Chapter 1

My fingers tightened around the silver seal hidden beneath my glove. My mother's seal. The last thing the Valentine bloodline still owned.

I looked at Marcus. "You might want to repeat that without hiding behind my stepsister."

Elsa pressed closer to him. Her cheek touched his shoulder. She wore the white dress that had been made for me.

Marcus didn't look ashamed. That hurt worse than the rejection.

"You heard me," he said. "The bond is broken. The council has accepted my claim to the throne. Elsa will stand beside me instead."

A laugh slipped out of me. It sounded ugly in the dead quiet.

"Accepted your claim?" I took one step toward the raised platform. "You mean you stole it while my father was buried and my family name was dragged through the mud."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "Careful."

"No. You be careful." I pulled off my glove and held up the silver seal. Its carved wolf pressed into my palm. "This is the Valentine seal. It proves the council records were forged. My family never pledged our lands to the Thorne pack."

A few councilors shifted in their seats.

Elsa's fingers curled into Marcus's coat. "She's lying. She's desperate."

"Am I?" I turned the seal so everyone could see the blood-red stone set in its center. "Then why did you spend three months begging me to hand it over?"

Marcus came down one step.

"Give me the seal, Seraphina. Right now."

There it was. The real reason for the rejection. Not love. Not Elsa. The land, the mines, the old Valentine vaults beneath the northern border.

I closed my hand around the relic. "Ask nicely."

His eyes flashed gold. "You don't have the power to bargain anymore."

"You rejected me in front of the entire court, and you still think I owe you good manners?"

A few people laughed under their breath.

Marcus's face went cold.

He moved fast. His hand caught my wrist and twisted it behind my back.

Pain shot up my arm. The seal dug into my palm.

"Give it to me," he hissed against my ear. "Or I'll tell them what you did."

My breath stopped for half a second.

Not because of his grip. Because of the secret behind his threat.

He knew about the sealed letter. The one that proved he had ordered the border attack himself.

I drove my heel into his foot.

Marcus swore and loosened his grip. I ripped free and shoved him back.

"Tell them," I said. "Tell them why your soldiers were carrying Thorne blades when they attacked our own patrols."

The hall erupted.

"Silence!" Judge Orlan slammed his staff against the stone floor. "This is not a tavern for rejected lovers to trade accusations."

"Then stop letting him lie from your platform," I snapped.

His pale eyes narrowed at me. "You stand accused of treason, conspiracy, and the murder of twelve royal guards. Your family lands are seized. Your title is stripped. Your bloodline is removed from the council rolls."

For a second, I heard nothing but my own breathing.

My name was the only thing they couldn't take.

Or it had been.

"You can't erase a bloodline with a piece of paper," I said.

"No," Orlan replied. "But I can erase you."

Marcus stepped beside Elsa again. He didn't even glance at me.

"The sentence should be carried out before sunset," he said. "The people need to see that treason has consequences."

Elsa lowered her eyes, pretending to tremble.

"Marcus," she whispered, loud enough for the first three rows to hear, "maybe she should be given one last chance to confess."

I stared at her. "You want me to confess to your crimes?"

Her mouth curved. "I want you to stop making this harder."

"You wore my dress to steal my fiancé. At least have the courage to enjoy it."

Her smile vanished.

Marcus grabbed her hand. "Enough."

"You're right," I said. "Enough pretending this is a trial. You already decided before I walked in."

Orlan lifted his staff. "Executioner."

The side doors opened.

A man in black armor entered carrying a coil of rope. The noose dragged across the marble behind him, rough fibers scraping loud enough to make my stomach twist.

People moved away from the center of the hall.

No one came near me.

Not one person who had bowed when I was Marcus's future queen. Not one friend who had kissed my cheek at the engagement feast. They watched me stand alone while the executioner carried my death toward the platform.

I looked at Marcus. "You really want them to see me die?"

"I want them to see justice done."

"No. You want them too frightened to question how you got the throne."

His gaze flicked to the seal in my hand.

That tiny movement told me everything.

He still wanted it more than he wanted me dead.

Good.

The executioner stopped in front of me. He held out his hand.

"The seal," Marcus ordered.

I tucked it against my chest. "Come take it."

The executioner reached for my wrist.

I stepped back. "Touch me and I scream that you're helping a thief steal my family's property."

"No one cares about your property," Orlan said.

"Then why is Marcus staring at it like it's his last meal?"

Marcus's shoulders went rigid.

Orlan turned to him. "Lord Thorne, control your former bride."

"She isn't my concern anymore."

The words landed harder than the broken bond.

Former bride.

He had promised me a crown. He had marked my hand during the engagement ceremony. He had whispered that no one would ever come between us.

Now he stood beside Elsa and watched a noose swing between us.

I swallowed the burn in my throat.

"Say it again," I told him.

His eyes finally met mine.

"You heard me."

"No. Say it clearly. Tell them you never loved me. Tell them you used my name, my family, and my blood to reach the throne."

Elsa tugged at his sleeve. "Marcus, don't answer her."

"Why not?" I asked. "Afraid he'll admit he planned this?"

Her face went white.

There. A crack.

Small, but real.

I took another step forward. "You were the only person who knew where the royal guards would be stationed. You were the only one with access to the border orders. And you were the only person who gained anything from my father's death."

Marcus's fingers curled.

"You have no proof."

"Not yet."

"You won't live long enough to find it."

"Then you should be worried about what happens if I do."

The hall buzzed again.

Orlan struck his staff a second time. "Put her on the platform."

The executioner seized my arm.

His grip was too tight. My shoulder pulled hard, and the seal cut into my palm until blood ran over the silver edge.

The moment the blood touched the stone, the relic warmed.

Not much. Just enough to make me freeze.

A thin red line lit beneath the carved wolf.

My mother's voice slammed into my memory, sharp and urgent.

Never surrender the seal. If the council turns against you, invoke the old clause.

I had asked her what clause she meant.

She had only said, "The one no ruler can deny."

I had thought it was a story meant to scare children.

Maybe not.

The executioner pulled me toward the platform.

I dug my boots into the marble. "Judge Orlan."

"What now?"

"I invoke the ancient proxy clause."

The hall went quiet again.

This time, nobody whispered.

Even Marcus looked shaken.

Orlan's face drained of color. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying."

"That clause was abolished."

"No. It was buried. There's a difference."

Marcus crossed the space between us. His hand closed around my throat before the guards could react.

He didn't squeeze hard enough to choke me. He wanted everyone to see his control.

His breath brushed my cheek. "Take it back."

I stared at him from inches away. I could feel the heat of his body through my dress. Once, that closeness would have made my wolf lean toward him.

Now she snarled.

"You rejected me," I whispered. "You don't get to touch me like you still own me."

His thumb pressed under my jaw. "I own the court. I own your sentence. And if you invoke that clause, you may end up begging for the noose."

"Maybe. But I won't be begging you."

His eyes flashed again.

The seal burned hotter in my palm.

I slammed my forehead into his nose.

Marcus stumbled back with a curse. Blood spilled over his mouth.

Gasps cracked through the hall.

I raised my bleeding hand.

"Under the old law," I said, forcing every word past my shaking breath, "a condemned noble may demand a blood marriage to any sovereign who accepts the trial in her place. The sovereign takes her sentence, her debts, and her enemies. In return, the condemned woman becomes his lawful bride and the seal passes into his house."

Elsa grabbed Marcus's arm. "She can't do that."

"She just did," Orlan said.

His voice had gone thin.

I turned toward the fogged entrance at the far end of the hall.

The old law had one problem.

A sovereign had to answer.

And there was only one ruler in the north powerful enough to accept a blood trial against the entire royal council.

Lord Sovereign Calian Draven.

The Frost Tyrant.

The warlord who had never lost a battle and never spared a traitor.

Marcus followed my stare. His bloodied hand tightened around Elsa's.

"No," he said. "You wouldn't dare."

I looked back at him. "You said I had no power left."

The executioner still held my arm. The rope brushed my ankle.

"Let go of me," I ordered.

He hesitated.

"I said let go. Unless you want to explain to Calian why you put your hands on his future bride before he even arrives."

That did it.

The executioner released me so fast I nearly fell.

Marcus caught my elbow.

I jerked away. "Don't touch me."

His fingers stayed suspended between us.

For the first time that night, fear showed in his face.

Not fear for me.

Fear of losing what he had stolen.

The hall doors shook.

Once.

Twice.

Every guard turned toward them.

Then heavy iron boots struck the marble.

One step.

Another.

The fog curled through the open doors as a tall man walked into the royal hall, black coat sweeping behind him, silver wolf clasp fixed at his throat.

No escort followed.

He didn't need one.

The room emptied around his path without anyone being told.

Calian's face gave nothing away. His eyes moved from the noose, to my bleeding palm, to Marcus's bloodied mouth.

Then they stopped on me.

My wolf went still.

The seal flared against my skin.

Calian took one more step, his gaze dropping to the blood between my fingers.

"Which one of you—"