After Sander’s pronouncement, the duke was the first to speak. “I like you, Sander, and I think you’d make a formidable enemy. But to go up against the Paladins, I’d have to be insane. Why should I risk my neck?”

“Because,” said Sander, “the High Commander did not name Sam of Haywood a traitor; he named Lady Samantha, daughter of the seventeenth duke of Haywood.”

A wave of shame and self-loathing swept over Sam. The High Commander had made it so that she didn’t belong anywhere—she couldn’t be a Paladin trainee or her father’s heir. And Sander had gravely miscalculated. “I told you not to use me as leverage. His Grace will not go to war on my behalf.” For once, she wouldn’t even blame him.

Sander’s eyes glinted, his gaze latching onto the Duke of Haywood. “His Grace just learned that the daughter he thought was dead is alive. If he sides with the High Commander, he is condemning his daughter to die another death.”

The duke leapt up from the table, spilling his wine in the process. “Are you threatening Samantha?”

“No,” said Sander calmly. “I’m stating the reality. If the Uriel have any hope of winning this war, we will need Haywood’s support. And if we lose, your daughter will die. The High Commander will see to that.”

“For what it’s worth,” said Braeden. Her heart jumped at the sound of his voice. “The High Commander is not a good man. If morality factors at all into your decision, Your Grace, then you would be wise to throw in your lot with the Uriel.”

The duke glared down at him. “Explain yourself, boy.”

“I speak of the demons, Your Grace. They do the High Commander’s bidding.”

“What madness is this?” asked Sander, his calm façade gone. Apparently this was as much news to him as it was to Sam. “How do you know he can do such a thing?”

Braeden raised his head. For a fraction of a second, his eyes lingered on Sam, and then he looked away. “Because he can make me do his bidding, too.”

The duke dropped back down in his chair with a dazed expression, and even Sander seemed rattled. Sam wondered what else she’d missed while she’d languished in the infirmary. What secrets was Braeden hiding? Had he kept them from Tristan, too, or was she in the dark alone?

Tristan rubbed at the back of his neck. “What is it you want with me, Sander? I am no duke, and I have no army I can offer you.”

“I do not need you to bring an army,” said Sander. “I want you to join mine.” He nodded at Braeden and Sam. “All of you.”

“Yes,” said Sam. Oh gods, yes. She would have a place in the world again. She would be a Uriel.

The duke scowled menacingly at her and at Sander. “You invite my daughter into your army? I forbid it.”

Sam lifted her chin. “Too little, too late, Your Grace, for you to pretend to be my father.” While she still faced her father, her eyes shifted to Braeden. “Forbid whatever you want, but I will follow my heart.” Braeden didn’t look at her but his cheeks colored under her gaze. She sighed and then stood up from the table, bowing, as a man would. “Sander, I am yours, if you will have me.”

“I won’t stand by and watch you get yourself killed!” the duke yelled, his face mottled and red.

“So don’t,” said Sander. “Lend your army’s strength to ours.”

Tristan added, more softly, “Sam is a fine swordsman, Your Grace. I’ve seen no better. And if it gives you any comfort, I will join the Uriel, too.” He twisted in his seat, facing Sander. “Thank you, sir, for this second chance. But my conscience tells me that I cannot accept your offer without saying this first: the Paladins do not all share the High Commander’s vision—whatever it is—and I count many of them as my friends. I became a Paladin because I wanted to fight demons; I have no wish to fight good men.”

“I know that,” said Sander. “After all, you, Sam and Braeden were once Paladins, too. I do not think the three of you an anomaly. I would not fight this war against men if the High Commander had not forced me into it. I cannot promise you that no good men will die by my order, but I can promise I will listen to your counsel and spare lives where I can. Will that be enough?”

Tristan nodded once. He would be a Uriel, too.

“What say you, Braeden?” Sander asked. “Can I count you among my men?”

Surprise flashed across Braeden’s features and then disappeared, replaced by an emotionless mask. He drew his shoulders back. “No, you cannot.”

“Braeden!” Sam cried. “What are you saying?”

Tristan put a quelling hand on her shoulder. “Peace, Sam, he has the right to make his own choices.”

Gods, had she completely misjudged Braeden? No, she didn’t believe that. She knew Braeden—he was virtuous to a fault and the most noble, self-sacrificing idiot she’d ever met. There was something he wasn’t saying, something he held back. “Why, Braeden?”

His mask crumbled into pieces, and finally, finally, Braeden looked at her. “Did you not hear what I said? The High Commander can control me. I’m a danger to you all.” He ripped open his robes at the neck, exposing his skin to the navel. Sam gasped at the sight of the magnificent red-and-gold firebird across his chest. What did it mean?

“He’s marked me as his," Braeden said. He turned to Sander. “I’m sorry that I cannot join the Uriel. But you needn’t worry that I’ll jeopardize your cause. I’m leaving.”

Fury coiled in Sam's belly like a snake lying in wait. “Leaving? To go where?”

“Away from Luca.” Away from you, Braeden might have said. His strange eyes held a faraway look. “Across the Rheic Ocean, as soon as I can find a ship that will take me.”

She would never see him again. “No,” she said. “No! Sander, Tristan, say something!” They held their tongues.

With a scream of frustration, Sam drew her scimitar. She laid the point of the blade against Braeden’s throat.

“Samantha!” her father exclaimed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She ignored the duke. “Get up,” she snarled and rotated around the table until she was on the same side as Braeden, her blade still at his neck. Tristan started to rise from his seat, reaching for his sword, but Sander stopped him with a look. “Let her go,” she heard Sander say.

“Get up,” she repeated, and Braeden rose wordlessly from the table. If his eyes had once registered shock, he had buried it well. Sam slid the scimitar so that the edge of the blade’s middle rested against Braeden’s neck. She grabbed his wrist with her free hand and dragged him across the room. Letting go of his wrist only to open the door to exit the domed tower, Sam called, “Eat without us!”—and then reclaimed Braeden’s hand.

“Where are you taking me?” Braeden asked as she hauled him down the stairs.

“Somewhere we can talk without interruption, and somewhere you can’t run away.” Leading Braeden through a long corridor, Sam dropped his hand and fumbled in her belt pouch for the key to her chambers. “This will do.” She fitted the key into the lock, pushed open the door and shoved Braeden backwards onto the bed.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Pink sheets, Lady Samantha?”

Her lips threatened to curve. Braeden, imposing as ever in his somber black robes, looked a little ridiculous sprawled out in her bright pink bed. She schooled her traitorous lips into obedience. “Do I amuse you, Braeden? Do you enjoy toying with my feelings?”

His mouth lost its smile. “What are you talking about?”

She stepped up onto the mattress and stood over him, bringing the tip of her sword to his heart. “You’ve avoided me for weeks, and now I find out you’re leaving. Would you have left without telling me?”

Braeden twisted his neck, looking away. “It would have been easier.”

“I hadn’t realized I meant so little to you.” She cursed the tears that welled up in her eyes and willed them not too fall. She laughed softly at her own folly. “You know, I dreamed of you while I lay unconscious. And then I woke up, and you weren’t there. I kept waiting for you to come, but you never came.”

“You had Tristan,” Braeden said gruffly. “You had no need of me.”

“I didn’t want Tristan! I wanted you!” The tears she’d tried to will away spilled over. “You promised me once you’d never hate me. I should never have believed you.”

Braeden knocked her sword point off his chest and sat up quickly, grasping her knees. “Now who’s toying with feelings? You’re to be a married woman, Sam. You shouldn’t tell another man you want him.” He loosened his grip on her legs. “I…overheard Tristan’s proposal. Forgive me for not extending my congratulations earlier.”

She glared at him. “I’m not marrying Tristan. I said no.”

Braeden groaned. “Why did you do that? He was supposed to look after you.”

“I don’t need to be looked after, by a husband or anyone else. And why do you think I said no, you great lummox?”

Braeden’s eyes flared and then he shook his head. “Sam, you need to let me off of this bed. I have to leave. I’m bound to hurt you if I stay.”

You’ll hurt me if you leave. Out loud, she said, “That’s shite. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Exasperated, Braeden ran his hands through his hair, pulling silver strands loose around his face. “Sam, you don’t understand. The High Commander and my master—they’re one in the same. This tattoo—” his hand traced the wings of the firebird—“is my master’s work, and it binds me to him, as surely as the last. I can’t get rid of it; I’ve tried. He could tell me to kill you, and there’s a very good chance I’d obey.”

“I’ll take my chances. Braeden, don’t leave.”

He spoke through clenched teeth. “Maybe you’re willing to take risks with your life, but I’m not.”

Sam dug her fingers into his scalp and tilted his head back. She bent over so her eyes were inches from his. “Get this through your thick skull: I am not some fragile flower. I don’t break easily. I can defend myself from anything. Even you.”

Braeden growled in frustration. “Gods, Sam, you’re not invincible. You almost died once because of me.”

She moved her head so that her mouth brushed his ear. “You’re not invincible either, Braeden.” A half-baked idea formed in her mind. “I’ll prove it to you.”

She jumped off the bed and raised her scimitar into the en garde position. “Fight me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Sam sucked air into her lungs and breathed out. “Because if you win, I’ll let you leave, no questions asked. We’ll say our goodbyes and that will be it.”

“You know, I don’t need your permission to leave.”

She lowered her sword, hurt. “I know that.”

Braeden muttered an oath and then stood up from the bed. “You’re still recovering from an injury, Sam. You haven’t any hope of winning.”

She knew that, she did. She would try anyway.

Braeden sighed, slipping a dagger into his right hand. “On the off chance that I lose, what do you get?”

Sam straightened her shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “If I win, you stay.”

A/N: Yay, speedy update! This was a tough but fun chapter to write. Please comment with your thoughts, and vote if you liked it!

Also, great music rec from HollowInside to go along with this chapter - check out "Monster" by Forty Foot Echo on the side.