If the Talons refused to let her dress without guards, that could only mean one of two things. Either they’d been ordered to follow Zofi and her sisters, like after Yasmin’s death, when the king feared for his family’s safety, or… She swallowed hard.

Or these guards had been sent to arrest her.

“On second thought, this outfit is the nicest thing I own, anyway.” Zofi pivoted in a way that kept the lump of her longknife hidden beneath her shirt, and took the lead, striding toward the cherry tower and the king’s residence.

The Talons fell into step around her. More than once, she stole glances at Vidal’s miserable, regret-filled expression.

A memory flashed through her mind. The sky gardens on the night of Yasmin’s murder. Dancing with Vidal. Slipping away with him under the veil trees. His face tilting toward hers, their lips a mere breath apart when Yasmin screamed.

Zofi hadn’t seen him since. But despite the weeklong absence, her pulse sped up at the sight of him. She brushed his arm as they walked, deliberate.

Vidal stiffened. After a moment’s pause, he grazed a finger along the back of her hand in response.

She forced a small, sharp smile. I’ll be fine. She didn’t know if she was trying to convince him or herself.

The Keep looked eerie in the triple moonlight, which zigzagged through the windows, casting patchwork shadows. The corridors stood empty, the only sound the march of their boots. One small Traveler girl flanked by eight soldiers dressed for battle.

It might seem like overkill, but only to someone who hadn’t seen Zofi drill in a melee against these Talons. At least whatever Father thought of Zofi, he did not underestimate her.

Finally, they reached the king’s suites. The captain knocked.

“Send her in,” came her father’s voice.

Zofi obeyed. Father looked worse than the last time she’d seen him, sunken against his bedding.

“Leave us,” the king told the captain.

The Talon hesitated. “Your Majesty, we have been tasked with ensuring your safety—”

“I need to speak with my daughter,” Andros snapped. “Alone.”

“At least one soldier, Your Majesty. Please.” Before the captain had finished speaking, Vidal stepped forward, silently volunteering.

Andros sighed, then nodded. The other Talons filed out, shutting the heavy stonewood doors, and Vidal fell into guard stance at Zofi’s back. Zofi approached her father’s bedside.

He didn’t look very kingly at the moment. He hadn’t left this bed without others’ help since Yasmin’s funeral. Tonight, he’d propped himself against the headboard, five pillows barely holding him upright, his forehead slick with sweat. The illness had eaten away at his once proud features. His cheeks were sunken, his eyelids drooping.

Zofi watched him carefully. “Father.”