A sharp blade traced a searing line of pain down his face.

His brother’s crimson eyes, staring down at him.

“Your time has come, Brother. Say hello to your mother for me.”

Shwiiick!

Darkness. He was dead. He was sure of it.

But then, a glimmering light. Visions of a beautiful woman. Her eyes a deep shimmering gold, her hair as teal as indicolite. She reached forward, pulling him out of the darkness.

He recognized her instantly.

Navina Dekarias.

Kiran’s eyes snapped open. He sat up, his body drenched in a blaze of heat, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He reached up for his throat, gasping desperately for breath, feeling as though the wind had just been knocked out of him.

As though he had really just died and returned to life.

“Kiran?” a deep voice said. Kiran looked up to see his guard standing watch at his window. Aleksandr Dymov. In the morning light, Kiran could make out his features clearly: his dark brown hair cut short, pale skin tanned from too much time in the sun, and eyes the color of summer grass.

“Just… a nightmare,” he said.

“Your medicine?” Aleks asked.

Kiran nodded, still feeling dizzy. He wanted to say “thank you” but could hardly get the words out. His bad leg was screaming at him, a hot searing pain as if he had been branded through the knee by a hot iron.

But that wasn’t the only reason he felt dizzy.

The nightmare. His murderous brother.

And worst of all—that woman.

Teal hair, bright gold eyes, a face that was almost too beautiful.

There was only one woman like that in Rasiva.

Navina Dekarias.

He hadn’t spoken to her since they were children. Why was she showing up in his dreams?

Aleks came back holding a glass of water. He handed it to Kiran, then dropped a blue octagon-shaped pill into his palm. It was a medicine made by mages at the College for the pain in his leg. While it certainly dulled it, the ache was always there.

And he would always walk with a limp.

He grabbed the cane leaning against his nightstand and used it to rise from the bed.

“Feeling better?” Aleks asked.

“Getting there,” he said. “Sorry if I frightened you.”

Aleks scoffed. “You didn’t,” he said simply. “If you died, I’d be free from my debt.”

He said this all with a straight face, but it made Kiran smile. He was bluffing.

Kiran had met Aleks years ago. He had been born to a farming family in Southern Rasiva, but when their farm was hit with a drought, they moved to the capital, Camlan, to become beggars. One day, Kiran left the Imperial Estate with his mother. For the first time, she let him play in a park while she quickly went to buy some medicine, and it was there that he had seen Aleks playing with another beggar using wooden swords.

When he saw two thugs approach the young boys, Kiran stepped in.

The Eyes of Arzhur.

Both a blessing and a curse, Kiran had found, but in that moment it was a rare blessing. After the thugs had been dealt with, running away with their tails in between their legs, Kiran asked Aleks what they had been doing with those wooden swords, and Aleksandr told him shyly that he had always had dreams of becoming a knight.

“But it’s impossible for a beggar to become a knight,” Kiran had said.

Aleks’s face had flushed red with anger. “I’m still going to try!” he roared. His motivation struck Kiran. He had never been motivated to do anything but serve Rasiva. And so, he decided right then that he wanted to be friends with him.

“Become my personal knight, then,” he had said, and that was that.

This was what Aleks called his debt, but Kiran didn’t think about it that way at all.

“Kiran?” Aleks’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Ah, sorry,” he said. “Still dizzy from the nightmare.”

“Maybe take a day off?”

Kiran gave him a look. “Not a chance. A prince can never take a day off.”

“Ah,” he spat. “What’s the point of all that gold if you can’t use it to relax?”

Kiran smiled. “Call my maids. I need to get ready for the day.”

Aleks shrugged and left the room. Kiran fell back onto his bed, images of the nightmare still lingering in his mind. His brother, the sword at his throat, it had all felt so real.

And… His childhood friend.

Navina Dekarias.

Why am I dreaming about her?

~ ☩ ~

The weaponsmaster’s sword cut through the air with a whoosh. I ducked, narrowly dodging the strike as the blade swung above my head. With my dagger in my hand, I lunged forward, dropped to my knees, and held the tip up against his thigh. It was almost too easy.

“Got you,” I murmured, the satisfaction clear in my voice.

The weaponsmaster was sweating, heaving for breaths, and he looked down with surprise at my dagger gently pressed to his skin. At that moment, I had imagined the weaponsmaster as Valen.

And just below the tender flesh where the tip of my dagger rested, there was a massive artery. All it would take was one little push and twist, and he’d bleed out and die.

“Impressive, my lady,” Ayat muttered. “You’ve improved overnight.”

I retreated and stood, sheathing the dagger inside the hilt strapped to my thigh.

It might seem that way to him, but the truth was that I had spent the last decade training with the Imperial Family’s weaponsmaster. Ayat Ayanev was a good weaponsmaster. Amazing, even. But he had nothing on the Imperial Family’s.

I shrugged. “I had a good breakfast,” I said.

“Right,” Ayat murmured, and I could tell he didn’t believe a word of that. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need a break. We will resume tomorrow.”

Just in time for Ksana’s voice to call out across the courtyard: “My lady! Time for a bath!”

I gave Ayat a wave goodbye as I joined Ksana on the other side of the courtyard. She led me inside and back to my quarters, where a bubbling bath had been prepared for me. I quickly undressed and sunk into the water, relishing the way the warm water soothed my tired muscles.

Then Ksana began to viciously scrub my back, and the relaxation snapped away.

“I don’t know why your father insists on weapons training,” Ksana grumbled, moving on to violently brushing through my waves. “In all my years, I’ve never seen a noblewoman train with a blade of any kind.”

I rolled my eyes. I had no doubt that other noblewomen were trained in some sort of self-defense. In an empire intent on bloodshed, it would be a poor strategy to deny anyone the ability to defend themselves. Perhaps their training was not as intense as mine, but I liked it better this way. I knew the extent of my capabilities, what it felt like to push my body to its limits.

“Is everything prepared for the tea party?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Of course it is,” Ksana sneered. “Everything is as you requested.”

A simple yes would have sufficed, I thought.

Ksana ushered me out of the bath, handing me a soft fluffy towel. Then she led me into my bedchambers where the other maids waited for us and sat me in front of the vanity. As she began working perfumed oil into my skin, another maid took my hand and started to shape my long nails with an emery board, and another began to brush out my hair.

Even after all these years, I would never get used to all the hands.

Hands, hands, hands. Touching me. Preparing me, like a doll. I hated it.

After I was done-up with blush pink and gold makeup, Ksana dressed me in a matching gown. It looked like a pink rose had been magically turned into a gown. The neckline hung off my shoulders, with sheer layers that hugged my body in all the right places and a sheer pink cape that flowed down my back. Small gold roses were embroidered all over the layered skirt. Ksana picked out a gold collar necklace with a small rose quartz in the center to accent the dress.

My breath hitched in my throat as I looked into the full-body mirror, taking myself in. I hadn’t worn a dress like this in a long time, especially one that accentuated my waist and my cleavage like this. In my first life, I loved wearing bright colors—deep fuchsias and reds, pinks and blues, emerald green, golds bright enough to blind someone who stared too long. Many of my dresses had been low cut, with necklines that plunged down my chest and corsets that accentuated my curvy waist.

After we had gotten married, Valen became an extremely jealous man. He forced me to trade in bright beautiful colors for gray and black, gowns that didn’t cinch but draped, necklines so high they graced my jaw. Even with his habit of extramarital affairs, and despite the fact I never, not once, entertained another man, he was still intent on controlling everything I wore.

“Your guests will be arriving shortly,” Ksana said.

I nodded, turning to her. Soon, I would be coming face-to-face with the woman who had just played a part in my death. “Let’s go,” I said.