Trees give way to vast fields, and in the distance, the first signs of civilization emerge—a village nestled between rolling hills, smoke curling from chimneys, and figures moving along the paths.

  Briarholt.

  I remember the map etched on the palace library's ceiling showcasing my kingdom--Elyndria--and its villages scattered across the land, all orbiting the capital. A bustling city with towering spires and cobblestone streets with the palace situated at its heart.

  I sit beside my brother, staring up at the faded ink. "Try to imagine it," Vincent says as his finger traces the winding roads and I close my eyes. "The noise of the capital fades into birdsong and chirping crickets, the cobbled streets melt into dirt paths with ivy wrapped cottages lining them. It's different, but it's beautiful."

  My eyes flutter open to find a dimpled grin on his face. "Our kingdom is more than just the palace, Selene. If you're ever granted the opportunity to see it for yourself, take it."

  The memory fades like a dissipating dream and my gaze flickers to the front of the carriage where Finn sits on the other side of the wall as he steers the horses. His eyes, when I caught a glimpse of them earlier, were a natural shade of blue. Unlike Rael's—deep, burning red.

  "Why are Finn's eyes blue?" I ask, curiosity bleeding into the question.

  Rael sighs, shifting slightly. "He manipulates them to be."

  I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "Why?"

  "His reasons are his own."

  "And you chose red?"

  An almost laugh escapes him. "No, princess, red is their true state."

  I look at him, puzzled.

  He leans back, studying me. "Your people don't take kindly to demons. Many of my kind walk your streets disguised, like him. But I'd rather they know exactly what I am." He doesn't stutter. "It's better if they keep their distance—better if they fear me. Keeps most trouble at bay."

  Something in his tone makes my throat tighten.

  'It's better if they fear me.'

  I wonder if he truly believes that or if he simply refuses to let himself want anything different.

  'It must be lonely, the way you live.' The statement balances on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it in.

  He studies me for a moment before speaking again. "Better to have truthful enemies than untrustworthy allies."

  The words settle heavily between us, and I realize he's not just talking about himself. He means me, my kingdom, the marriage I am being sent into. He means all of it.

  "Are all demon's eyes red?" Memories flash into view, of that creature licking blood from its fingers. Of glowing eyes the color of molten gold.

  "No." He relaxes slightly in his seat, adjusting the sword on his lap.

  Why does he even carry it if he has no need for it?

  "Eye color is a mark of status," he says.

  That catches my interest. "How so?"

  "All demons are born with yellow eyes. But as they carve their path through life—through their choices, their triumphs, and their mistakes—their eyes change. Those who live ordinary lives, like your villagers, bear the usual gold. The wealthy tend to have varying shades of amber."

  'Ordinary lives...' My heart skips. The coachman.

  Golden eyes, a sickening smile. But no urge to attack me. It had to be him.

  Suddenly, Finn's initial kindness feels more unnerving than comforting.

  I push the thought aside, drawn to the weight of the King's Blade's words. "And red?"

  "Reserved for those in positions of power—royalty, high-ranking nobles, Kings' guards like myself."

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  I hesitate before asking. "Can they change color? Say, if a commoner were to marry into nobility?"

  "It depends."

  "On?" I push.

  His gaze locks onto mine, sharp. My breath stills.

  "The blood they've spilled."

  The words settle between us with a heavy, unshakable chill. My stomach churns.

  "How much blood?" I ask, though the question feels too small for the significance of the answer I'm seeking.

  Rael's gaze flickers briefly, a dark glint in his eyes that disappears instantly. "It's not about the amount, princess. It's about who you're willing to kill to claim your place."

  I frown, trying to piece it all together. "So your kind kills for power?"

  He nods once, the movement sharp, deliberate. "If that is what they seek." He shrugs. "That's the price for power in our world." His voice turns colder as he adds, "It's not a price I take pride in, but I have no choice."

  I can't stop the words spilling from my lips. "If another demon were to kill you-"

  He scoffs.

  "-they would take your place?"

  "And if I were to kill the king, I would take his."

  "Would you?"

  "There's no need for me to."

  I want to ask more. I want to unravel the path he took to become the King's Blade, I want to know if the King was born into power or had carved his way to the throne in blood. But some questions are dangerous to ask, and some answers are too heavy to bear.

  Quietness settles within the carriage, but before I can think of how to break it, Rael speaks again, his voice nearly a whisper.

  "Those who spill blood for power often lose more than they gain."

  I blink, unsure if he's talking about someone else now, or about himself. But I don't ask.

  ~~~~~~

  The carriage slows as Briarholt comes into full view. I press my palm to the chilled window, my breath catching. It looks so different from the plain, towering stone walls of the palace—so full of life. The buildings are simple, their thatched roofs sloping gently atop walls made of weathered stone and timber. Children chase each other down the narrow paths, merchants set up stalls with fresh bread and woven goods, and a woman leans over a cart of apples, her laugh bright and unrestrained.

  It is... beautiful.

  Just as Vinnie said.

  "The main road is too crowded," Rael says, cutting through my admiration. "The carriage will meet us on the other side of town."

  I straighten. "So we're walking through?"

  He shrugs, squinting out the window. "Unless you'd prefer to sit in the carriage while the coachman swerves around livestock carts?" He crosses his arms. "Besides, I need to stretch my legs."

  I glance at the bustling marketplace, anxiety creeping in as Rael's words echo in my mind.

  'Who benefits from your death?'

  "What if someone recognizes me?" The words are rushed. I shouldn't worry, no one outside of nobility has seen my face, but that doesn't mean I'm untouchable.

  The King's Blade meets my gaze. "They are more likely to notice a royal carriage taking the backroads than another girl in the crowd." His eyes flash. "Unless you plan on announcing yourself?

  I frown. "No."

  "Then you'll be fine."

  His certainty is unnerving though he's probably right. If someone wanted to attack, they'd assume I'm in the carriage. And Finn can handle himself.

  I shiver, the sight of him licking blood from his fingers flashing in my mind.

  Attacking him would be foolish.

  Still, I should refuse. It's a risk, no matter how small. And yet, my brother's voice pushes through my hesitation. 'If you're ever granted the opportunity to see it for yourself, take it.'

  This is my chance. A rare one.

  Before I can further protest, Rael unclasps the heavy cloak at his shoulder and tosses it to me.

  "Wear this."

  I pull it over my shoulders, the sheer weight of it making me feel smaller. But as he opens the door, the chill autumn air sweeps in, and the warmth of the fabric is welcome.

  He offers a hand as I climb out of the coach, then he gestures at my hair. "Take that down."

  I blink. "Why?"

  "You look too refined. It gives you away."

  Reluctantly, I untie the delicate ribbon, auburn waves spilling over my shoulders. I shake them loose, trailing my fingers through the strands to ruffle them up.

  I expect a nod of approval or sharp comment about how unconvincing I still look when I glance back at him. Instead, Rael steps closer.

  Then, with a deliberate slowness, he reaches out and tousles my hair, fingers ghosting through it.

  He's close--too close. Close enough that I can see the faint scar along his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his crimson eyes glint like embers in the afternoon light. The touch is fleeting, impersonal in every way but the warmth left in its wake.

  "There," he steps away, "now you look the part."

  "And what part exactly is that?"

  "Unremarkable." He pauses, gaze traveling over me. "Though I'd still notice you in a crowd."

  My heart skips, though I'm unsure why.

  "Because I'm very good at my job." He adds.

  I pull the cloak tighter around me as my pulse steadies, the fabric blocking out the crisp breeze.

  Trepidation and eagerness clash in my chest as Rael sheds his armor, discarding his sword before tucking a small dagger into his belt. He directs Finn to tend to the horses and bring the carriage around to the other side of Briarholt where we'll meet him.

  In his plain black tunic and trousers, he looks almost normal--almost human. The illusion broken by the edged gleam in his eyes—those otherworldly, ruby irises that betray his true nature.

  It's strange, how easily he could pass for something he's not. How, without his plated armor, he seems... lighter. Less like a weapon, more like the man that wields it.

  A smile tugs at my lips, unprompted, growing before I can stop it.

  Rael's scrutinizing eyes fixate on me with that familiar intensity carved into his features. But for a fleeting moment, something shifts--his stare softens, losing its edge, as if peeling back a layer to reveal one that is less cruel, less guarded. Then, in the blink of an eye, the stone sets back in place. "What?"

  I shake my head, the grin lingering. "Nothing."

  I turn away, focusing on the village ahead, and for just a moment, I feel something nameless.

  Not fear. Not duty.

  Something freer.

  For just a moment, I am no one's princess--no one's bride. I am simply me.