I go still. “A panic attack?”

“It’s a good thing the castle sent me to her,” Ramanu says slowly. I can actually feel their attention narrowing on me. “I don’t like the idea of her suffering through that alone.”

Alone. Suffering.

Because I was too damn cowardly to face her waking up, knowing she’d regret everything that happened between us. I have no illusions about the wrongs I’ve committed against her. I deserve her anger. But I care about Eve, and every time she comes to me for sex while holding so much anger, it hurts. It’s a hurt I’ll shoulder until the end of time, but I’m only mortal. Sometimes I need to retreat.

I just didn’t expect my retreat to cause Eve more pain. “What was wrong?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Ramanu’s tone gains an edge. “What happened last night? This morning?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Wrong.” They shake their head. “You may embody the overprotective-bargainer persona, but every single one of us has those same instincts. I didn’t make the deal with Eve, but you decided to put her on that dais, which means she falls under my check-ins. So you will, in fact, answer my question, Azazel.”

I have to concentrate on holding their gaze. That, more than anything, prompts me to answer honestly. “She came to me last night and wanted sex as comfort. She was a little rattled from the violence. She slept in my bed afterward.” Each sentence is stilted.

“You bloody fool.” Ramanu shakes their head. “Damn it, Azazel. You left her alone, didn’t you? Fucked her sideways, cracked her right open emotionally, and then weren’t there to catch her when she woke up feeling vulnerable.”

I flinch. “I had work to do.” The excuse feels as flimsy as mist.

“You’re afraid.”

I hold up a hand. “Stop reading my emotions.”

Ramanu scoffs and slouches back into the chair, crossing one long leg over the other. “It’s literally how I see, asshole. If you don’t want to be perceived, learn how to shield better.”

I have many skills, but shielding from Ramanu’s sight isn’t one of them. That doesn’t mean it’s comfortable to hear those truths stated so baldly. “Is she okay, Ramanu?”

“Okay is a relative term.” They shrug. “She’s angry and overwhelmed and hurt. She wasn’t struggling to draw breath when I left her, but I would have preferred to stay with her longer. Unfortunately, Rusalka has poor timing.”

It’s tempting to rush to Eve and try to talk to her, but I’m still the leader of this territory, and there are a lot of people depending on me not fucking up relations with the rest of the realm. I’m on the best terms with Rusalka, and that needs to be honored. “I’ll speak with Eve at dinner.”

Ramanu’s attention is like static against my skin. “You’re too smart to act so foolish.”

“I know.” There’s nothing else to say. Except . . . “I need Brosh found, Ramanu. I can’t fix anything until the threat is truly eliminated.”

“If you thought Brosh was the only threat, you would have eliminated him a long time ago.”

I wish that were the truth. I sigh. “Family is complicated.” And my family has been tangled up with the leadership of this territory since its founding. Most of them can see the benefit of what I’m doing, but . . . “If I go around murdering my cousins in cold blood, it will turn the entire family against me.” If that happens, then dealing with Brosh will look like playground antics.

“I don’t envy you the balancing act you’re in the midst of.” They hesitate. “The list of people I trust to handle this is smaller than I’d like.”

I know. Most of my people are happy with the changes I’ve made. The trade alliances benefit our territory where war only ripped families apart and resulted in far too many of our young adults gone far too soon. We’re longer-lived in this realm due to the magic inherent in every atom. It means those scars aren’t going away anytime in the near future.

But there are always those who want more power, who flourished in the violence of war. Some of them are louder—like Brosh and his followers—than others. It’s those that worry me. I might be willing to risk my own safety to build trust with those people, to bring them over to my way of thinking, but I would never willingly risk Eve’s safety for the same.

“There has to be someone,” I finally say. “You can oversee things, but with you leaving at any moment to chase your witch, it’s too risky to have your attention split.” Or to delay the search.

I have half a mind to command Ramanu to stay, to deal with their witch later, but that’s not an acceptable command. They haven’t made a bargain in ages, and the amount of time they’ve spent watching the witch nearly rivals mine with Eve. It’s important to them, and I’d be a shit leader if I prioritized my fear over their potential happiness.

They consider for long enough to make me restless, before finally saying, “I think Nuin and Ziven are safe options. Both have their reasons for preferring your leadership to someone like Brosh. They also have no direct connection with anyone in your family, which is a small miracle. They won’t be conflicted if they find him.”

“Talk to them and set up the search.”

“Will do.” Ramanu sighs. “Eve isn’t going to play nice at dinner. You know that, right? She’s going to put on a show for Rusalka and Belladonna.”

I hate that they’re right. I give a sigh of my own. “Well, maybe it will teach Belladonna a thing or two about advocating for herself.”

Ramanu smirks and starts for the door. “Or maybe she’ll see a kindred martyr when she looks at you.” They waltz out of the room before I can work up a response to that.

Dinner starts to go wrong the moment I sit down. It’s clear enough that Rusalka and Belladonna are getting along swimmingly. I made the right choice in sending her to them. That’s small enough comfort when Eve sashays into the room, brimming with fury in a way I’ve never seen from her before.

She looks beautiful in her anger, dressed to kill in black, each step dripping acid and aimed directly at me.

I clear my throat as she downs half her wine in a single swallow. “This is Eve. Eve, this is Rusalka and Belladonna.”

“I remember you.” Eve looks at Belladonna, some of the tightness fading from her expression. “You were part of the auction.”

“Yes.” Belladonna leans forward, curiosity alighting her expression. There’s none of the wounded woman whom I first made a deal with present, which would be more of a relief if I weren’t so acutely aware of Eve’s anger. Belladonna smiles. “It’s been an interesting experience.”

“Interesting. That’s one way to put it.” Eve downs the rest of her glass. She’s drinking too fast, as if she’s fleeing something . . . or working up the destructive courage for a fight. I can feel Rusalka’s eyes on me, but I can’t pull my attention away from my woman.

At least until Belladonna crosses her arms over her chest, a small frown appearing between her brows. “You’re not happy here.”

“Ding, ding, ding.” Eve raises her glass in a mock toast.

I grab the wine bottle before she can refill it. A lost cause as such things go; she just shrugs and grabs my glass instead. I try to catch her wrist, but she evades me and snags it.

Belladonna frowns harder. “If you’re being mistreated⁠—”

“Mind your tongue,” I growl. I’m still too focused on Eve to moderate my tone. A mistake.

“I don’t care if you made the initial deal that got her here,” Rusalka snaps. “If you use that tone again, I’ll rip out your tongue.”

Eve laughs bitterly. “Down, Daddy.” She turns to address Belladonna, and some of the venom in her tone eases. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. I’m safe.” She practically spits the word. “What reason do I have to be angry?”