Zander stepped inside and gave the place a once-over.
“Not the most savory of places,” he commented, his voice mild but edged with amusement.
I bristled. “We don’t all live in a castle.”
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t argue. Just gave a soft nod and sat on the rumpled bed.
Immediately, I regretted my tone.
It wasn’t like he’d chosen to be born into privilege. And considering what I knew now, that his father wasn’t the king at all, and that his nobility might be stripped along with his title. Whatever his bloodline, his life had been anything but charmed these past weeks.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry. I’m just… irritable. I don’t like asking Cyran for anything. There are always strings attached.”
Zander leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “There always are,” he said quietly, “when dealing withfamily.”
I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I moved to the window, arms folded across my chest, staring out at the rust-colored shingles and alleyways below. I stood there in silence for at least five minutes, my magic coiled tight in my veins, Kaelith’s absence a constant ache.
The door opened behind us.
Soft footsteps.
And then a familiar voice, colder than winter steel.
“What ishedoing here?”
Solei.
Her gaze locked on Zander, and I could practically feel the weight of her disapproval fill the room like a storm rolling in from the east.
“Solei, wait,” I said, stepping between her and Zander before her dagger-hardened eyes could slice any deeper.
She paused, but only just.
“He’s the reason we left the castle,” I said quickly. “Theron wants him dead. He’s accused Zander of working with Cyran… to assassinate the king.”
Solei blinked, slow and calculating. “What?”
“He claimed Zander and Cyran got their hands on some kind of dark magic potion,” I continued, voice calm despite the ache rising in my chest, “that came from the Blood Fae. Says that Cyran and Zander worked together to poison him.”
At that, Solei’s hands fisted at her sides, her knuckles pale.
“Theron is accusing Cyran of working with the Blood Fae?” Her voice was soft, dangerous.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
Her eyes darted between us, calculating, weighing every unspoken thread behind my words.
Then she turned. “Come with me.”
Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and strode into the hall, her cloak fluttering like a shadow in motion.
We followed without a word.
Through back alleys and into the rear entrance of the Rusty Tankard tavern, the scent of smoke and roasted meat barely masking the tension curling tighter with every step. Solei didn’t pause at the main room, she led us straight to the old cellar door and down into the tunnels below.
Zander’s eyes scanned everything, cataloging details like the trained soldier he was. But he didn’t speak. Neither of us did.
