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A clawed fist wrapped itself around his mind, leaving him with nothing but a barren cold inside. He hadn’t so much as twitched since she started speaking. Refused to breathe too deep.

The Fae’s voice rang with truth. Lunara had borne the brunt of his episodes both physical and verbal, so it made sense that Fern was actually, officially, assigned to her protection. Made sense, and pissed him the fuck off.

It meant everyone had been feeding him lies on top of lies.

Were you even kidnapped? Maybe they did this to you for reasons you don’t understand. Maybe they are your true captors, and you need to escape their clutches. Maybe no one can be trusted.

No. No. Mag would never. And Lyriat was like a brother. At the very least, he knew the two of them were trustworthy. But…

Have they not been withholding? Do they not leave you out at every turn? Even now, Magnus would rather be alone outside. And you see the way they look at you, judge you. The long looks they share with each other.

A small part of him railed against those thoughts, and words tumbled out before he could stop them. “How do you know it was your choice, and not them manipulating you?”

Brand spat it like a taunt, but the question was genuine. He needed to know for his own sake that those he loved most in the world weren’t lying and manipulating and controlling him, like the whispers were claiming.

Sisters help him. If those far-off voices spoke the truth, life wouldn’t be worth living.

Fern leaned in until her breath fluttered against his face. “I have a feeling that very few people are capable of making me do anything I don’t want to, Your Highness. I’m here because I want to be. Do yourself a favor and—like I already said—get the fuck over it, eh?”

The Fae spoke with such conviction that he was almost comforted. Almost at ease. She just had to go and flash that self-satisfied smile, like she’d won something. So judgmental. So bloody smug.

A frigid haze, pitch black and roiling, rose up and flooded his veins, seizing command of Brand’s body. He was helpless against its nigh intoxicating rush. Against the dark spots swimming in his vision and the way it seized hold of his limbs.

The bitch needed to know that her disrespect wouldn’t go unchecked.

He reared back with a roar and rammed his head into Fern’s. Her nose gave way, the crack of bone crunching beneath one of his horns satisfying in the extreme. The red spraying over him and staining his ivory sheets was even better.

She grunted and leapt from the bed, blood pouring down the front of her impractical bandeau dress as her wings worked to keep her hovering across the room.

“I get it now.” The grin she leveled at him was savage, her laugh chilling. “You’re a fucking coward through and through, aren’t you?”

An icy lance of pain embedded itself right between his eyes, stealing more of his sight away. Uncaring, he threw the blanket off and stood, his lumbering steps far more stable than he expected as he stalked towards her.

“You’re going to pay for that.” He reached up and snagged her ankle, wrenching her down to eye level. “Dearly.”

The ease with which he gained the upper hand should’ve given him pause, but she cackled in his face and fed the beast consuming him.

“Go on, then.” She tapped the end of his nose with a clawed finger, unconcerned with the fact that he could snap her leg in two with little more than a squeeze if he wished it. “I dare you to give me a reason to knock you on your sorry arse.”

Her audacity was galling. “Breaking your face wasn’t reason enough?” His grip tightened, a warning.

Somewhere deep, part of him was screaming that the timbre of his voice was all wrong—a skittering, unrecognizable gravel that wasn’t his—but he was sinking too fast into the prison of himself, the world around him little more than a shadowy clag.

“Please,” she snorted. “That was pitiful, at best. You’re standing because I feel sorry for you, Highness.”

“So much disrespect for your betters,” he sneered. “If you’re such a force to be reckoned with, prove it.”

He twisted his arm before he finished speaking, intent on shattering her fragile bones and teaching her that he was not one to be trifled with. Fern surprised him by going limp, though, falling into the attack. She used her wings to propel her around and up again, finally kicking out of his hold.

“Right, good enough.” Fern spun her mace with one hand, just out of reach as she sized him up. “Maybe a few whacks to your thick skull will help tighten the loose screws you’ve got jangling around in there, you saggy fucking pixie tit.”

She was on him in a blur, bites and bruises appearing as if from nowhere. It was impossible to lock onto her position. To gain any sort of foothold against her.

Useless. He was bloody fucking useless like this. Pathetic, just as she’d said.

“Stop with the fucking games,” he growled, hoping to provoke her. “Fight me face-to-face. Or are you as much a coward as I?”

“Fine. I was trying to avoid since Lunara isn’t here to fix you, but…” Her put-upon sigh mocked him as she abruptly stopped in front of him. “As the Imperial Demon Son commands.”