The rest of the Unseelie remain frozen, their hands clasping their daggers and empty jugs at their backs.

The wedding guests leap to their feet; women and men dressed in finery twist and turn as if trying to find a way out. With the exits all closed off by guards, there is no escape for anyone.

The king looks as if he’s seen a ghost, his blanched face devoid of all color.

The longer I stare, the more similarities I see.

Their cheekbones… The shape of their jaws…

Ever’s father is the bloody King of Willowhaven.

That would make Ever Ronan’s half-brother—his older half-brother. If I’m right, then Ronan isn’t the heir to the kingdom.

Ever is.

Ever can’t stay in Rosehill. He needs to get as far from this place as he can. “Run!” I scream.

Our eyes connect, and he must recognize the panic pulsing through me because his heels dig into the cobblestones. The guards holding him falter, trying and failing to drag him closer.

In a blink, Ever is free, but instead of doing as I commanded, he sprints toward the dais.

To save me.

I wave my hands even as I race toward him. “No! Go back to The Divide!”

Ronan lunges only to catch my veil. The comb holding it in place flies out of my hair as I leap to the ground. The rest of the Unseelie unsheathe their weapons, forming a circle to defend themselves against the Seelie guards. A circle that doesn’t include the man I love.

I don’t care how fearsome they are, they’re wearing no armor, and their daggers are a lot shorter than the guards’ swords. They’re not prepared for this battle.

What am I even thinking? This isn’t a battle.

It’s a bloomin’ ambush.

Screams fill the air as people hunker behind their chairs and run up the street, away from the melee. Footsteps pound an uneven beat behind me, growing closer and closer. Ronan grabs my hair, yanking me back against his chest. His golden blade meets my throat, and I freeze under its sting. I manage to catch a glimpse of the ornate hilt between his clenched fist. There, in between the gemstones, is the unmistakable crimson stain of blood.

Ronan does not hunt, nor does he eat meat.

Why would his dagger be bloody?

Did he cut himself?

Or did he cut someone else?

Ever’s gaze locks with mine, and he goes utterly still. Rage burns in his narrowed eyes, his muscles coiling like a cobra prepared to strike. He roars for the rest of the Unseelie to drop their weapons, and although they don’t look happy about it, they lower their daggers.

The guards pass all of them, circling Ever instead. They catch his hands and chain them behind his back.