Without another word, Tievel fled the library, leaving me to face Astreia's... wrath? Disappointment? I really didn't know what emotions my dearest friend experienced as she stared at me. She didn't love Tievel. I knew that much.

"Go to your room," she said at last. "I won't need you this evening, as I'll be required to be with the royal family."

"Astreia–"

Her chin jutted up. "You won't be welcome there."

Then she left. Those flat, unemotional words wounded me far more than any insult she could have hurled at me, but that was the danger of friendship. Years of late nights giggling and crying and sharing secrets equipped her to be my greatest ally and my deadliest foe.

I refused to head to my chambers. Not that there was any genuine amusement outside my room.

Over the next few weeks, the nobles would return from their summer estates, many of them finding the long, harsh winter months more endurable within the castle walls. Then, every night would have some entertainment—often dancing or singing—and almost always ending with over half the inhabitants soused on Goblin wine and canoodling in the corners.

A scullery maid dipped her head when she scurried by me. Her face reflected the usual deference I received from the other household servants. Nothing about her mannerisms suggested she knew what had transpired earlier. No concern or suspicion. No overzealous rushing or trembling.

In fact, the castle was quiet, even for an autumn evening. Almost tomb-like. Reaching my favorite alcove, I settled onto the window seat and pulled my knees to my chest as I stared through the window overlooking the winding Lorvien river. Long ago, the first king of Edresh braved the frothing waters of the great river to build the castle on this eyot. Great bridges strengthened by magic connected the island to the capital city of Mirish.

People came and went daily, some seeking an audience with the king, others bringing or taking goods. The bridges only closed during times of war, leaving the city to take the brunt of any invasion. Not once had it fallen to invaders, not even during the last stand of Araphel.

From this window, I could see the forest that bordered the river and separated Edresh from Estrellum. The Vesper. With every passing year, it grew thicker and more tangled until finally not even a sliver of sunshine pierced the canopy, turning the world beneath into a twisted place of darkness.

Most who lived here pretended it did not exist. Like the world ended at the Lorvien River. The King encouraged this, building his palace and its gardens to block the view. But there were those who swore that on stormy nights, the icy winds carried whispers from the forest across the river. Whispers filled with threats and a promise that a day of reckoning was coming for the King.

Was today that day? I hoped not. At least for Tievel's sake. His grandfather was the only person in his family I ever heard him speak about with fondness. Without him, there was no buffer between the prince and his parents. He would have no one. Not even a wife who loved him.

Eyes prickling, I blinked to clear them. Astreia made no secret of her disdain for their betrothal, calling herself a royal broodmare chosen for her power and bloodline. Three years had passed since the announcement, yet, from time to time, my heartache felt as fresh as the day I learned of the marriage. That alone was enough to turn my tears from ones of sadness to ones of rage. I was no longer a foolish fourteen-year-old girl, so why could I not let him go?

"Crying for the king, sweetheart?"

A lithe figure swathed in black dropped from above, landing with a knee and fist planted on the cushion in front of me. Only black rimmed amber eyes were visible through an opening of his head wrap, but I swear I could tell he was smirking behind the cloth.

"A Reaper," I gasped, scanning the area outside of the alcove for anyone who might see or overhear us, but we were alone. This spot was at the end of a hallway, far from anyone's rooms, which is why it was my favorite.

He froze, then inched forward and inhaled deeply. Those strange eyes darkened. "A Deathsinger."

The name sent a jolt through me, but it wasn't the fear I expected. The King hated Araphel and its death magic. But above all else, he hated the Deathsingers. In the early years after the war ended, Wardens accused countless women of being members of that dark race. Their skulls lined the palace walls to this day.

I should be terrified that the Reaper thought I was one, but the name settled like a weight on my shoulders. Heavy to bear, but it fit, and with that thought came genuine fear.

"Do you wish to leave with my soul this evening as well as the King's?" I whispered. "I–I'm not that thing! Why would you call me that?"

"Your kind is known to us," he answered cryptically, dropping my hand at last before hopping down from the window seat.

Back pressed against the chilled glass, I watched him move. His cloak rippled as he walked, blending with shadows until it grew difficult to tell where they began and the Reaper ended. A perfect tool for Death's assassins. Strange how the High Elves feared Deathsingers so much, but rarely gave thought to Reapers. They were the true harbingers of Death, often arranging accidents or slitting throats when no other means were available. Unconscionable creatures. That's what they were.

"So, why were you crying?" He spun around so fast it made me dizzy as his cloak billowed out and blended into the darkness until it appeared as if his eyes floated in midair.

"That's none of your concern." The tremble in my voice was all but gone. This Reaper was nothing like I expected. There was something almost boyish about him. A curiosity about the world he found himself in, and it was all I could do to stop myself from asking questions. "Are you here to finish what you started?"

"Why are you so sure I was the one who wounded the King?"

Was this really happening? Was I going to sit here and converse with a Reaper like I would any other elf in the palace? I could not go so far as to say he didn't seem dangerous. There was too much power rippling through him and off him. It was tangible, crackling in the air as he passed.

But I did not feel as if I was in danger.

"He is more powerful than any other High Elf. They would not dare to strike against him, but a Reaper could and would. To avenge Araphel. To consume his soul."

He turned, balancing on the heel of one boot and swinging the other leg wide. His cloak billowed out and settled slowly around his form as he stilled. His eyes shined with anger.

"Is that what he's told your people? That we are the monsters in the dark?"

The clipping of heeled boots echoed down the hall, and I pulled away from the glass so I could look down the hallway. The figure was little more than an outline from this distance, but I recognized the swagger and bright hair.

"Go, now," I insisted, shooing him into the shadows. If anyone in this palace could challenge a Reaper, it was Tievel, and for some reason, I did not wish to see the Reaper come to harm tonight. Not even if he had killed a king.

"What have we here?" The Reaper asked, squatting to peer into my face. "A blush. Perhaps your tears weren't for a king, but a prince."

"Morana," Tievel called.

"Careful, little one," the Reaper whispered.

"Morana, who are you talking to?" Tievel demanded, halting in front of me with his hands on his hips just seconds after the Reaper vanished.

Gaping at the spot where the Reaper had been, I tried to imagine the power it would take to move your body from place to another. Invisibility was one thing. Transmitting was a power known only to the gods.

"M-myself," I stuttered in a poor attempt at recovery. The prince was no idiot. He only appeared to be consumed with himself. It made it easier to watch the world with no one knowing.

"It sounded like a man," he accused.

"And?" I challenged.

He scowled, dropping onto the cushion recently vacated by the Reaper. Grabbing my ankles, he tugged until my legs lay across his lap. Soft fingers kneaded into tender calf muscles and the sore arches of my feet, drawing a moan from my lips that only incited him to work more diligently. In the haze of pleasure, I compared the heat of his touch to the odd coldness of the Reaper's, making me wonder what manner of creature hid beneath the layers of black linen and leather.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he muttered, his face downcast and his eyes hidden by his hair—now the green of tender leaves in spring. "I haven't seen you in so long, and you acted so indifferent. I thought we were friends, and I don't have so many of them I can afford to lose one."

Unable and unwilling to stop myself, I touched his shoulder, drawing his attention away from my legs and to my face. Lips curving a teasing smile, I said, "I have kissed none of my other friends."

He did not smile back. His blue eyes darkened. "I am sorry for that. I should not have put you in that position, but I will not lie and say I do not think of doing it again."

Pulling my legs back, I scooted as far away as possible before I did something regrettable. Like demand he follow through on those thoughts. This was the boy I adored—not the smirking, grasping asshat in the library, and seeing him here, appearing so vulnerable, made it harder to remember why we could never be.

"Damn it, Morana." He banged the back of his head on the glass. "I would give anything to be in control of my fate, but all I see before me is a paved path to the future my father has arranged. People used to tell him how special I was. They were in awe of my power, but then Father realized he could do better. I'm nothing but a stud horse for him. Now I'm going to lose my grandfather. He is the only person in my life who ever gave a damn about me."

"Oh, Tievel," I whispered, fighting against the urge to reach for him as his voice cracked. My heart broke for him, but in that pain, guilt mingled. I'd let the person responsible for his grandfather's demise escape.

"Poor, poor prince," Astreia cooed from a few feet away. Neither of us had heard her approach. She would not look at me, but I could see the tension in her willowy form. "It must be terrible to have all the responsibility of a rutting animal. A bit of fun and you're done. Meanwhile, I have to carry the wee beasty, and I know it will be no fun at all."

"Enough," I snapped, not interested in listening to them bicker. At least the times before when I endured their shared vitriol of one another, they'd both been intoxicated on Kanna. I couldn't imagine the ruckus they could cause sober.

"I should go. The Healers say it could be any moment. I just wanted a moment of peace." He smiled at me. "And I do believe I found something better."

He slipped off the window seat and bowed before Astreia, but it was so shallow it was clear it was a mockery of respect. She looked down her nose at him, sniffed, then looked away. It was such a princess thing to do. If the situation hadn't been so serious, I might have giggled. But Tievel's next words erased all traces of humor.

"Astreia, stay with Morana. They've called the Winter Woman."

I sucked air through my teeth and recoiled. Astreia's starlight skin flickered and dimmed. No one understood the King's bond with the strange Winter Woman. Skin and hair paler than fresh snow, eyes black all the way around, and thin bloodless lips—she was a thing designed by nightmares. Astreia and I had a single run in with her as children, and it was with good reason Tievel warned the princess to stay away.

We watched Tievel walk away, and when he disappeared around the corner, Astreia whirled to

face me. "Really, Morana. Him? All this time?"

"You know, I came here for some peace," I snarled, crossing my arms over my chest. "I think I'll return to my room."

"Wait," my friend said, her tone softening as she grabbed my arm. She gave a gentle squeeze in an unspoken apology before adding, "Please stay there. I'm not being hateful this time. It's not safe to wander the palace this evening."

The Reaper. I'd encountered him and lived to—what? Add it to my list of secrets? I could never admit to anyone I'd met an Araphelian and did not call for the guards.

"Is he really not healing? He won't make it?"

Astreia's eyes held no hint of tears as she nodded, but they were not expected. She had less reason than most to weep for the king, and I suspected not many of the lower elves would cry for a man they called a tyrant in whispers.

"The Reaper's blade struck true. He will be gone before the morning, and Brinley shall become king. The first change in the monarchy in over four centuries."

I shuddered, trying to imagine Tievel's father as the king. Where his father started wars and demolished kingdoms, he would drink in excess and bankrupt us all. Time would tell us which was worse.

"And–" Astreia pulled me closer and whispered against my ear. "Brinley doesn't think the Reaper was alone. He's called for the Hunt."

"The Hunt?" We clung to one another, and the Reaper's words echoed in my mind. Still, I needed to hear her say it out loud.

"Yes. You know what that means? There's a Deathsinger in Edresh."