When the guards open the looming castle gates, the metal whining on its rusted hinges, the last person I expect to see standing there is Binx. He watches us arrive, one hand on the pommel of his sword and no wound in his shoulder. The last time I saw him, he was grasping onto a similar wound that plagued Renit when the rebels attacked.

I haven't thought about him in the weeks since we've been gone, he's merely an afterthought that slithered his way into the king's life—another person I try not to think about on a daily basis. But that's all I've been able to think about; what he might have planned for his sons and the future of the kingdom.

Binx raises a gloved hand in greeting, decorated with the royal emblem over the back of the fabric. I nod my greetings and out of the corner of my eye, catch the slight movement of Renit's lifted hand. This can only mean one thing: Binx is still at the king's side and was instructed to greet us when we arrived.

Renit had sent out the letter to the king days ago when we ran into a messenger on our way out of Lona. The king knew we would arrive any day and that way; he didn't have to send out a search team to find the truth of our locations, and more importantly, the boxes he seeks.

I still can't bring myself to look at them without worrying about what will come of their power. The crystals can be used by ancient witches and the king himself since he carries that royal blood within him. And with a crystal available to stop the ancient witches from ending the king's efforts...we're in the hands of the enemy. His hands are wrapped so tightly around our throats that one more squeeze and our necks will snap. Those boxes will be the final squeeze.

Binx takes the reins of our horses and forces them to a stop. Already, the stable boys are standing nearby and waiting for their orders on where to take the annoying beasts that ate throughout the night, taking out a large chunk of the forest with them. I recognize one of the stable boys to be the poor soul bullied by Darius, the cause for the destruction of the courtyard weeks ago.

Tearing my attention away from the saddle and sliding down onto the stone below, I examine the courtyard. There are no remnants of the destruction left, everything planted by the witches of gardens is growing tall and strong, each flower brighter than those in the meadows and each bush trimmed to perfection, contained compared to the wild nature of the forest.

"How was the trip?" Binx asks. He directs the question at me, not the prince. There's joy in his eyes at seeing me again, especially so as he takes the reins and barely bothers giving directions to the stable boys as he's too busy waiting for my answer.

"We're both still alive," I joke.

Binx laughs. "That should tell me enough about your troubles, shouldn't it?" When Renit comes around the horses and hands over the satchel to me, Binx's attention finally goes elsewhere. He clears his throat, nods at the prince, and says, "I'll notify the king of your arrival."

The prince nods his thanks, sliding an arm around my shoulders, and turns me in the castle's direction. I feel Binx's eyes watching that contact, so much so I slip my arm around Renit's waist as we walk away—the king's personal guard will not get in the middle of us, whether he has certain feelings or not. I'm beginning to believe that's what the problem is, why he's so cheery around me and why he shuts down around Renit.

A squeal erupts from deep inside the gardens, a shrill sound I've recognized since I was a child, and I don't have to bother looking for a flash of auburn hair before Celestine is running around a hedge with her long, pale arms stretched out towards me and a white smile so large it takes up the entire bottom half of her face.

The skirts of her dress catch in the breeze at the heels of her laced leather boots, and the same goes for the handkerchief on her head, protecting her scalp from the sun.

Renit's arm slides away as I rush to her, throwing my arms around my sister and holding her close. She squeezes tight, still squealing like a pig and laughing all the while. Celestine smells of the gardens, of wet soil, roots, and fresh flowers. It's clear that most of her days have spent themselves out here—that's why the garden is so beautiful, my sister has been part of the process to make it such.

"You're finally back," she sighs in relief, her warm breath pressing against my hair. I haven't properly bathed myself in nearly a week so I can't smell all that extraordinary. At least she doesn't take the time to explain that. Celestine pulls away and holds me at arm's length, her smile wide. "I was beginning to wonder if we would have to search the entire kingdom for you."

I shake my head. "It wasn't easy, we found ourselves in one terrible situation after another but we made it." I reposition one of the loose curls draping down her front, hanging longer than I've ever seen it before. With every passing day, Celestine becomes more and more like our mother.

Glancing back at Renit, Celestine grins. "I trust you two protected each other?"

"She did most of the work," Renit jokes. "I was just there...cheering her along."

"Of course you were." Celestine laughs one more, her giggle reflecting the summer tones of music. "Everyone has missed you so much, they'll be glad to know you're back."

Renit steps forward, closing the distance he gave so we could embrace each other in peace. "And Silas? How is he doing?" He inquires.

"I wish I could say but we've been out of contact since...it took place. He hasn't wanted to talk to anyone other than Hallie so I've kept my distance. He's been out and about much more recently, has talked to a few of the servants and spars with the guards but that's it." She speaks with reluctance, sliding her hands back to her front and twiddling her fingers together.

Renit nods, looking to the ground in disappointment. We expected Silas to be better by now, had reassured each other things would be better once we got back. Holding onto the false hope that Silas would be back to normal by the time we returned was one way we kept going without a complaint of the king sending us on such a dangerous mission.

Knowing he might not be better, still lost to this world he's loved with all his heart, makes my stomach sink. I still want to see him but if the right terms aren't there...I can't push him any further than everyone else already has.

"We'll catch up later," I promise. "We're instructed to hand over the boxes to the king but if he doesn't give us another mission, maybe we'll finally get the chance to settle." I squeeze her hand and she does the same, smiling at both of us.

"Thank you for coming back alive," she says with a light laugh. "And for not killing each other along the way."

Renit hums under his breath. "I couldn't if I tried."

"Considering you have tried—" I begin, but Renit gives me a flat stare to stop speaking before I create a battle we need not have. "Anyway, we'll finish soon. Dinner tonight?"

Celestine nods quickly. "Of course."

From behind, Renit grabs my hand and tugs me in the opposite direction. He wants this to be over as much as I do. I offer Celestine one final wave before we're herded into the castle by Binx and a few other unnecessary guards holding onto the pommels of their swords with such a tight grip I wonder if Binx instructed them to be so tense.

After all the special treatment Renit has received from the guards over the years, he doesn't appear phased by it. We're led through the halls, forcing servants aside as they move from one place in the castle to the next, fitting sheets over beds and hanging up clothes to dry outside in the summer heat. All of them bow to us, a sign of respect that Renit doesn't recognize but one that makes me cringe. I'll never be used to it, but I can say much for the witch over three hundred years old.

Instead of being led to the throne room, the normal meeting place for the king, we're taken to the tower in the middle. As time goes on, the guards quickly disperse to maintain their posts outside the doors of the king's chambers. This is a place I've never dared to visit, haven't even walked outside the doors of so this entire stretch of the castle is utterly new.

The servants in this tower are much cleaner, mostly young women with soulless eyes and frowns meant to deter those that might want to speak to them. They've been serving their king for too long, wiping the bloodstains from his hands and attempting to scrub the remnants of killings from his clothes. They'll never be enough soup in the world for that, they'll always be stains left behind from the terrible things he's done.

We're led into his chambers, a separate house within itself, and Binx guides us into the dining area. The lit chandelier hanging in the middle of the room casts flickers of life over the long oak table, stretched from one end of the room to the other. Place settings for four have been arranged, and the rest of the table, nearly twenty chairs, will remain unoccupied.

The dark rug underneath it all, covering the wooden floorboards to the king's dining room, is the color of blood. He has to carry that with him wherever he goes, otherwise, he'll lose his sense of remembrance to the true nature of his reign.

Two archways on either side of one wall lead into other parts of the king's chambers, places I don't want to venture. Renit jerks his chin towards the one at the other end of the room. "That leads to the king's personal library," he whispers. The only sounds other than his voice are the faint drift of music from down on the ground floor of the castle and someone laughing out in the gardens.

In the depths of the library, too dark for me to see clearly, rows and rows of books from floor to ceiling cover the shelves. Too much for one king to read in his lifetime if he was a mortal. It's likely he's read each volume, his blood-stained fingers touching each page with the care he doesn't show to others.

Before we've seen him, I can sense him from a distance. He's here—somewhere. These are his chambers, a place meant only for his sons, his guards, and anyone he's tempted to bring back for the night. At one point, Renit's mother had been part of these chambers, had eaten at this table and sat in one of the many plush chairs scattered throughout the library. Only her ghost lingers, along with the rest.

The other stone archway surrounded by torches on either side must lead towards the rest of his chambers—where he sleeps and bathes. A shiver snakes down my spine as someone shuffles around on the other side after Binx disappears to tell the king we've arrived.

Renit places a gentle hand on my waist and leans over to kiss my temple. His warm breath is enough to soothe the fears inside my mind. "It'll be all right," he whispers so not even the king can hear. "I'll do all the talking."

"There you are," the king says upon entry. He comes around the corner, tying the robe around his waist into a tight knot. The lapels open to reveal a bare, tattooed chest detailing something of importance to the king's life—all the way to the base of his throat.

He doesn't smile upon seeing Renit standing in his chambers, instead frowns at our dirty clothes and mud-stained boots. If only he had seen what we looked like in Ducoria, how that city had taken its toll on both of us.

"I was beginning to devise a plan to hunt both of you down, considering you stole my treasures." The king takes his seat at the head of the table and Renit bows; that hand on my waist pressing for me to do the same. But I've grown used to the routine here so I'm already dipping at the waist to show respect to the man that killed my parents.

My chest tightens at the memory, not only the good days but their last when the king decided it was no longer necessary to keep them alive. Watching him sit in such a vulnerable position with Binx sliding into the chair to his right is enough to stir my mind with the thoughts of attacking. They'll never see it coming, I can have the stone off the walls in a second and crushing their skulls.

Taking the bell in his dark, tattooed hand, the king rings it for service. We won't be handing over the boxes in the throne room where this can be over in a matter of minutes. Instead, we'll be eating a meal provided by the king and likely poisoned if he thinks we didn't do a decent enough job.

"Please, take a seat," he urges, directing the bell towards the two empty seats.

Renit steps forward and sits to his father's left, patting the seat next to him for me to sit down. I meet Binx's eye across the table and he watches me warily, eyes going between the seat and Renit who is already looking back at me, wondering silently if I can eat any of this food without vomiting. I wouldn't know that answer myself.

My feet move across the blood-colored rug and I force myself to sit in the cushioned oak chair, trapped beyond the armrests. But the attention to feel suffocated isn't on me but Renit, who the king is staring at—rather the satchel slung across his chest.

"We brought what you requested," Renit states without a hint of care for his father's nagging questions or threat to kill us if we didn't bring back the boxes.

The king's face lightens after it had once been full of suspicion. As Renit pulls out the boxes, servants shuffle into the room and set gold-lined porcelain on our silver mats. The food is steaming, the portions large.

My mouth waters but no one else is eating as they're too busy focusing on the first box Renit places onto the corner of the table for his father to examine. I stick my hands underneath my thighs and force myself not to touch the food as the king picks up his first treasure and examines the lock to match the gold trim around the outer edge of the wood.

"This is from the ocean near Flitsea. Roux retrieved this, drowned, so I had to revive her," Renit explains blandly. I look down to my lap, smiling faintly at the annoyance in the prince's voice.

When my eyes dart across the table, the corner of Binx's mouth is turned up in a slight grin of amusement, hidden behind the hands he has folded together and propped on the table. He finds joy in the difficulties of me not listening, apparently.

The same cannot be said for the king as he sets the box on the other side of the table and instructs for the next. Renit goes through each box, explaining how we retrieved it and the dangers we faced to bring it back to him, all the while annoyed with how little care I managed for keeping myself safe.

The prince doesn't bother to mention the witch of ground in Lona, the fighting pits, the care Renit and I found in a treasure trove or the close confinement with Rex Fletcher—a man likely on the lookout for a young witch with scarlet hair and amber eyes to offset a silver dress that showed too much and promised too little.

By the time he lays out our entire journey on the table, the food is cold and the meat no longer looks appetizing. "Now that the matter of my treasures is taken care of, you may eat," the king orders. His attention finally drifts to me, a stare I've found myself not wanting to find, but this time I hold it. The king stares at me, blankly searching over my face, eyes falling to my throat as if he's imagining what it would be like to choke the air from my lungs. As he picks up his fork, gripping it tight in his fist, he asks, "Do you have anything to say, young witch?"

I grab my own fork and stab at a potato. Renit's hand squeezes my knee, tightly reminding me not to say anything stupid in front of a man destined to kill either of us. "I was just wanting to say thank you for the meal. The food on the road isn't exactly the most luxurious thing in this kingdom."

To my surprise, the king smiles. His grin is as sickly as what he does to innocents. "Trust me, you won't face disappointment. I saved the best for your arrival but if you had returned with nothing, there wouldn't be a meal on that plate. It would be your head, instead." He cuts into his meat at the same time Binx stops chewing.

"Father, I would appreciate if you don't speak to her that way," Renit growls. Now it's my turn to squeeze his knee and dig my nails in for emphasis. Any wrong words and the king will decide it's time for the king to beat him again.

"I asked something of you two," the king snaps with a frown. "If you didn't bring it back, I would have punished you. She knows the threat at hand."

Renit's nostrils flare but he takes his fork and cuts into the steak on his plate. A delicacy from a farm in Mailan, or one on the outside of a city—a farmer that wouldn't dare walk within the walls of these people. No one wants to be near the king, especially not me.

"I think what they're trying to get at is that they provided a service in which they succeeded," Binx inputs. Before he can go on with saying another word, the king stabs his fork into the table and Renit jumps, stopping himself halfway so he doesn't appear too scared of his father.

"You're not here to offer input," the king growls. Shoulders hunched over his plate, teeth bared in anger—the king looks more like a wild animal salivating over their first meal in days rather than a king.

Binx leans back in his chair and looks to his lap in dismissal. All silverware is abandoned on the sides of his plate as is the rest of his meal. It's likely he won't have the appetite to eat anything else, not after being threatened by the king in this way.

My eyes drift to the wobbling fork sticking out of the table, slowly settling deep into the oak. That's impossible to clean, yet I have a feeling that the king will punish the servants for not accomplishing what it takes to get out the stabbing holes from a threatening fork.

"I'm very sorry, my king. I never should've spoken out of turn. That was foolish of me," Binx mumbles.

Very much so, I think to myself. He hasn't been around here long, hasn't seen the threat that the king poses, so he doesn't know what happens when someone speaks when they're not allowed to. And around the king, no one is allowed to speak. The truth of that isn't evident until after we share words, unlucky for those like Binx.

The king pries his fork from the table and flips it back properly in his grip. One swift move of his hand has him poking into the side of steamed vegetables with Mills's favorite seasoning mix. I witnessed him using it more than once a day during our time shared in the kitchens.

"Eat your meal," the king grovels. "I don't want company for much longer, I have things to do."

I force myself to swallow bite after bite of Mills's cooking. All the while, I avoid the king's stare—darting to me from time to time before looking back to his boxes and the prince at his side. We don't know the plan, won't receive the plan, but with the way the king is looking at his son, I know nothing good can come from what he wants to do to solidify his reign.

He's not like the other kings, they were willing to give up their throne to the next in line so the kingdom could have a breath of fresh air once their ruler had long lived their lives to support this land. This king is different—he doesn't want to give up his reign to Silas. Instead, he will do what it takes to ensure he's on the throne for as long as possible and his sons never stop suffocating in the darkest corners of the castle.