She shot him a sidelong glance. “Our fathers hailed from ancient nobility in Argos. Until the current Megarian ruler casts you out, you’re an Achaean noble—and a lord—whether you like it or not. And if Prince Leukos calls you a friend, no one has the right to treat you otherwise.”
Nik looked at her, a flicker of gratitude stirring in his chest. While her brother remained distant, she had shown him nothing but kindness since his arrival. Clearly, his first impression of her had been unfair.
“Well, don’t go spreading the news of my title to all the Tirynthian ladies just yet,” he said in a mock whisper. “They wouldn’t be able to keep their hands to themselves.”
Her lips twitched in amusement, but she kept her composure as they reached the grand doors of the council chamber. The guards admitted them without hesitation.
Inside, the chamber rivalled a throne room—gleaming marble columns, expansive murals depicting the epic clash between the Sea God and the Grey-Eyed Maiden. Each painted scene captured the intensity of their rivalry for Megara’s favour. The back wall showed the Sea God triumphantly claiming Megara, while the Grey-Eyed Maiden, serene but resolute, blessed Tiryns with its famed olive trees and the Gifted architect who’d raised the city’s impregnable walls.
The moment Nik crossed the threshold, the tension was palpable. A heavy silence pressed down, stark against the distant hum of palace life beyond.
The Megarians—Theo, Pelagios and Xanthos—stood close on one side of the long wooden table, its surface painted with a detailed map of Achaea. Across from them, Leukos stood apart, arms crossed, a deep frown carved into his face. He wasn’t listening. Nik would bet anything his mind was still with Katell.
Nik could almost feel the weight crushing Leukos’ shoulders, heavier than ever. Only Queen Charis and the twins knew the truth of his Gift, and Leukos intended to keep it that way.
In Achaea, losing control over one’s magic wasn’t just dangerous—it was a sign of weakness, a curse from the gods. For a prince raised to be unbreakable, there could be no greater shame. And Nik, sworn to guard him, could only watch the cracks deepen.
His gaze shifted towards the far end of the room, where Queen Charis sat in a throne-like chair, resplendent in white and gold. The gilded frame caught the sunlight and turned it blinding, forcing him to blink. At her side stood Danaos, unmoving as ever, his expression carved from stone. A semicircle of councilmen flanked them, their eyes sharp with judgement.
Nik took his place beside Theo. Despoina crossed to the opposite side, aligning herself with the Tirynthians.
“We found this in her possession.” Every gaze fixed on Danaos, more precisely, on the glass vial held between his thumb and forefinger. “Hidden behind her breastplate.”
Nik tensed. It was the very vial Katell had begged him to find. Even now, its contents pulsed faintly, a dark shimmer of magic coiled inside.
Charis leaned forward, the delicate trinkets in her hair clinking as she lifted her head for a better view. “What are they?”
Danaos looked among the councilmen for an answer, his jaw clenched tight. None came.
“Laran’s Tears,” Pelagios said at last, his tone grave.
The name didn’t seem to resonate with Leukos or the Tirynthians.
Pelagios continued, darker now. “During the war, King Pandion’s spies heard of these sacred pebbles said to heighten a Gifted’s magic. They were believed to be made from Laran’s blood.”
Danaos straightened, turning towards the queen. “If they strengthen magic, we should test them. They might serve our soldiers.”
“No.” Pelagios’ refusal sliced through the chamber like a blade. Even Danaos faltered. “They are woven with Laran’s magic, and when used too often, they strip away the Gifted’s mind until nothing remains. The magic is too potent for mortals. They must be destroyed.”
Nik’s pulse pounded, his mind racing. Pelagios’ explanation aligned with what he’d seen: Katell’s twitching hands, her restless pacing, her sudden mood swings.
Twelve be damned. She’d been taking them.
Movement at the edge of the room caught his attention. The chief healer stepped forward—an older man, broad-shouldered and sun-worn, silver streaks running through his hair, a white chiton draped over one shoulder.
“They’ve poisoned her mind,” he said flatly. “Whatever those stones are, they’ve taken hold. Her body shows every sign of magical dependency. She cannot function without them.”
“It’s true,” Nik said quickly. “She wasn’t herself. She kept asking about the vial.”
Danaos’ expression hardened. “And she willnothave it.” His words cracked like a whip. “We’ve already done more than enough for the assassin sent to murder our queen.”
Nik stiffened. So they knew. Leukos must have gone straight to Charis after Katell’s confession.
“She’s seen our healers,” Danaos continued. “She’s being kept in comfortable quarters. That is more than she deserves.”
Before Nik could argue, Xanthos stepped forward, his shoulders rigid, brow furrowed in disdain. “If her mind is broken, then it is the gods’ curse upon her. And why not? She is the daughter of the Rebel Queen, who turned her back on her own family and joined the enemy.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the Tirynthian council. Their contempt made Nik’s blood boil. They didn’t even know her, yet they condemned her.
