The glow from the aura sphere flickered. Groaning, Kestrel pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

He'd spent all evening reading through the intimidating stack of reports Alexandir Pavos had given him. All the information that existed on Mia Shanneray's death. The dispassionate, clinical descriptions of the state of her body—bloated, bruised, unrecognizable save her fiery hair. The records of her last known movements. She'd had dinner in private with her ministra, around seven at night. Then, at nine, she had met briefly with Alexandir to discuss the changes to the tax laws they intended to make. Afterwards she had taken a walk to the waterfall, as she often did. No one had seen any further sign of her until the fisherman's net had dragged her up the following morning.

As if to torture himself, Kestrel reread the autopsy report until the words burned in his mind. Broken hipbones, ribs, and skull, likely sustained the moment of impact. External bruising, massive internal bleeding.

It didn't sound like there'd been a struggle before she fell. Maybe she had jumped. Or slipped on a wet patch of the viewing platform.

Or someone had crept up on her unawares and pushed her over before she could react.

Maybe Kestrel ought to visit the waterfall himself. Not now; it was too late at night. But he could still hear it, the roar thrumming like a pulse at the edge of his consciousness. Funny how he’d already gotten used to it, to the point where he didn’t notice it unless he was actively listening for it.

A sharp rap came from his doorframe and Josten peered inside. “Pardon, my lord, but His Highness has come calling. He would like you to invite him in."

The prince? Kestrel’s nerves prickled. He hadn’t seen Carnelio all day, though he’d expected to at the Circle session. Maybe he’d needed to take care of something more urgent?

Now was as fine a time as any to talk to him. Kestrel let Josten help him into his duty uniform jacket and comb his hair, hoping that'd make him least a little presentable. Too bad he couldn't do anything about the dark bags beneath his eyes.

Turned out he needn't have bothered, for the prince strode into the reception room wearing nothing but a heavily embroidered satin sleeping robe. He had on the exhausted yet content smile of a man who'd spent all day doing something that he loved.

"Good evening, Your Highness,” Kestrel said, bowing.

"I told you already, don't be so formal." Carnelio waved his hand. "My apologies for not being able to make it to your first Circle session. I trust it went well?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Kestrel said, unease gathering in his stomach. Why didn't Carnelio seem to care more? "Um, would you like to know—”

"No, no!" Carnelio cried so loudly Kestrel flinched. "Believe me, Lord Pavos and Aramy have spent all day filling me in on every single word that passed in the Circle Chamber. I'm sick of it. No more! I'd like to talk about something a little more interesting."

Someone tried to assassinate your bonded! Doesn't it matter to you? But Kestrel forced the words back. How dare he even think them.

"Namely, what I've been up to all day," Carnelio said as he sank into Kestrel's armchair without invitation—not that he needed it. "I've been buried to my ears making preparations for the Solstice Dance."

"Solstice Dance, Your Highness?"

"Ah, yes, you wouldn't know. But surely you've got dances up in the mountains?"

"Yes, Your Highness, but—"

"It's how we celebrate the longest day of the year here in Azed Court. Luminaries from all across Senero are invited to the palace to feast and dance the day away," Carnelio said, gesturing grandly. "And it's also one of the few occasions in which the unbound ministra of the Consort's Court are allowed to mingle with outsiders."

He looked at Kestrel expectantly. Kestrel stared back in confusion.

"You don't get it yet?" A gleam entered Carnelio's eye. "I'm saying the Solstice Dance should be the ideal time for you to begin courting."

"C-courting, Your Highness?" Kestrel lurched back, the room spinning around him.

"Of course! You oughtn't remain unbound for long, Lord Knight. Especially when you're already such a powerful energos. Imagine what being complete would do for you. I'd like to personally oversee your courtship myself, if only so we can ensure you've made the best match possible."

Every word Carnelio spoke only trapped Kestrel further. And the worst thing was, he couldn't fight back. Any other energos would have jumped at the opportunity to have the Crown Prince oversee his courtship.

But courting was the last thing Kestrel wanted. He'd managed to avoid it in all his years at Mount Jaeg thanks to the academy's strict no-bonding policy—any student who dared bond before graduation was expelled. Now that he was he was here at court, things had become more complicated.

Kestrel had thought—or rather, foolishly hoped—that his status, or lack thereof, might have offered some protection. A bastard soldier needed a ministra of similar status to himself, and such ministra were not to be found at the royal palace. He'd expected he could delay the inevitable for all seven years he spent here, leaving him plenty of time to think about how to continue the masquerade after he left.

He couldn't bond. It was impossible. If he was not an energos, if he could not detect a single scent, then there was no way he could join his soul to a ministra's.

"Stricken speechless, hmm?" Carnelio's laugh jolted Kestrel out of his thoughts. "Don't be, Lord Knight. It's the smallest of courtesies I could do for you. Truly, Aramy and I owe you everything."

Aramy, Kestrel thought wildly. Maybe I can ask him for help—

What was he even thinking? Aramy might be an unusual ministra, but that didn't mean he'd keep Kestrel's confidence. Kestrel had only stayed safe this entire time by holding his secret close to his heart. He could trust no one else with it.

"When news of your prowess spreads around the palace, I'm sure there will be no shortage of wellborn ministra clamoring to bond with you," Carnelio said as if he were offering Kestrel a name day gift. Not a chain around his ankles. "I will ensure only the best of them even get the honor of speaking to you."

"Y-Your Highness," Kestrel finally managed to croak, raising his hands. "That isn't, that isn't necessary...it's really...I didn't do anything special, anyone would have..."

"No, no, no!" Carnelio thumped Kestrel on the shoulder, so hard his knees buckled. "I don't want to hear that, Lord Knight! You've no idea what you've done for me. Truly, you haven't."

His eyes glittered with an emotion Kestrel had seen before—that same fervor, near desperation, from the night of the banquet. It made Kestrel shiver. There was something Carnelio wasn't saying, something vital, but Kestrel had no idea what it could be.

"Indeed, to express my gratitude, I will offer you the second dance of the night with Aramy."

Kestrel reeled like he'd been bitten by a snake. "Your Highness! Please don't—"

"I told you, I won't hear it!" Carnelio jabbed a finger in Kestrel's face. "If you'd like, I'll make it an order from sovereign to subject, but I'd rather not. No, I'd like to think of it as a favor. From one friend to another."

"Friend?" Kestrel cursed himself the instant he spoke; he could not sound more disbelieving if he tried. For a moment, he thought genuine hurt spasmed across Carnelio's face, but soon his fervent smile was back.

"Indeed. What do you say, Lord Knight? I'd like to be friends. You're a powerful magus. My ministra is in your debt. By extension, so am I. It makes sense that we ought to get to know each other better, hmm?"

There is no more debt, Kestrel thought, sweating. Aramy already repaid it.

But Carnelio hadn't said a word about Aramy's healing. Did he not know about it?

"No more protests, Lord Knight," Carnelio said heartily, thumping Kestrel on the shoulder again. "In the meantime, let's see about getting you fitted in a new wardrobe, Azed Court style. You must be tired of wearing these mountain rags all the time!" Laughing, he tugged the sleeve of Kestrel's jacket.

Is this what he means by being friends? Kestrel thought with an uneasy grin. Winds, it's tiring.

And it didn't strike him as fully genuine. It was like Carnelio was play-acting, behaving the way he thought friends should. Then again, growing up as the heir to the throne, isolated from even his parents, Carnelio couldn’t have had many opportunities to get close to anyone.

Maybe being his friend wouldn't hurt. As long as Kestrel was careful, and if there was thing he was good at, it was being careful.

And if we're friends, a tiny dark voice in the back of his head whispered, then I can see Aramy more often.

He bit his lip, forcing the voice back.

"Of course, Your Highness," he said, smiling so wide his face ached. "I'd be happy to."