands watch. Without a word, Highgate pulls out a small sack from his cloak. The guard peers around Highgate and eyes me suspiciously before holding out his meaty hand. The pouch lands in his palm with a jingle. He opens it and takes out a single gold coin. He bites it between his yellowing teeth and, with a grunt of approval, drops the coin and the sack into his pocket.

Highgate turns to me, the hood of his cloak shading his eyes and nose like Batman. “This is where I leave you, Lady Ashwood. And be warned, you don’t have much time. Four wants you in this dungeon too.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You’re a complete ass, but I appreciate this.”

His lips thin, and he disappears into the shadows along the perimeter of the palace.

The guard steps forward and opens the heavy iron door leading to the dungeons. The metal groans on its hinges, echoing through the stone corridor beyond. A shiver runs down my spine as I step inside, the air growing noticeably colder, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls.

The door slams shut behind me, and I stiffen as the guard brushes past, motioning for me to follow. His torch lights the way as we descend deeper into the bowels of the palace.

The smell hits me first—damp, mold, and the sour stench of unwashed bodies—and my stomach churns. Water beads along the walls, and my breath comes out in white clouds, the cold pressing into me.

Men in cells line either side of the wide corridor, shadowy figures that move and mutter in the dark. I stiffen at their disjointed low grumbles and wrap my hands around my middle at the piercing shouts and jangle of chains. A prisoner lunges at the bars as we pass. He grabs my skirt, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. The guard kicks the bars with the toe of his boot, the sharp clanging like a death knell.

Finally, we reach the cell at the end of the corridor. Kane sits on a rough wooden bench, his shoulders slumped, his head in his hands. My heart lurches, a physical pain that squeezes my chest, and I forget every lie he told and every bad thing that’s happened between us as I run to his cell and clutch the unforgiving bars.

“Kane.”

For a moment, all the pain and betrayal between us fades, replaced by a desperate need to reach him, to touch him, to know that he’s safe.

Kane looks up slowly, his dark eyes meeting mine. Lord Ashwood’s eye patch is gone, revealing the full depth of his gaze. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the hollow tracks of worry and exhaustion carved into his features.

“Fawn?” His voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming, or crying, or both. He shuffles to the bars, his chains clanking with every movement. “You shouldn’t have come.” His fingers curl around mine, his grip tight.

“I had to see you. I had to say I’m sorry and make things right.”

“Make things right?” Kane shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s far too late for that. With what happened…” He glances at his hands on mine and shakes his head again. “You practically presented me to Ivy and Four on a gold platter.”

“You lied to me. You had an entire plan focused around rekindling things with her,” I snap.

“That is in the past.” Kane’s expression softens, his gaze searching mine. “I didn’t—” he begins, but the words die on his lips.

“You two were engaged. You used me to get into the palace to get her back and morph into the great warrior you used to be.” The truth is cutting, and I pull my hands away, the warmth of his touch lingering even as I step back.

“I used you to save Alderic, my friend, my brother.”

“And if it worked out that you got your old fiancé back, that would just be icing on the cake,” I say, the sting of betrayal sharp and burning.

“Letting my guard down and allowing myself to ever be manipulated by Ivy was a mistake. One I regret but should not cost me my life.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I take a deep breath and blink them back. My voice is quiet, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” he says, “but I don’t regret being the one tasked with keeping you safe while on your journey in this realm.” Kane’s chains clank as he shifts. “Hannah, please. Believe me when I say that everything I did, I did with the hope of protecting you. Of fixing things within this kingdom on the edge of collapse.”

Despite the lies and deception, there’s a part of me that wants to believe him, to trust that his intentions were pure, even if his actions weren’t.

He lets out a puff of air, his breath visible in the cold. A humorless grin tugs at the corners of his mouth as his gaze sinks to the floor. “The magicks told the elders of a girl, a woman the Tower would send for, who would arrive from a different time and place when Pentacles was on the brink of devastation. Someone has to save our kingdom; ridding it of Four is not enough.” His eyes meet mine, and the darkness in his gaze brings goose bumps to my skin. “You may not believe it, Hannah, but you are that woman.”

“The elders, the Tower, they got it wrong. I mean, look around. I’ve already fucked it up.” I cross my arms over my chest, my body shaking with a mixture of anger, disbelief, and cold.

His grip on the bars tightens as he stares at me. “Now is not the time to stay here and sort out whether you believe in your destiny. You need to run, Fawn. Go home before Four decides you’re a threat.”

I throw my hands in the air. I would laugh if I weren’t afraid I would start crying instead. “I lost the Empress. I’m stuck. I can’t go home.”

Kane’s expression shifts, and he pushes himself away from the bars. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the card I’ve been searching for, its metallic pentagram glinting. It glows faintly in the dim light, casting a soft, ethereal shimmer that dances along the edges of the cell.

“I cast an alteration spell over the Empress. Command her to return you home, and she will. But only this once. If you hold the card again and command her to return you here, to Pentacles, you will be at the mercy of the Tower. I cannot cast this spell a second time, and the Tower will not allow you to return to your world until the rot within the kingdom, within the realm, is healed.”

I take the card from him, my breath quaking in my chest. Kane’s magick is stitched across the Empress in gold velvet symbols that pulse with an otherworldly light. The craggy peaks of a mountain, a lantern, a six-pointed star, and the weathered face of an old man are the same symbols that were on his trunk back in the cabin, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“You’ve had this the whole time?” My voice is barely more than a whisper, suspicion and fury warring for attention.

He nods and drops his gaze.

“I almost died. I—I risked my life to come to this palace, to find something you had all along.” Anger wins, and hot tears blur my vision, spilling down my cheeks. “I thought I loved you. But every single thing was a lie.”

“No!” Kane slams his fists against the bars, the metal rattling under the force of his blow. “My feelings for you, what we have, that is not a lie. Every moment we shared, every touch, every word, it was all real. You make me want to be better, to fight harder, to do everything I can to protect this kingdom, protect us. Hannah, I—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t say it because I said it. Don’t say it because you’re locked in there and I’m out here. Don’t say it because you got caught in a lie.” My voice shakes. “I won’t believe you. I can’t. I can’t believe anything you say.”

“It’s the truth!” he thunders, his voice echoing through the cold stone corridor. “Believe me or don’t. It no longer matters.”

I force a wry grin and wipe my tears with the back of my hand. “On that, we agree.”

With a final shuddering breath, I turn away from Kane.

“I will miss you, Little Fawn,” he says softly, his words falling against my back.

I stop, my chest squeezing at the familiar nickname. But I don’t look at him. My heart is shattered, the pieces too sharp to handle.

I motion for the guard and trail him down the dank, cold corridor. I clench the card in my hand, its magick symbols pulsing rhythmically against my palm, a faint steady heartbeat in the silence.

The guard opens the door, and I walk out into the alley. The door creaks closed behind me. Once again, I’m outside the palace, in the dark, by myself.

“Back where I started.”

As if answering my mutterings, the sky quakes, and lightning splits the air, unleashing a deluge that soaks me to the skin.

“Fuck off!” My voice cracks, swallowed by low rumbles of thunder. I don’t know who I hate more—myself or Kane. Either way, I’m getting out of here.

Rain streams down my face, mingling with the tears I no longer hold back, and plasters my dress to my body. I shiver, cold needling through my arms as I hold the card out in front of me. The ancient symbols Kane wove into the tarot card’s magick pulse—the Empress alive and listening.

“Take me—”

My heart squeezes, and I bite the tip of my tongue to keep the words at bay. There’s nothing left for me here, but a part of me still wants to stay, to hope.

How many times can I let this happen? How many times will I repeat this same sad pattern? I’m stuck in the lowest part of a movie, when everything sucks and there’s absolutely no hope. Unlike the movies, tomorrow won’t bring a new day, a new opportunity, a fresh start on my way to a happily ever after. All I’ll get is more shit.

“I can’t keep living my life like this. I won’t.” And, this time, I mean it.

I clutch the card between my thumb and forefinger. Energy pops along my skin like bubbles on champagne. The symbols glow brighter, and I squint, locking eyes with the woman on the card. She seems different now, bolder, more intense. Or maybe it’s just me.

“Take me home,” I command.

The world around me tilts and swirls. I take one last look at the palace. Then, with a rush of wind and light, it’s gone.

Twenty-Six

The world around me is a blur of neon lights and distant sirens before everything snaps into focus. My knees buckle, and I land hard on the concrete, my palms scraping against the cold sidewalk. I gasp as I stand up slowly, legs trembling. Cool gusts bite through my dress, bringing with them the smells of exhaust and fast food. Two scents I hadn’t realized until now that I could have gone the rest of my life without smelling.

I still clutch the card in my hand, but it no longer pulses. The vibrant glow and magickal symbols Kane bespelled the Empress with have vanished. His magick is gone. Kane is gone.

“I’m home.”

A sharp, startled inhale draws my attention, and my gaze swings to the bus stop. A woman sits up from the metal bench. She blinks at me and pulls her thin blanket up around her shoulders.

“Where’d you come from dressed like that?” she asks, her bushy brows furrowing beneath a stained and tattered beanie.

I tuck the card into my bodice and look down at the elegant velvet dress, sparkling silver chalices stitched into its hem. Obviously, there were some things I didn’t think through. “A party?” I grimace. “A costume party.”

“Why you so wet?” Doubt barbs her question, and her eyes narrow as she scoots deeper under her blanket.

I shrug like being soaking wet in an authentic Renaissance gown in the middle of the city is an everyday occurrence. “Just one of those nights.”

She purses her lips and nods. “Say less.” Satisfied with my answer, she settles her head back against her bag and closes her eyes.

I pat my sides, and my stomach sinks. My dress wasn’t the only thing I didn’t think about. Once again, I’ve left my purse behind. I don’t have my phone, wallet, bus pass, keys, or anything that belongs to me, to this world.

Anxiety churns in my stomach, and I force myself to take a deep breath. There’s only one place I can go.

Fucking Chad.

The two-block trek to Chad’s apartment building feels endless. Each step is a struggle against the cold wind pulling at the soaked fabric of my dress and silk slippers, more useless against the Chicago winter than my busted rain boots.

Although the slush isn’t quite as slushy as it was when I was last here.

My gaze searches for the snow plowed from the streets and piled on the sidewalks, but the previously icy, snow-covered concrete only holds melted patches of slush and dirty puddles. Kane said time moves differently between realms, and the evidence is all around me.

How long have I been gone?

I bite the inside of my cheek. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have my phone. The idea of facing dozens of missed calls and messages from my mom and Posh Pulse makes my heart lurch.

I keep my head down as I pass cyclists and dog walkers, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. When I finally reach Chad’s building, I hesitate a few feet from the entrance. The last time I was here, I found out he was cheating on me and that I’m too desperate and stuck to be a viable romantic partner.

Then again, I disappeared to an entirely different realm and found out the same thing.

Even though Kane says he no longer has feelings for Ivy and all signs point to that being the truth, they were engaged. He needed her to fulfill his plan. Somehow, that’s worse.

But he doesn’t love her, Hannah. He might actually love you. But you ran away before you could find out. Now he’s going to die and—

“Shut up!” I bite out, just as the doorman swings open the door.

“Charming, as always.” Stuart scans me from head to toe, lingering on the wet braid draped like a rat’s tail over my shoulder and the puddle forming around my feet.

I step into the lobby with a final shiver as the warm air thaws the chill that’s stiffened my limbs. The lobby is empty and quiet, with only the soft hum of the heater and the distant sound of the elevator doors opening and closing.

“I need to use the phone,” I say, following him to his desk.

He cocks his head, a smirk playing on his thin lips as he sits down at his post. “From your exit on your last visit, I assumed Mr. Bartley would no longer be receiving you as his guest.”

I stiffen, drawing on every ounce of my inner Lady Ashwood. “You assumed incorrectly, Stuart. Phone,” I say, my voice clipped. “Now.”

His beady eyes widen, but he quickly masks his surprise with a condescending sneer and pushes the phone across the desk. “Did you leave something here from your last visit? It’s been a few days, but I can check—”

“How many?” I demand, my voice sharp, anxiety gnawing at my insides.

Confusion creases his forehead.

“How many days since my last visit?”

“Three, but I—”

“Thank you.” I cut him off, picking up the receiver and turning my back to him.

I dial the only number I know by heart besides my mom’s. The phone rings, each tone trilling in my ear like a countdown. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come.

“It’s a wonderful day here at Posh Pulse. How can we make your day wonderful too?”

* * *

I stand outside Chad’s apartment building, my damp clothes clinging to me like a second skin, my hair getting frizzier by the minute. My teeth chatter despite my best efforts to clench my jaw, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the lingering chill.

The streetlights click on, casting a dim yellow glow over the cracked sidewalk when Jade honks, her sleek black Mercedes gliding to a stop in front of me. I open the door and run my hand over my butt to make sure I’m not too wet to sit in her luxury vehicle before sinking into the plush leather seat and closing the door.

“Hannah—” Jade starts, but I hold up my hand.

“Don’t ask about the dress or where I’ve been, okay? Like I said when I called, I lost my purse, and I just need a ride to my apartment.”

Jade nods and shifts the car into gear, and we pull away from the curb, the streetlights casting fleeting patterns across the sleek dashboard. We drive through the city as it transitions from day to night and the last rays of the sun fade into the inky-blue sky.

I should feel relieved to be back. And I do. For the most part. But this isn’t the warm welcome I imagined. The city feels different, harsher, as if I’ve been gone for years instead of days. The familiar streets seem cold, the sounds more jarring. It’s as if the city has changed in the days I was gone. Or perhaps I have.

I shift my focus to Jade, but her face, a perfect copy of Marion’s, makes my heart squeeze. She and I have never had the same closeness I shared with Marion. With Jade, it’s all business. Friendship is earned like a medal—through achievements.

“I have to be honest,” Jade begins, her voice cutting through the steady drone of the tires on asphalt, “I was worried when you didn’t call or come in this morning. I get not coming in on Friday. We all expected that you would need a mental health day to recover, which is why I didn’t Slack or email.” She flips on the turn signal and slips smoothly into the next lane. “Last week’s presentation doesn’t have to be how your time at Posh Pulse ends. At least, not unless you want it to be.”

“No, I’ll go back. I want to go back. Wait for another opportunity like LuminaLuxe…” I stare out the window, watching the city lights rush past, my thoughts drifting to Towerfall. To Kane, to Marion, to the feeling that Pentacles was on the brink of making a change that could have meant the difference between suffering and salvation. Something bigger than convincing women to buy beauty products they don’t actually need.

“And nail it?” Jade prompts, her voice pulling me back to the present.

I mentally shake myself, clearing my throat. “Yeah. I’ll nail it.” I manage a smile and hope she doesn’t sense the doubt creeping through the cracks of my resolve.

Jade returns my grin, briefly glancing over at me before returning her gaze to the road. “Then Stephanie won’t be the only one with a new office.”

The mention of Stephanie makes my stomach churn. My mind flashes to Ivy and how much more damage she can cause in Towerfall than my office nemesis ever can with petty work politics. Together, she and Four are the ultimate villains, their influence spreading like a dark stain throughout the kingdom.

“I think I just gave up the chance to do something that mattered,” I mutter, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Jade’s smile fades. “What do you mean?”

I shake my head, forcing a grin that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

But it’s not nothing.

The Empress heats against my skin, shooting pinpricks of energy through my chest along with the nagging feeling that I’ve left something important unfinished.

Jade glances at me, her brow furrowed. “You know, Hannah, without realizing it, you understand people. What they want, how they feel. You’re naturally nurturing and caring, but you internalize everyone else’s emotions. As a fellow empath, I get it, but can I give you some advice it took me far too long to figure out myself?”

I nod, afraid that if I speak, the floodgates will open.

“To survive, to thrive in the corporate world, you have to swallow your feelings and learn to use your empath magick, for lack of a better way to put it, to build a story for the client.”

“You mean lie.”

“I mean manipulate. It’s not lying.” She scoffs. “It’s just good business.”

“And if I don’t want to use my magick for manipulation?”

“Then I don’t know.” She throws up her hands, but the car still manages to stay between the lines. “Find something you can impact while still being yourself. What’s your dream? What’s the light at the end of Hannah’s tunnel?”

“At this point, there are so many shadows, I can’t even see the light.” I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching the city slip by. Each passing block feels like it’s taking me farther from the world where, despite everything, I started to belong.

Twenty-Seven

The Mercedes’s headlights cast twin beams of frosty-white light across my shabby apartment building, highlighting the cracks in the bricks and the once-gray paint around the windows peeling away in strips like shedding skin. I step out of the car and give Jade a quick forced smile and a muttered thank-you before turning toward the steps to my ground-floor apartment.

I fumble with the hide-a-key I keep tucked away under a loose stone by the stoop, the metal cold against my fingers as I slide it into the lock. Inside, my apartment is exactly the way I left it—a mess. The air is stale, a mix of forgotten takeout and lingering mildew greeting me as I shut the door and flip on the light.

Somehow my small studio feels even smaller with the lights on. I head to the screen divider that serves as the wall to my bedroom and untie my dress. Not for a moment do my thoughts drift to Kane—his rough hands on my bare skin, his lips at my throat, the laces around my wrists.

The rich fabric falls away, and the tarot card drifts to the floor as the perpetually cold air in my apartment blows against me, evaporating the fantasy as quickly as it came.

I toss the dress onto the back of the chair I found at a thrift shop and promised myself I’d learn to reupholster. Even waterlogged, the crushed velvet looks like it belongs to someone else in some other life next to the worn chair and upturned crates draped with fabric I use as a coffee table. It’s fitting, though, since it was always someone else’s. I was never Lady Ashwood.

You should remember that, Hannah.

I shed my damp undergarments as I step into the bathroom, leaving behind a trail of lace and silk. I turn the water on as hot as it will go. The heat is a relief, an almost-scalding balm that leeches into my muscles, easing the tension and warming my core. I close my eyes and let the water cascade over me, the stream beating a steady rhythm on my shoulders. It’s not the same as the tub in Towerfall—the steaming herbaceous water, the candlelight, the wine, the pomegranates, Kane…

I scrub at my skin as if I can wash away the memories, the heartache, the past. When I step out, steam billows around me, filling the small bathroom and fogging the mirror. I don’t bother to wipe away the condensation as I dry off. I can’t bring myself to look at my reflection, to face the loneliness that stares back at me.

Towel tucked up under my arms, I pad back into the main room. The apartment is silent, except for the faint drip of water from the shower and the dull pulse of music from the apartment upstairs, the bass thumping through the ceiling. Each step I take feels heavy, my damp feet leaving faint prints on the worn wooden floor.

I rummage through my dresser before pulling out a frayed pair of jeans and an old Illini hoodie. The sweatshirt is soft, familiar, and comforting, like I’m reclaiming a part of myself as I slip into the cozy cotton.

I sit crisscross on the couch and push aside the pile of papers I printed at work as research on LuminaLuxe and its products to make room for my Posh Pulse–issued laptop. The screen flashes to life, and I squint against the artificial pale glow. The laptop hums as I open my Slack, email, and personal texts, my muscles tensing against the onslaught that’s sure to come.

But it doesn’t.

I frown, reading through the handful of messages from my mom about two other “single and ready to mingle” shut-ins whose mothers she met at pickleball. No missed calls, no worried texts, no email, or Slack filled with urgent work matters that couldn’t be resolved without me. Jade said she was letting me have mental health time, but zero check-ins feels harsh. The only email that’s not a courtesy cc is from American Express.

Congratulations, Hannah, your credit card limit has been increased to thirty thousand dollars!

I nearly choke on my spit, letting out a dry, hacking cough as I close the computer and set it on the rickety coffee table. Clearly the credit card company didn’t get the memo that there’s no raise on the horizon.

Coughing into the crook of my elbow, I move to the kitchen, the soles of my feet sticking to the cracked linoleum. I don’t bother getting a glass. Instead, I turn on the faucet and cup my hands underneath, then slurp up a gulp to calm my throat. I search for the paper towels, but the tube on the rack is empty.

One by one, I open the cabinets, each creaking door a shrill laugh in the quiet. My gaze drifts over the dented can of soup tucked away in the back corner, the last remnant of a grocery run months ago. The empty shelves stare back at me in silent judgment as I attempt to find something, anything, to fill the void.

“It’s empty.”

I glance around my small shabby apartment. The walls are bare, the furniture is mismatched and worn, and the space feels more like a temporary shelter than a home.

Empty cabinets. Empty inbox. Empty relationships.

“Every! Thing! Is! Empty!” I shout into the void, punctuating each word with a slam of a cabinet. The noise reverberates through the kitchen, making the apartment feel full, if only for a moment.

For the past three years, I’ve been trying to make something of myself, to make a positive change in the world, but all I’ve done is stumble from one mistake to another. I wanted to bring something meaningful to people’s lives, to create campaigns that inspire and uplift and make a real impact. But what have I actually accomplished?

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the cold that seems to pour in through the walls. It won’t be enough. It will never be enough. The chill isn’t only physical; it’s an emptiness that fills every corner of my life.

“No one even noticed I was gone.”

I’ve been missing for days, dropped into a realm of magick and danger, and not a single person in this world reacted.

I sink to the floor. Leaning against the cabinets, my heart aches with a new kind of pain, a longing for a place that isn’t my home but felt like it could be.

There’s a knock at the door, a sharp rap that jars me from my doom and gloom. I pick myself up off the kitchen linoleum and make my way to the entrance. Maybe someone noticed I was gone after all.

I open the door and am met with the last person I’d ever thought I’d see.

“Chad?”

“Hey, Hannah.” He flashes that charming smile that once had me hooked but now just makes me want to punch him. “Can I come in?”

I hesitate for a moment, then step aside, letting him inside. He strides in and looks around like he’s about to give me an insurance quote.

I grimace.

The place looks even worse with him in it.

He leans on the lip of the elevated peninsula that serves as my dining room, running his hand through his purposefully tousled hair in that annoyingly casual way he always does. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you the past few days. I mean, you didn’t text. You didn’t call…”

“You didn’t stay faithful.” I interject, cold and flat.

“Listen, Hannah, I didn’t realize we were that serious. If that’s what you wanted, you should have communicated with me. I can’t read your mind.”

“I should have communicated. You’re seriously putting this on me?” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep my voice steady, my anger contained. “You were the one sneaking around.”

He steps closer, his expression softening, his eyes sparkling with a sincerity that throws me off-balance. The man in front me is the one I thought I cared about, the one I thought was kind and gracious, the one who took me to restaurants and events I’d never imagined going to.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmurs. “We both made mistakes, but I want to make things right between us.”

For a moment, I see past the betrayal and hurt to the person I fell for, the person I thought I could trust.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of emotions clouding my mind. “Chad, I don’t—”

“Just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands. “I miss you, Hannah. I miss us.”

I hesitate, the words caught in my throat as he reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a small rectangular box.

“I got you something.” He takes my hand and sets the box against my palm. His touch is warm and familiar, and despite myself, I feel a pang of longing.

I open the box with numb fingers. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, is a key fob.

I stare at it, my mind racing to make sense of what I’m seeing. “What—what is this?”

“It’s access to my apartment. To me.” He smiles, that same charming smile that used to make me melt. “No more Stuart. No more texting before you come over. No more living”—he gestures around my apartment, the mismatched furniture and shabby decor suddenly feeling even more inadequate—“like this. Move in with me, Hannah.”

The offer hangs in the air between us. This is a chance to start over, to rebuild my life and become exactly who I thought I wanted to be.

Yet a part of me is running, running back to Towerfall, back to the other half of my heart.

Before I can respond, he slips his strong arms around me and pulls me into a hug. At first, I resist, my body stiff and unyielding against his. But as the seconds tick by, I sink into his warmth.

His arms tighten around me, and I let them. I close my eyes and lose myself in the scent of his cologne, the feel of his breath against my hair. I let him hold me, the weight of my worries lifting just a little.

And for a brief fragile moment, I also let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, things will be different.

“This is going to be great.” Chad’s voice vibrates against my cheek, echoing the sentiment I’m starting to feel myself. It’s delicate and thin, but I cling to the line of hope, desperate for something to hold. “I don’t suppose you have a bottle you can pop so we can celebrate the occasion?”

“Let me check.” I smile, my cheeks hot, my head already spinning.

I open the fridge and wrinkle my nose. The only options are an old bottle of wine that’s definitely turned to vinegar by now and a lone can of sparkling water.

“I knew I was wrong about you, Hannah. I knew it the minute you left and Celine launched into this speech about some psychological theory on the benefits of being an independent woman.”

“Oh?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the can, distracted by my utter lack of food.

“Yeah,” he continues, settling onto the worn couch as if he belongs here, as if nothing has changed. “It made me realize how much I appreciate you. How much I need someone who’s down to earth and not caught up in all that nonsense.”

As I trail him into the living room, my gaze snags on the floor—on the tarot card.

The Empress stares back at me with wisdom and strength that I suddenly crave. Her expression seems to change, disappointment flashing across her face before fading.

I bend down and pick it up, the card warm in my hand, its edges glowing faintly.

If you hold the card again and command her to return you here, to Pentacles, you will be at the mercy of the Tower. I cannot cast this spell a second time…

I take a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs and steadying my nerves.

“I realized that women with ambition are a lot of work. I know you’ll be happy just being with me. You’re easy.” Chad leans back, stretching out his legs. “It’s nice. It’s refreshing. I can see myself marrying a girl like you. Not right now or anything. I mean, let’s take things one step at a time—”

“Easy?” I repeat, my hold tightening on the card.

“Yeah, you know, low-maintenance. Not like those high-strung career chicks. It’s just easier with you.”

The words are casual and light, as if he’s offering a compliment.

Chad reaches for the can, but I pull it back.

“No,” I say, my voice unwavering.

“No?” His brow furrows, and he tilts his head like a baby bird, as if he’s never heard the word before now.

“I’m not your easy option.” I stand up straighter, the Empress pulsing in my hand, filling me with strength. “Do you think you’re doing me a favor by asking me to move in with you?”

He blinks up at me. “I mean, this isn’t even a real coffee table, and the rest of your furniture looks like you found it on the street. Hannah, you put one more person in here, and you’re practically asking to get fined for breaking occupancy regulations.” With a shrug, he drags his fingers through his expensive haircut. “I’m not doing you a favor, but I’m not, you know…”

“No, Chad, you’re going to have to spell it out for me. I can’t read your mind.” I don’t think he gets I’m mocking him, because he simply offers me another shrug.

“I’m not not doing you a favor.”

“I don’t need your apartment or your life or you to complete me.”

“No, not to complete you, but to…elevate your status. Make you, you know, better.”

“More worthy of you.”

“Yeah!” He grins before realizing his mistake, his expression twisting. “No, Hannah, that’s not what I meant. You’re overreacting.” He pats the cushion next to him. “Come sit down. We can—”

“Stop fucking talking for once and actually listen to what I’m saying. I’m not moving in with you.” I enunciate each word like he’s a child.

He stares up at me, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. “Hannah, what the fuck? Being easy and living someplace better than this dump aren’t bad things. I said I might one day marry a girl like you. Possibly. You’re being emotional over nothing.”

“Am I?” I laugh, bitter and liberating. “I’ve been trying so hard to fit into a life I thought I wanted, to be someone I’m not. But I’m done. I want to be myself. Find out who she is. Find my own path, my own happiness. And it’s not with you.”

Chad stands, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for the girl who used to agree with everything he said. “Fine,” he mutters, heading toward the door. “But don’t expect me to be there when you realize what a mistake you’ve just made.”

Outside the door’s threshold, he spins around to face me, and I slam the door as his mouth flops open to let out more fetid air.

The Empress throbs with an insistent warm energy, urging me to take action.

I’ve made mistakes, but whining about them won’t fix anything. For once, I’m actually going to be in control of my life. It’s clear I can’t go back to pretending that the only things that matter are the next big marketing pitch and whether I’m dating a douche.

It’s about choosing who I want to be, what kind of life I want to lead. And as much as I want to believe that things can be different, a part of me knows that the only way to truly find myself is to stop running from the shadows and face the light head-on.

“American Express, I’m going to take you up on your offer and do some good with that thirty-thousand-dollar limit. Let’s make some donations and get my new life started.”

The Empress pulses again as if in agreement, an otherworldly hype girl, cheering me on.

I drop the can of seltzer on the counter, stride over to the fridge, and yank open the freezer.

I read an article once, the whole article since this one was written specifically for women on a budget, that suggested putting any credit cards in a container of water and freezing them. The ice obscures the numbers, so I’d have to wait for it to melt to make any impulse buys.

It worked. I’ve made zero credit card purchases other than the recurring monthly bills I have on auto pay and then promptly pay off when my measly paycheck lands in my account. According to the credit bureaus, I’m a catch. And I’ve had the same block of credit card ice in the back of my freezer since I moved into this apartment straight out of college as proof.

I pull out the freezer-burned block of ice and narrow my eyes at the warped credit card frozen beneath the surface like a mirage. In the hundreds of daydreams I’ve had about chiseling this cube open and getting to the plasticky center, I would have never dreamed it would be to pursue a future in a different world.

Frost stings my fingers as I lift the ice block overhead and slam it onto the floor. It shatters on impact, frozen chunks skittering across the linoleum in a burst of glittering shards. My credit card rests on an ice chunk between my feet. I pick it up, frozen flecks melting and sliding down the glossy silver surface.

“How about we start with a sizable donation to the ACLU?”

Caring about corporate responsibility is easy to talk about in pitches and drop into conversations at work. And it made me feel like I might be doing more than just pushing products and polishing brand images. But I wasn’t. Not really. To inspire change, I have to actually do something. This isn’t just about saying the words; it’s about making a difference. And this is me taking a step in that direction—to finally becoming the person I’ve always been deep down.

The air crackles with electricity, the tarot card vibrating with a soft hum that resonates deep within me.

Slowly, the Empress begins to move, her painted form coming to life. Her crown twinkles, each star pulsating with its own rhythm. Eyes gleaming and hair flowing like liquid gold, she raises her mirror. Her scarlet gown ripples, and the lush flowers and wheat at her ankles sway, caught in an unseen breeze.

The Empress’s laughter is the tinkle of wind chimes on a perfect summer day accentuated by the gentle whoosh of water from a distant stream. It fills the room and tickles my skin.

She leans forward as if she might step right off the surface of her card and into my realm, her movements graceful and fluid. “Claim your destiny, Hannah. Embrace the magick within and let it guide you.”

I nod, a binding contract with the Empress, with Towerfall and most importantly, with myself.

I’m in control.

And it’s about fucking time.

Twenty-Eight

The Waldorf Astoria is one of Chicago’s most expensive and luxurious hotels. Not that I know that firsthand. Well, not until now.

Two doormen, clean-cut and dapper in their tailored uniforms, swing open the glass front double doors. I step onto the lobby’s gleaming marble floors that stretch out like a polished sea and reflect the crystal chandeliers dangling from the high ceilings. Plush velvet sofas are artfully scattered throughout, inviting guests to sink into luxury while they’re lulled by the soft hum of classical music piped in through hidden speakers.

I stride to the front desk, the credit card practically burning a hole in my pocket. Behind the slab of black marble with veins of gold, the front desk attendant stands at attention.

McDougall!

His posture is perfect, his uniform immaculate—a dark suit complemented by a crisp white shirt and a gold name tag that reads VIC. His perfectly groomed mustache twitches slightly as he smiles, both welcoming and assessing.

I want to run behind the desk and hug him and tell him I’ve been to another world and met his mirror image and that this is the first time I’ve been genuinely happy since I’ve been home.

Instead, anticipation settles in my chest, and I’m not completely sure what to do with my hands, so I grip the edge of the tall counter.

“The presidential suite, please. Just for tonight,” I say, my voice steady and confident.

Vic eyes me, his bushy white brows lifting ever so slightly while his fingers fly across the keyboard with soft clicks. “You’re in luck. The presidential suite is available. Since the room is open, and it’s so last minute, we can offer you a rate of—”

“It doesn’t matter.” With a smile every bit as dazzling as a teeth-whitening ad, I slide the credit card across the counter, my heart racing. Not once has the price not mattered.

“She knows what she wants.” A mischievous grin lifts his salt-and-pepper mustache. “I’m more than happy to oblige.” He swipes the card, his fingers moving swiftly over the keys. “Can I get a bellhop to help you with your luggage, park your car…?”

“No luggage. No car,” I reply, flashing him another grin. “Just me.”

The wrinkles around Vic’s brown eyes deepen with curiosity, but he simply nods and rounds the counter, a brass key card in hand.

“Follow me, and I’ll lead you to your manor,” he says, motioning to the wall of elevators with a flourish.

“First,” I say, holding up my credit card, “I need an ATM.”

“A woman on a mission. I respect it.”

Our footsteps mingle with the melody of classical music and hushed conversations from other hotel guests as Vic guides me through the lobby. When we reach the machine, he sidesteps to the elevator bay as I insert my card into the slot, the ATM whirring to life. The screen glows, reflecting off the gold veins in the marble walls.

I try not to look guilty, like I don’t actually have any money or business being here, as I punch in my details and max out the card’s cash advance. The machine dispenses crisp hundreds, the bills stacking neatly in the tray, more money than I’ve ever seen at once, much less held.

I fold the stack in half and meet Vic at the elevators, a wad of crisp hundreds fattening my pocket.

“Your chariot awaits,” he says, holding the elevator doors open with a theatrical flourish, and I can’t help but grin as I step inside.

Every surface gleams, and the subtle scent of jasmine floats in the air as the elevator smoothly ascends.

“What brings you to the Astoria, business or pleasure?” Vic asks, his tone light and curious as he leans against the polished brass railing.

“Pleasure,” I reply, longing for a place far from here bubbling up inside me. “But only after I’ve dealt with someone first. You know, take care of a little business.”

His smile is warm and infectious. “And who are we beheading, Queen Hannah?”

“Do I have to choose just one?” I quip, a sly smile curling my lips.

Vic’s laugh is rich and genuine. “Wealthy, powerful, fabulously unapologetic.” He ticks off on his weathered fingers, one by one.

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the correct floor, the doors sliding open to reveal a corridor lined with sumptuous carpeting and gilded sconces that cast a warm, inviting glow. Vic steps out, and I follow him down the hallway the same way I did McDougall through the Palace of Pentacles.

As we reach the door to the presidential suite, Vic slides the key card into the lock with a practiced flick of his wrist. The door opens with a soft click. The room is a stunning blend of opulence and comfort, with rich fabrics and plush furnishings that could be straight out of Towerfall. My heart skips with fear, anticipation, and desire. It’s a rush that makes me dizzy, and I flatten my palm against the doorframe to steady myself.

“Welcome to your humble kingdom, Queen Hannah.” Vic offers a mock bow, his grin widening.

“Thank you, Vic.” I sink into a dramatic curtsy Queen Lockhart of Pentacles would be impressed with and step into the suite.

“Would you like me to show you around? It’s over three thousand square feet with terraces, your own private bar, fitness space. Pretty much everything you need in a room.”

I shake my head, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “I think I’ve got it from here. But thank you for the grand entrance.” I take out a folded hundred and offer it to him.

“It’s my pleasure. Enjoy your night of grandeur.” He winks, his wrinkled cheeks pinkening. “And, remember, if you need anything or anyone to help you fill this palatial room, I’m only a call away.”

The door closes behind him, and I stand there for a moment, stunned, absorbing the sheer luxury around me. The luxury I bought and paid for myself. At least, if I were staying in this realm, I’d have to pay for it.

But this suite is just a means to an end. I’ve seen firsthand from working with companies whose CEOs have their own private jets that getting a room like this in a hotel like the Astoria comes with a whole list of perks that have nothing to do with the sheets’ high thread count.

I allow myself a moment to revel in the sheer indulgence of it all, spinning around in a little happy dance, the plush carpet like a cloud beneath my feet. I brush past the couch, dragging my hand along the velvet throw draped over the back. The fabric, the luxury, the grandeur of the room, everything sends my thoughts straight to my arrival in Towerfall, and I can’t help but wish that Kane would appear.

The Empress vibrates against my hip, bringing me back to the task at hand. After pulling the card from my pocket, I trace her intricate gold crown. Energy pulses through my fingertips as her serene gaze meets mine, urging me forward.

“Focus, Hannah,” I remind myself, slipping the tarot back into my jeans.

I do a final twirl as I head to the secretary’s desk set up in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretches out beneath me, twinkling like stars. I pick up the phone and take a deep breath, savoring the moment before I press the Guest Services button.

Vic answers almost immediately, his voice as smooth and welcoming as McDougall’s. “Hello, Queen Hannah. I knew that wouldn’t be the last time we spoke. What can I do for you—send up a masseuse, get some champagne, book a table at Bar Mar?”

“I, uh, I need a makeover.”

“I adore a transformation moment. Let me bring up some salon information and take down your availability,” he responds, already tapping away at his keyboard.

“No, I mean, I need to become someone else.” The urgency in my voice is unmistakable.

“I completely understand, Hannah. In the eighties, I moonlighted as Ms. Candy Bush at the Pussycat Club. I can orchestrate a makeover.”

“This is sort of like that.” Biting my lip, I catch my reflection in the window, my face blending into the nightscape beyond. “I want to look completely different. Wig, contacts, the whole thing. And money’s no object. I’ll pay whatever I have to in order to get the best. You called me ‘Queen Hannah,’ and now I want to look the part.”

These are the perks I need—the perks that are doled out quickly and without question when you book the presidential suite and have money to spend.

“Why do I suddenly feel like an alliance with you will end with me in handcuffs—the bad kind?”

“What can I say?” I shrug, my reflection mimicking the motion. “I guess that’s the risk you take when dealing with someone wealthy, powerful, and fabulously unapologetic. Oh, and this is going to sound a bit strange, but I need a very fancy Renaissance-era dress. One fit for—”

“A queen,” Vic says, finishing my thought. “Give me forty-five minutes. An hour max.”

I hang up the phone, ending the call, and click it back on to dial in-room dining. Champagne is a great idea—the perfect send-off for my last night in Chicago.

Twenty-Nine

The doorbell rings, chiming through the anticipation and anxiety I’ve been dulling with champagne, chocolate lava cake, and crème brûlée. I throw back the last swig of champagne bubbling in the bottom of my glass and rush to open the door. A bevy of people—their arms loaded with bags, makeup kits, and various styling and lighting tools—fills the hall outside my suite.

Vic grins, his eyes wide like he’s just won a free car. “Thirty-seven minutes,” he croons. “Can’t bake a pie in that amount of time, but, girl, I’ve assembled a team Margot Robbie would drool over.”

They sweep inside, and it takes seconds before they start moving furniture to set up stations around the main living room, transforming the suite into a makeshift salon. The air buzzes with the sound of bags unzipping and the click of makeup cases opening while extra mirrors and lighting are set up to ensure perfection.

Vic approaches, wheeling a garment rack packed with black bags. “I had a friend at Neiman’s choose some options, but there’s clearly one winner. I won’t even waste your time with the others.”

He unzips the first bag, revealing a ruby-red dress straight out of a Renaissance painting. I marvel at its plunging neckline and formfitting bodice stitched with elaborate gold embroidery and beadwork that extends down to the hips. The intricate gold details continue onto the full flowing skirt crafted from layers of tulle and satin. The fabric shimmers with each movement, as if woven with threads of pure sunlight.

“Told you we’d start with the best.” He peels back the garment bag, freeing the dress from its protective cover. I press my hand to my chest, breathless as the gown’s train cascades onto the floor like an apple dipped in gold.

“You weren’t kidding,” I say, gliding my fingers along the embroidery. The stitchwork and beading shimmer under the extra lights, each detail glinting in a way that makes the dress seem almost alive.

It’s perfect for Towerfall. Perfect for Lady Ashwood. Perfect to get back into the palace.

“This,” Vic says, turning me to face the mirror and sweeping the gown in front of my body, “will make him drop to his knees and worship the very ground you walk on.”

“‘Him’?” I ask Vic’s reflection.

“Girl, there’s always a him.” His brows lift. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

I try to laugh, but my thoughts betray me. Kane’s face flashes in my mind—his dark eyes pleading, his shoulders slumped in the dim light of his cell. I left him there, completely alone, and I don’t know how much time has passed between now and then, between this world and his.

Before I can put words to the frost thawing around my heart, Vic leads me to the first workstation. A statuesque woman with bright pink hair and a constellation of drawn-on freckles across her nose and cheeks stands ready with an army of makeup brushes and palettes spread out before her.

I drop into a cushy black chair in front of a mirror with magnification that enhances every pore while Vic pulls a fresh bottle of champagne from an ice-filled bucket. With a deft twist, he uncorks it and fills a clean flute, the bubbles dancing up the sides of the glass.

“Let’s make them bow.”

* * *

My heart beats fast, my skin still humming with the pulse of energy from all the bodies pulling me this way and that, transforming me into the vision staring back at me from the three-way mirror. The gown clings to my slight curves, its train pooling around my feet like liquid rubies. I run my hands along the intricate beadwork. Gold embroidery catches the light, shimmering with every breath I take. It’s like it was made for me—made for the moment that will forever change my life.

Flowing waves so blond, they’re almost white brush against my shoulders. Violet contacts transform my eyes. I look like a fairy-tale princess, a modern-day Sleeping Beauty ready to wake from her long slumber.

In this costume, I can drop into the Kingdom of Pentacles looking like I fit in. It’s a way to protect myself from being called a witch and chased out of town at knifepoint. This time, I know where I’m going, and I won’t leave things to chance.

In my hand, the magickal tarot card brims with energy. The Empress glows softly, her eyes seeming to follow my every move, silently propelling me forward.

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves.

This is it.

My decision sends a mix of excitement and trepidation swirling in my chest. There’s a chance I’ll leave and never come back to this realm. A chance I’ll never see this city, this suite, this world again.

And my mom and my sister…

They may not like it, but I hope they understand my vague email about going on a world-exploring journey of self-discovery. I said they won’t be able to reach me, that I’m giving away all my earthly possessions and ending my cell service, and that they shouldn’t worry about me being dead in a ditch. I told them I would be better than okay and that I’m excited to go and start this new portion of my life.

My heart races when I lift the card. Its surface undulates with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat as its warmth spreads through my hand and up my arm, wrapping around me like an embrace.

I glance back at my reflection, the woman in the mirror exuding confidence and power. This is who I am meant to be. Not the unsure girl tripping through life, but a woman ready to face her destiny. Ready to reclaim her place in Towerfall and fight for the life she wants.

A shiver runs across my shoulders, and I close my eyes. The soft hum of the suite fades, replaced by the silent electric anticipation of the unknown. The magick builds, the card’s energy resonating with my own, growing stronger with each passing second.

I open my eyes and lift the card to my lips, whispering the words that will seal my fate. “Take me to Towerfall.”

The card’s light intensifies, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth and power. The suite around me blurs, the lines between realms dissolving into a shimmering haze.

I’m leaving behind everything I’ve ever known, stepping into a world of uncertainty and magick. But for the first time in my life, I feel truly in control, ready for whatever comes next.

The world spins around me in a whirlwind of color, and I close my eyes and surrender.

Thirty

Landing in another realm hasn’t gotten any easier. At least this time I’m still on my feet. I stumble a bit, the landscape settling around me, but I manage to steady myself before toppling into a puddle of mud. The familiar sight of the gate surrounding the palace looms before me, grand and imposing against the clear daytime sky.

Luckily, there’s no one at the rear of the palace to spot my magickal entry, and I shove the tarot card into the bodice of my dress, its warmth reassuring against my heart. The intricate gold embroidery on the gown catches the sunlight, sparkling as I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. This time, I’m not just pretending. This time, I’m the real Lady Ashwood, and I’m going to fucking nail it.

The guards at the front gate watch me approach through narrowed eyes. I hold my head high, channeling every ounce of regal poise I absorbed from Marion.

“Halt!” One of the guards, a burly man with a thick beard, steps in front of the massive pentacle twisted into the design of the iron gate, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “State your business.”

It’s him—the same guard who killed Lila’s protector as she scrambled to hold back her brother.

My gaze drops to the ground beneath my feet. The cobblestones are stained red with blood. I clench my hands into fists so tightly, my nails bite into my palms. Taking a deep breath, I lift my head and spear the guard with a gaze that could melt glass.

“I am Lady Ashwood,” I announce, my voice barbed. “And I demand to see Queen Lockhart.”

The guard’s eyes widen slightly, and he glances back at his companions, uncertainty wrinkling his forehead.

I chose to ask for the queen mother for a reason, this reason. She’s reclusive and withdrawn. It’ll take time for McDougall, for everyone within the palace, to figure out what to do with me. And that’s exactly what I need—time.

The bearded guard frowns, the lines on his forehead deepening as he settles back onto his heels. “Lady Ashwood? We were told Lord and Lady Ashwood were no better than swindlers. You’re the real deal, are you?”

“What you were told is irrelevant. Furthermore, I do not have to prove my lineage to the likes of you. I shall let your betters sort that out,” I say, my voice like steel. “Now, inform Her Majesty that Lady Ashwood—the real Lady Ashwood—is calling. After what has transpired in her palace, Queen Lockhart will not do me the disrespect of refusing an audience.”

He crosses his arms over his barrel chest, a silent immovable wall. “Queen Lockhart does not receive unexpected visitors. Perhaps Lord Four or King Lockhart—”

“I will speak only with the queen,” I demand. “At the very least, I am owed that much.”

He squints and rubs the scraggly end of his beard. “Wait here. I’ll convey your request to—”

“No,” I bark, taking a step forward, my dress swirling around my ankles. “If your queen wishes for me to wait, I shall do so inside the palace and not out here on the streets.”

I hold my breath, the seconds stretching, my heart hammering. I can’t afford to show any weakness. Not now. Not when I’m so close to getting back inside the palace to set everything right.

He hesitates, then slowly nods, signaling to the other guards to unlock the gates. As the heavy iron creaks open, I release my breath. The scrape of metal against stone sets my teeth on edge, but the Empress is a warm, steady pulse against my chest, a promise that I’m on the right path.

I straighten my shoulders and stride through the open gate, my adrenaline pumping and my pulse pounding between my ears. They close behind me with a resounding clang, sealing me in as I step onto the stone pathway leading to the palace’s entrance. Massive doors loom ahead, flanked by more guards. They stand at attention, their gazes fixed as we approach. I lift my chin, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.

The bearded guard whispers to another, who steps inside, while the others remain by the door, their expressions unreadable. I stand there, waiting, nervous sweat sliding down my back.

They’re going to catch you, Hannah. They’ll see right through this expensive disguise and throw you in jail to rot.

I nearly choke and cover it up with some sharp throat clearing. I won’t let fear hold me back or trip me up. Not this time. I push away my doomed thoughts and stiffen my spine.

I am Lady Ashwood, and these men will do as I say.

When I step inside, I’m taken back to the first time I entered the palace—naive and desperate to find my way home. The grandeur nearly overwhelmed me, the vast halls stretching endlessly, the marble floors and high ceilings making it clear this world wasn’t mine.

But this time, it’s different. The grandeur is still there, my senses humming with riches and splendor, but I’m not as wide-eyed as I used to be. I’m in control. I belong here. The palace, the Kingdom of Pentacles, is simply a company like any other, and I know exactly how to speak that language.

Same as before, McDougall is immediately at my side, his presence as sudden and silent as a ghost. His lace-white wisp of hair floats above his head, his weathered features pressed into a question. “Does my lady have any luggage that needs to be fetched or a carriage to be seen to?”

A smile lifts my cheeks, and a laugh escapes me. All luxury destinations are the same, it seems.

“No luggage. No carriage. Simply me.”

The urge to take his hand, to thank him for everything he’s done and apologize for trying to be someone I’m not, wells up within me. But I don’t. The time will come, but this isn’t it. The stakes are too high. For now, I’m happy my disguise works. The gown, the wig, the violet contacts—I’m playing my role perfectly, and I’m in control of the narrative.

He nods. “Very well, my lady. Shall I escort you to the sitting room, perhaps ring for tea?”

“That would be lovely.”

He motions to the nearest attendant, who bobs into a curtsy and disappears into the maze of the palace as I fall into step beside him. The familiarity of his presence brings a sense of comfort, another reminder that I’m not entirely alone.

We reach the sitting room, the air tinged with the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the velvet-lined furniture and ornate tapestries.

I take a deep breath, ready to unpack my situation and not really sure of exactly how I’m going to do so, when the door swings open. The young attendant steps in, carrying a tray laden with a delicate tea set, an array of cakes, and a selection of ripe fruits. The moment is lost, and I bite my tongue, frustration simmering beneath my composed exterior.

I lower myself onto the nearest settee and watch silently as the attendant arranges the tray on the low table in front of me with agonizing slowness, the clinking of porcelain punctuating the seconds ticking by.

I force a polite smile as the attendant finishes setting up the tea service. She curtsies before retreating to the door and leaving as silently as she came.

“If that will be all, my lady.” McDougall dips into a bow and makes a move to leave, his hand already reaching for the door. “I’ll excuse myself and alert Her Majesty to your presence.”

“Wait,” I call out, louder than I intended.

He pauses, his fingers on the door handle, and turns to face me. “Yes, my lady?”

“Please, stay,” I say softly, my heart hammering a staccato beat within my chest. I take a sharp inhale, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside me. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important.”

McDougall steps closer and tilts his head. “And what is that, my lady?”

Suddenly wildly uncomfortable, I adjust in my seat and clasp my hands in my lap. “McDougall, I…” I falter, searching for the right words. “I owe you an apology. I was rude and dismissive of you when I was last here. You don’t deserve that, and I’m really sorry.”

He blinks and stands a little straighter. “Why, thank you, my lady, but I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“We have,” I say. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“You are not the true Lady Ashwood?”

“I never was.” I remove my wig and let the blond strands tumble to the cushions before removing my contacts and hiding them with the linen napkin.

“My gods.” His eyes widen, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before recognition registers. “Hannah?” He squints, creeping forward as if I might attack.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“You arrived with the warrior.”

“Yes,” I shoot to my feet and lunge to grab his arm, “but please don’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, his swirl of hair trembling. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“I have known Kane since he was a boy. I watched him grow up alongside King Lockhart. I know who he is. I know he has only ever wanted what is best for Pentacles. But why have you returned? It is dangerous here for you, now more than ever.”

“I think I was called here.” I press my hand to my chest, to the card warm beneath my dress. “I know I was called here. I’m the only person who can save him. And, not to sound white savior–ish or anything, but I’m also the one who can save your kingdom.”

I reach into the bodice of my dress and pull out the Empress. The card’s edges glow with golden sunlight, and an otherworldly breeze twirls through the grasses at her feet.

“It’s magick.” His gaze falls to the card, then back to me. “May I?”

McDougall motions to the card, and I let him have it. As soon as he touches it, a faint shimmer of energy ripples through the air. He stumbles backward, his hand reaching for purchase.

I grab his elbow and gently guide him to the settee.

“You do not live as long as I have without hearing a legend or two. However, this—” His voice is heavy with awe as he drags his fingers along the image of the Empress. “This is the stuff of dreams.”

“It’s real,” I say, my voice steady. “The Tower sent it to me, summoned me, and brought me here. It’s calling for me to act, but I need your help.”

“Of course.” He nods and hands me the card as if in a trance. “But first, there is one other we must inform. She will be positively thrilled to once again have you in her grasp.”

Thirty-One

I pace around the room, my steps no doubt creating trenches in the soft rug as I wait for whoever McDougall left to find. Each minute since I arrived back in Towerfall seems to take an eternity. I wring my hands and take deep breaths, trying to prepare myself.

The heavy door opens, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Marion stands there, her face a mask of surprise and something else I can’t quite place.

“Marion, I…” My voice falters, the words sticking in my throat.

Before I can say more, she bursts into the room and wraps me in a hug. “Hannah! It’s been so long. I never thought I’d see you again,” she chokes out. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“So long?” I murmur, squeezing her back, the warmth of her embrace flooding through me.

Marion straightens her arms, pulling back to look at me. “I needed time to think, and instead, I lashed out at the only person I’ve ever trusted enough to call a true friend,” she says, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I was wrong, Hannah. I was so wrong.”

“We’re never letting a man come between us again,” I say through tears of my own.

“Never again. No matter who he is.” Marion’s tears spill over, and she pulls me back into her arms. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” I whisper back, my tears soaking into her shoulder. “You’re my best friend, Marion. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

We sit down on the settee, the light pouring in through the windows illuminating Marion’s tear-streaked face.

“How long have I been gone?”

She takes my hand, her fingers trembling slightly. “Nearly a fortnight.”

“Almost two weeks?” I say, my mind struggling to process the time change.

“Long enough for me to send Highgate away to our country estate. After what he did to you, I couldn’t bear to even look at him.” She wipes her eyes, a watery smile plumping her cheeks. “I don’t belong to my father nor my husband, and now, with the queen determined to remove herself from life at court no matter the outcome, I no longer belong to Her Majesty either. I am alone for the very first time.”

“You’re not alone. I’m here, and you always have yourself. Marion, you are strong, so much stronger than you realize. You can find your own path and make your own choices.”

A fresh wave of tears wells in Marion’s eyes. She dabs at them with her fingertips, a small smile breaking through. “You really think so, Hannah?”

“I fucking know so, Marion.”

“I second that,” McDougall says, stepping closer. “Although perhaps with slightly less vulgarity, Lady—” He pauses. “I’m suddenly realizing I don’t know your surname, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady. At least not in the way you’re thinking,” I explain with a shake of my head. “The Empress, she brought me here, but I’m from a bit farther than the Kingdom of Cups. Way farther, actually. I’m not from this realm at all.”

“Not from this realm,” he repeats, his voice soft, as if testing the words.

“My realm is very different from this one,” I continue, taking a deep breath. “It’s…ahead, in some ways, but lacking in others.”

“Hannah, that’s ridiculous.” Marion’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in shock. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s magick, Lady Highgate,” McDougall says gently, his gaze steady and unflinching. “I have lived a long life and seen many things. Magick is not bound by the same rules that govern our understanding. If Hannah says she is from another realm, then I believe her.”

Marion’s gaze flicks between McDougall and me, her disbelief slowly giving way to acceptance. She squeezes my hand tighter, her grip almost desperate. “But how? How is that possible?”

“This,” I say, holding out the card. “This is the magick that brought me here.”

I hand her the Empress, rippling with magick, and she takes a sharp breath when she touches it.

“The Tower,” I say. “It called me here.”

“The stories…” She shakes her head, looking up at me. “They’re all real?”

“I’m the proof,” I say. “It called me here because I have a purpose to fulfill—to help you, to help all of Pentacles—and that starts with saving Kane.”

“Kane Blackthorne? Why didn’t you say as much sooner? He’ll meet the blade at sunset.”

Thirty-Two

The sun starts its descent toward the horizon, obscured by a patchwork quilt of swollen gray clouds. Each passing minute tightens the knot in my chest, and I swallow against the sob that wants to rush up my throat.

He’ll meet the blade at sunset.

I was numb after we concocted a scheme, even as Marion dressed me in the maid’s outfit I wore before and draped a plain cloak around my shoulders, the hood casting deep shadows over my face.

Every sound, every slice of darkness feels like a threat as I follow the lines of townsfolk scurrying through the narrow streets like ants alerted to food. Disguised as another face in the crowd, I move with them, making my way to the amphitheater at the far edge of the city.

The weathered stone walls absorb the overcast gray sky, and narrow arches and columns line the entrance. The pathway into the amphitheater is lit with flickering torches, and I’m swept along by the crowd, the press of bodies leaving me little room to breathe as we funnel through the tight entrance. The air is thick with anticipation and the unsettling low hum of countless voices. The entire kingdom has gathered for this morbid display, and what’s worse is they’re excited for it.

Inside, the theater opens up, revealing a section of tiered seating that crawls along the far wall like a ladder and looks down onto the platform at the amphitheater’s center.

He’ll meet the blade at sunset.

The guillotine stands on the stage like a wolf locked onto its prey, its teeth sharp and deadly. Dark stains mar the wood where others have met their end, the basket below waiting to catch Kane’s head.

The VIP seating gradually fills with nobles and important figures of the court, their jewels and silks like dying stars against the unwashed gray. I spot Lady Whitmore’s peacock feathered hat before my gaze lands on her thin brows and pinched face.

The Empress thrums hot against my chest, a reminder of the magick that brought me here and the hope I cling to. The hope that’s been sliced thin under the shadow of the guillotine.

My ragged breaths stir my hood when my eyes land on them—Four and Ivy—two heads of a snake seated prominently at the front of the center tier.

Ivy’s eyes gleam with anticipation, her lips curled into a faint self-satisfied smirk. Four takes a seat next to her, and she touches his arm and leans into him, giggling as if he’s just brought back popcorn and candy.

Anger scorches my veins, and I press my palm to the card. The Empress pulses in response, and I channel my rage into pushing forward instead of holding back.

Plump raindrops burst against my shoulders and drum along the wooden planks of the platform. The steady beat of rain blends with the constant murmur of the crowd, and if I wanted to, I could close my eyes and imagine the ocean, imagine being far, far away from here. But I chose this path. I’m doing this on purpose.

I pull the cloak tighter and push through the throng jostling for a better view, my gaze never leaving the platform. My breath is heavy and ragged as I edge closer to the stage, to where they’ll kill Kane if I don’t stop them first.

A door creaks open, and chains slap the wood. Silence flares, prickly and hot as lightning. Every face in the crowd turns to the platform, their eyes fixed on the stairs pressed into the back of the stage. Kane is led out in chains, flanked by two men, cloaked and masked like reapers in head-to-toe funeral black.

The silence stretches as Kane and his jailors ascend the stairs, his shackles clanging against the wood.

I stare at him, unblinking, my skin clammy, my chin trembling. Kane’s tattered clothes are dark with sweat and rain. His black hair is plastered to his forehead. Water drips from the strands and trails down his neck, pulling at his shoulders, dragging him down further. He stumbles slightly, but the figures on either side keep him upright, their grips nearly as strong as his chains.

The crowd swells, their shouts merging into a thunderous roar of boos and jeers. The rain beats down harder, punishing them, punishing me, trying to wash us clean.

The guards shove Kane toward the wooden structure standing menacingly at the center of the platform. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t scan the crowd. His eyes are fixed on the ground, and my heart breaks all over again.

I edge closer to the staircase at the front of the stage, my stomach in my throat, every nerve ending on fire.

I can’t let them take him.

I won’t.

“Stop!” My voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.

Heads whip around, confusion rippling through the crowd as I charge the stage. My footsteps strike the wood. Water soaks my slippers and splashes my legs as I race up the stairs. My hood slips off when I reach the top, and I stand tall, the rain-soaked disguise clinging to my skin.

“Fawn?” Kane’s dark eyes encase me.

Gasps ripple through the audience, a collective intake of breath that seems to pause the very storm around us.

“Seize her!” The shrill shout comes from the stands.

I spin around to stare up at Ivy on her feet beside Four, pointing a shaking finger in my direction.

“No one is taking her.” Kane lunges at the nearest guard, shoving him aside with his shoulder. The second guard doesn’t have time to react before Kane’s hands are on him. He loops the iron chains over the guard’s head, pulling them tight against his neck. The guard’s eyes bulge, his hands clawing at the chains as he struggles for breath.

The first guard regains his balance and charges. Kane twists, his muscles bulging, his veins like cords under his skin as he fends off the attack. He maintains his stranglehold on the other guard, whose heels slip and slide against the wet wood planks. Finally, he goes limp. Kane tosses the unconscious guard aside, the body landing with a thud that is almost lost in the roar of the crowd.

The first guard comes at him again, but Kane is ready. He swings his chained fists, catching the guard across the jaw with a bone-crunching thwack. The guard’s head snaps back, his knees buckling as he crumples to the ground. The crowd’s roar reaches a fever pitch, fed by bloodshed.

The platform shakes as Kane charges forward, the chains swaying from his wrists. Rain pours from the sky, cold and relentless, soaking through my dress as he nears. My heart hammers, my breaths ragged, every detail of him etching itself into my memory. His intensity. The sheer force of his will. The rain in his hair, the sharp cut of his jaw, those endless dark eyes as they lock onto mine. The crowd’s noise fades to a distant murmur, life narrowing to just the two of us.

“You came back.” Kane’s voice is rough, choked with surprise and something deeper, something that makes my heart twist.

“Someone has to save you for a change.”

The tarot card pulses against my chest, a reminder of the magick that brought me here, that binds me and Kane together.

Rain slides in rivers across the hills of his muscled chest, and the rugged lines of his face soften as he reaches out, tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “I can’t believe you’re really here.” His fingers trace my jaw, and my entire body tingles.

“I couldn’t leave you.” I reach up, cupping his face with my hands, feeling the rain-slicked warmth of his skin beneath my fingers. “Not like this.”

I lift onto my tiptoes, my breath mingling with his as our lips meet. His mouth is warm against mine, and for a heartbeat, the world stops spinning.

The moment shatters as rough, meaty hands grip my shoulders, tearing me away.

I cry out, fighting against their grip, against being taken away from Kane as soon as I’ve found him again, but they’re too strong. Kane shouts, his chains clanking as he struggles, but even he can’t fend them off. Not when reinforcements have come and so many guards surround him.

A guard drags me backward, and I summon every ounce of strength to wriggle away from him. His sandpaper-rough hands scrape against my arms as I spin out of his wet grasp and rush to the edge of the platform. The crowd jeers and boos, but I raise my voice above them.

“Your kingdom is tearing itself apart!” I call out, my voice strong despite the fear cramping in my gut.

The guard recovers, seizing me by my bicep with bruising force. I know I’ll have marks to remember this by—if I manage to stay alive long enough.

I take a deep breath, my thoughts spinning. I need to buy time.

“Pentacles deserves better,” I continue, struggling against the guard’s hold. “You deserve better.”

The guard’s grip tightens, and he yanks me across the stage like a rag doll.

The crowd’s noise is a constant roaring wave, but I press on, raising my voice even louder. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re afraid. You should be. You were forgotten. Worse than that, you were treated like a burden. Lied to. Manipulated.

The crowd’s shouts have quieted to a murmur. I have their attention, and I need to keep it.

I push forward, sending up a silent hope that Marion and McDougall are close. “It’s not too late to force them to see you as human, to save your kingdom and one another. You’ve been living this nightmare for too long.”

The hesitant hush shatters, and my fragile hold on their attention slips when a voice strikes out. “The warrior used his magick to curse the kingdom! He poisoned Pentacles from the inside.”

My heart pounds as I search for the man who spoke, but the faces blur together—angry, hungry, afraid.

“Lies!” Kane is cut short by a swift punch to his stomach that makes him double over, gasping for breath.

“Cut off his head!” another spectator shouts, shrill and vicious. “And his whore’s!”

A murmur of agreement turns into an uproar. I try to raise my hands to quiet them, to regain some kind of control, but the guard pins them to my sides. “They’re lying to you! Kane’s magick is a gift. He’s not your enemy. He’s—”

“Spill both their blood!” another person roars, and the crowd erupts into chaos.

A guard flanks Kane and slams his boots against the back of Kane’s knees until he cries out through gritted teeth and drops in front of the pillory.

My gaze frantically scans the crowd and the private boxes for any sign of Marion or McDougall.

Instead, Ivy’s eyes meet mine straight on. She crosses her arms over her chest, a triumphant sneer curling her lips while she looks down at me with cold satisfaction.

As if she’s already won. As if there was never a battle to begin with.

But Ivy’s underestimated me.

Kane’s breath is ragged, his muscles trembling, straining to stay upright as the guards shove him down against the wet wooden plank and force his neck into the half-moon-shaped hole of the lunette.

I can’t let this happen. I can’t lose him again.

This won’t be another mistake.

The crowd’s uproar intensifies, and they surge forward. Bodies press against the wooden stage, and it shudders beneath me. I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath my feet.

“I can prove it!” I shout to the guards, to the crowd, to whatever gods watch over this realm. “I can prove you’ve been lied to. Give me a chance to show you the truth.”

I’m scrambling. I know that, but I also know that I don’t have a choice.

There’s no more time to wait for Marion and McDougall and the plan we set in motion before I left the palace. There’s not even time for me to fully think about what I’m going to say before it leaves my mouth. I’ve gotten this far, and I have to keep going if I have any chance of saving Kane.

The crowd roars, and it’s impossible to tell if they want me to show them proof Kane isn’t the monster who’s cursed their kingdom or if they want my bloody, lopped-off head in the basket next to his.

“You want the truth?” I shout over the uproar.

The guard jerks me back. He hisses a warning in my ear, but his threat is swept up by the clamor of the crowd. My gaze snaps to Ivy, knowing that one gesture from her could seal my fate, could send me to join Kane with my head on the block.

Ivy’s cold gaze meets mine as she lowers into her seat, crossing one long leg over the other. To her and Four, this is a spectacle, a game with predetermined rules that can only end one way, so I might as well give the crowd a show.

Thirty-Three

Rushing headfirst onto the stage was the first part of my strategy, but it was only a taste of the real plan. The blare of trumpets, regal and commanding, silences the crowd. All eyes swing to the back of the stage as Queen Lockhart strides forward, her long, elegant robes rain soaked and crimson as blood.

Gasps echo through the noble boxes, and once again, Four and Ivy are on their feet. Four opens his mouth to speak, but the queen holds up a hand, and he snaps his mouth shut.

“Lord Four, you made it seem like my son only required rest. That his injury was mild and his strain was more mental than physical. You lied. I have already lost a husband before his time, a husband who was a strong and decent king. I will not stand by and let my son fall too.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd as Marion and McDougall emerge from the shadows. They shuffle forward, grunting and flushed as they carry Alderic’s stretcher onto the stage.

The king is a trembling ghost of his former self, his face ashen, his lips cracked and dry. The gaping dagger wound in his stomach has festered, the skin around it black and green and oozing. The stench fills the air, a sickly-sweet odor that makes my stomach churn. His eyes flutter open briefly, no longer blue and vibrant, but the glassy, vacant stare of someone looking into death.

The crowd’s murmurs grow louder, morphing into breathy and shrill cries of disbelief.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip to calm my roiling stomach and glance at Kane. Every muscle is tight, his gaze fixed on the rotted wound.

“Unchain the warrior,” the queen demands, her eyes locked onto the guards. “Now.”

The guards hesitate for a moment, their eyes darting to Four’s place within the noble boxes. But his seat is empty, and Queen Lockhart’s authority is absolute.

Slowly, one of the guards steps forward, his metal gauntlet clinking against the key ring. The cold iron groans as the guard inserts the key and the lock releases. The chains fall away, crashing against the stage in a clatter that echoes off the stone walls. Kane rubs his wrists, the skin red from the metal’s bite.

Queen Lockhart steps closer, her presence commanding even in her grief. “If there is any chance, any possibility, that magick can save my son, I will take it. I will not lose him as I lost my husband.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and my heart aches for her, for the kingdom that teeters on the edge of despair.

“You wish me to use magick?” Kane asks, his dark eyes narrowed. “You acknowledge it can be done?”

I hold my breath along with the rest of the crowd, watching in hushed anticipation, their earlier anger and cries for blood forgotten.

“I acknowledge there are many things within this realm I do not understand.”

Kane nods and moves toward Alderic’s writhing form when a commotion erupts in the crowd.

Heads turn as murmurs rise to shouts, and the sea of people parts. Four barrels through, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed. Ivy trails him, managing to look like a glistening mermaid in the torrential rainfall.

Four charges up the stairs two at a time and cuts off Kane’s path, standing like an immovable wall between the warrior and the king. “You will not touch our king. I can only guess the damage you will do.”

“You would rather your king die?” Queen Lockhart’s question is as sharp as the blade of the guillotine.

“I would rather our king is not used as a pawn in a condemned man’s last attempts at saving his neck,” Four sneers. “Magick is rarely given freely. It often comes with a price. One I am not sure Pentacles will be able to repay.”

“From what I saw inside the palace, Pentacles can afford to pay nearly anything,” I say, wincing when the guard digs his fingers into my bicep.

“You…” Four’s gaze snaps to me, his eyes narrowing. “Do not think I haven’t uncovered the truth of where you come from.”

“I do not care if they were birthed by dragons, so long as my son lives,” the queen snaps. “Now unhand her.”

The guard shoves me forward, and I manage to say upright, my arms windmilling by my sides.

“And what if news of this magick makes its way to the other kingdoms?” Four thunders. “They will see its use as an act of war. What are we to do then?”

“Is that not the very thing you have claimed to excel in resolving? Is your strategic prowess not why you have grown so close to my son, the king? You were supposed to protect him, prevent this. You failed. Now I must clean up your mess, and I have come to realize this is far from the only one you’ve made. Take care, Four, or you may end up in Blackthorne’s place on the guillotine.”

The muscles in Four’s jaw twitch as he struggles to maintain his composure, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Do it,” the queen commands. “Save my son.”

Kane kneels beside the king. Alderic’s trembling ghost-white hand reaches out, and Kane takes it in his.

Sensing his friend, Alderic takes a deep, quaking breath. “You have come to set me free.” His words are rough wheezes that shudder through his body.

“I am here to help you, my king, my brother.”

“There is no taste, no sun. The world is empty,” Alderic mutters, his eyes unfocused, lost in a delirious haze. “Oh, brother, forgive me. Forgive me…” He writhes once more before his hand falls limp, and his breathing evens out, slow and rattling.

The card in my bodice hums against my chest, syncing with the very essence of Kane’s magick as he holds his hands over Alderic’s wounds and murmurs noiseless words.

Soft golden light falls from Kane’s palms. The faint shimmer is delicate and ethereal, but with each beat of my heart, it expands until it cascades from his hands and over the dying king like liquid sunlight.

A gasp reverberates from the crowd as the healing magickal light continues to pour over Alderic. The glow intensifies, swirling and pulsing, spinning through the air and enveloping the king in a cloud of golden brilliance that lifts him from the stretcher.

Queen Lockhart watches with bated breath, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles white. Marion and McDougall stand nearby, their eyes never leaving Alderic. The entire kingdom holds its breath, waiting for the truth.

Dead skin drips from his wounds, mingling with the rain and splattering wet and rancid against the wood planks. The crowd’s gasp seems to pull the very air from the amphitheater. The guards stiffen, their hands inching toward their weapons.

“Wait!” I throw myself between Kane and the guards. “Let him heal King Lockhart. Let him finish.”

The golden light continues to pulse, each wave of energy bringing new life to the once-dying king. The light is warm and radiant, surging around Alderic like a gentle tide. His deathly pallor fades, his sickly-gray skin flushes healthy and rosy. The steady rain washes away the last bits of fetid skin from his abdomen.

I take a deep breath, the air clean and rich with the scents of pine and woodsmoke. Kane’s scents. Kane’s magick.

He continues to move his hands over Alderic’s middle, plucking the air, commanding the magick that’s been his since birth.

A velvety gold patch knits itself together within the gaping wound. The shimmering threads of magick twist and weave, sparkling like stardust. The aurous fibers spread slowly, filling and closing the wound as Alderic floats back down to the platform.

The queen falls to her knees beside her son, tears streaming down her face as she hugs him, her sobs muffled by his chest.

“The king lives!” McDougall shouts, and relief washes cold through my limbs as the crowd cheers.

It’s cut short when Four steps forward and raises his hands, commanding silence. “But what is the price for this magick? What other curses will befall our kingdom now that we have allied ourselves with a witch’s bastard?” His words are a venomous hiss, sending ripples of doubt and fear through the gathered townspeople.

The golden glow from Kane’s magick fades as he rises to his feet, his eyes locking onto Four. “We are brothers, then.” He’s calm, yet there’s an underlying threat that makes my heart race.

Four’s face is a rigid mask of feigned ignorance, but the flicker of recognition in his eyes betrays him.

“You will be found out sooner or later, and they will know you are the one kings fear.” Kane stands tall, his voice calm but laced with an edge meant to draw blood. “You speak of curses and doom, Four, but what of your own secrets? The darkness you hide?”

Four’s eyes narrow, but he remains silent, his jaw clenched.

Kane continues, stepping closer, his dark gaze never wavering. “The magick that flows through your veins, the same magick you condemn in others. How long have you hidden your true nature? How long have you deceived these people, pretending to be their savior while harboring the very power you claim to despise? The very power that kills them slowly.”

The crowd murmurs, glancing between Kane and Four.

“The truth will come out, Four. Your lies will unravel, and the people will see you for what you are—a coward hiding in the shadows of his own magick.”

Four’s hand twitches, his thumb and index finger rubbing together. Blue sparks flare so quickly, I would have missed them had I not seen them before.

Kane presses on, his voice rising. “What are you so afraid of, Four? That they will see your magick for what it truly is? That Alderic, that the kingdom, will know what you’ve done?”

Four steps forward, his face twisted in anger. “You know nothing, Blackthorne.”

“I know you are the true threat to this kingdom. Your magick, your lies—they are the poison. And if you won’t end this curse on our palace, on our king, then I will.”

Four’s fingers spark again, a flash of blue that hides in a blink. “You will regret your words.”

“Will I?” Kane challenges. “Or will you finally reveal the monster you truly are? Show them, Four. Show them the power you hide, the power you’ve used to bring them to their knees.”

The crowd watches, breathless and still as Kane’s words tinge the air.

Four rubs his thumb and index finger together. Blue sparks pop against his hands, tiny bursts of magickal energy that crackle and fizz in the damp.

Queen Lockhart rises to her feet, and Marion and McDougall immediately take her place at Alderic’s side, supporting him as he gingerly sits up.

She approaches Four, rain cleaning her face of tears. “Is there truth to Blackthorne’s claims?”

Four straightens, his shoulders tense and rigid. “Your Majesty, do not be fooled by this charlatan’s tricks. His magick may seem healing now, but it will demand a price—a price that Pentacles cannot afford.”

“The only price this kingdom has paid is for your deceit and treachery,” Kane sneers. “Your magick has eaten away at a strong king and turned him into nothing more than a puppet.”

The queen lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing as she glares up at Four. “Explain yourself. What is it that you have done?”

Four’s composure begins to crack, his hands sparking at his sides. “I have done nothing but protect this kingdom! It is his magick that will bring ruin upon us all!”

Kane’s voice cuts through Four’s frantic denials. “You speak of protection, yet you caused the fire. Your magick nearly killed the court and your king. Your greed is the reason Pentacles is starving; you’re hoarding the kingdom’s wealth and power for your own gain.”

A murmur runs through the crowd, their anger and fear swelling toward Four.

“Is this true, Four?” the queen demands through clenched teeth. “Have you been the architect of our suffering?”

Four’s body trembles, his hands sparking more violently now. “Lies! All lies! Blackthorne’s magick already poisons you.”

“You are one of our subjects, and I command you to answer! What have you done?”

“I’ve shown them mine.” Kane smirks. “Time for you to show yours.”

Four’s fury erupts. With a primal scream, he holds up his hands, releasing a torrent of crackling blue magick.

“Guards, seize him!” Queen Lockhart orders.

They rush toward him, but instead of putting him in chains, they form a protective shield around him.

I take a step back, my heart in my throat as they stare ahead, their irises as bright and blue as falling sky.

As bright and blue as Alderic’s.

“No,” I whisper, chills racing along my arms.

Four’s icy-blue magick swings toward Alderic. Without a word, the king surges to his feet, crystal-blue eyes beaming. In one swift motion, he pulls a sword from the nearest guard’s scabbard. The blade glistens in the rain like morning dew on grass as Alderic charges his mother and knocks her down. She bounces against the wooden planks and lies still.

“Majesty!” Marion cries out, rushing to her side.

McDougall lunges for Alderic, but another guard steps in, knocking him out cold with a swift blow to the head. The amphitheater erupts into chaotic screams and shouts as the townspeople flee in every direction and nobles scramble from their seats.

A gleam of silver catches my eye, and I spin around, searching for the weapon in the sea of frenzied bodies below the stage pushing and shoving to escape.

There it is again, like a minnow darting through a school of fish.

Without a second thought, I leap down, weaving through the stampede of panicked bodies. I manage to grab the dagger, my fingers curling around the slick hilt.

“Kane!” I call, rushing back to the stage just as Alderic swings the sword at him with relentless, mindless fury.

Kane sidesteps and grabs for the arm that holds the blade with constrained movements that will subdue but not damage.

“Here, use this!” I slide the dagger across the wooden planks, the blade glinting as it skids toward him.

He slams his foot on the dagger, halting its slide, and quickly picks it up as Alderic lunges at him again. The king’s face is pale, yellow rings of sweat stain his shirt, unbuttoned and open, revealing peeks of the velvety gold scar across his stomach, but his eyes shine an otherworldly blue that nearly stops me in my tracks.

The crowd’s screams fill the air, the sound of panic all around us. I glance at Queen Lockhart, now on her knees and clutching her arm with Marion beside her.

Four’s magick continues to spark bright blue from his palms.

His face twists, desperate to maintain his hold over the guards and Alderic. “You’ll never win, Blackthorne! Pentacles will be mine!”

Kane blocks another strike from Alderic, the clash of metal ringing through the air. He glances at me, a brief moment of connection, and I understand his unspoken message.

We need to break Four’s control.

I move around the edge of the stage. Every muscle in my body is tense and ready. I keep low, my eyes locked on Four. If I can get close enough, maybe I can disrupt his concentration.

Alderic swings again, and Kane deflects the blow, stepping back to draw him away from the queen and Marion. “Your fight is with me, Four. Leave them out of this!”

Four sneers, his hands trembling with the effort of maintaining his spell. “You deserved to be alone and isolated. You never should have returned.”

I’m almost there. I can see the sweat and rain on Four’s brow, the blue sparks of his magick flaring and flickering. Just a few more steps—

Someone grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me backward.

I gasp, struggling to regain my balance as Ivy spins me around.

We face each other, rain pouring, the ground turned to mud beneath our feet. Ivy’s beautiful, she always will be, but right now she’s more Ursula than the Little Mermaid.

“You can’t stop him,” she snarls. “I’ll make sure of that.”

She lunges at me, her fingers outstretched like claws.

We collide, our feet sliding in the mud. I shove her back, but she’s relentless. We fall to the ground, rolling and slipping in the muck, neither of us able to gain the upper hand.

My fingers find her hair, pulling hard as she pins my arms to the ground and digs her nails into my flesh. Blood blooms in crescents against my skin, and I cry out.

“I told you to go back to where you belong,” she hisses and grabs my throat.

I tear at her arms, twisting and slapping until I finally throw her off. I scramble to my feet, and she follows, her dress torn and muddy, her green eyes wild with fury.

We circle each other, my lungs burning, my vision dark around the edges.

“It’s your turn to leave.” I launch myself at her, and we crash against the side of the stage.

She writhes and squirms, clawing at my face and neck. We roll against the stage, and I use the momentum to slam her head against a wooden post.

She shouts and staggers back. Stunned, she touches the back of her head and stares down at the blood smearing her palm.

The crowd waits behind her, roaring with anger from the cruelty they’ve suffered at her hand. Ivy feels them at her back, and her limbs stiffen and eyes widen.

“I belong here.” With a fierce yell, I barrel into her, shoving her backward with all my might.

The crowd descends upon her, their shouts of fury and revenge drowning out her screams.

I swipe the mud from my face and turn back to the chaos onstage.

Kane has wrestled the sword from Alderic but remains locked in a battle with the king to stop him without hurting him.

My gaze swings to the guards, who force Marion and McDougall to their knees next to the guillotine, the lunette already cradling Queen Lockhart’s neck.

Four’s face is scarlet with effort, tendons and veins bulging against his neck with the pressure of controlling so many for so long.

I sprint up the stairs and toward Four, my steps sure despite the slippery planks. He’s too concerned with who he thinks are the real threats to notice me.

With my remaining strength, I tackle Four.

Blue magick sparks around me, singeing my hair and flashing hot against my skin before we smack onto the stage in a cloud of extinguished magick. We grapple, his hands trying to push me off, but I hold on, my grip unyielding.

I don’t need to beat him—I just need to distract him.

“You think you’re a hero?” he spits.

“No,” I grunt, a lazy smile lifting my cheek. “But I know one.”

Forever my knight in shining armor, Kane comes to my rescue in an instant.

I release my hold on Four and roll to the side. Kane lunges forward, the dagger in his hand. I hear the tear of flesh and the wet gurgle of blood before I look back.

“Your reign of terror is over,” Kane growls.

Four’s body convulses once, twice, then goes still, leaving only the patter of the rain and the muffled shouts of the crowd.

Kane pulls me to my feet and wraps me in the strength and warmth of his arms. I bury my face in his chest, inhaling sweat and pine as the queen’s voice rises, calling for order. I don’t listen. Right now, all that exists is us—me and Kane—and the fact I’m finally back in his arms.

Thirty-Four

Three Weeks Later

The Empress won’t be ignored. I’ve kept her with me ever since returning to Towerfall, and today she might as well be shouting, she’s vibrating so fiercely against my chest. I press a hand over the card tucked in my bodice, trying to calm the frenetic energy radiating from it, but it only seems to intensify as Kane and I walk through the grand gates of the palace, now wide open for the celebration.

The front courtyard is transformed, alive with color and sound. Maroon banners outlined in gold and embroidered with glittering pentacles flutter in the breeze; tables covered in meats, cheeses, pies, breads, and fruit border the wrought iron gate decorated with fresh floral garlands.

Kane walks beside me, his hand reassuringly clasping mine. We jolt to a stop as a toy horse on wheels speeds out in front of us, and a line of kids rushes by, giggling after it.

The air is filled with the joyful laughter of the people of Pentacles, and it’s wild to think about the impact Four had on the kingdom. Without him here, the people are thriving, back to the way it was before King Lockhart the Second died and Four attached his magick to his son for power.

I’m not sorry Four’s gone, and I’m not sorry about Ivy. I only wish I hadn’t been the one to throw her to the wolves.

Kane squeezes my hand as if he can hear my thoughts. Sometimes I think he can. I smile up at him, and he pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. The warmth of his lips against my skin sends a comforting wave through me.

As we weave through the bustling crowd, we’re greeted with grins of thanks and nods of appreciation. The shroud of despair and grime that once clung to every corner of the kingdom under Four’s dark influence has lifted. Now there are rosy cheeks and deep laughs, clean clothes and the distant bang of hammers as homes and businesses are repaired.

Kane was right; Alderic is a good man.

From the moment he reentered the castle—and against Kane’s, his mother’s, and his physician’s demands— he began restoring the kingdom.

Kane stops to chat with an elderly woman selling bouquets of lavender. She hands him a small bundle, and when he places three gold coins in her weathered palm, she tries to hand them back. He shakes his head and turns to me, tucking a fragrant blossom into my hair. I laugh and thank her, my heart swelling with gratitude and love for this man who forced me to be brave enough to discover myself.

We continue walking, and soon we spot Alderic standing by a group of townsfolk, discussing the plans for rebuilding a section of the marketplace. He looks up as we approach, and his face lights with a genuine smile.

“Kane! Hannah!” Like Kane, Alderic is at least a head taller than everyone around him. That and his golden-blond hair make him hard to miss. “Come here!”

Kane claps Alderic on the back as we join him. “Look at you, back on your feet and already ordering everyone around. Just like old times.”

“Someone had to get things running smoothly. I owe Pentacles that much at least.” Alderic laughs, his eyes creasing at the corners. No longer the electric, icy blue that they were under Four’s control, Alderic’s eyes are a rich, deep blue, the cobalt depths of a tranquil lake. “Besides, you’d be lost without me.”

“Me, lost without you? Are you sure you’re not still ill?” Kane grins. “Without me, who would pull you out of all the trouble you get into?”

“I have Hannah for that now.” Alderic winks at me, and I roll my eyes.

It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve gotten to know the real Alderic, but in that time, he’s become the big brother I never knew I wanted.

“Hannah wasn’t there the time you forced us to sneak into the kitchens to steal chocolates.” Kane turns to me, shaking his head. “We got caught by Cook. I covered for him, of course. I thought she would skin me alive.”

“I know.” Alderic laughs so hard, he’s breathless. “You immediately started crying.”

Kane narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest in mock offense, but the corners of his mouth twitch with a smile.

“What can I say?” Alderic leans forward, stretching his long arm to reach a glazed strawberry tart. “I have a weakness for sweets.” He pops it into his mouth and closes his eyes for a moment, savoring it. “In fact, I think I’ll go on a tour of the kingdoms. Taste all the delicacies Towerfall has to offer.”

“Maybe in a few years, but for now, our kingdom needs its king,” Kane says.

Alderic throws his arm over Kane’s shoulder and looks out over the crowd, his gaze softening. “If I had to choose a way for it to end, it would be like this.”

Kane’s brow arches. “What are you getting into that Hannah and I will have to save you from?”

Alderic’s answer is a sly smile that dimples his left cheek. “You know me. It’s always something.”

Marion rushes up beside me, pink cheeked and breathless. She grabs my arm, practically bouncing on her toes.

“Where have you been?” I wiggle my eyebrows and scan the crowd, searching for the lover no doubt still reeling from their tryst.

Since leaving her husband, Marion has transformed into a vibrant force of nature. She’s taken charge of her life and is helping young girls do the same—to follow their own dreams and passions instead of living for their future husband.

“Oh, you have no idea!” she practically squeals, her curls bouncing against her shoulders. “But you’ll see soon enough.”

Kane and I share a confused glance, but before either of us can question our friends, the brassy blare of trumpets pierces the courtyard.

The palace doors open, and Queen Lockhart emerges. Her gold velvet gown sweeps the stones beneath her feet as she walks out onto the steps above the crowd. The murmurs of the townsfolk quiet, and all eyes turn to the queen mother.

The Empress is hot against my chest, warming my core, making sweat bead against my forehead.

Alderic pats Kane on the back. “Come, brother. This will be the last time I need your rescue.”

The crowd parts as Alderic walks toward the stairs leading to the palace’s front doors. Kane follows, his steps confident. Although when he glances over his shoulder and takes my hand in his, I feel his hesitation.

My lungs squeeze with anticipation as we make our way through the crowd, and I can’t tell if the energy in the air is electric or if it’s the Empress pulsing against my heart.

When we reach the front of the crowd, I stop and let go of Kane’s hand. He pauses, looking at me like I might run away if he wanders too far. There aren’t enough days in this realm or breath in my lungs to explain how much I want him, that I need him—that I’ll never leave again.

Marion and I stand together and watch Kane ascend the stairs. His back is straight, his movements smooth and sure. His broad shoulders are powerful, his thick muscles flexing beneath his shirt. He is strong in so many ways, and that strength has always drawn—and will forever draw—me to him.

Kane stands between Alderic and the queen, dark and stormy to their glittering gold.

As the queen mother raises her hand, the crowd falls silent, their excitement palpable.

I hold my breath. I can’t explain it, but I know whatever happens next will shape my future and the future of Pentacles.

“Today we celebrate not only the renewal of our kingdom but also the dawn of a new era,” Queen Lockhart begins, her voice carrying across the courtyard. “For too long, we have endured the shadows cast by deceit and treachery. We have faced hardship and uncertainty, and we have mourned the loss of our peace and prosperity. But no more!”

She pauses, allowing her words to sink in, her gaze sweeping over the faces before her. “Thanks to the bravery and selflessness of our heroes, we have not only survived but emerged stronger. They have reminded us of the strength we hold within, the resilience that defines us as a people. It is because of their courage, and your unwavering support, that we stand here today, ready to embrace a brighter future.

“As we move forward and rebuild and restore what was lost, let us remember that our greatest strength lies in our unity. We are a family, bound by our shared love for this land and for one another.”

Marion wraps her arm around mine and squeezes as a murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd.

Queen Lockhart smiles, warm and genuine and bright. Although she wasn’t under Four’s magick, she’s also changed since his death. Her weariness is gone. In its place is something light and airy and impossible to describe.

“Know that as I step down from my place as Queen Mother, I do so with love in my heart for each and every one of you.”

The crowd gasps, and I do too, pressing my hand to my mouth.

Alderic steps forward, holding up his hands, palms out, his blond hair a halo in the sunlight. “It is no secret my mother wishes to retire from her duties as queen, but that is not the only change being made here today. I have long had doubts about whether I am fit to be your king. However, when I ascended to the throne, I vowed to protect and serve this kingdom until my last breath. But it has become clear to me that Pentacles needs more. It needs the strength and clarity of a hero, someone who proves time and again their dedication to its people.”

He turns to Kane, who stands tall and composed, though there’s a thin crease of confusion between his brows.

“Kane Blackthorne is that hero. He’s shown the heart and courage of a true leader, and the magick in his blood that has for too long been vilified has brought us through our darkest times. Blackthorne has shown what it means to lead with honor. He has earned our trust and our respect. I owe my life to both him and to Hannah.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement, and Alderic continues, practiced and smooth as if he’s given this speech a thousand times before. “Therefore, it is with a full heart and complete confidence that I abdicate the throne and pass the crown to Kane Blackthorne. Under his rule, Pentacles will not only recover but flourish like never before.”

Another collective gasp ripples through the crowd, and I can’t help but feel like we’re on a game show.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Marion squeaks, jumping up and down, her excitement breaking out of the refined box where it’s been stored.

“Abdicate?” Kane’s dark eyes widen. “You’re—you’re relinquishing your throne, giving it and the kingdom away?”

“I’m giving it to a true king,” Alderic says as his mother steps forward and takes Kane’s hands in hers.

“Kane Blackthorne, will you accept this responsibility and do your duty to protect this kingdom and its people?” she asks.

Kane’s gaze sweeps over the crowd—his people, if he’ll have them—before finding mine. I smile at him, lifting onto my toes with pure pride and love for this man who was ready to die to save the people who make up his world.

“I will,” he declares, his voice strong and resolute.

McDougall steps out of the shadows of the massive doorway. He lifts the maroon velvet pillow where the crown of pentacles is perched out to the former queen mother. She takes it and gently places the crown on Kane’s head.

“People of Pentacles, join me in welcoming your new king.”

“Long live King Blackthorne!” Alderic shouts.

“Long live King Blackthorne!” the crowd echoes, erupting into a thunderous chorus of applause and cheers.

As the applause continues, Alderic leans into Kane. “No more rescuing me, brother. This is your moment. Lead them well.”

The people continue to cheer, their faith in their new king unshakable, as Alderic and the former queen step back, allowing Kane to take his place in the spotlight.

He takes a breath to address the crowd, but his gaze once again finds mine. In an instant, he’s charging down the stairs, and I’m in his arms.

“Not without you,” he whispers against my hair as his hand finds mine. “Fawn, you saved me. Stand by my side as my queen. I’m no good without you.”

The Empress card pulses against my chest, urging me toward the future that’s always been waiting for me. Tears well in my eyes, and I can barely speak past the lump in my throat. “Yes, Kane. Always.”

As soon as the words leave my lips, Kane pulls me into his arms. He leans down, capturing my lips with his. His hands cup my face, his fingers threading through my hair. I melt into him, the heat of his body against mine, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching my own.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. Our bodies press together, fitting perfectly as if we were made for this moment, for each other.

His kiss is a vow, a promise of a future. A promise of forever.

Epilogue

The sun is high and bright, a yellow ball of daffodils that casts its warm rays across the lush gardens. Jasmine scents the crisp, clean air that swirls around my skirts and tangles in the strands floating free from my long braid.

Marion presses her hand against her mouth to contain her laughter as Alderic hits the croquet ball so far from the wicket that it rolls across into the field of tall grasses and wildflowers beyond the mowed court. “You’re terrible at this.”

Alderic lifts his mallet onto his shoulder and waves an attendant away to go after the ball himself. He sighs, his golden hair catching the sunlight. “Is that something you would say to me if I were still king?”

“Not at all,” Marion chirps, her eyes twinkling.

Alderic lets out another dramatic sigh and spins on his heels, his lips tilted in a mixture of mock exasperation and genuine enjoyment. “Kane, Your Majesty.” His bow is so deep and theatrical, his fingertips nearly touch the grass. “Would you consider returning my title for as long as it takes me to finish this game? I’d like to do so without being heckled.”

“I’m not heckling you,” Marion insists, her smile widening. “But I should start.”

Kane grins, his gaze meeting mine before he responds. “Let me think…” He rubs his stubbled chin, drawing out the moment.

“Oh, never mind,” Alderic grumbles, trudging off into the knee-high grass. “You’re all insufferable.”

There’s a warmth in my chest as I watch him go, Marion’s laughter dancing in the air around us. I’ve only recently realized it’s comfort. It’s happiness. I’m completely content.

I’m home.

An attendant approaches with Shadow, her black coat gleaming in the sunlight, her mane lifting with the breeze. Kane takes the reins and smooths his palm along her strong shoulders before reaching into her saddlebag and pulling out a handful of oat-covered molasses cookies. The mare cranes her neck and impatiently lips his shoulder. “She says you look stunning today.”

“Does she?” I ask, reaching up to comb my fingers through her coal-black mane.

Shadow softly snorts her agreement as he feeds her treats and rubs her velvety nose.

“Although you’re wearing far too many layers,” he says.

“Shadow!” I exclaim, pretending to be scandalized.

“Don’t blame her,” Kane murmurs, stepping closer. He grabs my waist, his grip firm and warm, and lowers his mouth to my ear. “That was all me.”

Goose bumps crest along my arms, a delightful shudder skipping across my skin.

“Shall we, my queen?” He presses a soft kiss to my neck, and I breathe in the scent of him—earthy, warm, and uniquely Kane.

“Yes, my king. Let’s.” With him this close, his hands and mouth on me, I will say yes to him forever.

Kane effortlessly lifts me onto Shadow, his hands lingering on my waist a moment longer than necessary. Settling into the smooth leather saddle, I look down at him, my heart nearly bursting with love. The way he looks up at me, his eyes like endless night, tells me he feels the same.

“Lose your balls, Alderic?” Marion shouts from across the croquet court, shielding her smile with a sip of wine.

Alderic laughs, whacking at the grass with his mallet. “Patience, my dear Marion. Victory takes time.”

“Marion, you better call for more wine,” I say teasingly. “Sounds like you’re going to be here all day.”

McDougall rushes toward us as quickly as he can without actually breaking into a jog, a gold platter balanced on his gloved fingertips. His urgency pulls me from our carefree fun.

When he reaches Kane, he extends the tray, his fluff of white hair quivering as he bows. “A message for Your Majesty.”

Kane takes the letter, his brow furrowing as he breaks the seal and begins to read. The shift in his demeanor is immediate, the weight of leadership settling back onto his shoulders.

Brows drawn, he passes the letter to me.

“It’s from Cups,” I say, quickly scanning the letter written by the Queen of Cups herself. “They received Kane’s letter, the one that told them what happened to their ambassador and his wife. They are deeply saddened by the loss but wish to resume trade discussions. They’re asking us to send an emissary.”

Always calm and deliberate under pressure, Kane smooths the reins between his fingers. “Alderic,” he calls out, his voice carrying across the court with a note of authority. “I have a job for you. Consider it a way to repay me for all the trouble you’ve put me through.”

“Repay you?” Alderic glances up from locating his lost croquet ball, one blond eyebrow raised. “I thought giving you the throne would wipe our slate clean. I was rather looking forward to tarnishing my fresh start.”

Kane smirks. “I was going to be beheaded for my attempt to save you, remember? I think that buys me a few more favors.”

Alderic leans against his croquet mallet. “I have a feeling I’m going to hear about the time you nearly died for me forever.” He lines up his shot and takes it. The ball spins across the field and into the stone pathway on the other side. “That settles it. I’ll go.”

“Because you’re being bested by a woman?” Marion asks, her voice laced with playful challenge.

“Because I owe my very best friend and his radiant partner my life. Plus, I do want to taste the delicacies of someplace not so close to home.”

“You’ve kicked his ass so badly, he’s running away,” I say, grinning at Marion.

Lifting her wineglass, she curtsies.

Kane sweeps the reins over Shadow’s head and hands them to me before turning back to Alderic. “I’m glad I didn’t have to use my new title to force you to act.”

Grinning, Alderic crosses his arms over his chest. “You should know by now no one forces me to do anything. Without using magick, that is.”

“I should also feel confident that you’re not going to get involved in some sort of scandal we’ll have to come save you from. You’re not the king anymore. There are consequences for your actions.”

“Yeah, Alderic,” I add, unable to resist joining in the teasing, “don’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

Alderic’s lips quirk. “If it’s so bad, why does it sound so delicious?”

“McDougall,” Kane addresses the man who’s as silently present as an early-morning shadow, “if you have the patience, give Lockhart a quick lesson in what’s expected of him as a palace emissary.”

“I don’t need a governess,” Alderic grumbles.

“Of course not,” Marion consoles, hooking her arm through his. “You need a nanny.”

Kane grips Shadow’s saddle and mounts behind me. He wraps his arms securely around my waist, the warmth of his body seeping into mine.

We ride away from the gardens, our friends’ laughter fading into the gentle rustle of leaves and the rhythmic clopping of Shadow’s hooves.

I sink into the steady rise and fall of Kane’s chest against my back as he guides Shadow through the wildflower-dotted fields and toward the Tower. His voice vibrates softly, a low hum that I feel more than hear. “I have a surprise for you, Fawn.”

I lean to the side and glance over my shoulder to get a better look at him. That smile—the one that could melt gold—graces his lips.

“So, this is more than just the relaxing ride to the Tower I was promised?” I ask, my heart fluttering with excitement.

He shrugs, his smile widening.

“Give me a hint.”

He slides his hand along my braid, tugging on the loose end. “Be a good girl, and I’ll give you more than that.”

A warm rush pools low in my belly, a delicious heat that makes my pulse quicken. I no longer want whatever the surprise is. I only want him.

We arrive at the Tower as the sun falls toward the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the ancient stones. The Empress stirs against my chest, getting hotter the closer Shadow carries us.

It’s like she’s responding to the Tower, to the magick I’ve known was here since I saw it from the garden.

Kane dismounts first, and he helps me down with a gentle grip. I’m glad he brought me here. I’m glad I came back and gave him the chance.

He reaches into a saddlebag and pulls out a package wrapped in silk, the fabric shimmering in the tangerine light.

“I made this for you,” he says, practically beaming with pride as he hands it to me. “It felt only right to give it to you here.”

I unwrap the silk and glide my fingers along the rich, smooth leather satchel nestled inside. “You made this?” I run my hand over the glistening rubies, each meticulously placed to create the perfect pentacle.

“I thought it a bit more befitting of both you and the Empress,” Kane replies, his voice soft and sincere. “It’s to carry the card so you don’t lose it if you should ever want to return home.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I remove the card from its resting spot on my heart and slide it into the best gift I’ve ever received.

“This is my home.” I reach for him, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, his neck, the strength of his shoulders. This man—my king, my love—has given me so much more than I ever dared to dream. “You’re my home.”

“And you’re mine, Little Fawn. I love you, Hannah.”

Kane kisses me, his lips soft and tender. His hands move over me, exploring, caressing, igniting every nerve. He removes my clothes with such ease and quickness that they seem to simply fall away, each piece slipping to the ground like autumn leaves. The sun dances warmly against my skin, and I want him to feel it too.

I move to lift his shirt, and he stops me like he has every time, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Kane.”

He cautiously releases me, and I pull his shirt off over his head. The fabric slides away, revealing the lines of velvety gold scars that wrap around his body like intricate ancient tattoos. They’re the marks of his life as a warrior, each one evidence of the battles he fought and the magick he was forced to hide.

They shimmer slightly, sunlight caught on glassy water.

I look down at my stomach, running my hand along the scar on my abdomen. We’re a matching set—king and queen.

I glance back up, my eyes drawn to his bare torso. His abs are a work of art, a chiseled masterpiece that flexes as he straightens, the ridges and valleys creating shadows that dance across his skin in the waning sunlight. His chest is broad and sculpted, the contours leading to the thick corded muscles of his shoulders and arms. He’s more beautiful than I could have imagined.

“Like what you see, Fawn?” His voice is a low, teasing growl, but there’s a wavering edge to it that makes me want to hold him close.

I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from him. “You’re…perfect.”

I praise the lines of his scars with my fingers, my lips, tasting the honey-sweet warmth of magick that courses through them. Kane’s body reacts to my caresses, his muscles tensing and relaxing under my touch.

I move to the waistband of his pants and slide them down, revealing inch by inch of his muscular thighs, painted with the same gold magick. The fabric pools around his ankles, and he steps out of them, his body now completely bared to my hungry gaze.

A slow satisfied smile spreads across his lips as he steps closer, his eyes darkening with desire that sends a swell of heat straight to my core. He lowers me down between soft grasses and wildflowers and leans over me, his hands framing my face as he positions himself between my spread thighs. The tip of his cock brushes against my slick entrance, and I gasp, my body arching toward him in a silent plea.

“Kane,” I whisper. “I need you.”

“I’m here, Fawn,” he murmurs. “Always.”

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside me. I moan, and the air sparks with energy. We move together, our bodies in perfect harmony. Every touch, every kiss, is a spell that connects us.

The golden glow from Kane’s scars spreads, casting a warm ethereal light that makes my skin hum.

Gold shimmers in the air, wrapping around our entwined bodies and soaring toward the cracked walls of the Tower. Magick swirls and dances, weaving a tapestry of light and strength that binds us to the very heart of the Tower.

“Let go, Fawn. Let me feel you come apart.”

And I do. I come apart, open myself, free myself. For Kane, for all the days I felt disconnected, cut off from loving who I am.

The Empress flashes behind my closed lids: scarlet dress, lush garden, frame of pomegranates, crown of stars. She is a sacred vessel. I am a sacred vessel.

Her magickal energy surges within me, filling every corner of my being with power. As I surrender to the waves of pleasure, the magick Kane and I created together releases.

Brilliant light bursts from us, a radiant golden glow that crashes against the Tower. Its ancient stones absorb the surge of magick. The walls shimmer and gleam with an inner light as magick continues to flow around us, through us, from us, joining us to each other and to this place in a way that feels eternal and unbreakable.

We collapse together, breathless and entwined, magick still pulsing.

I’m connected not just to Kane, but to the Tower, to the Empress, to the very fabric of the realm around me.

And I’m bound to them by more than love.

I’ve bound my body, my soul, through magick.

The Tower’s cracks and fissures begin to heal, golden light stitching up the broken places just like it did with Kane, just like it did with me.

Destiny, magick, the Empress—they all led me here. The Tower called me home.

I finally found where I belong.

“You’re mine, Fawn,” Kane whispers as he kisses down my chest. “All mine.”

And in that moment, I know it’s true. Every inch of me belongs to Kane, belongs to the Empress and Towerfall, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Reading Guide

1. Hannah isn’t living the life she has hoped to. Why do you think The Empress chooses Hannah to be taken to the Kingdom of Pentacles?

2. Kane immediately takes Hannah under his wing and heals her from a severe injury. Why do you think he does this? Do you think Kane feels a connection to Hannah from the beginning?

3. How does the royalty of the Kingdom of Pentacles live in comparison to the citizens of the kingdom? How do you think Hannah views the palace after she sees how the people of the kingdom are living?

4. What does Marion mean to Hannah and why? How does Marion differ from her counterpart, Jade, in Hannah’s realm?

5. The Queen of the Kingdom of Pentacles is losing hope when we first meet her. Why do you think she can’t bring herself to help the citizens of Pentacles anymore?

6. Kane previously had a relationship with Ivy. Why do you think he kept this information from Hannah? Do you think he had a right to keep his past to himself, or should he have told Hannah earlier about his relationship with Ivy?

7. Marion’s husband tries to make an advance toward Hannah in a disgusting manner. Why do you think Marion reacts in anger toward Hannah when she tries to tell her what happened?

8. Hannah decides to leave Kane to travel back to her realm. Why do you think she does this? Does it have anything to do with how people have treated her in the past?

9. Hannah decides that she wants to go back to the Kingdom of Pentacles. How does she take back her power once she makes this decision?

10. Hannah is the catalyst for saving the kingdom. How do you think the kingdom needed her, and in return, how did she need the kingdom? How do she and Kane prove themselves to each other?

Author Q&A

Can you tell readers a little bit about the inspiration for this novel? Did it start with tarot? What other influences did you use in the book?

The inspiration for The Empress did indeed begin with tarot. I’m a witch and often turn to tarot to help me answer questions and find my way. The symbolism of each card and the stories they tell is fascinating. Tarot has this way of looking into the heart of a person and reflecting who they are; their hopes and dreams. That aspect resonated with the type of world I wanted to create and story I wanted to tell.

Beyond tarot, I pulled from various influences—my love for historical romance, (Julia Quinn and Lisa Kleypas are two of my favorites!), the idea of creating a fantasy world for readers like me who are a little intimidated by high fantasy, and the idea of exploring power dynamics in a world that’s both recognizable and fantastical. It’s a blend of my passions and the type of world I would most like to suddenly fall into.

How has working on this series been different for you than your previous co-written books?

Working on this series has been a deeply personal journey for me. Unlike co-written projects in which I share the creative load, bounce ideas off a partner, and make space for them within the story I also want to tell, this series allowed me to fully dive into my own voice and vision. It’s been both liberating and challenging to carry the weight of the entire story on my shoulders, but also incredibly rewarding to see how my ideas evolved from concept to completion.

There is a larger arc for Hannah about finding her own power over the course of the book. Talk to your readers a little bit about what that means for you as an author and a woman.

I love a story about a woman on the path to claiming her power. It’s something I struggle with—something I believe a lot of us struggle with. As women, we’re often taught to downplay our strengths or second-guess our instincts. We can fall into the trap of believing that we have to fit a certain mold in order to be loved, accepted, worthy. I wanted to explore what it looks like when a woman starts from the low vibrational place a lot of us have been in or are currently in and steps into her full potential.

For me, as both an author and a woman, it’s about the power that comes with giving myself the freedom to be who I am—understanding that it’s okay to be strong, to be vulnerable, and to embrace the complexities of being a human on this planet. Writing Hannah’s story was cathartic in many ways, as it mirrors my own ongoing journey of self-empowerment.

You’re playing with a few different genres here, moving from contemporary to tarot-inspired historical fantasy, with a tiny bit of cozy Regency thrown in the mix. What motivated you to write in all these unique spaces?

I’ve always been drawn to stories that blend genres and defy easy categorization. Mixing the contemporary with tarot-inspired historical fantasy and a touch of cozy Regency is my way of playing in all the creative spaces that excite me. Each genre brings its own set of rules and expectations, and I wanted to challenge myself to weave them together in a way that felt seamless and natural.

There are so many great characters in this book. Who was your favorite character to write? Who was the most difficult character to write?

It’s hard to pick a favorite character because they all bring something unique to the story, but if I had to choose, I’d say writing Marion was the most fun. She’s so bright and bubbly and really just wants to have a good time. There were tons of times when I wanted to pull her off the page and go get brunch.

On the other hand, Hannah was the most difficult to write. Her growth is central to the story, and balancing her vulnerability with her emerging strength was a delicate process. I wanted to make sure her transformation felt authentic and earned. She’s also the character whose personality most reflects mine, and it can be difficult to be objective when looking in the mirror.

You crafted a beautiful world in this story. How did you go about deciding how the Kingdom of Pentacles would look and feel?

Designing the Kingdom of Pentacles was so much fun. I took my favorite aspects of the sets of The Tudors, Bridgerton, Pride & Prejudice (with Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth. It is the best, and I will not accept any other opinions.), The Great, Versailles, and countless other shows and movies set in ye olden times and created a world I wanted to get lost in. Pentacles is a mix of the décor and vibes of both the Elizabethan and Regency eras. We find the Elizabethan influence in the tapestries, ornate carvings, golds, crimsons, velvet, candlelight, and stone, while the Regency influence is reflected more in the style of dress, lavish gardens and flowers, curved windows, and wrought iron. But that’s just the Kingdom of Pentacles. Each of the four kingdoms within Towerfall are lush and luxurious, but they’re also all different. I cannot wait for you to visit another of Towerfall’s beautiful and mysterious palaces.

How does the meaning of pentacles in tarot factor into the Kingdom of Pentacles in The Empress?

The pentacles in tarot represent the material world—money, home, career, but also the broader concepts of security and abundance. In The Empress, the Kingdom of Pentacles embodies these themes and is a kingdom where power and material wealth are intertwined. The ruling class of the Kingdom of Pentacles is particularly tied to the symbolic meaning of pentacles. They are the keepers of wealth and power, yet they must navigate the line between maintaining their status and the risk of losing their humanity in the process.

The symbology of the suit is also seen within the walls of the palace itself. The ruthless pursuit of material gains comes with a price that the townspeople of Pentacles are left to pay.

In crafting the Kingdom of Pentacles, I wanted to create a place that feels as complex and multifaceted as the tarot suit itself. And, in a more philosophical way, I wanted to explore what it means to truly prosper.

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible without the unwavering support and encouragement of some truly incredible people:

Douglas, my wrinkly peach, thank you for your endless patience, helping me to experience and understand my emotions, and for always believing in me, even when I doubt myself.

To Phyllis, I am endlessly grateful for you. I would like to start planning our next vacation. (MOMMY/BABY!)

Christa, your creativity and enthusiasm are contagious. You’ve inspired me to push boundaries and explore new ideas, and you continue to make me a better writer. Towerfall was always meant to find its home with you.

To my agent, Steven, your advice and faith in my work are worth their weight in gold. Thank you for championing this series and for your tireless efforts to make my dreams reality.

Cheroka—after all these years, I finally have a bestie. The universe was saving all my friendship vibes for you.

Emily, your friendship, wisdom, and guidance are magick. Thank you for your honesty and for always steering me in the right direction.

To my dear friend Brooke, thank you for always being there to listen, to laugh, and to remind me of the peace and joy in every moment. Your friendship is a treasure.

Debbie, I will forever appreciate you dropping everything to come visit and take care of our boys. I cannot wait for our next antiquing adventure!

Gina, I wouldn’t have been able to make this story what it is without you and your expertise on writing seriously sexxxy romance. Thank you for reading my work over and over again and always dropping everything to talk through the tough moments. I am so happy we found each other.

To my coven—Melissa, Jen, Alisha, and Falyn—thank you for the magick you bring into my life. Your strength, wisdom, and sisterhood are a source of inspiration and comfort. I am honored to walk this path with you.

To Jamie Sea, Brigitte Arnet, and Lindsey Means—there aren’t enough words to explain how you’ve changed my life. Thank you for helping me come home to myself.

Finally, to Jiayun, Madison, Lexi, Brittany, Emily, Jennifer, Molly, Alexandra, Kavita, Michael, Debbie, Pam, and the entire Bloom and Sourcebooks team—you have been nothing short of amazing. Your dedication, hard work, and passion have brought this book to life in ways I could have only dreamed of. I am so fortunate to have such wonderful people by my side.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

About the Author

Kristin Cast is a number one New York Times and number one USA Today bestselling author with over thirty million books in print.

She is neurodivergent (ASD + OCD), was born on an Air Force base in Japan, and grew up in Oklahoma, where she explored everything from tattoo modeling to broadcast journalism. After battling addiction, Kristin made her way to the Pacific Northwest and landed in Portland. She rediscovered her passion for storytelling in the stacks at dusty bookstores and in rickety chairs in old coffeehouses.

For as long as she can remember, Kristin’s been telling stories. Thankfully, she’s been writing them down since 2005.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Contents

Towerfall Tarot

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Epilogue

Reading Guide

Author Q&A

Acknowledgments

About the Author