“Luscia?”

Dmitri’s voice interrupted her spinning thoughts when he abandoned traditional Quadrennal address and adopted her given name. “I want you to know that I have waited for your Ascension with undeniable anticipation. With the final member of my Quadren here at court in Bastiion, we can finally begin to care for the burdens of our people. Though I’ve been of age for some time, my hands are often tied by restrictive legalities. A complete Quadren holds greater influence and allows us to circumvent the limitations set by the Peerage.”

“You are the sole heir to the Orynthian throne. I should think that provides you with an ample amount of influence,” Luscia commented dryly. She had little pity for a Unitarian who had to play by Bastiion’s unreasonable decrees when the majority of those laws were pitted against the House of Boreal.

“Normally, I’d agree with you. I am the sole heir, yes, but unfortunately one who is not considered entirely legitimate until backed by a Quadren, wherein all four al’Haidrens have reached Ascension age. It’s infuriating, really,” he explained, rubbing his temples as he sat back. “There is so much to be accomplished. So many injustices of worthy cause, but I have little sway in the Peerage without the Houses behind my every word and deed.”

Dmitri picked up a fat, dusty book in one hand and clenched a pile of parchment in the other, tightening his lips as he peered down at them.

“I am to be king, yet I’m bound to maneuver like a politician in my own home. It’s why I spend countless nights reading these, over and over again, committing them to memory. Perhaps with you here, I can finally be put to use.” His lips curved at the notion, revealing that lone dimple. “Luscia, I truly mean this when I say…well, that I hope we might become friends.”

“Friends?”

Luscia eyed the Crown Prince of Orynthia. In this moment, sitting alone on his couch, Thoarne’s heir looked like nothing more than a solitary boy, seeking escape from his isolation.

“Leadership can be a lonely state, Lady Boreal.”

Wistfulness swept his features as he turned toward the fire. Luscia detected faint traces of freckles over his elegant nose and lean cheeks.

“Thoarne’s friendship with Boreal was once a powerful force,” she replied, treading cautiously in light of his abrupt vulnerability.

“And may it be again,” were his closing words before grabbing the cane to propel himself upright.

She followed him into the foyer, mentally rejoicing at the prospect of returning to the large bed that awaited her and the restless wolx. Aksel’s tail twitched back and forth, communicating he felt the same.

“Do you know when Alora’s party will be returning? I assumed you’d journey together. She will be back in time for your reception, won’t she?” he asked with genuine concern.

“My reception, Highness?”

“Dmitri,” he reminded her. “And yes, your reception. My al’Haidren to Boreal deserves a welcoming just like the others. Even Ira had a reception thrown in his honor at court, and he’s native to Bastiion.”

“That’s entirely unnecessary,” Luscia protested. “Besides, I’m not certain a lavish social engagement on my behalf would be well received.”

Advancing further into the foyer, Dmitri placed a hand on Luscia’s back to guide her forward. She tried not to tense under his innocent, but unexpected touch.

“Nonsense! Bastiion loves any excuse to celebrate…” He trailed off when he noticed her reaction. Then, to her surprise, Dmitri took one of her hands in his own. His grip didn’t feel as weak as she’d expected—Luscia could even sense shallow calluses on his palms, as if from some form of physicality.

“You are right when you say that Boreal’s prestige has been forgotten by most,” Dmitri said gently, “but I have not forgotten. If you wish to restore it, as I do, then the House of Boreal must command the same level of respect as the others.”

Luscia lowered her head in submission. Dmitri was right; her people had so separated themselves from the Ethnicam that disrespect had become permissible in their absence.

“Your words bear wisdom, Ana’Brödre,” she acknowledged somberly. At his quizzical expression, Luscia added, “It means Great Brother—a title of honor among our people.”

Dmitri’s genial smile returned, as did his tremulous page, who was instructed to guide Luscia back to her apartments. After her muddy, upturned boots passed into the corridor, she heard Dmitri pop his head out after them.

“Oh, and Luscia, word travels fast at court. With regard to your demanding half a dozen sentries be stationed outside your apartments tonight…”

Collapsing her shoulders, she whispered defeatedly, “Wem, Highness?”

“Well done.”

NINE

Zaethan

   “Frankly, I found it quite clever of her.”

Zaethan paced up and down the length of the exquisite elm-and-aspen table lining the center of the war room. He refrained from ripping off the collection of maps scattered across the tabletop, spotlighted by sunlight streaming through the glass ceiling overhead. Maintaining his composure was less for Dmitri’s sensibilities than for the fact that Orynthia’s king and commander were scheduled to arrive at any moment. Otherwise papers, would have blanketed the floor.

“Clever? You mean to say that commandeering four additional sentries on a whim—” Zaethan jabbed his own chest, “—four of my sentries, is clever?”

Zaethan couldn’t believe his friend’s indifference. Less than a day at court, and that hellish y’siti was already creating problems. On one hand, he was pleased she’d demonstrated the very defiance he’d predicted she would. On the other, Zaethan was furious the witch had claimed authority over his men within the first hour of her arrival.

“To say the al’Haidren commandeered your men is a rather dramatic perspective, Zaeth. And I doubt it was a whim—more likely a statement of sorts,” Dmitri calmly mused, hands clasped behind his back. The prince spoke while he inspected a sketched map of Hagarh, as it was the true purpose for their meeting.

He hated when Dmitri did that. Unlike most Darakaians, Zaethan’s education was dually grounded in the disciplines of Faraji as well as the Unitarian scholastics. It was why their friendship began so early in life—Zaethan had joined Dmitri for most of his lessons. Yet despite the years of study at his side, Dmitri’s strengths always overshadowed Zaethan’s when it came to the eloquent subtleties of debate.

Kàchà kocho. He shrugged it off. Debate was for yancies.

“I’ll show your y’siti a dramatic perspective,” he muttered aloud, accompanied by muffled curses in Andwele and slid a different map toward Dmitri, tapping a sketch of the city. “The only statement she made was of disrespect and complete lack of cooperation with Bastiion.”