He stands near the far end of the chamber, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his attention already fixed on Colsar before he fully enters.
“You move quickly,” he says approvingly.
Colsar does not answer that. “What is it?”
The Sovereign studies him for a moment. “Your brother is here.” He pauses. "The Thren."
Colsar goes very still.
“He arrived yesterday,” the Sovereign continues. “He said it was urgent that he speak with you.”
He holds up his hand as Colsar opens his mouth. "We have no standing conflict with the Threns, and he gave no reason to refuse him entry.” A pause. “He says he only came with a message for you. He left his ships on the coast. A show of good faith.”
A quiet sharp breath leaves Colsar.
“He asked questions,” the Sovereign goes on. “About you. About where you were coming from.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” the Sovereign replies evenly. “Only that I had received word you would be here soon.”
Silence stretches between them.
“Why would you let him inside our wards?”
The words come low and tight. The Sovereign’s expression shifts. “Because of all the family that has mistreated you, you never once named him among them.” He watches Colsar closely. “He said he came in peace. I answered none of his questions. I gave him rooms for the night. That is all.” A pause. “He knows nothing of your wife. Or your children.”
Colsar’s hands flex once and then go still.
The Sovereign steps closer, his voice lowering. “But if you wish to decide what happens here, you must take on your responsibility fully.” He lets that sit for a moment. “Especially now that you have an heir.”
Colsar does not respond to it. “Where is he?”
The Sovereign studies him a moment longer. “The east wing.”
Colsar turns and a hand catches his arm, firm.
“You will not kill him,” the Sovereign says. “And drag this kingdom into war with the Threns.”
Colsar looks at him, something cold moving through his expression, then pulls free and walks.
The east wing is quiet in a way that feels considered rather than empty. The guards stationed outside the chamber straighten as he approaches but do not speak.
He pushes the door open and steps inside.
Teorin is already there. He stands near the window with a glass in hand, dressed in dark leathers layered with fur, the weight of it falling cleanly. The liquid catches what little light reaches it. He looks almost the same. Older, perhaps. Changed in the particular way of someone who has spent time in difficult places and come back carrying them.
His attention moves through the room the moment Colsar enters, quick and precise, taking in everything.
He is searching. For her. Colsar sees the exact moment Teorin understands she is not here.
It passes through him fast, controlled, something tightening behind his eyes before it disappears.
Then his attention shifts to Colsar.
It pauses there. Long enough. The change is obvious. The glyphs, the heat beneath his skin, the eye that does not belong to what he once was.
Something like surprise crosses Teorin’s face before it is pulled back, contained and dismissed without comment. Then he looks at him fully. The ease returns as though it had never left.
