The mood in the dawn-lit room abruptly soured as they both thought about who did have blonde hair—Astraea Nighthall.

“You don’t have to marry her,” Rain murmured, turning the unopened gift over in her hands. She watched the box, unable to look at Daric again yet. The near constant ache in her chest ratcheted up with a vengeance. She’d thought her heart hurt before? Lately, it was in constant pain.

“And do what?” Daric asked bitterly, some of the princely veneer slipping from his voice. “Run away?”

Steeling herself, Rain turned back to him. “Talk to your father. He can’t possibly wish her on you.” Astraea Nighthall was all that was spiteful, vicious, and petty.

Daric shook his head. “The contract has been negotiated. We marry. Our first child inherits both kingdoms. Raanaleath.” He snorted. “It sounds like a disease.”

Angry, unhappy Daric felt like a stranger by her side. These past few months, though, this surly prince had become more familiar to her. “At least Leathen won’t be obliterated from the name entirely.” Not like the name of Ash, which they were being forced to abandon.

He tried to smile and failed utterly. “Good point, Raindrop.” Rain watched as he drew a deep breath and forced back his visible dread over the future that was slowly destroying them both. “Now open your present.”

Rain swallowed the lump in her throat. If Daric could focus on today then she could, too. It was better than thinking about the vile Astraea in his bed.

She rubbed the velvet-covered box between her fingers. It was a daring red. She wasn’t surprised Daric had chosen something he knew she’d like, even if the color was better suited to an experienced, married woman.

“I’m not certain today’s a day to celebrate,” Rain said.

He drew back, his countenance darkening again. “You’re not to blame for any of this.”

“Neither are you,” she shot back. “And yet you’ll be punished for a lifetime.”

“If I hadn’t dragged you from the Cauldron, you’d still be Spring. You’d still control the elements, make rain and wind and grow new buds into trees.” He shook his head, his features contorting into something she saw more and more often these days—disgust.

Rain knew it wasn’t directed at her, but it still hurt to see. She feared Daric would never stop blaming himself for what had happened. Not only to her, but the drought, the failing farms, the hungry people, the empty coffers, their dependence on Raana… Everything.

“You did not drag me from the Cauldron,” she corrected.

“But my father…”