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She glanced around, wide-eyed.

And just like that, the feeling of being watched disappeared.

“Not at this moment,” I said. “Just…in general. Since the barrier.”

We stepped into the cabin. I swept my gaze around it. No one lurking behind the desk in the corner. No one hiding beneath the small table in the middle of the room.

And yet unease still tightened my muscles.

“No,” Prisca said. I turned to find her chewing on her lower lip, and I instantly regretted speaking. “Do you think it’s one of the gods? Watching you?”

Some part of me wondered if that was exactly whatit was. One of the gods taking too much of an interest in me now that I had cheated death. In that case, I hoped I kept their attention. Anything to keep them from focusing on Prisca.

“Are you ready for this meeting, wildcat?”

She narrowed her eyes but allowed the change of subject. “Yes.”

While Demos was making as many decisions as possible regarding our soldiers, he was still in the rebel camp, which meant delays as pigeons traveled back and forth.

Since Demos wasn’t the type to hoard power or information, he’d ensured several ranked hybrids were able to take over some of that decision-making.

And while Prisca was recovering, I’d arranged for one of them to travel to us.

Prisca opened her mouth, but a knock sounded on the door. Leaning over, I opened it, stepping back so the two men could enter. Outside, Marth gave me a nod.

Prisca had met with Blynth briefly in the hybrid camp—a quick introduction as he’d arrived, around the time she’d been secretly preparing to travel to Lyrinore. But I didn’t recognize the shorter man at his side.

The hybrid general seemed to be made of unyielding sternness, his presence commanding attention in any room he entered. His face was etched with deep lines, his eyes a piercing gray that seemed almost impatient with the formalities of rank.

I could relate to that impatience.

His hair was peppered with silver, neatly combed back, as he stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back. His mouth was set in a firm line. His bodylanguage projected both strength and reliability.

Exactly what we needed.

“Your Majesties.” He bowed his head to both of us.

Prisca nodded back at him. For once, she didn’t ask him to call her Prisca. For her generals, she needed to be Nelayra, queen of the hybrids. “Thank you for traveling to meet us.”

“A pleasure. I was sorry to hear you were unwell.” He said the words as if they were rote, his gaze drifting over her as if determining whether she was now healthy enough to go to war.

She kept her own gaze steady on his face. “Thank you.”

“This is Jorvik, my aide.”

His aide… “What happened to Thorge?” I asked.

Grief flashed across Blynth’s face as he glanced at me, almost too fast to see, as his expression settled back into those unyielding lines. But the groove between his eyes was deeper now.

“He was killed in a battle with Regner’s iron guards almost as soon as we left the fae lands.”

“I’m sorry,” Prisca said.

He nodded, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. Next to him, Jorvik bowed his head, a stark contrast to the imposing general. Jorvik had a youthful face, his hair a vibrant chestnut falling over bright, keen eyes, and a charming smile.

I didn’t like him. At all. And I could sense Prisca’s unease. I took a step closer to her, and Blynth glanced between us. “Is there a problem, Your Majesty?” He addressed her.

Goose bumps broke out on her arms. I opened my mouth, but Prisca’s eyes had turned intent.