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I stiffened, and Lucais’s thumb brushed against my arm in silent comfort.

“As far as we can tell,” she went on, “none of the caenim have gone near the portals, so it’s unclear if they’ll send any through to Belgrave—”

“But my concern is Caeludor,” Wren cut in, bracing his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “If we stay here much longer, they might make a move on the city to provoke us, to draw us out.”

Morgoya sat back in her chair, nails clicking on the wood. “It’s far more likely they’ll come back here if they know Aura is with us and suspect their first army got even half as close as they really did. So, that begs the question, what are you willing to risk?” She maintained eye contact with Wren, though the question was clearly posed at Lucais.

The High King turned his head towards mine, so close that his breath tickled my nose. Even seated on his lap, our faces were barely at equal height. My gaze dropped to his mouth as he murmured, “Caeludor is the City of Light. It’s our home.”

Blinking through the fog his proximity unleashed in my mind, I looked up into his eyes. “So, obviously, you can’t stay here if there’s a risk to your home.”

“No.” Wren’s voice was a gentle growl in reply to a question no one had asked him. “We’re not going to risk losing two things at once.”

“Two things?” I repeated, throwing my head back to peer at him quizzically. His displeasure was even more pronounced upside-down. “What’s the second?”

He stared me down, and I challenged him to say it out loud.You.

Using his free hand, Lucais tilted my face back to his. “He’s right.” His eyes roamed over my features indulgently as he tucked my hair behind my ear. “I wouldn’t dare. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Neither did you.” I spoke without meaning to, without thinking about it.

The High King smiled at me. “Oh, I know.” He dropped his hand from my face, but instead of returning to the arm of the chair, his forearm fell across my lap as he turned to Morgoya.

Every muscle in my body tightened and then forcibly relaxed.

“We’ll stay here and monitor the situation closely,” Lucais decided. “If we return home now, it might prompt an attack on our capital that may not have otherwise happened. Keep at Gregor until you get an answer, and ask Enyd for a meeting as soon as possible. Start making the arrangements. Her Court might be their next target if they’re going as far south as the Metal Mountains. We’ll warn Caeludor, too, but keep it quiet. We don’t need unwanted attention on the city right now.”

Morgoya nodded, glancing at Wren. He remained quiet, ever the devoted servant to the High King of Faerie.

His loyalty to Lucais might be preserving my life, but I wasn’t foolish enough to trick myself into believing that he was happy about it.

Wren’s sullen disposition quite literally tainted the air as their discussions continued—going over the details of hosting company from the Court of Wind and selecting which of the Guard to use for increased patrols on the streets of Caeludor—and I could feel his eyes burning holes as hot as the sun into my back every so often.

I wish things were different.

Different how?

Wishing the Malum weren’t trying to stage a hostile takeover of the High King was one thing. That was arguably an obvious thought for everyone in the room.

It felt like more than that—still, three weeks later, it felt like more than that.

As the three members of the inner circle conversed, I mulled over his words.

I’d assumed Wren meant treason, a desire to overthrow the High King and claim the crown for himself, but the land wouldn’t allow it. Lucais had confirmed as much when he told me the Malum could never rule, and Wren certainly wasn’t the first or even the second most powerful of the High Fae. Maybe the third, at best, after Lucais and Gregor.

How many would he have to kill to claim that title for himself?

What else could he have meant?

Their discussion deepened, and I felt Lucais fall into a familiar state of relaxation. He was at ease in his role, accustomed to discussing the fate of Faerie, and perfectly content with me sitting quietly in his lap while he did so.

His body language created a ripple effect on me. And so, when he leaned forward to tilt his head around me, deep in conversation with Wren about ward security, I found my arm moving from where I had rigidly wedged it between our chests. I snaked it around the back of his neck to allow him more room, casually draping one hand over his shoulder. The motion was so natural that the High King didn’t miss a beat, and his thumb began to stroke my thigh.

My focus became fixated on that touch—the absentminded simplicity that spoke in volumes, echoing within my body, and the warmth we shared that I suddenly felt as ifI would die without—and I struggled to pretend otherwise, to ignore it.

The woman in front of me didn’t even try to ignore it, though. Her gaze locked onto us, and she attempted to conceal a small, satisfied smile—and failed.

“What are we going to do abouther?” Wren demanded. I hadn’t even heard the topic of conversation changing, and again felt those holes of blistering heat scorching my back. “She can’t stay with us.”