Chapter 26
The door whispered shut behind Riven as he followed Thane down the sleek hallway. The overhead lights ran in perfect rows—cold LED strips set into brushed metal tracks, their sterile glow casting no warmth, only sharp clarity.
Riven’s head ached from too little sleep, too many thoughts. The night before clung to his skin like humidity, every sound Thane had made, every place their bodies had touched. And yet, here they were, walking like strangers again.
Thane didn’t look back at him, but Riven studied the line of his spine anyway.
His dark shirt was wrinkled, sleeves shoved to the elbows, and there was a faded smear of bruising along one exposed forearm.
His hair was pulled back haphazardly. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept either, and that twisted sharply in Riven’s chest.
Thane stopped at an unmarked door near the east wing and keyed in a passcode. The lock clicked open.
“Inside,” he said.
The room beyond was smaller than Riven expected. A glass-topped table dominated the center, surrounded by four black chairs. One wall projected shifting tidal data—white lines rippling across a 3D map of the Atlantean coastline. Everything was precise, modern, deliberate.
“Sit.”
Riven obeyed, easing into a chair. Thane took the one across from him and leaned back with a quiet exhale.
“So what exactly do you know about Great House politics?”
Riven blinked. “You mean beyond the fact that they’re all bastards?”
Thane gave a low, humorless sound. “I’ll count that as ‘not much’.”
He shifted forward, bracing his elbows on the table, fingers laced. “There are eight Great Houses. Virellien is one of them—obviously. Glint, Merin, Caldris, Durell, Nirae…the rest don’t matter unless they get in our way.”
“Nice to know your standards,” Riven quipped.
Thane smirked, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes.
“What matters is power. Control. Resource flow. Every House has their slice of the city, and their grip on it. Ports, infrastructure, magic patents, trade agreements. We hold three of the city’s major ports, two southern corridors, and the Soulforge license for exporting refined crystal. ”
“And Glint?” Riven asked, trying to focus on the lesson instead of the man giving it.
“Medicinal compounds, alchemical production, and a handful of old alliances that haven’t aged well. They’ve been on shaky ground for a while, mostly because Glint’s had absolute control of Soulglass trade. Until now.”
Thane rose, moved to the wall, and called up a new overlay—this one a map of Atlantis, the districts segmented and color-coded.
“The city’s a spine,” he said. “Every House wraps around it like muscle. If the muscles tear the wrong way, the whole thing collapses.”
Riven squinted. “Poetic.”
Thane glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll want to learn the language. Pretty metaphors make ugly truths easier to swallow.”
He returned to the table, pulled another chair closer to Riven’s side, but didn’t sit. Instead, he leaned one hip against the edge and crossed his arms, looking down at him.
“Let’s talk about Glint again,” he said. “They’re careful and they’re clean. They don’t leave fingerprints, let alone dead mages with their crest tattooed on their damn neck.”
“You think it’s staged,” Riven said slowly.
“I think it’s stupid,” Thane replied, “and they’re not stupid.”
“But the mage from the alley was definitely theirs. And the guy from the motel too, right?”
Thane inclined his head. “That’s what we’re told. But they could’ve been planted. You don’t go to war with another House on a guess. That’s how Houses die.”
The words hung in the air between them.
“What does this have to do with me?” he asked.
“Tonight, I’ll be meeting with their representative.
” Thane turned back to the room’s long table and tapped a subtle rune set into its sleek surface.
A holographic projection shimmered to life above it, casting soft white-blue light that danced across the table.
At its center spun the full-color, full-scale 3D image of a man—or elf, rather—lounging like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Riven blinked. “That’s him?”
“Lord Sorrell of House Glint,” Thane confirmed, his tone dry. “Son of their old war advisor, now one of their youngest ruling voices.”
Sorrell looked nothing like Riven had expected.
His hair was a shade Riven would’ve called ostentatious on anyone else—rich crimson, not dyed, but natural, if his House lineage was to be believed.
It fell in layers around his sharp face in artful disarray, and his mouth curved in a knowing smile that promised chaos.
The coat he wore was tailored within an inch of its life, black brocade embroidered in copper thread with matching gloves tucked in one pocket.
Riven couldn’t tell if the brooch at his lapel was ornamental or a weapon.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if it were both.
“Gods,” Riven muttered. “He’s dressed like he’s about to walk a runway.”
Thane huffed. “He usually is. Sorrell considers himself a patron of the arts. And of attention. But underneath all the flair is a political animal, and he’s vicious when cornered. Don’t let the eyeliner fool you.”
“He’s…not what I expected,” Riven said, eyeing the languid smirk and careless posture. “He’s dangerous?”
“Very. He’s a bit of a reformer, publicly pushing for peace and reconstruction. He’s spoken in favor of rekindling ties with Houses like ours in the Council. Privately? He’s clever, theatrical, manipulative, and entirely capable of going head-to-head with someone like me.”
Riven turned back toward Thane slowly. “So…has he?”
“A few times,” Thane admitted with a slight shrug. “Official disputes. Unofficial ones.”
“And who won?”
Thane stepped in close, the hologram casting soft shadows across his face. He tilted his head and smirked.
“What do you think?”
The question unbalanced him, and he knew Thane could see it. That damned glint of amusement sharpened in Thane’s eyes, and he didn’t look away until the image faded.
“Just be ready,” Thane said, turning back toward the far door. “Sorrell’s the kind of man who’ll have a knife hidden under his compliments. And you’re going to be in the room when I meet him.”
Riven’s stomach dipped. “Why?”
“Because you were there for both attacks. Because you saw things. And because whether you like it or not, you’re already part of this.”
Riven lifted his chin. “Or is it because I sucked your cock?”
Thane didn’t flinch. “It’s because you’re mine.”
That made Riven freeze.
Thane stepped in close, hand braced on the back of Riven’s chair. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to,” he said quietly. “Don’t look like you want to kill anyone unless I tell you to. And wear something that doesn’t smell like regret.”
Riven opened his mouth, then closed it again. Every part of him buzzed with the memory of Thane’s mouth on his throat, his hands pinning him down, the gasps that had passed between them.
“I don’t represent your House,” he said, voice low.
Thane’s smile was brief and cruel. “You do now.”
They stood there, tension curling tight like a spring, until Thane finally stepped back and turned to the door.
Riven exhaled slowly. His head was spinning, his skin still too warm.
“Thane,” he said before he could think better of it.
The man paused without turning around.
“You look like shit.”
This time, Thane did smile. Just a little.
“Good,” he said. “I want them to underestimate me.”
Then he left, and Riven was alone again—with a lesson echoing in his ears and the ghost of Thane’s touch still burning along his skin.