"Beware the moon's wrath. Beware her might. Wield it in rage, and doom yourself to die."

    The words echoed through her ears in the gravelly voice of a man she'd never met. She glanced about herself, but saw no one. "What do you mean? The dark half of the Two-Faced Goddess? Is she angry?"

    "She never angers. She never seeks revenge. She doesn't need to. Her power once falsely used will claim vengeance for her sake." Starlight shimmered in the corner of her eyes and she turned, finally catching a glimpse of the man who spoke.

    He appeared to be middle-aged and of a stocky build. He towered above her, watching through moonlit eyes while his corded arms remained crossed over his broad chest. His pale hair was tied back in a short ponytail and a braided beard covered his chin.

    "Saint Oleksandr," she realized.

    "Never seek vengeance," he warned again. "It comes with a cost."

    "Why are you telling me this?" Her breath caught as he lifted his beard and tipped his head back, exposing a long slit curving around his throat.

    "I vowed not to take revenge against the Andrians for the lives they claimed from my village when they decided their kingdom deserved more land. It was the only condition the Goddess gave when she Blessed me. But I let rage consume me and grief blind me. I hunted those Andrians down and I slaughtered them."

    "And then you killed yourself," she murmured, recalling the end of the tale.

    "They killed me," he hissed. Saint Oleksandr raised an arm that was wreathed in shadows. "Can't you feel the life in them? Don't you know you don't control them? I broke my vow and they took my life. They'll take yours too if you give them cause."

    She lifted her own arm, watching as the familiar wraiths coiled around her wrists. "You're wrong. These shadows are our own. Yours were cold and malevolent because you allowed them to be. They fed on your wrath and need for revenge. Mine are my comforters and protectors. And we are not like you."

    She met Saint Oleksandr's gaze as his body began to dim. "Beware all the same. A mortal heart can change in a single beat. And while the first who bore your name may have been called Blessed, I'm afraid you, Princess, may one day be called Nastasia the Cursed." Before she could respond, the Saint vanished, leaving her alone in utter darkness.

•༻᯽༺•

    Nastasia blinked her eyes open with a sharp breath, the remnants of the dream lingering in her fogged mind. "You all right?" Nikolai mumbled behind her, his words slurred with drowsiness.

    "I'm fine," she answered faintly. "It was just a strange dream."

    "Mm."

    Nastasia smiled and cast a glance over her shoulder. Nikolai's eyes remained closed and his features held the relaxed stillness of sleep. "Did I wake you?"

    "You kicked my foot," he said without opening his eyes.

    "I'm sorry." She rolled over and shifted closer to him, curling her palms against his bare chest.

    That caught his attention and his gaze finally met hers. "Sure you are." Nastasia just grinned, then nestled her head beneath his chin. She gave a contented sigh as he draped an arm across her waist and the warmth of his body crept over her. "What did you dream about?" He asked presently.

    "Saint Oleksandr. He was warning me about not seeking revenge."

    "That's odd."

    "I told you it was a strange dream." But she couldn't ignore it completely. Each time she'd dreamed of the other Saints, they'd given her messages she needed to hear. Saint Oleksandr's warning would be no less important.

    Nikolai's breaths were growing heavy again and Nastasia rolled her eyes. She slid her arms around his neck and let her fingers glide down his back. Her touch skimmed over every scar engraved on his skin and Nastasia pursed her lips, flutters erupting in her stomach.

    She'd never forgotten the roughness of the marks. The proof of his father's brutality, and of Andrey's hatred of him. She'd kissed them last night just as she'd always wanted to.

    And her fingers had traced them, just like this, while Nikolai hovered over her, his face buried in the crook of her neck and hips moving slowly against hers. It had been everything she'd anticipated and more.

    For a while, Nastasia just let herself bask in the memories of the night while one hand lingered on Nikolai's scars and the other curled into his hair. But all too soon, she had to force herself to sit up. She reached over and shook Nikolai's shoulder gently.

    "We need to get ready," she reminded him. "The final challenge is today. We might already be late for the announcement."

    "Shit," Nikolai groaned, twisting onto his back and draping an arm across his face. "What if we just don't go?"

    "I don't think that's an option," Nastasia replied, hurriedly shrugging into her clothes. "Come on. You need to be glamoured before someone sees you."

    The words had scarcely left her mouth when there was a knock at the door. Nastasia stiffened and Nikolai immediately rolled out of bed and grabbed his pants. She granted him a moment to put them on before opening the door.

    "You two had better hurry up," Alexei said. There wasn't a hint of laughter in his voice, and nervousness pooled in the pit of Nastasia's stomach.

    "Did we miss the challenge announcement?" Nikolai asked while he tugged his shirt on.

    "A duel," Alexei replied, answering Nikolai's question. "But before you enter the duel, you have to be found worthy."

    Nastasia knit her brows. "By whom?"

    Now Alexei smiled. "You'll never believe it."

•༻᯽༺•

    Thirty minutes later, Nikolai and Nastasia swept through the hidden corridors of the palace, making their way to a room which hadn't been used at any point in either of their memories. In fact, Nikolai had believed the room to merely be a story made up by his mother.

     "Do you think there will be guards?" Nastasia asked.

    "I don't know," Nikolai answered. "I'd be surprised if there wasn't. But at least your eyes will still appear glamoured. They'll see me as I really am."

    Nastasia bit her lip and fitted her fingers between his, squeezing his hand tightly. "Let's pray that's for the best."

    "Have you ever met them?"

    She shook her head. "Only their ambassadors. I've never seen them myself. I thought they never left the mountains."

    "Apparently they'll make an exception for their Moon Blessed Saint."

    Nastasia's pensive look became thoughtful. "Well, I suppose in some ways I'm as much their Princess as anyone's. Father and Mother might be the King and Queen of Nyctoli, but they still recognize the Dwarves' sovereignty over their own people, and as our kingdom's founders. Maybe because of that, they have some say in what I do."

    "Have you heard of such a thing before?"

    "No."

    Nikolia frowned and tightened his grip on Nastasia's hand, though he said nothing more. There was nothing to say. It was already too late to protest this meeting any further. They rounded a final bend and paused before a door. Nikolai drew a slow breath and glanced at Nastasia. She gave a short nod and he eased the door open.

    A portion of the wall swung outwards with the door, revealing the hall he'd never seen. The first throne room of Dimesa's palace, built during the reign of Dimitri and Inesa of the Chasm. Nikolai gazed at the walls in awe. Every inch of them was covered with engravings, some familiar and some new.

    Crystalline windows cut through the engravings all the way to the end of the hall, where two thrones, hewn from jagged stone, stood upon a marble dais. On either side of the thrones were stained glass windows, one depicting Dimitri, and the other, Inesa.

    In between the thrones was a third stained glass window which bore Nyctoli's sigil. On a pedestal before them sat a small cast-iron bowl, in which he could see glowing embers and small flickering flames.

    Then, Nikolai drew his gaze back to the figures upon the thrones themselves. There could be no mistaking them. The mighty Dwarf King and Queen watched in silence as Nikolai and Nastasia stepped out of the passageway and onto the dark mauve carpet paving the way to their dais.

    Nikolai observed the Dwarves curiously. King Grigori was exactly what he'd imagined. Tanned and leathery skin, with deep set eyes of amber that held a piercing gleam. His hair was a dark shade of brown peppered with streaks of gray, and a braided beard studded with gold beads hung down to his boots.

    The King's broad frame boasted of his strength, but Nikolai could've known from his hands alone. He pitied any man who found himself at the end of King Grigori's work hardened fist. At his side, Queen Evgeniya was as beautiful as her husband was intimidating.

    Her peachy skin was smoother than Grigori's and her face was spattered with freckles. Hickory colored eyes reflected warmth and curiosity as she watched them approach. And her hair was the most brilliant shade of red that Nikolai had ever seen. Elaborate braids cascaded down her back like rivers of copper, and a few hung over her shoulders, silhouetting her stout figure.

    Nikolai lowered his gaze as they reached the foot of the dais. King Grigori rose and his deep, roughly accented voice broke the silence. "We were told all the Knights had been presented."

    "We are not Knights, your Majesties," Nastasia answered, "but we're here nonetheless."

    "Why?" He began to ask, but was interrupted when the Queen touched her hand to his and stood.

    "I know why you've come," Queen Evgeniya said. "And you have been found worthy." King Grigori folded his arms over his chest, listening to his wife intently.

    "Worthy of what, your Majesty?" Nikolai asked hesitantly.

    The Queen swept a hand towards the pedestal. "An ember of the Eternal Fire from the First Forge. We have gifted one to each worthy Knight, to signify their right to duel for the hand of the Moon Blessed Saint." Her palm extended to Nastasia and beckoned her forward. Nikolai let go of Nastasia's hand and she approached the Queen.

    "Your desires, though noble and sincere, cannot prevail," the Queen said. "One way or another, the truth will be known. You must both be ready." She turned to King Grigori and inclined her head.

    He approached the pedestal and produced two empty pendant necklaces from a pocket within his robe. With his bare fingers, he lifted two glowing embers from the cast-iron bowl and placed one in each pendant. He squeezed his fist around each, and when he opened it, the embers were fastened securely within the pendants, still glowing with light and warmth.

    Nikolai stiffened as the King drew near and placed one necklace in his palm. The other, he handed to Nastasia. They looped the pendants around their necks and Nastasia retreated to Nikolai's side. They bowed simultaneously and began backing towards the passageway door, but Queen Evgeniya spoke again.

    "Be wary, Princess. The mountains tremble in fear of something yet to come, and the stars weep for the Blessed."

    Nikolai took Nastasia's hand once more as she sucked down a shallow breath. They hurried into the passage without a word, and only when they were well away from the throne room did Nastasia speak. "Nikolai, my dream. Saint Oleksandr offered me a warning too."

    "What did he say?" Nikolai urged.

    "He said he fears that one day I'll be called Nastasia the Cursed."

    Nikolai paused and drew her into a tight embrace, hooking his chin atop her head. "Whatever is coming, we'll be ready. I promise." Nastasia nodded but her silence told him enough. She didn't believe him, and he couldn't blame her. He didn't believe himself either.