Solei’s boots echoed down the passage until we reached the metal-reinforced door at the end. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
Cyran sat at his desk, ink-stained fingers steepled, a ledger open before him.
His eyes lifted, and the moment they landed on Zander, they narrowed.
“Well,” Cyran said dramatically, “isn’t this interesting.”
The door closed behind us with a heavy click, and I felt the walls close in with it.
Because the only thing more dangerous than Theron…
Was Cyran when cornered.
I stood across from Cyran’s heavy desk, its dark wood gleaming even in the dim tunnel light. The air was thick with tension, made worse by the weight of what I was about to say.
“Theron’s accusing you and Zander of working together,” I began, voice steady. “Says you got a dark magic potion from the Blood Fae, one used to poison the king. That it’s the source of the king’s madness.”
Cyran leaned back, his fingers still steepled. But the burn that lit in his eyes wasn’t shock, it was fury, coiled tight and barely contained.
He laughed once—short, bitter. “Of course he is. Blame the man in the shadows, as always.” Then he leaned forward, sharp and cold. “But that is no reason to bring a child of King Emlem Rayne into my home.”
“I am not the son of Emlem Rayne,” Zander said, stepping forward.
Cyran’s brows rose high.
“Really?” he asked, his voice laced with interest, not disbelief.
“My mother was the queen,” Zander admitted. “But my father was a fae prisoner.”
Cyran’s gaze narrowed, the pieces aligning in his mind like blades locking into place. “Alahathrial?”
I blinked. “You know him?”
“Yes,” Cyran said, resting one elbow on the arm of his chair. “He makes arrangements with all the Order leaders. Only my most trusted people know about him. He has… certain needs.” His lips quirked. “And our ladies do love him.”
My eyes slid to Zander. He was stoic, tense, silent.
“I trust you’ll keep this confidence,” I said carefully, not quite a plea, but close.
Cyran studied Zander a moment longer, then nodded. “This does… complicate things. But I promised Alahathrial that any children of his would be protected under my watch. It seems,” he said, folding his hands again, “Zander falls under that oath.”
I stared at him. “I’m surprised you believe him.”
Solei’s voice came from my left, thoughtful and oddly soft. “It’s the eyes. We should’ve guessed before.”
Cyran scoffed. “He rarely uses his fae form outside the palace. The human one has blue eyes.”
Right. Alahathrial’s glamour. I’d forgotten he didn’t just shift, he rewrote how people saw him. That magic ran deeper than flesh, and it was clear now that Zander had inherited more than a title and a burden.
He’d inherited power.
And if Cyran was right… also protection.
I stared at Cyran, the weight of his words crashing into me like stone on glass. Everything clicked—the secrecy, the strange looks, the way he always hovered around my past without ever touching it.
“You didn’t trust me,” I said quietly. “At least not enough to tell me about Alahathrial.”
Cyran’s sigh was long, tired in a way I hadn’t heard before. “That wasn’t out of mistrust, Ashe. It was… protection.” He leaned back in his chair. “He saw you once. Not long after you came to us. You were playing with Solei. She was teaching you how to throw daggers at the gutter rats.”
