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“Do most Harpaurai agree with the queen’s laws?”
“The older generations do, but not everyone feels that way,” Lyxander says. “There’s a Diarchy Council made up of representatives from the six other bloodlines. They advise the queen and help enforce her decrees. Among them, most are in agreement with her vision. They believe the wards and isolation are the only way to protect us.”
“Most,” Rhaya emphasizes, her gaze flicking to Lyxander.
He nods. “But not all. Some of the younger representatives—those who’ve grown up hearing stories of what we were, not just what we’ve become—share views that align more with ours.”
Muffled voices drift toward us from the opening of the stairwell.
“Kato…” Lyxander’s voice carries a trace of a growl as he pushes his chair back.
“I didn’t tell them,” Kato says, holding his hands up.
“You were supposed to stay behind,” a deep masculine voice echoes from above.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to stay there alone. It would be far too dull without you both,” a feminine voice replies, and my brow furrows further as the teasing lilt to it scratches at the back of my mind.
“I don’t particularly care if you find it dull or not,” the masculine voice retorts. “You shouldn’t be here, and you certainly shouldn’t even know about this place.”
“Perhaps not, but I do. And wherever Cyn goes, I go, whether you like it or not.”
“Can you two please stop arguing?” another dry feminine voice interjects. “You’re giving me a headache.”
Three figures exit the stairwell, and my focus locks onto the man leading them.
He bears a striking resemblance to Lyxander, with the same pale skin and white hair. However, his hair is shorter, and he falls just shy of Lyxander’s height. His dark gray eyes carry an intensity that makes me slide my chair back as they narrow on the man beside me.
“Silas,” Lyxander says as he stands and steps away from the table.
“Lyxander.” The man’s voice is rough with emotion.
“Aren’t you happy to see me, cousin?” Lyxander asks.
The man—Silas, apparently—hesitates, taking one slow step forward, then another, as though some invisible force is holding him back. But then he closes the distance in a heartbeat.
The crack of his fist against Lyxander’s jaw echoes through the room. My breath catches, and my fingers curl around a knife on the table. But Lyxander barely flinches as he wipes the blood from his lip.
He raises a hand toward me, and it’s only then I realize I’m on my feet. My heart thrums in my chest as he winces. “I suppose I had that coming.”
“You suppose? Did it ever occur to you to let us know you’d returned? You vanished without a word, like we meant nothing to you.”
Silas’s voice cracks, and the sound loosens my grip on the knife in my hand. I place it back on the table, my cheeks flushing as Kato catches my eye and his face splits into a grin, sharp canines on full display.
“We needed some time to adjust,” Lyxander says.
“We?” Silas then finally takes notice of me, and his expression shifts from anger to shock.
My shoulders stiffen, but another voice speaks—feminine, uncertain, and achingly familiar.
“Aella?”
I flinch, too distracted by the confrontation between Silas and Lyxander to notice that one of the other newcomers had moved closer to me. When I turn, my eyes meet a sepia-red gaze, framed by a cascade of dark curls.
“Titaia—”
Her name barely escapes my lips before she is wrapping me in an embrace so fierce it steals the air from my lungs.
A wave of emotions crashes over me—confusion at how the woman who helped me escape Eretria is here, and a deep, aching pain I thought I had buried under lock and key. Memories surge, threatening to pull me under. I force my breath steady and ease back, tracing her face to be sure she’s real and not a cruel trick of my mind.
