“How do you think I’d look bald?” she abruptly asked.

The question so shocked Elina, she didn’t have an answer. But, sadly, her sister did.

“You could not pull off. Your face too full in cheeks.”

Elina glared at her sister. “Kachka!”

“What? She asked question.”

“I did. And I like honest people. Plus she’s right. I can’t pull off bald with this face. Keita can. Then again, she can pull off anything. I hate her for that sometimes. Not even human and she’s prettier than any human can even dream of being.”

“Annwyl—”

“Are you both coming to the feast?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Good. You should. You deserve a feast after what you’ve been through.”

“Yes,” Kachka said. “A good feast always makes up for loss of eye.”

Elina stamped her foot. “Kachka!”

“What?” her sister asked. “I am serious. The buffalo I killed today, I killed in your name. Like offering to your lost eye.”

Elina rubbed her head, trying to avoid the eye patch. “She is serious,” she explained to Annwyl.

“I know,” the queen said. “That’s why I like her. And you.” She looked off through all that hair. “But your mother,” she said, her voice low. “Your mother . . .”

Then the queen opened the door and walked out.

“Annwyl?” Elina began to go after her, but Kachka called her back.

“Leave her be.”

“But—”

“Yes, sister. She is mad. But a good monarch is always a little mad.”

“That is your logic? That good monarchs are mad?”

“There are three types of rulers in this world. Mad ones, evil ones, and combination of both. Be glad she is only mad.”

Celyn walked into the Great Hall and searched the already packed room until he saw Elina. He immediately went to her side and grabbed her hand, turning to lead her back outside so they could talk. But Kachka was standing there, smiling up at him.

“Celyn,” she purred. “I hope death finds you well this evening.”

“What? I mean . . . oh, yes. You, too.”

“You know, Celyn.” Kachka placed her hand on his chest. “You scurried away so fast earlier, we could not talk about—”

“Excuse us!”

Celyn pushed past Kachka and dragged Elina out of the Great Hall and down the steps. When he reached the end of the courtyard, he tried to keep going right through the gates, but Elina dug her heels into the dirt and she managed to stop him in his tracks.

When he faced her, she said, “You need to calm down.”

“I will not service your sister,” he told her flatly, unable to think of anything else to say.

Elina laughed. “She does not want servicing. At least not from you.”

“But when I came into your room earlier—”

“It gets cold on Steppes. We share beds. We share food. We do not share cocks. There is no cock sharing among the Daughters of the Steppes. That is disgusting.”

“So then earlier . . .”

“She was inviting you to nap with us, like our brothers and cousins sometimes do. But not fuck.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No. Just depressingly relieved.”

“What?”

“Beautiful sisters invite me to bed—I usually dive in headfirst. A little time away with you and suddenly I’m . . . my father.”

“I like your father. Now he is charming. You are dolt with ineffective travel-cow and cousin that keeps trying to dress me like doll.”

“Is that where you got that eye patch from?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a nice color on you.”

Elina shook her head. “Can we go back to feast now? I have not eaten and naked fight with my sister earlier made me very hungry.”

“Um . . . uh . . . naked fight?”

“She started it.”

“Yeah, but . . . uh . . .”

“Come,” she ordered, pulling him back toward the Great Hall. “There is food and drink to be had. Why would you ever make me live without either?”

Once most of the food was eaten, the tables were moved back, the music began, and the dancing started.

Dagmar had never been one for dancing, so instead, she found a comfortable corner and watched. It was one of her favorite things to do, and a pleasure she didn’t have nearly enough time to indulge in these days.

But tonight, she was enjoying her favorite pastime less and less as she watched Annwyl. For years and years, she’d been helping to groom the queen into a sane-appearing monarch. And a few days ago, she’d thought she’d done an admirable job. Then the Rider had returned without her eye, and things had been going downhill ever since.

Even worse, Dagmar was not the only one worried. She knew that when Morfyd and Briec suddenly appeared next to her, each holding chalices of wine.

“That crazy cow is about to snap,” Briec softly announced.

Morfyd closed her eyes and shook her head. “Briec.”

“What? Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I didn’t say you were. But there has to be a better way to say something like that.”

“And what special way is that?”

“It can’t be just the Rider’s return, Dagmar.”