She was sick of lying. Sick of the games.

She wished she could see her sisters one last time. She’d ask them to get a message to her mother. I’m sorry I failed you. Then she’d ask Ren and Akeylah for one final favor.

Beat the heir. Win the throne. Stop this monster from claiming it.

Because that’s what the heir was—a monster. Andros called Zofi the poison in his blood, and that may be true. She was no innocent. But the heir was something far more deadly. The heir reminded her of Nicolen. Ruthless, willing to stop at nothing to gain power.

Zofi had seen enough corrupt Talons and townie guards to know what sort of people craved leadership for power’s sake.

She’d arrived in Kolonya despising this city, this court, and Andros above all. But over the past few weeks, Zofi had come to understand the king. She may not agree with all—or even most—of his policies, yet she had seen him take advice from Akeylah on the Eastern Reach; watched him meet one-on-one with his subjects and hear their concerns; even spoken to him about military strategy herself. He’d listened. Andros was flawed, yes, but not above changing. He truly cared about his people. She could see that in him.

Not to mention, he’d given his daughters a chance. A Traveler, an Easterner, and a former lady’s maid. He taught them, trained them, waited to see who proved the best fit for leadership based on merit, not their background or status.

Zofi may not always like her father, but she respected him.

The heir would be completely different. If she thought Kolonya was bad now, she could only imagine the depths to which it would sink under a terror like that.

Locks clanked in the distance. Zofi sat up, still shivering. They’d taken her boots when they searched her for weaponry, and her bare feet froze against the dirt floor.

Four Talons marched up to the bars. She stood.

“Turn around,” one said, voice hard.

With a scowl, she obeyed. She had no weapons, and no boosts either. The shield tithe she performed last night in the library—a lifetime ago, it seemed—would wear off in a few hours, yet even so, she didn’t stand a chance against this many guards. Not unarmed.

“Hands behind your back.” The Talon bound tight rope around her wrists, and a moment later, another shoved a burlap hood over her face.

Her stomach clenched. Perhaps Andros had decided to forgo a trial altogether. Maybe he’d decided to march her straight to the executioner’s block instead.