Eliot’s large lips pinched together, but he turned and marched into Timber Castle without another word.

“Just do what he says,” I muttered, taking Zane’s arm to lead him inside. “We don’t have a choice if we want to find out what happened to Kaley.”

“He’s going to regret this.” Zane blinked his pale eyes.

A feast of woodwork lay inside the castle; carved pillars and a glorious spiral staircase at the back of the foyer. Cherry and maple tones mixed with birch and oak in the details. Flames roared from oval fireplaces in the walls where men hauled in logs, and the foyer smelled of freshly crisping woodfires, sweet apple cider, and the nutty aroma of gingerbread.

I glared at Eliot’s back as he strutted with all the authority of a fake noble. Then I looked at Zane, holding his fingers ahead like a shield, and during the walk through the main space, I took a deep breath to remind myself that even though Winter had briefly granted me a bad Patrolman once, it had also granted me a good one too.

I kept my eyes on Zane at the foot of the stairs as the Axemen led Eliot and I up the grand, creaking, spiral staircase to our room. Zane stared straight ahead, jaw solid. He waited there until I was halfway up the masterful twists of steps.

The rail was wrapped with emerald taffeta and studded with rustic pinecones. Names were carved into the wood; some ancient-looking and some crisp. It gave off the feel of quaint magic and the scent of pine needles. I halted when I saw a freshly carved name:

Edward Green

Prince of the Pines: XVI

“Does that name mean something to you?” Eliot asked over my shoulder. I spun away from the Green Prince’s name. Without a word, I marched past Eliot the rest of the way up the stairs.

The moment the door to our room closed, I turned to face him. “I won’t listen to you, Eliot.”

Circular windows lined the walls, ovals of early moonlight puddling across the floor. Bushy pine features filled the sills with an ivory candle in each bunch. I went to stand by one and plucked the needles.

Eliot was quiet. His curls had been knocked off balance by the sleigh ride, but his eyes were as vivid as ever, even as the colour flickered.

“Helen,” his throat bobbed, “I need to make things right between us.”

I studied his hunched shoulders and tilted brows, but his terrible last words to me in the Red Kingdom palace dungeon rang in my ears:

They turned me.

“You were going to let me marry Quinten, that monster. I’ll never trust anything you say while you’re pledged to Nightflesh,” I said.

He frowned but didn’t deny it. “I’ve pledged myself to you too.”

“That’s not true.”