Of all the problems closing in, I should’ve been hunting down a way to keep my girl—which meant protecting her family. It pissed me off that I was no closer to solving it.
I came to this Godsforsaken performance for one reason: appearances. People asked fewer questions when you gave them the illusion of stability. Even when everything was rotting beneath your feet.
The fire in the hearth burned low, throwing restless shadows across the walls like it could sense the agitation under my skin.
Bastian, Alaric, and I sat together at the long wooden table. Dreynthor and the members of the Houses surrounded us, a circle of polished smiles and sharpened teeth.
Despite the unrest spreading through the kingdom—despite the raids—Dreynthor spoke warmly about the upcoming festival. He reassured the council with security measures—my measures—the King’s Guard would put in place to keep the people safe from rebels and ruin.
I listened.
And I pretended I wasn’t watching him.
I’d been tracking him since we arrived, counting glances and pauses like they were tells in a game where the stakes were blood.
If he’d had a hand in assisting Thayden, he should’ve flinched at the sight of me—very much alive.
He didn’t.
That didn’t prove innocence. It proved competence.
Anyone worth the air they stole would’ve already known I’d survived. They would’ve heard I’d been taken from Morgäven. They would’ve adjusted their plans long before I’d walked into this hall.
So, Dreynthor’s calm told me exactly what calm always did—nothing reliable.
Either he was innocent…
Or he was a very good actor.
And I’d never been stupid enough to bet on innocence.
His voice faded into white noise as my mind drifted back to Elariya.
I didn’t know how I’d controlled myself last night. Or how I’d let her go. It took every ounce of restraint I had to stand on that beach and watch her flee from me.
And that talk of marriage?
Yeah, that was my new level of desperation rearing its ugly head. The subject came out of nowhere, though I’d thought about it several times before.
I’d wanted to stay at the manor again today. Every instinct inside me screamed to remain close, to keep her within reach.
But I couldn’t afford to vanish.
My warriors were out scouting, tracking the threads of dark magic that had surfaced over the past weeks. I needed to be seen doing the same. I was their Lord Commander and Prince. Being around was expected of me.
People were starting to notice the fractures—disappearances, clusters of bodies turning up, and strange magic no one had ever heard of. It had worsened in the past week. We couldn’t pretend war wasn’t coming. We couldn’t pretend my father’s death hadn’t sent everything straight to the hells.
I needed time.
Time to deal with everything. Time to solve the problem of protecting Elariya’s family without turning the world against me.
So far, the only solution I’d come up with was killing Thayden.
Let him die slowly. Let him suffer. Let the problem end with his last breath.
Then maybe I wouldn’t have to carry this rage.
This jealousy.
