Mirryn hadn’t been talking about the masked man from the gallows parading as a prince, the rogue who had flirted with Kiva in the infirmary. She’d been talking about her brother—her real brother—who had been wearing a dirty tunic and standing in the crowd. The same brother who had kept Kiva from falling to her death and then infused fire magic into his family’s crest, making Mirryn, his sister, deliver it.

Because he cared for Kiva.

Because he didn’t want her to die.

Because he had the power to save her.

So he did.

The real Prince Deverick—it was Jaren.

“No.” Kiva was unable to keep the exclamation from bursting out of her.

“I thought he told you,” Naari said quietly. “I thought you knew.”

Kiva shook her head. Shook it again. Kept shaking it, as if doing so would wipe away what she’d just discovered.

Jaren was a Vallentis.

His family was the reason her brother was dead, the reason she had been torn from her family and lost a whole decade of her life, the reason her father had died at the hands of a murdering psychopath in this hellhole.

You’re to be imprisoned for suspected treason against the crown.

The crown—the Vallentis crown.

Jaren’s crown.

He was the heir to the throne.

The crown prince.

And he’d lied to her.

For weeks.

Tears glittered in Kiva’s eyes. Naari reached for her, but she recoiled. Hurt splashed across the guard’s face, but Kiva was struggling too much with her internal war to feel any remorse.

“Why is he here?” she rasped out.

He was the Prince of Evalon—why was he masquerading as a prisoner at Zalindov? Why was he risking his life down in the tunnels day after day? Why didn’t anyone but Naari know?

“I can’t tell you that,” the guard answered. When Kiva opened her mouth to object, Naari quickly added, “I’m sorry, I swore an oath. But he’ll tell you. He will. He’ll explain everything, Kiva, as soon as he’s able to.”

“You swore an oath?” Kiva repeated. Her vision was blurry, the tears threatening to fall. She remembered what the guard had said, how she seemed to believe that the king and queen would listen to her. Even before that—weeks ago, she’d been surprised to learn that Princess Mirryn was in a relationship, as if she should have already known. “Who are you?” Kiva demanded.

Naari’s gaze was steady on hers. “I’m Jaren’s Golden Shield.”

Golden Shield—the highest position of honor for a guard. For a Royal Guard.

I was protecting someone I care about, Naari had said when Kiva asked how she’d lost her hand. They made sure I was taken care of afterward.