They moved on, and Helena sat back on her heels. Because of that one word, every prisoner in this place now knew who she was.

And it only confirmed what she feared.

Unlike her… they weren’t getting out.

Pain shot up Helena’s back as she turned onto her side. Sleeping on the stone floor for the last few nights—or what she assumed was night based on when she fell asleep—had wreaked her body.

She pulled her knees into her chest, trying to gather any bit of warmth she could. She wore Quinn’s clothes still, which she’d never been more thankful for. Her dress would have been even more uncomfortable.

Quinn. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of her favorite brother. He was missing her ball, the most important day of her life, because of her selfishness.

His voice wound through her mind. You deserve some selfishness, he’d say. He’d always been too understanding for his own good. It was why he’d helped her. He knew how trapped she’d been in the palace. All of them knew.

A tear tracked down her face. Were her brothers ashamed of her? She didn’t know what she’d have done locked inside the palace most of her life if it hadn’t been for them. Until recently, she hadn’t tried to go see the world because they’d brought the world to her.

It was wrong, she realized too late, to be satisfied with that. Traditions or no, she should have always fought for her freedom. Dell made her see that. Stories of the sea and the city were great, but actually experiencing them for herself was life altering.

A key rattled in the rusted lock, and Helena jerked her head up. A wiry older man with thinning gray hair and a manicured beard peered in, his face alight in the glow of the lantern he carried. He offered her a kind smile, the first she’d seen since arriving.

“Princess,” he whispered. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

She didn’t respond.

He took that as a cue to continue. “I’m afraid I have to interrupt your pleasant evening and ask you to come with me.”

Pleasant evening? Was this man mocking her?

“My name is Koran.” He held a hand down to her.

Helena had made it a point not to learn the names of Madra’s priests throughout her life. She’d wanted nothing to do with them, blaming them—rightfully so—for her masked life.

“I won’t bite,” Koran said, giving his hand a shake. “Please, I promise you want to come with me.”

It wasn’t like she had a choice. A sigh deflated her chest, and she gripped Koran’s hand, letting him pull her to her feet.