MasukAshton’s POVThe council was pressed against the walls, silent, because no one wanted to be the one who spoke and drew the attention of two kings who were circling each other like animals. “Stand down,” I said, and my voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. Xander didn’t look at me. He was watching Zeth, his jaw tight, blood running from a cut over his eyebrow and down the side of his face. “It’s not a fight,” Xander said without turning. His voice was calm in a way that made me more afraid than if he had been yelling. “It’s sparring.” Sparring. In the throne room. With the entire court watching and knives on the table behind them. Before I could answer, Zeth moved. He was fast, faster than I remembered, and he took Xander by surprise, driving forward with his shoulder and nearly crashing him to the ground. Xander didn’t fall. He swayed at the last second, twisted, and slammed his knee up into Zeth’s ribs with a sound that made several of the councilors flinch. “Nice,”
Ashton’s POVThe first thing I felt was warmth, and it was so foreign after the cold stone of the hall that for a moment I thought I had died and woken up somewhere softer. Just heat, heavy across my chest, and the weight of an arm that had not moved from around me all night. I opened my eyes to white sheets and the dim glow of the hearth. My room. And Xander. He was asleep beside me, still wearing his black coat, his boots discarded by the bed like he had meant to stay only a minute and then never left. His hand was tangled with mine on top of the blanket, his thumb pressed over my knuckles.My throat was dry. My head throbbed, but when I looked at him, the lines that were always carved between his brows were gone.There was only Xander, breathing slow, with his face turned toward me like I was the only thing in the room worth guarding. I moved my free hand, shaky and unsure, and laid it in his hair. He woke the second I touched him. There was no groan, no disorientation. H
Xander’s POVThe pouch was small and gray. Tied with twine and Brenda was holding it up like she’d just pulled a crown from the dirt. Behind her, Lord Merrick stood with his hands folded. The whole hall was watching. Zeth hadn’t moved. "The child that low life omega is carrying isn't yours Xander. That's why he is using the herbs," Brenda snapped. The council members gasped, exchanging looks. One sighed by the corner. Something in me broke.I didn’t look at the pouch. I looked at her. “Jealousy,” I said, my voice didn’t raise. Brenda blinked. “My King, I don’t...” “A bitter bitch with a broken crown,” I said. I stepped down from the dais. One step. The sound of my boot was the only thing in the room. “That’s what you are. Walking into my war council with garbage because you can’t stand that I didn’t choose you.” The word _bitch_ hit the air and stayed there. My council flinched. Zeth’s captains went still. Somewhere, a cup tipped over and no one picked it up. Brenda’
Xander’s POVI saw his hand move.It was a small thing. Half an inch. The barest lift from the table toward Ashton’s wrist.But I saw it.Zeth Aurelian did not touch people without reason. He did not reach. He took. And in that half-second, with wine on his chest and Ashton’s fingers hovering there like they’d been burned, I knew exactly what he was doing.Testing.My jaw locked so hard my teeth hurt.Across the table, Ashton made a sound. Soft. Choked. His hand jerked back like he’d been scalded. Good. Run.“Go,” I said. My voice came out lower than I intended. “Now.”Ashton didn’t argue. He set the decanter down with hands that were shaking too badly to lie about anymore and walked. Fast. Head down. Red coat catching the torchlight with every step.The doors closed behind him. The room exhaled.I did not sit.I kept standing, both hands flat on the table, and I looked at Zeth. He was still leaning back in his chair like he owned the wood beneath him. Wine drying on his chest, over t
Ashton’s POVThe wine was already spilling. I hadn’t even lifted the decanter yet. My hands were trembling so badly that the gold rim of the pitcher knocked against the tray and sent a thin wave sloshing over the edge. Hot. Red. It ran down my wrist and I didn’t dare wipe it because there were twenty people watching. “Pour,” Mara had whispered to me ten minutes ago. “Just pour and keep your eyes down. You are furniture tonight. Nothing more.” Furniture did not have to pour wine for two kings. Furniture did not have to stand between Xander and Zeth while the air in the room turned to glass. The dining hall was too warm. Too many bodies. Aurion captains on one side of the long table, Noctaryn council on the other. Maps were spread between the plates, stained with wine and wax. No one was eating. I stepped forward. The first cup was Xander’s. It was made of black stone. I poured slowly. My eyes on the stream of red. On anything but his face. YouHis hand did not move to ta
Brenda’s POVI did not slam the throne room doors, but I really wanted to. What I did instead was smile, curtsy low enough to be respectful, and walk out with my spine straight and my hands steady. The kind of performance that made the council remember my mother’s name and my father’s gold. But the moment the doors closed behind me, the smile fell off my face like a mask. They had looked at him. Both of them. Xander with that thumb on Ashton’s cheek, like the red mark I left was a claim he needed to soothe. And Zeth, the Sun King, bare-chested and gilded, staring at Ashton like he had seen a ghost he intended to keep. My Consort. My title. The man who should have been standing beside me at every state dinner, not trembling for a stupid omega in red velvet with a secret curving under his ribs. I hated him. Not because he was poor. Not because he was an omega. I hated him because Xander chose him anyway. “Brenda.” Lord Merrick’s voice cut through the corridor before I







