That night, we stay in an abandoned manor house, the walls covered with murals of the family that once lived here. It’s as deserted as everything else, and I slump in a wing-backed chair near the fireplace as Saemon wanders through the rooms and looks for treasures. I’m too tired and shaky to even attempt to get away. The fire in the hearth is warm, at least, and even if there’s nothing to eat, the chair is comfortable enough.

Corlath and Jarvo return a few hours later with bad news. “Nothing to eat again,” Jarvo says. “At this rate we’re gonna starve before we ever make it to the capital.”

Saemon doesn’t look overly concerned. I watch as he pulls my little jeweled knife from his belt and holds it out to Jarvo. “Go kill my horse. He’s on his last legs anyhow. He can be dinner.”

I’m sickened at how much the two men light up—and I think of that poor horse, who’s walked so faithfully in the mud and driving rain, carrying us. It probably deserves better than being dinner to these three cretins. My mind flashes back to last night and the half-rotted carcass in the stable and how they’d tried to eat it…and the smell…

I make it three steps before I puke.

“Are you going to keep doing that all the way to the capital?” Saemon asks, visibly annoyed.

“I told you I was sick,” I manage between nauseated gasps. I lie on the floor, on cool wooden floorboards. As I wait for the nausea to abate, Saemon moves closer. Instead of helping me, he nudges the corner of an expensive-looking rug away from me. All heart, that one. “Can I have some water?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

That piece of dragon shite. Gritting my teeth, I glare up at him.

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, studying me. “You said you were fine with your medicine.”

“That was before your goons drank half of it. I only have one dose left.”

“Mmm. What happens when you run out?”

I gesture at myself, as if to say this.

“Are you going to die on us?” he asks.

“Trying not to. Water?”

With a sigh, he tosses his water-skin down to me. It lands on my stomach with an unpleasant thunk and makes me sick anew. That prick. I manage a few dry heaves before I take a few sips of water. The liquid helps, and I roll onto my back, waiting for things to settle.

As I do, I realize I can hear voices outside. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I know from the timbre of the voices that it’s the men…and they’re arguing. I move closer to the window in the manor house. Unlike the cottages with the shutters, this is an arrow slit high in the brickwork, and it’s carrying their voices directly to me.

“I don’t like this,” Jarvo is saying. “She’s a lady. We can’t leave her.”

“She’s dying,” Saemon’s voice is flat, emotionless. “You really want to show up at Lios with a dead princess on your hands? They’ll hang your guts from the castle gates.”

“Maybe if we get some food into her,” Corlath says. “We’re going to have horse meat⁠—”

“And she’ll puke it up right on you. It won’t stay down. She’s got one dose of her medicine left and she’s dead after that. You think they’ll welcome us with food? You think they’ll welcome us with anything but a pike up the arse?”

Corlath and Jarvo murmur something too low for me to hear.

I need a weapon if they’re going to try and kill me. I glance around the room. I don’t see anything useful—Saemon would have taken anything that looked valuable or like a weapon. There’s some knitting left in a basket by the fire, but maybe that will have to do. Getting to my feet, I wobble back to the chair by the hearth, feeling weak and useless. The needles are wooden and thick, but I’ll drive one through Saemon’s ballsack if I have to. I slide it into my sleeve.

The moment I do, the door opens and I hear footsteps. I close my eyes, feigning placidity near the fire. The men approach my chair, and then the footsteps stop. I open an eye.

Corlath and Saemon stand nearby, regarding me. Corlath looks uncomfortable, but there’s a hard intensity to Saemon’s eyes that worries me.

“Where’s Jarvo?” I ask. Seeing as he was the only one that didn’t want to kill me, that makes him my new best friend.

Corlath gives Saemon an uneasy look.

“He left,” Saemon replies.

Uh oh. Does “left” mean that they killed him? “Is he all right?”

Saemon shrugs. He moves closer to my chair, and I instinctively press back against the cushions.

“She still looks pretty alive to me,” Corlath whispers, eyeing Saemon. “We could have a bit of fun with her now. While she’s still warm.”

“Mmm.” Saemon reaches out and touches a lock of my dark hair, picking it up from my shoulder and rubbing it thoughtfully.

What in the Gray God’s realm? They’re not even bothering to hide their intentions. I jerk away from Saemon’s touch, even though it makes me dizzy. The shadows stretch and dance behind them, which means I’m probably about to faint again. “Don’t touch me.”

“I think she’s weak enough that she’ll put up just enough of a fight to make things interesting,” Saemon says to Corlath. “I get to go first, though. You can hold her down for me.”

An outraged sound escapes me, and when Corlath grabs me by the shoulders and jerks me up from the chair, I push at him, trying to free the knitting needle from my sleeve. He grins down at me, all cruelty⁠—

—and then his head turns.

And turns.

And turns completely around, the bones crunching, as shadows swallow him.

I scream, the chair tipping backward and taking me with it as Saemon bolts for the door. There’s no defending his friend, no fighting back. He runs like a coward, and I watch dizzily as he sprints across the manor house, the floorboards loud with his hurried steps.

As I watch from my vantage point on my back, the shadows swirl again and I catch a flash of gray wing and sweeping horns. Green eyes flash as muscular arms lock around Saemon’s shoulders and he flings him to the floor with a crash.

“You dare,” Nemeth growls, the sound inhuman. “You dare to touch my mate?”

Saemon crawls backward, scurrying like a rat to get away. “No—never⁠—”

“I heard every filthy word come out of your mouth,” my Fellian snarls. He stalks forward toward his prey, his wings flared and menacing. “I heard your plans. You were going to harm her. While she was still warm, you said. And then you were going to cut her throat and leave her here. You thought her weak and useless to you.” He smiles, showing deadly white fangs. “She’s not weak, because she has me.”

And before I can take a breath, Nemeth plants a huge hand on Saemon’s head and crushes it like a grape.

Blood spatters over him, over the floor.

I gasp.

He turns to me, his eyes feral. “Did they touch you?”

“You’re alive,” I breathe. Hot tears flood my eyes. By the gods, I’m crying all the time now. “Oh Nemeth, you’re alive.” I kick my legs in the air, trying to get up from the chair.

He strides to the fallen chair, where I’m still on my back and feebly trying to right myself, and plucks me out of its confines. He pulls me into the air, holding me by my shoulders tightly, but it doesn’t hurt. His wild gaze searches my face, over my body. “Did they touch you?” he demands again, and his wings shiver so violently it’s clear he’s about to lose control.

“Nemeth. I’m all right.” I search his face. “Are…are you?”

My Fellian groans. He crushes me against his chest, holding me tight. One hand cradles the back of my head and he shudders, clasping me to him. I’ve never been so enveloped by him, not even when he cocoons his wings around us. “Candra. My Candra.”

“I’m a little mad at you,” I tease weakly. “Here you are, killing those pieces of dragon shite before I had the chance. Unfair.”

He just clasps me tighter, his fingers digging into my hair, as if he can somehow twine his claws into my locks and hold me forever. “I’m here,” he says in a tight voice. “I’m here, and no one’s going to hurt you.”