When Marek speaks again, his voice is slower, controlled. “Kazia, is that true?”
Kazia shrinks against Lucien’s side.
Lucien answers instead. “His power is a secret because he’s been taught that any mage who learns of it would hurt him.” Lucien braces himself to move. To deescalate, hopefully. “Just like Imrik and Aliza hurt him.”
Marek doesn’t explode like Lucien expects. He just stares hard and silent between the two of them, at their linked hands. “Kazia, I’d like to speak to you alone.”
Kazia squeezes Lucien’s hand tightly enough to cut off circulation.
The warning isn’t necessary. Like fuck is Lucien leaving Kazia alone with another mage. “That’s not happening.”
Marek appears unsurprised. “Then I’d like to speak with you alone, Lucien.”
A better plan, even if Lucien hates the idea of releasing Kazia’s hand. “Kazia?”
Kazia uncurls and tells Marek, “You can’t hurt him. He’s my… prisoner.”
“We’re just going to talk,” Marek says, though the promise clearly pains him.
Sei stands up, composed from his shock. “Kazia and I will go to the other parlor. I think we should talk too.”
Kazia’s displeased sigh sounds more like himself. “Fine.” He extricates his hand and looks between Lucien and Marek. “Don’t destroy the parlor unless you have to, okay? Or whatever. I don’t give a shit.”
He stomps from the room and slams the door behind him. Sei presses a kiss to Marek’s cheek, then follows.
Silence rings in their wake.
The air is clear, no impending pressure of storm magic. Marek’s face hardens—no overt grimace, just the sharpening of laugh lines into something harsher. He’s younger than Lucien, but looks older than his years.
“I didn’t want to use Sei at first,” Marek says. “I was afraid of hurting him.”
Lucien leans back. The stiff lace itches through his servant’s uniform. “Your royal father isn’t afraid of that.”
“Are they really hurting him?” Marek asks.
“Every time Imrik wields a storm at the border.”
Marek is wing-marshal of the Draskoran dragon corps. Even when he isn’t stationed on the border, he knows how many storms there have been since this war began.
“Then we have a king to kill,” Marek says simply.
Easier than Lucien expected. But it makes sense. As a Dire mage, Marek knows more than anyone his father’s strength. Heknows Imrik’s temperament. Half-measures like imprisonment won’t work.
“Kazia has a plan for that,” Lucien says. He’ll only discuss what he and Kazia already agreed to tell Marek. “A rather better plan if we have the support of the dragon corps.”
“I’ll talk that through with him once he’s calmed down.” Marek rubs his hand over his beard, then stands. Lucien tenses, but Marek just shifts his weight, like he can’t stay sitting anymore. “I wish he’d told me. I wish I’d noticed.”
Lucien itches to move too, but he doesn’t want to startle Marek. “He’s done everything in his power to keep you from noticing. To keep you at a distance. You, Prince Vana, and every other mage in your fucking country.”
“Except you,” Marek says, with a sidelong glance.
Lucien would rather not have this conversation. “He keeps me at a distance, too.”
“Sure.” Marek points. “How long has that collar been useless?”
Lucien sits back, magic at the ready. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“What’s in your pocket?” Marek asks.
