Nik clenched his jaw, swallowing his fury. “Forgive me,” he said at last, his voice cold and flat. “When I watched theMegarians get slaughtered before my eyes and realised I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life, clearly I should’ve been thinking about my cousins in Tiryns. Perhaps my father might have reminded me about the impact of my actions on our family had he not fucking killed himself by the time I’d returned home.”
Danaos stiffened. Despoina gasped.
“So no, dear cousins,” Nik added with a sharp smile, “I did not in fact know how hard it was for you both, and by the Giver’s tits, I don’t fucking care.”
Despoina winced, shooting a dark look at her brother before turning back to Nik. “Gods… we’re sorry, Nikander. We didn’t know about your father. My brother should really think before he runs his mouth.”
Nik gave her a curt nod. Danaos said nothing, his eyes fixed past them, jaw still clenched.
A tense silence settled over the group until Theo cleared his throat. “We should keep moving.”
Danaos pivoted towards the throne room. “I’ll come with you.”
Despoina arched an eyebrow. “The soldiers are waiting for you?—”
“It won’t take long,” he grumbled, already walking ahead.
They followed him in silence, sandals tapping in an uneven cadence, the sound carrying through the colonnaded hall.
At last, they arrived at a pair of towering bronze doors, flanked by six guards who stepped aside and swung them open.
Danaos paused at the threshold, scanning the throne room for someone. When he caught Nik watching, his expression hardened. Without a word, he gave a short nod and disappeared down a side corridor.
Despoina let out a slow breath, then gestured them inside.
The throne room was no less grand than Megara’s, at least from what Nik could recall. A vast space unfolded before them,the high ceiling held aloft by sandstone columns carved with battle scenes. Frescoes of the Achaean Twelve and their heroes covered the walls in vivid, painstaking detail. Shafts of sunlight poured through tall slits, casting golden light across a geometric mosaic floor.
At the far end, a raised dais held the throne, sculpted from marble and inlaid with gold and precious stones. Charis sat there, draped in a flowing silk chiton and a pure white cloak stitched with gold thread. As Nik approached, the light caught the gleam of her diadem, the heavy necklace at her throat, and the ornate pins at her shoulders. Though she smiled warmly, she looked untouchable—draped in gold and silk like a goddess enthroned.
Leukos looked every bit the royal beside her, clad in armour and a white cloak stitched with silver and blue. He wore no crown, but he didn’t need one. He always carried himself with quiet authority.
A long time ago, Nik had envied him: the third prince of Megara, handsome, well-mannered, effortlessly respected. In the palace, some had whispered about his Gift, but never to his face. He was still a prince.
Nik, on the other hand, had been the son of a Silver Shield who’d married a frail merchant’s daughter for love. The court had tolerated him at best. He’d done everything to win their approval—even obeyed his father’s orders, thinking it might help end the siege.
But that was all in the past.
Nik no longer envied Leukos. The usual gleam in his dark gaze had dimmed, replaced by the hollow sheen of too many sleepless nights and too much weight on his shoulders. He was a prince bound to marry a woman he didn’t love, leading a rebellion that depended on a Gift he might be losing.
And still, he stood tall.
Nik had promised Alena he’d look after him, and he would.
Leukos had once been like a brother to him. And against all odds, he’d given Nik a chance to set things right.
Nik refused to botch it.
With Theo, he dropped to one knee before Charis.
“Good, you’re both here,” she said, gesturing for them to rise.
She turned to Leukos, her gold earrings chiming softly as she inclined her head for him to take over.
From what little Nik had seen, Charis struck him as a fair ruler and a true ally to Leukos. He’d often caught them in quiet conversation during meals, heads bent together, her calm presence drawing a rare smile from the prince.
They’d known each other for a long time. After the massacre, it was Charis who’d harboured Leukos, Theo, Nisos, and Pelagios—keeping them safe in Tiryns, helping them build the rebellion from the shadows.
Tiryns’ council, however, was another matter. At least, according to Theo.
