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He was in so far over his head.

Ask him how to breach a fortified estate without leaving a trace. Ask him how to disarm an armed opponent twice his size. Ask him the quickest route through the mountain passes or the best place to set an ambush. Those answers came without thought.

But children? Children made no sense.

Every day with Korinnae was a battlefield, the rules shifting every five minutes, and somehow, he always found himself losing. The way she’d argued with him just now tugged unexpectedly at an old memory. Xanthe, his little sister, had been exactly the same.

Growing up, the two of them were a well-oiled machine, seamless in their pursuit of whatever they wanted from their parents. Asterion would devise the strategy, carefully considering which parent was in the better mood, what arguments would be most convincing, and when to make their request. Xanthe, blessed with a smile no one in the family could resist, would carry out the plan. If charm failed, she’d pout. If pouting failed, she’d whine just enough to make their mother laugh. By the end of the day, they usually got what they wanted.

He had been the planner while Xanthe had been the executioner. Looking back, it was almost impressive how effectively she’d wrapped both of their parents around one tiny finger.

If his mother and father could see him now, fumbling through every conversation with a ten-year-old while being outmaneuvered at every turn…They’d never let him live it down. His father would clap him on the shoulder and call it justice. His mother would smile that knowing smile of hers and say, This is payback for all those years you and your sister conspired against us.

They’d both be right.

And Xanthe would probably be standing on the sidelines coaching the lassie. No, no, he’d imagine her saying with that mischievous grin of hers. Don’t ask him once. Ask him five times. Then tell him Auntie Alektra would’ve said yes. Asterion let out a laugh despite himself.

“Traitor,” he muttered to the empty yard.

The smile faded as quickly as it had come. He still couldn’t believe Korinnae was ten. The last clear memory he had of her before everything changed was when she was barely a yearling, toddling around on unsteady little hooves while clutching Xanthe’s finger. Not long after, his sister had moved them to Alindale to build a quieter life, while he remained with the clan. Patrols became missions, missions became years, and before he realized it, the little calf he’d promised himself he’d get to know had grown up without him.

Then, last year, Xanthe had come home. She’d looked tired. Too tired. She’d tried to hide it behind her usual smile, but Asterion had known his sister too well to believe it. She was sick. But then, he’d finally had the chance to spend time with Korinnae—to answer her endless questions, watch her trail after everyone in the house, and discover she had inherited every bit of her mother’s stubborn streak. He’d barely begun to know his niece before Xanthe was gone.

In the final hours before her death, Xanthe had entrusted him with the truth: Zeus was Korinnae’s father. The revelation had shaken him, but not because he doubted his sister. It was because he immediately understood the danger it carried. No one could know. Not the clan. Not their allies. Not even Korinnae herself until the time was right. He had promised Xanthe he would protect that secret, and he intended to keep that promise.

Family came before anything else. It always had. He had managed to do exactly that until the ragtag group Lord Eros had assembled stumbled into their territory. One secret led to another, and before long, everything had unraveled. The truth had spread farther than he could stop it, and now he and Korinnae were exiled.

Their clan had never welcomed magic. The old stories spoke of witches twisting minds, cursing bloodlines, and inviting the meddling of gods into mortal affairs. Whether those tales had once held truth no longer mattered. The distrust had endured for generations, becoming as much a part of the clan as their traditions. To his people, it didn’t matter whether magic came from a witch or a god—it was still magic, and magic was never to be trusted.

And now, every answer anyone offered for saving Korinnae seemed to begin with the very thing he’d been taught his entire life to reject.

Asterion placed the last log onto the pile and dusted the bark from his hands. The chore should have cleared his head, but his thoughts kept circling back to Korinnae, Xanthe, and the pain in the arse witch who seemed determined to turn everything he believed upside down. With a sigh, he headed back toward the house.

Inside, it was peaceful, and he wandered without much purpose until he reached the study. Afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, illuminating the dust that drifted lazily through the air. There she was.

Ria sat alone at the large oak desk. A thick leather-bound tome lay open before her, surrounded by loose pages covered in neat handwriting, sketches, and notes. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t seem to notice him.

Asterion leaned against the doorway, studying her. She was the first human from the Upperworld he had ever met. Humans in Vale Crossing were different; their families had lived among monsters for generations, adapting to life on this side of the veil. Ria hadn’t; her bearing was unmistakably modern, every gesture and choice marked by the world she came from. She questioned traditions rather than accepting them, challenged him without hesitation, and possessed a confidence bordering on arrogance. She rolled her eyes at him far more often than anyone ever had the courage to. Most people measured their words around him. Ria, on the other hand, barely tolerated him. It was annoying…and strangely refreshing.

His eyes drifted over her almost despite himself. Her skin was unlike anything he’d seen before—smooth, unblemished, almost impossibly soft-looking. Not that he’d been paying attention. It was simply…noticeable. He knew what it felt like beneath his hands, though. He remembered how warm and soft her skin had been.

A loose strand of dark hair had escaped behind one ear as she leaned over the book, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. There was something strangely compelling about the picture she made, and before he realized what he was doing, his hooves carried him farther into the room.

A shame, witch blood ruins everything.

He stopped beside the desk, and only then did she glance up, startled to find him there.

“Oh.” Her attention immediately dropped back to the book.

“That looks serious,” he remarked as he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down.

“Research,” she replied simply, her eyes never leaving the page.

Asterion glanced at the stack of books. “You humans certainly know how to make simple things sound important.”

That earned him a look. She slowly lifted her eyes from the page, fixing him with an expression that somehow managed to convey both annoyance and pity. “I’d explain it,” she said evenly, “but it requires reading.”

He huffed out a laugh. “There it is.”