The certainty in my voice isn't just speculation—it's knowledge based on years of observing our Kings, understanding their patterns and priorities.
"This is the same guy who was able to stalk Eva during class and figured out she'd been poisoned before saving her life. I don't know why he didn't decide to work in secret ops, but then again, he's obviously more obsessed with medicine development."
My voice takes on a grimmer tone as I add.
"Which is needed, I guess, when we're looking at the spring of marked disease going on thanks to the Blinded One."
Simply saying the man's title feels like spitting venom, each syllable coated in hatred that's been building since I found Eva bleeding out in those woods. The memory makes my arms tighten fractionally around her sleeping form, a subconscious need to reassure myself that she's still here, still breathing, still mine to protect.
Ren sighs, rubbing a hand across his face in a rare display of genuine frustration.
"I'm using all the resources I have access to with my father's privileges, and yet it's so hard to get anything on the Blinded One."
A low, humorless chuckle escapes me.
"Of course there isn't shit about him. He wants to remain a ghost, and he shall unless someone can outsmart the dead."
Ren's brow furrows, an expression flickering across his features that immediately catches my attention. It's the look he gets when pieces are connecting in that brilliant mind of his—the one he tries so hard to hide beneath his carefully cultivated playboy facade.
"What?" I prompt, studying the intensity gathering in his gaze.
"I didn't think about that," he says slowly, each word measured as his thoughts continue racing ahead. "He's called the Blinded One. He doesn't wish to be noticed. Seen, but sympathized due to the obvious display of a blindfold that projects he lacks vision." His fingers drum against the armrest, a nervous habit he rarely displays. "To make him undetectable because he should be incapable of hurting a fly."
Understanding dawns as I follow his thinking process, the implications unfurling like a map of previously unexplored territory.
"Meaning we're not checking who he may have once been."
"Exactly." Ren leans forward, the tiredness in his expression giving way to the sharp intelligence that makes him such a formidable King despite his carefully crafted public image. "What we should have been doing is finding who wished to disappear. To remain 'dead.' Someone who's now on a rampage of payback with an identity that's buried six feet under."
The theory settles between us, its weight almost tangible in the sun-drenched bedroom. It's such an obvious angle that we've all overlooked it — searching for a ghost when we should havebeen examining graves. Looking for a man defined by blindness when we should have been investigating those who chose to vanish from sight.
We sit in silence for several moments, each processing the implications of this shift in perspective.
The gentle sound of waves breaking against the shore outside provides a peaceful counterpoint to the darkness of our thoughts, to the violence we're both silently planning against the man who dared try to take our Queen.
Eventually, Ren sighs, stretching his arms above his head with a calculated casualness that doesn't quite mask the tension still lingering in his frame.
"I want to shower." The statement comes out almost petulant, a deliberate shift toward more mundane concerns.
"Why don't you just go?" I counter, arching an eyebrow at his unnecessary announcement.
He grumbles, slumping further into the armchair.
"I'm tired."
A low chuckle escapes me as I see through his transparent excuse.
"That's bullshit because I know you ain't tired in the slightest." My eyes deliberately drop to the obvious strain against his pants, evidence of just how affected he was by watching Eva and me earlier. "Not with that boner pressing against your pants still."
Ren huffs, lifting his head enough to glance down at his groin, as if he hadn't realized how turned on he still was.
"You could have just been a nice friend and taken care of it," he mutters, though the heat in his gaze suggests he's not entirely joking.
"I don't mind being friends since it's obvious we're sharing Dolcezza from now on," I reply, my tone deliberately casualdespite the significance of the admission. "But I doubt you're into that, are you?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with possibilities neither of us has openly acknowledged before.
The dynamic between our Kings has always carried undercurrents too complex for simple definition—competition and alliance, rivalry and brotherhood, all existing simultaneously in our collective devotion to Eva.
