My stomach tumbled as I stared at Kieran. “But then how can I…?” I trailed off. “None of this makes sense, Kieran. I get that I carry the blood of Nyktos in me, and even Malec’s if what Alastir said is true, but that doesn’t explain how my abilities are so strong when as far as I can remember, neither of my parents had these gifts. Neither did Ian. And, yes, I know he might not be my full-blooded brother,” I said before he could remind me of that fact. “But if I am the descendant of Malec and one of his mistresses, that had to be several generations ago. How did I end up with so much eather?”

“Good question,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps your ability to communicate with us like Nyktos did with the kiyou is because you were Ascended. All your mortal blood was replaced with Atlantian. That could’ve…I don’t know, unlocked something in you.”

“Like I’m a door?”

A wry grin formed. “A better analogy would be a chest unlocking inside you, but even before Casteel Ascended you, your gifts were far stronger than they should be, so—” Kieran’s head snapped around to the lattice doors, his eyes narrowing on the darkness beyond it.

I set the pillow aside. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I thought I heard something.” He rose, his attention focused on the closed doors as he reached inside his boot and pulled out a narrow, long-bladed dagger. “Stay here.”

Stay here? My nose wrinkled as I scrambled across the bed, nearly taking out the platter of leftover meat and cheese. Snatching the wolven dagger, I slipped it free from its sheath as I stood.

“And, of course, you are not staying put,” Kieran muttered, opening one of the double doors.

“Nope.” I followed behind him.

Kieran stepped out onto the veranda. The only light came from what spilled over from the bedchamber and a small lantern above a wide outdoor daybed. His gaze focused on the wall several yards away as he walked forward, brushing aside a sheer curtain.

He stiffened.

I scanned the trees and the wall beyond them, barely making out the heavy vines draped over the stone in the moonlight. “What?”

“Sage was patrolling this section of the wall. She’s a wolven,” he explained. “I don’t see her at all.”

A shout came from our left, near the stables. I twisted at the waist, stepping off the patio onto stone that was still warm from baking in the sun all day.

Kieran caught my arm. “Don’t you dare.”

I pulled against his hold, my gaze swinging up to him in surprise. I couldn’t believe he was stopping me. “Something is happening. Casteel is

—”

“Cas will be fine,” he snapped, hauling me into the enclosed patio once more. “I know you can fight. You’re a badass, Poppy. But not only will Casteel have my head if something happens to you, you are also our Queen.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “I am no one’s Queen. I am just Poppy.” “Whether you claim the throne or not, you are still our Liessa.”

“So you expect me to hide, then? Is that what being a Queen means to the wolven?” I glared up at him, feeling the acidic burn of his anger, and the heavier press of his concern. It was a new experience to feel anything other than wry amusement from Kieran. “Then what kind of Queen would that make me?”

His jaw hardened. “The kind that stays alive.”

“And the kind not worthy of those willing to defend her,” I snapped, struggling to remind myself that his reluctance came from a place of worry. “Now let go of my arm.”

“Or?”

I stopped considering all his possible good intentions. “Or I will make you.”

Kieran’s pale gaze burned brightly as he lowered his head so we were nearly eye-to-eye. “You are already worthy of those who protect you,” he bit out. “Which is infuriating.”

I tugged on my arm again. “I’m a little confused.”

“If you weren’t so brave, my life and Casteel’s would be a hell of a lot easier,” he muttered, releasing my arm. “Do not get yourself killed.”

“How about you try not to get yourself killed, huh?” I retorted, and his brows furrowed as he stared at me. “By the way, you and I are going to discuss this later.”

“Can’t wait,” Kieran muttered.

Another shout reached us before I could respond. I spun toward the sound. It was closer, quickly followed by a rumbling growl.

Without warning, lights flared across the wall, startling me. I stepped back, bumping into Kieran. His hand landed on my shoulder, steadying me as bright beams of lights cut through the trees and blossom-heavy bushes.

A shadow peeled away from a tree and stepped into a funnel of light. My entire body flashed cold. A pale, bare-chested man stood before us, his face hidden behind the familiar mask of a Descenter.

Alastir’s parting words stung my skin. You think this ends with me? I had hoped it had, but the man across from us was proof that what Alastir had been involved in hadn’t ended with his death.

“Hell,” Kieran muttered under his breath as at least a dozen more drifted from behind trees and bushes in the courtyard.

“I’m guessing these aren’t friendly Descenters?” I asked.

The Descenter closest to us unstrapped a dagger from his hip.

“I’m going to go with no,” I answered my own question, my pulse kicking up as I stared at the blade. “And I’m also going to assume that they no longer have any intention of not outright killing me.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Kieran promised.

“No. It won’t.” My grip tightened on the wolven dagger as I scanned them. From what I could tell, they all appeared to be male. They had to be part of the brotherhood Alastir had spoken of, but that couldn’t mean that all Descenters were involved. Although, if any in Atlantia looked upon me as the Maiden, a tool of the Ascended, it would be them.

I allowed my senses to stretch out, and what came back to me was… cold emptiness. “I…I don’t feel anything,” I whispered, focusing on the one with the dark blade. Unnerved, I realized I still sensed nothing. “It’s like with the Ascended.”

“They are not Ascended,” Kieran said, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air.

There was something…off about the men standing in the beams of light. Something that had nothing to do with my inability to read their emotions. Shivers broke out across my flesh as I stared at them. It was their skin. It appeared paper-thin and too pale as if not a drop of blood remained in their veins. My stomach squeezed tightly. “Are they…? They aren’t Atlantians, are they? Or any other bloodline?”

“No,” Kieran growled. “I have no idea what these things are.” Things?

I swallowed hard as instinct demanded that I put as much distance between myself and these things as I could. The Craven always provoked the same reaction, but I didn’t run from them, and I wouldn’t run now.

Kieran’s chin dipped. “I have no idea what in the hell any of you are, but whatever you are planning, I strongly advise against it.”

Movement along the wall caught my attention. Another masked man was crouched there, his skin carrying a pink undertone. He wasn’t the shade of death. I reached out with my senses, tasting…something dry and oaky, like whiskey—almost nutty. Determination. The one on the wall was different. He was alive, for starters. My eyes narrowed on an ivory and gray-brown chain draped over his chest. Anger rushed through me like a swarm of hornets. If there had been any doubt about what they wanted, it was erased now. Those bindings would not touch my skin again.

“You have no idea what you guard, wolven,” the masked male spoke, his deep voice muffled from behind the mask. “What you seek to protect.”

“I know exactly who I protect,” Kieran stated.

“You don’t, but you will,” the man replied. “We just want the Maiden.” “I am not the Maiden.” I welcomed the burn of my rage. It smothered

the ache of grief over the fact that others were of like mind with Alastir. I pushed it aside before the sadness could settle inside me.

“Would you rather be called the Blessed One? The Chosen?” he countered. “Or would you prefer to be addressed as the Harbinger? The Bringer of Death and Destruction?”

I stiffened. I had heard those titles before, but I’d forgotten. Jansen had called Nyktos something similar. The hum in my chest vibrated. “If you truly believe that is what I am, then you’re a fool to stand there and threaten me.”

“I am no fool.” The man reached up, unhooking the chain from his shoulder. “You, the one foretold in the bones, should’ve never survived that

night in Lockswood.”

Tiny bumps raced across my skin as my entire body seized in shock. It had nothing to do with the so-called prophecy. Lockswood. I hadn’t heard anyone speak the name of the small village in years. Not even Alastir had said it.

But it was clear that Alastir had shared what he had taken part in all those years ago with this man. “Who are you?”

“I am no one. I am everyone.” He rose slowly. “And you will be the Queen of nothing. Kill her.”

The things before us moved as one, rushing forward. The growl that came from Kieran’s very mortal throat should’ve sent them running, but it didn’t. Several surrounded us. Using a curse that would’ve turned Vikter’s seasoned ears red, I dipped under the wide swing of an attacker. A stale floral scent hit the air as Kieran’s arm swept out, dragging the sharpened edge of his blade through the throat of two of the things.

“Good gods,” Kieran exclaimed as I popped up behind the things in Descenter masks and kicked out, slamming the heel of my foot into the back of a kneecap. The thing made no sound as his leg gave out. I twisted at the same instant, shoving my dagger into the chest of another. That stale scent increased as an oily, black substance sprayed out over my hand.

That was definitely not blood.

I gasped as I pulled the dagger free. The thing staggered and then broke apart—shattering into a fine dusting of dirt and black oil that gleamed purple in the light. The Royal Knights had done something similar upon being stabbed with bloodstone, but the knights’ skin and bodies had cracked first. These things just exploded in a geyser of purple yuck that smelled like stale lilacs.

As the other creature started to regain his footing, I spun, wrapping my arm around his masked head. I jerked back and thrust the dagger into the weak spot at the base of his skull. I let go, jumping back before the thing erupted.

“What are these things?” I yelled, backing away from the oily stain the two had left behind.

“I have no idea.” Kieran took out another as his lip curled in disgust. “Just kill them.”

“Oh, well, I was thinking about keeping one.” Cold, clammy fingers grazed my arm as I whirled around. “You know, as a—”

“If you say pet, I’m going to think you’re more demented than Cas.” “I was going to say friend.”

Kieran looked over at me, brows arched. “That’s even worse.”

I snapped forward, grabbing the edge of a mask. I yanked hard. Rope snapped. The mask slipped free—

“Oh, my gods!” I shrieked as I staggered back. The thing didn’t have a face.

Not really. There was no nose. No mouth. Just thin, black slits where eyes should’ve been. Everything else was smooth, thin, pale flesh.

I would never unsee this.

“Take it back! Here.” I flung the bronze mask back at the thing. The metal bounced off its chest and hit the ground. It cocked its head to the side. “What?” Kieran shifted toward me. “Holy shit, it’s a—I think it’s a

Gyrm.”

“A what?”

“Something that does not belong here.”

“That’s not helpful.” I pointed at it with my dagger. “It has no face!” “I can see that.”

“How does it even breathe?”

“Now”—he grunted as one of the things jumped on his back. Bending, he flipped it over—“is not the time for questions, Poppy.”

Good point, but still, how did it breathe with no mouth or nose?

The Gyrm thing came at me, and I forced myself past being creeped out. I needed to focus because the one who apparently had a mouth and could speak, knew about Lockswood. I would have to freak out about these things later. I met its attack, shoving my blade deep into the creature’s chest. I wasn’t as quick as before, and black liquid sprayed the front of Casteel’s shirt.

Whirling around, I spotted the male on the wall. I stalked forward, ignoring the sharp stones under my bare feet.

Another Gyrm shot toward me, and I braced myself. He lifted his sword, but I struck first, jamming my dagger up under the edge of his mask. I jerked back as he fell, his body fracturing into nothing within seconds. I turned to see Kieran jerk his blade through the neck of another. Purple goo sprayed out as his gaze found mine.

“Your eyes,” he uttered, dragging the back of his hand over his face. “They’re glowing quite brightly.”

They were?

The hum in my chest was a whisper in my blood as I turned back to the wall. The man was still there, and the energy building inside me felt like it had at the Chambers of Nyktos. My heart tripped over itself as another masked creature appeared in the bright light. I tightened my grip on the dagger, resisting the pull of that vibration. I didn’t want to do that again. Not until I fully understood it and knew I could stop it.

A damp hand clamped around my arm. Letting all those early mornings and afternoons spent with Vikter take hold, I twisted inward and swept out with my leg. The Gyrm hadn’t expected the move, or maybe I had simply moved faster than it could react to. I took his legs out from under him and then brought the dagger down, a direct hit to the chest. Springing to my feet, I turned to find another.

The creature lifted his sword, and I snapped forward, blocking its blow as I shoved the dagger deep into its chest. Yanking the blade free, I darted to the side as it fell apart. I lifted my gaze to the tall form that had replaced the one who’d now fallen—

I drew back a step. Casteel’s father stood there, his own cream-colored shirt splattered with purplish-red liquid. How many of these things were roaming about? Surprise radiated from him in waves as his wide gaze swept over me, and that was about when I remembered that I wore nothing but Casteel’s shirt—his now-ruined shirt.

Gods.

Could I not meet Casteel’s family under normal circumstances? “Hello,” I murmured, straightening.

King Valyn’s brows lifted, and then he lurched toward me, his sword rising. My heart stuttered as panic seized me. I froze in horrified disbelief. He was going to—

Grabbing my arm as he thrust out with his sword, he yanked me to the side. Air punched out of my lungs as I stumbled, finding a masked Gyrm impaled on the King’s sword.

“T-thank you,” I stuttered as the thing shattered.

Amber eyes flashed to mine. “Did you think my strike was meant for you?” he asked.

“I…” Good gods, I really had.

Casteel prowled out of the shadows then, drops of the purplish blood dotting the striking lines and angles of his face. He wasn’t alone. Several

guards flanked him. His gaze zeroed in on me, searching for signs of any new injury or wound. There were none, but if there had been, I knew he would’ve found them. He stalked right to me, his sword slick with whatever existed in those creatures lowered at his side. His star-bright eyes snagged mine and held. My breath caught as he curled his arm around my waist, drawing me hard against his chest. The heat of his body quickly seeped through our shirts. It was like no one else was in the garden as he lowered his mouth to mine—surely not his father, because the kiss was fierce and deep, making my heart race.

When Casteel’s mouth left mine, my breath came out in short pants. He pressed his forehead against mine, holding me tightly. His voice was rich and smoky as he asked, “How many of them did you kill?”

“A few,” I answered, curling my free hand into the front of his shirt. His lips brushed my ear. “A few?”

“A decent amount,” I amended.

Casteel kissed my cheek. “That’s my girl.”

A throat cleared, and I suspected it had come from Casteel’s father. My cheeks heated and then caught fire as Kieran said, “You have no one to blame but yourself for Cas’s inability to remember that he isn’t alone.”

King Valyn chuckled roughly. “Good point.”

Casteel kissed the center of my forehead. “You okay?” “Yes. You?”

“Always.”

I smiled faintly at that, but it quickly faded. I wiggled free of Casteel’s embrace and turned to the wall, scanning the entire length of it.

Dammit, the wall was empty. “He’s gone,” I bit out.

“Who?” Casteel asked.

Frustration burned through me. “There was a man with these things.

He knew about Lockswood.”

“Lockswood?” Casteel’s father echoed.

“It’s near Niel Valley in Solis.” I twisted toward Casteel. He’d gone unnaturally still, and I could sense his throbbing anger. “The inn my parents stopped at for the night—the one the Craven attacked—was in the village of Lockswood. Where my parents died. Alastir obviously told this Descenter about that night.”

“That was no Descenter,” King Valyn remarked, and both Casteel and I turned to him. He bent, picking up one of the masks that had fallen from the creature. “And those things wearing these masks? Gods, not only do they not belong here, the masks they were wearing have nothing to do with the Descenters.”

Confused, I looked at Casteel. He frowned as he glanced down at what his father held. “The Descenters wore those masks in Solis to hide their identities,” he stated.

“But they weren’t the first,” his father stated. “The Unseen were.”