“Hold on,” Aidon ordered, even as his own arms tightened around me, pulling me snugly against his chest. I tensed. A guilty part of me wondered what Varian would think. But that was foolish. Aidon’s hands were on my body. The only thing that could spark was a murderous rage.

But then the world fell away and all thoughts of Varian went with it.

I gasped. My hands scrambled against his leathers, finding no hold. So I encircled his neck instead. He chuckled, breathing a tickle against my ear.

A cold wind swirled and danced, pulling locks of my hair free of its braid. I shivered, gooseflesh peppering my skin. Over the hiss of the wind, sounds drifted. The lapping of water against a rocky shore. Voices whispering paper-thin. Those sounds faded as if we moved—traveled past that place to somewhere new. Distantly, music played, hair-raising in its disharmony.

Then it all stopped. The wind was gone, the strange music with it.

When we were still, solid marble beneath our feet, Aidon loosened his grip from around my waist.

It had all happened in but a moment. One second, we’d been beneath the olive trees. The next, in the marble hallway that led to my chamber. Nearly the same place I’d stood with Varian the night Aidon had so unwelcomely barged through the palace doors. Thankfully, the hall appeared empty.

“How do you do that?”

“Impressed, are you? You should see my other tricks.” He grinned at me, his skin cool beneath my hands.

Cheeks burning, I stepped back. “I should go . . . Elysa might just murder me if I’m late tonight.”

“Ah,” he said. “I’d almost forgotten. Today is one of your holy days. I wasn’t invited to the Emperor’s party. I suppose I’ll watch the show with the rest of the common rabble.”

“You’re hardly common," I said with a shake of my head.

His smile turned feral. “Is that a compliment, Princess?”

I scoffed. “A statement of fact.”

Footsteps sounded from a branching hall.

“Better go, Korai. You don’t want to be caught alone with me.”

He couldn’t know how right he was. He couldn’t know what my outburst had cost me. I nodded and gave him a tense smile before turning away.

“Aurora, wait.”

The sound of my name—spoken with that low, drawling accent of his—sent a trail of warmth licking down my spine. I turned back to him. A long, sun-tanned hand ran through his hair. “I never thanked you.” He glanced down at the floor, then back to me with a rare sincerity. “If it wasn’t for you . . . Well, my head might not be attached to my shoulders.”

My chest tightened. Already, that small act had caused me more pain than I’d ever before suffered. Sibyl’s voice rang in my head, the words she’d spoken at breakfast turning my heart chill. I’d bet all the gold in our coffers it is to do with the Shards. Why else would Myridia be meddling in our affairs? The Shardian Alliance must be up to some mischief.

Unthinking, I spoke to the air, “I hope I don’t come to regret it.”

A shuddering breath hissed, nearly silent, but when I looked back, his grin was still pasted on his face.

Before I could take back the words, he stepped into darkness.

Night fell, the moon’s pale face rose, and Nemoralia began.

A large wooden pavilion had been erected at the base of the palace entrance, overlooking the rectangular city square below. There, the city’s three largest streets—Dawn’s Court to the northeast along the coast, Sun Street to the south, and Temple Row, which ran southwest towards the arena—intersected. Directly across from the palace stood the first and greatest temple along the Row: Selene’s. A massive rotunda of white marble, it gleamed with silvery light; a mirror to the moon shining down on it from above.

I stood atop the pavilion, an untouched glass of sparkling wine in my hand. After my last experience, I was reluctant to taste anything served to me. I placed the full glass on the tray of a passing servant and turned to survey the crowd below.

Music filled the air, the trill of flutes cutting over the din of so many mixed voices. Vendor’s carts dotted the cobbled streets. Cries for food and flowers and finery from the far reaches of the empire could be heard as they hawked their wares. Even slaves, marked by their tattoos of ownership, roamed the square freely, some even selling goods.

“At least they get something from this,” a morose voice said. Solara stood beside me, her mood uncommonly foul.

“Three days of freedom a year? I’m not sure that’s much of a blessing.”

A gift given in celebration of Nemoralia, though like me, they were barred from passing beyond the city walls.

“Don’t you hate Nemoralia?” Solara whined. “It’s all about the night and darkness. It’s so depressing.”

“I thought you were excited. All you talked about at breakfast was what you planned to wear tonight.”

She picked at her gown—a beautiful confection of pale blue silk embroidered with pink lace flowers—and pouted. “Yes, but then I realized that no one cares enough to even notice me. All anyone wants to talk about is Elysa.”

“Let her have the victory, Solara. The gods know I’m happy to be free of all the attention.”

Solara’s own attention drifted to the food table where a platter was heaped with candied figs. Her mood immediately brightened. “Hmm,” she said as she shoved one into her mouth. “You know, there are a few eyes I’m happy to avoid tonight.”

“Really? That’s a first.”

She ignored the barb. “Tell me . . . have you seen any guards tonight?”

I glanced around. The nobles gathered in small circles here and there, quietly gossiping and sipping wine as they waited for Elysa’s arrival. The Emperor sat on a dais at the far end of the pavilion, but near us . . . not a single white tunic. “The Emperor has his Imperials, but I haven’t seen many city guards since this morning. They must be searching for that missing acolyte. She is a governor’s daughter, after all.”

Solara snorted. “Good luck to them. Leda will probably show up at her father’s doorstep in a month, married, a belly full of baby, demanding her dowry. Elysa is friendly with her . . . or as friendly as Elysa ever is with anyone. Trust me, the girl is far from priestess material.”

“Maybe, but they did find blood.”

“Aren’t you the one who suggested she scraped her knee climbing out the window?”

“I hope that’s all it was. I hope she is riding down the open road, free as a bird.”

Solara gave me a sideways glance. “You act like she’s escaped prison.”

I looked toward the city walls, bleached bone-white beneath the moon. “Hasn’t she?”

Solara’s grin was full of mischief. She grabbed a glass of wine and downed it in one swig. “Well, a prison needs its guards,” she said, reaching for another glass. “And there aren’t any to keep us caged tonight.”