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He scanned her face for a long moment as if exploring her mind, reaching out to see if there was anything he could pick up on. Concern flashed in his eyes, like he wanted to say something.

Instead, he nodded. “You are going to be just fine, Emara.” He placed a hand on her shoulder that felt heavier than it was. “I promise you that.”

A long minute passed between them before he spoke again, “I better take my seat beside Sybil.” He put his hands behind his back, making him look taller than before.

“Yes.” She took a breath, looking over at the Earth Witch who had taken her seat at the table.

He smiled at her before slowly turning on his heels.

“Wait!” Emara yelled, a little louder than she anticipated, and his head flew ‘round, shifting his messy brown hair. “I am glad it wasn’t you,” she blurted out as she took a step forward. “I am so shamefully glad it wasn’t you who was the guard that didn’t make it here.” She looked down for a second before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t know what I would have done, how I would have felt.” She rubbed her hands together nervously. “I feel guilty even saying it, but I am just so thankful it wasn’t you.”

The reaction on his face allowed her to believe that he was stunned, but thankful for her words.

“Me too,” he said, his eyes shining with gratitude before he stepped sideways. “It’s good to see you again.” He smiled, and then he was gone.

With her heart in her mouth, Emara made her way over to the seat between Magin and Artem. Torin was speaking with another guard, still standing.

As she sat, she realised Artem was already tucking into warm rolls and salty butter.

“I am pretty sure we are supposed to wait.” She eyed him. It didn’t take knowing witching traditions to distinguish that.

“Who died and made you the Supreme?” he sparred with her whilst tearing into bread like an animal possessed.

“That would need to be the Supreme,” Magin chimed in dryly. Artem grinned at his brother too wildly.

“Gods spare me.” Emara sighed.

Just at that, Torin sat across the table from her. Kellen took a seat on his right, and Gideon on his left. For a minute, her heart stopped. The three Blacksteel brothers, so similar, yet uniquely individual.

She smiled courteously at Kellen, and he gave a polite nod in return.

“Are you going to leave any of the food for anyone else, brother?” Torin asked Artem. Everyone around them laughed.

“If you are not fast, you are last,” Artem joked, picking up a leg of lamb from a silver tray. “You should know that, Blacksteel.” He took a massive chunk out of the meat.

“Animal,” Emara murmured.

“Let’s not pretend you are faster than me, Stryker,” Torin argued. “I am faster and stronger. Even on a bad day.” Torin took a chalice of wine and sipped it. His cocky frontage was now fully back in place.

Rolling her eyes, Emara sneered, finding herself a wine too.

She was going to need it.

“I think we should see about that later, Blacksteel.” Artem laughed in a dangerously taunting way. “I have been desperate to spar with your cocky ass since fate brought us back together.”

Torin’s features angled themselves with primal intent and he relaxed into his chair. “Bring it on, Stryker.”

“Must you hunters make everything a competition?” Emara asked after swallowing a rather large mouthful of wine.

“Yes,” all of them said at the same time—even Kellen. But his eyes glittered with mockery.

“Bloody hunters” she cursed out loud.

“You love us,” Artem declared confidently, ripping yet another piece of meat from the bone.

Emara made a face that suggested otherwise.

“Can I have your attention, please?” The Supreme’s voice rang through the room and her bejewelled gown sparkled in the candlelight as she stood. “I would like to welcome you all here, to the Amethyst Palace.” She raised her goblet. “My home.”