“Perhaps.” Ettore sighs lazily before his face turns sinister. “If it turns out your human is aware, do let me know. I’d be happy to throw him into the Fire Pit. One of my captains is particularly fond of the quiet ones.” The green-eyed prisoner doesn’t move.

“My prisoners will remain in Victory until I say otherwise,” Caelan says icily, and turns to his commander. “Take him to the Winter Keep. If he does have friends, we can use it to our advantage and lure them out when the time is right.”

The commander gives a curt bow. His wings appear in a blue haze, expanding nearly ten feet across. In one fell swoop, the momentum sends him high into the air, the shape of him bursting across the skyline like a shooting star.

Grabbing hold of the prisoner, the other guards take to the skies in pursuit.

When the princes are alone, Caelan turns back to Ettore. “Don’t ever speak to me like that in front of my Legion Guards again.”

“Afraid you’re losing their respect?” Ettore taunts.

“I’m warning you.”

“You’re adorable when you pretend to be angry.”

Caelan doesn’t move, and for a moment I’m afraid his rage could split the earth apart. But then the fire recedes, replaced with a bitter cold. “Does our mother know about your secret meetings with the good Chancellors of the Capital?”

I clutch the skirts of my dress, straining my neck toward the glass. Their voices have lowered, and I can’t make out Ettore’s reply or the words Caelan offers that make him grimace.

But whatever it is, Ettore appears to have had enough fun. He spins as he walks up the steps, lithe as a dancer. “I’ll retire just as soon as I’ve had my fill of wine. It’s a festival, after all.”

When he’s gone, Caelan remains alone on the steps, staring out into the galaxy like he’s searching for answers. And then he lifts a hand to his head, straightens his crown of silver branches, and stalks back into the Gallery.

I wait until the footsteps have gone before slipping out into the darkness and disappearing over the bridge.

22

I VERY NEARLY BURST INTO tears when I see Theo hunched in the back of the car, his face a distortion of fear and anguish. He’s not okay, but he’s safe, and that has to count for something.

Shura speeds home without saying a word. It’s clear from the way her knuckles are blazing white and gripped at the wheel that she’s veiling the car and driving at the same time. It can’t be easy to concentrate so heavily on two things at once, and I’m sure Theo’s state isn’t helping.