Pulling her eyes from above, Luscia found a young man attempting to rise from where he lounged on a low-backed sofa. The prince struggled momentarily, putting his weight on a beautifully made walking cane. It appeared to be crafted from the same range of materials as the stag door handles.

He managed to stand, though he still enlisted the cane to maintain balance. Luscia didn’t remember Dmitri Thoarne requiring an external aid for everyday mobility. He tiredly brushed ruffled, dark hair away from his handsome, if sallow face and offered her a genuine smile. It stretched widely, transforming him into the charming young man she remembered from his Ascension six years before.

The prince took pause as he regarded the fearsome lycran and Luscia’s own haggard features.

“Lady Boreal,” he began formally, greeting Luscia as if his Quadren were in session. “I truly apologize for the hour. I assume you and your party are exhausted, so I offer you my thanks for coming so promptly.”

He went to move forward, but after a few shaky steps, seemed to think better of it.

“Sit with me,” the prince offered instead, gesturing to the plush sofa opposite his own. “Please.”

Luscia complied while he again took up residence on the luxurious material.

“Are you hungry? What am I thinking, of course you must be,” he said, making up his mind before she could give an answer. “Eugenio! Eugenio, we must feed the lady. Oh, and send Callister to the kitchens to fetch something for her men as well.”

Luscia rested a hand in her lap and let the other soothe Aksel as he settled near her legs. Thinking she ought to stop the prince from rambling, she decided to skip the expected pleasantries and treat their meeting for what it was: a late-night urgency, after a very long journey.

“Your Highness—”

“Please, call me Dmitri. ‘Your Highness’ becomes insufferable after hearing it all the time. You should really reserve its use for sarcastic effect, as some of my friends choose to do,” he suggested with a quirk of his lips, exposing a lone dimple in the dusky skin of his left cheek.

Returning to the receiving room, Eugenio pushed a small cart full of items, his joints popping in protest as he began to transfer the containers in front of her. Waiting for privacy, Luscia watched the valet hobble into an adjoining hall, counting five breaths before she continued.

“Prince Dmitri—”

“‘Prince’ is also tiresome, I find.”

His rich, hazel eyes crinkled in amusement. Luscia wondered if he, too, spent a great deal of time in his own company, as she did.

“Dmitri… ” she tested, continuing at his nod of assurance. “I brought your elixir, although I must admit I was taken aback by the request. I’m not nearly as practiced as my aunt in the apothic arts, and this was my first attempt at its creation.”

Reaching into the folds of her surcoat, she produced five vials. The murky plum fluid streaked the interior of the glass at the jerky motion. Luscia slid them across the short table, now decorated with trays of light pastries and a pitcher of pale coral liquid. Sweet wine from the vineyards of Galina, she guessed.

Dmitri’s brows furrowed in puzzlement. Hiding his strain, he leaned over to collect the dark vials.

“I’m certain they will suffice. Alora assured me that you are highly skilled and suspected you might even produce stronger batches. Honestly, I’m surprised you weren’t informed of the change in responsibility. Did she at least mention the need for discretion?” he asked intently.

“Wem!” Luscia immediately confirmed. “Yes, of course, the utmost discretion. If the Boreali are good at anything, it is silence.”

He grasped a single vial and began to remove the stopper. She wondered if he knew what lurked inside it—if the Prince of Orynthia knew of the wound she’d had to make in order to conjure the elixir. That the blood of Tiergan was necessary for whatever devices he’d commissioned Alora to make possible.

Swallowing hard, Luscia dared to wonder what brewed inside her own veins.

Her face must have communicated as much, because his fingers ceased their mission to release the stopper at her stare.

“Did Alora tell you to watch me take it?” He scowled. “She did, didn’t she? Depths, she knows I hate this foul stuff.”

With a sigh, he brought the elixir to his lips and drank it brashly, like it was a shot of Darakaian bwoloa. Wiping his mouth clean of the residue, he continued, “I didn’t know the Haidren to Boreal was also training up a royal nursemaid on my behalf. Next, she’ll have you singing me lullabies to ensure a full night’s rest.”

Dmitri shook his head in exasperation with her aunt’s tactics.

“If it would increase your appreciation for Boreal, then perhaps I should,” Luscia crisply retorted, registering her tone only after she’d spoken.

She instantly broke eye contact and bowed in place, awaiting his anger. A growing headache and Dmitri’s insistence on familiarity weren’t helping her lack of expertise in small talk. But the Orynthian prince merely rumbled with soft laughter.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your brazen wit in adulthood. I recall your aunt determinedly trying to instruct that out of you.” Dmitri lowered his oval face, reclaiming her gaze as he grinned.

To her surprise, Luscia felt a smile tugging at her own lips. “I’m surprised you picked up on that.” While Luscia was well aware of Alora’s attempts to reform her temperament, she’d not realized it was so apparent to everyone else.

“When a child consistently engages in swordplay instead of attending teatime, it’s difficult not to notice.”

“Wem, well, I now recognize that tea and embroidery are more acceptable pastimes in Bastiion than swordplay,” she quipped.

“Acceptable, perhaps, but not nearly as useful, I’d imagine.”

Dmitri swished another mouthful of the water Eugenio had delivered with the wine, clearly desperate to chase away the aftertaste of the elixir.

“I’m also happy to see your arm healed perfectly since your last visit,” he commented. “It seems Alora can heal almost any affliction.”

“Aniell has gifted Alora greatly. That we can easily agree upon,” Luscia said, alluding to nothing more than her aunt’s penchant for rare herbs as she watched Aksel’s ears pivot with the crackling fire.

It was not an exaggeration. Alora Tiergan was thought to be the most successful and imaginative healer Boreal had produced in a century, which was Luscia’s point of perplexity regarding Dmitri’s earlier sentiments. Compared to her aunt’s renowned skill and anointing, there was no conceivable way that Luscia could ever produce a stronger medicinal remedy than Alora. The list of questions awaiting her Haidren’s arrival was growing by the hour.