But the next sound is bone-jarringly clear.

The deafening crash of thunder.

It’s so loud, so close, as if a storm cloud hovers directly above the carriage. Another boom rattles the air, and any thoughts of leaving the carriage vanish. My heart thrashes, desperate to tear free from my chest, while my breath stumbles in short, useless gasps.

Rain pelts the carriage, sudden and angry, its harsh staccato mocking me. I’m frozen in place, back pressed against the side.

Tides take me, I’m useless.

It’s just a storm. It’s just a storm. It’s just a—

The carriage jolts upwards before landing back down with a heavy crash, and my head knocks against the wall a second time. The world spins, and I swallow back the bile rising in my throat.

My power thrums inside me, familiar and welcome, surfacing unbidden to my palms. Before I can soothe the throbbing in my skull, sharp thuds echo across the exterior of the carriage, each one cracking higher.

As if someone is climbing it.

The door is flung open, letting in light and rain and something else, before it swings back shut with a slam. A soft sizzling echoes from somewhere near my head. Outside, another explosion tears through the chaos.

By the Tides.

The hissing sizzle grows louder, and with sudden clarity, I realize what the something else is.

Forcing the door open, I all but hurl myself out. I’m immediately soaked in the downpour, barely able to see through sheets of freezing rain. Soldiers swarm around me, slipping on ice and water. I do, too, landing hard on my knees.

A blade nearly nicks me as I crawl away from the carriage with a bomb inside it. My hands glow, shaky but ready. I scan the clearing, ready to heal or hide, but I can’t make sense through the chaos. All of the men are clad in dark leathers.

Which ones are Zevayr’s men?

It must be the Rebellion that attacked us.

I squint, trying to make out the Arbinji crest, but there’s too much movement, too much rain.

“There’s a bomb!” I shout, but the storm swallows my warning.

The stench of smoke and burning flesh fills my nostrils.

The sounds of battle are deafening in my ears.

The clang of metal.

Shouted orders.

The final groans of the dying.

But loudest of all—thunder.

In the midst of the chaos, I see him.

He’s a blur of dark leather and steel, his sword flashing around him like lightning itself. He impales one man, his sword pushing clean through the rebel’s abdomen.

He lifts his other hand skyward.

Lightning answers.

The sky splits open, and a massive, blinding bolt shoots down before my eyes and incinerates three men headed for him. Even after the bolt vanishes, the terrifying shape of the lightning flickers before my eyes, like a haunting, violent phantom.

My heart pounds in my ears. My lungs can’t get enough air, useless pants sawing through my chest.

Father was wrong. I am a sniveling child.

Don’t come out, Mayah. No matter what you hear.

Another bolt crashes down, closer to me this time, and a strangled yelp tears loose.

Loud footsteps sound on wooden stairs.

Me. They want me.

My hands claw at the frozen ground, knuckles whiter than the snow. A fierce clap of thunder jolts my bones. The snow is cold and wet beneath my knees.

My face is wet with tears. Or is it rain? It can’t be rain. I’m in my closet. Where is Mama?

The carriage I escaped explodes into millions of tiny pieces, wood chips spraying out in a shower of jagged edges.

That gets Zevayr’s attention.

His head snaps toward the sound, then swivels frantically until his gaze lands on me. His brows furrow. Concern? Anger? Another bolt of lightning crashes down, barely a foot to my left, and I scream and scream and scream. A body collapses beside me.

I’m not a betrothed princess anymore. I’m six years old again.

The door is opening.

The thunder is angry.

The world is burning. And

I

can’t

breathe.

The thud of boots grows louder. Lightning flashes, silhouetting the shadows of their feet. Where is Mama?

“It’s the princess!” a voice calls out. “Don’t hurt her!”

That’s the last thing I hear before the world snuffs out.

CHAPTER SIX

COLD. THAT’S MY FIRST thought as consciousness trickles back into me. I’m freezing, teeth chattering, damp clothes sticking to my chilled skin like a death sentence.

Upside down. That’s my next groggy thought. I’m upside down and moving. Groaning, I shift slightly and realize my wrists are bound together with a thick coil of rope. What in the Tides—

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Awareness crashes into me at the sound of Zevayr’s gravelly voice. He has me thrown over his broad shoulder, a muscled arm bracketing my thighs in a vise.

Without warning, he stops and tosses me onto the ground. There’s enough fresh snow that I sink into it painlessly, but what the actual fuck?

“What—what is the meaning of this?” I sputter, teeth clacking together as I hold up my bound hands.

“You tell me,” he snarls. He crouches to my level, his face a mask of pure wrath. Fresh injuries mar his tanned skin—one eye nearly swollen shut, purpling bruises darkening his cheeks and jaw. “Who attacked us?”

“I don’t know? It looked like Rebellion.” Why is he so angry at me? “Untie me immediately.”

He ignores my command. “Did you know about the attack?”

Tides, the man has lost his mind.

And I’m not about to help him find it.

“This is ridiculous,” I grit out. Scorching fury burns through my veins, but it does nothing to ease the chill in my bones. “Untie me right now.”

“Not until you answer my questions. Did. You. Know. About. The. Attack?” His face is inches from mine, gray eyes swirling with unchecked rage, and for the first time since waking up on his shoulder, a flash of fear cascades through me.

This is the Dark Commander.

He’s responsible for the deaths of thousands of Tundraynis.

He could summon lightning and kill me where I sit.

So I do the only sane thing I can think of—I rear back and bash my forehead into his nose. There’s a satisfying crack, and he falls backward, his large hand stemming the flow of blood.

I jump to my feet and bolt.

My feet stumble, off balance with my hands bound. I barely make it a few steps before a fist twists in my loose hair and yanks me back. Sharp pain bursts across my scalp as I crash onto the ground—just before Zevayr throws himself over me.

“Get off me!” I shout, slamming my bound fists against his chest again and again, but the insufferable man is a solid mass of pure muscle. I don’t move him an inch. “I’m the princess of fucking Tundrayn!”

His large hands close around my wrists, forcing my arms over my head. Tides, the entire length of his body is pressed against mine.

“Out here,” he snarls, his hot breath fanning my face, “you are the princess of nothing. Answer my questions, and maybe I’ll let you go.”

For a moment, neither of us says a word. Our gazes lock in a stormy battle, his gray eyes still crackling with electric rage. I imagine mine look the same. He shifts slightly atop me, his grip tightening on my wrists, his other arm braced on the ground near my head.

Another lick of fear crawls up my spine as my brain registers our position.

His proximity. His strength. His anger.

I’m alone, in the middle of nowhere, with a large man mounting me. Who can hurt me in many different ways, if he so chooses.