“I know.”
She hummed, turning down the stove.
I slid the sippy cup in front of Nikolai, who accepted it with a pleased babble.
Santos walked in halfway through Angel stirring the pot, his presence filling the doorway the way it always did—quiet, alert, never relaxed even in the safety of the Kostas estate. His gaze went immediately to Nikolai, then to me, then to Angel, reading the room in two seconds flat.
“It’sTos!” Niko cheered.
Angel beamed at him. “He’s so smart. Speaking full words now. He’s going to be reciting Dominion codes by the time he’s three.”
“Let’s hope not,” I muttered. “I want him to have at least a few normal years before he’s indoctrinated.”
She scoffed. “Good luck with that. The families damn near indoctrinate in the womb.”
Angel wasn’t wrong. For Niko, the indoctrination had already begun. The entire Dominion bowed to his babbled commands—“Mama,” “Dada,” “Tos,” and that stubborn little “Nah” that emerged whenever something displeased him. Between Alaric’s whispered Greek lullabies and my soft Turkish endearments, we were building his heritage brick by brick, preparing him for the weight of two bloodlines.
I caught his eye across the kitchen and he beamed at me, snake clutched to his chest.
The sight of him still stole my breath—this perfect creature we’d created in those fevered first weeks of marriage, when Alaric’s hands seemed permanently anchored to my skin. Neither of us had thought to be careful. In the Dominion, heirs weren’t just children; they were continuations of power, whispered promises made flesh.
The Kostas clan doted on Nikolai like he was made of precious metals, but what truly unsettled me was my father’s sudden interest. Darius Darzi, a man whose heart had calcified decades ago, asking about my son’s development. I’d made sure their interactions remained rare and heavily monitored—a boundary I guarded fiercely.
Even watching Niko’s dimpled smile couldn’t loosen the knot forming between my shoulder blades today.
Santos approached, his usual severity melting as he tapped my son’s button nose. “Afternoon, little prince.”
“Look how he lights up for you,” Angel said, leaning against the counter. “After his parents—and me, of course—you’re the one he adores most.”
I almost laughed, imagining the argument that would erupt if Cassian were here to defend his position as Niko’s self-proclaimed favorite uncle.
Santos ruffled Niko’s curls. “The little prince already knows who his allies are.” His smile faded as his gaze settled on me. “What’s wrong?”
I exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping.
Angel leaned across the counter. “She can tell something’s brewing.”
“Nothing concrete with the Citadel,” I clarified, fidgeting with Niko’s sippy cup. “It’s more... personal. And my father—he’s been calling every morning this week. Just to chat. Left three voicemails yesterday.”
“God, that’s terrifying,” Angel muttered with a shudder.
Santos remained stone-faced, jaw tightening. He never found humor in anything concerning Darius.
“Your father doesn’t make social calls,” he said flatly. “If he’s suddenly interested in your day, he’s planning something.”
“Exactly. And I need to discuss it with Alaric, but...” My voice trailed off. “He’s barely been home.”
Santos crossed his arms, every inch the Warden he’d been trained to be.
“You saw him this morning, right?” Angel asked.
“Yes. For a minute.”
That was almost literal.
“What do you think it is?” Angel asked softly.
“I don’t know.” I glanced at Nikolai, who was engrossed in a whispered conversation with Santos only he could fully understand. “I don’t know what happened. One minute we’re fine, and then he’s... not here. Even when he is.”
