A fool who’d kept secrets from her, and when they came to light, he’d lost her.
Now, six months later, he couldn’t remember what she tasted like, and that single detail gutted him more than any blade could.
Ice crawled from his fingers, encasing the edges of the basin in crystalline frost.
Leukos cursed under his breath and pulled back.
Damn the North Wind and his Gift.
Your magic will return. Enough to rival any Silver Shield’s or Achaean hero’s prowess.
Oh, it had returned plenty, and more. Magic that seethed under his skin, wild and unstable, demanding every shred of focus to contain it. It didn’t empower him. Itconsumedhim.
He’d become a liability.
Just two nights ago, when he’d dined with Charis and the twins, a servant had nearly lost her life when she accidentally brushed his bare arm. That small touch had been enough to unleash his Gift. Ice had erupted across her skin, spreading over her hand and stopping just past her wrist.
The memory of her piercing scream still haunted him, echoing through his mind at night.
If not for the twins’ quick reflexes—using their Gift to whisk the servant to a healer—the frost would have burrowed into her bones. She would’ve lost the hand. Maybe more.
But that incident wasn’t the worst of it.
In the days following Nik’s pact with the North Wind, Leukos had noticed something far more unsettling. The Mark Nik bore was tethered to him, bound to his control—or his lack of it. Every time his power slipped, Nik’s arm seized with frost, pain lancing through him as though the magic punished them both. And since the climb up the mountain, Leukos had lost controltoo many times.
That knowledge hollowed him out and robbed him of sleep.
Nik had already bartered his soul. Now he suffered for every one of Leukos’ mistakes. No excuse could dull the edge of that truth.
A prince of Megara did not lose control. His father would have called it weakness, unforgivable. Yet no palace healer, nor his mother’s potion had been able to leash his unruly Gift.So Leukos kept his distance. No touch, no closeness, no risk. Isolation was the only way to protect the people around him.
He was still caught in those thoughts when a sharp knock jolted him.
The door creaked open.
“Oh, there you are!” A petite woman swept into the room without waiting for permission. Her deep brown skin glowed in the soft light, her dark hair piled high and threaded with wildflowers. She carried a basket of apples as if she were arriving for a picnic rather than intruding on the storm inside his mind.
Leukos blinked. He’d given strict orders that no one was to enter his chamber. After the dinner incident, he’d dismissed every servant. No exceptions.
“Leave,” he ordered. “It’s dangerous here. I can get dressed by myself?—”
“Nonsense.” She breezed past him, setting the basket on the table beside a pitcher of wine, then clapped her hands together, a giddy smile on her lips. “It’s your wedding day, and you’ll need help to get dressed. The queen insisted. And besides, I know how to avoid a man’s touch.” She gave a conspiratorial wink. “At least when I want to.”
Leukos stared at her, stunned by her nerve.
He opened his mouth to protest again, but the words caught in his throat. She had a point, frustratingly enough. As much as he wanted to remain alone and brood—as Nik called it—he couldn’t possibly wrap the extravagant wedding chiton by himself.
“Fine,” he relented. “You can hold the cloth, but keep your distance.”
She nodded and went to retrieve the deep orange-brown fabric. Embroidered with threads of gold, it caught the morning light filtering in from the balcony where it hung on its wooden frame.
They worked in near silence. She held the fabric just within reach, respecting the space he demanded, her hands precise but never hurried. The chiton was draped first and pinned at one shoulder with a polished bronze fibula. She guided the cloth around his body, letting him make the final adjustments.
Then came the cloak: an immaculate white garment with an embroidered border in Tiryns’ distinctive amber and bronze hues, heavy with symbolic patterns of fertility and strength.
“You don’t seem very excited about your wedding,” the servant remarked, her nimble fingers fastening the heavy cloak with a gold brooch in the shape of a lion.
He shot her a sidelong glance. “And you’re very bold to assume how I feel.”
