He carried me here. He must have. I fell asleep at his table, and instead of waking me, he gathered me up and brought me to my room.
The thought does something complicated to my chest.
I force myself out of bed and into motion. There’s a war council to attend, and I have a proposal that’s going to set the room on fire—possibly literally, if Auren reacts the way I expect him to.
The great hallis designed to intimidate.
Vaulted ceilings that disappear into shadow. Stone walls lined with banners bearing the Brotherhood’s sigil. A massive table dominates the center of the room, scarred by centuries of use, surrounded by chairs that have seated warriors and kings. At the far end, a throne-like seat where Drayke presides over formal proceedings.
Today, that seat is empty. Drayke stands at the head of the table instead, arms crossed, his massive frame radiating controlled tension. Rurik sprawls in a chair to his left, deceptively casual, his golden eyes sharp despite his relaxed posture. Zyphon haunts the shadows near the wall, his violet-tinged gaze tracking every movement in the room.
And Auren.
He stands at Drayke’s right, pristine as always, not a hair out of place despite what must have been a very short night. When I enter, his eyes find mine immediately. Something flickers in their golden depths—acknowledgment, maybe. Or warning.
I ate breakfast, I don’t say. I’m following your instructions like a good little princess.
What I actually say is: “I have a proposal.”
The room goes still. Selene, seated with the other Fire-Bringers along one side of the table, raises her eyebrows. Aisling’s hand pauses over the medical notes she’s been reviewing. Nasyra’s mismatched eyes sharpen with interest.
“The council hasn’t formally convened.” Drayke’s voice is neutral, neither welcoming nor dismissive. “We’re still waiting on reconnaissance reports.”
“The reports will tell us what we already know.” I move to the table, claiming a space at the end opposite the brothers. If I’m going to argue for this, I need to face them directly. “Morrigan is watching us. She has intelligence assets we haven’t identified. Every day we wait, she learns more about our defenses, our patterns, our vulnerabilities.”
“Which is why we’re gathering intelligence of our own.” Auren’s voice is cool. Controlled. The voice of a strategist addressing a tactical concern. “Rushing into action without adequate preparation is how people die.”
“People are already dying.” I hold his gaze. “Five in the attack. More if she strikes again. And she will strike again—we all know that. The only question is whether we let her choose the time and place, or whether we take the initiative.”
“What are you proposing?” Drayke cuts through the tension, his tone practical.
I take a breath. “We stop waiting. We go to her.”
“Her stronghold is heavily fortified.” Auren’s response is immediate. “Wards layered upon wards. Shadow constructs. Traps designed specifically to counter Fire-Bringer abilities. A direct assault would be costly.”
“Which is why we don’t make it a direct assault.” I’ve been thinking about this since the library. Since before that, really—since Morrigan’s message made it clear she won’t stop until she has me. “We give her what she wants.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
“Explain.” Drayke’s voice is carefully neutral.
“Morrigan wants me. Specifically me—my blood, my power, the unique combination that lets me wield the Crown.” I keep my voice steady, though my heart is pounding. “She’s been huntingme since Valdoria fell. Everything she’s done—the attack, the surveillance, the threats—has been designed to draw me out or drive me to her.”
“You’re suggesting we use you as bait.” Rurik has straightened in his chair, his casual demeanor gone. “Walk you into her trap and hope we can spring it before she does.”
“Not hope. Plan.” I turn to address the room as a whole. “Her obsession with me is a weakness. She’s been patient for decades, working toward this one goal. If she believes I’m within reach, she won’t be able to resist. She’ll commit everything to capturing me—which means she won’t be watching for your assault.”
“No.”
Auren’s voice cuts through the room like a blade of ice. I turn to find him rigid, every line of his body locked with tension. His face has gone cold in a way I haven’t seen since my first days at the fortress—the ice king at his most absolute.
“You have concerns?” I keep my voice level despite the way my pulse has kicked up.
“I have absolute refusal.” He steps forward, and I’m suddenly very aware of how tall he is, how his presence fills the space between us. “We are not using you as bait. We are not dangling you in front of a woman who murdered my sister in a blood ritual. We are not gambling with your life on the assumption that we can outmaneuver someone who has been planning this for decades.”
“The plan has merit.” Zyphon’s quiet voice cuts through the tension. He hasn’t moved from his position near the wall, but his eyes are fixed on Auren with an intensity that suggests he’s seeing more than the surface. “Her obsession makes her predictable. Predictable enemies make mistakes.”
“She made Lyric predictable too.” Auren doesn’t turn to face his brother. His gaze is locked on me, and there’s something beneath the ice now—something hot and desperate that he’sbarely containing. “Befriended her. Made her trust. Used that trust to lead her to slaughter. I will not watch that happen again.”
