I frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
But Cindrissian just smiled that knife-blade smile, offering no explanation.
Lincatheron pressed one more kiss to Fenric’s lips. “I’ll find you later,” he murmured against his skin. “Have your meeting.”
He and Cindrissian nodded to each other, some wordless understanding passing between them, before Lincatheron moved toward the door.
He paused at the threshold. “Isara. I’m visiting some female warriors at a war camp in a couple of days. Would you like to join me? You might have valuable insight to offer.”
I stared at him, stunned. After everything that had just happened, he was... inviting me to go with him?
Was he planning to murder me in the forest?
“I—yes,” I heard myself say before my brain could catch up. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Lincatheron’s smile was small but genuine. “Good. I’ll let you know the details.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with Fenric and his cryptic brother.
Fenric ran both hands through his hair, trying to smooth away the evidence of what had just happened. His breathing was uneven, colour high in his cheeks, but he was fighting to pull that perfect diplomatic mask back into place.
“Right,” he said, rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Right. We were—we had a meeting. About Nyxaria.”
Cindrissian settled into a chair with fluid grace, eyes glittering. “How romantic. Nothing says passionate encounter quite like discussing the politics of my former court.”
“Driss.” Fenric’s voice carried a warning, but there was no real heat behind it. Just exhaustion and the lingering tremor of someone trying to rebuild their composure from the ground up.
“What? I’m being helpful.” Cindrissian’s smile was all sharp edges. “You wanted my insights into Nyxarian culture. Well, here’s your first lesson, Isara. In my homeland, we don’t blush quite so prettily when caught in compromising positions.”
Fenric’s face went even redder, and I watched him struggle between mortification and the need to focus on why we were here. The diplomat in him was clawing its way back to thesurface, but the man who’d just been kissed senseless was still too close to the skin.
“The meeting,” he said firmly, more to himself than to us. “We need to prepare you for the delegation from Nyxaria. That’s what matters right now.”
I settled into one of the chairs, the velvet cushions softer than they appeared. Cindrissian moved to the side-table, poured three glasses of amber liquid, pressing one into my hands, then Fenric’s and took the seat opposite.
“So,” I said, leaning forward, my palms flat against my knees. “What should I expect when we meet Nyxaria’s court? I know almost nothing about them beyond their reputation for cruelty.”
The brothers exchanged a glance, brief but loaded with meaning.
“Expect lies,” Cindrissian said, his tone dropping to a dangerous timbre. “Everything they say, every gesture, every supposed peace offering—it’s all calculated. They’re masters of manipulation.”
“And Ashterion?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “What’s he like?”
Something dark flickered across Cindrissian’s face, a shadow I couldn’t quite name. His crimson eyes turned distant, unfocused, as if seeing something far beyond the walls of this room.
“The Shadow Lord,” he said, the title rolling off his tongue. “Is unlike any fae you’ve encountered.”
“He’ll walk into that meeting and memorise every detail about you,” Fenric added, his steel-blue eyes boring into mine. “Your expressions, your movements, even how you breathe. He studies people like weapons to be broken down.”
A chill skittered down my spine. “For what purpose?”
“Control.” Cindrissian’s features hardened. “He’s a predator. The entire conversation will be a game to him. He’ll guide itwhere he wants, let you think you’re making progress, all while searching for the smallest crack in your armour.”
I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the unease settling in my stomach. “So he’s manipulative. I’ve dealt with that before.”
Cindrissian’s laugh was cold and hollow. “Ashterion doesn’t manipulate, he dismantles. He’ll find what you value most and use it against you.”
I took a slow sip of the amber liquid, letting it burn down my throat while I processed that. “And what exactly does he value most?”
