And third, Henrick had not one, but three sons. Sons who didn’t know he existed, sons who would never know he existed, yet sons whom he loved all the same. This was the reason he had never married. Here, in this room, was the reason he had consummated nothing with Safi. And the reason he had groomed Leopold so carefully to succeed his throne.

I am not so awful as you think me, he’d told her two days ago. You will come to see that in time. And then in the carriage he had said, We are not all so lucky, you know, in reference to building families with the ones we loved.

No, no, no. It was too much for Safi’s brain to digest. She was not supposed to pity Henrick fon Cartorra. She was not supposed to respect his lifelong devotion to the family he could never have. She was not supposed to appreciate how the woman laughed, throaty and warm, or be impressed that she made no attempts to polish her words or put on airs.

Henrick fon Cartorra was a bad man. He treated his Hell-Bards like cannon fodder. He abused them, he broke them—all in the name of power. He had imprisoned Safi with a golden chain, he had imprisoned her uncle in poison, and he had trampled on smaller nations in the pursuit of dominance and war.

There are degrees of everything, Caden had once told Safi. Which I know doesn’t fit well into your true-or-false view of the world.

No, it didn’t fit, and Safi wished she’d never ever heard this conversation. She was not supposed to feel sympathetic toward her enemy. She was not supposed to feel this tiny niggling of guilt.

Her freedom mattered. Iseult’s safety mattered. And just because Henrick had more sides, more dimensions, more depth, did not erase what he had done or why Safi had to flee.

With a slow, silent breath, she eased the belt—the paste now dried—onto the heap of shadowy clothes. She had what she’d come for.

Fortunately, the sounds of kissing soon filled the room, and when Safi inched her gaze around the chair, she found the curtains were starting to move.

It was definitely time to exit.

After confirming the gold chain and Threadstones were safely in her pocket, she rolled to her feet and tiptoed away. Moments later, Safi was back in the study and returning her noose to her neck. Then, with her breathing and heart only slightly elevated, she settled into the chair before Henrick’s desk to wait for a final good-bye.

Iseult found her mother outside the prisoner tent, her two hunter escorts near but out of earshot.