I blink up at the lattice of desiccated branches, sucking in air.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I manage to lever myself to my hands and knees. Some functioning part of my brain notes the way my arms shake, threatening to give out at any moment. Shock, probably. Blood loss. I don’t have time to catalog the extent of the damage or assess what hurts.

Instead, I claw my way forward because fuck letting Alexios win. I’m so close to the end. Evander is waiting for me in his cell.

I promised I would come back.

You didn’t survive all that to give up now, I snarl at myself. Just a little further. Crawl if you have to.

I’ve earned this.

Ten steps. Twenty. Each inch feels like a mile. My blood leaves a dark trail behind me—proof I was here, proof I didn’t give up. The edges of my vision flicker, but I grit my teeth and shove it back because—

Something glows ahead. It’s such an incongruous sight that I stumble, certain that I’m hallucinating. But no, a wooden box sits nestled among the roots with pale sigils pulsing along its edges.

I all but fall on it. It takes me three tries to flip the latch, my fingers shaking too badly to grip it properly. But finally, finally, the lid creaks open. And there, nestled in a bed of velvet, is a heavy iron key.

I curl my fist around it and shut my eyes in exhaustion.

“Alexios. It’s done.”

For a long moment, there is only the creak of branches and the rustling of the leaves.

Then, a whisper of feathers. A familiar thrum of ancient power.

When I force my eyes open, Alexios towers over me, his wings spread wide and blocking out what little light filters through the skeletal canopy. That burning stare fixes on me.

“Up,” he tells me. Quiet, inexorable.

And gods help me, I obey. I lock my knees and shove to my feet because he commanded it. Because the alternative is the Void.

I choke down the bile at the back of my throat. When the gray recedes and my vision clears, Alexios is still standing there watching me.

“You look like something even the crows wouldn’t pick over. Like a carcass left to bloat in a ditch.”

I spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “I hate you. With everything… in me.”

“Good.” He smiles. “That hatred will keep your heart beating when your body wants to quit.”

Alexios scoops me into his arms. The movement jars my injured ribs, and I bite my tongue against a scream. His massive crimson and black wings unfurl with a snap.

The flight passes in a blur of agony and half-consciousness. When we land in the gardens, he sets me down on the palace steps, but keeps one hand on my arm to steady me.

“You’re not done,” he says.

Something in his voice makes me go cold. I struggle to focus on his face. “What… do you mean?”

“You thought finding that key was your test?” His laugh is cruel. “Oh no. That was the prelude. This is the real trial.”

Dread pools in my gut. “What—”

“I want you to walk through my palace, past every single courtier tortured by your family. Every demi whose parents, children, family, and lovers were slaughtered.”

My stomach lurches. “You want everyone to see me broken.”

He grabs my chin, forcing me to meet that burning gaze. “I want them to have a good, long look at what it takes to earn the Wolf.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m practical.” His thumb traces my jawline. “You’re a Devaliant who tied your soul to a future god-king of Scillari. Everything has a price, Princess. Time to pay up.”

I try to pull away, but his grip is implacable. “Is that all? Or do you want to kick me while I’m down, too?”

“Oh, I want countless things from you, Bryony Devaliant. But right now, I’ll settle for watching you drag yourself through a palace full of gods who would gladly wear your skin as a trophy. They can’t touch you—this Claim forbids it.” He brushes his thumb over Evander’s glowing mark. “But if you fall, you’ll stay down. If you crawl, they’ll watch. And if you’re strong enough to reach the dungeons and turn that key, maybe the Wolf will piece what’s left of you back together if your heart doesn’t give out first.”

He releases me, head cocked. Waiting.

Asshole.

I swallow down every foul insult I’m thinking and jerk my chin in a nod.

“Remember,” he says, “you chose this. Begged for it, even. So don’t you dare waste my time by collapsing in the front hall. Make every step count.”

Then he’s gone in a whisper of dark feathers, leaving me alone and bleeding on his doorstep.

Go. Finish it.

The first step nearly kills me. My legs buckle, and my vision blurs from the pain. The second isn’t much better. But I force my ravaged body forward because I refuse to lose.

The runes on the massive door flare and it swings open on silent hinges. And I’m pathetically grateful I’m spared the indignity of trying to work the handles with my mangled hands.

The entry hall stretches before me, packed with courtiers. Every head turns. They focus on me with varying degrees of disgust and fascination.

I let them look. Let them drink in every laceration, every broken bone. All the fractured parts of me laid bare for their entertainment. Because I’ve made a study of unmaking and contorting myself into whatever grotesque shape is required of me. To be broken on the altar of someone else’s need.

What’s one more flaying, after all this?

Drip. Drip.

My blood makes perfect circles on the white marble. I count steps and breaths. The thud of my heart, the distance to the dungeon stairs. I shut out the whispers, the laughter, the delicate gags, the snide comments. All of it.

Because this is a thing I’ve learned. Sometimes, the only way through a moment is to put your head down and endure it. No one’s coming to help you.

Sometimes, all you can do is keep moving.

“Filthy Devaliant bitch,” someone hisses from my right.

Not Vartenan. Not human. They hate my family name more than anything.

A wet glob of spit lands on my cheek. Then another. And another. Flecking my hair, my shoulders. I keep my eyes forward, jaw clenched, and I keep moving.

The whispers grow to a roar. More spit. More taunts.

“Ten gold pieces says she doesn’t make it to the dungeons,” someone calls out.

No one can touch you, Alexios had said.

Another glob of saliva lands on my neck.

I don’t look. Don’t flinch. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me crack. My vision narrows to the floor in front of me, the next doorway, the next hall, down another corridor. Past more and more eyes burning with hatred.

My legs give out at the top of the spiral staircase leading down to the dungeons. A guard watches me, leaning against the wall, his face bored.

“He won’t want what’s left of you,” he calls after me as I descend.

Fuck. You.

Because I promised. I promised I’d come back.

I collapse and crawl. My hands leave bloody prints on each step. Halfway down, I manage to stand again, and I keep going because the alternative isn’t an option. When I finally reach the bottom, the corridor stretches ahead. Just a few more steps. I can see the door to his cell now.

Ten steps. Five. Three more. One—

“Devaliant.”

I crumple just outside the cell.

“Devaliant.”

Through my unsteady vision, I see his golden wings straining against chains, those amber eyes burning with fury and desperation.

“Bryony. Open it. Open it now.”

Yes. The key. Have to… Have to unlock it.

My fingers shake so badly that it takes three tries to find the keyhole. Metal shrieks as the bolt slides free, and I use the last of my strength to push the door open and crawl inside.

All I hear is the rattle of his chains as consciousness slips away.