Violence was no stranger, and it throttled me now. I had never slaughtered a woman for insults, but tonight seemed a good time for a first.

Solveig took note and chuckled. “Then again, you already have your own Draven watchdog.”

Yrsa shot to her feet. “Gerta Solveig, leave this hall. You will not step foot at the royal vows. I will personally cast blood wards to bar you out. Should you attempt it, I’ll be certain my father returns you to Myrda in chains.

For the first time, Solveig’s face paled. No lady of Myrda would want to be excluded from the royal wedding. The woman hesitated for a pause, then lowered her head and scurried away.

There was rage inside me, unwise and unexpected. Lyra’s shoulders curled, and the light that was in her eyes not moments before dimmed.

“Think nothing of it, Lyra,” Thane insisted.

“Truly.” Yrsa lifted her horn. “Solveig has yearned for the eye of House Grisen since our gentry studies. She must’ve heard about what happened.”

“It isn’t like Hundur is being silent about it,” Thane snapped.

Yrsa’s mouth tightened but she nodded in agreement.

Lyra gave them both a tentative grin, but it was a mask. There was pain behind the mottled dyes in her eyes.

I moved my palm higher on her leg and took on a firmer, near-possessive grip. She sucked in a sharp breath and shifted closer. Lyra held my open palm over her leg, a silent encouragement to never let go.

I didn’t. Not until more drunken fools tried to speak with her, some begging for their own claws like Hundur’s.

Through the corridors, I kept a hand on the small of her back until we reached her chamber door.

“Is it true?” Lyra turned to me. “What Solveig said? Did the heir of Dravenmoor die trying to take me from the raid?”

I winced.

“That is my answer, then.” Her tone grew cold.

I waited until she lifted her gaze back to mine. I don’t recall everything about that night. But I know the prince helped hide you.

“Why?”

I didn’t know what to say, how to explain what I wasn’t entirely certain I understood myself.

Lyra studied her hands for a breath. “I keep having these…dreams. Someone is holding me and running through the wood. At our backs there’s only smoke and screams.” She rubbed her brow with her fingers. “He tells me to keep my eyes closed. What if it’s not a dream? What if it’s a memory?”

Dammit. Her dreams aligned with my own, and I couldn’t explain any of it.

I don’t know. I brushed a lock of her dark hair off her brow. Queen Elisabet hates Damir’s use of soul bones. But her son had mercy on a child.