The time will come, Raisa vowed, when I’ll be able to ride unescorted through the streets of my own queendom.

The Princess Mellony rode alongside her, her long golden tresses plastered to her forehead and neck, her lips blue and teeth chattering from the cold. She wore a lightweight silk cloak in black and royal blue, which was soaked through.

Blinking raindrops from her eyelashes, Raisa tugged her hood up. Like most clanwork, her Gray Wolf cape was a marriage of beauty and function, and its tightly woven oiled wool fibers turned the downpour. Still, her forward motion as she descended the long slope of Marianna slapped the rain into her face. Water ran in rivulets down her neckline and between her breasts.

Mellony kept twisting in her saddle, looking back to see where Micah was, as if to make sure he was still there. He rode alongside Fiona just behind the Demonai warriors.

I need to pay more attention to Mellony, Raisa thought. I need to woo her away from those who’ve held her in thrall. She’s all I have left—she and Averill.

They’d never had much in common. Before Raisa went to foster at Demonai Camp, their three-year age difference had seemed like a chasm that could never be bridged. Raisa prowled the streets with Amon and his older friends while Mellony played with dolls and tea sets under the shelter of their mother’s warm regard.

Raisa had returned from Demonai to find that Mellony and Queen Marianna had grown even closer, leaving Raisa feeling more like an outsider than ever.

She leaned toward Mellony. “You look cold and miserable,” she said. “Didn’t you bring anything to shed the rain?” She instantly regretted it. It sounded like she was being critical rather than sympathetic.

And that’s how Mellony took it. The corners of her mouth curved down. “Who knew it would start to rain?” she said. “The weather wizards did not predict it.”

“If you ride into the mountains, you have to be prepared for changeable weather,” Raisa said, unable to stop herself in her exhausted state.

“You should call Micah forward,” Mellony said loftily. “We often go riding together. He knows how to shield against the rain.”

“Just because he knows how to do it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to use wizardry for such a purpose,” Raisa said, thinking guiltily of how Han had dried her cloak in Oden’s Ford. “You should be wary of allowing wizards to charm your person.”

“You’re one to talk,” Mellony said, pouting. “When you show up entangled in a wizard’s fetch.”

That sounded too much like Lord Bayar’s words.

This wasn’t going well.

Before Raisa could think to ask it, Amon Byrne slowed his pace, angling his horse in closer. He draped his thick Guard cloak over Mellony’s shoulders, then spurred ahead again to give them privacy.

Protector of the line.