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“What’s not fair is you not keeping your magic wells full at all times when others are counting on you in a godsdamn war. Gods! Why is this so hard for you and Scarlett to understand? Why did we practically have to beat this same concept into her?” Cyrus spat.

“Could it possibly be because it wasliterallybeaten into us not to be dependent on others?” Cassius bit back through clenched teeth.

“Bullshit,” Cyrus said, settling back in his chair again. “You two are ridiculously co-dependent on each other.”

“Perhaps I should let you two have some time—” Tybalt said, starting to get to his feet.

“No need,” Cyrus interjected, sliding his chair back and standing. “Maybe you can talk some sense into your son. Whatever I say to him clearly doesn’t sink in.”

“Cyrus,” Cassius sighed, rubbing at his brow with his thumb and forefinger.

Cyrus paused in the doorway, resting his hand on the doorjamb as he looked back over his shoulder, already feeling the guilt over his part in this. “I know, Cass,” he sighed. “Just…find me when you’re ready.”

He wandered back up to their rooms, but then he kept going to Sorin and Scarlett’s. He knocked once before going inside. It was quiet, but Sorin came out of the bedchamber a moment later.

“Cyrus? Everything all right?”

“Fine,” he muttered, looking past him into the room. “She still sleeping?”

Sorin raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

“But you can still feel her and everything down the bond?”

He nodded, pushing out a harsh breath. “Niara checks in multiple times a day. She says everything is healing as it should. We can only wait.”

The Fire Prince had begun pacing as he spoke, and the corner of Cyrus’s mouth tilted up. “Were you like this when you first brought her to the Court, too? When you kept us all locked out?”

Sorin paused mid-step, letting loose another sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

Cyrus snickered, plopping down on the sofa.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Sorin asked, lowering into an armchair.

“Cassius needs a Source.”

Sorin went still for a moment. “Did he ask you?”

“No.”

“Did he ask someone else?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“I feel as though I am missing something here, Cyrus,” Sorin said, studying him in that knowing way of his. Like he could see past all the bullshit. He’d always looked at him like that. Ever since Rayner had dragged him to the Fiera Palace, and Cyrus had met the Fire Prince for the first time over a game of cards and a drink.

Cyrus quickly filled Sorin in on the conversation he’d just had with Tybalt, and when he was done, Sorin asked, “Is it something you are still willing to give, Cyrus?”

And wasn’t that the question of the day?

* * *

It was late evening when he heard the door to their suite open. He’d been on the balcony for almost an hour now. Thinking. Waiting.

Drinking and smoking mugweed.

The sun was nearly set, and he had small orbs of flames floating above the balcony. Avonleya loved the night. Their odd schedule had been fine for a time, but he was ready to go back to their continent.

He swirled his glass of liquor, the ice clinking as he brought the mugweed to his lips and inhaled. He heard him stop at the doorway. Knew if he turned to look, he’d be leaning against the doorframe, trying to decide what to say.