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“Aerynn.”
The sheer relief rippled through my veins like physical warmth, melting the cold adrenaline that had kept me functional. I had known I hadn’t seen his golden head among the casualties in the throne room, but seeing him standing here, solid and unhurt, made my throat tighten.
He laughed softly—a low vibration against my back—and pulled me a fraction tighter against his chest. For a brief moment, I let myself lean into the weight of his embrace. We had a classic sibling relationship—playful, deeply protective, and fierce—expressed in small increments. I was profoundly grateful this was one of those moments.
“You jinxed the entire rotation,” he added, his chin resting lightly against the top of my hair, his scent of cedar and clean rain cutting through the smell of copper on my clothes. “You could have arrived on a quiet day. Instead, you chose a full-scale coup.”
“I didn’t choose a single thing,” I snapped back, though I could feel the edge of a smile pulling at my lips. “And if I had been given a choice, I would have aimed for something significantly less... inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient,” Aerynn repeated, releasing his hold and stepping back with a quiet snort. “That is certainly one word for an assassination plot.”
I turned to face him, my eyes scanning his frame. He looked the same, yet altered. Older, perhaps. His features were sharper, hardened in the way people’s faces become when they finally accept responsibility. But he was still Aerynn—striking blue eyes, shoulder-length golden hair, and an easy smile resting on his fair skin.
“I just got here,” I said quietly.
“I noticed.”
“And this is the court I walk into?”
“You have always possessed truly excellent timing, Taur.”
Before I could offer a biting response, another presence shifted from the shadowed edge of the vaulted room.
It was heavier. It carried an absolute, unyielding certainty that silenced the space instantly, drawing the light out of the room. Aerynn stepped to the side, his posture turning rigid, his playful demeanor vanishing behind a mask of perfect, royal obedience.
My father emerged from the darkness of the inner study.
I sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly mindful of every word, breath, and movement. The casual sanctuary of my brother’s embrace was gone. Now, I had to stand taller, square my shoulders, and mask my true thoughts behind a wall of royal stoicism.
“A failed coup,” the King said, his voice even, controlled, and completely devoid of emotion, echoing off the rows of leather-bound books. “But a coup nonetheless.”
He didn’t move toward me to offer a greeting. His green eyes moved instead—quick, precise, and calculating—taking in my combat stance, my uneven breathing, and the dark red blood still coating the edge of my blade. But as his gaze hit the fresh crimson stain soaking my tunic, his jaw clenched—just for a fraction of a heartbeat—and his knuckles went stark white against the pommel of his sword before the cold mask of the monarch slammed back into place.
“Are you injured, daughter?” he asked.
“No.” The answer came automatically—a shield against his scrutiny.
His gaze held mine for another long, suffocating moment before it shifted to the doorframe. He scanned the hallway for anything his guards might have missed. Only then did something in the rigid line of his shoulders ease.
He turned his focus entirely to Caspian. “You have my thanks, Captain.”
Caspian inclined his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Permission to return to the western corridor,” Caspian continued, his blue eyes shifting back toward the sound of distant clashing echoing through the lower vents. “The situation may not yet be fully contained.”
My father lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Go.”
Caspian straightened as he turned to face the dark hallway, his gaze shifting back to me. It was a brief, subtle movement. There was that volatile flicker again—recognition without a logical reason.
And then—he winked.
It was lightning-fast, but entirely deliberate.
I blinked at him, my jaw tightening as a wave of heat hit my cheeks. That was completely inappropriate. Not here. Not in front of the King when he was a sworn captain of the Black Guard.
Before I could decide how to respond, he turned on his heel and was gone, his heavy boots moving back toward the blood of the throne room without another word. I watched the empty space he left behind for a second longer than I meant to.
“You are staring,” Aerynn murmured from behind me.
