Kael's estate was less a house and more a statement—long lines of dark stone, cold magic sunk into the earth, and a gate that didn't creak so much as growl open when we arrived. The wards recognized me. Knight, too. Though they pulsed more curiously at him, like trying to decide which version had returned.
"I hate his taste in perimeter security," I muttered.
"You designed half of it," Knight replied dryly, striding at my side.
"Exactly."
We walked in silence through the outer hall. Every tile here was etched with binding runes, old contracts sealed under lacquer. Kael never left things to chance. He liked his deals neat and airtight.
Still, I hadn't expected Diana's voice to echo off the marble as we passed the corridor to the inner sanctum.
"She came early," I murmured, halting.
Knight frowned. "How early?"
"She wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow night."
We exchanged a glance—and moved faster.
Kael's voice reached us next, smooth and calm as ever. "I'm not asking you to choose me now. Just to stop running long enough to realize you already did."
Diana, predictably: "That's manipulative."
"You're here, aren't you?"
I sighed. "Gods help us."
Knight gave me a sidelong look. "Still want to convince him he's already won?"
"Less convincing, more... weaponizing the assumption."
We stepped into the threshold of Kael's sitting room.
It was a circular space built of storm-glass and obsidian. At the center, Kael lounged in his tailored warcoat like the future heir he refused to admit he was. Diana sat on the low velvet couch, arms crossed, hair tousled like she'd been pacing—or arguing.
Both turned when we entered.
Kael smiled. "Ah. The Reckoner. And her shadow."
Knight did not return the expression. "Nice to see you haven't changed."
"Why fix what works?" Kael's tone dripped charm, but his eyes tracked Knight with a calculating sharpness.
Diana, meanwhile, stood and marched straight to me.
"You said you'd let me handle this."
"I did," I replied. "And then you got here a day early."
"I was invited."
"I never said you weren't allowed. Just that things break when you start improvising."
Knight stepped past us and faced Kael. "We need to talk."
Kael raised a brow. "Do we?"
"We're on the same side," Knight said. "But it won't last if you keep turning every conversation into a seduction."
Kael smiled wider. "So you're here to play diplomat? Or dog in the manger?"
"I'm here to make sure the world survives. I don't care who she beds."
Diana made a strangled noise. "Standing right here."
Kael glanced at me. "He always this poetic, or is it a mood?"
"More a condition," I said, brushing past them to the drinks tray and pouring myself something bitter.
Kael turned serious then, eyes narrowing slightly. "What's this really about?"
I met his gaze over the rim of my glass. "Backing your claim, officially. You, as the primary mate. Diana stabilizes. The bond holds. No more additions."
"Tempting," Kael said. "What's the catch?"
"Stop trying to win all of her," I said quietly. "And let the Council see you as the stable center, not the greedy heir."
Kael looked at Diana. Then back to me. "And Knight agrees to this?"
Knight didn't speak.
Instead, he pulled something from his coat—a sealed envelope marked with the sigil of the Council.
"Provisional support," he said. "In writing. You'll be recognized if the bond settles by solstice."
Kael blinked.
"Damn," he muttered. "She really did plan this."
I raised my glass in mock salute. "You're welcome."
The silence that followed was heavy, but not in the way I'd hoped. Not the satisfying kind that comes after you lay the last piece of a trap and watch the prey realize they've stepped into it.
No—this one was thick with the feeling that something had just gone off script.
Diana crossed her arms.
"You're all very good at talking over me," she said flatly.
I turned toward her, already bracing. "Diana—"
"No," she snapped. "You want to lock me into a bond I haven't accepted, with a future I haven't agreed to, and act like it's all for my own good."
Kael raised both hands in surrender. "I didn't say you had to—"
"You didn't have to," she cut in. "None of you ever do. You just nudge the edges, frame the game, steer the moment until it looks like I'm the one choosing."
Knight stayed silent.
I hated that he looked like he understood her.
And worse—I hated that I did too.
"Diana," I said carefully, "this stabilizes the timeline. It holds the world intact."
"Your version of it," she shot back. "Your maps, your prophecies, your rules."
She stepped forward now, eyes blazing. "Then here's my rule. If I agree to Kael, no one else gets to pull strings."
Kael straightened, cautious now. "Define 'pull.'"
"I mean no Council intervention," she said, glaring at Knight. "No 'official' support. No public bond ceremony. No press releases or recorded declarations."
"That won't go over well," Knight said. "Even with the vote, they'll want confirmation."
"Then they can deal with me directly," she said. "I'm not a prize, I'm the storm."
Kael looked amused. "I always did like storms."
"Don't encourage her," I muttered.
But Diana wasn't done.
"One more thing," she said, eyes narrowing at me now.
My drink paused mid-air.
"I want a memory," she said. "A real one. From before. From one of the timelines. Something you've never told me."
I stared at her, cold blooming behind my ribs.
Knight raised a brow. "Is that... negotiable?"
Diana folded her arms. "You want me to trust you, Gray? Then show me why you've done all of this. Why you keep interfering. Why you care."
She wants proof.
She wants truth.
I drained the rest of my drink and exhaled slowly.
"All right."
Knight looked between us, wary now. "What kind of memory?"
I stepped forward until I was face to face with Diana, magic coiled under my tongue.
And then, with a flick of power, I let the memory rise between us—cast in light and sound and pain.