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“I wouldn’t want our poor former-Mystique heir to suffer a chill.” Barrett dragged a ringed hand through his dark curls. I didn’t flinch at the reference to my former life. Perhaps because it was Barrett who said it, having given up his own title, or perhaps because I was desensitized to it all. Maybe I was healing? Spirits if I knew.

“Thank you,” I said, bending to pull spare leathers from my trunk and kicking off my boots. Though winter whipped through the southern mountains, it was mild compared to the underground Mindshaper weather I was dressed for.

“He’s missed you terribly, Malakai,” a taunting voice echoed from around the side of the tent. Dax approached, dressed in a fine gray tunic, leather pants, and boots much like Barrett’s. I’d thought our meeting with Lyria was urgent, but neither of them were dressed for battle.

Slinging an arm around his partner’s shoulder, Dax added, “Hasn’t stopped whining. If you weren’t related I’d be jealous.”

“You don’t get jealous.” Barrett rolled his eyes, swatting Dax’s hand from his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind it every so often.”

Dax snorted. “Not that you are aware of.”

I shucked the thick tunic over my head and replaced it with a lighter linen shirt, buckling leathers over top. Then, I changed into a clean pair of pants and sat down to pull on the worn boots I preferred, everything molded to me.

Barrett’s jaw dropped. “What does that mean? Are you jealous over someone else?”

As I listened to their bickering, I looked over the scar on my calf. The one I’d received for my own cowardice. It had healed nicely, and when I saw it, I didn’t remember the pain. Angels, it was likely the only one I didn’t feel anguish over.

Instead, delicate hands assessed it in my mind. Wide eyes looked up at me from between my legs, and my pulse sped at every indecent thought whirling through my head—thoughts of other scars and the way I wanted to know their stories, if only to avenge them.

Shaking my head, I pulled my boots up and laced them tightly.

“No, you insufferable ass.” Dax sighed, exasperated despite the smile on his lips. He took Barrett’s face between his hands. “It means I show the possessive side to other men who look at you but I’m sure to behave myself when you’re around. A prince’s consort must always be well-trained, mustn’t he?”

Barrett fisted a hand in Dax’s tunic and forced him a step closer. “I prefer to see the untamed side if I have any?—”

“All right,” I interrupted, straightening up from my cot and wrapping a cloak around my shoulders. “Before you two start fucking on the floor of my tent, I was under the impression we were in a hurry.”

I wouldn’t tell them, but I thought a part of me missed them.

Camp was starting to wake as we made our way to the commander’s cabin. There were less lively cheers than normal, fewer taunting remarks and booming laughs from our soldiers as they prepared for breakfast, training, or whatever duties they were assigned.

“What’s happened?” I finally asked.

“Lyria wants to discuss everything together,” Dax answered, slipping into the seriousness of general.

“What happened with you all?” Barrett followed up, stealing a bite of the food he’d given me.

“Ophelia wants the same.” She’d requested we all wait to discuss the new emblems we’d found until we were secure in Lyria’s cabin. Fine by me, as only a fraction of my attention was on those damn Angels anyway. Truthfully, I’d handed Lucidius’s journal to Ophelia, unable to focus on it. My mind was swimming with a blank, blue-eyed stare and echoing with sobs.

Stomach suddenly rocking, I flung the last bites of my food to Rebel as I climbed the porch steps to Lyria’s cabin. I knocked the snow off my boots and swung the door open, wary of what awaited us.

The living room turned war council was quiet, though. Only Lyria and Cyren stood off the kitchen, muttering in low voices. The Starsearcher was forcing a mug into the Master of Weapons’ hands, expression stern. Lyria scoffed, but accepted.

“Hello, you two.” Barrett strolled right in, flopping down on the couch. Dax fell beside him, and the former prince kicked his feet into his consort’s lap.

Lyria and Cyren snapped to attention as if they had not even heard us enter. “Hello,” Lyria rushed. “You’ve all finally made it back.” She fiddled with her mug.

“We have.” I flashed the Engrossians a glance, my brows pulling together at Lyria’s stiffness. They both only shrugged.

Boots echoed down one of the hallways, and my heart kicked up hopefully. But it wasn’t the person I expected to join us.

“Erista?” Jezebel gasped behind me.

Spinning, I found her gripping the front door handle. A cold breeze shoved her hair into her face as Tolek and Cypherion stepped around her, but Jez didn’t even appear to notice.

Her eyes were locked on the figure striding through the living room as if she’d disappear if Jezebel looked away.

Stopping in the center of the wide rug and squaring her hands on her hips, Erista said with a feline smile, “Hi, J.”