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No one talks about Amber or brings up Stella. No one spreads blueprints across the table or discusses tunnels, crypts, surveillance, or potential enemies. There are no theories to dissect and no threats to anticipate. We talk about the food, about Ares, about the fact that Graves is probably going to spend the next week down in the Caribbean sleeping until noon and pretending he has no idea what a responsibility looks like.

It is almost painfully normal–which is super freaking weird.

When the plates are mostly empty, Damon pushes his chair back and says, “There’s something I want to discuss.”

The shift in his tone immediately gets our attention.

He works the pentagram ring from his finger and sets it carefully on the table between us. The metal makes a small sound against the wood. “The position of King.”

Timothy goes still beside me, and Damon holds his gaze from across the table.

“My role was temporary, until you were healthy and ready to take it back.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “You’re both of those, and if you want to take your position back, I’m not going to fight you for it, and I’m definitely not going to kill you.”

A faint smile tugs at my mouth despite the seriousness of the conversation.

“You don’t have to do that, Damon,” Timothy says, then clarifies, “the stepping aside part–not the killing part. I’m very thankful you three have decided to break from the current tradition of overthrowing the King.” He smirks. “You rose to the occasion in ways I don’t think I would have been able to at your age.” He looks around the table, at Hunter and then me. “You all did. But I’ll admit, I’m not sure of the protocol from here. I’ve reigned over dozens of Barons and Baronesses, each time trying to recreate something I had lost,” he frowns, “then I brought you in here to do a job but in the end–”

“We became a family,” I finished for him.

“Yes,” Timothy says, taking my hand under the table and squeezing it.

Hunter has been quiet throughout the conversation, watching everyone with the same careful attention he gives everything else, like we’re all a math equation he’s processing. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, the particular line that tells me his mind is working through something.

Finally, he sets his fork down. “Do we really need a King?”

Both Damon and Timothy stare at him.

“Don’t we?” Damon asks. There is no challenge in his voice, only genuine curiosity. “Like, isn’t it in the rules or something?”

“Not according to the pledge book,” Hunter says, as though he memorized it, which I’m sure he did.

I glance between them.

“The roles of three leaders and a house girl are standard,” Hunter continues. “But it seems like the Kings were something added later, when the alumni didn't want to relinquish control.”

I look at Timothy for confirmation and ask, “Is that true?”

“For the most part, yes.” He strokes his beard. “He’s correct that the University requires each house to choose three leaders and a house girl. From there, each fraternity decides how leadership is assumed and how their house girl is picked. But there are no hard-and-fast rules about Kings, like Hunter said, that was more about the alumni using the fraternities as a cover for their business operations. Eventually the position became part of the structure.”

I look at the men around me, really look at them.

Timothy carries history, knowledge, and a connection to this house that reaches farther back than any of us, while Damon brings a steady strength and resilience. For someone who was such a loner when he was first initiated as a Baron, he has a willingness to stand between us and any potential threat. Hunter sees things the rest of us miss, watching and listening, always thinking several steps ahead. The three men are different in ways that should make us incompatible, yet somehow those differences are exactly what make this work.

For years, I thought power had to have a single face; my uncle or a man in a mask. The man at the head of the table or wearing the crown. That he, it was always a he, would make the final decision and the rest of us would fall in line. But maybe that was never what the Barons were supposed to be.

“So then that's it?” I ask. “The Barons no longer have a King?”

Damon looks at Timothy, then at me.

“I’m okay with it if you all are,” I say, squeezing Timothy’s fingers.

Hunter nods. “We may want to get a vote from the Shadows and put something in writing for the future, but I think it could work.”

Our attention shifts to Timothy. He’s staring at the ring Damon left on the table, his expression unreadable. Slowly it comes to me that what we’re asking is unthinkable–impossible. We were talking about this as though the decision were already made because Damon is willing to give up the crown and the rules allow it. But Timothy has spent twenty years as the Baron King. He built his life around that position, around the responsibility, the power, and everything that came with it. Even if he knows the system is flawed, even if he is exhausted by what it has cost him, that doesn't mean he is ready to walk away.

He pushes his chair back and stands. Reaching down, he slips two fingers beneath my chin and tilts my face upward until I'm looking directly at him. His thumb brushes over my jaw before he bends and presses his lips softly against mine. There is no hunger in the kiss, just affection.

When he pulls away, he looks across the table and says, “I need some quiet. If you need me, I’ll be in the library.”