Merrick’s mouth twitched, but not in amusement. “As you command, my lord,” he muttered, dark with sarcasm. He turned on his heel and strode off down the hall.
Ashterion watched him go for a beat before turning back.
He pushed the doors open and strode back into the throne room, shadows trailing at his heels as silent witnesses. Xyliria hadn’t moved. She lounged in her seat, fingers idly tapping the armrest in a rhythm that grated. Ashterion ignored her.
He crossed the room in silence and dropped back into the obsidian throne. He had barely settled when the doors opened again.
“The Orelith delegation has arrived,” announced the aide.
Xyliria straightened, suddenly attentive. “Finally.”
Ashterion remained seated, letting the room fill with the click of approaching boots. Three figures entered: two men, one woman. All draped in Orelith silk, all armed with diplomacy and veiled arrogance.
Ashterion’s gaze swept them. The younger male’s smile was all predator. The older one reeked of bureaucracy and quiet condescension. The woman—tall, lean, blade-eyed—watched him like a challenge waiting to be answered.
Ashterion knew the game well enough. He could already see it.
At least twoof them would expect his attention.
Good.
“Welcome,” he said, voice soft and cold. “I trust your journey was tolerable.”
They bowed. As expected.
Xyliria’s laugh spilled into the silence. “You’ll forgive my husband,” she said sweetly. “He’s in a mood. But I’m sure you can find ways to entertain one another.”
The delegation smiled, oblivious. Or pretending to be.
The younger male stepped forward first. “Lord Ashterion,” he said, bowing with a grace that was just shy of sincere. “I’ve heard stories of your shadows. I must admit…” His eyes glittered. “The real thing is far more impressive.”
Ashterion’s smile returned. “Flattery this early? You must be desperate, or dreadfully underinformed.”
The female beside him laughed. A rich, low sound that drew more attention than it should have. “We were told you were ruthless,” she said, “but no one warned us how...handsomeyour shadows are.”
One curled lazily across the floor in response, brushing her boot. She didn’t flinch.
Noted.
“Are they yours to command,” she murmured, voice dipped in velvet, “or do they decide for themselves?”
“I don’t waste time commanding what already knows its purpose,” he said smoothly. “But they learn who feeds them.”
The younger one—Kareth, if memory served—smiled. “If we asked you to show us, would that count as diplomacy?”
Ashterion stepped down from the dais with unhurried grace, his height casting shadows over them both. They tensed.
Wise.
He tilted his head. “That depends on how creative you’re willing to be with your definition of ‘diplomatic relations.’”
Kareth’s mouth parted. The female raised a brow, clearly pleased.
She leaned closer now, her fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. He almost flinched. Almost. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like,” she said, breath just above a whisper, “to have the darkness crawl over your skin.”
Ashterion inclined his head. “If your delegation has no further questions for this evening,” he said mildly, “perhaps we should… continue discussions privately.”
Kareth looked as though he might faint from glee.
