She never wanted to feel that way again.

She watched Remy’s chest rise and fall. “Tell me about the night I saw.”

“What night?”

“You told me about it, I think, on Rahzavel’s boat.” She turned to him, losing her breath for a moment at the sheer unwavering focus on his face. “Zahra slipped into my mind, showed me a vision of it. There was a little boy, holding a baby. You showed me the bit of my blanket.”

“It was the night you were born,” Simon said at once. “Your mother—Rielle—decided to send us away, keep you out of Corien’s hands. I was her only chance to do so. She wrapped you in a blanket, put you in my arms, told me to take you north to Borsvall. We would seek asylum there.”

Her hand moved to her necklace. “And this?”

“A gift from King Ilmaire of Borsvall. She placed it around your neck, tucked it into your blanket. It was meant to be a message for him, I think.”

Eliana nodded slowly. She had heard various versions of the Blood Queen’s Fall from Remy over the years, all of them much grander than this one. The thought made her sad, which angered her. She didn’t want to feel sad about the woman whose unholy blood festered in her veins.

“And then she died.”

“And then she died. Her last act in this world was saving you.”

Scoffing, Eliana looked at the ceiling. “I’m not sure she did a good job of that. And I still don’t understand how we ended up here, over a thousand years later.”

Your mother—Rielle—decided to send us away.

I was her only chance to do so.

She walked back to Simon slowly. “You sent us away. You mentioned a thread, that it was too strong for you to hold onto me.” Heart pounding, mind racing, she sank onto the edge of her bed. “You’re a marque.”

Simon’s eyes glittered, watching her. “I was, long ago.”

“But Remy said marques have wings on their backs from birth, like a brand. I’ve seen your back—”

“The force of Rielle’s death threw the entire world out of alignment. Many things do not look as they once did. And whatever proof was left on my flesh, the Prophet made sure to eradicate it.”

The darkness in his voice made Eliana bristle. “Who is this man, anyway? The Prophet. What did he do to you?”

Simon touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “My queen worries for me. Be still, my wicked black heart.”

“As your queen,” she interrupted, her voice only a little unsteady, “I could have you hanged for touching me without my consent. Isn’t that right?”

He lowered his hand at once, but Eliana caught it and pressed his palm against her cheek. “I could also order you to stay as close as I please.”

His eyes never leaving hers, he knelt at her feet. “As my queen commands, so shall I obey.”

“Your life is mine,” she whispered, sliding his hand down her face and throat, coming to rest against her necklace. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, his fingers burned her skin.

“To do with as you will, Eliana,” he said softly. “Then, now, and always.”

With her free hand she reached for him. “Come here,” she said, drawing him up to meet her. So near to him, she could think of nothing else—not her mother or this world of war and black-eyed angels or the storm still tingling under her skin. His fingers brushed against the dip of her waist, and she closed her eyes, grief and desire twining sharply up her spine.

“Please, Simon.” She breathed in and slowly out. Her eyes burned, her tears near and precarious. It had been too long since she had been held, since she had come apart at the touch of another’s hands, and suddenly she craved that release so ferociously that her head spun. “If it wouldn’t hurt you too much—”

“I don’t care about that.” He slid his hands into her hair, and the careful caress made her shiver. “I care about nothing else but you.”

She moved into him, clutching his shirt to pull him closer. The heat of him beneath her palms cleared her tired mind, sharpened the aching edges of her body. “Is there another room nearby?”

His thumbs touched her cheeks, reverent and feather-soft. But his eyes blazed. “Mine is just down the hall—”

“Ah! There you are.”

Eliana jumped back as Zahra emerged from the rafters overhead.

Simon hissed out a curse and glared up at the ceiling. “Wraith, can you not enter and exit rooms through the doors, like everyone else does?”

“What would that matter, since you wouldn’t be able to see me even if I did?” Zahra floated down to sit beside Eliana. “Anyway, my way is so much more fun.”

Simon stormed off, dragging a hand through his hair.

Eliana tore her eyes away from him with no small effort, heat blooming in her cheeks. “Zahra. It’s good to see you.”

Zahra raised an eyebrow, her inkblot mouth curving. “Is it, my queen?”

“Of course it is.” She brushed her fingers through Zahra’s wrist. “I’m grateful for your help out there.”

“I know you are,” replied Zahra, beaming. “I’ve brought a message for you from Prince Malik. He’s coming up with his fathers shortly, to thank you for what you did and to begin discussing…what comes next.”

Zahra’s eyes flickered to Simon.

“And what is that?” Eliana followed the wraith’s gaze to where Simon stood half in shadow, watching the fire. “What comes next?”

Remy sat up, a blanket clutched around his shoulders and his cheek pink from sleep. “We fight him,” he said simply. “We fight the Emperor.” He looked up at Simon. “Right?”

Simon’s mouth quirked. “Something like that.”

Eliana watched Remy smile with an ache in her heart. He looked so like Rozen. Same sharp little nose, same bright eyes. She would have to tell him—and soon:

Our mother is dead, and I’m the one who killed her.

She would lose him the moment the words left her lips.

Remy saw her dismay before she could hide it. He left his blankets at once and squished himself on the bed beside her.

“It’s all right, El,” he told her, taking her hand. “No matter what happens, no matter what they say, you’re still mine.”

Eliana glared at Simon. “What did you tell him?”

“Navi told me who you are,” said Remy, jutting out his chin. “She said I could handle it, and I can.”