Blades of Ashes Ch. 24

The Case of the Commandery Princess and the Prime Minister’s Narrow Escape

Chapter 24

“We’ll let you rest and freshen up,” Noriel said, getting up with her hand resting on her stomach. She smiled at Azula. “We’ve been talking for an hour. I—”

“You and Soriel are impatient,” Raithion said, entering the room. He walked to Azula’s side and placed a hand on his right shoulder.

Azula glanced up at him for a moment, then smiled. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry,” Raithion said, squeezing Azula’s shoulder. He faced Noriel and Soriel, who both stood side by side. “You should have called for me.”

“We should have,” Noriel said. “But we wanted to ask Prince Azula questions.”

“And?” Raithion asked.

“The answers were satisfactory,” Noriel said. “Prince Azula—”

“Please call me Azula.”

“Azula,” Noriel said. “He’s very honest and interesting. I look forward to getting to know him.”

“Yes,” Soriel said. “Everything Nori said, and I hope Azula stays in the capital longer. This way we will grow closer.”

Azula looked up at Raithion and gave him a subtle wink.

“Azula has a mission to accomplish,” Raithion said. “Our family will help him achieve it first. Then he can choose if he wants to stay in the capital.”

“Is that how you want it?” Soriel asked, her gaze shifting from Azula to settle on Raithion.

“Everything our family has now came at the expense of his,” Raithion said. “Helping him accomplish his mission is what I want for him.”

Soriel held Raithion’s gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, I’ll deal with it from that position from now on. Azula, we’ll let you rest now.”

Raithion waited until the door clicked shut behind Noriel and Soriel before the tension bled from his shoulders. Relief washed over him, hot and immediate, driving out the lingering anxiety that had gripped his chest ever since he discovered his sisters with Azula. He reached out and pulled Azula into his arms. He kissed him with a sudden, consuming desperation, a rush of warmth and soft velvet heat.

Azula let out a breathy moan against his lips, breaking the kiss to look up at him, eyes shimmering with amusement.

“What is this?” Azula asked, meeting his gaze. “Are you here to coax me after your sisters came to interrogate me?”

Raithion smiled, a wave of affection smoothing away his remaining worry. “It looked like you were getting along with them fine. You are able to charm everyone you meet. How come I didn’t know?”

“Didn’t you?” Azula smiled. “Didn’t I charm you with a kiss?”

Raithion laughed, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, and pulled him tight against his heart.

“You said you would let me hold you later. Later is here.”

Azula wrapped his arms around Raithion and rested his full weight against him. “I need to remove this coat. It has an ugly stain.”

“I’ll help,” Raithion said, letting go of him to start unbuttoning the heavy coat.

Raithion helped Azula pull off the heavy coat, and he dropped it over the back of the couch. Beneath it, Azula wore a simple white tunic. Raithion tugged at the hem and smiled when Azula lifted his arms above his head.

Raithion pulled off the tunic. When it caught Azula’s elbows, the collar stuck just above Azula’s nose. Raithion wrapped an arm around Azula’s waist to steady him, then kissed him, fitting his lips to Azula’s parted ones and sinking into an intoxicating kiss.

Azula chuckled when their kiss broke off as he tumbled into him, and Raithion tugged the tunic off the rest of the way.

“Are you still worried about me?” Azula asked, wrapping his arms around Raithion’s neck. His bare chest pressed hard against Raithion’s, and Azula loved how safe he felt in Raithion’s embrace.

“I’m always worried about you. I’ll take you for a warm bath,” Raithion said. “Then we should rest early.”

Raithion kissed Azula’s cheek, then leaned down, sweeping his arm beneath Azula’s knees and lifting him into his arms, making him laugh. The bathroom was not the sunken bath beauty of Draeya County. This room was modest, a compact alcove crafted from pale masonry.

Built directly into the far wall sat a rectangular stone tub, just long enough for one body to stretch out, though two would be an intimate squeeze. Brass taps jutted from the stone wall above it, steaming slightly as hot and cold water mingled to fill the basin.

Azula shed his remaining clothes without hesitation, completely uninhibited under Raithion’s loving gaze. Stepping into the tub, he lowered himself into the deep, warm water with a low moan. The heat immediately soaked into his skin, soothing the dull aches and stinging scratches on his arms and fingers, reminding him of his fright with the assassins.

“Is it so difficult to enter the palace?” Azula asked, leaning his head back against the stone rim as Raithion knelt beside the tub and reached in to wet his hair.

Raithion crushed a pod of lavender soap between his palms, working it into a rich lather. He slid his fingers into Azula’s wet hair, massaging the sweet scent gently into his scalp. Azula closed his eyes, melting into the tenderness of the gesture.

“No,” Raithion said softly, his thumbs tracing the line of Azula’s temple. “You’re just going against a man who wants to have his way. The capital might be where the Basileus lives, but it is also where hundreds of courtiers fight for power and wealth. They can be aggressive and ruthless.”

“At the expense of people without any of those things,” Azula murmured, the warm water lapping against his chest.

“Perhaps,” Raithion admitted. He picked up a wooden scoop, filling it with warm water, and carefully poured it over Azula’s head, shielding Azula’s eyes with his free hand. Once the lather was completely rinsed, Raithion’s wet hands glided down to Azula’s shoulders, his thumbs pressing firm, deliberate circles into the tight muscles of his back.

Azula let out a shivering sigh and shifted, turning over to rest his chin on his folded arms over the edge of the tub. He savored Raithion’s touch, his pulse fluttering at the raw affection in Raithion’s eyes.

“Raith, I didn’t know you could massage people,” Azula whispered, a slow smile curved on his lips.

“I’ll only do it for you,” Raithion murmured.

Azula chuckled softly, the sound low and affectionate. Raithion leaned in over the water, pressing a soft, burning kiss against Azula’s damp, bare shoulder, his lips lingering against the warmed skin.

“It’s too bad we can’t do more tonight,” Raithion said.

Azula sat up, water cascading down his chest. He reached out to cup Raithion’s cheeks, pulling him into a deep, tender kiss that tasted of heat and lavender. When they finally parted, Azula stroked Raithion’s jawline, letting out a soft, contented sigh.

“We’ll have all the time in the world after tomorrow,” Azula murmured.

Raithion brushed his fingers through Azula’s damp hair and nodded.

Azula left the bathroom first, leaving Raithion to wash up. He changed into a soft cotton tunic and trousers that had been left at the foot of the bed. Food was already placed at a round table by the window. Azula sat there and looked up when the main door slid open.

Sennin came in carrying two keys and sat in the chair next to Azula.

“We’re close to the palace,” Sennin said. “I should hand these over. Do you trust him?”

Azula glanced at the closed bathroom door for a moment, then nodded.

“We have to now,” Azula said with a small smile. “But we also must have our own plans.”

Azula took the keys from Sennin and studied them for a moment, then met Sennin’s gaze. “We’ve already reached this point. We just have to see it through. Bring the chests upstairs, and I’ll hand over the keys to him.”

Sennin nodded and started to get up, but Azula grabbed his arm.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Azula asked.

“Yes,” Sennin said, squeezing Azula’s hand. “They’re serving roast beef. You should let me go get my share. It smells really good.” Azula chuckled as Sennin touched the top of his head. “Don’t forget to dry your hair. Get some sleep. They say we’re waking up early in the morning. Rest early.”

Azula nodded and let go of Sennin’s hand.

Sennin left with a final ruffle of his fingers in Azula’s hair and hurried to close the door.

Azula let out a sigh. His best friend had left for roast beef. He couldn’t blame him. Azula poured himself a cup of cool water and drank deeply.

The bathroom door opened, and Raithion emerged dressed in black cotton trousers and nothing else. His dark hair lay long around his shoulders. Water drops raced down his chest. Azula placed his goblet down and stared at Raithion. Raithion carried a towel to the table. He pulled up a chair next to Azula, and Azula pressed his palm against Raithion’s naked chest.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Azula murmured. “You look so breathtaking walking around half-naked. How am I supposed to ignore all this?”

“Don’t ignore it then. It’s all yours,” Raithion murmured and used the towel to cover Azula’s hair, then rubbed his hair dry as he rained kisses on his forehead. Azula used the edges of the towel to wipe away the water on Raithion’s smooth skin. “Who came in?”

“Sennin,” Azula said with a soft sigh. He got up and sat on Raithion’s lap, resting his head on Raithion’s shoulder as Raithion held him. Azula reached for the two keys on the table and held them out to Raithion. “These open two chests I brought from Sura Island. One has swords forged with very strong steel. They can cut through anything. The other has five crossbows like the one I use. They are gifts for the Basileus. I’ll give them to you to hand to him.”

Raithion closed his fingers around Azula’s hand, along with the keys. He brought Azula’s right hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “I’ll make sure they get to the Basileus. In fact, we’ll use them to get him to sympathize with you even more.”

Azula nodded and rested against Raithion. “Can we stay together, and just forget the capital and the fight for a few hours? I just want to feel you holding me like this.”

“I’d love that too,” Raithion said, placing the towel around his shoulders. He reached for the platter of food and pulled it closer. There were slices of grilled chicken, sliced tomatoes, cheese slices, a bowl of pumpkin soup, and diced cucumbers.

Raithion grabbed a fork and fed a bite of chicken to Azula, who smiled as he chewed. Raithion took his own bite and poured sweet pineapple juice into a goblet. He brought it to Azula’s lips and watched him sip it.

Azula held the goblet and met Raithion’s gaze as he drank deeply. Then he winked. “I told your sisters I’ll kidnap you and take you to Sura Island. Noriel was amused, but Soriel was sad. She’s very attached to you. What do you think? If I kidnap you, will you come with me?”

“I’ll go with you,” Raithion said.

Azula stared at him for a moment, taking in the spoonful of pumpkin soup that Raithion fed him.

“You won’t protest? What about Yulin and Skye?” Azula asked.

“We’ll take them along, and they can play with Ruri,” Raithion said, taking a bite of the soup and nodding in satisfaction. “They had a great time on the island, and I can learn a trade. But you have to promise you’ll marry me.”

Azula felt tears sting the backs of his eyes, and he couldn’t help leaning in to kiss Raithion’s cheek. “You, stop making promises when I can’t give you an answer,” Azula said, his voice hoarse.

Raithion placed the goblet on the table and set the utensils on the plate. Then he wrapped his arms around Azula and held him tight. Azula wrapped his own arms around Raithion’s neck and buried his face into his shoulder.

“Azu,” Raithion said after a moment. “I know it has not been easy for you, protecting your clan, coming here to Lyria hoping to overturn a case. Losing your dad. All of it was difficult. I can’t pretend to know what it was like. All I want you to know is that I’ll always stand by you. And when it’s all over… I hope you’ll be able to live for yourself. If you want to go back to Sura Island, then that’s what we’ll do. If you want to travel, let’s travel.”

Azula smiled as he held on to Raithion. He did not offer any words that would be taken as a promise. He couldn’t yet, not with everything unsettled. Plus, tomorrow…maybe he would end up disappointing Raithion. Fate would tell.

So… Azula kissed Raithion’s shoulder and his temple, letting his warmth fill him up.

Much later, wrapped in the quiet and the haven of their bed, Azula felt an ache inside him that had nothing to do with fear for tomorrow and everything to do with the man lying beside him. He wanted to claim Raithion, to mark every inch of him so completely that neither the capital nor the threat of the court could touch them tonight. If it was all he would ever have of Raithion, then he wanted to remember every second.

Azula leaned over him, pressing a slow, heavy kiss to Raithion’s parted lips before dragging his mouth down the hot column of Raithion’s neck. He lingered over the hollow of Raithion’s throat, feeling his pulse flutter violently beneath his mouth. Tracing a trail of slow, hot kisses down Raithion’s chest, Azula captured one flat nipple between his teeth, nipping gently before flicking it with his tongue.

Raithion let out a low, breathy exhale of pure ecstasy, a sound that vibrated straight to Azula’s core. The sound was intoxicating, filling Azula with a rush of urgency. It made him want to believe that Raithion belonged to him, just as completely as he belonged to Raithion.

Azula’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Raithion’s trousers, dragging the black cotton down over his hips. He didn’t hesitate; he wanted to see him, to feel him bare. Trailing another line of hot kisses down the dip of Raithion’s stomach, Azula paused at the base of his pelvis, breathing in the scent of skin and lavender before wrapping his lips around Raithion’s hard length.

Raithion sucked in a sharp, harsh breath at the heat, his back arching slightly off the mattress.

Azula dragged his tongue up the smooth, hot underside, taking Raithion deeper in his mouth with a slow, deliberate rhythm. He gripped Raithion’s hips tightly, anchoring him, anchoring them both in this frantic moment. He swirled his tongue over the sensitive tip, teasing the swollen head until Raithion’s hips surged up in rhythm with Azula’s mouth, helpless to the sensation.

Raithion’s hands tangled in Azula’s hair. He lifted his head from the pillow, his gaze dark, heavy, and completely wrecked with pleasure as he watched Azula take him in.

“Azu…” Raithion gasped out, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches.

Azula tightened his grip on Raithion’s hips, swirling his tongue around the tip with deliberate, punishing sweetness, driving Raithion straight off the precipice.

A harsh, desperate cry tore from Raithion’s throat as his body snapped with a violent, shattering shudder. His fingers tightened in Azula’s hair, holding Azula flush against him as he came hard, his pulse throbbing wildly against Azula’s mouth. Azula swallowed every drop, holding him gently, savoring the wild tremble running through Raithion’s legs until his breathing finally began to slow.

Before Azula could draw back, Raithion reached down, gripping Azula beneath his arms with fierce strength, pulling him up his body until they were eye to eye. Raithion claimed his mouth in a hard kiss, tasting himself on Azula’s lips and pulling him in so tight there wasn’t a breath of air between them.

Azula surrendered as Raithion turned him onto his back. Raithion stripped away Azula’s tunic and trousers with frantic, eager hands, exposing every inch of Azula’s skin to the warm air and his hungry gaze. Raithion’s hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of Azula’s ribs, sliding firm down his thighs, gripping his hips with a possessive claim.

When Raithion’s hand closed over Azula’s aching erection, Azula threw his head back against the pillow with a desperate moan. Raithion stroked him with a rhythm that was relentless and maddening, leaning down to capture Azula’s cries with deep, lingering kisses. Azula lost all sense of time, his mind dissolving into pure heat and sensation as Raithion drove him over the edge into a blinding, breathless orgasm that left him trembling from head to toe.

Afterward, the room fell quiet save for their mingled breathing. Raithion left for a brief moment, returning with a cool, damp towel to gently clean Azula’s skin. Once finished, he tossed the cloth aside and gathered Azula into his arms, pulling him against his chest so close Azula could hear Raithion’s heartbeat.

Azula buried his face into the warm crook of Raithion’s neck.

As they drifted off to sleep, exchanging soft, lingering kisses in the dark, Azula held on, letting Raithion’s love fill him up, fortifying him enough to face the day that was coming.

*****

At three in the morning, the night was thick and the world quiet as people slept. The wine merchant’s courtyard was empty save for Azula’s guards, Wolfe and Sennin, and Raithion. They were supported by Haedor and two other legion officers.

Azula held Raithion’s hand for a moment, looking into his eyes, then he took a breath and leaned up to kiss his lips.

Then Azula turned and climbed into a large clay wine jar. It was spacious enough to hold him if he sat with his legs crossed. He wore a black cloak around his shoulders, and he pulled the rough wool around himself like a blanket.

“Bear with this for now,” Raithion whispered as Azula sank into the cavernous jar. He touched the top of Azula’s hair and caressed his cheek. “I’ll get you to the palace. Then you’ll never have to endure this again.”

Azula squeezed Raithion’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

As the heavy lid settled into place, plunging the jar into darkness, a sudden spike of claustrophobia seized Azula’s chest. The air was stale, smelling of dregs of fermented grapes. He forced his breathing to slow, focusing on the specks of faint firelight piercing through the ventilation holes above.

A soft scrape echoed outside as Raithion’s hand lingered against the cold clay exterior, a subtle, grounding touch that made Azula’s heart ache with a mixture of fierce gratitude and lingering apprehension. He was trapped in a jar, but Raithion was out there guarding him. Trusting him was the only anchor that kept his panic at bay.

Outside, Raithion touched the wine jar one last time before jumping down from the large cart. There were sixty wine jars on six large wooden carts. Mixed in with the real wine jars were forty-two containing Sura clan members and three with the witnesses the Sura needed. The ten Sura clan members who had come to staff Azula’s household were left under Noriel’s care in the Draug Manor. They would join Azula after he left the palace.

Draug merchants entered the courtyard, and Raithion covered his head with a black cloth, hiding his face thoroughly. He secured a black cloak around his shoulders and adjusted the Draug merchant token he had gotten from Noriel, hanging on the belt at his waist.

Soriel had already left the village and returned to the Maenaer residence, where she would support Haedor. Noriel had already said her goodbyes, so no one would notice Raithion moving among the wine merchants.

The Draug merchant guards checked the carts and the jars to make sure they were secured, then they handed Raithion a red scarf used by the merchants, which he wrapped around his neck. Raithion stationed his horse next to the cart carrying Azula’s jar as the merchants began a careful departure from the winery, heading into the capital and toward the palace.

The Draug merchants used an old back road typically reserved for transporting livestock and wholesale supplies. It lacked heavy foot traffic, and only seasoned merchants used the route to avoid getting caught up in traffic from noble carriages and the elite on the main road.

No one paid attention to the Draug merchants who escorted six wooden carts filled with wine jars on slow horses to deliver wine to the back service entrance of the palace kitchens.

*****

Gesi Ajai rubbed his forehead as he paced his beloved greenhouse. Young tomatoes were already planted for the new season, and he was regulating the temperature to make sure the plants survived. But the rest of his house was in a raging inferno.

Benira had taken to her bed since her daughter’s funeral; she could not see Yulin and Skye now that Raithion Maenaer had taken her grandchildren away. Gesi could not blame the commandery prince for the choice. Damn Rassa had lost her mind and poisoned his prized grandson; that boy who was poised to inherit the powerful Maenaer family. How dare Rassa even think of poisoning him? That mess was barely sorted, and then reports of the Sura returning to the capital had taken root.

A soft knock on the greenhouse door had him pausing. He looked up to see Sazama enter the greenhouse.

“Where are we now?” Gesi asked.

“Our team failed the first attempt,” Sazama said. “It did not help that the Draeya prince insisted on stopping at the Draug family home for a rest instead of staying at the inn. Otherwise, we would have tried a second attempt. But not to worry, our spy confirms that the convoy has started a slow drive into the capital. The Draeya prince is leading it.”

Gesi Ajai checked the sundial in the corner. It was just after six in the morning. If the convoy entered the capital heading to the Maenaer house, the Sura would be in the palace by evening. Worse, the Basileus would be able to track the convoy’s movements, and any attempts to interfere with them would be recorded thoroughly.

“Damn it,” Gesi said. “We can’t move on the Draeya prince once he enters the capital. Too many eyes. Do we still have people who can enter the Maenaer residence?”

Sazama shook his head. “That is no longer possible. Since Lady Naeri’s death, they have locked down the front and back gates. No one enters who is not associated with the family. You know they have their own markers they use to admit entry, and we can’t forge them.”

Gesi cursed and started pacing again.

“Damn Rassa for the trouble she has caused,” Gesi said. “Fine, we’ll rely on the Dowager Basilinna on this one. She’s the only one who can act within the capital.”

“Alright,” Sazama said. “About Rassa…”

Gesi glanced at Sazama with a frown. He had dragged Rassa to his own estate and asked Sazama to keep her prisoner in a small house in one of the unused courtyards at the back. She was mad for Raithion Maenaer, but her skills were still useful.

“Keep holding her,” Gesi said. “She’ll be of use in our original plan. We still need to shake the Prime Minister’s power. The court is getting more hostile to our party, and our allies are antsy for positions the Libert Party is hoarding. The Finance Ministry can only do so much. We are already walking a tightrope with the taxes we siphon in the city. Any scrutiny and we’ll be in trouble. If only Rassa had kept a low profile, we’d be further along with this plan.”

Sazama held his silence, then cleared his throat.

“If the Dowager Basilinna fails, we’ll need to make plans for the future,” Sazama said after a while.

A heavy, suffocating knot tightened in Gesi’s chest. He stared blankly at the fragile tomato seedlings, the delicate green stems he had spent weeks nurturing, and realized with a bitter pang of exhaustion that he couldn’t save them today. Not while everything he had fought for was crumbling around him.

A cold, prickling fear raced beneath his skin at the thought of exposure; if the tax records were audited, his legacy would burn to ash before he even started.

He let out a long, ragged sigh, abandoning the plants, and dragged a palm over his sweat-sheened forehead. A cold, decisive fury replaced his dread. He had spent a lifetime playing the patient strategist, but patience had backed him into a corner. Now, with the Sura returning to the capital, it was time to stop reacting. He needed to act even if it meant burning the board.

“Make Rassa deal with the Prime Minister,” Gesi said, his voice dropping into a lethal register. “Plan the attack carefully. There should be no more mistakes. I’ll work with the Dowager on the Sura clan matter. If we really can’t deal with the Prime Minister this time, it’s time to reach out to Talmac and Dalion. I’ve grown tired of waiting. Send a message to Witia. Let them prepare.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Sazama said. “Also, Lady Benira heard that His Highness the Draeya prince is returning. She has sent a message to the Maenaer house requesting a visit.”

“She’s just bringing me trouble,” Gesi said, shaking his head.

“Should we help her cancel it?” Sazama asked.

Gesi thought of Yulin and Skye, the beautiful, innocent children his late daughter had suffered so much to bring into this world. A quiet, aching warmth flickered in his chest, followed by a fierce surge of grandfatherly protectiveness, but it wasn’t enough to overcome his ambitions. He wouldn’t let Benira’s reckless grief expose him to scrutiny from the Maenaer family.

“Yes, don’t let her visit that house until we have resolved the Sura clan problem. We can always petition to see those children at court. The Basileus won’t refuse me.”

****

“Where is the Basilinna?” Olneth asked her attendant at nine in the morning.

“Your Majesty,” the attendant said. “She is at Rose Hall. Her guard won’t let anyone into the private residence. It is said that His Majesty spent an afternoon in the Rose Hall courtyard, and then spent his night there.”

“That seductress has charmed Dio. He no longer has time for me,” Olneth said. “Keep an eye on Rose Hall. Let me know if they come out. Meanwhile, tell my death guard to do what they can to keep those Sura carriages from reaching the Maenaer residence.”

“What about the city guard?”

“The city guard needs a distraction,” Olneth said with a soft sigh. “The girl from Pamplona’s house, how has she been?”

“Your Majesty, after Nana Pamplona failed to reopen her father’s case, she had to leave the Pamplona house. She has been living in the most popular inn for the last three months, working as a dancer. Our people have been watching her. She has not made any more attempts to clear her father’s name.”

“I don’t trust her,” Olneth said. “She’ll make a great distraction for the city guard. Induce an incident in the inn. Let the city guard take her into custody. Make it big enough to cause a stir. No one will notice death guards attacking the Sura carriage on the other side of the city.”

“I’ll send a message to our people. We can use Magistrate Firo Briale,” the attendant said.

Olneth watched the young attendant hurry away, a slow, predatory warmth settling in her chest. She reached for a plump, dark grape, rolling it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth and biting down until the skin burst, sweet and sticky, against her tongue.

She was sixty this year, but her appetite for control had only grown sharper, more ravenous. Her son was the Basileus, yet like his father before him, Dio had chosen to consolidate his power using the Maenaer house. He was undeniably a son with Witia blood, yet he took exquisite pleasure in spurning her; refusing every attendant she offered, dismissing her suggestions, and withholding his support from her brothers in Witia State.

Now he had elevated a Basilinna who actually knew how to sharpen her claws. She, Olneth, had no way to breathe freely in this palace. She felt suffocated, trapped in a palace that should have been her private domain.

If she could exterminate the Maenaer Basilinna, she could replace her with some pliable, weak-willed girl and rule the court from the shadows once more. Maybe then Dio would finally break and become the obedient puppet he was born to be.

A soft, soundless sigh escaped her lips as her thoughts drifted to a sweeter, more enticing alternative.

“Or we can just get rid of you both,” Olneth murmured, a cold, vicious smile curling her lips. “You can leave young Rane in my care, and I’ll rule over the kingdom as the Grand Regent Basilinna.”

The thrill of absolute power rushed through her, hot and addictive. The image of the empire kneeling before her sent a shiver of delight down her spine. Above all, she savored the thought of crushing her mother-in-law beneath her, that withered old bat who loved using Princess Sanan to force Olneth’s will.

Olneth scoffed, her eyes gleaming with icy malice. “Let me deal with the Sura first, then I’ll deal with the Maenaer Basilinna.”

****

At the same time, Dio sat on his throne in the empty courtroom. His guard had closed off the large hall; no one could come close or enter the throne room. His fingers twisted the fine red jade ring on his right thumb as he sat waiting. This day would determine the fate of all five years of his machinations.

His mother’s death guard had deployed a few minutes ago, determined to attack the Sura prince’s convoy within the capital. He could only hope Raithion had made sufficient arrangements to protect the prince. The Draeya Prince’s paranoia was a beast Dio could not defeat even after all this time. Raithion had not shared any of the plans with him.

Prince Kailu was out in the city, playing a role Dio could not define. The plot Kailu was unraveling at an inn was a task he had been assigned by Raithion Maenaer before he left for Sura Island. All Kailu had said to Dio as he left the palace was, “It will be useful at the right time.”

Dio cursed under his breath. Kailu was his cousin, but he was even more frustrating than Raithion Maenaer.

Dio pushed thoughts about Raithion and Kailu aside. Instead, he thought about his wife. Soriel was at the Maenaer residence. She had sent him a note saying she would use her guard to protect her parents from an attack.

Dio frowned. The Maenaer residence was well fortified, but if Soriel felt the need to avail her guard to the Maenaer legion officers, then she was aware of Olneth’s plan. His wife’s information network rivaled his own.

Still, he was grateful that Soriel did not complain about having to guard against so many troubles.

Lastly, he prayed that Raithion would manage to deliver the Sura prince to him. He needed a weapon to wield against Gesi Ajai. He had hoped consolidating his military power with Raithion’s help would be enough, but Gesi Ajai and his Populi Party needed to be wounded politically to dent his influence.

A dull ache throbbed behind Dio’s eyes; he pressed his fingers to his temple with a soft sigh. He refused to yield to the exhaustion creeping into his bones. The sheer weight of the crown pressed heavily on his chest, yet a hard, immovable resolve anchored his spirit.

For five torturous years, he had endured Gesi Ajai’s quiet sabotage, watching the Populi faction rot his kingdom from within like a spreading blight. Ever since Gesi took over the Ministry of Finance, the treasury had collapsed into utter chaos. Funds were vanishing into shadow accounts, and now Gesi dared to lobby for sweeping control over the entire treasury while squeezing the starving commoners for higher taxes.

Dio clenched his fingers, the cool edge of his red jade ring biting into his thumb. He couldn’t legally prove Gesi’s embezzlement yet, but there were unmistakable signs. Gesi’s metal-forging workshops produced useless, brittle iron tools that barely lasted a single tilling season, leaving fields unplowed and granaries half-empty across the states. Hunger was hovering on the horizon like a storm cloud, but Dio swore to himself that he would not watch his people starve to fill a corrupt minister’s coffers.

He had to seize control of the treasury and rip the Finance Ministry from Gesi’s grip, and the Sura prince was the blade he intended to run through the heart of Gesi’s political power.

Exhaling a long, slow breath, Dio rose from the throne. Every step he took as he started pacing the length of the elevated dais echoed through the cavernous, quiet hall. He was ready to strike the moment Raithion delivered his prize.

****

Nana Pamplona controlled the shaking in her limbs and picked up the tray with a teapot and cups. She was to deliver it to a private room on the second floor. All she knew was that she was supposed to entertain a powerful man waiting there.

She was dressed in red, the soft silk of her dress framing her body and leaving nothing to the imagination. She had spent months fighting against having to wear this dress, but then she had met a woman named Noriel who had told her to survive at all costs. Dignity was not worth her life. She had gotten over the barrier in her mind and decided to survive. Her sensual dances became known around the capital, earning her the top dancer title at the Lavender Inn. She now earned enough money to fund her quest for her father’s innocence, but it was not enough to save her from the Dowager Basilinna’s cruel friends.

She carried the tray now, squaring her shoulders. She entered the private room and froze. Sitting at the single round table in the room was a man she had hoped never to see again: Firo Briale, the magistrate who had orchestrated her father’s death.

“Come here, sweet Nana,” Firo said, holding out his hand to her. “I’ve waited for you too long.”

Nana dropped the tray, the porcelain shattering against the wood floor, and spun around to run. But two burly men stepped up to block the entrance.

Behind her, the sound of unsheathed steel made her blood run cold. She turned back to find Firo holding a gold dagger, the blade glinting in the mid-morning sun while a sinister smile stretched across his face.

“Let’s play, Nana,” Firo purred, taking a slow step toward her.

A suffocating wave of terror crashed over Nana, seizing her throat before she could even scream. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as she backed away, her hands trembling so violently she could barely breathe. Firo approached her, while the two men remained at the door. She was trapped. She had no weapon, no strength, no way past the mountain of muscles guarding the door.

The memory of her father’s lifeless face flashed behind her eyes, and a cold, sickening realization hit her. She was going to die in this room, dressed like a spectacle, at the hands of the monster who had destroyed her family.

Panic swallowed her whole, pinning her to the spot as Firo raised the blade. Then a struggle began behind her, and the sliding doors broke as a fight broke out.

Before Nana could register the noise, a tall, brown-haired man strolled into the room with a lazy, effortless charm.

“Just in time,” he said, his voice smooth as silk.

Nana looked back in time to see a squad of legion officers swarm in behind the tall man and tackle the two burly guards to the floor with heavy, brutal thuds, pinning them down.

Nana’s breath hitched in her throat as she stared at her savior. He wore a neat, long burgundy coat with intricate gold embroidery along the sleeves and hem, paired with a crisp white shirt and dark trousers tucked into shiny black boots. His brown hair was secured in a tight ponytail, framing a handsome, striking face with kind brown eyes.

“Magistrate Firo, is it a coincidence that I find you locked in a room with Magistrate Pamplona’s only surviving daughter?”

“Prince Kailu,” Firo spat out, unwittingly revealing the newcomer’s identity to Nana. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” Kailu said with a bright grin, casually dragging a chair out from the table and taking a seat. “I’m here to find Nana Pamplona. I have questions for her. Questions she seems to have better answers for than you.”

The sudden, sheer weight of relief hit Nana like a physical blow. Her knees buckled, completely unable to hold her up any longer, and she sank to the floor amidst the shattered porcelain. Hot, silent tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring her vision as she stared at Prince Kailu with raw, unending gratitude. Her chest heaved as she swallowed down dry sobs, her mind barely able to process that she was safe.

“Help her into a chair,” Prince Kailu said, his tone softening as he nodded to one of his legion officers. “And find her a coat to cover up. We need to get back to the palace. Time is limited today.”

Nana wrapped her arms around herself, wondering what he meant, as it was only ten o’clock in the morning.

****

At ten-thirty in the morning, Haedor led the convoy into the capital city, wearing Raithion’s Commandery Prince uniform. It consisted of a black overcoat with gold buttons and gold embroidery at the wrists. The white lion’s head motif on his back was enough to mark the Commandery Prince’s rank. He wore a black shirt and trousers, his feet tucked into leather riding boots.

To hide his brown hair, which differed from Raithion’s dark mane, he had pulled on a black wide-brimmed military hat that cast his upper face in shadow. From a distance, any spy watching would easily mistake him for Raithion leading the procession.

The convoy moved at a sedate, agonizingly slow pace through the crowded thoroughfares, trapped behind a dense trickle of horse-drawn carts and wandering pedestrians. The heavy carriages could not speed.

Seeking an opening, Haedor signaled for the convoy to turn off the main road, veering into Rem Street, a narrow avenue usually bursting with morning food stalls and foot traffic. It was a block away from the Maenaer residence.

Adrenaline surged hot through Haedor’s veins, a fierce, hungry thrill tightening his grip on the reins as he scanned the scene.

I hope they come, he thought, his chest heaving with cold anticipation. He was playing the decoy, stepping into the shadow of Raithion’s formidable reputation, and every nerve in his body burned to prove he could carry the weight of this deception.

At first, Rem Street was unnaturally frantic, a chaotic swirl of panicked civilians elbowing past one another. Then, like water draining from a broken basin, the street cleared. Pedestrians scattered into side alleys, and stall owners frantically slammed shuttered doors and windows shut, leaving a sudden, eerie silence in their wake.

Haedor looked up. Gray-clad figures flickered across the clay-tiled rooftops like leaping phantoms, their movement fluid and as relentless as a martial display. Bowstrings snapped in unison. A dark hail of iron-tipped arrows rained down from above, completely ignoring the legion officers flanking the carts. Their arrows were aimed with stunning focus on the high-value passengers inside the carriages.

The deadly volley struck, but to Haedor’s grim satisfaction, and the attackers’ visible shock, the shafts bounced harmlessly off the carriage walls, clattering onto the cobblestones below. The Sura carriages had been reinforced with a hidden inner layer of forged iron plate.

A wolfish grin split Haedor’s face. It looked like their attackers meant to engage in a bloody battle. Bloodlust raced through his heart. They wanted the Commandery Prince, but they were going to get a demon instead.

****

Azula kept his eyes closed during the difficult ride into the capital. The journey was long and grueling; it was difficult to find a comfortable position in his jar, and the process grew harder, especially when the sun climbed too high.

Azula was relieved when the carts finally came to a stop. His nerves were thoroughly frayed. Still, he tried to remain as still as possible, especially when they arrived at the palace gates, and the guards insisted on checking the wine jars. His heart rate raced a mile a minute for the five minutes the inspection continued. The head of the wine delivery team spoke to the guards.

“They are meant for the inner palace,” the team leader said, his tone friendly. “They are a gift from Lady Draug to His Majesty. But I planned today. It is rare wine, so we have saved a few smaller jars for you and your fellow guards. You can take some and drink after your shift, or take them home.”

“Ah, Karn, you’re always very good to us,” the guard said, as the team leader urged his subordinates to move ten smaller jars into the guard’s office. They exchanged pleasantries and teased each other about marriage and wives who waited at home for their pay. Then the gates were opened, and the carts drove onto the palace grounds.

Soon, Azula heard the heavy groan of doors opening and closing behind the carts. The lid above his jar lifted, and Raithion reached inside, gripping Azula’s arms tightly to pull him out.

Stiff from hours in the cramped space, Azula’s legs nearly gave way, but Raithion caught him, lifting him out of the jar and hauling him against his chest. Azula clung to Raithion’s broad shoulders, his heart hammering against his ribs in a chaotic mix of sheer relief and lingering terror. They had survived the journey, but the real war was only just beginning.

Raithion carried him off the cart. Desperate for grounding, Azula cupped Raithion’s jaw, leaning up to press a hard, fierce kiss to his lips, a wordless promise, hungry and intense. Raithion’s grip tightened around his waist, deepening the contact for a precious, fleeting second before Azula broke away, breathing heavily.

“Put me down,” Azula murmured, his eyes searching Raithion’s with fierce affection.

“Alright, everyone’s safe,” Wolfe said behind them. “Lord Raith, what is the plan now that we’re in the palace?”

“We’ll wait for my friend,” Raithion said, leading Azula into a plain waiting room right next to the busy kitchen. Palace staff moved past without paying attention to them. Once their group was inside, Raithion closed the door and turned to Azula, his expression full of concern.

“I need to meet our contact,” Raithion said, taking Azula’s face in his hands. “Wait for me. Sharain will bring in water to drink and some to refresh yourselves, okay?”

“We will wait for you,” Azula said, resting his hand over Raithion’s. “Don’t worry. We’ll be here.”

“Okay,” Raithion said softly, his thumb tracing Azula’s cheekbone before he forced himself to pull away. “Don’t come out until I come back. Sharain is guarding outside.”

Azula nodded and urged him to leave, a tender smile touching his lips as Raithion glanced back over his shoulder three times before carefully closing the door.

Once alone, Azula let out a quiet sigh and turned to face his men.

“Let’s get ready,” Azula said. “We’re so close. Everyone, this is for our people. Do not falter now. No matter what happens, we must stand our ground today.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Wolfe, Sennin, and the Jinyi whispered in low, devout unison.

“Find the bags we brought with us,” Azula ordered, his voice ringing with a steady, fiery authority that cut through the gloom of the room. “Let’s change.”

Sennin led him to the side, where a leather sack held the royal garments Azula needed when he met the Basileus. Azula stripped out of the sweat-stained black tunic he had worn since dawn. Around him, the Jinyi members were already donning their Sura army uniforms, strapping on armor and checking their weapons.

Azula pulled on a dark green tunic trimmed with gold, adjusted his trousers, and cinched the string belt tight. His hair was already pulled into a neat, disciplined ponytail secured by a leather strap. Reaching for his heavy, dark green coat, he wore it with a shrug of his shoulders and began buttoning the front, his gaze sweeping over his men. He paused when he met the knowing eyes of old Sinsa, the assayer.

“Are you planning to surprise Lord Raith?” Sinsa asked with a soft chuckle.

“I’m planning on winning my clan’s right to exist in peace,” Azula said, clipping his belt buckle. He adjusted the holster carrying his crossbow and stepped closer to Sinsa. “Do you object?”

“I do not,” Sinsa said with a small smile. “The Black Cove Clan never got the chance to fight for their rights. You’re already extraordinary in my eyes for making it here, for surviving a purge designed to destroy you. That’s half the fight won.”

“Old man Sinsa,” Azula said, crouching before him to look directly into eyes that had seen a lifetime of tragedy. “Did you know someone from the Black Cove Clan?”

“Yes,” Sinsa nodded quietly. “A long time ago. She was heartbroken by the loss of her people. She was the last surviving member of her lineage. I learned everything I know about assaying from her, but she could not save her clan from Basileus Rokas’s court. So she fled the Lyria Kingdom. The last I heard, she had sailed for the Nerasa Kingdom, and I hope every day that she found some form of happiness.”

Azula placed a warm, steady hand on Sinsa’s knee, his chest tightening with purpose. “Old man Sinsa, where do you want to go after this?”

Sinsa stared at him, then smiled gently. “I’ve given it much thought through this grueling journey. I grew up in Brusan, to the north. Our home was by the ocean, and I’d love to see the waves again. My sister was left there to care for our parents. She writes often, but I’ve never been able to visit.”

Azula shifted his gaze to the young man sitting beside Sinsa. “What about you, Lachan?”

“I want to take care of Old Man Sinsa,” Lachan said firmly. “Later, once he is settled with his family, I would like to learn metalwork from your clan, Prince Azula. Would you allow it?”

Azula hesitated for a brief second before nodding with conviction. “I would. When we survive the next few hours, I will personally give Old Man Sinsa my carriage and three attendants to take you home to Brusan. Lachan, when you are ready, use that same carriage to find me. I will oversee your apprenticeship myself.”

A bright, hopeful smile broke across Sinsa’s weathered face. “Then we will definitely survive.”

Azula squeezed his knee tightly before rising to his feet. He smoothed his jacket lapels and walked over to Sennin, where the red box containing the porcelain vase rested on a wooden bench. Opening the box, Azula retrieved the leather pouch containing Trevan’s letter, ensuring it was intact before slipping it into the inner pocket over his heart.

He surveyed the room once more, feeling a swell of profound pride. His guards stood transformed in their formal Sura Clan army uniforms: sharp, double-breasted black overcoats with gleaming silver buttons, structured military collars accented in gold, and rich burgundy patches across their shoulders. The coats were paired with black trousers tucked into polished combat boots. The dark fabric contrasted strikingly with their signature strawberry-blonde hair, tied back in uniform ponytails. Equipped with swords and notched crossbows, they looked formidable, regal, and dangerous.

Satisfied, Azula instructed them to throw on the heavy dark cloaks Raithion had provided. He tied his own hood tight, hiding the vibrant gold-trimmed green coat beneath the shadow of the fabric.

Sharian reopened the door, stepping inside with a large earthenware jug of ice-cold water. He handed Azula a cup and offered a large wooden bowl to the rest of the unit. The men filled the bowl, drinking deeply and wiping the rim before passing it to the next soldier.

Azula handed his cup to Old Man Sinsa and waited his turn for the shared bowl. When it was filled for him, Azula turned to face his men. He met Wolfe’s gaze, knowing Wolfe fought for his son’s justice. He raised the bowl high in a silent, solemn toast, meeting the eyes of every soldier in the room, before draining the water in one long, decisive gulp. He turned the bowl upside down to show it was empty, then handed it back to Sharian.

“How much longer?” Azula asked.

“Just a little longer,” Sharian replied. “I’ll step outside to guard the door.”

“Thank you,” Azula said as Sharian slipped out.

Azula gestured for his men to rest on the benches, taking a seat between Sennin and Wolfe. As they waited in the heavy silence for Raithion’s return, Azula felt the fear within him burn away, replaced by a burning desire to see this moment through. No matter the cost.

*****

Raithion hurried through the halls, still dressed in the clothes he had used to hide among the Draug merchants. He made it to the Commandery Prince’s offices in the palace and entered to find his father waiting inside.

“You’re back,” Thanir said, relief clear in his voice when he saw him. “You look tired.”

“No sleep last night,” Raithion said, sitting down in a chair before Thanir’s desk. “Where is Kailu?”

“He went out to get an asset,” Thanir said. “The Prime Minister’s faction, the Libert, has been lobbying the courts to restore Magistrate Pamplona’s reputation. Kailu has been busy uncovering the details of Pamplona’s death. He was framed and murdered with poison. We’ve been busy finding evidence that can be used.”

Raithion sighed. “Is that why Olneth is watching the Maenaer residence?”

“Yes,” Thanir said. “Basileus Dio is hoping to break the hold the two parties have in his court. If the Prime Minister can prove Gesi Ajai’s Populi Party harmed Pamplona, there will be a weakness; a fracture His Majesty can use.”

“What if we can prove the Sura clan is innocent?” Raithion asked.

Thanir studied him for a long moment.

“I knew this was going to be your course of action from the moment I received your request to allow Prince Azula to meet Basileus Dio,” Thanir said. “You’ve wanted to do this since the day you married Naeri.”

“The Sura saved Yulin,” Raithion said, holding Thanir’s gaze. “Your grandson is healthy and alive. We owe a debt of life.”

Thanir smiled. “You don’t need to convince me. I tried to save Marius Doriel, but my efforts were minute compared to his desire to protect his clan. Marius chose to give the Sura the time they needed to get away. I did not anticipate Ajai would have such vicious methods. His people bribed the officers in the magistrate’s offices, and before we realized it, the Sura suffered too many losses.”

“Now what?” Raithion asked.

“What do you want to hear from me?” Thanir asked.

“Will you oppose the Sura’s bid for innocence?” Raithion asked, his gaze holding his father’s as he hoped for a clear answer.

Thanir’s lips curved into a small smile.

“I won’t oppose,” Thanir said. “I was serious when I told you your life is yours now, when you went to save Yulin. You’ve changed since you left. You were unsure when you left for Sura Island. Now you look at me with a determination that could destroy a kingdom. What did you find on Sura Island?”

Raithion studied his father for a moment, then let out a soft, slow breath. Thanir was a seasoned military man, a soldier forged in blood, steel, and ruthless sacrifice. To Thanir, power was something wrested from the world at the point of a sword, paid for in lives and territory. He would never fully comprehend a concept as gentle or redemptive as love, but he understood authority, leverage, and absolute strength.

To win his father’s backing, Raithion didn’t need to speak of the tender heat of Azula’s embrace or the fierce, protective ache settling in his chest. He needed to speak Thanir’s language.

A calm, confident smile spread across Raithion’s face.

“I found my future partner,” Raithion said, his voice ringing with unwavering conviction.

“The Sura prince?” Thanir asked, his sharp eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. When Raithion merely met his stare without flinching, Thanir let out a low chuckle. “What? Are you the only one allowed to have informants in my Draeya county home? Jaguar noted that you were close to the prince when he sent his usual updates.”

Raithion nodded, leaning in slightly to drive his point home. The romantic devotion burning in his pulse morphed seamlessly into calculated, political energy.

“The Sura have thrived without the Lyria Kingdom,” Raithion said, his eyes glittering with fierce purpose. “They have resources, and freedom. The only way to tie them to this kingdom is through marriage.”

Thanir studied him in silence for a long, heavy beat, then laughed quietly, shaking his head.

“And you say you’re not like me,” Thanir said, a glint of grudging pride in his eyes. “Your methods achieve the same things as mine.”

“Not at the expense of a clan,” Raithion replied smoothly, his tone firm with a moral clarity his father had never possessed.

“Maybe not,” Thanir said. “I won’t argue with you. As long as you can keep the Sura prince here and willing to work with the Lyria Kingdom, then I’ll agree to your plans. What do you need from me?”

Raithion let out a soft breath, feeling the final barrier crumble between him and Azula’s freedom.

“Convene the court and make sure Gesi Ajai attends. We need to receive an important sovereign guest.”

*****

Haedor watched the mercenaries dressed in gray come running along the roofs on both sides of the road. He shouted an alert to his legion officers and jumped off his stallion. Swallowing back a spike of anxiety for the animal, he slapped its flank, sending the trusted beast galloping away. It would find its way to the Maenaer residence gate. He refused to let the horse be collateral damage in this bloodbath.

They were five minutes away from the Maenaer residence, and this street ambush was designed with a single, ruthless objective: to slaughter the passengers inside the carriages.

Haedor drew his sword, the cold ring of steel echoing off the brick walls, and took his stance at the head of the convoy to guard the lead carriage. His legion officers followed suit, forming a tight, disciplined defensive line around the carriages.

The gray-clad assassins launched themselves off the roof eaves, spinning through the air with thick, gleaming blades raised.

Haedor absorbed the momentum of the first attacker, steel crashing against steel with a bone-jarring impact that sent sparks showering over his armor. Sidestepping smoothly, he delivered a brutal kick to the mercenary’s chest, shattering ribs and throwing the man backward into his comrades before whirling to parry a second blow.

A violent, breathtaking dance of blades erupted. The mercenaries swarmed the narrow street like a tide of gray locusts, relentless and suicidal in their intent to breach the line and butcher the occupants inside. But Haedor and his legion were born of Maenaer legion discipline.

They fought with a terrifying, brutal precision. Haedor’s sword became a whirlwind of cold silver, carving through flesh, severing limbs, and painting the cobblestones in blood. Every strike was calculated, vicious, and lethal. When a mercenary lunged for a carriage door, Haedor caught the man by the throat, drove his blade straight through the assassin’s ribcage, and hurled the corpse back into the oncoming wave. Blood sprayed across Haedor’s face, hot and metallic, but his pulse hammered with a wild, ferocious power.

The carriages were empty, a decoy, but he couldn’t let them discover that at all. The illusion had to hold.

Blocking two simultaneous downward chops, Haedor ducked under the crossed steel, reached into his coat pocket, and ripped the cap off a thick wooden cylinder. He threw it upward as a white spark hissed into the sky, bursting high above the rooftops into a roaring, luminous signal of a white lion’s head.

With a deep, thunderous battle cry, Haedor drove his shoulder into the nearest assassin and surged forward, turning the defensive line into a bloody meat grinder, determined that not a single gray shadow would lay a finger on the carriages he and his legion brothers guarded.

*****

Soriel led her guard and the Maenaer residence guard out of the gates. She rode her horse in the company of Meira and Vanya, heading to Rem Street, which was a block away from the Maenaer residence. Her guard followed behind her along with the fifty legion officers who worked within the manor.

She had seen the signal call for help. The moment they reached the street, she was shocked to see the bloody fight around the carriages meant to carry the Sura prince. Legion officers fought back men in gray clothes: trousers, tunics, and gray cloths wrapped around their heads. They fought with wide blades, attacking the legion officers like they didn’t care if they died. Haedor’s legion officers were holding their ground; none of the gray fighters had breached the perimeter to reach the carriages. Bloodstains colored the cobblestones and the splintered wood on the closed stalls where gray assassins had fallen after brutal attacks.

“Wait here,” Vanya ordered.

Soriel nodded, her gaze on Haedor, who was fighting off three gray attackers. He punched one in the face before using his sword to quickly dispatch the two approaching him. He barely caught a breath before a new set attacked him.

A cold, lethal composure settled over Soriel. She would show no mercy to those who dared threaten her family’s dominance.

“Relieve the Lord General,” Soriel commanded, her voice ringing out like an iron bell over the din of battle. “Escort the carriages to the Maenaer gates and restore order to this street.”

The legion officers responded without hesitation, surging forward alongside half her personal guard to envelop the carriages in an impenetrable ring of defense.

Then the world seemed to warp in slow motion.

A gray shadow launched off the nearest roof, dropping straight out of the sky like a swooping demon. The assassin’s face was twisted in silent, manic rage, his knuckles white around a broad, serrated blade positioned to split Soriel’s ribcage and pierce her heart. The sheer speed of his descent brought with it a wave of terror. Stuck on her saddle, Soriel felt her breath catch in her throat; a primal, suffocating dread held her frozen as the glinting blade tip rushed toward her chest.

Then, three silver needles flashed through the air like lightning bolts, whistling past Soriel’s cheek so closely she felt the wind of their passage. They buried themselves to the hilt into the assassin’s throat with sickening precision.

The man’s eyes rolled back, his deadly trajectory halted midair. He crumpled like a broken doll and slammed into the cobblestones at the hooves of Soriel’s horse with a wet, bone-shattering thud.

Vanya was already at her side, her hand on her sword handle, her dark eyes scanning the rooftops with murderous intensity.

Soriel swallowed down the icy lump of panic in her throat, her chest heaving, before locking eyes with her bodyguard. A wordless exchange of profound relief and fierce trust passed between them.

Soriel straightened in her saddle, the terror dissolving into pure, unyielding determination as she raised her hand to command the final push to secure the Sura carriages that had started rolling toward her.

****

Raithion returned to Azula at two in the afternoon. He was relieved to find Sharian still guarding the door and that no one had attempted to discover what Sharian guarded.

Inside, Raithion found Azula sitting on a wooden bench, his eyes closed, his arms crossed against his chest. He looked beautiful at rest, as though waiting for a performance. Raithion let out a soft breath of relief; the anxious energy that had filled him as he helped his father send out court summonses to assemble the imperial ministers dissipated.

Azula opened his eyes when Raithion reached him and touched his shoulder. Azula’s warm brown eyes widened with a pleased light as he took him in.

“You changed,” Azula said, his voice soft. “Your coat looks like I’m looking at the Commandery Prince, Your Highness.”

Raithion smiled and touched the gleaming gold buttons on his coat. He had changed out of his sweaty clothes and put on the formal attire needed to attend court. He kept extra clothes in a wardrobe in the Commandery Office, a habit that had come in handy when he was avoiding going back home to Naeri.

“You look handsome,” Azula said.

Raithion smiled again and sat next to him.

“The court is ready,” Raithion said. “I’ll lead you in under the Commandery Prince’s authority. We’ll start with the gift presentation for the Basileus. Then we will present a formal petition to reopen the forged silver case. We’ll call the witnesses and let the Basileus open the case based on the living witnesses and the evidence we have collected. He will most likely use procedural doubt as his reason to do so.”

Azula nodded in understanding. He pointed to a red box that Sennin was holding.

“Can we present more than one gift?” Azula asked. “I know I gave you the chests with weapons last night, but there is one more.”

Raithion nodded in agreement. “Yes, I also set up a demonstration of your crossbow as you asked, along with the five swords you are giving the Basileus. They managed to come in safely using a vegetable shipment. Sharian has the chests secured with one of my lieutenants.”

“Good,” Azula said. “We should prove our value to the kingdom.”

“You don’t have to do that with me,” Raithion said softly.

Azula smiled. “Then you’re rightfully biased.”

A chuckle escaped Raithion, but as his eyes swept over Azula, over the delicate curve of Azula’s jaw and the quiet bravery shining in his brown eyes, a sudden, suffocating wave of protectiveness gripped his chest.

The teasing warmth between them gave way to a sharp, pounding dread.

Raithion reached out, his long fingers cupping the side of Azula’s neck, feeling the fast, steady rhythm of his pulse beneath his thumb. He needed this touch, needed to anchor himself to the living, breathing reality of the man he was about to lead into a viper’s pit.

“When we enter, stay behind me,” Raithion said, his voice dropping into a solemn register. His thumb stroked gently across Azula’s jawline, lingering against his soft skin. “Follow imperial protocol. Do not draw weapons, and let me handle the court proceedings. If you break decorum, Dowager Basilinna Olneth may have you arrested for treason before we even present our evidence. I won’t let them take you. I can’t lose you now.”

Azula’s expression softened. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Raithion’s cheek, a lingering kiss, soft and sweet against his skin. The feel of Azula’s warm breath tingled against Raithion’s ear, making his heart hammer wildly against his ribs.

Azula pulled back slowly, meeting Raithion’s stare, and gave a single, firm nod to indicate he understood.

*****

Gesi Ajai entered the imperial court just after two-thirty in the afternoon. He walked in with a steady, calm stride. Sazama had reported to him that Olneth had engaged the Sura carriages right before they arrived at the Maenaer gates. The battle had been bloody and long. There was no way the Sura clan convoy could reach the palace in time for a court appearance.

Gesi greeted his Populi Party supporters as usual and found his seat in the front row of the court. His gaze lingered on Olneth, who had come to court early enough and sat in a chair at the front, to the side of the throne. She was sipping water from a goblet with leisurely calm.

Meanwhile, the Basileus had yet to grace the court.

Gesi hoped Dio was not too disappointed that the Sura would not make it to court in time.

*****

Dio paced the secluded hallway he used to enter the court. His fingers clenched so tight his knuckles bled white as he waited for an update on Soriel and the Maenaer residence. A suffocating dread coiled in his chest, making every shallow breath burn like acid. His heart hammered a desperate, frantic rhythm against his ribs; if Olneth had taken his wife from him, he would tear the empire apart stone by stone.

The soft click of a hidden panel echoed down the corridor. Meira slipped through the secret entrance, and Dio froze, his pulse spiking to a violent crescendo.

“The Basilinna?” Dio demanded, his voice laced with raw panic.

“She is safe,” Meira said. “She entered the palace alone. The young prince was left with Duchess Maenaer. The gray guard attacked the carriages and attempted to assassinate Her Majesty.”

A ragged, shuddering gasp tore from Dio’s lungs. Behind him, Theod took a swift step forward, his jaw set.

“Any witnesses?” Theod asked.

“Every single one of the gray assassins we captured killed themselves with a poison pill,” Meira said.

A minute later, Soriel came strolling down the hallway, appearing miraculously pristine in a stunning blue dress, her dark hair falling down her back in neat, elegant waves. The sheer visual proof of her life shattered Dio’s royal composure.

He lunged forward and pulled her into a crushing, desperate hug, completely unable to articulate the terrifying relief flooding his veins. He wrapped his arms around Soriel’s slender frame and buried his face into the warm crook of her neck, breathing in her familiar scent to drown out the lingering phantom of her death.

Soriel, driven by her own practical resolve, rubbed his back and held him tight. But her mind was already racing three steps ahead on the tactical board.

“I made it back,” she said, her voice crisp even as Dio held her so tightly she could barely draw air. “I also got something you can use.”

“Soriel, please just let me hold you for a minute. Don’t talk,” Dio rasped, his voice cracking as he clung to her like a drowning man.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Soriel insisted softly. “Vanya stopped the assassin before I could even blink. She used her hidden needles, and the man fell to the ground before he could lay a finger on me. I’m perfectly fine.”

Dio let out a heavy, trembling sigh, pressing his forehead against hers. A bitter, helpless weight settled over him as he realized the jarring disconnect between them: while he was still reeling from the terrifying reality that his wife had almost been ripped from his arms, Soriel was already sharpening her blades for court. Maenaer’s blood continued to be too hard on him.

****

In the grand hall, Olneth sipped her tart lemon water, her sharp eyes tracking every movement in the room with cold, predatory triumph. She knew the gray assassins were ruthless; by now, the Sura convoy was a splintered wreck of blood and splintered wood, and the Maenaer house was plunged into another season of mourning.

Then the heavy gilded door behind the throne swung open.

Olneth stilled, her hand freezing mid-air.

Dio walked in, his expression carved of cold marble, his knuckles white as he held Soriel’s hand in an unyielding grip.

Olneth sat up straight, a spike of icy fury piercing her chest. She placed her goblet on the side table, forcing her face into a blank mask to hide the venom surging through her veins. She watched, teeth grinding behind closed lips, as Dio led his perfectly unharmed wife up the steps to the throne chair, where they sat side by side, a flawless, unbroken united front.

Panic flickered at the edges of Olneth’s composure. She smoothed her silk skirts, clinging desperately to the hope that even if the Basilinna had survived, the rest of her plot had carried through as planned.

*****

Raithion’s heart raced when Kailu came to open the waiting room door. Kailu was dressed in his general’s sharp uniform when he came in. It looked like he had needed to use his authority as a general at some point today.

“We’re ready,” Kailu said, his tone heavy and too serious. “Let’s go. We need to move fast and present the Sura clan case before anyone has time to think about why they are here.”

Raithion gave Azula a reassuring gaze, regretting that there was no time for introductions.

Azula got up, and everyone in the room followed suit.

Raithion led them out of the waiting room, heading to the imperial court. When they arrived at the closed doors of the court, Raithion felt no surprise when Azula removed the black cloak he wore. He uncovered his strawberry-blonde hair held in a neat ponytail. His long dark green coat was crisp and clean. It was impeccable, striking, and screamed Sura royalty without uttering a word.

Stepping close, Raithion reached out to smooth the stiff line of Azula’s collar and touched the soft strands of his hair. He caressed Azula’s cheek with his index finger and smiled when Azula met his gaze.

“Thank you for getting us here,” Azula said, his voice oddly quiet. “Whatever happens next, Raith, know I do it for the Sura clan.”

Raithion held his gaze for a moment, then nodded, leaned in, and kissed Azula’s warm cheek. His legion officers arrived, a team of ten who worked with him in the palace. They included Lieutenant Vadisi, who gave him a short nod that told him everything was arranged. Raithion let go of Azula and turned to face the heavy doors. He squared his shoulders and nodded for the attendant to open the doors.

*****

Gesi Ajai watched as Thanir Maenaer spoke with the Minister of Justice at the front of the court. They were engrossed in their murmured conversation, and it was telling that the Basileus and the Basilinna did not bother to interrupt them. It appeared they were waiting.

Then, the heavy wooden doors groaned open. Gesi turned, his frown deepening to see who dared arrive so late to a royal summons. He immediately recognized the Draeya Prince, Raithion, and walking beside him was Prince Kailu. Both men looked formidable, radiating a dark, unyielding confidence as they strode down the aisle. But as the two princes shifted apart, Gesi’s breath hitched, his pulse suddenly hammering against his ribs. A group of Sura Clan members came into view behind them, and the sight froze the blood in Gesi’s veins.

The large hall let out a collective, echoing gasp. These Sura looked nothing like the simple, dust-covered merchants Gesi remembered. A handsome one at the front, dressed not as a commoner, but as a prince. His heavy, dark green coat was adorned with enough glinting gold metal designs to purchase an inn, the exquisite detail flashing on his lapels, his shoulder blades, and his wrists. He moved with the terrifying confidence of royalty. The army of Sura soldiers flanking him looked as lethal as any legion officers from Lyria, wearing stunning black uniforms with gleaming silver buttons and polished, shiny boots. They moved with razor-sharp discipline, looking ready to take on any fight.

Even as the Commandery Prince’s legion officers marched beside them, the Sura stood out in a stunning, breathtaking display.

Gesi’s gaze shifted to Olneth, who had sat up in her chair, her eyes wide, clearly shocked to see the Sura in court.

Raithion reached the front and brought his right hand to his chest with a rustle of heavy fabric, lowering his head a fraction to Dio.

“The Draeya Prince greets the Basileus and Basilinna of the Lyria Kingdom,” Raithion said, his voice booming through the cavernous court.

The court ministers all sat up straighter, hoping to get a good glimpse of the Sura members, who stood along the aisle watching in absolute silence.

“Prince Kailu greets the Basileus and Basilinna of the Lyria Kingdom,” Kailu said, also bringing his right hand to his chest and lowering his head a fraction to Dio.

“The court receives your greetings,” Dio said. “You each have a task I have given on behalf of this court. I hope you are here to report your progress. Let’s start with the Draeya Prince. Was young Prince Yulin saved?”

Raithion straightened to his full height. His piercing gaze shifted to lock onto Gesi Ajai.

“Yulin is saved,” Raithion said, his tone full of pride. “The Sura clan provided an antidote and were kind enough to teach our coroner. Dion knows how to make the antidote. He will return to the Capital soon and present his precious method to Your Majesty.”

Gesi released a shaky, exhaled sigh of relief at the news. Yulin was safe. No matter his ambitions, that boy was his grandson, and he had high hopes for him in the future.

*****

Raithion turned to face Dio.

“In turn, I requested an audience with Your Majesty on behalf of the Sura prince and his people,” Raithion continued. “The Sura clan would like to present gifts for Your Majesty’s use.”

Raithion nodded to Vadisi and waited as four legion officers carried in two heavy wooden chests. Vadisi opened the two chests Azula had given him for Dio to see, revealing one chest filled with fine swords, and a second chest with five crossbows similar to Azula’s.

Dio’s gaze widened with interest. He stood up and walked down the short steps to the dais where the chests stood.

“What is so special about these swords?” Dio asked.

Raithion opened his mouth to explain, but a sudden spike of adrenaline flooded his veins as Azula unexpectedly stepped forward, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips.

This was not the plan.

Raithion instinctively reached out to pull Azula back, but Wolfe stepped into his path, his heavy arm blocking Raithion’s reach as Azula walked past him.

Wolfe shadowed Azula’s laid-back stride, flanking him as he approached the Basileus with an infuriatingly nonchalant attitude. Raithion’s stomach twisted into a hard knot; one wrong move here could be construed as treason.

Theod, Basileus Dio’s personal guard, immediately moved to protect his king. He drew his sword with a sharp scrape of steel, leveling the tip at Azula the closer the prince got. In response to Azula’s reckless advance, the Sura guards shifted into a seamless defensive formation, perfectly blocking the hidden royal guards who moved to surround the dais.

Dio’s smile only widened. He took Theod’s sword from his grip and aimed it directly at Azula’s chest as they stopped a mere blade’s length apart.

Azula halted. He stared coolly at the steel tip resting an inch from his heart.

Then, blowing Raithion’s mind with their sheer audacity, Wolfe reached into the open chest. In one fluid, blindingly fast motion, Wolfe swung the Sura blade. A harsh metallic crack echoed through the cavernous hall as Wolfe sheared the blade of Dio’s sword clean in half. The heavy, severed steel clattered against the polished marble floor. Calmly, Wolfe returned his weapon to the chest and stepped back behind Azula.

Dio stared at the useless hilt in his hand for a full minute, and let out a cold chuckle.

“Oh, what a demonstration you’ve prepared for me,” Dio said. He held up the jagged stump for the silent room to see, then dropped it onto the floor. “Who breaks my sword?”

“I, Azula Doriel, Prince of the Sura Clan, a mourning chief,” Azula declared, his voice ringing clear and loud. “I break your sword to prove the gifts my island nation offers are useful.”

Azula smirked. Moving his right hand with terrifying, practiced precision, he raised his crossbow and aimed at a decorative vase beside the large throne chair. He pressed the trigger. A short arrow broke the delicate vase, the arrowhead sinking into the pillar’s concrete. Before anyone could blink, he reloaded. Dio watched, mesmerized, as Azula fired and reloaded the arrows in a rhythmic, mechanical cadence until ten steel-tipped arrows were buried deep in the concrete pillar beside the throne.

Azula met Dio’s wide, surprised gaze and offered a charming smile, holding the crossbow up before extending it to the Basileus.

“My gift to you,” Azula said.

Infuriated by the sudden assault on the pillar, Dio’s royal guards surged forward to subdue the Sura prince.

Raithion braced himself for a bloodbath, but Azula’s officers moved with a synchronized, lethal grace. In a spectacularly fast maneuver, they drew their own dark steel blades to counter the advancing guards. Striking the flat of the Lyrian weapons, the superior Sura metal shattered the kingdom’s standard-issue swords with a series of sickening crunches, snapping them into useless, jagged pieces.

The Sura soldiers let the destroyed steel rain down onto the floor, immediately snapping back into an impenetrable, disciplined line behind Azula.

Azula clasped his hands behind his back and met Dio’s gaze without flinching.

Dio’s gaze shifted to the destroyed swords littering the floor, and the crossbow he now held. He scoffed, meeting Azula’s gaze.

“Your Highness, Prince Azula, after showing me how inadequate my weapons are, what do you want to negotiate with me?” Dio asked.

*****

Dio’s blood sang with excitement at the fierce, crackling energy the Sura prince was emanating. He was here for a fight, and he was not afraid of jumping into the fray to get what he wanted.

Azula was magnificent. It was even more fascinating to watch Raithion’s panicked expression behind Azula, as though the seasoned commander wanted to snatch Azula away and protect him.

Azula kept his calm even after Dio asked him a question. His voice was steady when he spoke.

“Five years ago, this court decided my people were guilty of a crime they did not commit,” Azula said. “You decided to exile us out of the Lyria Kingdom. We were wrongfully accused of forging silver and deemed unworthy of life in your kingdom. So, we returned to Sura Island.”

“Do you want to challenge the court’s decision?” Dio asked, eager to reopen the case. He wanted to deal with Gesi Ajai even more than the Sura prince. He just needed an opening. All the Sura prince needed to do was produce the warrant he had given Raithion.

“I do want to reopen that case,” Azula said. The unconcerned note in his voice surprised Dio. “But that’s not pressing. I have something more important to share with you, Basileus Dio. If you listen and are willing to negotiate, then I’ll give you a third gift.”

Dio chuckled at Azula’s sheer audacity.

Azula reached into his inner coat pocket, perfectly aware that Dio still clutched the heavy crossbow. Azula smiled as he produced a soft leather pouch and pulled out a sealed letter. Azula handed it to him.

Dio gave the crossbow to Theod so he could have a good look at the gold wax seal.

“Do you recognize the seal on this letter?” Azula asked.

Dio stared at the crest. For a moment, the golden peacock was unfamiliar, but then memory slammed into him. The Nerasa Kingdom’s imperial court used a golden peacock for its imperial house. Dio’s head snapped up, staring at Azula in shock.

“This seal belongs to the Nerasa Kingdom’s imperial court,” Dio said.

“Yes,” Azula nodded. “This letter is yours.”

Dio frowned and broke the brittle seal before unfolding the heavy parchment. He read it in silence. A cold thrill traced its way down his spine as he met Azula’s gaze.

“This is an annexation agreement between the Sura Island Nation and the Nerasa Kingdom,” Dio said, his voice dropping to a frigid timbre at the idea of the massive Nerasa Kingdom absorbing his territory. “The Nerasa Kingdom has offered Sura Island inclusion into their territory, promising to let the island keep its traditions and offer fair trade. The Nerasa Kingdom has already signed the treaty.”

Azula smirked and stepped away from Dio.

“Basileus Dio, your kingdom showed us five years ago that you did not want nor need us,” Azula said. “As of now, understand that the Sura Island Nation has held this economic and military treaty pending. We have delayed signing it only to give Lyria one final chance to restore our clan’s honor.”

Dio released a slow, measured exhale, his mind racing.

Azula wasn’t just a scorned exile seeking a retrial; he was a mad, cunning statesman wielding a sledgehammer against Lyria’s fragile status quo.

Sura Island had just turned itself into the most lethal, high-stakes chess piece on the map. If Azula signed that treaty, all the superior weaponry he had just displayed would belong to the sprawling Nerasa Empire, not Lyria. With Lyria suffering through a dire shortage of good metalwork and their own arsenals rapidly deteriorating, Sura Island’s cooperation was now the ultimate prize.

Dio was absolutely terrified by how thoroughly this young prince could threaten the kingdom’s survival, yet simultaneously, a dark, hungry thrill roared through his veins. He wanted Azula’s loyalty. He wanted Azula’s mad cunning for Lyria.

This was no longer a petty domestic dispute with a discarded clan.

Azula had brought a monstrous dilemma to their gates.

“As you see me here, know that the Sura clan’s leadership is two sides of a coin. I may be here, but my sister, the rightful heir to the clan, remains on Sura Island. If anything happens to the clan members at my shoulders or me in the Lyria Kingdom,” Azula continued, his voice rising with lethal authority, “the Sura Nation’s princess will accept all the benefits the Nerasa Kingdom offers and provide the needed support that the Nerasa Kingdom may request, including the mass production of the crossbow you hold.”

“This is blackmail!” a minister shouted. “You’re threatening our kingdom with the Nerasa Kingdom.”

“If that’s what you think, then arrest us and take your chances,” Azula said, ignoring Raithion, who tried to reach him out of concern, but could not penetrate the line of Sura soldiers.

Dio breathed out again, an exhilarated smile touching the corners of his mouth. It looked like he was now playing a volatile state game with the Sura prince, and the stakes were far higher, and far more intoxicating, than he had ever imagined.

“The treaty I have offered Basileus Dio is a copy,” Azula added after a moment. “We don’t need your permission to accept a soft annexation with the Nerasa Kingdom. In fact, we have delayed a response to Nerasa for a while.”

“Why?” Dio asked.

“Because the Draeya Prince brought us an imperial warrant of retrial to challenge the forged-silver case,” Azula said, finally pulling out the wrinkled warrant Dio had been looking for. “Our response to Nerasa will be decided by the Lyria Kingdom’s response to the closure of this case.”

Dio stared at the Sura prince, wide-eyed, before a sudden, sharp laugh ripped from his throat. He stepped back, his pulse hammering a frantic, dual rhythm of sheer intoxicating exhilaration.

Azula hadn’t just come to clear the Sura clan’s name; he had come to hold a blade to Lyria’s throat. He wasn’t afraid of a fight, and by pulling a massive rival empire into the fray, Azula had become a colossal mallet poised to obliterate the court’s stagnant status quo.

To wield such unapologetic, world-ending audacity, Dio could almost hug Azula for it. He admired the Sura prince’s ability to hold the Lyria Kingdom hostage, yet a dark, manic delight hummed beneath his skin. Still chuckling, Dio held up both the Nerasa treaty and the imperial warrant for the silent, stunned room to see.

“My dear courtiers, here comes an existential threat you did not anticipate,” Dio said. “The Nerasa Kingdom is twice as large as Lyria. If they join hands with the Sura Clan, their innovation will triple. They now pose a threat big enough to earn the Sura prince the recognition he seeks. Draeya Prince, you have brought home a wild animal that dares to bite and draw blood.”

*****

Raithion stood frozen, shock rippling through him at Azula’s unwavering stance. A sharp, unexpected pang of hurt twisted in his chest. His lover had not breathed a single word of these explosive plans when they lay tangled together in the dark the night before. Not one word.

Raithion had accepted the heavy chests filled with swords and crossbows, believing his only role was to help pry open a door so Dio would listen to Azula’s plea. But Azula was not pleading; he was here to conquer.

Raithion watched him, realizing with a heavy, awe-struck heart just how ruthless and formidable the Sura Prince had become in his absence. Azula was fighting tooth and nail for his people now, wielding empires like weapons. The sheer power of it was both breathtaking and terrifying to witness.

Raithion felt impressed by the warrior standing before him, but a quiet, selfish ache remained. He wished, just once, that Azula would allow himself to lean on Raithion’s strength instead of always carrying the weight of his clan’s war alone.

He took in a deep breath and indicated the ornate, polished wood benches next to the Minister of Justice to his left.

“Prince Azula, please, you can sit there as the court deliberates and decides what it should do,” Raithion said, his tone soft.

Azula gave him an apologetic glance before he led his guard, Wolfe, and Sennin to sit on the empty benches.

The witnesses had not come in yet and remained with Sharian and a team of legion officers outside. They were waiting for Raithion.

Raithion turned to Dio. “Your Majesty—”

“Before the Draeya Prince speaks, move the imperial guard fast and arrest the Sura Prince and his guard,” Olneth said, her voice cold. “Regardless of his standing today, and the offer of a treaty with an enemy nation, the Sura Prince represents a clan that ruined countless lives with forged silver. He should be in jail.”

“I second this move,” Gesi Ajai responded.

Dio tightened his fists around the treaty he held, then nodded to his guard to take control of the two chests offered by the Sura Clan. He walked back to his throne and faced his court once he was seated.

“The Sura Clan holds an imperial warrant of retrial that opens the forged-silver case,” Dio said. “I tasked the Commandery Prince with finding the preliminary proof of doubt.”

Raithion turned to meet Azula’s gaze, hoping that he would let him finish this as he had planned.

“The Sura Prince demonstrated the efficiency of their weapons as requested,” Raithion said. “His demonstration shows the power we have ignored, Your Majesty.”

Azula glanced at him with a blank expression, his hands clasped in his lap as he sat watching Raithion and Dio. He did not attempt to respond to Raithion’s pleading gaze. It was enough to tell Raithion that Azula would escalate any issue he did not like to a sword fight if he had to.

Raithion gritted his teeth and faced the court.

“Any attempt to arrest the Sura Prince will be a declaration of war against the Sura Nation,” Raithion stated. “We must diplomatically approach this.”

“You say that because they saved your son,” Olneth stated. “It is in Lyria’s best interest to imprison the Sura.”

“I decide what’s in the best interest of this kingdom,” Dio stated. “Draeya Prince, present the evidence that supports the reopening of the forged-silver case, now. Only then will we decide what direction we should take concerning the Sura Clan.”

Azula sat in silence as the court descended into a heated argument about the fate of the Sura Clan; some courtiers supported Olneth and Gesi Ajai, and others, afraid of the Nerasa Kingdom’s power, supported Dio. They were all terrified that the Nerasa Kingdom would land on the Lyria Kingdom’s shores and launch an attack if anything happened to the Sura Prince.

Azula met Raithion’s gaze, and then he smiled a brilliant smile at the chaos in the court.

Raithion suddenly understood Azula’s strategy in a moment of surprise. This was what he meant by “no rules,” Raithion realized. Azula had made the Sura an important political key, one worthy of a debate, and one not to be offended at will.

Azula’s smile faded, and Raithion shuddered at the cold expression Azula directed at Basileus Dio. Raithion was suddenly very glad that Azula liked him enough to kiss him.

****

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