Around us, the room stayed unnervingly still. The officers didn’t look away. They were waiting, for my response or his, I couldn’t tell.
A tremor of shadow wound around my ankle before I forced it still.
His eyes glinted.
Not fear.
Not respect.
“Something approaches,” he said softly. “And when it does… the Storm Court will handle it.”
Implicit meaning.
Not you.
The amber wardline flared brighter, and murmurs rose again among the officers, pulling his attention away from me.
But not before he added, with a final, razor-edged courtesy, “Do stay close to safety, Lady Caelira. Some storms are not meant to be faced unescorted.”
Before I could tell him exactly where he could shove his implication of “safer halls,” a new pressure entered the air—low, steady, unmistakable.
Atlas stepped into view behind me, the pressure of him filling the doorway before he even spoke. Stormglass veins flared in reflex, as if the castle itself recognized the shift in the room.
“Kastor Vale,” Atlas said, tone soft as distant thunder. “Choose your next words carefully.”
Kastor’s posture sharpened by a hair, respectful, but not warm. The smallest recalibration of a man who had, for a moment, forgotten the difference between authority borrowed and authority inherited.
“Your Highness,” Kastor said, inclining his head just enough to satisfy protocol. “Simply advising caution.”
Atlas didn’t glance at the stormglass projection or the officers still frozen mid-command. His gaze stayed on me for a heartbeat—checking, assessing—before turning to Kastor with razor-edged calm.
“You addressed Caelira,” Atlas said.
“Of course.” Kastor folded his hands behind his back. “She was in a sensitive corridor. I offered direction appropriate to…”
“Appropriate to whom, Regent?” Atlas’s voice stayed quiet, but thunder lived under the words.
Kastor’s jaw flexed. “My only concern was her safety.”
“You were managing her,” Atlas said.
Lightning whispered beneath his boots, barely contained.
Kastor didn’t flinch. “She is not trained for matters of war, Your Highness.”
Atlas stepped forward, the air tightening. “Neither are half the nobles you defer to. Yet you do not redirect them.”
A ripple of shock passed through the room.
Kastor’s formal mask slipped by a fraction. “The intrusion requires swift intelligence briefings. I intended to inform…”
“You will brief me,” Atlas said. “Caelira remains where she chooses. That is not up for debate.”
Kastor exhaled once, slow and cold, recalibrating.
“As you wish… Your Highness.”
Kastor inclined his head, but something in his expression sharpened.
