He straightens slowly. A faint smile touches his mouth.
“Hello, brother,” he says smoothly.
Colsar does not return it. He stops a few paces away and takes him in without hurry. “What are you doing in my kingdom, Teorin? I thought you had your sights set on Rathmor.”
Teorin sets his glass down. “Where is she?”
Colsar gives nothing away. “Where is who?” he asks, almost bored.
“Asharin.”
The name moves through him at once. He keeps his face empty.
Teorin steps closer, tension pulling through his frame. “The woman you abandoned while our brother nearly starved her to death. While her brother and his friends tried to rape and kill her.” He watches Colsar’s face for a reaction and finds nothing. “The one who was so determined not to be apart from you that she tried to kill herself just to stay with you as a walking corpse.”
The words are painful to hear, though he refuses to let Teorin see that.
“The one you do not deserve,” Teorin continues. “I tried to tell her you would not come for her. That you are exactly what you have always been. Selfish. Cold.” A pause. “And still she was steadfast. I do not know what you said to earn that kind of devotion.”
Colsar lets it pass through him.
“I assumed she was with you,” Teorin says, his voice shifting, the controlled ease giving way to something that almost sounds like genuine urgency. “I do not know if she survived. I do not know if she ever gave birth. But if any part of you cares for her at all, listen to me. She is in danger. Real danger. She will need to?—”
“Let me guess,” Colsar cuts in. “She needs to bond with you to be safe.”
Teorin’s face darkens. “That is not why I am here.”
Colsar takes a step toward him. “Then say what you mean instead of circling it. Lies dressed up as concern have always been your approach. You earn trust so you can use it and break it when it suits you.” Another step, slow and unhurried. “That has not changed.”
The control fractures at the edges. Anger moves through Teorin’s expression and his posture shifts, weight redistributing in a way that is not quite a threat but is not far from one. “Careful,” he says.
“I told my father I would not kill you,” Colsar says, his voice quieter now, which makes it worse. “I am trying to abide by that.”
Teorin holds his ground. “How generous.” A cold laugh leaves him. “You call that man your father because your real one never wanted you. He even preferred me, his bastard, over you.” He steps forward as well now, matching Colsar, refusing the ground between them. “You still do not understand, do you? This is what he always wanted. He never bothered killing you because you were useful. Legitimate. Clean, even if you are a dog.” His voice drops. “Sevrin is a feeder. He will never produce an heir no matter how hard he tries, and my own legitimacy has alwaysbeen questioned. But you. You were always the answer to that problem. Whoever you married, whatever woman ended up in your bed, she was the means to an end he had already decided on. A vessel for the line he needed secured. Any woman would have served the purpose.” His eyes hold Colsar’s. “That is how little you mattered to him.”
Something cold moves through Colsar, the particular ugliness of reducing it all to something so mechanical, a function his father had assigned him before he had ever had any say in it. He does not move for a moment.
Then he takes another step, close enough now that Teorin has to work not to step back.
“You came all this way,” Colsar says, his voice dropping to something quieter and considerably more dangerous, “to tell me things I already know about a man I stopped caring about a long time ago.”
Teorin’s jaw tightens but he does not retreat. “I came because she is in danger. Real danger, the kind your soldiers cannot handle.” He holds Colsar’s eyes. “I do not plan on stealing her. But she cannot die. If you would just listen?—”
Colsar moves.
They collide hard, force slamming into force, furniture crashing behind them. Teorin shifts first, his eyes going black, his teeth lengthening as the change tears through him and his power lashes outward. The air tightens immediately, pressure building through the room.
Colsar meets it.
The glyphs along his skin blaze to life, heat running across his face and neck and arm. His left eye burns copper. His hand closes, and the air around Teorin constricts, heat flooding the room in a wave that does not ask permission.
Teorin’s body jerks under the pressure. “That is the thing about you, Colsar,” he snarls, his voice rougher now, “you only know how to be a fucking animal?—”
Colsar tightens his grip. The room grows hotter.
Teorin holds, barely, and then forces out, “It does not matter how often you rut her, beast. Eventually she will see you for exactly what you are.” His mouth twists. “And she will leave. Mark my words, brother.”
The pressure surges.
