He was doubting Remy’sloyalties.
As Zander’s answer hung in the air, heavy and pointed, the sound of boots crunching over loose gravel approached fast from behind.
Tae.
He came to a halt beside us, his brow arched high and that knowing grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, well,” Tae said, hands on his hips. “Sounds likesomeoneis having issues with Remy Saulter.”
The rest of the squad wasn’t far behind, drawn by the tension like moths to fire.
Riven smirked, arms crossed. “Zander, are you jealous?”
Naia leaned closer to Jax, stage-whispering, “You’d think with the prince’s jawline and that broody magic, he wouldn’thaveto compete.”
“Guess even the dark and royal types get insecure,” Jax added with a wink.
Zander shot them a look, deadpan and unamused, but it only made them laugh harder.
Then Cade strode over with that cool Crownwatch swagger, clapped a hand on Zander’s shoulder, and said, “Hey, if it’s any consolation, I thinkyouhave better hair.”
Even I snorted at that, the tension breaking just a little.
Zander rubbed a hand over his face, clearly done with all of us.
“Can we get back to the investigation?” he said flatly.
That just made Jax laugh harder.
But we all stepped back into formation, the jokes fading, but the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth didn’t quite disappear.
Because if Zanderwasjealous…
Maybe that meant hesawme.
Not just the power. Not just Kaelith.
Me.
Zander’s voice cut cleanly through the fading chatter, his tone snapping back into command.
“Spread out. I want to know where the attackers were hiding before the ambush. Look for signs, drag marks, brokenbranches, blood trails. Something that tells us where they came from.”
We nodded and moved without question, fanning out through the clearing and into the tree line, our boots crunching over dead leaves and scorched earth.
I moved farther than the others, past the outer ring of trees and into the deeper brush where the light thinned and the scent of smoke faded into damp moss and pine.
That was when I felt it.
A breath of magic, just behind my shoulder—too cold to be natural.
I turned fast, short sword already in my hand, but the figure who stepped from behind the twisted trunk of an old tree was already raising her hands in mock surrender.
Seraveth.
Pale and as beautiful as a blade left too long in the snow.
“I’m not here to fight,” she said calmly, her violet eyes glinting like glass under moonlight. “At least, not yet.”
