A waking noise escaped him, and then he bolted upright, long hair falling in a tangled mess over his face before he swept it away. His brows dipped, and he squinted in my direction. “Rokath? What are you doing here?”

“We have a problem,” I said, opening the door wider and allowing more light into the room.

Xannirin rubbed his eyes then blinked them rapidly. “I’m awake, what is it?” Scooting to the edge of the bed, he pulled on pants from the floor, then grabbed a discarded tunic and buttoned it up with quick precision.

When he reached for his sword resting on a long redwood table, I said, “We’re not under attack.”

“The Weaver’s thread is strong,” he sighed, hand retreating. “Okay, so what’s the problem?” From his wrist, he pulled a leather strap and worked it around his sleep-mussed hair until it was in a pile out of his face.

“Kiira’s vision…the female with eyes of devious burgundy,” I said slowly, trying to think of how to explain what the fuck had happened the previous evening.

Xannirin’s eyes widened a fraction, and he tied off the knot. “Yes?” He strode toward me, and I backstepped, allowing him to enter his sitting chamber. He went to a pitcher of water and poured himself a glass. After draining it, he smacked it down on the table. “You found her,” he pronounced, excitement budding in his tone.

“I found her,” I repeated, removing my helmet and tucking it beneath my arm.

“And?” Xannirin pressed, his eyes roaming my face, though some of his enthusiasm slipped when he noticed my expression.

I dragged in a frustrated breath and looked up at the ceiling, once again cursing the Fates.

Why now? Why when I am so close to securing the Demon’s future in Keleti, Weaver? Isn’t that what you wanted, why you blessed me with the power to call upon the dead, Giver?

Leveling a serious gaze on my cousin, I forced myself to unclench my teeth. “Call Kiira. We need her here for this.”

“Here for what? The female, she is in the palace? Did you figure out why she is essential? Or to what?” The questions fell from Xannirin’s mouth in a rapid fire.

“Aye, she is here, and I only want to explain this once,” I groused, fingers flexing over the horns of my helmet.

Xannirin’s face fell further. “Rokath, just tell me what the fuck is going on. Clearly it’s not good, whatever it is.”

“It’s not.” I paused, breath coming in rapid, short succession. “She is my mate.”

The Kral of the Demon Realm’s jaw dropped so far I thought it might truly fall off his face.

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26

What I could only describe as a decadent array of food spread across the wide, polished dining table in Kral Xannirin’s private rooms at Gyor Palace. Exhaustion pulled at my limbs, and yet I was too wired to relax, to rest, to sleep. Rokath eventually returned bearing a fine dress and some under clothes for me, both of which I readily accepted and raced into his bathing chamber to don. My back had healed completely, leaving no trace of the whipping I’d received the night before. The emotional scars? Those would take far longer to heal.

Yet as I’d pulled everything on, I noticed he didn’t give me a veil. Whether it was because he was unaccustomed to being forced to cover his face or because he didn’t know where to source once was a mystery. Regardless, I said nothing when I returned to the living area again.

And now, I sat with the Kral himself, the High Priestess of the Demons, Hadvezér Rapp, and the Halálhívó, my Fates’ damned mate.

Oh, how my life had changed.

Me, a female from the southernmost part of the Demon Realm, who grew up on a farm, now dining with the most powerful Demons in Keleti.

Olrus, I am certainly having an adventure.

The four sets of burgundy eyes stared at me with varying degrees of interest. Hadvezér Rapp, with so much amusement I wasn’t sure how his laughter had ceased earlier. The High Priestess, with so much curiosity I wondered if the Fates had spoken to her about me. Her expression was unencumbered by a veil, which made me all the more curious about these four. The Kral’s gaze was so intense I wanted to squirm in my seat. And finally, there was Rokath, the Halálhívó, who looked at me with so much hate I wanted to leap across the table and claw his eyes out.

At least the feeling was mutual, albeit one that was all too familiar.

My stomach rumbled in the silence, and my cheeks flamed when their eyes flicked to me. I couldn’t help that this food looked better than anything I’d ever eaten, and that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. The High Priestess finally spoke, relieving a hint of the tension woven between the five of us. “What is your name, dear?”

So Rokath hasn’t told them anything yet.

He confirmed my suspicion a moment later when he answered for me. “Assyria. I only want to do this once, which is why we’re all gathered here now.” A muscle feathered in Rokath’s jaw, and his shoulders pinched ever so slightly higher.

“Assyria is my mate.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I forced myself to remain still, my face impassive, as the others processed the development. The High Priestess gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth. The Kral and Rapp looked unsurprised, which meant they already knew. The female’s head whipped to me, studying me with a new level of curiosity. “Why did they not reveal this to me before?” she murmured, almost to herself.

Priestess Anara adored the High Priestess, venerating her as much as the soldiers worshiped the Kral and Rokath. She never missed an opportunity to speak of the magic the Giver blessed High Priestess Kiira with—a direct connection to the Fates’ weavings. If she deemed something to be true, no questions were allowed, and no hesitation was given to carry out her orders. She had as much of a hand in my abuse as anyone else.

Clearing his throat, Kral Xannirin stole her attention. “When you came to Rokath and I mid-vision, you spoke of a female with burgundy eyes being essential, though when you returned to us, you didn’t recall that. And then yesterday, you sent a note along with an acolyte who said you’d had a similar vision. I think they were trying to tell you and for some reason, it wasn’t sticking.”

The High Priestess nodded, eyes tipping closed for a moment as she absorbed that information. Watching this exchange was almost like watching a play; I was not an active participant, and yet their entire discussion revolved around me.

My fingers curled into the folds of my dress as I tried to keep my mouth shut. This mate bond affected me as much as—actually more than—the rest of them, and it stung that I was little more than a paltry peasant to them.

“Devious burgundy, specifically,” Rokath added. “And the reason I discovered Assyria is because she was the wife of Kormánzó Vagach.” Ever so slightly, he shifted in his seat, fingers twitching toward the knife resting beside his gleaming plate. A tendril of protective rage whispered down our bond.

“Was?” Xannirin interrupted, scrutinizing me with more curiosity. Then, his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “You’re his second wife.”

Heat swept up my chest to my cheeks, and I managed to nod. Having the attention of the ruler of all the Demons squarely on my shoulders was unnerving.

Xannirin’s head swung to Rokath. “Was?” he repeated, brows pinching.

“Assyria killed him,” he said without any intonation.

My nails bit into my palm. “In self-defense, after he attacked our groundskeeper and me,” I blurted before any of them got the wrong ideas. “The night before he was set to leave with the army.”

“How did you make it all this way without anyone noticing? There are no females in the army,” the High Priestess questioned, her head cocking to the side, causing her loose, dark hair to tumble over her shoulder.