"The decree will be announced from the eastern balcony at midday. Half the city will be gathered to hear it." Aldric glanced toward the windows, calculating. "If something were to...interrupt the ceremony, it might buy you time to act."
"What kind of interruption?" Nero pressed.
"The kind that requires the Silver Wolf and his mate to be moved to safety," Aldric replied carefully. "Away from the palace, away from Doran's immediate control."
Nero felt a spark of hope, quickly tempered by suspicion. "And then what? We become fugitives in our own kingdom?"
"Better than puppets in Doran's show," Aldric countered. "There are still loyal soldiers, still nobles who remember what honor means. But they need a rallying point—legitimate authority that isn't controlled by the priests."
Before either could respond, voices echoed from the corridor outside—the young guards returning, probably with new orders. Aldric straightened, his expression shifting back to formal neutrality.
"I must go," he said, raising his voice slightly. "Your excellencies should rest well." Then he whispered, " Tomorrow will be...eventful. Watch for the diversion and be ready."
As he reached the door, he paused. "Oh, and Your Excellency?" he addressed Casteel directly. "The cook mentioned that some of the kitchen staff have been asking about you. They remember when you worked in the stables, and wish you well."
The door closed behind him, leaving Nero and Casteel alone with the weight of impossible choices. Nero felt his mate's conflicted emotions—hope warring with fear, determination shadowed by doubt.
"The kitchen staff," Casteel murmured. "He's telling us we have allies among the servants."
Nero nodded slowly. "People who knew you before all this. People who might help us if Aldric's diversion works."
Nero watched Casteel move to the window, gazing out at the city below. Lights twinkled across the darkened landscape like fallen stars, each one representing lives that would be affected by tomorrow's decree.
"Do you think we can trust him?" Casteel asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nero came to stand behind him, arms encircling his waist as if it felt natural. "Not completely. But his hatred of Doran seems genuine enough."
"He lost his brothers to the rebellion," Casteel said, leaning back against Nero's solid warmth. "Yet he's willing to help us."
"Not us," Nero corrected gently. "Abergenny. There's a difference."
They stood in silence, watching the city lights flicker and dim as the day grew late. The weight of tomorrow's decisions pressed down on them both, made heavier by the knowledge that thousands of lives hung in the balance.
"We should rest," Nero said finally, though neither moved. "Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll need our strength."
Casteel turned in his arms, eyes searching Nero's face in the dim light. "If Aldric's plan fails...if we're caught trying to escape again..."
"Then we face it together," Nero said firmly, cupping Casteel's face between his palms. "No more separation. I won't allow it."
The certainty in his voice sent warmth cascading through their bond. Casteel reached up, fingers tracing the lines of Nero's face as if committing them to memory.
"I never thought I'd find something worth fighting for," Casteel admitted. "Not like this."
Nero's throat tightened with emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. "Nor I," he whispered, the confession easier in the darkness. "Not since the rebellion took everything."
And this felt real. For the first time since he'd stood in that tower and nocked his arrow. He'd been trying to convince himself he was playing a forced part, but he was fooling himself.
They moved to the bed together, undressing in silence. Despite the urgency of their situation, despite the dangers that awaited them at dawn, their movements were unhurried, almost reverent. Nero drew Casteel down beside him, their bodies fitting together as if designed for this purpose.
Casteel's fingers traced the scars that mapped Nero's chest.
Their lovemaking was gentle, a stark contrast to the desperate joining that had sealed their bond. Slow touches and whispered endearments replaced urgency, each caress an affirmation of something neither was quite ready to name.
Through their connection, emotions flowed freely—concern, determination, and beneath it all, a fierce protectiveness that bordered on devotion.
Nero's calloused hands moved with deliberate tenderness, tracing the contours of Casteel's body like a cartographer mapping precious territory. In the dim glow of banked embers, his mate's skin gleamed like burnished copper, warm and alive beneath his touch. Their earlier couplings had been born of necessity, of magic and survival—this was something else entirely.
"I want to remember every inch of you," Nero murmured, lips brushing the hollow of Casteel's throat where the silver scar of their bond gleamed in the low light.
