Chapter 1

"Take your hand off me," I said.

Rafe sat at the head of the feast table, one shoulder against his carved chair. A thin cut marked his jaw. Mine.

His thumb pressed against the inside of my wrist. Warm. Steady. He felt my pulse jump beneath his glove.

"You crossed my guards, poisoned the wine, and tried to put a knife through my heart." His pale eyes stayed on mine. "You don't get to make demands."

"Then kill me."

A few nobles laughed.

Rafe didn't.

He twisted my wrist.

Pain shot up my arm. My fingers opened, and the knife struck the stone floor with a sharp crack.

"That was the plan," he said. "Until you started lying."

"I haven't said a word."

"Exactly."

He stood.

The commander was taller than he'd looked in the wanted sketches. Broad shoulders. Black leather. Silver clasps. Dark hair pulled away from his face.

The council called him a monster.

They'd left out the part where he moved like he'd already decided how everyone in the room would die.

His grip dragged me around the table. My boots scraped over the floor. My shoulder struck his chest, and his hard body pressed against my back for one humiliating second before he shoved me forward.

"You heard him," one guard said. "Kneel."

"Try putting me on my knees," I snapped, "and I'll take your eye with my teeth."

The guard reached for me.

Rafe lifted two fingers.

The man froze.

There it was. The power everyone had come to watch. One small gesture, and armed men stopped. One more, and they'd cut me apart.

Rafe bent close to my ear.

"You still think you're in control."

"I think you're enjoying the show."

"I am the show."

He kicked my fallen knife toward the center of the hall. It slid beneath the table and stopped beside a silver basin of roses.

My only escape was gone. The doors stood behind him. The windows were too high. Guards had closed ranks around us.

Rafe knew it.

He always knew too much.

"Vera Thorne," he said.

The name hit harder than his grip.

No one in this fortress was supposed to know it.

I kept my face still. "Wrong woman."

The corner of his mouth moved. Not a smile. Something meaner.

"No? Then I owe Lady Elara Voss an apology for tearing her sleeve open."

His fingers caught the edge of my borrowed gown.

He ripped.

Silk split from my shoulder to my elbow.

The black thorn tattoo curled over my skin. The crest of Clan Thorne.

The clan the council had declared dead three winters ago.

The feast erupted.

"Thorne?"

"She's one of them."

"They were all executed."

"Commander, let me cut her down."

My teeth clenched.

Rafe's knuckles brushed my bare shoulder. Heat slipped through the thin fabric between us. He was far too close for a man who'd just exposed me to a room full of enemies.

"You should've worn a higher collar," he murmured.

"You should've learned to die quietly."

"I tried. You weren't good enough."

I drove my heel toward his knee.

He caught my ankle before it landed.

His hand locked around my boot. He pulled, and my balance went with it. I slammed into him, one palm striking his chest.

His heartbeat stayed calm beneath the leather.

Mine didn't.

His eyes dropped to my hand. Then back to my face.

"Careful," he said. "People may think you like touching me."

"People may think I was checking where to put the next knife."

"There won't be a next knife."

"Planning to search me yourself?"

His gaze dropped to my mouth. Quick. Deliberate.

The air tightened between us.

Then he shoved me away.

"Search her."

Two female guards stepped forward.

I moved first.

A fork flew from the table and buried itself in the nearest man's hand. He screamed. I seized the second guard's wrist, twisted, and drove my elbow into her throat.

Chairs scraped back. Wine splashed over white sleeves. Silk swirled as the court scattered.

Rafe caught me from behind.

His arm locked around my waist and hauled me off the floor. My back hit his chest. His forearm pinned my ribs, and the smell of leather, smoke, and cold air filled my lungs.

"Let go!"

"Stop fighting."

"Go to hell."

"I have a room there."

I slammed my head backward.

He turned in time. My skull struck his cheek instead of his nose. His hold tightened, and his breath touched my ear.

"That was almost rude."

"I was aiming for your teeth."

"You keep making promises you can't keep."

I drove my fingers toward his eyes.

He caught both my hands in one of his.

Steel scraped free around us.

Rafe dragged me down onto one knee.

Stone cracked against my kneecap.

Pain flashed white.

"Kneel," he said.

I glared up at him. "You had to throw me down to make it happen."

"I don't care how you get there."

"That's convenient for a man who confuses force with authority."

His jaw tightened.

Good. I wanted one thing on him that I could control.

He released my hands and seized my knife arm. Then he picked up the broken blade from the floor.

I hadn't seen him take it.

He turned the weapon between his fingers.

"Valen steel," he said. "Forged in the western pits. Stolen six months ago."

"Congratulations. You can identify metal."

"The blade was bought by a dead man. The dead man served the council."

A murmur moved through the hall.

Rafe lowered the knife until the tip touched the center of my chest.

"Who sent you?"

"Your mother. She said you were unbearable and needed killing."

Someone choked on a drink.

Rafe's eyes sharpened. "Again."

"I work alone."

"No one works alone when they carry council steel."

"Maybe I'm talented."

"Maybe you're stupid."

"You missed the heart."

"I caught your wrist before you got close."

"Your ego is doing a lot of surviving for you tonight."

He pressed the blade against my chest.

The broken edge cut through the silk over my ribs. Not deep. Just enough to draw a warm line of blood.

"Say my name," he ordered.

"I'd rather swallow the knife."

"You already swallowed something worse."

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

I went still.

The poison.

He knew.

Not everything. He couldn't know everything.

The poison had been sealed beneath my tongue before I entered the fortress. A final weapon. If they caught me, I'd bite down and die before they could question me.

But at the outer gate, a guard had forced a silver cup against my lips as part of the feast's welcome rite.

The powder in that cup had mixed with the poison in my blood.

Since then, heat had crawled up my throat. My hands had started shaking. I'd blamed the attack.

Rafe hadn't.

He watched my face like he could read every twitch.

"Open your mouth," he said.

"No."

"Open it."

"You don't give me orders."

His fingers caught my chin and tilted my face up.

The touch was firm. Almost careless. His thumb rested beneath my lower lip, warm against my skin.

The court watched us.

That was the worst part.

Not the poison. Not the knife. Not the guards waiting to drag me away.

Rafe had turned my last choice into a public claim. He held my face in front of everyone who wanted me dead and made me look caught.

I bit his thumb.

Hard.

He pulled back before I could tear the glove.

"You really don't know when to stop," he said.

"And you don't know how to keep your hands to yourself."

"Take off her veil."

A guard reached for my hair.

I jerked away. "Touch me and I'll—"

"You'll what?" Rafe cut in. "Kill another guard? Run? Die at the door? Pick one, Vera. Your options are getting thin."

He knew my name again.

I stared at him. "How?"

"You want to ask questions now?"

"I want to know who sold me out."

"That depends." His thumb brushed once beneath my lip. "Did you come here to kill me, or did you come for what I'm carrying?"

My pulse stumbled.

He saw it.

Damn him.

The antidote was in the commander's private vault. One black vial. Enough to stop the poison burning through my blood and keep me alive for another month.

I'd planned to steal it after killing him.

Now I was kneeling at his feet with half the court staring at my clan's crest.

Rafe crouched in front of me.

His knee brushed mine. His face came level with mine, close enough for me to see the scar cutting through his left eyebrow.

"What are you looking for?"

"Your manners."

"You won't find them in the vault."

The poison twisted in my stomach.

I swallowed.

Rafe's gaze dropped to my throat.

"There it is," he said quietly. "That little struggle to stay upright."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"You're sick."

"I'm bored."

"Your lips are turning gray."

"Maybe your feast is terrible."

He looked toward the nearest guard. "Bring the physician."

"No." The word escaped too fast. I jerked against his grip. "Don't."

Rafe looked back at me.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need one."

"You need a coffin if you keep lying."

"Then order one."

"I might."

He stood and pulled me up with him.

My knees nearly folded.

His hand caught my waist before I hit the floor.

For one second, my cheek pressed against his chest. His heartbeat struck against my ear, slow and deep. His palm spread over my side, holding me upright through the torn silk.

Every guard saw it.

Every noble saw it.

I shoved at him.

He didn't move.

"Let go."

"Stand without me."

"I can."

"Then do it."

I pushed harder.

My legs shook.

His hand stayed where it was.

Rafe lowered his mouth near my ear. "Keep pretending. Your body already told me the truth."

"My body would rather die than belong to you."

His grip tightened once.

Not enough to hurt. Enough to warn me he'd heard every word.

"Belong?" he repeated.

"That's what you want, isn't it? A captured Thorne displayed in your hall. A trophy to prove the north can break anyone."

"You think too highly of yourself."

"You dragged me in front of your court instead of killing me. You ripped open my sleeve. You put your hands on me. What else should I call it?"

His eyes went cold.

"A sentence."

"Then sentence me."

"I am."

He released my waist and stepped toward the center of the hall.

I swayed.

One guard caught my elbow. I drove my shoulder into his chest. He cursed and let go, but Rafe was already there, fingers closing around the back of my neck.

His touch burned through my skin.

"Try that again," he said, "and I'll chain both your hands."

"Try it and lose them."

"Still threatening me?"

"Still breathing, aren't I?"

"Barely."

The council representative rose from the high table.

Lord Soren wore white robes trimmed with gray fur. His eyes went from my tattoo to Rafe's hand at my neck.

"Commander, the assassin is identified. Under the Northern Security Decree, she must be executed before dawn."

"You heard him," I said. "Make it quick."

Soren's mouth tightened. "You don't get a choice."

"Neither do you, apparently. That's sad."

Rafe didn't look at him.

"The decree applies to rogues who enter northern lands without protection."

Soren's expression hardened. "She's Clan Thorne."

"She's standing in my hall."

"And she tried to murder you."

"She failed."

"That doesn't change the law."

Rafe's fingers tightened at the back of my neck. His body shifted between me and the councilman, blocking the court's view of my face.

"It changes everything," he said.

Soren stepped down from the table. "What are you saying?"

Rafe finally turned.

His pale eyes found mine over his shoulder.

There was no boredom left in them now.

Only a decision.

"I'm saying," he told the room, "that Vera Thorne isn't a rogue."

My breath caught.

Rafe pulled me against his side, his arm locking around my waist. His mouth brushed my temple as he spoke the next words.

"She's under my protection."

The court erupted again.

Soren went white. "You can't—"

"I can." Rafe's hand slid lower, pinning me against him as every eye in the hall turned toward us. "And before midnight, she will—"