Imeria wrangled her mouth into a neutral line. “You are my family. How could I forget?” she said⁠—unknowingly making a promise that would seal her fate.

Over two decades had passed since, and she had not forgotten. Imeria had once been forced into Gatdula silks, but she’d never betrayed the Kulaw blood that ran in her veins. Starting this morning, the palace belonged to them.

She glanced at Luntok, who stood beside her on the terrace. He no longer had to crawl beneath the gap in the garden wall. If he desired, he could come and go through the great gates at will. He could stroll through the arcaded walkways in broad daylight. He could visit Laya in her chambers without repercussions, except she was in no state to speak to him. When they saw her last, she was still submerged in Imeria’s enchantments, her murky eyes black and unseeing.

But the precioso’s potency was waning fast. Of the wildfire that had surged through Imeria’s veins at midnight, a mere ember remained. Imeria could feel its absence like a nagging itch. She’d been warned that precioso cravings often crept in slowly, only to later spiral out of control. To avoid falling prey to addiction, she resolved to consume it as seldom as she could manage. Thankfully, she had not needed the precioso’s aid since she had gotten Laya under control. But as the drug wore off, Imeria’s powers were also weakening. Her hold on the Gatdulas wouldn’t last much longer. Thankfully, Imeria had come prepared with a solution.

“My lady. Luntok.” Datu Gulod approached them on the terrace. He had gotten caught in the scuffle in the great hall, and his fine clothes were worse for wear. Blood mottled the pale-green silk of his trousers, and the embroidered hem of his right sleeve was badly torn.

“How are the prisoners?” Imeria asked. At the mention of the word, Luntok flinched.

“The prisoners are appeased,” Gulod said, his waxy features fixed in a somber expression. Imeria knew that meant her men had forced sleeping drafts down their throats. None of them posed a threat any longer⁠—not the other ruling families, not even the mighty Gatdulas. All of Maynara was at their mercy.

Triumph flared beneath Imeria’s ribs. She had won the palace for Luntok. After years of scheming, the throne was finally his.

“What about Vikal?” she asked.

“He and the men have finished securing the rest of the palace. After General Ojas surrendered, his men turned to Vikal’s command⁠—just as you said they would, my lady,” Gulod said with a wry grin.

“Loyalty is a fickle thing,” Imeria remarked, leaning against the railing. A cramp shot up her legs. She had been standing on her feet for so long. As the precioso seeped from her blood, the battle’s exhaustion had begun to wear on her.