Nik stepped closer, concern softening his tone. “Alena…”
She recoiled, the gentleness only sharpening the weight of her guilt. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let them come with me. I should’ve insisted San come here with you?—”
“San made her own decisions,” Nik reasoned. “You can’t blame?—”
She shook her head fiercely. “No. I should’ve known better.”
“Don’t.” Leukos cut through her spiralling thoughts, his voice firm but not unkind. “It’s not your fault, nor San’s. It’s the Emperor’s and his damned legions.” His expression hardened, the sharp planes of his face tightening like a storm gathering beneath the surface. “They’ve brought nothing but death and destruction across the kingdoms of the Great Sea for far too long. But we will stop them, I promise you. This summer, when they march into the Western Lands, we’ll be ready. The Westerners and Achaeans will stand united, and this time, we’ll make them pay.”
Alena nodded, though doubt gnawed at her. It felt as though the Empire always won while the rebellion merely endured. If the goal was to end death and destruction, war seemed a bitter, endless path. But if Leukos was right, and the Rasennans truly planned to invade the Western Lands this summer, then she would fight with every ounce of her strength. Not just for the rebellion, or for her people, but for San.
She would carry that loss into battle and let it fuel her determination. She would not let San’s sacrifice be in vain.
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Leukos said.
She managed a small, grateful smile, then turned to Nik. “If anything’s wrong, the wolf will let me know.”
One last glance at Katell brought a flicker of relief—some of the pain had eased from her face, and a faint flush of colour had returned to her cheeks.
Alena followed Leukos out, passing the two guards outside the heavy doors who stood watch. The sandstone halls blurred around her, their vibrant frescoes and mosaics distant and meaningless. Her thoughts lingered on Katell—half in the past, half clinging to the hope she might wake healed by morning.
Though the sun was still high, Alena’s limbs felt heavy with exhaustion. Yet beneath it, a strange energy simmered as she found herself alone once more with Leukos.
He walked just ahead, shoulders squared and eyes alert. Something about him had changed—he seemed taller, broader, as if the weight of leadership had carved him into something sharper. His arms, bare beneath his ceremonial robes, bore the lean muscle of relentless training. But more than his physical growth, the quiet strength he radiated remained unchanged, easing the ache that lingered in her heart.
His black hair, tousled as always, caught the light and shimmered faintly blue at the edges, like moonlight on darkwater. A foolish urge rose in her to reach out and run her fingers through it, to see if it still felt as soft as she remembered.
Then Leukos turned, catching her mid-thought with a glance over his shoulder.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She looked away quickly, clearing her throat. “Thank you… for what you did in the Great Hall.”
A flicker of amusement ghosted across his mouth, as if he’d caught the direction of her gaze and read her mind. “You’re welcome,” he said evenly.
After a beat of silence, curiosity won out. “Is it true, what Danaos said?” she asked. “You can’t touch another without freezing them?”
He gave her a sidelong glance, expression unreadable. “That’s not what he said.”
“I know.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “But I’m not stupid, Leukos.”
He slowed his pace, running a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s true,” he admitted in a low voice.
Alena stilled. So he truly couldn’t touch anyone? “What happened?”
He glanced around the corridor, suddenly guarded. “Let’s get to your room first.”
Alena gave a brief nod and led the way. The sandstone halls shifted into a quieter wing of the palace, her bond with Apollo tugging her toward the right door.
Inside, the room was spacious and bright. Golden afternoon light spilled through the open balcony, pooling on the stone floor where handwoven rugs softened each step. A table stood in the centre, laid with food and drink, its presence oddly domestic after the day’s turmoil. Beyond a sheer yellow curtain, a sleeping chamber unfolded.
Kaixo lay curled on the nearest bed, his small frame nestled in a tangle of furs. Apollo rested close beside him, gnawingon what looked suspiciously like a stolen chicken leg. A plate, licked clean, lay beside Kaixo’s outstretched hand. Alena exhaled softly, relief warming her chest. She brushed her fingers over Apollo’s head in a silent thank-you, then turned back to Leukos, waiting in the outer room.
The scent of food hit her—warm stew, olives, fresh bread—and only then did her body register the toll the day had taken. Her limbs felt leaden, her magic thin, as if something vital had been slowly bleeding away. The exhaustion wasn’t just fatigue—it was bone-deep.
Leukos’ brow furrowed the moment he saw her. “The Cyprian’s armour is draining your magic,” he said, pulling out a chair. “Sit.”
She didn’t argue. The moment she lowered herself into the seat, her legs gave out more than bent, and she collapsed onto the cushion. At the same instant, the armour vanished in a shimmer of golden light, peeling from her skin and leaving her clad in plain chain mail once more. Relief swept through her, so strong it was almost dizzying.
Without a word, Leukos handed her a plate. She spooned out a generous helping of fish stew and added a thick slice of olive bread. Hunger gnawed at her, but the polished table, the palace air, and Leukos—Prince Leukos—watching her, held her in check. She picked up the spoon, forcing herself to eat with restraint.
