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Chapter Nineteen

W ithout daring to breathe, I pressed my palm against the door handle, twisting it slowly and pulling it open just enough to peer into the hallway.

I had only a second to glimpse the stranger before he slipped past Clay and into my prince’s suite. Clay looked down both ends of the corridor to check if his guest was followed, and then he shut the door behind them with a hollow click.

But that second that I had watched them had been enough. Enough to notice the finely tailored clothes, so distinct from Athenian styles. Enough to recognize the tall stature, tanned skin, and dark hair of the Imperial Prince of Tenebris.

What was Prince Damon doing sneaking into Clay’s room in the middle of the night?

Was this the mysterious business that had led Clay to join me on this trip?

My heart thundered as I crept into the hallway, each step deliberate and soundless. The floor beneath me seemed louder than ever, creaking faintly as I moved. I reached Clay’s door, breath catching in my throat, and pressed my ear against the wood.

“Have you any updates on what I proposed?” Clay’s voice was low but insistent .

“What you proposed is impossible,” Damon replied, his voice taut with restrained frustration. “My father will never go against his current alliance with the Athenian Dragon.”

“Your father is currently opening his borders to Promissa. That seems like going against Athenia to me.”

A heavy pause followed.

“They could arrest me for treason for even having this conversation.”

“Which is why I ensured my rooms were far from prying ears,” Clay countered, his tone sharp despite the hush.

In the guest hall. Seperate from the Royal Wing.

He hadn’t stayed here to be close to me, he’d stayed here to have this meeting in private.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. In his effort to avoid spies, he had unwittingly placed himself right next to me—the very person who was spying on him.

"Yes, well this conversation is unavoidable. We’re no longer boys, Damon.”

Damon sighed, and for a moment, silence filled the space between them.

“My father has always talked out of both sides of his mouth,” Damon said finally. “He says what he must to appease both Athenia and Promissa, but he will never risk another Great War. He won’t support you.”

“I didn’t come here for his support,” Clay said, his voice steady.

“I just told you—”

“I didn’t say the Emperor in question had to be your father.”

Another silence fell, heavy and sharp. A slow, icy shiver crept up my spine.

“Surely, you are not suggesting what I think you are,” Damon said, his voice trembling, whether with anger or fear. I couldn’t tell .

“Of course not,” Clay reassured him smoothly. “My plans will take time to set into motion, but it’s no secret that your father’s affection for his goblets is drawing him ever closer to death’s door.”

Damon grunted, a sound that felt like reluctant agreement.

“You and I both know that you will become the next Emperor far sooner than I will become the next Athenian Dragon,” Clay continued.

“You’ve met my father, Damon. You know what he’s capable of.

We cannot allow him to destroy everything my ancestors fought to build.

Every day, he drives us closer to ruin. The people are starving, our borders are crumbling, and Promissa is circling like vultures.

I’ve seen what happens when a kingdom falls, Damon. I won’t let it happen to Athenia.”

“What is it you want from me, Clayton?”

“I want your word—not just as a friend, but as the next monarch of Tennebris. I want your assurance that when I overthrow my father, your armies will be ready to support me if the need arises.”

“What you ask for is no small thing,” Damon said, his voice tight with unease. “You know I love my country, but betraying my father? Risking everything for this alliance? Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me, Clayton?”

“I’m aware. I must ask it, nonetheless.”

There was a long pause, then the unmistakable sound of two hands clasping in agreement.

“I suppose this is my first official alliance,” Damon said.

Clay laughed softly. “And I suppose this is mine.”

The creak of furniture signaled one of them rising. My heart lurched, and I darted back into my room, sliding under the covers without making a sound. My chest heaved as I lay still, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts racing. There was only one explanation for that conversation coming to mind.

Clay was planning a coup .

My thoughts tangled in a storm of confusion and dread. This was treason. The justification of his reasons didn’t matter. If the Dragon found out, he would have Clay executed without mercy and have one of his younger sister’s named as heir.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, retreating until I could no longer hear them. Until all I could hear was the realization repeating itself like a mantra in my head.

Clayton Vail was a traitor.

And the Dragon would kill him for it.

I laid in the dark, staring aimlessly as my heart refused to slow for what felt like an eternity. In truth, it must have only been a few minutes before my door creaked open and Clay stepped inside though.

He moved through the shadows without a word, his footsteps soft but his presence heavy.

Sitting at the side of my bed, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with a heavy sigh.

His shoulders slumped under the weight he carried, a burden that seemed unbearable even for him.

And I didn’t have the slightest idea what to say to him.

We sat like that for a long time and the silence stretched between us, taut and unyielding. Neither of us knew how to begin, how to bridge the yawning chasm that had grown between us.

I wanted to hug him and throttle him all at the same time.

Which was, honestly, how I felt about him most of the time.

“You heard.”

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t have to be.

“How did you know?”

He laughed softly, a bitter sound almost swallowed by the quiet. “I’m always aware of you, Thea. Sometimes, I can’t tell if your scent is real or just a figment of my mind, but that floral aroma of yours... it was too strong to deny this time.”

I frowned. “You can smell me? ”

A slight nod. “It’s a Dragon thing.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the conversation?” I demanded, my voice tight with emotion.

Part of me admired him—admired the strength it took to attempt what he was planning. I had always known Clay would make a better ruler than his father ever could. The fact that he was willing to risk his own life for the good of his people spoke volumes about the kind of leader he would be.

But did that make him a good man?

Because I may be hiding things from him, but I wasn’t the only one. More often than not, over these past few months, he too had kept secrets from me. He’d lied to me. And now, this was one more betrayal to add to the growing list.

It didn’t matter if we couldn’t be together because of our bloodlines.

We couldn’t be together because it was becoming apparent that we didn’t trust each other.

“I suppose I didn’t mind if you happened to find out,” he breathed. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you—I didn’t want to put you in that kind of danger—but I hated the idea of something else lingering between us.”

“I’ve been in danger since the moment I showed up,” I reminded him sharply. “You still should have told me. Who else knows?”

“Iris. A few members of the Guard I trust. And now Damon.”

Iris. An invisible fist wrapped around my heart with an iron-tight grasp. Of course she was involved in this too.

My arm snatched out, grabbing his wrist. “He’ll kill you, Clay. He’ll kill anyone who helps you.”

Finally, he lifted his head, meeting my gaze. I expected fire in his eyes, the burning passion that usually lurked there, but all I saw was a heavy sadness as he twisted his arm to take hold of my hand.

“I’m aware of what I’m risking,” he said, his voice low and steady.

“But I have to do what’s right. It’s not just his cruelty, Thea, or the abuse of the women at Court.

It’s the way he taxes the poor to keep them in need of his support.

Then he withholds that support to manipulate them into submission.

“He appoints the most deplorable of his friends to be dukes, even though they show no regard for the well-being of their provinces. There are parts of this country you haven’t seen, Thea.

Good people who are dying in poverty because he wants them to.

He wants them to feel like they need him.

He wants them to fear how much worse it could be without the crumbs he throws their way. ”

The sheets slipped to my waist as I sat up, my thin nightgown brushing against my skin. I didn’t care, and he didn’t even seem to notice. His words hung in the air between us, too heavy to ignore.

“And you will change all those things?” I asked, my voice soft but firm.

He paused, letting the tension coil tighter, pulling me closer to the edge of understanding. A shiver raced down my spine, the weight of his answer already pressing down on me.

“I will change so many things, Theadora,” he said at last, his voice a promise as much as it was a challenge.

“Like what?”

“Like the Council,” he said, his tone sharper now, more resolute. He squeezed my hand gently. “I’m going to change everything about the Council.”

C lay didn’t stay to explain what his proposed changes to the Council were. He simply told me to get some sleep and left, pulling the door closed tightly behind him. As if sleep was possible when those words turned over and over in my mind.

Surely, the changes he referenced weren’t about... Council marriages.

There were plenty of other reforms he could have meant. Perhaps he wanted to change the Trials? Or question the tradition of the most powerful family member from the High Houses being appointed to the Council. Maybe he intended to expand the Council to include Descendants from other Houses.

There were countless possibilities Clay could have been mulling over long before he ever met me.

But I knew Clay. Deep in my soul, I understood him in a way I didn’t understand anyone else. My gut was telling me he wasn't talking about any of those other ideas.

The thought gnawed at me. Even when he left my room, sleep evaded me, and lying in bed only made my thoughts spiral further—Councils, magical realms, marriages, politics. I was so fucking tired of thinking about politics.

Eventually, I abandoned my bed and settled at the desk, tracing idle shapes as my mind wandered.

I let myself drift to simpler things: the feel of sunlight on my skin in the Village of Life, the way the laughter there had felt warm and real.

It had been more of a home than any other place I’d known—more than Hyrax Manor, more than the halls of Athenia.

The shapes on the parchment began to meld together, almost unconsciously, until I realized I was staring at the likeness of Caldrius.

I blinked, startled, and something bubbled inside of me—something absurd and ridiculous. Laughter erupted from my throat, unbidden and uncontrollable.

“Oh Gods,” I groaned, dropping my head into my hands.

It wasn’t a bad depiction of him, in all honesty. I suspected he’d have opinions about my shading, but there was no denying it was him. The dark curls that framed his ears, the large, expressive eyes, the full lips curved into that too-knowing, teasing smile. It was undeniably Caldrius.

Supreme Lieutenant of the Underworld. Second in command to Hyrax, God of Death. The Descendant King responsible for the tragedy that had birthed Athenia.

He’d refused his arranged marriage.

But he’d also lost everything because he chose love over politics.

“One day, these secrets are going to eat me alive,” I whispered to the drawing, folding the parchment neatly before tucking it into the bottom of my chest of belongings.