Chapter 25
Riven woke with the regret pressing against his ribs, thick and suffocating as the sheets tangled around his legs. The room still smelled like sex—raw, unfiltered, him and Thane woven into the walls now—and it made his gut twist with something sharp and sour.
He should never have let it happen.
Not because it hadn’t been good—it had been devastating. Not because he didn’t want it—he had, too much. But because he knew better. He knew what it meant to blur lines with people like Thane. Knew it was dangerous, addicting, and impossible to come back from clean.
And yet, a traitorous part of him was glad. The tension between them had snapped last night, and the pressure that had been building in every look, every brush of skin, was broken. At least now the air between them was scorched and spent, not electric.
Clear—or as clear as it could ever be in this place.
He dragged himself upright, wincing at the soreness in his thighs and throat, and made quick work of washing up. He refused to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to see the confirmation in his own face—the bruises along his neck, the faint shine in his eyes that always gave him away.
The knock came just as he was pulling his shirt over his head. He opened the door to find the same woman who’d greeted him on his first day in the estate, spine straight and eyes cool as polished stone.
“I figured I’d see you again,” he said, voice scratchy.
She tilted her head. “You have a mouth on you.”
“Most people find it charming.” He let out a breath and gestured loosely. “Do you have a name, or should I keep calling you ‘clipboard lady’?”
Her mouth twitched. “Maris. You’re expected.”
He followed her down a different path this time, not the sweeping halls he’d first walked through, but narrower, colder ones—stone floors muffling footsteps, overhead fixtures casting soft light.
As they turned a final corner, Riven saw Thane standing outside a dark-paneled door, dressed in charcoal slacks and a fitted black shirt, his silver hair pulled back in a tight knot. He looked cold and unreadable, arms folded over his chest.
“Leave us,” Thane said without looking at Maris.
She gave a shallow bow and vanished down the hall.
Riven stopped a few feet away, not sure what to say. The air between them crackled—not the charged pull of last night, but the aftermath. A battlefield where the smoke hadn’t cleared.
“You slept?” Thane asked without emotion.
“Eventually,” Riven answered noncommittally.
Thane’s eyes flicked over him. “Then let’s keep you alive a bit longer.” He stepped closer, close enough that Riven could smell the faint trace of him. “Don’t speak unless directly addressed. The fewer people who hear your voice in that room, the better.”
Riven’s jaw flexed. “Because I’m embarrassing?”
“Because you’re unknown. No one knows what you’ll say, or who you’ll say it to. Trust is earned, not given.”
He wanted to argue, but there was no room in Thane’s voice for debate. Just like there’d been no room last night for anything but surrender.
Thane pushed open the door, and the tension inside hit like a wave.
Leron sat near the end of the table, flanked by sleek data displays.
The Matriarch stood at the head, her presence immense despite her stillness.
Asterian sprawled in a chair with practiced grace, drumming pale fingers along the polished table.
His eyes lifted the moment Riven entered, and his mouth curved with amusement.
“Oh good,” Asterian drawled. “Thane’s stray has arrived.”
Riven didn’t react. He took a seat in the open chair beside Thane, who hadn’t spared him a glance since entering. The man’s focus was locked forward.
The door opened again, and Caerel entered, blood still drying on his sleeves. He didn’t sit immediately, just walked to the end of the table and rested both hands on the wood.
“I’ve been questioning our guest,” he said. “He’s alive. Barely. Everything he gave up points to Glint.”
Riven’s stomach dropped.
It wasn’t that he didn’t expect it—he had—but something about the cold way Caerel said it made it real. Made the danger press in from all sides.
Leron tapped a few commands into his tablet and pushed it toward the center. “I ran facial scans on the motel assailants. One of them’s in the city records as associated with House Glint.”
Thane’s jaw clenched. “That doesn’t make sense. Glint wouldn’t leave a trail like this. They’re arrogant, not careless.”
“They’ve always played dirty,” Asterian said with a lazy shrug. “They’ve moved Soulglass since before I was born.”
“Dirty, not suicidal,” Thane snapped. “This is the kind of trail that sparks House wars. No one’s stupid enough to leave fingerprints on something like this.”
Caerel gave a reluctant nod. “I don’t like it either. It feels…sloppy.”
The Matriarch finally spoke, her voice low and lethal. “Then what would you do?”
Thane didn’t hesitate. “Arrange a meeting with Glint. Neutral ground. If this is them, we confront them. If it’s someone else trying to start a war in their name, we don’t walk into the trap.”
Asterian made a disgusted sound. “You’d coddle them after they sent assassins after ours?”
“I’d verify the source of the fire before lighting our own,” Thane said coolly.
“We need to respond with force,” Asterian insisted. “Before they get the idea we’re weak.”
The Matriarch studied both sons. Her gaze lingered on Thane. “We’ll follow your lead.”
Asterian’s knuckles turned white against the table. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Try not to embarrass us.”
The meeting broke. The Matriarch swept from the room with the bearing of a queen, Caerel on her heels. Leron gathered his things. Asterian lingered just long enough to shoot a pointed look at Thane.
“You always did like playing with fire,” he murmured.
When the room emptied, Thane let out a breath through his nose, slow and controlled. He didn’t look at Riven as he moved toward the door.
Riven spoke quietly. “That went well.”
Thane stopped, silver eyes gleaming. “How much do you know about Great House politics?”
Riven shrugged. “Not much.”
Thane opened the door. “Then it’s time to brush up.”