Curled up in bed, a book propped on the thick down comforter, Matilda was just getting to the sizzling first kiss in her latest novel when a knock thudded on her door.She slammed the book shut and sat up against the pillows. “Yes?”The handle turned, and there he was.Leonard still wore his leathers, the overlapping scales of them full of shadows that made him look like some great, writhing beast as he shut the door.He leaned against the carved oak, his wings rising high above his head like twin mountain peaks.“What?” She slid the book onto the nightstand, sitting up further. His eyes dipped to her sleeveless silk nightgown, then quickly returned to her face. “What?” she demanded again, angling her head. Her unbound hair slid over a shoulder, and she saw him mark that, too.His voice was rough as he said, “I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”She always wore it braided across her head or pinned up. She frowned at the locks that flowed to her waist, the gold amongst the brown

Hoping Clotho wouldn’t come shove him over the railing for disobeying her orders, he said, “All right. Throw the right hook.”Matilda did so. And dropped her damn elbow.“Get back into position.” She did, and he asked, “May I?”Matilda nodded, and kept perfectly still as he made minute adjustments to the angle of her arm. “Punch again. Slowly.”She heeded him, and his hand wrapped around her elbow as it began to dip. “See? Keep this up.” He maneuvered her arm back into starting position. “Don’t forget to flow the weight through your hips.” He took her arm, keeping a good foot of distance between their bodies, and moved it through the punch. “Like this.”“All right.” Matilda reset herself, and he took a step away. Without his order, she did the punch again. Perfectly.Leonard whistled.“Do that with more force and you’ll shatter a male’s jaw,” he said with a crooked grin. “Give me a combination one-two, then four-five-three, then one-one-two.”Matilda ’s brows bunched as she reset

Matida and Leonard rode down the dusty road that meandered between the boulder-spotted grasslands and into the southern foothills. She’d memorized enough maps of Wendlyn to know that they’d pass through them and then over the towering Cambrian Mountains that marked the border between mortal-ruled Wendlyn and the immortal lands of Queen Maeve.The sun was setting as they ascended the foothills, the road growing rockier, bordered on one side by rather harrowing ravines. For a mile, she debated asking Leonard where he planned to stop for the night. But she was tired. Not just from the day, or the wine, or the riding.In her bones, in her blood and breath and soul, she was so, so tired. Talking to anyone was too taxing. Which made Leonard the perfect companion: he didn’t say a single word to her.Twilight fell as the road brought them through a dense forest that spread into and over the mountains, the trees turning from cypress to oak, from narrow to tall and proud, full of thickets a

Aiden didn’t act without a reason. Perhaps the general had convinced his father to force this excursion. But for what purpose, Maxwell couldn’t grasp. Unless Aiden merely wanted to get a feel for what sort of man Maxwell had become and how well Maxwell could play the game. He wouldn’t put it past the warrior to have done it just to assess a potential ally or threat —Aedion, for all his arrogance, had a cunning mind. He probably viewed court life as another sort of battlefield.Maxwell let Bolton ’s hand-selected guards lead him back into the wonderfully warm castle, then dismissed them with a nod. Bolton hadn’t come today, and he was grateful—after that conversation about his sword , after Bolton refused to speak about Matida , Maxwell wasn’t sure what else was left for them to talk about. He didn’t believe for one moment that Bolton would willingly sanction the deaths of innocent men, no matter whether they were friends or enemies. Bolton had to know, then, that Matida wouldn’t

Matida backed away, knowing exactly how many steps it would take to get into the hall, but slammed into a hard, unyielding body just as the door shut behind them. Her hands were shaking so badly she didn’t bother going for her weapons—or Leonard ’s. He’d cut her down the instant Maeve gave the order.The blood rushed from Matida ’s head. She forced herself to take a breath. And another. Then she said in a too-quiet voice, “Aelin Galathynius is dead.” Just speaking her name aloud—the damned name she had dreaded and hated and tried to forget …Maeve smiled, revealing sharp little canines. “Let us not bother with lies.”It wasn’t a lie. That girl, that princess had died in a river a decade ago.Matida was no more Aelin Galathynius than she was any other person.The room was too hot—too small, Leonard a brooding force of nature behind her.She was not to have time to gather herself, to make up excuses and half truths, as she should have been doing these past few days instead of free-fa