His eyes brim with unfiltered suspicion.

“What’s your plan?”

“For Tides’ sake, I don’t have one.” I force two fingers into his mouth and pry it open, then shove the bread inside.

I half expect him to spit it out, but he swallows it down. When he’s eaten all the bread, I wield a thin stream of water from my canteen, flowing it into his mouth.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” I ask after he’s finished drinking. “When I was bleeding out.”

Zev doesn’t answer immediately. His chapped, bloodied lips press into a grim line. A muscle jumps in his jaw, as if the memory infuriates him. It probably does—I tricked him into sharing his power, weakening him. It’s why he’s strung up in a Tundrayni camp.

Yet another betrayal to add to my growing list.

“You’re mine to kill,” he finally says, his voice cold. “I’ll die before I let you leave this world of your own choice.”

My hands still, my gaze slowly meeting his.

“Why are you helping me?” he repeats. The labored wheeze from his pierced lung has vanished.

“You’ll die if I don’t. Father has plans for you.”

I heal his broken toes and ankle—hopefully no one notices the mended bones inside his boot.

When I’ve healed all that I can, I set to numbing his pain.

“Stop,” he snaps, his voice cutting through me like a blade.

“You’re in pain.”

“I said stop.” His eyes are hard. “The pain reminds me I’m still alive. And if I’m alive, I can still kill you.”

I turn away before he sees the tears slide down my cheeks.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

Father will kill him, and I don’t care.

We need him alive. That’s what I tell myself.

But I know that’s not why I came.

It’s the lies we tell ourselves that keep us moving forward.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

“FOX MANEUVER!”

The warriors crouch in tandem, crawl across the wet grass, before pouncing on an unseen enemy, daggers held aloft. Sorka oversees their training, while Father watches from a chair with crossed arms and pursed lips.

I breathe easier knowing his scrutiny isn’t aimed at me.

Not yet anyway.

Sunlight shines over the camp, casting a bright glow over tired faces. The ground is warm beneath me where I sit beside Vy while we watch the warriors train. So far, she’s healed two sprains. I’ve done nothing but steal glances at Zev. He stands straighter today, and I smother the quiet satisfaction that wells in my chest.

It doesn’t last.

During a pause between maneuvers, one of the warriors, a man named Parku, breaks formation, his stiff strides leading him toward my husband.

I stiffen.

At first, he just stares at Zev, hatred crashing through his pale blue eyes like an unforgiving tide.

“You murdered my father,” he spits. “His name was Tommak. Do you even remember him?”

Zev pretends to think. My heart clenches in my chest. Don’t provoke him, I want to shout, but I keep my lips pressed together.

“I remember him. Tall grunting brute with a round belly? Squealed like a pig when I—”

The air whooshes out of him as Parku hauls back and pummels him in the abdomen.

My breath catches as if he’s hit me.

Zev grits his teeth through the pain. He must have broken another rib. Then, my husband grins at him, the daft idiot. “Your father’s corpse hit harder than you do.”

Parku punches him in the face. Blood arcs through the air as Zev’s head is knocked backward. Still, the insufferable man smirks, his teeth gleaming red.

“One more, son of Tommak,” he rasps. “I’ll give you one more hit before I kill you.”

The warrior hauls back again, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Parku!” I shout before he can swing. “Come help me with these supplies.”

I wobble to my feet, heart hammering in my chest. Father’s gaze cuts me like a blade across my back. Parku throws one more venomous look at Zev before jogging over to me.

He staggers back as I shove my supply kit into his arms—valerian root, liniments, gauze, among other things—I’ve learned to manage my reserves and use natural remedies for minor injuries. Sauzon would be proud.

We walk to my tent. I applaud myself for not tripping the hulking warrior beside me.

I don’t turn to see if Father is still watching.

Zev’s chest is cold beneath my palms, his heartbeat erratic, as I heal him under the cover of night.

“You stopped that man from beating me.”

I glare at him. I’ve been eating more than my fair share to keep my reserves high and squirreling away food for him. “You’re an idiot for provoking him. Making more work for me.”

“Why did you stop him?” His steely gaze is unyielding, and I resist the urge to flinch away from it.

The truth rises up my throat, and I don’t swallow it down fast enough. “I couldn’t bear to watch him hurt you. It hurt me to watch.”

His gray eyes are molten as they study me.

“Such pretty lies,” he finally murmurs. “Even now.”

Let him think it’s a lie. I don’t know if I believe the truth, either.

I finish healing his injuries, then tiptoe back to my tent without another word.

I freeze in my tracks.

Vy’s sharp blue eyes stare back at me.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

“VY,” I WHISPER, WIDE eyes studying her face—her perfectly blank face. “Sorry if I woke you. I went to relieve myself.”

I shuffle across the small space, sinking into the narrow cot beside hers, the thin mattress creaking beneath my weight. I draw the blanket to my chin and lie stiffly on my side, my back facing her. My heart thunders against my ribcage, each beat louder than the last. I can’t tell if my lie passed as truth. My breath catches on the edge of each inhale, waiting.

“The Commander looked healthier today,” she muses, voice cutting through the dark. “I imagine he’ll be even better tomorrow.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The air thickens, and I struggle to breathe. The small tent seems to constrict around me. I slowly turn to face her, though I can’t make out her delicate features in the darkness.

“What do you want?” I ask woodenly.

She’s silent for so long, I foolishly wonder if she fell asleep, and I imagined the entire exchange.

“I’ll keep your secret, Princess,” she says at last, her voice steady in the dark. There’s no judgment in it—just quiet certainty, like a thread pulled taut. Her mattress squeaks as she shifts, turning on her side to face me.

“And what would you have in return?” I ask, my voice edged with steel. Caution frosts each syllable.

There’s a pause, then the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusts her blanket. “Nothing yet,” she says simply. “But you’ll owe me a favor.”

It’s not a threat. Not quite. But the implication coils between us, cold as ice. I stare at the ceiling, weighing her words.

But my silence is a pretense.

I already know my answer. And I think she does, too.

“Done,” I whisper.

The next morning, I emerge from my tent to find Father interrogating Zev. Somehow, he manages to look regal despite the dark blood splattered on his blue robes, burgundy flecks dotting his neatly combed beard.

“How many men are stationed at the border?”

“Fifteen, last I checked. Some might have died by now, though. We’re not suited for Tundrayn’s abysmal temperatures.”

Father grits his teeth. “Has Varad secured an alliance with Volca?”

“Maybe. Probably not. My brother’s an ass.” He grins, sharp and mocking. “Not half as charming as I am. You lucked out with me as a son-in-law.”