Roark stepped nearer to the dais, hands speaking in direct, harsh swipes. He did not need to make a sound. I could sense his rage in every gesture.

“The Sentry was there, King Hundur,” Prince Thane translated. “He saw your seneschal’s son with his hands on the melder.” The prince paused, watching Roark. “She made her refusals clear, and he ignored them. He planned to harm her.”

King Hundur’s glare fastened on Roark. “We cannot know if they both are lying. Your so-called Draven thrall—”

“I would watch how you speak, Hundur,” Prince Thane cut back. “Of those whom I am loyal to in this room, Roark Ashwood nears the top. But your resistance to harken to your own daughter’s words, a melder, and a respected warrior of Stonegate have me curious as to why. Embarrassment that it was Myrda who stirred trouble? Is this retribution for the loss of your seneschal during the raids? What is it?”

King Hundur’s wide face deepened to a fierce shade of red, as though he held his breath far too long. “I seek the truth. Nothing more.”

“It would seem you have it.” King Damir drummed his fingers over the arm of his throne. “What would you have me do, Hundur? She is the only melder we have. Would you have me maim her, make her hideous so men do not wish to touch her?”

My heart dropped. Roark took a step back to me, steady as a predator. A fleeting thought left me curious if the Sentry might stand against his own king for this.

The notion of it stirred something inside, something darker. More and more, his actions in this room gave up that Roark would be willing to draw a blade for me.

More and more, I was convinced I might want to do the same.

“I propose a compromise, so we might get back to celebrating.” Damir clapped his hands together. “My melder will heal Ser Grisen. Fadey could unravel his craft at times. I’m certain Lyra will manage much the same.”

A harsh sound crackled from Roark’s chest, but I was not certain King Damir heard. There was darkness in the way the Sentry tracked the king. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him.

This was madness. One heated moment, and I was allowing this man to consume me.

“In return,” the king went on, “I propose a gift for King Hundur, a show of good faith.”

The Myrdan king huffed. “What sort of gift?”

“You’ve always desired your own melding, my friend.” Damir’s mouth quirked on one side. “Whatever you desire, the melder will put in place.”

There was no choice given to me.