“I can go in alone,” Nadir says, his hand gripped around mine. The last time I saw Cloris, she told me Rion had caused the scar I wear on my face so proudly. I touch my cheek as though I can still feel the pain of those long nights in the Keep where he tortured me until it felt like my skeleton had been ripped out of my body.

I shake my head. “I’m not afraid of her.”

Nadir gives me a tipped smile. “I know you aren’t.”

“Then let’s bargain with this bitch,” I say, and we make our way up the white marble stairs.

“We’re here to see Madame Payne,” I say, and the stunning High Fae female at the front desk blinks at us with her big eyes.

“She’s very busy—”

“Tell her Lor is here,” I say, cutting her off. “And tell her we don’t have time for her bullshit. We want to see her now.”

The Fae’s eyes widen, and I know none of this is her fault, but I refuse to stand around waiting for her high and mightiness to grant us an audience. We have what she wants, and she will give me what I want, so help me.

“Of course,” the Fae hostess says when it’s clear I mean business. She dips into a curtsy and then scurries off, whispering something to another High Fae, this one male. He looks at us, then turns down the hall, off to deliver our message.

The woman returns. “Would you like to wait inside?”

She gestures down the long hallway that leads to the large room made to look like a temple of Zerra with its pool and greenery.

“No,” I say. “We won’t be here long.”

She nods, and we wait only a few seconds before the male reappears.

“She’ll see you,” he says, and Nadir takes my hand as we follow him up the winding golden staircase. We enter a dark paneled hallway and are then ushered into Cloris’s study, covered in thick woven rugs and filled with bookcases and ornate furniture. This time, she doesn’t make us wait. She’s standing in the middle of the room wearing a silk burgundy dress, her silver hair pulled into an intricate braid, and her cane clutched in her fist. She’s all sneering smugness, and my fist clenches as I resist the urge to clock her across the mouth.

“Heart Queen. Aurora Prince,” she says as the door closes. “Have you come to keep up your end of our bargain? I assumed I’d see you again soon enough.” The corner of her lips curl up. “Because you’re in . . . love.”

She says the last word like it’s carrion, spitting it out like sinew on dry, caked sand.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” I ask, and she laughs.