My gaze wanders behind me to the giant silver bed covered with white sheets and blue pillows. It looks so inviting, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep. My stomach is twisted into too many knots.

I can’t stop worrying about Nadir, and also Tristan and Willow. What did Cyan mean when he said a riot broke out? How can I be doing this again, wondering if they’ve survived while I’ve been stolen away to another kingdom?

Next thing I know, Cyan will surprise me and tell me I’m here competing to be his bonded partner. But he seems to already have his hands full in that department.

I strip out of my dirty clothes—I can’t believe they ate dinner with me in this state—and pad into the bathroom, where I take a hot shower and wash my hair for the first time in days.

It feels like a lifetime ago when I stood in Aphelion’s throne room and felt all that power coursing through me. I stare at my hand, watching the water sluice between my fingers. They curl into a fist and then open again as I try to channel out a small slip of magic.

Sparks of red lightning dance between my fingertips, and I grit my teeth as it surges through my limbs, cresting into a torrent. A moment later, the shower’s glass walls shatter as magic blasts from my fingertips, rendering the entire thing into razor-sharp fragments.

Shouts rise from the bedroom, and two guards burst through the door, their gazes falling on the broken glass and then me. It’s at that moment we all realize I’m completely naked, and I use my hands to cover myself as they both direct their eyes to the floor.

“Sorry,” one of them says. “Are you all right, my lady?”

No. I’m not fucking all right. I finally have my magic back, but I can barely use it. It’s like a cannon blasting through parchment. All or nothing. What am I supposed to do with this?

“Can you get me a towel?” I ask, trying to sound dignified without much luck.

One of the guards shuffles to the side, keeping his gaze averted as he retrieves one from the hanging rack. Then he approaches me with his eyes still on his feet and holds it out towards me like a shield.

When he’s close enough, I snatch it from his hands and wrap myself up. But my feet are bare, and we’re surrounded by broken glass. The guard looks at the floor and then up at me.

“Would you like me to carry you?” he asks rather reluctantly.

Gods, this is humiliating. “Yes,” I say. “But keep your hands where I can see them.”