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A warm shiver trailed Areanel’s spine as the shadow at her thigh, cold and firm, tightened its hold. Her head swung, but Rymedur’s sight was trained on the new lord. All hard lines, a lethal gaze and barely-restrained anger, Rymedur looked about ready to commit murder.

The thought should not have been as titillating as it was.

‘Apologies, lord. I meant no disrespect. My intention was not to offend. I simply—’

‘Well, you did,’ Rymedur interrupted. His gaze hadn’t softened, but the icy shadow coiled around Areanel’s leg eased its bruising grip.

‘My intentions—’ Areanel brought the conversation back to the matter at hand ‘—are not as pure as my brother’s.’

Ripping her attention from the wiry male and pushing his similarities to her spymaster away—that was something she would have to investigate later—Areanel shot an acknowledging glance towards Sevain. Her brother sat perched on the edge of his seat, and she aimed a soft smile his way.

Sevain’s shoulders slowly dropped, tension easing. The lords had been right, but Areanel would never admit that out loud.

Of all the siblings, Sevain was the kindest. Sheltered. Their mother had kept him out of their father’s reach as much as she was able. He was only a few years older than Areanel, but everyone had always treated him differently. She was convinced that, besides Silas, Sevain had been their mother’s favourite. After all, she’d named him after one of the Old Gods, the God of Favour.

When she died, Ivan took Sevain under his wing. With neither here, Areanel felt it was her responsibility to do the same.

Areanel could not help having a soft spot for her brother. Even though she’d envied him for their mother’s love, Sevain had always been there for Areanel in the ways that mattered. Whether lending an ear to listen or offering a smile and a kind word on one of her worst days, Sevain had been a silent, reassuring presence.

Elmrynn was too much like their father—cold and brutal. Keanduil was as absent as their half-brothers; much like their half-siblings, he preferred a solitary life away from the palace and their father. Nymlaris was far too selfish and uncaring. And Percival… he had his own demons.

It was strange how Areanel was Aerileas’s only daughter. She often wondered—if she had a sister, would they be the same? Or would they have distanced themselves from her, too? There was no point dwelling on it, though. It was an impossible wish.

‘The people of Vennedove do not serve a king or a kingdom,’ she added, ‘but they do hold resources.’

‘You mean to hold the villagers hostage!’ The exclamation came from one of the lower lords at the end of the table.

The incredulity in their voice sent crawling distaste through the room. ‘They will be our guests, as Sevain said. We will treat them as such,’ Areanel reassured the lords. ‘But, if Cal Cathlar choose to intervene and cross our borders uninvited… we will have the resources we need to set an example.’ She let the word linger, her hidden meaning hanging like a dead man’s noose.

‘So,’ another lord chimed in, ‘we are to use the citizens as bribes.’

Elmrynn’s gruff timbre ricocheted. ‘We are to use them as what they are—bargaining chips.’

It was a brutal answer. One that her father would have given. Sharp and to the point, a challenge lay in Elmrynn’s tone, daring others to question him.

No one did.

Elmrynn had always had that effect on people. Even when they were younger, and he was nothing but disproportionate limbs and a shaggy head of hair, he still knew how to command the respect and attention of a room. Now, though, with his domineering personality and hulking size, Elmrynn intimidated everyone, including Areanel. She may love her brother, but he could be scary, and she would never want to be on the wrong side of his blade.

It was clear that these lords felt the same.

‘But—’

The resounding growl, deep and from the back of Elmrynn’s throat, raised the hairs on the back of Areanel’s neck. Her hand itched for the curved blade sheathed to her thigh.

Something cold pressed against her, pushing against her skin and stroking her palm, stopping her from subconsciously grabbing her weapon. Glancing down, she watched the inky shadow lick at her hand in a whisper-soft touch, almost like silk. The feeling of her gaze drew the shadow’s attention. As it turned its boneless form to her, it stopped. Was it looking at her?

Before she could turn that curious and confused gaze to Rymedur, the shadow retreated, curling up to rest upon her thigh—but she could have sworn she felt vibrations like purring against her skin.

Elmrynn did not have to use words to communicate his displeasure. A rumble shook the papers and tall glasses of forgotten wine. His anger was palpable, and the entire room trembled and groaned.

‘What happens with the citizens will not concern you.’ Areanel commanded the focus to return to the topic at hand before Elmrynn decided to cave them all in. He may be able to survive the force of a mountain collapsing on him, but the rest of them would be heading to the afterlife. ‘All you need to do is prepare for negotiations. The king has informed us—’ she gestured to her brothers ‘—that the treaty between all kingdoms must be renewed.’

‘Cal Cathlar and Selcirith?’ the young lord at the end murmured. His tone carried a subtle edge of intrigue, like he hadn’t expected this development but wasn’t entirely surprised. The way he smiled—at ease and relaxed—was off-putting, but Areanel was certain the slight tightening around his mouth suggested annoyance.

There was something deceptive about his expression that Areanel struggled to pinpoint. Who exactly was he? She would need to send her spymaster to gather information on his male. Areanel did not like being kept in the dark.

But, ‘Indeed,’ was all she offered in response.