The answer carried more weight than Dax allowed to show.
The guard studied him for a moment before looking away.
“Understood.”
“Keep the civilians from feeding the rumors. I want descriptions of anyone steering the conversation toward the heir or the stronghold.”
“Some of them aren’t easy to silence.”
“Then give them something else to talk about.”
The guard’s posture stiffened.
“Yes, Prince.”
Dax left without another word.
The outside air struck him like wet fabric, warm and heavy with cigarette smoke and damp stone. He stared for a moment at the narrow strip of sky visible between the buildings, as though looking at something open might relieve the pressure inside his chest.
It did not.
He continued the patrol at a speed that turned streetlamps into streaks of gold. The city blurred into water-dark pavement, iron railings, and distant laughter he could no longer imagine joining.
The final stretch took him beyond the crowded streets, where buildings gave way to thicker trees and fewer witnesses. These were the places from which an enemy could watch without being seen and mistake distance for safety.
Dax found no tracks, unfamiliar scents, or magical disturbance strong enough to follow.
The absence of evidence offered no comfort.
It meant whoever was watching knew how to remain hidden.
By the time the stronghold rose from the darkness like a half-remembered nightmare, its stone and iron silhouette seemed less protective than usual. The damaged wards murmured faintly against his skin as he crossed them.
The heir’s cries threaded through the upper halls, carrying through the compound like a constant, aching pulse.
Dax stepped inside and allowed the house to swallow him.
The walls held grief the way old wood held smoke. It had soaked too deeply to be cleaned away and now seemed to live inside every room.
He should have taken the Bar X report directly to Sule, but the king remained beside Leena or with his son, and the wrong interruption might turn grief into violence before the information could become useful. Dax would speak to thebrothers first and allow Cole and Malakai to help determine what required immediate action.
Before doing that, however, there was another practical matter he refused to leave unattended.
The newly turned woman would need blood again.
Dax knew little about her beyond what he had witnessed from a distance and what the brothers had pieced together from Rhen’s guarded answers. She was unstable, angry, and trapped inside a body she had never chosen. Rhen treated her as a danger requiring containment, which was not entirely wrong, but containment without guidance would eventually create the very threat he feared.
Dax went to the blood supply room.
Cold air met him when he opened the reinforced door. Sealed bags rested in ordered rows along the shelves, each one stored for controlled use within the compound.
He selected two.
Stored blood was not an answer to everything happening inside the guest suite, but it offered control and removed the immediate danger of hunger. Dax tucked the bags beneath one arm and headed toward the east wing, prepared to face Rhen’s anger later.
The corridor became quieter as he climbed. When he reached the guest suite, he stopped outside and listened.
There was no pacing or shouting, only the subtle movement of fabric from beyond the door.
