~ZEPHYRUS' POV
I hadn't meant for it to escalate the way it did.
That thought lingered as I stood in the threshold of Alaric's chamber, arms crossed, with my weight leaning lazily against the doorway like I wasn't seconds away from being thrown out again if I pushed my luck too far.
The chamber was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind that settled into your bones.
The dangerous kind that waited.
Alaric stood with his back to me, broad shoulders rigid beneath his dark robes, silver hair falling loose down his spine. The tall windows were open, letting the night air pour in, carrying the distant hum of the realm below. Candles burned low around the room, their flames steady in a way that felt unsettling.
He didn't acknowledge my presence.
Not a glance.
Not a word.
Classic Alaric.
I exhaled slowly through my nose as the memory of our argument replayed itself whether I wanted it to or not. My temper had flared too fast, my mouth moving long before my thoughts caught up. I'd heard the words marriage and Dravenna and all I'd seen were chains instead of strategy.
Alaric had said it plainly then, that it was a political necessity. A means to preserve balance between realms.
At the time, none of that had reached me.
All I'd heard was loss.
Now, standing here with the weight of my own stupidity pressing down on me, I understood what I hadn't before. This alliance had never been about desire or possession or replacing anyone. It was about survival. About ruling. About keeping everything from collapsing inward.
I clicked my tongue softly, letting the sound break the silence.
"So," I said lightly as I pushed off the doorframe and strolled inside like I owned the place, "are we doing the eternal silent treatment thing, or are you just pretending I don't exist?"
Nothing.
Alaric continued adjusting something on the desk in front of him. Ancient scrolls. Sigils faintly glowing beneath his fingers with a control that was infuriating and immaculate.
Lucian would have sighed by now if he were the one I was speaking to. Maybe he would have looked at me, or at least reacted to one of my words.
That was the difference between them.
Lucian had patience, but it was learned. Built slowly over centuries, shaped into something he could rely on when others failed him. He endured. He waited. He chose restraint where I would have already burned the problem away.
Alaric's patience was different.
It was not taught.
It was born with him.
It existed the way inevitability existed—unchanging, absolute, immune to provocation.
I did not have that.
Everyone knew it.
I was the brother they watched most carefully. The one whose temper was spoken of in lowered voices. One misstep, one poorly chosen word, and there would be nothing left but ash and regret. Fear followed me because it had learned to.
I could be agreeable. I could be generous. I could let things slide when it suited me. But patience was not something I stored, it was something I spent, and I ran out of it quickly.
When that happened, there was no gradual rise. No warning tremor.
There was only red.
Rage stripped everything else away, my reasoning, mercy, consequence. In those moments, I did not weigh outcomes. I ended threats completely the way fire did.
I wanted what my brothers had. Lucian's calmness and Alaric's restraint, but Instead, I carried a fury that answered faster than thought.
And I knew better than anyone, how dangerous that made me.
I cleared my throat.
"Look," I said, my tone still casual, though quieter now. "I was wrong."
That got him.
That earned me something. Not a turn, not a look, but the slightest pause in his movement.
Progress.
"I shouldn't have snapped," I continued. "And I definitely shouldn't have accused you of whatever dramatic nonsense I was throwing around that day."
I scratched the back of my neck, my gaze drifting toward the floor.
"It just didn't click at the time."
Still nothing.
I rolled my eyes. "You know, for someone who claims emotional restraint as a virtue, you're incredibly petty."
A beat passed.
Then, slowly, Alaric turned.
His face was unreadable as ever, sharp and carved from prudence and moonlight. His silver eyes flicked to mine, glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.
I grinned, seizing the opening.
"I mean it," I said, lifting my hands in mock surrender. "The marriage. Political. Strategic. Realm benefiting. All very....you."
I tilted my head. "Guess my brain just stopped functioning that day."
Silence stretched between us.
But it wasn't sharp anymore.
I stepped closer.
"I know you wouldn't do something like that without reason," I said, more seriously now. "And I know I need to—" I grimaced. "Work on the temper thing."
That earned me a slow blink.
"I'm trying," I added quickly. "Lucian makes it look easy, but patience is apparently not hereditary."
The corner of Alaric's mouth twitched, barely there and gone as fast as it had appeared.
Victory.
I leaned my hip against the table beside him, lowering my voice.
"I meant what I said back then," I admitted. "I just said it wrong. Too loud. Too sharp. Like always."
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
"So....I'm sorry."
For a moment, I thought he'd ignore me again, but Instead, he exhaled slowly and finally spoke.
"Fool."
I laughed under my breath. "Yeah. That tracks."
Alaric shook his head once before turning back to his work. A low hum left him, not quite approval and not quite dismissal, but something close enough to acceptance, and I let it settle into my bones.
I waited a moment, not wanting to speak again, because pushing after a hum was how one got incinerated.
"Before you go," he said evenly, his attention still on the table. "Stop by the Medicine Bureau."
I straightened. "Medicine Bureau?"
Alaric nodded once. "Lucian had them prepare a concealment elixir. Scent based."
My brows rose instinctively.
"For Dove," he added, as if it were obvious.
Oh.
"That makes sense," I said. "The wards tomorrow night won't be subtle. Especially with Vampires present."
"They won't be," Alaric agreed. "Make sure she takes it before the banquet."
I tilted my head. "What about Lucian?"
"He's handling some matters outside the realm," Alaric replied without looking at me. "He'll be back before the banquet."
"Okay," I said simply.
There was something reassuring about the way Lucian moved quietly in the background, fixing what needed fixing without spectacle.
Alaric finally turned completely, his silver gaze settling on me again.
"Zephyrus."
My smile faded. "Yes."
"There will be important guests attending tomorrow tonight."
There it was. The real warning.
"Behave."
I smiled slowly. "I understand, brother."
He studied me for a long moment, as though weighing the sincerity behind my words, then gave a small nod before dismissing me.
I left his chamber, the doors closing behind me with a muted thud. The corridor beyond felt cooler, quieter, as though the world itself had exhaled along with him.
My feet carried me through the palace without thought, past arches and balconies, torchlight and stone, until the air became colder and thinner.
I stepped onto the cliffside overlook.
Clouds rolled beneath the realm like a living sea, vast and endlessly hungry. I watched them for a moment longer, the cold wind biting at my skin, tugging at my coat like it was daring me to fall.
A grin curved my lips. "Why not."
Then I stepped forward.
The ground vanished beneath my feet as I began to fall head first.
The rush was instant—air tearing past me, the world snapping into motion with gravity seizing hold. Stone, cloud, and sky blurred together as I plunged downward, with the palace cliffs shrinking above me.
My heart thudded once, hard and exhilarated and just before impact, crimson erupted from my back.
My wings unfurled with a thunderous snap, vast and powerful, cutting through the air as if it were silk. The force of their expansion sent a violent gust rippling through the clouds below, scattering them outward in a spiraling wake.
I slowed, boots skimming over stone as I angled my descent, then landed in a controlled crouch atop the lower plateau carved into the cliff's face.
The Medicine Bureau.
The structure was ancient, built directly into the rock, its walls threaded with glowing runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. The air smelled sharp and clean, laced with herbs, metal, and something distinctly medicinal.
Two attendants straightened as I approached.
"Lord Zephyrus," they greeted, bowing.
"You were expecting me."
"Yes, my lord."
They led me inside, the heavy doors groaning softly as they opened. The interior was dim but alive, shelves carved into stone walls, lined with crystal vials that glowed in shades of crimson, gold, and deep violet. Sigils floated lazily in the air, rotating in slow, deliberate patterns.
At the center stood the bureau's master.
An old man, bent slightly with age, silver hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. His eyes, however, were too sharp for someone who had lived as long as he clearly had.
He inclined his head. "Lord Zephyrus."
I nodded. "I'm here for the concealment elixir."
"Of course." He turned, retrieving a slim vial from a reinforced case etched with layered wards. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, translucent and alive, shifting with subtle movement. "Prepared to Lord Lucian's specifications."
He paused, studying me over the rim of his spectacles. "I must admit," he said slowly, "we expected Lord Lucian himself to collect these."
I accepted the vial, turning it between my fingers. "Unfortunately, your stuck with the unpopular brother." I muttered underneath my breath. "Lucian's out."
The old man hummed thoughtfully, then reached back into the case.
"In that event," he said, placing a small rack which contained different colors of vial into my palm, "this is also for him."
I blinked. "For Lucian?"
"Yes." His expression remained neutral, but something in his tone shifted as if he was being careful with his words. "His monthly elixirs for the past months."
My grip tightened.
"Past months?" I repeated. The old man frowned faintly. "Has he not been receiving them?"
Silence stretched in between us.
"How long," I asked slowly, "has this been waiting?"
The bureau master hesitated, before he finally spoke. "...Years, my lord."
The word struck harder than any blade.
Years?
That wasn't possible.
Alaric personally ensured Lucian's elixirs were refined every month, they were adjusted, strengthened, and perfected, so his vision wouldn't deteriorate further. It was non-negotiable. One of the few things Alaric never delegated.
I stared at the untouched vials glowing softly in my hand.
So how?
So why?
Lucian hadn't picked them up in years.
My jaw clenched.
What the hell have you been doing, little brother?
The question echoed unanswered as unease settled deep in my chest.
And for the first time that night, I was speechless.