Arran's legs were on the brink of giving out from fatigue, so he hoped the palace beds were every bit as comfortable and luxurious as he had always imagined them to be. The steady swing of princess Serafina's dark blue braid hypnotized his mind, to the point where he no longer registered their route and just followed that braid wherever it went. The princess tugged at his hand, just as energetic and purposeful as she had been at the black market hours ago.

Or so it seemed. Her golden eyes had lost some of their brilliance and her caramel skin looked pale in the moonlight. Fine wrinkles disfigured her forehead. She was an impressive figure, he'd give her that, with much more class and sophistication than the girls in his district, but her temper overshadowed that beauty to some extent. Arran made a face as he remembered how she had shouted at him the first time they had met, and again when he had re-emerged from the tunnels in Zohra's house.

Gods, at one point, he'd fantasized about throttling her for the way she mocked his ignorance. The triumphant glimmer in her eyes had told him she was well aware that she had driven him close to madness. Still, her behavior toward him had turned a hundred-and-eighty degrees afterwards, and now she was offering him refuge in the royal palace itself.

"Princess," he croaked.

She stopped in the middle of a dark alley, the palace's contours still a dark shadow in the distance. Raising an eyebrow, she stared into his eyes in that way of hers that made him feel exposed, as if she could read all of his secrets on his face. "My name is not 'princess'," she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "You may as well call me by the same name everyone else does."

"All right, Serafina."

She tsked. "Inna."

He blinked. "Inna, it is. I feel like we've been walking for almost an hour already. Why aren't we any closer to the palace yet?" He jerked his chin in the direction of the cluster of moonlit towers.

Her hand cramped around his own and a muscle twitched near her left eye, as though she fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. "The disused service entrance through which we'll sneak inside is connected to the tunnels under the city. The same tunnels you used tonight to get to Onshra's temple. There are no access points in the Gold District and since we'd better avoid the Silver District given recent events, we'll have to go to the Stone District instead." She gave him a look that said, Does that satisfy your curiosity?

He nodded and she started walking again—or striding, since Inna never just walked—dragging him along. Neither of them spoke again until Inna stopped at one of the bathhouses the Stone District was so famous for. She rattled a rusty iron gate attached to the side of the building, which opened with a loud screech that startled an owl in a nearby tree. The bird hooted an indignant protest before flying off into the night.

Inna had already moved on, however, leading Arran down a steep staircase. At the bottom, a stone archway interrupted the wave-like patterns in the bricks. Inna passed through with the confidence of someone who had done so a hundred times before, and he wondered just how often the princess broke the rules to explore the city without her father's knowledge.

Based on the little experience he had with Primsharah's opulent bathhouses, Arran had expected mosaics and the sweet aroma of bath oil. Yet, the room they entered looked much older than the rest of the building: the floor showed large cracks and the walls were dank and covered with moss. He saw no exits except for the one they had just come through and another, collapsed archway on the opposite wall, where debris blocked their way.

"What is this place?" he asked.

A small smile played on Inna's lips. "During the First Magical War, both the Uniformists and the Exclusivists dug a large, complicated network of underground tunnels along the entire Nahiri river, so that their spies and assassins could move around without being noticed by the enemy."

His eyebrows knitted together. "Well, I may not agree with the Exclusivists' ideas of sorcerers being superior to non-magical people, but I guess I owe them at least partially for providing me with the ideal escape route tonight. Two centuries later, and the tunnels still serve illicit operations. How did they even build all of this without drawing attention?"

She shrugged. "Legend says the tunnels were built by ten sorcerers over a span of ten days, but the truth is that nobody really knows. There are no records or plans of the construction left. Even after all this time, it's still a well-kept secret."

Arran whistled. "Listening to you makes me wonder if you've swallowed every history textbook in the world, princess. I mean that as a compliment, by the way."

Her elegant face broke into a wide grin. An odd, fluttering sensation tweaked his stomach in response. "If you're forced to spend your entire life within the same walls, books and stories are the only things that keep boredom at bay." She tapped her foot against one of the stone tiles. "Would you mind lending me a hand with this?"

Together, they wiggled the stone slab out of place, revealing a rusty ladder. Arran straightened his back and gestured at the dark, rectangular hole. "Ladies first."

They navigated through the tunnels in silence. Inna had conjured up a tiny flame in the palm of her hand, their only light source in this parallel, underground world. Arran watched it lick at her skin without burning her, envious of her evident confidence with magic. She'd probably had a dozen tutors throughout her childhood to educate her on the magical arts, whereas he had only an intuitive knowledge of it. A glimmer of hope sparked in his heart at the thought that maybe the princess would be willing to teach him more, if he'd ever muster up the courage to ask her.

Their environment didn't change the closer they came to the palace. Arran scoffed at himself. What had he expected? Gold bricks and chandeliers? A rolled out carpet? The smell of roses in the air, because surely Primsharah's nobility didn't poop in the same way their humble subjects did?

He stumbled when Inna extended an arm in front of his chest to block his way. She raised a mocking eyebrow, but instead of seizing the opportunity to comment on his clumsiness, she grabbed his chin and turned his head in the right direction.

The tunnel ended in a long flight of slippery-looking steps ascending to a single door. So there indeed was a difference between nobles and commoners after all, even down here. Ladders for the poor, stairs for the rich. The familiar knot of bitterness tightened in his chest, but he shook it off.

The endless succession of corridors that followed made Arran's head spin until he gave up trying to remember their route. At some point, Inna whispered at him to turn himself invisible and he obeyed, bending the light around him in the same natural, effortless way Inna had created fire in the tunnels. He stayed at her heels while she paraded through the palace hallways and greeted servants and nobles alike, although the latter category maintained a scarce presence at this ungodly hour.

At last, just when his feet were starting to hurt really bad, Inna threw open a set of double doors and marched into what looked like a whole villa squeezed into the palace's interior. She glimpsed over her shoulder. "You can show yourself again, now. It's safe here."

Arran lifted the spell and took in the high ceiling, the thick rug under his feet and the wallpaper that seemed more expensive than all of his family's possessions combined. "Is this your room?"

"My apartment," she corrected. A faint blush adorned her cheeks. Arran was glad she hadn't seen where he lived.

"I thought the Shah's children all lived in the harem."

"Yes, but I'm the heir. I have privileges."

Another door flung open and a short, plump woman with graying black hair tucked up in a bun on top of her head hurried toward the princess, hands fluttering in the air like butterflies. She was dressed in the same kind of uniform he had seen the other servants wear: a wide, light blue shirt and brown drawstring pants.

"Where have you been all night?" the maid asked, dusting off the princess's clothes while she spoke. Then her hands paused and she squeezed her hazel eyes into narrow slits. "Have you been sneaking around the city again? What have you—" Her gaze landed on Arran, who waved at her with an uneasy smile. "Who is he?"

Inna stole the most casual glance in his direction. "Oh, he's just a friend I'm helping out, Tata. He'll be staying with me for a few nights, but no one in the palace can know. Can I count on your absolute discretion?" She bored her eyes into Tata's, but the maid merely huffed and gave a firm nod. Inna flashed her a broad smile. "Excellent. Thank you, Tata."

"If I were to make a list of all the things you owe me for, young lady, you'd spent a lifetime paying off your debts." The fond look in Tata's eyes was in stark contrast with her words, though. Her gaze softened even more while she took in Arran's appearance and his filthy clothes. "Dear boy, you look exhausted. Shall I prepare the bath for you while I fetch some clean clothes?"

A grateful smile softened the taut line of his lips. "I'd really appreciate that, ma'am."

"Oh, please." She gripped his elbow and led him further down the hallway. "Just call me Tata. You're Inna's guest and I'm here to serve. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

She opened a door to the most fantastic bathroom he had ever seen; even his dreams had lacked the inspiration to equal its splendor. A large, azure pool dominated the room. A thin fog of steam rose from the water, making Arran's muscles ache at the prospect of lounging in that magnificent bath until he looked like an overcooked shrimp. The mosaic on the walls displayed a scene plucked from the bottom of the sea: fish, dolphins, starfish and coral plants, even mermaids with beautiful tails in all shades of blue, green and turquoise.

Tata darted around the room, selecting small vials with bath oil from the racks and gathering towels and a light, silk bathrobe. She ushered him to a wooden partition in a corner where he could undress. He never even heard her pick up his discarded clothes; the soft click of the door falling closed behind her was the only sign of her exit.

Arran shuffled to the heated pool in his new pair of slippers. The bathrobe slid off his shoulders with the gentle stroke of a lover's touch, and he stuck a toe into the water to measure the temperature. Just perfect. Slowly, savoring every moment, he lowered himself into the pool.

His eyes closed as his body relaxed for the first time in a long, long while. Every one of his thoughts dissolved in the warm, damp air. There was a soothing comfort in washing himself with the bath oil until a flowery scent enveloped him from head to toe. He hadn't smelled like flowers since Adira and he had run into a flower stall after chasing each other in the streets as kids. Not even the light weight of the Amulet on his chest, normally a constant reminder of his bitter reality, could spoil his mood.

He forgot about all of it.

A friendly, work-hardened hand shook him awake. He shot upright and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, feeling dazed. When he turned his head, he found Tata's twinkling eyes staring into his.

"I was worried you had drowned," she joked, holding up his bathrobe.

He flushed. Tata averted her gaze while he stepped out of the pool and shrugged the robe back on. Without him asking her to, she pointed to a low bench and motioned him to sit down, after which she started drying his hair with one of the towels. Her fingers massaged his scalp with thorough expertise. The soft moan of pleasure that rolled off his tongue elicited light-hearted laughter from her.

When Arran emerged from the bathroom, he found Inna sprawled on her bed, mouth slightly open and closed eyes fluttering with dreams. Zazi lay in the curve of the princess's body, her yellow eyes observing him with curiosity.

"Uhm ..." He turned back to Tata, uncertain. "Is there another bed around here? Or a sofa? Or ..."

The maid grinned and shook her head. "She told me you can sleep next to her as long as you keep your hands to yourself. The bed is big enough."

He swallowed. "Right."

A light frown wrinkled Tata's brow. "Unless that makes you uncomfortable. In that case, I'll make up an improvised bed for you in the living room—"

"Oh no, don't bother," he said quickly. "I mean ... I just don't want to ... come across as a pervert?" He raked a nervous hand through his hair. "Gods."

"For the moon's sake, Arran, will you just come here already?" Inna's husky voice grumbled from the bed. She lifted her head to look at him, hair sleep-mussed and eyes half-lidded. "One would think you've never slept beside a girl before."

"A girl, yes, but a princess? Definitely not," he muttered while he sank down onto the mattress. Damn. This bed was heaven compared to the cot he slept in at home.

The silk sheets rustled as Inna scooted over to make room for him. He rested his head on one of the fluffy pillows, sensing her golden eyes on him. His nerves were on high alert, all too aware of her presence next to him, no matter how unbothered she seemed to be by it. Somehow, he felt that the Shah wouldn't approve of a poor commoner like him warming his daughter's bed, even if he only did so to catch up on sleep.

Inna chuckled, as though she had guessed his disturbing thoughts. "Good night, Arran. Or should I say good morning?"

Arran just pretended he had already fallen asleep.

***

He woke from the soft tickle of another person's breath in his ear. "Wake up, handsome."

Reluctantly, Arran dragged himself out of a persistent dream about onyx giants with eyes of purple lightning, fighting a yawn while he attempted to figure out whom the silky voice belonged to. Then recognition hit him full in the chest and he bolted upright, eyes wide and face pale. He wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth.

Inna stood next to the bed and watched him with her arms crossed over her chest, amused at the sight of his flustered cheeks. "There's someone here to see you."

"To see ... me?" he slurred, bewildered.

Her eyes shot up to the ceiling as if begging the gods for patience. Arran glanced around the room and stiffened when he spotted a silver-haired man in fancy attire leaning in the doorway. The man grinned at him, raising a hand in greeting.

Inna uttered a short, quiet laugh. "Arran, this is Prince Rabyatt of Rasir. He has agreed to help us with ... our problem."

Arran shot her a panicked look. "Does he know?" he whispered, too soft for the prince to hear. "About ... you know."

Inna bit her lip. "The robbery in Onshra's temple is hot news all over the city. He's heard the rumors. I'm sure he's put two and two together by now. Especially after the petition I made last week to relocate the Amulet to the palace's vaults."

"You what?"

But Inna had already turned away. She walked to a cumbersome trunk standing next to Prince Rabyatt's feet. After a quick nod on his part, she bent down and opened the lid to look inside.

The prince focused his attention back on Arran, although his words were addressed to the princess. "So, Inna, do I have to worry about competition for an engagement with you?"

Inna scoffed, head tucked into the trunk. "We're not engaged yet, princeling. Who I share my bed with is none of your concern." She winked at Arran over her shoulder.

Arran swung his legs out of bed. Heat spread across his cheeks once more as he realized he was still only wearing a bathrobe. "The princess and I are just ... We're not ..." He took a deep breath and started over. "We're not lovers."

Rabyatt's ruby eyes assessed him from the top of his head all the way down to his bare legs. "Too bad," he said, shrugging. "It could've spiced things up a little, if you know what I mean."

Inna let out a choking sound, which was followed by a dull thump and a muffled curse. Arran considered jumping out of the window to escape the prince's much too intimate gaze.

"All right, next time you decide to give me a heart attack," Inna growled, prodding in Rabyatt's chest with a threatening finger, "at least warn me beforehand so I don't bump my head into, say, a trunk's lid." She rubbed her head for emphasis.

The prince merely smiled, a gesture so charming and calculating Arran averted his gaze not to fall for it. Inna pursed her lips in disapproval.

Only now did Arran notice the round object she clutched in her arms. A sphere of sorts, by the looks of it. She caught him staring and held the sphere higher for him to have a better look at it.

"This is where we'll find our answers," she said.

He quirked a brow. "How?"

A sly, secretive smile crept up her lips. "It will show me. Just like it showed me you too," she added in a dramatic tone.

The hair on the back of Arran's neck stood on end. He decided that he didn't want to know the details. For now, he felt a lot more comfortable with handling one magical object at a time.

Rabyatt put a hand on Inna's shoulder. "I'm here if you need me." His gaze expressed no small amount of concern. Arran wondered just how dangerous it was to use that sphere. Inna gave him a tense, thin-lipped smile and closed her eyes, bowing her head.

They waited. One minute. Two. Five. Arran lost count after ten minutes and started pacing around the room, impatient and worried. Prince Rabyatt kept his lips pressed together while he watched the princess with an intent gaze. His fingers were still buried in the fabric of her dress.

Inna gasped. Arran was by her side in an instant and both men stared at her as her eyes fluttered back open. She stumbled backward at their sudden proximity, startled, but Arran caught her around the waist before she could trip over the rug. He let go of her just as abruptly, though his fingertips kept tingling for a while longer.

"Uhm ..." Inna cleared her throat. Her eyes found Arran's, large and filled with dread. He didn't like the look in them. "We need to talk. In private. Now." She threw a pointed look in Rabyatt's direction, whose handsome face creased in confusion.

"I'm afraid that will have to wait."

All three of them whirled around. Arran had a difficult time connecting the harsh, booming voice to the humble stature of the man who stood in the doorway, dressed in a white thawb and covered in so many jewels it was a miracle he still managed to stand upright. Four guards flanked him, two on either side. They cracked their knuckles, the hostile looks on their faces enough evidence of how this situation was going to end. The noble, however, only had eyes for Inna.

Arran's knees buckled. This was the Shah. The goddamn Shah himself. And he did not look happy.

Oh gods, he was dead, all right.

"Daughter."

"Father," Inna replied. Arran wasn't sure whether the Shah had detected the slight quiver in her monotonous tone. With a subtle movement, she stepped in front of him, as though she wanted to shield him from the guards. "Is there a problem?"

The Shah smiled, though his eyes remained cold as ice. "You are arrested for treason."