Ronyn pulls an apple out of his satchel. “You always were the clever one, Seren—I’ll give ya that.”
An annoyed grunt travels through the mouth. “Does he ever shut the fuck up, or is this a permanent affliction?”
Marin.
Ronyn turns, lop-sided grin on full display. “Permanent affliction, I’m afraid. A life of begging and stealing on the streets will do that to a man. And you are? Notably royal and never gone without a meal in your life?” His voice pitches high in mockery.
Marin scoffs.
“Finally got mommy’s permission to leave the castle, Marin? Cute,” Jax croons.
But Saana grabs Marin’s arm. “Go easy, Marin. We actuallywantto work with these people,” she murmurs low, and Marin visibly softens under her touch.
“That’s right, Marin, listen to your wife like a good girl,” Jax taunts, and saunters past them with her middle finger raised high in the air.
Gods, this is a lot of personality and ego in one fucking place.And not a single one of them is used to being second.
Ronyn swings his arm around Seren’s shoulder as they walk. “Disappointed I’m not the most insufferable personality in this place, to be honest.”
Seren drags a hand down her face, and throws Ronyn a look of absolute exhaustion at his antics already. “And that says a lot,” she murmurs.
An irritated grunt fills the air. “I need a fucking drink,” Teddy mutters.
Rubi laughs freely. “Oh, how the tables have turned. Full flask in my bag, Teddy,” she announces, patting the over-stuffed satchel hanging from her shoulder.
And that’s when Seren realizes—Rubi isn’t drinking. Doesn’t smell like a tavern gone sour. Something has shifted in her, too. Seren files it away.
“I’ll grab a swig,” the man Ronyn introduced as Vren says.
The wide cavern of The Perils opens into majesty—seated stations of fur and layered blankets form a circle around The Widow’s Waters, lanterns alight behind each seat.
But before Seren can say anything, the noise falters. Not fully—just enough to notice. Because Lara has stepped forward. Mahogany skin glistens bronze in the lanternlight, eyes catching every movement before anyone else does.
“Ah, the Melders. Still desperate free-loaders, taking the spoils of others, I see. How very… predictable,” Lara croons.
Okay, there’s history there.
Old. Bitter. The kind that doesn’t fade—just waits.
Vren steps forward, a rigid finger stabbing in Lara’s direction. He barks a humorless laugh. “Here we fucking go. I haven’t missed you, High Witch. You bound us in mortal skin and expected us to just adjust—no livelihood, no skills beyond fighting. We did what we had to do to survive.”
Lara scoffs, wicked and superior. “By stealing our shipments of food and starving us for years. It sounds like your approach to hardship is ‘us or them.’ Is that what they can expect you to bring to your so-calledalliance?”
Gods.
Tension suffocates the space. One wrong word and it will snap.
Vren grunts his disapproval, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to hold himself back.
Lara clocks the movement and smirks—like a woman who sees her plan working.
Vren laughs, loud and unnatural. “If you’d unbind us from your fucking treachery, we’re the difference between the Known Realms thriving and our entire existence turning to ash. What doyoubring to the table, High Witch? Dramatic pauses and no loyalty?”
Lara scoffs with haughty arrogance—something Seren has never seen. The Melders—or perhaps Vren specifically—are getting under her skin. “I forgot you’re also an accomplished contortionist, Melder—you could wrangle your way out of a fucking noose and a death sentence.”
Lara steps forward, all eminence and supremacy. She rakes her eyes over his tall frame, a scowl forming on her lips in disgust. “Perhaps we should test that theory.”
In the time Seren has known Lara, she’s never seen her this…animated. No—emotional. Lara does not react. Never has. She is unflinching in the face of violence, brutality, risk,men. So this? It’s unusual, at best. She’s playing it off like she’s in control, but something about the exchange tells Seren there’s history that goes beyond mere rivalry.
