“It can wait.”
“Arthur,” Caliban warned.
“I won’t sit in a room, listening to men drone on about border management when I’m within reach of solving a centuries-old riddle.”
“You haven’t solved it yet,” he said.
“But I will.” My voice came out firmer than intended. “I have to.”
That quiet concern appeared in his expression again. “I know what this means to you,” he said. “I know why.”
I looked away. I didn’t want to think about my father’s fading magic and the exhaustion it had brought him. I didn’t want to think of him whispering that something was wrong with the world he loved.
“I need answers,” I said.
Caliban rose. “Thenlet’s find them.”
I moved on to another stack of notes. It contained ink-stained maps and genealogical tangles I’d redrawn a hundred times. As I sorted through them, I felt a small, useless ache. I wanted that book in my hands.
But beneath that ache was something I hadn’t expected at all: a faint spark of anticipation.
Artemis Ripley had said she would call.
And I hoped she would.
Hadrian didn’t knock when he appeared over an hour later. He never did. He simply appeared in the doorway with that infuriating mix of charm and judgment he’d perfected over the last century.
“There you are,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. “Do you know what’s unbecoming of an alpha?”
I didn’t look up from my notes. “If you say research?—”
“Missing a full advisory council meeting.” His tone was warm and light, almost as if he expected me to laugh with him. “Arthur, they sat there for twenty minutes waiting for you. Twenty minutes. Do you know how long that is in dragon years?”
“I’m fairly certain time is time, Hadrian.”
He grinned. “Not when Elder Vaelor is doing the talking. Every minute becomes an eternity.”
I paused in spite of myself. “All right, that part is fair.”
Hadrian stepped into the room, eyes sweeping over the maps, notes, sketches, and pages of cross-referenced lineageslittering my desk. He whistled under his breath. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’m close,” I said. “Closer than I’ve ever been.”
“To losing the faith of the clan? Yes, I’d agree.”
I finally looked up at him. We had the same hazel eyes, but his was sharper, more calculating. We also had similar builds, but he was broader in the shoulders. Hadrian was also more practiced in the effortless confidence I’d never mastered.
His expression was still light, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He was measuring the room like a commander deciding a battle is already lost.
He was, in every way, the kind of leader dragons revered. The kind my father believed an alpha should be. My own strengths had always irritated him. Thought was slower than fire. Understanding less impressive than command. I learned early that silence disappointed less.
Which was exactly why his approval mattered more than I liked to admit.
“It hasn’t been that long since your father passed,” Hadrian said, his tone softening. “No one expects that much from you. But you can’t disappear. Your people need to see you.”
“I’m trying to save them,” I said simply.
That stopped him. His posture straightened. “Save them from what?”
