Reon sighs, exasperated. “Surely you are not that oblivious?” He flicks a glance toward Marlayna. “I believe she wants your brother.”
Zyphoro scrunches her face in distaste. “What for?”
Reon smirks. “I imagine she’d like to sample the royal cock.”
Zyphoro gags, sticking out her tongue, throat bobbing with visible disgust. I frown at her overreaction.
“You cannot bed her,” Solena interjects, her voice firm, her brow furrowed.
I turn to her, exhaling slowly. “We need access to that mirror.”
“Then kill them,” she says simply. “Kill them all. Any who stands in our way.”
Orios nods his agreement.
I shake my head. “I must tread carefully with the void. If I summon too much, if I step through it, I will make myself known to him.”
Orios shrugs. “Then I will kill them.”
Zyphoro raises a hand. “I’ll help.”
“No.” The word is a snarl, my canines pressing against my lip. “We do this my way. Without bloodshed.”
Their gazes weigh heavy on me, unspoken questions thick between us. The prince who carved a reputation in blood and battle now speaks of restraint?
I answer before they can voice their doubts.
“This conflict cannot be solved with smoke and steel. Carving my way through land and sea will not bring me closer to my love. No amount of blood on my hands will make my heart whole. Only Amara can do that and so I must play their game.”
Zyphoro studies me through half-lidded eyes, skepticism laced in her smirk.
“How admirable of you, brother.” She exhales, rolling her neck. “Boring as fuck. But admirable nonetheless.”
The others nod, but there is something different in their eyes, something searching, as if they are seeing me for the first time, as if this shift within me unsettles even them.
I do not like it.
I have never needed their approval, only their obedience. I want them to see me as they always have. The wicked prince of the Mordorin, the creature they fear, the warlord who does not bend. But now, beneath their scrutiny, I feel something I have never allowed myself to feel. Exposed.
And I know the reason.
Amara has stripped me bare. She has unraveled me, unmade me, and I let her. My need for her outweighs the mask I once wore so effortlessly. She has changed me, and now I fear I cannot be both.
The prince I was feared nothing.
But the husband I am now isnothingwithout her.
Without my mate.
“Prince Daedalus,” Marlayna says, her voice laced with formality, though we both know my title holds no weight here. “Would you care to join me?”
She gestures to a deep blue chaise, its gilded baroque edges gleaming in the dim light.
I nod stiffly, though the irritation gnawing at me feels sharp enough to draw blood. She smiles, a knowing curve of her lips, and sways toward the chaise. I take a moment to glance at the others.
“Leave this to me. Blend in. Try to enjoy yourselves,” I murmur. Before they can scatter, I glance back at them, eyes narrowing. “And don’t kill anyone.”
Zyphoro and Orios exchange disappointed looks, but they fade into the crowd. Reon, however, takes to the scene like a fish to water, slipping into the company of two masked females whose pale, naked forms entwine slowly, almost languorously. Zyphoro sprawls in a large chair, legs draped over the arm as she casually plucks a string of grapes from the table while Solena and Orios help themselves to goblets of wine.
