“Zevran—”
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” His eyes search my face. “Dancing with him, in front of everyone. Do you know what he is? What he represents?”
“It was just a dance?—”
“No, it wasn’t.” He pulls me closer, his voice dropping so only I can hear. “Cyra, Pluto didn’t just disappear. All the rumours about the kingdom being exiled, or falling into darkness – they’re wrong. The truth is that years ago, Pluto was under attack. When they called for aid, we all turned our backs. Every House. Including Mars.”
The words land like a blow. “What do you mean, turned your backs?”
“Your father told us Pluto wasn’t worth saving. Too small, too remote, too costly to defend.” His jaw tightens, shame flickering across his features. “We were all so young back then. Barely adults, given thrones we weren’t expecting to inherit for decades. None of us had the courage to object.” He pauses, the admission clearly painful. “So we let an entire world die because it was politically convenient.”
I stare at him, processing this. “And you think Lord Lucien blames you all for that?”
“I think he has every right to.” Zevran’s composure cracks slightly. “More than that – do you understand what it means that he survived? That he has shadow magic? People don’t just develop powers like that, Cyra.”
“So you’re afraid of him.” I can hear how defensive my voice sounds.
“I’m afraidforyou.” Zevran’s words come out harsh, desperate. “And I’m trying to understand why you didn’t tell me you knew him. Why you kept this from me.”
The hurt in his voice makes me pause.
“I—I didn’t know who he was at first. Then when he told me … I didn’t know how to explain it.”
“Try me.” His eyes bore into mine. “Because right now, I’m wondering what else you’re hiding. Who else you’re making alliances with behind my back.”
The accusation stings. “It’s not like that?—”
“Then ask yourself, Cyra,” his voice hardens. “What does the Lord of a dead kingdom gain by earning the trust of the Sun King’s daughter?”
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.
“That’s what terrifies me.” His voice breaks slightly. “You’re walking into something you don’t understand, with someone who has every reason to hate everything you represent. And you’re doing it alone.”
Istand there for a moment after Zevran walks away, his words echoing in my head. The hurt threatens to overwhelm me – a mixture of anger and the fear that he might be right about trusting the wrong people. But I can’t afford to show vulnerability here. Not with everyone watching, analyzing every micro-expression for signs of weakness.
Around me, the masquerade continues, moving on from the scandal. Couples still dance, nobles still cluster in their political huddles, and the orchestra still plays its melodies.
“Princess.”
The voice comes from my left. I turn to find Lord Castor approaching, his massive frame cutting through the crowd like a warship through still water. His expression is serious, lacking the usual aggressive swagger. He stops in front of me, close enough that our conversation stays private despite the crowd around us.
“That was quite a fucking show,” he says, his voice low and tight. “First you dance with Pluto, then Mars throws a tantrum about it. Seems you have a talent for making powerful men lose their composure.”
“Lord Castor?—”
“Let me finish.” He holds up the object he’s carrying – a bronze medallion bearing the Jupiter storm sigil. “Look, I don’t trust Pluto. I don’t trust his motives. I sure as hell don’t like the idea of you being indebted to someone who deals in shadows and secrets.”
He extends the medallion towards me, a token of alliance.
“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll have Jupiter’s protection,and my personal allegiance. You don’t owe Pluto anything, you don’t owe Mars anything. You’ve got Jupiter at your back now.”
I stare at the medallion, then at him. “You’re doing this because you’re worried about Lord Lucien?”
“I’m doing this because we made it through that maze together. You led us through hell, and you didn’t break. You chose truth even when it meant facing the worst parts of your history.” His hazel eyes soften slightly. “That counts for something. But yeah, seeing you under the spell of that shadow boy? That scared the shit out of me. So take this medallion, Princess.”
The way he says this nickname now – there’s no mockery in it. It’s almost affectionate, the way an older brother might use it.
“Lord Castor, you don’t have to?—”
