Chapter 1

Eight years ago, my own brother sold me to a husk.

Today, he came to drag me home.

He drew his claws on the eight whelps beside me.

He didn't know every single one of them was born of a bloodline higher than his own.

Eight years in exile.

Valen finally finds me at the edge of the Shadow-Drake Marches.

I'm a mess. Dirt on my face. Eight little ones crawling all over me.

"Vey." My brother — silver wolf — stops cold. His eyes go red. "Since when do you like kids? You used to say you'd die before you raised one."

I don't answer.

I chew the pine resin in my teeth. I drag two muddy little ones out of the bog by their scruffs.

"Come on, guys. Let's go home."

Then she steps out from behind him.

Mira. Wet eyes. Trembling lip.

"Vey." Her voice breaks. "It was Valen. He drugged your wine. And Zelrun—" she squeezes Zelrun's hand "he switched our carriages himself."

Zelrun — black dragon, Crown Heir of the Obsidian Throne — says nothing.

Just stands there. Watching.

Waiting for me to scream. Waiting for me to cry.

I don't move.

Valen's jaw tightens.

"Look. The husk was ugly. Lowblood. Fine."

"But Mira says he was good to her."

"You suffered a little. Get over it."

A little.

That's what he calls it.

Eight years ago Mira came home crying. Said I locked her out for three hours.

I never did.

Eight years of paying for a lie I never told.

"The husk is dead now," Mira says sweetly. "Come home with us, Vey."

"The whelps aren't coming. They're filthy. Lowblood strays."

"They're the reason you're so miserable. Just let the guards put them down."

I look up.

Kill them?

The girl up in the tree? Toregga's daughter. White tiger. The Marshal's only girl.

The blonde glaring at Mira? Duke Orlando's kid. Golden lion.

The two in the grass? Twin gryphon princes.

…

"You'd be so much happier without them, Vey. Right?"

Mira wipes her eyes. Smiles.

Her guards step in. Swords up. They ring me in.

I drag the farthest little one to my chest. A small girl, silver-haired, her wolf flashing behind her eyes when she clings to my collar.

This pup can't bleed. Margrave Igris waited five generations for one daughter. His men are insane.

"What?" Zelrun's voice drops. Black mist curls off his shoulders. "You really think you're walking into my Keep with eight strays?"

I clap a hand over the little lion girl's mouth. This one's got the dirtiest mouth of the lot.

"Vey, don't be embarrassed." Mira tilts her head. "Zelrun doesn't even care you're used goods. He'll still keep you. Out of sight. Nothing official."

She says it like she's doing me a favor.

"I'm not going."

Dead silence.

Valen's face turns to stone. "You can't even look at Mira without copping an attitude? What is wrong with you?"

I forgot a lot of things.

I forgot the snowstorm. The night he walked her past me and never looked back.

I forgot Mira grinding my bond-token under her heel. Zelrun watched from the eaves. Didn't move.

Eight years buries a girl.

"Do it then, Vey." Zelrun's voice goes soft. "Or tell me — did you like it? Eight years widowing for that husk. Get a taste for it?"

He looks at the little ones like they're nothing.

"They're not mine. And you can't touch them."

Crown Heir or not.

Can't he see? The little ones aren't scared of him. The blue-haired boy is still freezing the mud at his feet. The white-haired girl is still chewing on my boot. The twin princes haven't even looked up.

Not one of them blinked at him.

"You'd protect them so hard you'd deny your own blood?" Zelrun's smile snaps. The black blade hisses out. Violet flame on the edge.

He drives it at the smallest one.

Rion. The little blue-haired boy.

I lunge—

Valen's hand cracks across my face. Copper in my mouth.

"I told myself you were forced," he snarls. "Now I see it. You let him mount you. You shamed our whole house."

Every head snaps up.

I swallow blood. Voice flat.

"Zelrun. Look at the boy you just cut. He's your cousin. Your uncle's kid."

Rion wasn't fast enough.

The blade caught his arm. Blood runs.

He throws himself into my chest. Shaking.

I unhook the pendant at his throat. Hold it up.

A black dragon scale. Edged in gold-red blood. Only the direct line of the Obsidian Throne wears one.

It hums in my fingers. Dragon-song.

Mira's mouth opens. Closes.

Zelrun raises the blade again. "My uncle doesn't have a kid."

"You don't even know your own family." The little lion girl rips free of my hand. She tears a medallion from her tunic. Gold. Thumb-sized. A roaring lion on it. The Blood-Sigil of the Golden Pride. One token. Commands an army.

She shoves it at him. "My dad is Duke Orlando. Wanna kill someone? Try me."

Mira slaps it out of her hand. It hits the dirt.

She laughs.

"And these — you coached them, Vey? Cute."