With a cloak over her shoulders and Sebastian at her side, Alicia only gets a passing glance from the guards as well as a knowing smirk. She finds no qualms with the fact Sebastian has sought comfort in women, a part of her is glad he managed to seek comfort at all, and it certainly makes it easy to walk through the palace halls that she had hoped to never set foot in again.

She'd dream about this place as a child when her stomach was aching and her blanket was scratchy against her cold flesh. She'd dream about the riches, the abundance of food, the pretty dresses, the horses that would ride to those domes in the utmost splendour, and she'd fall asleep with tears dampening her lashes, knowing someone like her would never find her way into such a place.

Now those dreams are nightmares. Twisted and wretched and far more honest than what her childish fantasies made her believe.

"The duke will be in his office," Sebastian says, his cane a rapid tap on the polished marble. "I suggest we just ambush him."

"I trust you're not leading me into a trap," Alicia says with a huff of a laugh though a part of her fears such a thing could be true.

Sebastian glances down at her, a frown marring his features. "I may have my reservations about the rebels, Alicia, but... not you. Never you. I know you want what's best for Muovea considering your upbringing."

He doesn't know the half of her upbringing, but Alicia nods anyway.

The door they stop outside is one she knows, and one she always tried to avoid. The grand duke's office, hidden behind a dark oak door. Light trickles from the sliver of space at the bottom of it, telling them that someone is inside.

Alicia closes her eyes for a breath before they push open the door and enter together, side by side.

Behind his desk sits the grand duke, glasses perched on his narrow nose as his green eyes flick over the papers before him. As she looks at him, studies his slicked back, greying hair and his thin lips, Alicia can only see her pa cradled in her arms, his blood drenching her hands, sticky between her fingers.

This man wanted her dead, but he instead took her father from her, a man that sought redemption just as she is. He'll never get to find that sort of peace anymore.

And now she has to beg this monster for help.

She should just end his life, end this mess right here and now before it gets worse. Avenge her pa. Please. But she ignores that part of her that wants to see vengeance and instead listens to the part that wants to see Muovea survive the coming horde.

Sergey Volkov glances up at them, a flicker of surprise passing across his features before he tilts his head and the emotion is gone. "I'd ask how the filth got back within these walls," the grand duke murmurs, "but your time here will be brief." He opens his mouth to shout for the guards, but Alicia steps forward and raises her hand.

"Wait," she says, meeting his eye. "The key at Korvik Keep. I have it. Along with your journal."

Rising from his seat, Sergey looks down his nose at her but doesn't say anything.

"You use your soldiers and guards to help hold back the hundreds of Grey Bloods marching to these walls—saving Muovea—and I give you both."

"You're lying."

"About what? You know I stole the journal. There's enough in there to damn your loyalty to this country."

The only indication Alicia gets that Sergey hears her is the flaring of his nostrils.

"Your soldiers or your power. I'd take the offer, Grand Duke." Like Sergey hides his emotions, Alicia does too when all she really wants to do is vomit all over his plush rug.

If he doesn't take it... No, Alicia won't think about that. She continues to stare him in the eye and will him to make the right choice.

"Your mother told me you might find a way to seek me out," Sergey says, recovering from his initial shock. He rolls his shoulders back and stands to his full height. He clicks his fingers, like he's just remembering something. "You know she was the one who handed you over, right? That set a trap for you in order to kill you?"

Alicia swallows, her mouth painfully dry.

"Do you know why she did that?"

She can't bring herself to answer.

"Because she knows you and your like will be the death of Muovea. These walls will hold, so no, I won't be giving you my soldiers. But you can give me the locations of the other exiles and of Samantha Safronov if you want to walk out of this palace alive."

Spine stiffening, Alicia draws in a breath as what little hope she had clung to is crushed beneath the grand duke's heel.

"My sister is beyond the walls," Sebastian seethes at Alicia's side.

"No, I don't think she is. Considering one of my soldiers that you ambushed by the gate tells me he saw the princess and other exiles come inside."

"Why do you want her?" Alicia manages to ask, even as panic wraps itself around her throat and threatens to steal her air.

"She's the one who can save Muovea. Not you and your grand ideas of peace and freedom. Where is she?"

Alicia steps back, her shoulder bumping into Sebastian's. She needs to flee while she has the chance, but the fact that the grand duke is the only one who can offer them the army they need keeps her frozen.

What happens to Muovea if she fails for a second time?

She'll have to find out as the duke shouts for the guards and she turns and runs, bursting through the door to the office and out into the darkened hall.

These corridors were a daunting maze, every corner hiding behind it the chance for her to encounter the person who recognised her as the Raven, or who saw her as the terrified girl she was beneath her layers of silks. So, she learnt them. She ingrained them into her instincts just like the feel of a gun or a blade or lacing up her dress without her ma's help. And when she had learnt every corner and stretch and hidden door, she began to use it as just another weapon in her arsenal.

Alicia finds herself in a wing of the palace she recognises, even breaths puffing past her lips though as her stomach churns and her fingers tingle. She shoves her way into a room and closes the door behind her with barely a click. Stepping back, she stares at the door but hears no footsteps beyond to signify any pursuers. Then she turns and the memories are a sharp pang in her chest.

The dust is thick in this place, silence settling with it, as though the palace refuses to breathe here, refuses to live. She doesn't blame the Light for being too fearful to tread here.

She breathes, dust coating her tongue, tasting of death and sorrow, tasting of the things she holds in her heart, the things she tried to forget as an exile. The dust tastes of the promises she broke, the promises she's now trying to fulfill.

Reyna Safronov's room is covered in white sheets, ghosts where once sat brightly embroidered furniture, the bold colours that the Queen of Muovea favoured. This was her space, though the lilac scent of her soap has long since withered.

Alicia takes another step, entering the space of the dead. The blood the queen had spilled that day four months ago has been scrubbed clean or cut away, leaving no trace of the graceless fall of the graceful woman.

The reminder of the things the grand duke has wrought is what urges her through her pain.

Alicia approaches the bookshelf and shoves it aside, revealing a dark passageway beyond. So many times she's used such passageways in her efforts to collude with the queen, to whisper their aspirations in the dead of night while the palace slept. It's on her shoulders to make certain the queen's efforts aren't in vain.

Slipping into the passageway and closing the bookshelf behind her, she walks, trailing her fingertips along the stone walls. Her breathing is loud in her ears, but she ignores it and closes her eyes, feeling her way through the pitch black darkness.

Multiple exits split off around her, leading to other rooms in the palace or dead ends. She spent too many hours skulking through these corridors, mapping them out in her mind.

Finding the door she's looking for, Alicia eases it open to peer through the crack she makes. She slips into the room and closes the door behind her. It becomes a seamless wall again, the colourful wallpaper of cloudy skies hiding the entrance.

Alicia faces the dark room, the hearth by the sitting area crackling, waiting for the occupant to come back. Alicia can only be thankful they're not here yet. She approaches the other room where a large bed is and draws in a breath as she slips her hand into her satchel.

She was a fool to bring it with her, but the safest hands this book belongs in are her own. Taking out the thick journal, Alicia rubs her thumbs over the leather cover before setting it on the bed, half tucked under the pillow.

The safest hands may be her own, but as an exile, there's only so much influence she has anymore. Sometimes she has no choice but to place her trust in others.

As she steps back, staring at that journal and the secrets held within, she understands what the grand duke has just done. Refusing to give her an army to fight the Grey Bloods, he's doomed them all.

But she's not helpless. That journal is more than evidence, it's more than the duke's thoughts and schemes. It's her hope. It's her redemption. It always has been.

Sergey Volkov was searching for a way to control the Ghuls, an army of immortal warriors. She knows they're real, she knows the Faceless Queen once used them, and she knows there's a reason the grand duke needs Samantha Safronov.

With an idea forming and dread settling in the pit of her stomach, Alicia escapes the palace with a new plan; control the Ghuls and destroy the Grey Bloods. Fire with fire. Dark magic against dark magic.

She almost feels the Reaper's chuckle whispering against her cheek.