The dungeons are cold, despite the summer heat. I sit curled up, my arms wrapped around my knees to try and trap my heat in my body. My forehead presses against my folded arms as I try to rest. I am weary. I haven’t slept. I’m not sure how long I’ve been down here—I lost count after about ten days. My jaw itches with the light blond beard I’ve started growing.

I hear footsteps ringing on the stone floor. The footsteps stop, and I raise my eyes. Alix stands before me. He is in all black, save for the heavy golden crown on his head. His honey-brown hair is smoothed back, his expression stony. He stares at me through the bars of the cell where he tossed me days ago.

“I buried our father today,” Alix says. His voice is quiet.

I glare at him. “You didn’t even let me pay my respects,” I say, indignant. Alix cocks his head to one side.

“Why should I?” he asks. “When you murdered him in cold blood?”

“You know I didn’t do it, Alix—”

“What was I supposed to think when I found you covered in his blood? With your damned knife in your hand?” he asks.

I sigh, resting my chin atop my folded arms. “You won’t even listen to me,” I say shortly.

Alix is quiet for a long time. “I get it, Jas. I do,” he says. “You’re angry that you have to marry someone you don’t love, that you can’t just do whatever you want anymore—”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” I ask, rising to my feet. I try hard to not let my legs quake with fatigue. “You really think I’d kill our father over that?” He spreads his hands in an exaggerated shrug and sighs.

“I’m not sure what to think anymore, Jas,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

The fatigue overpowers me, and I slump my shoulder against the bars, grasping the cold iron with one hand. My eyes flit to the crown atop his head. It’s our father’s, I realize.

“The court crowned you king already?” I ask.

Alix sighs. “Odrend needs a king,” he says. “Under normal circumstances it’d be you…”

“But I’m locked away in a dungeon,” I say.

Alix’s smile is wry. “There is that,” he concedes. He shuffles his feet, glances down at them as he puts his hands in his pockets. “I’ll have someone bring you a blanket,” my twin says, and leaves me with the cold seeping into my bones.