“These lovely items are called cyffion gwacter. ‘Void cuffs.’ Cyffion are used for securing Merlins when your typical handcuffs just won’t do,” he says grimly. “When enchanted by a sorcerer, they block my ability to sense or call aether, or use it to shift forms.”

That ear-popping sensation from when Erebus put them on. It had felt like a type of barrier snapping into place. “I don’t understand.”

“I said,” he says, dragging each syllable out slowly, “they block my ability to sense or call—”

“I heard you,” I spit. Why is he so irritating, even now? “I just mean, with those on you’re…”

“ ‘Neutered’ is what Guard Ramirez said when he absolutely knew I was listening on the other side of the cell door. I am unable to cast aether constructs, forge weapons, or use it to fight and defend myself. The only one who can remove a pair of cyffion is the sorcerer who put them on in the first place.”

Erebus.

An ache slices through me at this punishment. To not call aether, his element? To lose that additional sense that helps him do his job—the only thing I’ve ever known Sel to love unequivocally? “Sel, why didn’t you tell me the Regents were coming after you?”

He stares at me. “What would you have done? Dive in to try and save me the night before the Rite of Kings, when you take the first step toward the throne?”

I scowl. “You ran when they came for you, but then you came back. Why?”

“I got bored,” he drawls. “What does it matter? I saved you. Then I got caught. Now I’m here.”

His response is bait, but I’m too tired and confused to take it. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is an answer; you just dislike it.” He sighs. “Just like you disliked it when I forbade you from joining our hunts.”

That fight feels so, so far away now. And silly. “What I dislike is that you’re keeping things from me.”

He laughs a short sharp sound and buries his head in both hands. His voice reaches me, muffled in his palms. “Breaking news: secret mystery girl suddenly tires of secrets.”

“We trusted each other once, Sel. I know that I broke that trust, I know we’ve fought, but you didn’t tell me you were in danger. You didn’t tell me the Regents were targeting you.” I don’t bother hiding the hurt in my voice. “You told Lark, who you don’t even like, but you didn’t tell me.”

Sel doesn’t respond. The silence becomes painful.

“I just thought, after everything we’ve been through, after we…” I trail off, but the answers rise inside me, loud: After you saved my life. After what we learned about our mothers. After the cave. After the balcony and ‘cariad’ and when you said I was your king. Yours.