“This ‘grotto stew’ was actually good,” Jassyn admitted, setting his spoon down regretfully.
Across the long wooden table, Fenn’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “You sound surprised. Did you believe we feast on elven flesh?”
Serenna choked mid-bite, wrinkling her nose before shifting on the bench to jab him in the ribs.
Jassyn idly traced a groove carved into the table—a talon scrape in the grains. “Well…” he began, but his answer withered under Fenn’s knowing smirk. There was no need to voice the misconception.
Koln led a group of wraith over to their table, greeting Fenn with a slap on the back. Their laughter and rough camaraderie rang out, bouncing off the cavernous stone.
Koln’s curious gaze lingered on him uncomfortably as the soldiers murmured amongst themselves of how he’d decimated an area of the stronghold’s plants to save Fenn’s life. Burdened by the attention, Jassyn dropped his focus to the table’s gouged surface.
Solitude had always been his refuge. The sanctuary of his quarters on Centarya, the island that had once felt like home, had been his shield against the realm. That was nothing but a memory now, abandoned when he and Vesryn fled.
His thoughts drifted to what else he’d left behind—Nelya and the ring of trusted magus. Despite Elashor’s tightening grip, surely they still shared moments like these wraith warriors, stolen respites where fellowship formed. He hoped they would endure.
Mired in his ruminations, Jassyn only caught fragments of the conversation around him—Fenn’s boasts about Serenna incinerating reavers and scattered remarks about Lykor’sabsence. The latter snagged his attention, dragging up the image of the gauntlet crashing into his face.
He almost understood the fury behind it. He’d only tried to help, but that hadn’t mattered. Clenching his hands, Jassyn resisted the urge to trace the jagged scar etched into his skin—a permanent reminder of the choice he’d made.
Hesitation had been his failure—a weakness that had left him defenseless. He wouldn’t let it happen again. Next time, he’d act without pause, without doubt, to protect himself, even if it meant wielding coercion.
His pulse quickened as the memory tingled through his fingertips, the effortless domination. This new whispering strength, promising that he’d never be powerless again. Exerting control—forcing obedience—should have horrified him. Instead, it thrilled him. A stirring he buried deep, a rush he didn’t dare confront.
A prickle at the back of his neck jolted Jassyn out of his thoughts. On the far side of the cavern, Vesryn emerged from the mouth of a tunnel, drawing back a curtain of bioluminescent moss. He moved like a storm rolling in on the horizon as he prowled around the rows of tables, ignoring the watchful eyes of the gathered wraith.
Fenn trailed off mid-sentence when Serenna stiffened on the bench, her spine snapping straight. Tilting his head, Fenn’s eyes flared as he watched the prince approach.
“Don’t,” Serenna hissed under her breath, darting to grip Fenn’s arm before he even moved.
Fenn glanced down at her, an unrestrained grin nearly splitting his face in two.
Jassyn tried to interpret the silent exchange between them, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. Only then did he realize that Koln and the warriors had left for their evening patrol.
Focusing on the prince, Jassyn reflexively reached through the bond. He slammed into a solid wall, his cousin’s emotions still sealed away. Judging from the shadows smudged beneath Vesryn’s eyes, he clearly hadn’t found any rest.
In a single fluid motion, Fenn unfolded from his seat. Towering at his full height, he stretched his claws over his head, dominating the space. “Princeling,” he drawled, the word hanging somewhere between a greeting and a challenge.
Vesryn halted a few paces away, eyes flicking over the remnants of their meal. His arms tensed, fingers twitching at his sides as Fenn sauntered toward him.
Fenn looped around him, close enough to brush shoulders, sizing the prince up with predatory delight. Nostrils flaring, Vesryn tracked Fenn’s movements as annoyance deepened his scowl.
“I prefer taller males,” Fenn mused, his voice a low purr as he came to a halt at the prince’s side. His eyes burned a deliberate path down Vesryn’s leathers, his amusement flashing along with his fangs. He shrugged, glancing at Serenna. “But I suppose he’s…adequate. If you insist.”
Jassyn held his breath when Vesryn’s irritation spilled into something darker, a muscle feathering in his jaw. While tall by elven standards, he was a full head shorter than the wraith warrior—a fact Fenn obviously enjoyed highlighting.
Serenna groaned and dragged her palms over her face. Jassyn was reluctant to get involved, but the rising tension hammered in his pulse. He cast about for an excuse to divert Fenn, but Vesryn spoke first.
The prince’s voice was quiet, yet it held a lethal edge. “Remind me,” he said, briefly glancing at Serenna before pinning a glare on Fenn. “Who are you, again? Wraith target practice?”
Fenn barked an explosive laugh, genuine mirth reverberating off the stony walls. “Bold words, coming from the elf who went down with one shot.” His grin stretched wider as he made another slow circuit around the prince. “I’m hers,” he said, tipping his chin toward Serenna.
Jassyn tensed alongside Serenna as they sensed the same thing—Vesryn’s mental barrier had stretched thin, his patience fracturing.
Fenn had to stop his prodding before Vesryn erupted.
Doing the complete opposite, Fenn instead delivered a slap to Vesryn’s backside, thecrackechoing through the cavern. “I want a pair of these trousers,” Fenn crooned, deliberately giving the prince a squeeze. “Where did you—”
Vesryn’s fist flew straight at Fenn’s face.
